Ewoud hurried across an alley and stopped. The next building sported an oversize merchant's staff clamped to the wall, and the doors stood open, but it had no window openings. Ewoud eased in, then let his eyes adapt. Light pouring in through one window high in the wall lit a statue of Maarsdam. Unlike Maarsrodi, Maarsdam of the Free City of Rhonari, this figure stood beside a stack of barrels draped what looked like pelts and hides. Something yellow-brown glowed in the sunlight like a jeweled pendent. Ewoud bowed twice, knelt once, and said, "Hail Great Traveler! Thanks for safe travels, thanks for good trading now and to come. Hail, Great Traveler." Then he bowed once more before approaching the statue.
Real furs hung out of the barrels. A piece of saka as large as Ewoud's fist had been set into the figure's chest, looking as if it hung from a silver chain. Here Maarsdam wore heavier clothes, a fur-lined jacket to the thigh, and a fur hat. His staff and boots remained unchanged, as did the bales and barrels around him. Ewoud wondered why real furs and not carved ones. Maybe the carvers here were not good enough.
"Greetings, son of the west," a woman called from the shadows. Ewoud jumped a little, then told his heart to stop trying to escape his chest. The woman walked toward him and he saw her staff and heard a soft clinking from the ring of keys on a chain hanging from her waist.
He bowed, "Greetings, honored sister-lady."
She smiled. "Well spoken, young man. I am Heike, Maarsdam's daughter here in the vlee, and I assist sister-lady Bettana. You will only see me rarely, because my tasks center on the secondary courtyard," she pointed with the head of her staff toward the back of the temple. "You are?"
"Ewoud Gaalnar Rhonarida, your worship, born to and for Maarsdam." He bowed again but not as deeply.
Her eyes unfocused and she looked through him, for lack of a better word. Then she nodded. "Interesting. The Great Traveler is not the only one to claim you, only the most forceful, for now." The priestess nodded again and raised one hand in a blessing and dismissal. "Honor Maarsdam and bring good repute to your proud city, Ewoud Rhonarida, Tycho's son."
He bowed until his nose almost met his bent knee, and stayed there until her steps faded from his hearing. Now he understood exactly what his father meant about not wanting the gods' attention! How did she know his father's name? Who else was interested in him? Surely not... the Scavenger? Ewoud bowed once more to the statue and scurried out into the sunlight. No, maybe Yoorst, since he was here to learn about pelts and furs. The sunlight helped warm him again, and Ewoud decided that it had to be Yoorst. The Lord of Beasts would indeed have an eye on men who traded in the skins of His creatures. With that comforting thought in mind, he returned to the sleeping room.
Two chimes later, Ewoud tried to be unseen as a deep voice thundered, "Which of you is Ewoud Rhonarida?" The enormous man who had directed unloading loomed over the gathered traders, journeymen, and apprentices.
Was he in trouble already? Ewoud raised one hand as the sons and journeymen around him shifted, leaving a clear space. "I am, sir."
"Good. You're mine, with Waldis, Jan, and Anders. I'm Tadol Haakom."
Ahead of Ewoud, Meester Dogald sprang to his feet. "Your apprentice gravely injured my journeyman while on board ship and I demand recompense!"
Meester Haakom folded his arms and looked down a very broad nose at Dogald as the other men groaned, muttered, and rustled away from Dogald. The sister-lady looked up at the stiff brown fabric of her head-cover and shook her head a little. Ewoud ducked. "What exactly did Ewoud do, sir?"
"He grossly insulted my journeyman, interfered with him carrying out his duties, and then injured him severely by smashing a lantern against his head and shoving him down into the hold of the ship. These men," Dogald waved one arm at the gathering, "were witnesses."
Meester Hajo rubbed his forehead and some of the others sighed loudly. No one wanted a part of the fight, Ewoud guessed. He didn't want a part of it, either.
"One," Meester Haakom began, his voice quiet and slow, "Ewoud is not an apprentice but a son and heir. Two, we of the vlee have already heard about the incident, at great length, from your journeyman, who I must add seems incapable of understanding the words 'Be quiet.' Three, any man with any sense would stop magic being worked on the ship unless the captain is standing close by and supervising. Four, this is not the place for such claims, since Ewoud is not paid here." Haakom unfolded his arms and cracked his knuckles. "Speak with the notary mage about giving sealed statements that may be sent back in order to have your claim adjudicated. We have other, more important matters, to deal with."
