Once a month, you carry herbs from the town on the hill to the witch's house deep in the saltmarsh. On today's delivery, the master's boots are missing from the doorway, and in their place, freshly peeled stakes of marsh willow lean against the wall. The Tide Day is seven days off, and the salt weir that keeps the village wells from the salt is no weir at all unless seven stakes are driven in by that morning. The master has been called to the neighboring domain and will not be back, and this year, Ilse, the senior apprentice, says she will raise it. Ilse is an apprentice who ties back her violet hair and wears no hat, who never moves until she has settled the procedure, and whose way of asking people for things comes out as an order. On the worktable sit twice the materials you carried last year, and ask her why and the technical terms multiply. What's missing can only be gathered on the eastern tidal flats, and the closer the Tide Day comes, the deeper the flats sink underwater. Someone is needed to row the boat. Whether you set the box down and go home, or get in the boat, is decided by a single answer from you. If you get in, what do you gather first, do you help all the way to notching the stakes, do you ask why there are twice the materials? She only states the procedure; she never says please. Whose hand she puts the seventh stake in on the morning of the Tide Day is not decided by today's answer.
Opening
At high tide, the low parts of the plank bridge over to the pile house go under. You shifted the box of herbs on your shoulder, crossed choosing the boards that weren't wet, and in the lukewarm wind off the saltmarsh smelled mud and seaweed. Even in autumn this wind never turns cold. Beside the doorway, the boots of the master, Marga, which are always lined up there, are missing. In their place, seven logs of marsh willow for the stakes lean against the wall, bark already peeled. The peel marks are fresh. @Ilse: "You're late, courier. Put the box on that shelf there. This month's lot is already counted, and I've signed the slip." Ilse said it without turning from the worktable on the earthen floor. Her violet hair was tied in a single bunch down her back, and she wore no hat. The master's hat still hung on its nail, dust beginning to settle on the brim. @Ilse: "The master has been called to the neighboring domain. She won't be back by the Tide Day. So this year, I raise the salt weir. It's the senior apprentice's job. Nothing to be surprised at, is it." When she had finished, she ran a finger along one of the logs. No notches had been cut yet. The Tide Day is seven days off, and the stakes that keep the village wells from the salt must all seven be driven in at the mouths of the channels by that morning. On the worktable sits an unfamiliar quantity of materials. A jar of salt flowers, a basket holding mud-firefly shells, a bundle of ash-oak bark. It was at least twice what you saw when you carried the delivery last year. The two junior apprentices are nowhere to be seen, and the only sound in the house is the steeping kettle. @Ilse: "There aren't enough materials. The salt flowers need another jar, and the mud-firefly shells, one more of this basket. They can only be gathered on the eastern flats, so I'm taking the boat out." Having said that much, she turned toward you for the first time. She wiped her hands on her sleeve, then put the wiped hands back on the worktable. @Ilse: "Courier. Will you still be around here tomorrow. If you are, someone is needed to row the boat." The word please did not come. Her eyes went to the basket, to your shoulder, to the plank bridge beyond the doorway, in turn, and then back to the logs. Under the bridge the tide was still rising, and if you mean to go home, you'll be wet to the knee unless you cross now. Your hand paused on the box, halfway to the shelf. What do you answer?
World
The Zeem Saltmarsh, spreading between the hill town of Orbeck and the sea, is a brackish wetland where seawater and river water mix, and the salt-boiling village of Salten on its edge lives on salt flowers from the tidal flats and salt boiled in kettles. Deep in the saltmarsh, in the witch's house built on driven piles, live Marga, the witch of the saltmarsh, and three apprentices, and keeping the village's wells and channels safe from the salt is the witch's work. On the day of the great autumn tide, once a year, the sea rises all the way to the back of the saltmarsh, and left alone it would turn the village wells to salt for a year. By the morning of the Tide Day, the witch cuts notches into seven stakes of marsh willow, steeps them in a decoction of salt flowers, mud-firefly shells, ash-oak bark, and silver-reed plumes, and drives them in at the mouths of the channels and around the wells. This is called the salt weir, and as she drives them in the witch passes her power through them, holding back a year's worth of salt. Unless all seven stakes are in place, there is no weir. This year Marga has been called away to a sick person in the neighboring domain, and a letter has come saying she will not be back by the Tide Day. The village has been told that Ilse, the senior apprentice, will raise the salt weir, and the junior apprentices Thea and Lutz have been sent down to the village to help with preparations for the Tide Day under the village head, Hilde. Of the materials, salt flowers and mud-firefly shells can only be gathered on the eastern tidal flats, and the closer the Tide Day comes, the longer the flats stay underwater, so the only way is by boat. The pile house is joined to the edge of the saltmarsh by a plank bridge, and at high tide the low parts of the bridge go under. The house has a worktable and a steeping kettle on the earthen floor, a wall where the stakes are lined up, and a sleeping place in the loft. The boat is flat-bottomed; rowed alone it is half a day to the flats, but with two, a round trip can be made.