Hanka looked bored. Or was he trying to hide excitement as well? Ewoud turned, intending to get a trade master, when Hanka clamped one firm hand on Ewoud's shoulder, pressing flesh to bone until the pain brought tears to the younger man's eyes. "No. I will conduct the trade. Meester Dogald has given me permission." He shoved Ewoud to the side, sending him staggering, blinking. "Greetings, far traveler."
The northerner studied them. He stood at least a head taller than anyone but Meester Haakom, but seemed a little leaner. Only a little, and Ewoud would not want to come to blows with the man. Between his reach and the width of his shoulders, he'd have a great advantage over most swordsmen. Ewoud had been training, but not to that level. The man's close-fitted blue vest over paler blue shirt and dark-midnight trousers must have cost a great deal, or he had a source of dye unknown in the west.
"Greetings." He strode forward, opened the bag, and heaved an enormous white pelt onto the counter, knocking the display goods off. Ewoud grabbed the salt and other fragile things before they fell off the counter and shattered. "I have two such." The heavy fur seemed to glow a little in the mage lights, and Ewoud's heart skipped a beat, or at least started jumping wildly in his chest at the sight of an entire tamman hide. The north-man flipped part of the hide over, revealing a mage-mark. He folded his arms and waited.
Ewoud glanced at Hanka, saw his dilated eyes and twitching fingers. "Go get more salt, boy," Hanka commanded. "We need salt." Ewoud bowed and ran out the back of the building, down a small passageway, and raced to the peltery, ignoring the rain. He gasped for air, then opened the door and peered inside. "Meester," inhale, "Haakom?"
"He's coming. What is it?" Anders asked. Meester Arsloe started to rise from his seat at the back of the room.
"Man of the north," gasp, "two tamman. Marked. Journeyman Hanka on duty." Ewoud backed up, closed the door, and dodged raindrops all the way back to the business building. He hesitated in the covered alley, panting quietly, then eased back in. He had to be present, had to keep Hanka honest.
"Did you fetch the salt?" Hanka demanded, peeved sounding. Since Ewoud had already done it before Hanka's arrival, he seized the excuse with both hands and his teeth.
"Yes, sir. Pink and white, fine and coarse, sirs."
"Four hrook packed for traveling," the customer ordered. "Coarse pink."
"Yes, sir." Ewoud weighed the salt on the small-lot scale, then added a few grains for bonus, just in case. The Northerner grunted with approval. Ewoud hoped it was approval. Then Ewoud found some of the waxed fabric scraps and laid one on top of the open leather pouch, flattening both with one hand, then smoothing away wrinkles before starting to gather then into a pouch-shape. Only then did he pour the salt into the pouch, showing the empty pan to the customer before tying the sack and preparing to seal it.
"You use no magic?" the north-man half-asked, half-observed.
What to say? The truth. "On the seal, yes, sir, but should the seal be cut by accident, or the pouch dropped in water or rained upon, the waxed cloth gives extra protection." Donwah's touch could shatter any protective spell. Ewoud tried hard not to see Hanka flinch at the reminder.
"Huh. Well said." With that the man turned back to haggling with Hanka over the pelts. Ewoud added the bag of salt to the man's other goods, but he really wanted to use it to hit Hanka in the head. Tamman had a set price. The price almost glowed in white on the black price board behind the counter, and had been agreed upon by the masters and the northerners themselves. If Hanka thought he was going to prove to the masters that he was ready for elevation to their ranks, he had picked a singularly piss-poor way to do it, in Ewoud's opinion.
As Ewoud watched, Hanka grew more and more excited, although he hid most signs well. The north-man... Ewoud thought he grew impatient and angry, although he carried himself quietly. His eyes had widened, and one finger tapped the scabbard of the knife on his belt with increasing speed. Please, Maarsdam, may Meester Haakom come soon, please, Ewoud begged.
"Enough of this!" the north-man snapped. "You insult me and my kill." Ewoud cringed away from the counter, trying to disappear into the cabinets. "Tamman has a set price that is known to all."
Hanka gulped. His fingers flickered once more, and Ewoud felt magic. "Most honored sir, that was the policy last season yes. I hesitate to venture to correct you in this case, sir, but due to difficulties in the west, all furs are nowk—!" He clutched his throat as the northerner raised one finger on his left hand. The collar on Hanka's shirt tightened of its own accord. The customer was a shifting-mage!
"You try to force my mind. Your laws and mine forbid that," the bigger man snarled. Ewoud froze like a mouse when the great sea eagles flew over the water-meadows. "You dishonor all trade and my person with such." The man's voice remained low, calm, deadly.