Dogald's shoulders tensed and he tipped his head back. Ewoud waited. Haakom's light green eyes narrowed. Dogald sank back into his chair with a snarl. The senior master nodded once, then bowed to Sister-lady Bettana. "Honored sister."
She accepted his courtesy and stepped forward, a slender merchant's staff in one hand. She thumped it on the floor. "I am Sister-lady Bettana Bushmaakdes. I am responsible for your meals and living arrangements while you are at the vlee. Masters, should you seek companionship, I will arrange for suitable partners." She narrowed bright blue eyes and scowled at the others. "If you are not a master, you may not request company. Nor should you seek the same outside of the vlee. The city guards know who we are, and will turn you away from such places as you might attempt to visit. Should you insist, and a girl comes to the vlee with child, you will pay her honor price, her marriage portion, and support for the child until it is of the age to apprentice. Should you not have a gold koog and more to spend, I suggest you restrain your bodily appetites."
The men and boys shifted and winced, a few making very quiet whistles. You could buy an entire wares-house and furnishings for ten koog, or feed a large family for at least ten years. Any interest Ewoud had in that sort of adventure wilted away. Even if a man wore an infertility charm, if the woman did not, a child could still come. And the charms did not always work on all men, as Ewoud's own father showed. No, better not to even think about that kind of thing, no matter what his body wanted.
"You will note that we have our own temples within the vlee, just as we follow our own laws in the vlee, judge our own men, and settle our own debts." Sister-lady Bettana pointed to Haakom. "Meester Haakom is in charge of all trade disputes as well as being the senior fur merchant. His word is final unless the matter is such that an entire masters' court is needed. Meester Rohnald has charge over all beasts and is a beast-mage. He is not here because one of the great-haulers is ill. All men, no matter their rank, will take turns on fire-watch. The city is made of wood. Wood burns. You will learn how to assist the preservation mages and how to fight fires, if you do not know already." She turned to Meester Haakom. "Sir."
"Thank you." He waited until she returned to stand with the other masters in residence at the vlee. “Two-thirds of the people of Kehlibar are natives. Of the rest we are a tenth, and the men of the north and others are the rest. This means that if a disturbance begins, we must be out of it. The men of the north do not stay within the city walls in fair weather, so you are unlikely to meet them unless they come here," he pointed down with a finger as thick as Ewoud's wrist, or so it looked. "Likewise the men of Wald'dana, the forest dwellers who look to the city for some things. They come to trade and sometimes to worship, but otherwise no. The Wald'dani are not educated but smart. Very smart, and cunning, so do not think to trick them with magic or shoddy goods. You may find a knife in your ribs without knowing how it got there.
"Men of Uk'taria have visited the vlee before, but do not expect them. They are of the far eastern lands, and their goods often travel farther than the men themselves. We have no one who speaks their language well." Meester Haakom shrugged. "They are lean, dark men who move quickly and dress in colors that make the eyes of the rest of us ache until they whimper for mercy. I do not believe the story that they are half-horse or half-hunting cat are true, but their textiles and perfumed ointments are worth a great deal. If one of their metal bowls or weapons is brought to th
e vlee, call me at once. Do not attempt to trade yourself, and I will explain why later.
"If someone has saka, get a master. You do not know how to tell false-saka from true, and there are true artists who make false saka so good even the trees have difficulty telling it apart." Some of the older men snorted and Meester Moere grumbled, "Oh yes indeed." Had he been stung, or had one of his partners been tricked? Either way, Ewoud preferred not to repeat the experience for himself. "Only a mage can determine some of the copies, unless you grind off a piece of the stone and burn it. Do not do that yourself, or I will personally thump you for breaking the rules. Understand?"
A wave of "yes, Meester," and "yes, sir," rose from the men. Meester Haakom introduced the rest of the masters currently at the vlee, then dismissed everyone. "Your meals are in the common room at dawn and dusk. Midday is for working." Ewoud's stomach protested and he pretended it wasn't. "Ewoud, Waldis, Jan, and Anders, be at the peltery at the first chime after the morning meal. Masters, I need to speak with you as a body, the rest are dismissed."
