Breakfast Time

16 August 1999; Barrows Market, The Blessing; City of Glasgow, Scotland, UK
.
Ken frowns at the book on his lap.
The pencil-scored recipe for 'Love Potion #4' stares at him.
He rocks his chair onto two legs, chews his lip, looks to the awning overhead for guidance.
Da says, "What's—"
Ken startles, just /barely doesn't dump himself and the book onto the floor.
"—the trouble?"
"Are you /sure we're supposed to take the margin notes outta this one? Some of 'em look really cool? And useful?"
Da sighs. "It's what the client wants."
"Yer sure?"
"It's on the invoice in their own handwriting." 
Ken grumbles.
Da tousles Ken's hair. "Try the eraser spell I showed you, aye?"
"Fine." Ken takes a breath, closes his eyes.
Opens them.
Passes his thumb over the pencil marks.
They stare back at him.
Ken frowns harder, re-Focuses, orders, "/Go."
Notes mock him, unmoved.
"Not working?"
Ken makes a frustrated noise.
"It's a tricky one," reassures Da. "Let's try it with wands." He retrieves his from the toolbox.
Ken fishes his from his back pocket, still muttering to himself.
"It helps me to picture the the texture of the blank page 'fore I start." Da forms a slow 'zed' over the stubborn crap, says, "/Off with ye."
The pencil fades to nothing.
"Give it a try."
Ken mimics the motion, goes for 'commanding': "/Clear off."
The scribbles slowly disappear.
"Good work. Keep on doing it like that."
"Awright." Ken aims for the next set of notes. "/Go away."
They scarper.
""Anyone home?""
"Coming~!" sings Da, skittering around the worktable into the main part of the stall.
Ken sighs, turns the page, waves at another squiggle.
It vaporizes.
""Good afternoon, Missus Cairns! What can I do for ye?""
""I've a bit of a project for you.""
""You know I love a challenge. Let's see it.""
""Here ye go.""
Ken rolls his shoulders, 'zed's the next set of scratches.
Blank margin.
Ken exhales.
""Oh. That's a project, alright.""
""Seems the mice like my recipe book as much as they like my cooking.""
""You must be quite the chef.""
""How do you think I keep my girlish figure?""
Da laughs.
""You think ye can fix it?""
Ken casts.
Marks smugly hold their place.
Pages ruffle.
He huffs, takes a deep breath, exhales, envisioning blank paper.
""Maybe not good as new, but we can definitely clean it up and stabilize it. Add something to keep the wee beasties away from it going forward, too.""
""That'd be wonderful. Knew I could count on you.""
""'s nothing. All in a day's work."" Da comes around the table, rattles around in the paperwork drawer. ""Need ye to fill this out for me.""
A flick of the wand and the marks /finally shuffle off.
Ken cheers internally.
""Is that your boy I see hiding back there?""
He freezes.
""Aye, that's my Mackenzie. He's helping out 'til the school term starts.""
""Never too early to start apprenticing.""
""I dunno 'bout that. I made an absolute mess of a few things when I started and I was older than Ken, but /he's been brilliant.""
Ken's ears catch fire; he fumbles his wand, catches it before it can hit the grass.
""I'm happy to hear Glasgow's books'll be safe for another generation."" A beat. ""But, ye know, ye may want to think of shifting business to Edinburgh or Aberdeen. For the boy's sake.""
""Oh, aye?""
""McQuade and his wife're three rows over trying to turn everyone against you.""
""I know. They've been at it for years and haven't got rid of us yet.""
""Maybe so, but now he's got hold of some bit of 'science' says casual contact with a werewolf can make ye sick.""
Ken cringes.
""Well, /that's complete and utter nonsense.""
""Aye, aye, of course. But folks're believing it.""
Ken curls up tighter.
""It might be best to start again away from his poison, 'specially if you want the boy to take over someday.""
Da sighs. ""Our family's been run out of its home over the generations by people like him enough times already. I intend to stand my ground: we're in The Blessing and Glasgow to stay.""
