The door to the shabby little flat in a quiet corner of Manchester opened almost at once—as if the old woman inside had been expecting company. There on the threshold stood a wizened grandmother of eighty, her sharp eyes bright and knowing.
“Good day,” the young man said politely, offering a practiced smile.
“And good day to you, lad,” she nodded. “Come in, then—no sense standing in the draught. You from the council, or some such?”
“No, ma’am. I represent a company that purifies water. We install the latest devices—turn tap water clear as a spring, just like in the old days when you could drink straight from the river without a second thought.”
“Well now!” The old woman raised her brows. “So you’re a water-man, are you? Cleansing the river’s flow? Good work, that. Step inside.”
The young man wiped his shoes carefully on the worn-out mat before crossing the threshold.
“Should I take them off?” he asked, eyeing the scrubbed linoleum.
“Don’t trouble yourself. My daughter will see to the floors. She’s young, you see, and I’m just an old crone now. Past tidying up.”
“Come now, you’re spry as ever! Look at that rosy glow in your cheeks!” he lied smoothly. “Where’s the kitchen? I’d like to show you what we’ve got.”
“Oh, flatterer,” she chuckled. “Haven’t seen myself in a mirror in ten years—my girl hung them all too high for me to catch so much as the top of my head. Come along, then, let’s see this marvel of yours.”
The kitchen was small but spotless—a gleaming kettle, geraniums on the sill, a saucer of mint leaves. The old woman settled into her chair while the young man set to work, unscrewing pipes, refitting them, pouring water into little jars, demonstrating filters, and cheerfully explaining the difference between “filthy” and “pure.”
“I’ll have one,” the old woman said suddenly. “But first, let’s have a cuppa. I don’t like drinking alone—tastes better with company. Just five minutes, that’s all.”
The young man hesitated but nodded. She boiled the freshly filtered water with swift hands, brewing a fragrant, spiced tea unlike anything he’d ever tasted.
“Got a family, lad?” she asked as she poured.
“No, still a bachelor.”
“Good thing, too. Too soon for little ones. Tea to your liking?”
“Very. Where do you get it? I’d buy some myself.”
“Fairies bring it for my birthday,” she said with a wink.
He smirked. Might as well play along.
“And what about you, opening your door to strangers? Times like these—swindlers everywhere.”
“What’s there to fear, duck? I’ve outlived fear. At my age, it’s my turn to scare folk—especially ones like you.”
Just then, a strange lightness filled his head. And suddenly, he spoke:
“Who even needs this stuff? I buy these filters for a few quid and sell ’em for twenty. Sometimes I ‘enhance’ the water a bit, make it look cleaner—fools pay more. That’s the game. Go round old dears like you, spin a tale…”
He barely realized the words had left his mouth.
“There now,” the old woman nodded. “Told you the tea was magic. Fairies brew it. Drink it, and you can’t lie.”
He shot to his feet.
“What the—what did you do?!”
“Nothing much. You called yourself a water-man. Now you’ll be one, proper. Our river sprite’s been overworked—can’t manage alone. So you’ll help: cleansing the water, feeding the fish, minding the weeds. Serve ten years, and maybe you’ll get your shape back. Till then—welcome to the element.”
Before he could cry out, he was shrinking—first to a drop, then to mist, then to a wisp of cloud that swirled into the copper basin as a silvery trickle.
“There we are,” the old woman said, pouring him down the drain. “Lad’s settled now. Dreams do come true. That fellow who came to fiddle with the electric meter? He guides lightning now—element of air. You’re water. You’ll meet.”
She set the cups in the sink, humming under her breath. Then she caught her reflection in the foggy glass of the kitchen cabinet.
“Why don’t I show? Why don’t I show?” she mocked the vanished “salesman.”
“Because I’m older than every mirror in this house. Three hundred years, at least. My girl knows—that’s why she hung them high. Don’t want to frighten folk. Not everyone needs the truth first thing in the morning. Me? I endure. And I keep things in order. The elements can’t abide a mess.”
She leaned by the window, studying the sky, and smiled.
“Justice must be done. Even if you have to steep it in a teapot.”
