Merchant and Magic Page 2

  Yehlu picked up the first coin, sniffed it, then rubbed it between thumb and forefinger and sniffed again. He wrinkled his nose and dropped the coin. “Ugh. What is that?”

  “Not magic, according to the market mages and the master at Hillnbend trafeld. But the metal is not coin metal, and the stamp is not from Platport if you look at them through glass and moon-touched water. The coins also feel harder to the tooth than do good Platport vlaats and half-vlaats.”

  A snort. “And who tooth-tests silver, especially this far inland from Platport? You say the stamp shows false?”

  “Aye, but only through glass and moon-touched water. The god-side is off-center, and the city-side stamp is too deep, too clear. Platport has not minted new coin for three years, and these all looked new on one side.” Tycho turned the coin over. “The Trafledmeester showed all of us good coin and bad, so we could spread word. I kept these to show.”

  Yehlu rubbed all four coins in turn, then wiped his fingers on his tunic’s hem. “Ugh, may bad repay bad and ill getting repay ill intent. Did the Trafeldmeester have any thoughts as to where these came from?”

  “No but,” Tycho raised one finger in caution. “But there was word that similar stinking coins bearing the marks of Marshburt had appeared after the first southern ships came in. I have not heard anything more, and I have not seen any Marshburt coins since the caravan crossed the Ghaol River, so I pass the word as word only, not fact.” If someone was indeed foolish enough to falsify coins from the Free Cities, they would face more than just trade bans. The lords of Corwin had learned that the hard way when their city burned down around their ears after the Five Free Cities’ fireships sailed into Corwin’s port.

  “It shall be taken as word, but I’ll tell my people to be watchful. And you say that the magics don’t show these,” Yehlu waved his weak hand toward the four counterfeits.

  “Not as of when we left the trafeld. That could mean nothing, since none of the mint mages were present.”

  “Hmm, yes.”

  Tycho swept the coins back into the cloth pouch and returned it to the larger leather belt-pouch. They discussed business matters for a while longer, before Tycho sighed. “I thank you for your most generosity, but the hour grows late, and I have not paid my respects to the gods of the city.”

  Yehlu stood. “And I thank you for the news, especially about the false coin. Should anyone challenge your words, I will support you.” He turned and went to a chest in a dark corner of the room. Tycho stood as well, politely not watching his host until he returned holding an elaborately carved piece of wood. “This is the remaining payment due to Ulfrim of Quint. It has been held in trust until this time at the temple of Maarsdam. I present this to you, that you might redeem what is in trust.”

  Tycho inclined his head as he took the wood. “All debts are paid, all owing ceases as trust is repaid. May your gods smile on your household.”

  Yehlu opened the door, letting Tycho out into the courtyard. All three of his beasts had drunk their fill and seemed quiet, at least for the moment. How long that would last if he did not get them to shelter and food Tycho did not know and did not care to find out. The youngest beast tended to be impulsive when he was hungry. The apprentices had also folded the canvas and tidied up the empty wagon bed. Tycho gave each servant a quarter of broken silver ring worth just under a quarter vlaat. The young men opened the gates and Tycho led his animals out into the street, back to the main market square, and then down the river a few blocks until he reached the gate leading into the merchants’ quarters. Temples of Maarsdam and Guilldun faced the square before the gate, a quiet reminder of the travelers’ duties.

  The journeyman trader seated in the watch-shed at the gate stood as Tycho approached. “Master Tycho Rhonarida, be welcome in the name of Maarsrodi of Maarsdam.” He held out his hand. Tycho retrieved his seal from one of his inside tunic pockets and handed it to the young man. The journeyman confirmed the seal against the book of marks, bowed, and returned the seal. Then he opened the gate.

  Tycho guided the beasts into the large open area just inside the walls, turned right, and handed the three great-haulers over to the beast-keeper. “They’ve drunk but not eaten since we entered the walls just after mid-day,” he reported. “And the young one with the grey crest-tip there, he likes to grab hats and hoods.”

  “One of those,” the dour, lanky man sighed. Was being morose part of the requirement to work with traders’ beasts? Tycho tried to recall if he’d ever meet a cheerful beast-keeper in any city, but none came to mind. “Standard feed?”

  “Yes. They are still on summer rations.”

