Scorpion Soup Read Online Free Page B

story,” he read, “will take my orb, my sacred wooden box, and my throne.”’
    There was a pause as the sons eyed each other anxiously. The eldest took a step forwards.
    ‘Secret level,’ he spluttered… ‘Story… what story?!’
    The lord chamberlain broke the wax seal on a second envelope, and removed several sheets of paper, written in the king’s own hand.
    ‘This story,’ he said.
    The six sons eyed one another again.
    ‘Read it to us,’ they all said at once.
    And so the lord chamberlain did.

The Shop That Sold Truth
    A lifetime ago, in Upper Egypt, there lived a farmer and his wife.
    They had very little money, and every month they grew a little more impoverished until, one day, the farmer could stand it no more.
    ‘Tomorrow I am going to the town,’ he said, ‘where I am going to sell the last of our possessions, so that we can have one good meal before the landlord ousts us from his land.’
    ‘But what will we do after that?’ asked his wife.
    ‘We will throw ourselves into the hands of fate,’ the farmer replied.
    And so the next day, he piled the kitchen table, the chairs, the bedstead and the pots and pans onto the cart, and pulled them himself into the town, a handful of miles away.
    By dusk, all the possessions were sold, and the farmer had a pocket jingling with coins.
    He was about to go to the market to buy some food to take home, when he noticed a rather grand shop at one corner of the town square. Having not seenj it before, he approached it cautiously, and pressed his face up to the window.
    The walls inside were lined with tall glass jars. Each one had a label but was quite empty of contents. His curiosity piqued, the farmer dusted himself down, and pushed open the door.
    The unfilled jars were a little larger than they had appeared from the outside, their labels written neatly in gold script. And it was the labels that caught the farmer’s eye. Although he had left school well before his time, he had learned to read, and he read the labels one by one.
    ‘Wisdom, Hope, Perception, Deceit, Truth, Goodwill, Remorse, Bravery, Melancholy…’ he frowned and, as he did so, a hunchbacked sales clerk appeared.
    ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he enquired in an even tone.
    The farmer jumped back.
    ‘I noticed the jars through the window,’ he spluttered, ‘and was so intrigued that I simply had to come in.’
    The clerk dusted a hair from his shoulder.
    ‘And what, may I ask, was it that you found so intriguing?’
    The farmer pointed to the empty jars.
    ‘Those,’ he said.
    The hunchbacked clerk narrowed his eyes.
    ‘And...?’ he hissed. ‘And what is so strange about them?’
    ‘Well, er, how can you sell Wisdom, or Truth… or whatever?’ he said. ‘The jars are empty. It’s as plain as day.’
    The clerk, who was growing impatient, cracked his knuckles.
    ‘Whoever said that qualities had a colour or a texture?’ he asked angrily.
    ‘But whoever said they could be bought and sold?’ the farmer replied.
    ‘Who said they could not?’
    The farmer blinked.
    ‘I don’t believe it.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because I fancy you’re a trickster, who’s set up shop to dupe god-fearing men like me.’
    The clerk stepped over to the door and pushed it open.
    ‘It was you who came in here uninvited,’ he said calmly.
    The farmer was about to stride out, but something caused him to pause.
    He slid the tip of his tongue over his upper lip.
    ‘You think I can’t afford your wares,’ he said. ‘Well, I’ve got money.’
    He pulled out a pocket full of coins.
    ‘So what is it you would like to buy?’ asked the clerk.
    The farmer scanned an eye over the shelves.
    ‘Well, it depends how much they cost,’ he said.
    ‘They are all priced differently and sold in small bottles of their own,’ the clerk replied. ‘The most expensive is Wisdom, and the least is Shyness.’
    ‘Why would anyone want Shyness?’ the farmer asked.
    ‘You would be surprised, sir.’
    ‘Well, for a