WORDS THAT COUNT

<h3>When Numbers Learned to Travel</h3> Beyond the hills and into the old market, the family discovers that numbers have many tongues — from a grand to a gross, a ream to a myriad. The morning began with a bell. Not the little brass bell that hung above the family doorway, but the great iron bell at the centre of WAN village. It rang only on market days. Once. Twice. Then a third time. By the time the sound rolled across the seven hills, the village was awake. Women carried baskets toward the market square. Farmers led goats down the narrow paths. Traders opened wooden stalls. Children ran between carts while old men sat beneath the mango trees, discussing matters they had discussed for generations. It was the busiest day WAN had seen in weeks. BigDan stood at the doorway of the family house, tying a cloth around a large basket. Big Dee watched him. “Where are you going?” “The market.” “I know that. What are you buying?” “Paper.” “How much?” BigDan smiled. “A ream.” John, who was passing behind them, stopped. “A what?” “A ream.” John looked at Esther. “Is that another one of those WAN words?” Esther nodded. Faye came running from the courtyard. “What is a ream?” BigDan lifted the basket. “Traditionally, a ream is five hundred sheets of paper.” Faye's eyes widened. “Five hundred?” BigDan nodded. John laughed. “So why don't you just say five hundred?” BigDan looked at him. “Because, John, if you walked into a paper merchant's shop in the old days and asked for five hundred sheets, you would eventually learn that the merchant already had a word for what you wanted.” Big Dee smiled. “Human beings have always enjoyed putting large quantities into smaller words.” John shrugged. “Or making simple things complicated.” “Same thing,” Big Dee replied. --- The five siblings set off toward the market. The road descended through the hills, past the old stone bridge and into the valley. The morning sun was still gentle. Birds moved between the trees. From somewhere far ahead came the sound of drums. Faye walked beside BigDan. “Are there words for everything?” “Almost everything.” “What about one hundred?” “A century, if you're talking about years.” “What about one thousand?” “A grand.” Faye stopped walking. “A grand?” BigDan nodded. “In certain contexts, especially when talking about money, a grand means one thousand.” John turned around. “So if something costs a grand…” “It means one thousand units of currency.” Faye smiled. “That sounds rich.” Big Dee laughed. “It sounds richer than saying one thousand.” John shook his head. “Words are very dramatic.” --- The market appeared around the bend. It was enormous. Stalls stretched from one end of the square to the other. There were baskets of grain, bolts of cloth, clay pots, spices, carved stools, books, fruits and vegetables. BigDan led the family toward the paper merchant. An old woman sat behind the stall. “Good morning,” she said. “Good morning,” BigDan replied. “I have your paper ready.” “How much?” The woman smiled. “A ream.” BigDan nodded. John whispered: “Five hundred.” Faye elbowed him. “Don't ruin it.” The old woman looked at the children. “You know the old words?” “We're learning,” Esther said. “Then today is a good day.” She reached beneath the counter and brought out a thick bundle of paper. “Five hundred sheets.” John smiled. “See? She knows the number too.” The woman laughed. “Of course.” She leaned closer. “The words don't erase the numbers.” She tapped the bundle. “They simply give them another name.” --- As they walked through the market, they came across a spice merchant. His stall was filled with tiny bags. Big Dee stopped. “How many?” The merchant answered: “A gross.” John looked at BigDan. BigDan smiled. “A gross is twelve dozen.” Faye quickly calculated. “Twelve times twelve…” She paused. “One hundred and forty-four.” “Correct.” The merchant nodded. “Very good.” John picked up a small bag. “So if I buy a gross of these…” “You receive one hundred and forty-four.” John looked at the pile. “That is a lot of spice.” The merchant laughed. “That is why we don't count them one by one.” Faye smiled. “That's the point of words.” --- They continued deeper into the market. At one stall, BigDan noticed a wooden