As the younger men filed out of the large room, one of the older journeyman explained, "They already ate. They get first choice, then we can eat. And they get the finer breads and sweets." That sounded familiar to Ewoud—his father got first choice, then his mother, then the rest of the family and any journeymen in residence. Jan's lower lip stuck out as if he were pouting. Did his family do things differently? If so, it was not Ewoud's problem. He and the others followed the more experienced men to the dining area, where the smell of fermented vegetables slapped them as soon as the door opened. Oh dear.
Ewoud considered the food piled onto his platter and bread-plate by the cooking servants and decided that he would not grumble about his mother's food choices again. "What is this?" an apprentice protested, but quietly, as he held up strips of something pale, possibly green.
"More importantly, what was it?" Waldis Pelzerman poked at the mysterious mound. "Not meat. I hope."
"Pickled cabbage. Get used to it. Everything here that doesn't run away first is pickled or turned into honey-paste because winter is so long," a journeyman stated. "I'm Jurgin, senior journeyman. Get used to sausage and do not ask why it tastes different. They don't eat as many schaef and cows here, and no worries about great-hauler surprise. I do not recommend the meat in the city market, unless it is very well cooked and is on a stick." Jurgin started spooning the mound of food into his mouth. Ewoud swallowed hard and then waded in as well. It tasted, well, he would not recommend the recipe to his mother. It needed salt, for one, and the sour flavor would have curled his hair if it was any longer. Jurgin pointed to a pitcher. "Sour milk is in white, small-beer in in brown, and the water can be drunk as long as you are in the vlee."
By the time he finished the pile of pickled things, and the small strips of what seemed to be bacon of some kind, and had gnawed through the bread that served as a plate, Ewoud had no desire for any more food. He didn't care for any more of what they had just eaten, either. Should the opportunity arise, he would insist that pickled cabbage not appear more than once per month in his household, unless out of necessity. The small-beer met his standards, however, and the sour milk helped cool him a little. "Perhaps all the sours are to balance the heat in the bread," he ventured.
"Nah, its because the masters are cheap," Jan snapped. "Ow!"
"And there's more like that if you don't speak with respect," Sister-lady Bettana said. She held up her hand and a very large ring flashed in the fading daylight. "You eat better than most people in Kehlibar, and give thanks to Korvaal, Gember, and Maarsdam for that privilege."
As they walked back to the sleeping room, Ewoud decided that his father had woefully understated the ferocity of sister-ladies.
#s
The next morning's meal featured fermented milk with berries in it, more dark bread in little lumps—Ewoud couldn't imagine them rolling anywhere even if they were called rolls—and slabs of preserved meat cooked with herbs that tasted bland. As before, the meal filled him, and Ewoud chewed dutifully. Instead of small-beer, hot tisanes helped the men wash down the meal, along with more sour milk. No one spoke much, other than around yawns. A few younger men muttered dark comments about whoever had invented the sleeping cupboard. Ewoud agreed, albeit silently. Sister-lady Bettana had good ears.
After the meal, and after washing up and visiting the privy building, Ewoud joined Jan, Anders, Waldis, and several journeymen in a low, long building not far from the main gate. Large windows let sunlight into the ends of the building, and long counters took up much of the interior. Rows and rows of shelves and small storage spaces covered the walls, and oil lamps hung from the ceiling off to the side of the counters. Ewoud saw that one counter had bundles and piles of furs scattered over it, looked back up at the oil lamps, and nodded. Dripping oil or wax onto fur could be a bad thing, especially if you were the person who allowed it to happen. The surface of the counter, or table actually, had notches and holes cut and carved into its edges. A large press of some kind lurked in the shadows at the far end of the room, beside a door.
"This is the peltery," Meester Haakom began quietly. As he spoke, a hunch-backed man slipped into the room from the door beside the press and took a seat in a corner, then lit two mage-lamps. "You will start here before you are allowed to assist the masters and senior journeymen with actual trade with customers." He pointed to a heap of something at the end of one table. "What are those?"
"Veshla hides, sir." Waldis sounded exceedingly confident, but then his father traded furs.
