"Dernery´s learning" by Michelle Smith

There once was a young boy of the age of thirteen. His name was… um…. Oh, yes, Dernery, and no, I’m not making him up. Anyway, the bravest and most heroic man in the world was Glensford, hero of Cagolic. The swiftest, smartest person in the world was Maryanne of Durin. The handsomest and most suave person in the world was Earl of Duteronamic. Dern was none of these. He was not a dumb boy, but as I’ve said, he was not the smartest person in the world. This was not his fault, I assure you.

Dern’s father was a fisher and part-time buyer. That is, he bought beer constantly, and constantly drank it. He never paid much attention to his child Dern, who seemed to always be in the way. The only time he spoke to his son was to tell him what to do, so his son learned to do whatever he was told, or get smacked. Dern’s mother wasn’t much better. In fact, she was worse. She sold brooms at the market, and if she had a bad day, she would go home, chop some wolf’s claw and stare into space until she fell asleep. If she had a good day, all her fellow broom makers would come to her home and gossip about anything they could. No matter what mood she was in, though, she would always yell and scold Dern, and never let him speak. This was how Dern learned not to speak unless spoken to. So, Dern kept to himself, doing the chores and bearing the insults. There were no other children for him to play with, and even if there were, his parents would not let him play with them.

One day, or rather evening, something different happened. The scribe of the nearby lord was traveling to fix some financial matters. As dusk was approaching he found himself at the cottage where Dern and his parents lived. Eager to please and perhaps gain some favors from the scribe, they offered him their room to sleep in, as well as a nice dinner of a goose, greens, and grapes.

The scribe smiled through the gnawing of the dried burned turkey, the pretending to eat the brown mushy cabbage and the dried bitter peas, and he even smiled when they passed him a bowl of tiny purple grapes that looked quite delicious, but he didn’t feel like taking a chance. As Dern cleared off the table and started preparing tea, the curious scribe inquired about the boy.

"He is very obedient and polite, but very quiet. I like that." Dern set cups of steaming tea on the table and stood there staring into space.

"Shoo, shoo, go boy!" his father scolded. The boy lowered his head and gazed at the ground while he walked out. Even while trying to be good, Dern still did something wrong.

The scribe frowned at the boy. Turning to the parents, he said, "You know, the boy isn’t doing much good here. He seems to be constantly a trouble. Perhaps he would be more useful somewhere else?"

"Why, whatever do you mean?" said the mother with a great big smile. "We loooove Dernery! We would never want him to leave us!" Without a word the scribe reached into a pouch by his side and brought out gold coins that glittered like the seven deadly sins. "It would be good for him to leave, very good! He needs to see the world, doesn’t he, dove?"

"Hm? Uh, yes…dove," said the father, eyeing the gold. "What will he be doing, if I may ask?"

The scribe shrugged. "I could use him as an errand boy, but first I need to know. Is the boy dumb? I mean, I can still-"

"Dumb?!!" interrupted the anxious mother. "My good man, he is brilliant! Why, the famous Maryanne could not best this boy in a test of brains with both my son’s arms tied behind his back!"

The father grinned at his wife. "Dear," he said with a wide smile, "would you take these cups?"

"Why, Dern can get them-"

"Take the cups, dear, please," he said with an even bigger grin. She smiled back and gathered the cups. As she went out of hearing distance, the husband said in a sober voice, " Unfortunately, the same donkey that kicked my son in the head also kicked her in the head."

"Oh, I’m so sorry."

"Ha," the father waved off the scribe’s concern. "That doesn’t mean that the boy is bad. In fact, it will be all the better. You see, he’s like a dumb dog that fetches dead geese for you. He wouldn’t know enough to eat the goose, and he’s very dependable."

"I don’t know, I might take back the offer…"

"I’ll throw in a goose." The scribe’s eyebrows raised in amusement.

"I’ll take him."

While the parents congratulated themselves in making a nice profit, Dern sat outside with his ear to the wall. There seemed to be nothing else worthwhile to listen to, so he pulled away from the wall. Well, if this didn’t make him feel like pig lumps. And he had tried to be so good this week. Why, he barely said a few words, and he tried his best to speak only when spoken to. Dern remembered when he had gripped a pot handle and screamed when he realized that it was hot. Bother, was that stupid! His mother almost hit him with the pot that burned him. She did hit him with a pot, but it had cooled, thank goodness. Dern gazed at the rats crawling around him. There was a mother rat grooming her babies.