The Merchant’s Way
“I ’m tired of being patient,” Melry said.
“I am, too,” Stevic replied, “but the Varosians won’t let us just take their king’s prized truth-teller.
We approach this carefully, because if we don’t and mistakes are made, then there is no getting her out.
Maybe there is no getting us out.” From the corner of his eye, he espied Master Hunt leaning against the opposite rail, looking landward.
Perhaps he gazed at the white and golden palace that stood upon the hill that loomed above the harbor.
“Don’t worry,” he told a downcast Melry, “we will be successful, and we’ll have your mother aboard before you know it.”
Sevano strode up to them. “C’mon, lass, I’ll show you that trick with the knife, eh?”
Melry reluctantly went with him, and Stevic sighed.
Dealing with a girl, a young woman, really, reminded him of how easily he sailed through fatherhood with his sisters present to raise Karigan.
In fact, he’d abdicated his role as parent in the wake of his grief over the loss of his wife, Kariny.
He’d not been much of a father, and yet, miraculously, Karigan had never seemed to hold it against him.
He and his daughter had had, of course, their moments, especially when she’d confronted him about his history of piracy and association with a Rivertown brothel.
At least Melry wasn’t concerned with the questionable exploits of his past. She just wanted her mother back, and he could not blame her.
All the same, she was as strong-headed as all the other women who shared his life.
Elgin Foxsmith, a retired Green Rider and old friend of Laren’s, stood nearby, waiting for news. “What is the word?” he asked.
“She’s there,” Stevic replied, “hidden from view by a screen, but we heard her voice.”
“Will you be able to get her out?”
“One way or another, I will. If you will excuse me, I should speak with Master Hunt.”
Elgin glanced across the deck at the man, raised an eyebrow, then nodded and stepped aside.
Stevic understood Elgin’s look. Master Hunt was a spy that King Zachary had sent along with the rescue mission. He’d a way of being evasive and manipulative without one even realizing it. Stevic did not know if Master Hunt was even his real name. He doubted it.
When Stevic joined him at the rail, Master Hunt asked, “It went well?” His gaze remained fixed on the harbor.
He had an eminently forgettable appearance with thinning, mousy hair, and was of average build and height.
There was little that stood out about him, an advantage to one in his profession.
In the closed realm of Varos, however, any outsiders were obvious, and that was where Stevic G’ladheon the merchant and his crew came in.
Stevic watched gulls and ungainly pelicans wheel around a boat where fishermen discarded undesirable fish overboard.
“Well enough,” he replied. “She is there, though we could not see her directly, and the king wants us to return tomorrow with more goods, just as we hoped.”
“Anything else of interest that you noted?”
Stevic shrugged. “The king did not seem to be getting on well with a delegation from Kir-kranya. They had a heated exchange, heated enough that the delegation was prodded out of the throne room at the end of the guards’ polearms.”
“Hmm.” Only the slightest lilt in Master Hunt’s response suggested interest. “Varos and Kir-kranya have long been at odds,” he said. “For years, Varos has stolen Kir-kranyan land and forced the Kir-kranyans to work it.”
“The Varosians seem not to respect boundaries or the citizens of other realms,” Stevic replied.
Laren was a case in point. The Varosians had traveled all the way to Sacoridia to steal her off home soil.
He turned at the sudden click-clack of wooden swords.
Sevano had engaged Melry in sword practice while Elgin shouted encouragement. Good.
Master Hunt turned and gazed directly at Stevic. For all that he was quite ordinary in appearance, he had the most startling light blue eyes, and they held a sharp glint as he regarded Stevic.
“Tell me your plan for tomorrow.”
Stevic nodded, and they proceeded across the deck toward the captain’s cabin.
· · ·
The throne room appeared much as it had the day before, King Farrad Vir’s courtiers lounging about at their leisure, the king relaxed upon his gilded throne. Slaves fanned him as they had before, and guardsmen stood about the room at attention.
The shadow of a figure was visible behind the lattice screen.
Stevic wanted to tear it down, but it would not end well if he tried.
Members of his crew, and the porters Master Hunt had arranged for, mainly Kir-kranyan indentured servants who had been leased to them, brought in the first offering of goods.
The humidity and unaccustomed anxiety made sweat flow down Stevic’s face.
He dabbed it away with a handkerchief. Their plan, such as it was, was not much of a plan.
If the merchant’s way failed, they would have to rely on the pirate’s way.
The latter could prove bloody. He glanced at the large chest that had been placed behind him. He hoped he would not have to open it.
Melry, again garbed as a boy, stared at the screen. Stevic nudged her to remind her not to be so obvious.
An official beckoned them forward, and with Stevic leading, they approached the throne and went to their knees.
“Ah, G’ladheon,” King Farrad Vir said with pleasure, “what treasures do you have to show me today?”
“My treasures are many, great king,” Stevic replied, and so the dance began.
He showed off some of his richest textiles, provided samples of Rhovan wine from casks.
He revealed spices from the Cloud Islands and unveiled trays of jewelry from many lands.
He unrolled carpets by the greatest master weavers in Durnesia.
The king made offers, and Stevic counter-offered.
