She just had to remind herself not to smirk in front of customers.
Nuliyaa gleefully packed the newly-purchased brooch into a small storage bag, tucking the jewelry between the squares of brocade. “Thank you for your business. This brooch looks lovely on you.”
The older couple accepted the bagged brooch, exclaiming over the fine bag, then thanked Nuliyaa and continued walking down the busy street.
Nuliyaa settled on her stool, a satisfied smile stretching her lips. Her instincts had been good, as they usually were. The brooches were selling well, especially with older women who tended not to enjoy hair and arm ornamentation. Purchasing from the Nengmekian trader had been a gamble, but Nuliyaa had thought the brooches were a profitable compromise between the familiar Wumaltsmaas styles and the far more expensive goods from over the sea.
And the storage bags added to the high-end feel of the goods without having to invest in the hand-carved boxes reserved for the most expensive of jewelry. Maltangku hadn’t been certain about investing in the bags—most other jewelers wrapped the less-expensive products in a bit of linen, if they did anything at all. Nuliyaa had talked him into paying her mother and sister Tseetsaa to stitch up bags, using the scraps of silk she had received from a seamstress in the next market over, and her family had added the embroidered maker’s mark that Maltangku etched into his custom pieces. Maltangku’s customers were impressed by the bags, and her family had earned an extra bit of coin when her mother’s business had been slow.
She leaned over the counter, enjoying the faint breeze that drifted through the square, even if it meant she would need to clean her spectacles. The day was warm and sunny, especially for so early in the year, which was driving the shoppers to spend more time drifting along the shop windows as they took advantage of the awnings that stretched along the building fronts.
The mage academy graduations meant there would be at least a few more days of shopping by people who weren’t local to the city. This was proving to be their best graduation season since Nuliyaa had begun working at the shop.
Of course, she was able to make that claim about most of the graduation seasons she had worked. And the festivals. And the tournaments. She learned from their customers, and used what she learned to make them happy. And if she wanted to keep up that claim, she needed to find the right stock to sell.
Based on the popularity of the brooches, Maltangku would need to purchase more when the Nengmekian trader returned to port. Hm. As he wasn’t working, it would be up to her to find the trader’s information in Maltangku’s files, then pay one of the children who haunted the docks to keep watch on the incoming ships and alert her to his return.
Or perhaps Maltangku would start making the brooches himself? She pulled another out of the case and started to examine it. Not precisely like the Nengmekian’s designs—they wouldn’t want to steal another artisan’s work—but something combining the idea of the brooch with Keeyl aesthetics.
That could be a job for Tseetsaa. Maltangku was an accomplished crafter, but he had no eye for design, preferring to stay with the traditional Keeylish symbols. Tseetsaa, however, loved to spend hours sketching. And Tseetsaa was always looking for more money. Nuliyaa huffed. More money that would be spent on fabric and jewels, since Tseetsaa was more interested in finding a husband than in contributing to their household. Not that she seemed that interested in finding a husband, either.
The shop door was shoved open and Nuliyaa’s least favorite person swaggered in.
Wiispuu was Maltangku and Tsus’s eldest child. Over ten years older than Nuliyaa, he had hated her from the moment she had been hired. Not that she understood why. He hadn’t wanted to run the customer-facing side of his father’s jewelry shop, instead preferring to, well, not do much of anything at all. Tsus claimed he was learning to handle the businesses she had inherited from her parents, but Nuliyaa had never seen him do much beyond boasting to his friends about who of the city’s wealthiest citizens had purchased wares from Maltangku.
Her post-sale mood soured. Forcing herself to be pleasant, she said, “Wiispuu. How is your father?” as she placed the brooch back into its space.
Maltangku’s heart had given them all a scare a few weeks before. But according to his wife, he was healing well in their apartment above the shop. She had not seen Miyt Tsus that day, though the older woman had started smiling again recently so Nuliyaa had assumed all was well.
Wiispuu eyed her hands as he wandered around the narrow space between the counter and the wall of the workshop. No doubt he was planning to whine to Maltangku and Tsus that he had seen her attempting to steal. If she had wanted to steal, she could have taken anything over the years of her employment, and it would have been a stupid move because Maltangku and Tsus knew where she lived. And, what good would a few pieces of jewelry do her when weighed against years of a stable income?
“My father is healing.” From the way Wiispuu said the words, it was as though he had been responsible for his father’s recovery. Then he scowled at her as he drew himself up to full height. He was a tall, gangly man to her short, round self, and always seemed to think he had to intimidate her. “Do you care so little for the man who provides your income, you could not go upstairs to see him yourself?”
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She bit her tongue against a scathing reply. Every time she had gone upstairs, Miyt Tsus had let her no further than the door, saying Maltangku needed rest. The remainder of Nuliyaa’s time was spent operating the shop, since Wiispuu was hardly going to bestir himself to do it himself.
The way Wiispuu smiled made her freeze. Whatever he was about to say, she wouldn’t like it and he was basking in that knowledge. “He and I had a long conversation just now. He has wisely decided to retire and pass this shop’s keeping to me.” He cast a glance at the displays, his lips twisting. All the brooches and armbands, rings and hair combs, earrings and cuffs, all items Nuliyaa had considered and coached Maltangku on purchasing as she learned what their customers seemed to prefer—Maltangku seemed to find them wanting. “There is much to change in this shop to help my family earn what we deserve. Much to change.” He puffed up with each word he spoke. “Those changes are starting with you. I am not impressed by your conduct. Your employment is terminated.”
