Hawking

The hiss of the milk steamer over the droning coffee grinder wasn't unbearable, even if the tunnel threw all that noise back in his ears over and over again, but Haraan would have preferred dealing with it another time. The bench he sat on refused to warm to him while he waited for his friend to finish at the coffee bar, and a constant breeze from the tunnel's mouth robbed warmth from where his clothes didn't cover his neck, wrists, and ankles. His shoes slid over grimy tiles.

Autumn had arrived at Talery Bay, bringing with it all the clouds and rain anyone could ever want. The bar had built up a solid line of locals -- he could tell what they were by the dripping, ankle-length coats wrapped around them. Those treated leather hides weren't anyone's idea of elegance, but they gave the wearer a solid look and kept more water off than any umbrella in the city. The winds made sure of that. Everyone knew umbrellas in the city were a swindle except for tourists, and Haraan knew several kids at the Academy who made rude amounts of cash passing "bloomers" off to hapless visitors caught under "these regrettable climactic conditions".

His friends had brought him along to hawk several times in the past couple of months, but this was the first time he was pulling a morning shift. Tired wasn't the right word to describe what he felt, but he did wonder if someone had stuffed his head with a noble gas while he slept. His hand kept straying to his bag, but all he did was play with the snaps. He knew what he carried: three sketchbooks of different sizes, pens and pencils, air tip and dye, and The Corthian Pageant, Volume One, for class. Yet part of him asked him to look inside anyway. Why? He couldn't say. His head wasn't together.

Footsteps approached him from behind. "Vac-flask, now," said a girl's voice.

He handed his up without comment. Flask in hand, the girl filled it from a tube-mounted spout connected to the half-gallon bladder on the side of her backpack. She took less than five seconds to give it back.

"Thanks." He let the steam rise to just beneath his nose, and smiled for the first time that morning. "You didn't have to get hot chocolate just for me," he said.

"It's your first time." She dropped in next to him. "I'll do coffee another day. I don't need to deal with anyone who doesn't like hot chocolate before first gun."

Haraan blew into his vac-flask and took a cautious sip. The drink still singed the middle of his tongue, and tasted as if the sleep-less twenty-something wringing a living from the bar's morning shift had simply poured boiling water over a bon-bon. He was no connoisseur, of course, but his mother did have a reputation among the gourmets about town... "Amina, it's like she didn't even care," he moaned. "She didn't even care..."

Without a word, Amina stood up and walked back to the bar, ignoring the line and the sudden protests -- she was five-feet-five and the man up front ordering a triple expresso with chili stood head and shoulders above her, and she pulled him to one side like he was a saloon door. The barista was rummaging beneath the bar for something; Amina wasted no time getting her attention.

"Hey, pimple-plex."

Haraan winced, as did one or two people in the line. If only he could know what the poor woman behind the bar was thinking. When you're up against a chick packing an electric-blue hairdo and short sleeves this time of year, you pay attention or end up regretting it.

The barista took her time standing up. When she got around to that, she gave Amina the kind of look that said "This ain't your fight, sister." Haraan couldn't tell if she was cocky or just slow in the head. Maybe both. Discouraging aggressive customers didn't take much brains when your job put you near convenient supplies of boiling water.

"There's a line."

"And I'm sure as hell that line isn't interested in getting ripped off by your gimpy drinks," Amina countered. "I know you're new, I come here every now and then -- but what's the big idea, cutting my cocoa like that?"

Flat as old soda, the barista insisted, "There's a line, ma'am. Wait your turn."

"No. I've got hard-working people counting on me to make their morning and what you gave me ain't gonna do that."

"Please get in line, ma'am."

Advice columnists for children led simple lives. A degree in psychology and a gentle, affirming voice was all they thought they needed to solve every problem a child could face growing up. Haraan had read the magazines when he was younger; the columnists told bullying victims to ignore their persecutors, which would frustrate them and cause them to find another target.