The king consulted his truth-teller about the price, or questioned the quality or provenance of an item.
Laren answered firmly each time, sometimes correcting a lie or exaggeration Stevic told, or affirming he spoke the truth when he did not.
Somehow she had to have mastered the centipede, which Master Hunt said was impossible.
“Your truth-teller is most useful,” Stevic remarked, as more samples of wine were passed out by his crew. The king’s cup was, of course, tested by a slave to ensure it was not poisoned.
“Indeed, it is,” the king said. “Very useful. No one dares lie to me now.”
“As a merchant, I could surely use one,” he said. “You found it in Sacoridia? I wonder if there are others like it?”
“Oh, they are extremely rare,” the king replied. “It is the first we’ve found in centuries, and I only heard word of it from an outlander who had personal knowledge of it.”
Stevic tried not to react. The outlander had been the leader of the Darrow Raiders, who, in an act of vengeance, captured Laren and sold her to the Varosians.
“I’ll give you a thousand kersats for her. It.”
Stevic’s pronouncement was met first with silence, then howls of laughter.
“A thousand?” the king cried, and he laughed again.
It was, perhaps, a low offer, but not that low. “Two thousand?” he tried.
The king by now was wiping tears from his eyes. “Ah, G’ladheon, you would have to do much better, for it is priceless.”
Yes, Laren was priceless, he thought, but the king’s response did not entirely rule out negotiation.
“How about this, Your Majesty, all that you have seen and tasted so far today, and this.” With a flourish of his hand, Sevano and Melry brought forth a rare bolt of angweld cloth.
“Behold,” he said, “the rarest and most beautiful of materials, a dazzling length of spun gold woven into finest cloth by monks in the far reaches of the Harpheynian Mountains of northern Illydria. The craft of its making takes tens of years to master, and even longer to mine sufficient gold.” It really was that rare and masterful.
This bolt had taken seventy-five years to create, the life’s work of over a dozen monks.
The technique for spinning the gold was a secret, and some believed magic was used in its making, though the monks claimed it was but a gift of the gods for all the prayers they said as they wove each strand.
It was just the sort of thing the king would lust after.
Sevano and Melry knelt before the king with the cloth so he could reach out and touch it. His eyes practically bulged, and Stevic knew well that look of desire, that look of avarice, for he’d seen it on thousands of faces over the years, the faces of his customers.
“I have heard of this cloth,” King Farrad Vir said in a soft voice, “but thought it a myth.”
“It is no myth,” Stevic replied, “for I have traveled to the domain of the monks myself. A long, treacherous journey it was, to the caves in which they live and toil, their chanted prayers echoing on the cliffs. I offer you this rarest bolt of cloth, all the goods you have seen thus far, in trade for one truth-teller.”
The king seemed to have to force his gaze from the gold cloth to look at Stevic. “Why is it you so desire this truth-teller?”
“You are a man of discerning taste,” Stevic said. “You’ve an eye for the rare, the unique, and the exquisite, as do I. There is nothing more thrilling than possessing something that no other man can possess.”
There was a twinkle in the king’s eyes. “And so I see we are of like mind. But, no, I cannot part with my truth-teller. However, I will buy this cloth for whatever you ask.”
Stevic gestured, and Sevano and Melry retreated with the cloth. “It is not for sale. It is only in trade for the truth-teller.”
The king stared at him in disbelief. “I could make you very rich by buying that cloth. You could purchase your own realm with what I would offer you.”
Stevic bowed. “Thank you, but I am already quite wealthy.” Though not, he reflected, so well off that he could buy a kingdom. King Farrad Vir had not underestimated the value of the gold cloth.
“It would seem then, that we are at an impasse.”
“It is easily resolved.”
“Yes,” the king said. “You can sell me the cloth. If you refuse, there are other ways for me to acquire it.”
Stevic’s heart pounded. “Your Majesty, as civilized, cultured men, surely we need not resort to threats. I once again offer you all that you have seen here today, including the gold cloth, in exchange for the truth-teller. I’ll even throw in the thousand kersats I originally offered.”
The king rocked on his throne chair with laughter, then stilled, his expression set. “No.”
Stevic let go a long breath. So, this was it.
“Your king sent an embassy some while ago,” King Farrad Vir said with a suspicious glint in his eye.
“They, too, negotiated hard for the truth-teller. It seems King Zachary highly values it, as well. I was offered many things for its exchange, but I sent them away.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Perhaps you, too, are here on behalf of King Zachary?”
“I’ve no affiliation with King Zachary, except as his taxpaying, law-abiding subject.”
“Is this true, truth-teller?”
“Yi,” she replied.
King Farrad Vir looked surprised, and Stevic barely suppressed a sigh of relief.
“An honest merchant,” King Farrad Vir said. “It is something of a novelty.”
“Deceiving my customers is not a good business practice no matter what some of my competitors may believe, and I prefer to retain my honor intact.”
“In appreciation for your honesty and the fine goods you have shown me today,” the king said, “I will compensate you for all, including the gold cloth, but you will leave and set sail at once.”
Stevic bowed his head. “I hear you, great king, but before I leave, I do have one more offering for you.”
The merchant’s way had failed, and so it finally came down to what was in the chest.