  “Ay, as are we here, won’t shift until after first frost.” Tycho took three tokens, showing that he’d left three great-haulers, and doubled back to an office on the opposite side of the gate. The sun-warmed stone felt hot to the touch, and the metal straps on the door almost burned his bare hand when he knocked. Tycho didn’t mind—it would be cold soon enough. Tycho knocked twice, then twice more, and opened the door.

  “Come in and be welcome to Guill,” a woman’s steady voice called. Tycho’s eyes adjusted to the shadows and he saw a woman just past her middle years, strong of arm and shoulder and wearing the embroidered dress of a woman from Vlaaterbe. Tycho bowed to the sister-lady. “Do you seek company or simple shelter?”

  “Simple shelter, honored sister. I am Tycho Rhonarida.”

  She paged through a ledger. “Ah. Rhonarida and Maarsrodi.” The woman leaned over and he heard metallic clattering. “No, no, that should be over here. Yes, you, come to my hand.” She straightened up and he caught a glimpse of a widow’s chain under her scarf. “This opens your chambers, good sir. Second floor at the sign of Rhonari, the blue and white door sign. You will be alone for now. Meals are in the commons on the ground floor. There will be an apprentice elevation the second night of the market. If you decide to seek companionship, ask and I will introduce you to someone appropriate for your dignity.” In other words, he’d better not try to bring a town prostitute in without getting the sister-lady’s approval, both for his safety and for the prostitute’s. The sister-lady looked as if she unloaded barrels unassisted when she needed to, and could easily toss both an unwanted guest and a misbehaving merchant over the gate if she put her mind to it. Tycho approved of that sort of sister-lady.

  He took his things to his assigned room. The bed was clean with fresh straw in the bed-sack, and someone had burnt a vermin-chasing candle recently. He found no surprises lurking in the under-bed-pot or the chest. He put his own lock on the chest, found the garderobe and wash room, and rinsed off more of the road dust. Feeling more civilized, he went back out of the gate to do his duty at the temple before sundown.

  As a trader, he only had to make a token visit to the abode of the city deity. Even so, Tycho still rinsed his hands three times before entering. Once inside the temple, he bowed, then knelt twice in homage to the goddess, and left two vlaat in the box for such things. The priest on duty gave him a blessing and Guilldun’s token to show that he’d paid reverence to the city’s protectress.

  Tycho went to both knees at the door to the temple of Maarsdam, then stood as the door opened. A scent of dye, fish, and the other smells of trade wafted out of the building, and he bowed before walking inside. The shutters over the window openings stood open, allowing light to pour into the airy space and touching the statue of Maarsdam. The god leaned on a gilded merchant’s staff, holding a scales in the other hand, one foot resting on a bale of trade goods. A little ship floated on water beside the god’s other foot. The deity wore a traveler’s hooded coat. He was sturdy instead of handsome, and Tycho approved of the artist’s understanding. Maarsdam wasn’t pretty. He was a traveler. Tycho genuflected, then raised his hands in greeting and called, “Hail, great traveler. A man from the north brings greetings and thanks. Thanks for the safe journey, thanks for trade done, thanks for trade to come. Hail, great traveler!” Tycho put five vlaat in the offering box in thanks, and a
s partial payment for his share in the apprenticeship ceremony to come. After all, this was his last trading stop, and generosity to the Great Traveler was likely to be rewarded, if he worked hard enough.

  “Blessings of the traveler to you, distant son,” the priest on duty called. “May your road be safe, your animals sound, and your business prosper in this life and the next.”

  “Thanks for the blessing, and for safety thus far.”

  On his way out, Tycho touched the god’s staff that hung by the door. The wood, iron, and silver walking staff, twice as long as a man was tall, sat in gilded hooks. Tycho brushed his fingers over the wood and iron, feeling how smooth and shiny hundreds of other touches had worn the material.

  Rather than stay up talking in the commons room with the other merchants currently in Guill on business, Tycho bought meat in a bread pocket from a shop near the gate, ate it, and went to bed. He was no longer a journeyman able to stay up all night and work all day. Alas.

  2

  To Market

  Bread soaked in milk with wine, smallbeer, and a piece of fried meat with the sharp local mustard filled Tycho’s stomach just enough the next morning. The market would not begin for another day, giving him time to look around the market and to see where his booth would be.