This barista put her faith in that quaint advice, and that was a mistake. Amina wasn't a bully. Far from insecure, she realized early on that going after what she needed ended better than going after what she wanted, and that the two were different.

Since she needed high quality hot chocolate, she knew how to deal with being ignored. She whipped her spout out and dispensed hot chocolate straight onto the bar.

"I knew I should have made my own at home," she said, watching the woman leap back from the sputtering torrent. "But then I would've had lukewarm cocoa, and nobody wants that."

"You asked for a reduced rate, you get reduced quality." The overwhelmed woman snatched up a carafe of hot water, but held herself back from throwing it at the last second. "What did you expect? A half of DeLaurenti's for your ten gambits?"

"I expected to be in Talery Bay, where we do this 'haggling' thing a lot. I don't understand your jam, sister. Did it ever occur to you that every cup I sell is a cup sold for your company? They won't come here for cut product, so give me the real deal. They're happy, they come here, you're happy. That's business. And I'm sure your supervisor would love to hear how you refused to capitalize on such an entreprenurial opportunity. Here's a tip: Taijuro's my older brother."

If he could only take one thing away from this morning, Haraan prayed it would be a memory of the woman's face paling to the shade of an ice cube.

"Put the pot down." Amina spoke, and the barista complied. "Good. Now let's do it right this time. In fact, I'd better see you putting cream in there. Heavy cream. I want it so rich that they'll still have it oozing down their throats by lunchtime."

Murmurs sprung up from the line, energized by Amina's performance. One spoke up. "And how about a gigante latte for me while you're up there?"

"Are you sure I can't interest you in a cuppa hot cocoa first?" she answered, slinging her bag back on. "I'll let you try some, and you tell me if Bimbolina back there did a proper job of it."

"Fair enough." The taster was well into his fifties, but he pulled out his flask with the excitement of a ten-year-old. Amina poured him a shot, he tossed it back. Looked skyward, smacked his tongue, nodded, held his flask out for more while digging in his pocket for money.

Amina held up three fingers, received three gambits, topped off her client's flask, bowed theatrically. "Pleasure doing business with you, sir."

"Likewise."

Haraan shook his head as his friend came back over, unable to suppress a grin. It was time for them to catch the steamer, except they were missing someone...

.. who walked out of an adjacent restroom at that moment. He was a tall one -- his hair, shaped like a corn muffin gone horribly wrong, came within inches of the tunnel's ceiling. In addition to his bag, which normal people would have used for week-long hiking trips, he wore a heavy overcoat which looked to be more straps and buckles than leather in places.

"I thought you were never coming out of there," said Amina.

The boy shook his hands out. "Hey, if it's a waiting game, nature wins. By the way, I heard you from in there. Rough much?"

"I smoothed her over." She stood up on her toes, just tall enough for the boy to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Got everything?" she asked. "Nothing fell in?"

He stepped back and snapped one side of his coat open. Playing cards, minuteglasses, capsules with four to twenty-sided dice, memo pads, compasses, pens, and even a barometer (its needle situated on "RAIN") were lashed in place with more straps, buckles, and harnesses. "Now that you mention it, I can't be sure it's all there," he said, "buuut it'll have to do." He closed his coat and turned to Haraan. "How are you feeling?"

He sighed, wondering inside how he was going to get a word in edgewise to people with those two working in the same steamer. "A little nervous. But overall, I'm glad I'm here. Thanks for bringing me out, Jasti."

The tall one put a hand to his face and groaned. "Ho, Lady, I can't believe you made me do this, this is gonna be terrible--" He removed his hand and grinned. "Kidding, kidding! Let's get you some sales! Come on!"

Haraan followed him and Amina further into the tunnel, beyond which lay the atrium of Grand Sentinel Station. Three kids from Altina Academy, artists in their own ways, hawking for laughs, getting a feel for what they could do in this world before the world could decide that for them.

This, he needed.