sign. 1,000 NAILS — ONE GRAND John stared at it. “Wait.” He pointed at the sign. “So a grand is one thousand?” “In this context, yes.” “Then why does everybody use grand?” BigDan shrugged. “Because language changes depending on where you are, what you're talking about and who you're speaking to.” Esther added: “And sometimes because people like shorter ways of saying things.” John nodded. “Now that I understand.” Big Dee looked at him. “Do you?” “Yes.” “What is one thousand?” John smiled. “A grand.” Everyone laughed. --- Near the edge of the market was a travelling storyteller. He had arrived from beyond the hills with a donkey, a red cloak and a collection of stories nobody had heard before. A crowd had gathered around him. The storyteller raised his hands. “I have crossed a myriad of roads to reach WAN!” Faye looked at BigDan. “What's a myriad?” BigDan smiled. “Now we enter dangerous territory.” John laughed. “Why?” “Because unlike a dozen or a score, myriad has both a precise historical meaning and a broader modern one.” The storyteller continued speaking. “Myriad dangers!” “Myriad stars!” “Myriad voices!” BigDan explained quietly: “Historically, a myriad referred to ten thousand. But in ordinary modern English, it can also simply mean a vast or countless number.” Faye looked at the storyteller. “So when he says a myriad of stars…” “He may not be claiming to have counted ten thousand stars.” John nodded. “He just means there were a lot.” “Exactly.” Faye smiled. “I like myriad.” BigDan laughed. “I knew you would.” --- The storyteller suddenly pointed toward the five siblings. “You there!” Faye froze. “Me?” “Young girl.” “Yes?” “How many siblings are you?” Faye looked at BigDan. He smiled. She knew the rules. “We are a…” She counted silently. BigDan raised an eyebrow. Faye grinned. “A handful.” The crowd laughed. John protested. “That isn't a number!” BigDan nodded. “And that's the point.” The storyteller smiled. “Excellent answer.” Faye bowed. --- By afternoon, the market had become even louder. A group of musicians arrived. One carried a drum. Another played a flute. Three dancers followed them. Big Dee watched. “A trio.” Esther nodded. “Three.” John looked at her. “You just used a number.” Esther smiled. “I'm allowed.” “Why?” “Because I am Esther.” John sighed. “There are no rules in this family.” BigDan laughed. “There are rules.” “Who makes them?” “You do.” John frowned. “I don't remember that.” “Exactly.” --- On their way home, they stopped beside the old stone bridge. BigDan placed the paper bundle down. Faye was carrying a small bag of spices. John had bought nothing. Big Dee noticed. “You haven't bought anything.” John shrugged. “I bought knowledge.” BigDan smiled. “And how much knowledge?” John thought carefully. “One score.” Big Dee laughed. “You learned about twenty things?” “No.” “Then what do you mean?” John pointed toward the hills. “I learned enough to know that I don't need to know the number of everything.” BigDan looked at him proudly. “That may be the most important lesson you've learned.” The family began walking again. --- As evening approached, the hills turned gold. The market disappeared behind them. The village grew closer. The paper merchant's ream was still balanced on BigDan's shoulder. The spices were tucked safely beneath Faye's arm. And the old words travelled home with them. A pair. A trio. A dozen. A baker's dozen. A score. A gross. A ream. A grand. A myriad. Different words. Different histories. Different ways of carrying quantities through time. Faye looked back toward the distant market. “BigDan?” “Yes?” “Do words travel?” BigDan thought about it. “For thousands of years.” “Even when people disappear?” “Especially then.” She looked at him. “Why?” BigDan smiled. “Because numbers can be forgotten.” He glanced at the old WAN book beneath his arm. “But words…” He paused. “Words can be carried.” The family continued up the hill as the first stars appeared. And somewhere behind them, in the market they had just left, an old storyteller began another tale. Perhaps he would tell it tomorrow. Perhaps in a decade. Perhaps in a century. Or perhaps, as the people of WAN liked to say… in another era.

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