We Want You to Recover the Staff

“We want you to recover the staff,” said the mayor.

“Why? Why not just make another one?” asked Jed. He was young and liked to do important things. Recovering a stick didn’t sound important.

“Make another staff?” asked the mayor incredulously.

“It’s just a stick,” said Jed.

The mayor looked at Jed for a moment. How could he explain? Perhaps he shouldn’t try.

“You know the market stall, the one just in front of the entrance?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Jed cautiously, but he couldn’t keep the acquisitive gleam out of his eyes. Every craftsman in the village wanted that space.

“I happen to know it will be vacant in a few weeks. If you recover the staff for the village, I will see that you get the spot.”

“I understand that old Edward the clothier who has it now paid well over a year’s wages for it.” Jed said this in the tone of a casual observation.

“Yes, but it could be yours if you just recover that staff for the village.”

“Very well,” said Jed. “I will try to find the thing and bring it back.”

It took Jed some time to find the staff. The problem was that while it was distinctively carved and quite old there was nothing else to commend it. He couldn’t think of any reason that anyone would actually remember it. And he was right. They didn’t.

After several weeks he was about to give up when he ran across a stall in a small town market that could best be described by the word “miscellaneous.” There were several staffs there, generally for walking, and amongst them he saw one that was too short to use as a walking stick, unless for a child or a dwarf, and too thick to be comfortable for them.

It was the village staff. It took all of Jed’s self-control to keep that acquisitive gleam out of his eye. It was his downfall in negotiations. But he managed.

As he passed over the three copper coins to pay for it, the stall keeper said, “I hate to question a sale, but I’m wondering what possible use you have for this. I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

Jed considered telling the man the truth, but he was afraid the price would change. He just said, “I have a project and this wood will be just right for it.” The stall keeper just shrugged, took his coppers, and said good bye and good luck.

Back in the village Jed took the staff to the mayor. “Here’s your stick, Mr. Mayor,” he said in a careful mix of formality and sarcasm.

“Thank you,” said the mayor, “but I think I will need you to present this formally to the city council.”

“Why?”

“It’s important, Jed. You don’t understand, but the council will, and the village will.”

So Jed took a deep red cloth that the mayor provided, worth much more than the staff, and wrapped the staff in the cloth. At the council meeting he carried it formally into the council chamber and presented the staff to the mayor. Then he was waved over to what was clearly the seat of honor.

Jed had never been to a council meeting. He had never cared about the politics of the village at all. He was a craftsman, a woodworker, and a good one. But he spent all his time on practical things.

The village bard got up and began to sing the song of Jed, who had recovered the village’s staff. It described the way in which authority had failed when the staff was missing (though Jed had never noticed), then the many terrors Jed had endured to recover the staff (none of which had actually happened). Then it told the story of his triumphant return to the village.

In the weeks that followed Jed tried very hard to tell his story. Some of the young, practical folks listened to him, but it didn’t matter to them much in any case. The older villagers and the children preferred the story the bard told. Because he wanted to correct the story, he listened to some of the other stories, such as how the first mayor of the village had received the staff directly from the king.

Jed got his place in the market, right in front of the entrance. But soon he realized that it didn’t make any difference at all. Everyone wanted to get their furniture from the living legend who had recovered the staff. At first it bothered him, since the story wasn’t true. But as the copper, then the silver, and finally the gold rolled in, he almost forgot about the real story.

Many a visitor would come into the marketplace looking for someone to make a piece of furniture or do some repairs. “You’ll want to go to Jed in the first stall,” the villagers would say. “He’s already a legend, even though he’s rather young. You’ll want your work done by the man who recovered the staff.”

The villagers were happy. Jed almost forgot. But every so often it would bother him when someone bought something for well above the market price just because they were buying it from a living legend. It made him try very hard to produce the best product he possibly could so that people would get their money’s worth.

It bothered him, but with the money in his hand it didn’t bother him very much.

Then one day a rich man from a city far away stopped in the village. “Are you Jed?” he asked.

“I am.”

“I have a friend who has a chair made by you, and I have never seen such workmanship. I want you to make a table and a set of chairs for my dining room.”

“You’re not here because of the staff?” asked Jed.

“What staff?” asked the rich man.

“Never mind,” said Jed.

And he went happily to work.

(I wrote this story for the Recover Blog Carnival.)