Meester Haakom folded his arms, looking down the length of his broad nose. Ewoud did not gulp, but some of the others did. “Veshla furs are not hides. They are furs. We sort them as furs, into four categories. Any pelt that does not fit those four, we reject and return to the trapper. If you wish to purchase a rejected pelt for yourself, to use on your own clothing, you must buy it with your own funds and have it worked here.” He tensed his arms, making the muscles strain his shirt-sleeves. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Meester Haakom,” several of the journeymen replied in a ragged chorus.
“Good. Ewoud, open the first bundle, the one with the green tag.” Ewoud removed the green-painted wooden tag and set it in a small slot cut into the table. Then he untied the bands holding the mound of furs together. Black and dark-grey pelts slumped away from the mound, and Ewoud spread them further apart. At least thirty pelts sprawled across the long, wide table. “Waldis, what do you see.”
Waldis scrunched his nose and peered at the furs. “All uniform in color, sir. None stands out for any reason, and I do not see any bald patches.” Ewoud noticed two stacked on top of each other and separated them. “Still no obvious problems, sir.”
“Ewoud, sort them by color, grey on this end, black there.” As Meester Haakom watched, Ewoud tried to organize the furs. Some he could do easily, but at least a dozen he had to take to the window, compare, and then compare again back at the table. “There you see the first difficulty—some of these are cross-breeds, not pure colors. They have a market, and we generally sell them as darker grey when we tag them.”
Ewoud returned to the window with one pelt, draped it over his sleeve, and ventured, “Sir, this one seems more brown than black.”
Meester Haakom strode to the window and looked for himself. “Yes, it is. It is mynkha-colored. Set it aside for now.” Ewoud found space at the grey end of the table, rolled the fur, and set the little bundle on the corner. “Does anyone care to challenge Ewoud’s sort?”
Joss, one of the journeymen, stepped forward and moved two of the darker grey to the lighter side. “These look frosted, sir.” He folded the pelt, showing a lighter under layer.
“Hmm.” Meester Haakom walked to the opposite side of the room and opened a chest, removed a brush and returned to the table. He plucked one of the frosted furs off the table, set it on a second, smaller table and brushed it backwards, then forwards. The darker fur turned loose, and dark powder appeare
d on the table along with the hairs. “This has been dyed after tanning. It makes the hair too brittle to stand shipping, and it does not wear well at all. Not acceptable.” He repeated the process on the second frosted fur with the same result. “This is not magic tanned, but chemical, and is not acceptable. Reject these furs.” He plucked them up by the tails and tossed them into a rough wooden box on the floor.
“Flip the furs over.” Ewoud turned each pelt hide-side up, and saw two that would not wear well. He held them up, then carried one to the window. Light shone through the leather despite the fur on the other side. “That we accept, but we give only two-thirds price for.” The bent-backed clerk sitting at the far end of the room grunted and Ewoud heard the scratch of a piece of writing-rock on slate. Meester Haakom glanced at the others, and pointed to one with an especially broad tail. “This is unusual but not magic or a flaw of some kind. Now you look at them.”
Ewoud got out of the way as the others crowded around the table, studying the hides and inspecting the pelts for themselves. He wondered how they tanned the skins. Squirrels and veshla did not have enough brains for brain tanning, or did they? And there were so many of them, who had enough time to brain tan a thousand veshla pelts? But if they were bark tanned, that should have ruined the fur color. Leaving the fur on also made bark tanning more difficult. He needed to learn more about that.
After a few more minutes, Meester Haakom cleared his throat. The sons and new journeymen stepped away from the table. “Roll those and organize them at the end of the table, there,” he pointed to the end farthest from the windows. The others looked from Ewoud to Meester Haakom and back, so Ewoud shrugged and quickly rolled each fur, flipping the paws in and rolling with the fur, then setting them in snug rows by color, the way he would hides tanned with the legs on. Once he finished, Meester Haakom nodded. “So. Veshla and a few squirrels are the most common furs, and the ones we want the most. However, there are some others that you may see, two of which are so rare that if you are presented with one, you must call a master immediately. If you attempt to trade for it yourself, you will lose your position instantly.”
Imperial Magic Page 6