  His first surprise came when he reached the main wares-house to speak with the market master. “Ah, good that you are here, Meester Tycho Rhonarida,” one of the mages on duty said. “Here is your receipt from Lord Valrep. His transport mage removed the lord’s share last night.” The shaggy-haired man frowned, murmuring “waste of magic,” under his breath.

  Tycho neither blinked nor raised his eyebrows when he saw the tally. He wanted to wince, but that might not be wise, either. A man never knew who might be watching. He only said, “Very well.” Three of the fine-tanned hides and two of the fleece-tanned hides, plus the two largest rough tanned skins. He should not have tempted the gods by assuming that nobles did not bother leather merchants.

  After making sure that the seals on the hides-by-weight remained accurate, Tycho left the wares-house. The market master’s office filled the ground floor of the stone building on the opposite side of the great wares-house from the market scales. A cluster of men in merchants’ attire had gathered at the side of the grey building. He drifted that way, careful to avoid some piles of dung that had not been swept up for the tanners yet. “I don’t see— Oh, there.”

  A smaller man peered at the wall. “Where? Ah, beside the fine cloth.”

  “If spices are to be here, then…hmm. I see it now.” The cloth-trader nodded.

  A section of the wall, a clothyard by a clothyard, had been painted rough black. A chalked map showed the market, with like goods clustered as usual, although as he studied the map, Tycho noted that one drinks seller had a booth in each section, except for the fabrics and weavings quarter. He smiled to himself. Spiced wine on white cambric was grounds for murder, or so his wife and his mother had both warned him on more than one occasion. He found his place beside one of the saddlers and across from a leather clothing maker and a glover. Normally the Guill market did not attract so many trades, but this was the last major market for the year. The next gathering would be the farming fair, and then winter’s rains would begin and no one could travel safely.

  “That’s not fair dealings!” The loud, harsh words stopped all motion around the great square. The gathered traders and merchants turned as one to see who had spoken. “Bread costs a half vlaat per ten-weight. Ye’r cheating, you are!”

  “And this is not bread, may Great Gember strike me and all my works.” A woman with the enormous basket under her arm pointed to a fat-bellied man in mismatched tunic and trews. “This is apple-spice-loaf, half a vlaat per two weight.”

  “Bread’s bread ye cheatin’ wench. I claim ten weight and witnesses!” One of the merchants tapped on the market master’s door and leaned inside, then got out of the way as a wide-shouldered man with an ornate merchant’s staff emerged. He reminded Tycho of one of the wild northern oxen, as broad as they were long and far more dangerous than they looked.

  “What’s this?” The market master’s bellow interrupted the ongoing dispute, and the man and woman both shifted to face him.

  The fat man pointed at the baker’s woman. “I call unfair dealins’. She said bread’s not bread and wants two and a half vlaat for a ten weight. Bread’s a half vlaat for ten. I claim damages!”

  The woman managed to curtsey as the market master approached, the iron cap on his staff making the stones ring. Several of the merchants trailed along to witness, Tycho among them. He’d not done much business here, and it never hurt a man to learn how the local market master weighed matters. The fat man sort of bowed, his loose dark green cap sliding and almost falling to the ground. Several of the men snorted. The woman pulled the white cloth away from her goods, showing them to the market master. “Apple spice loaf, Meester Loraam. Half to sell, half for the inn at the Three Blooms.” Tycho caught a glimpse of round, light brown loaves as big as his fist, with a dimple on the top and a sort of shiny glaze. Even he could tell that it was not every-day bread.

  Meester Loraam leaned forward and sniffed. He stood. “Apples and spices, not living bread, leb-bread. What the price?”

  “Half-vlaat for two weight, Meester Loraam.”

  The market master nodded. “Top price for fine baking is one vlaat per weigh, so your price is within bounds.”

  The man’s face turned red. “Nay! Bread is bread, all know that, ask Gember’s priest. Just price is ten weight per vlaat that man might live.” He pointed to the basket, his hand shaking. “Them’s loaves, that makes them bread, bread’s ten per vlaat.”

  Meester Loraam turned to look at the man. “Where come ye from?”

  “I come from Dinklefeld, that way,” he pointed to the south and east. “I’ve been here three day, know the bread laws I do.”