""I hope ye do. It wouldn't be the same here without a Gorman fixing books.""
""Thanks for saying so."" Paper rustles. ""That's everything I need from ye today. It should be done in ... two weeks? Want me to call ye when we're finished?""
""Nah. I'm here nearly every week anymore. I'll just stop in. Take care!""
""You, too, Missus Cairns. Thank you for the business.""
Ken watches Missus Cairns saunter off.
Da pulls his wand from behind his ear, weaves the complicated shape of the 'book-eating beasties begone' spell.
With a /foomp, a tiny mushroom cloud sprouts from the chewed-up book, followed by a dusty, musty smell.
""Two weeks /might've been ambitious.""
Ken snorts, turns another page, scans.
""I think I smell /mildew.""
"Me, too."
""How people let their books get—hello, Missus McGivern! Here for your album?""
Ken's wand motion gets no response from the page.
""That I am, Mister Gorman.""
""I have it right here.""
Another wave and the banishment takes.
""Oh dear.""
""Something wrong?""
""This simply won't do. You've used the wrong green for the lettering!""
""Well, that's no big—""
""It's /terrible!""
Ken cringes.
""I can't give this back to my father looking like /this! I am so very, /very disappointed in you!"" Missus McGivern clicks her tongue.
""Wrong green? My eyes must be going. You see anything near at hand the /right green?""
""Wha—well, it should be the colour of the grass.""
""Ah, then it's a simple fix."" Da steps around the worktable, wand in hand. ""I'll just pick up a little of this colour ... and apply it to the spine, like so ....""
A soft gasp.
Ken smiles to himself.
""Is that more like it?""
""Why didn't you make it that colour to begin with?!""
Ken bites down on a growl.
""I needed an excuse to show of my Matching Spell, aye?""
Missus McGivern scoffs.
A beat.
""How much do I owe you?""
""Why don't we say thirty instead of thirty because I was late getting it back to ye.""
A /teeny laugh.
""Thank you, Missus McGivern.""
""You're welcome. Have a pleasant day, Mister Gorman.""
""You, too.""
Ken scares off another page-worth of scribbles.
Da sighs.
Ken takes a deep breath.
Pages ruffle on the worktable.
"'ey, Da?"
""Yes, Ken?""
"She was /awful, so why were you so /nice to her?" 
""'cos I'm glad for the work she brought.""
Ken takes a deep breath. "Da?"
""Yea?""
"How bad is it?"
Da pauses over the workbench, line of his shoulders stiff. ""How bad is what?""
"Our money thing."
He hangs his head. ""I can't lie to you, can I?""
"I-I'll know if you do."
Da sighs, steps close, leans against the nearest support for the awning, calls up a Bubble of Silence. "It's bad. We're eight months behind on the mortgage."
Ken's heart plummets.
"If the bank wants to take the flat rather than waiting for us to catch up, we'll be evicted."
"What're we gonna do?" squeaks Ken.
"I talked to them and got our payments lowered, so what we do is keep working and hope things turn out for the best."
"Can f-family help?"
Da shakes his head. "We've already borrowed everything they can spare." Smiles, rueful. "This isn't the most lucrative business we're born into."
"'specially not with Mister McQuade trying to undermine us."
"That doesn't help."
Ken focuses on the toes of his trainers. "This's 'cos of me, right? It's my—"
"This has /everything to do McQuade being an ignorant, bigoted knobhead and /nothing to do with you. Understand?"
"But if I hadn't gotten, you know, he wouldn't 've left and—"
"Ken. Don't."
"There's only a mortgage because he made—"
"Don't. Please, Ken."
He sags. "I want to help."
"You /are helping—" Da grins. "—and you can /keep helping by cleaning more of those pages while I deal with this horror show."
"A-alright." Ken lines up his next spell as Da pops the Bubble and turns back to Missus Cairns' cookbook.
Pages go by.
Every fourth spell or so fails to work.
Ken grumbles.
His stomach answers.
"I s'pose that means it's breakfast time, aye?" laughs Da, coming over and gesturing for the book.
