Gleaned By The Sharp Ears Of Doddery Sue

20260419

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Everyone assumed that Sue Doddley was deaf, or daft, or both. How else could she spend all day in the tavern, surrounded by strident noise, and never bat an eye? Just kept quietly rocking in her chair by the fire, her gaze on her knitting - or whatever darning someone was paying her to do. ‘Doddery Sue’ she was often called, not unaffectionately.
They would be shocked to learn that Sue’s hearing was in fact excellent. Honed by a lifetime of practice. At this point she could not only pick apart a hubbub but follow the thread of several conversations at once.
She kept her eyes downturned, fixed on the lacy shawl she was working on. A complex-seeming pattern she’d followed countless times, to the point her fingers could almost do it themselves.
Amazing how many assumed that a woman couldn’t work and think at the same time. Much less be paying attention.
Around her was the relative quiet of the hearth area, where people not interested in revelry gathered to sip drinks, stare into the flames, and perhaps play a laid-back game. Never for stakes higher than another beer.
Greater prizes were had at the centre tables, where wine and pennies flowed freely, whoops and groans indicating who fortune favoured today. Sue rarely paid much heed to that noise; apart from noting who was driving themselves into troublesome debt, it was useless squawking.
The edges of the room were her focus. Where people gathered to talk, sometimes loudly, sometimes surreptitiously, but always sharing information of one kind or another.
And Doddery Sue sat by the fire, and watched her own hands, and listened closely.
Who was sweet on who, and how others felt about it… whose business or homestead was struggling, who was thriving… rumours and news from further afield…
All of it mentally noted down. Weighed. And, should she deem it necessary, acted upon.
Never directly. Who would listen to an old fool like her? And if they did, well, that was liable to bring its own bundle of troubles. No, what she did was watch the seats around her. Wait for the right person to come along - for, having been doing this for years, she knew everyone in the village very well.
Once an appropriate target was settled, Sue would fuss about putting her work aside and stand up - the slow and painful motions entirely sincere. Then she would toddle either towards the bar, to get another barley water, or towards the latrines. Only to pause, ‘think of something’, and tap her target on the arm.
Her usual claim was “You know, someone was telling me about… oh, what was it…”
Pretending that she hadn’t understood, only grasping that this mysterious unnamed person was worried about the matter, tended to earn concern without encouraging questions. A few select nudges were generally all that was required to stir them into action on her behalf, without even realising it was on her behalf. Thinking they were solving another neighbour’s concern.
And so people with extra were pointed to people who were struggling. Fights were intercepted before they became feuds - or come to violence. Cheaters and swindlers found they were always found out. (Perhaps if they weren’t braggarts as well as frauds… but Sue wasn’t complaining.)
Through it all, unheeded, barely even noticed, Doddery Sue quietly rocked by the tavern fire, her eyes on her hands, her ears tuned to the hubbub around her.

Prompt was “Write from the perspective of a quiet person in a loud room. What do they hear or notice?”