  “Then you are excused your confusion this time, stranger. The lords of Guill set a difference between fine breads and leb-breads. Leb-breads are ten per vlaat, as you say. But fine breads are like fine goods, and trade for the cost plus a decent living for the baker. You may go, miss.” She curtsied again and hurried to make her delivery. “If you seek leb-bread, the sign of the Folded Roll has what you seek.”

  “But bread’s bread?” the stranger sounded more confused than angry. Tycho wondered if Meester Loraam’s size had something to do with it.

  “Not by law here. Man can live without apple-stuffed spice bread, or ground nut loaf with winter spices.”

  One of the witnesses called, “Man can, but I can’t!” He patted his ample stomach, bringing laughter all around. Even the fat stranger smiled a little.

  “I’m going that way, visitor, if you want to see where the leb-bread is sold,” the fabric seller offered.

  “The matter is decided.” With that, everyone returned to their business. Tycho decided that Meester Loraam would be easy to work with and dangerous to cross, a good combination in a market master.

  “Platport?”

  “Aye. And I am told Marshburt as well, but my eyes have only seen the false coins of Platport,” Tycho said.

  Meester Loraam, one of the goldworkers, and a small-weights mage all frowned. But they did not challenge his words or the false coins, now spread on a table along with true coins, so that all might know. Loraam made horns with his left hand and spat through them. “Bad ces to them that made these.” The gathered merchants and journeymen rumbled with agreement. “Hillnbend trafeld’s closer to the trade ports from the south.”

  “Are the coins from Liambruu?” someone called. Tycho saw the man’s red cap and blue scarf, signs of a fine-cloth seller from Marshburt. “Seeing as how their credit word is broken.”

  Meester Loraam turned back to Tycho, who spread his hands. “I do not know. It could also be a man thinking to be clever, like the mint-master’s wife’s brother in the County of Sinmartin.”

  Several of the listening
men nodded, and others bared their teeth and muttered to their neighbors. It had taken the offender several weeks to die if the stories were true, walled into a cell too small to stand and too narrow to sit, with air and water but only a little food. Even if the tales were only tales, no one tolerated counterfeiters.

  “Howsoever it be, we have seen and are warned,” the market master stated, thumping the end of his staff against the cobbles, closing discussion with a thump and clang. “Has anyone else business for the good of the market?” No one spoke. The staff thumped again. At his nod Tycho swept the false coins into their pouch, and Meester Jos the spicer took back the true coin.

  “Well met,” a light voice called. Meester Loraam turned and stepped to the side, making way for a slender man in a very expensive brocaded jacket, bright green hose, and crimson belt and boots. Tycho studied the leather. The man wore at least five vlaat on his feet and waist. “Well met,” he repeated, and Loraam and the other locals bowed low. Tycho caught the hint and bowed as well, stepping sideways as he did in order to get out of the lord’s way. His burley, crimson-clad guards carried pole arms as well as swords, and scowled, eyes glancing left and right as they eyed the merchants. Tycho knew the type well—they only wanted an excuse to beat up any man who looked as if he might consider defying their employer. Once he might have taken them on just to defend the honor of the city of Rhonari, but Tycho had grown wiser as well as older.

  Lord Valrep nodded, looking down his slightly crooked nose at the merchants. “Welcome to Guill. You have my permission to trade from the opening of the gates tomorrow until the closing of the gates on the Feast of Yoorst, eight days hence.” He took a dagger out of his belt and handed it to Loraam hilt first. “With this dagger I give justice rights for the days of the market.”

  Loraam bowed. “With this dagger I take justice rights for the days of the market.” A sigh of relief rose from the two score of men and the handful of women attending the market meeting. Meester Loraam could make decisions based on his observations and testimony on-the-spot, so they would not have to wait until the next time Lord Valrep held court to have disputes resolved. Tycho and a few others well remembered the way the father of the current count of Sinmartin had abused his justice, keeping merchants waiting long after the fair ended. Apparently Lord Valrep was wiser, or just did not care to be bothered. That his transport mages had lifted his share from the wares-house suggested to Tycho that his lordship preferred not to deal with minor matters like market disputes. Tycho preferred to avoid lords’ justice courts, so on that matter at least they stood even on the goddess Guilldun’s scales.