Ken hands it over, pushes to his feet. "Yea, pro'ly."
Da digs a handful of loose change from the cash box, pours it into Ken's cupped palms. "Run to the Connellys' and get us a few rolls."
"Rolls. Connellys'. Got it."
"Good lad."
Ken hunches his shoulders, heads out into the crowd, weaving his way between the barrows and the shoppers nearly the full length of the market, all the way to the foot of the Manse and the Connellys' /amazing-smelling stall under its trademark green awning.
Nape prickling, he joins the queue, shuffles forward bit-by-bit until he reaches the front.
"Good morning~!" sings Missus Connelly. "What can I get for you?"
"I'll have—"
"You serve /his kind here?" sneers a familiar voice behind him.
Ken flinches.
"'course I serve teenagers, Mister McQuade! Be hard on my business if I stopped!" laughs Missus Connelly.
"That's no teenager: /that's a /monster."
Ken hopes for a lightning strike from the clear blue sky.
Missus Connelly scoffs. "Little Mackenzie looks like my Allan did at that age. Mischievous, maybe, but no kind of monster." She laughs big. "Even The Blessing thinks he's alright, aye? Be stopped at the Gate if she didn't approve."
Mumbled agreement from the rest of the queue.
Mister McQuade sniffs.
Missus Connelly smiles at him, beams at Ken, asks, "Now, what would you like, laddie?"
"As-as many breakfast rolls as I can get for—" Ken counts. "—one pound, seventy-eight-pee."
"Perfect for a dozen!"
Ken forces his hand back to his side. "It's alright if it's less—"
"You think I don't know my own prices?"
"N-no, ma'am." Ken swallows. "Thank you."
Missus Connelly exchanges a warm paper sack for Ken's handful of coins. "Enjoy those and give my best to your family, Mackenzie."
"Will do. Thanks again, Missus Connelly." Ken bobs his head, scuttles back down the market.
At their stall, Ken squeezes past Da and a new customer, peering at a battered hardback on the worktable.
"It's not a simple fix, I'm afraid, 'specially if you want the leather restored to original. I can do it in a month for fifty quid, if I can source the hide in time," says Da.
The man looks thoughtful—
Something /off tickles Ken's scalp.
He listens more carefully, tucks the rolls away in a drawer for a free moment.
—says, "I guess that's fair."
The Spot itches.
Da rummages for an intake form. "Good, good. I need you to fill this out, Mister Brennan, make it official."
Ken takes his seat, picks up the potion manual.
""I'll pay ye on pick-up, then?""
The /off smacks Ken across the nose as the words drop like rocks.
""That'll—""
"'ey, Da?"
""Yea, Ken?""
"Need ye a moment?"
Da exaggerates a sigh. "Apprentices. Be right back." Strolls over, says, voice low, "What's the upset?"
"He's not gonna pay," whispers Ken, turning over another page.
Da pats Ken's head. "You're doing fine, lad. Keep it up." Heads back over to Mister Brennan, says, "Of course, we'll need half the estimate up front."
Mister Brennan splutters.
Da spreads his hands. "'s for supplies, you understand. I have to go out of pocket for the leather."
"I'll take my money to McQuade's if you don't want it."
"If you think he'll serve your needs better, that's what ye should do. I won't stop you.
"Fine, then. I will." Mister Brennan snaps a turn on his heel, stomps into the crowd, muttering, ""Money-grubbing ....""
Ken winces.
Da only sighs again, then turns to Ken and says, "Thanks for that. We couldn't—"
"I know. I want to help and—" Ken swallows. "—and if that means reading minds, I will."
Da crouches to his eye level. "Ken, son, don't do anything you're not comfortable with, no matter how much you think it'll help."
"But—"
"We'll get through. We always have."
Ken manages a nod.
"Did I see you hide away a purchase?"
"Yea. The rolls you wanted."
"Excellent! Let's get ourselves fed before they get cold, yea?"
"Yea, 'm definitely hungry now."
"Then it's breakfast time!" cheers Da, straightening.
"Breakfast time!" echoes Ken.