All of her thoughts just—disappeared. He could not possibly mean that. She had been working at this shop since she was fifteen years old. Her skills with the customers had increased shop sales and reputation every year. How could he let her go?
Then her mind started working again, enough to fill her with rage. “You are not impressed by my conduct? What of my conduct has been below expectations? Do you not see how empty the displays are?”
He glanced at the displays she had arranged that morning, choosing each spot to highlight the best pieces and yet keep those pieces away from quick fingers. “Of course the displays are empty. My father has been unable to work for weeks.”
Why was she surprised he didn’t know how his own father’s business operated? Maltangku had stopped producing the basic pieces years ago, preferring to buy stock instead and focus on his commissions. That was why he had hired her!
“Who will you have working with the customers?” she forced out. He wouldn’t be doing it himself, that much she knew without asking. Wiispuu never actually worked.
He flapped a hand at her as he examined one of the cases, looking everywhere but at her. “My daughters,” he answered.
His daughters? Were they capable of doing anything more than wearing the jewelry? She supposed they were old enough now, but they were as vain and vapid as their father. They didn’t seem capable of doing more than giggling, for that was all she’d ever heard come out of their throats.
“Look at this!” He swiped a finger along the table behind one of the cases and spun to face her, expression triumphant. “This room is filthy! And you were sitting, sitting, when I walked in. And you are wondering what I have to be unimpressed by?”
She dropped her eyes to the slight smudge of his finger and back up to meet his gaze. She didn’t remind him that while his father was recovering, the agreement had been for Wiispuu’s own wife and daughters to come in the early mornings to clean so Nuliyaa could hand-deliver purchases to customers who had paid for that privilege.
She could not work for this man. It didn’t matter how much respect she had for his parents if she had none for him. This would begin the downfall of the business Maltangku had built—that she had helped him build. Wiispuu’s attitude would drive away customers. He had never pursued learning his father’s craft, and would not buy the right jewelry from the traders. The pieces he purchased would likely be cheap, destroying the shop’s reputation. People who shopped in this market had expectations of quality. Her pay was mandated by the Guild, but no doubt she would no longer receive bonuses when she sold an especially valuable piece, or receive the discarded bits Maltangku sat aside for her to bring home to her mother and sister.
“I should not bother to return tomorrow, then?” she asked, forcing her tone to remain civil though she wanted to scream.
Wiispuu smirked. “You are dismissed immediately.”
Oh, what an eyeert! No doubt he wanted to see her panic. To beg to remain a few more days. He was worse with his money than Tseetsaa with hers. He wouldn’t be able to comprehend that she and her family had funds saved for something like this. Granted, those funds had been set aside for the day when Cheeyt would be unable to continue her work as a traveling guard, not Wiispuu flexing his newfound authority, but the money would spend just as well for her.
And she had to pray she would be able to replace it.
“Then once you’ve paid me, I will leave.”
“Paid you?” he sputtered.
“Yes. As per the agreement between employees and the shop owners of the Jewelers’ Guild, I am owed my pay for this week and the next two when dismissed without cause.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you would like to argue you have cause before a Guild panel?” A Guild panel would probably rule in her favor before he opened his mouth. Most members of the Guild liked Wiispuu about as much as she did.
“Yes, fine.” Wiispuu pushed through the curtain to the back of the shop, where Maltangku had his workspace and the lock box.
Nuliyaa reached into the cabinet under the display and grabbed her littiichangs. She arranged the long rectangle of fabric carefully, somehow managing to keep the trembling out of her fingers so anyone who looked at her could easily see the embroidery her mother had carefully stitched into the fabric. Her mother’s embroidery would be more important in the coming weeks until Nuliyaa was able to find another job. And now that Nuliyaa would be home to help Tseetsaa with the chores in the house, her mother would have even more time for stitching.
That was how her mother spent her days now that her three daughters were grown and none of them had yet given her grandchildren. Something she reminded Nuliyaa of often. Nuliyaa’s reply was always that one day Tseetsaa would provide her with plenty.
It was strange to think of leaving for the day without tucking the jewelry and day’s earnings back into the lock box, without pulling down and latching the heavy shutters, without sweeping the tiled floor and table where the displays were placed. Pressure built behind her eyes as she tried not to think about how she would not be closing the shop ever again.
Wiispuu returned to the room and laid a stack of coins on the top of the table. Nuliyaa leaned over and began counting them.
He scowled at her. “Do you believe I would shortchange you?”
“Yes,” she answered simply. But he had not. She almost wished he had so she could call in the Guild. As satisfied as she could be in the moment, she placed the coins in the pocket stitched to the inside of her littiichangs and started to walk to the door. She hesitated at the curtain, wanting to go up to say good-bye to Maltangku and Miyt Tsus.
“You have your pay,” Wiispuu said tightly. “Leave.”
She would need to wait until Miyt Tsus invited Nuliyaa to return for a visit, then. The older woman would rail against her son’s decision, complain about her granddaughters, and worry about her husband, but she would not tell her son he was wrong for dismissing Nuliyaa. Neither she nor Maltangku had ever been willing to admit their son was a spoiled brat.