OLD BROOMS: 
THE CHIMNEY SWEEP STORY
Written By: Yarden

Leaning from a window, with a leg wrapped around a heavy oak table, the chimney sweep shooed away some pigeons as he twisted through the narrow opening onto the ledge outside. It was mid-day and the sun was hot and pronounced with a dire heat, the stone ledge was scalding and covered with old guano.

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One toe seemed to be holding its place against the leg of the table as he finally caught a glimpse of the elusive chimney outside. It was the last one to be swept, and the sun was intent to not diminish its golden rays.

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Lifting his head to see above a few leaves of ivy, the chimney sweep strained to finally see the roof where it erupted from. And there below the stack, the roof tiles were gilded with gold and a balcony lay further beneath outstretched toward the glorious city within the castle walls.

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Immediately the chimney sweep knew why he could not locate this fireplace, or scale its perimeter. This was the kings dwelling place, the most secluded of rooms. The sweep had already been to the horse stables and multiple kitchens, dining halls and living quarters, but the master-sweep had not told him they would enter even the kings room!

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Darting out of the guest room and into the hallway, the young chimney sweep went to a nearby stairwell and quickly descended a few levels and ventured toward the direction of the kings quarters.

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Door after door he opened until finally he happened onto a hallway full of fine fur rugs and tapestries marked with royal patterns and stitch work. The hall was aromatic with perfumes, and every door was outfitted with silver and gold handle and hinge.

 

Slumped into a pile of rags and dirty cloth, the master-sweep was stooped at the base of a small wooden bench, tightening its bolt from years of use.
 

"So, you're a carpenter too huh?" Said the young one to the older. 

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Smiling, the master-sweep stood and nodded his head, before pocketing the wrench. 

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While he leaned again to pick up some equipment, the young chimney sweep quickly helped gather the pans and buckets. Within a moment they were both standing in a hallway of magnificence, gracefully walking toward the door at the end.

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A small silver key emerged from one of the multiple pockets of the master-sweep. His dirty broken fingernails and stained hands lay in contrast to the ornate key as it slowly turned the lock in the door.

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Emerging to the other side, the room was large and full of books and royal treasures. Golden bowls and cutlery laid on cast silver tables, with broken crumbs of bread scattered among the gemstone laden goblets. 

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Standing at the door, with dirty clothes and old brooms, the two slowly made their ways across the floor.

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Each step on the pure white rugs left ashy footprints where they each trailed toward the fireplace on the far wall. Quickly getting to work, the young sweep headed up into the stack and quickly knocked old creosote into a bucket as the master-sweep stacked the unburned logs in a pile and neatly collected the ash.

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As he reached the peak of the chimney, the small boy poked his head out and caught his breath in the evening air. The sun had finally begun to set, and was nicely hidden behind the distant mountains and trees. Below him he could hear the master-sweep pulling buckets from the fireplace and finishing the job. 

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Descending the stack, and appearing at the mouth of the fireplace, the young boy saw the older carrying the last bucket of black mess out of the royal room. However the floor was covered in footprints! 

 

Each and every step they had made was easily traced on the floor, like the tracks of a wild deer, the footprints went to and from the chimney like a trail. 

 

Fear began to descend into the young boys mind.

 

The king will see this dirt we tracked through his room, and punishment will quickly follow. The peasants that cling to the outer wall of the gate would be better off than him at this moment!

 

Quickly trying to diminish his presence in the room, the boy tried to scrub the ash from the rugs and collect every piece of visible debris. But the more he scraped at the floor, the further the mess spread, until there was nothing but dark streaks in the fine white rugs. 

 

Finally stopping and returning to the fireplace, the young boy decided that was the only place he would do no harm. To lay in the last of the ash, and cling to the unburnt char of firewood like a woodland roach.

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Tears and immense fear flashed across him like lighting as he laid lamenting. 

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A sound from the distance, like laughter was heard echoing up the hallway toward the door. Slowly the door opened and the boy saw the king with his hand on the shoulder of the master-sweep. 

 

They were both smiling, the master-sweep carrying an empty bucket, while the king held his scepter of gold and platinum. 

 

"Time to go." Said the old sweep to the young one. As he gestured to go out of the room. 

 

Emerging from the pit of despair, the young boy shamefully traced yet more dirty steps across the room in front of the king.

Keeping his eyes low, and not trying to look his direction, the boy nervously glanced up his way.

 

The king was smiling, he was not filled with anger, for some reason he was very calm, beyond a reason the boy could figure, his demeanor was unfathomable. He was an ancient warrior, the first great one. His eyes had seen a thousand sunrises, and his hands showed the scars from the foundations of this castle. 

 

And there behind him, the young boy saw something on the wall. 

 

A small framed picture, with the king and his sons. 

 

The picture was an old painting, hewn by some long ago scholar, and framed in beautiful silver. 

 

The kings face was the same, but his sons looked familiar. Then the young boy noticed. 

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The master-sweep was his son, they shared the same smile, and their eyes were full of love. 

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Clanging empty pails and buckets down the stairwell, the young boy wondered at the master chimney sweep as they laid their tools behind a pillar in the main hall near the gate. 

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Large golden candlesticks and ornate stained glass windows lined the walls, as the master-sweep stood in contrast to their polished and clean look. Every movement they made echoed in the chasm of the castle as the last of the sunlight fell on the stone floor.

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"Is he your father?" Asked the young boy as he picked at his fingernail. 

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"Yes, and he is your father also." The older said to the younger, as he walked him toward an archway that led outside. 

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"It's not easily shown how hard we try to honor the king." He said quietly as he sat on the steps descending to the royal garden. 

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"However." He continued. 

 

"If you have tried to honor him, you have shown."
 

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