"Yes, he does, Count Mangus," Meester Haakom's voice boomed from behind Ewoud. Ewoud sank to the floor, hiding. "The price for tamman shows here, for all to see, and journeymen are forbidden to bargain for great hides." Haakom laid one paw-like hand on Hanka's shoulder, then swept him aside. The grey-faced journeyman fell onto Ewoud, gasping, eyes closed as he sucked air. Ewoud stayed where he crouched, not certain who he should fear more: Meester Haakom, the northerner, or Hanka once he got his breath back.
"Ewoud, begin gathering his lordship's order." Meester Haakom's command ended Ewoud's indecision and allayed one fear. He was not going to be ripped apart on the spot. Ewoud squirmed out from under the journeyman and quickly selected, wrapped, weighed, and calculated the purchases. Soon the second counter held an enormous mountain of trade goods, and Ewoud's mind boggled at the numbers on his slate. One tamman hide could almost pay for two ships, their crews, and the dock fees at the prime berth in Rhonari! He showed the numbers to the noble and the master, and both gestured their approval.
"Boy, a question?" the noble asked at least.
Ewoud almost lost control of his bowels, and he squeaked, "Yes, noble lord?"
"I am my lord. Why do you use so little magic?" Was it a complaint?
The words spilled out before Ewoud had a good answer ready, "My lord, we use almost no magic in my family. My sire was born under Donwah's sign, my lord, sir." As he heard his own words, Ewoud wanted to duck under the floor boards and crawl back to Rhonari. He'd betrayed his father's secret!
"So the tale is true," the northern lord sounded thoughtful. The tall man turned back to Meester Haakom. "You will see to that one?"
"Yes, Count Mangus. He will be disciplined." Ewoud did not like the look Meester Haakom cast upon him. "As will any who assisted him."
Ewoud barely made it outside to the closest privy before he wet himself from fear.
"Why did you not tell anyone?" Meester Hajo demanded. Ewoud faced seven masters. They sat behind a heavy table, stone-faced. A notary recorded everyone's words. At the back of the commons room, apprentices, journeymen, and others rustled, watching the trade court. Meester Haakom had recused himself, and Meester Dogald's demand to serve on the board had been denied.
"Because the first time, sirs, I thought Journeyman Hanka might be following orders from his master." Ewoud could feel Dogald's eyes burning on his back.
"Why did you think that?"
"Because Meester Dogald's loss with the pelt purchase. If the man had been responsible for the deception, then cheating him back would balance on the Wheel." The words sounded stupid to his ears as he said them. "And because everyone knows that Journeyman Hanka and I do not get along, and it would be expected for me to lie to make him and thus his master look bad." Ewoud had spent far too much time remembering that during the past two days of confinement. He didn't dare lie.
"So stupid as to be true," the beast-mage sighed, rubbing his forehead with one hand.
"Aye, and it matches what two apprentices have confessed to. Just to be so open about risking Maarsdam's wrath..." Hajo stared at Ewoud. "He knew you were from Rhonari."
"I believe so, sir."
Meester Vansluit, the li
ght merchant, raised one scarred finger. "How does that affect this judgement?"
Hajo leaned back and crossed his arms, still looking at Ewoud. "Because there are stories of a merchant who was born under three of Donwah's signs but born to Maarsrodi, and rumors that his difficulty with magic were passed on to his sons and daughters." Hajo sat up again. "Or there were until one son proved to be a mage."
"It appears that at least the first time, Hanka requested Ewoud, believing that Ewoud had inherited his father's nature. In which case, Ewoud could not notice Hanka using magic to shift men's perceptions and manipulate their trade." Meester Arsenloe sounded disgusted. Well, he was a mage, and this reflected very badly on the mages and their ability to control one of their own gone wrong. "Given that his guild membership had been falsified, it does not surprise me."
"What? What do you mean?" Meester Dogald demanded from the watchers' benches. "He is a notary mage. The notary in Bushmaak certified his papers as true."
"Hanka is a notary mage. He is also an illusion mage of a very unusual kind, and should have so registered, not as a notary. The stronger gift controls the guild affiliation," Meester Rohnald said. 'This is not going to help us in our arguments against mages being forcibly sent to where they are needed."
The room swayed, and Ewoud caught himself, unlocking his knees before he fainted from fear. He'd ruined his family by not speaking out sooner. He and his brothers would lose their status, his father and mother would be forced to pay high restitution, and his sisters would not find husbands. Why hadn't he protested harder? Why hadn't he gone to one of the other masters with his fears? He'd insulted Maarsrodi as well as his father.
So wrapped in his own terror was Ewoud that he did not hear Meester Vansluit's first words. Only when the trader stood did Ewoud break out of his own gibbering mind to hear, "...ten lashes and bread and water for five days of confinement, and then privy duty as well as peltery work. Because of your honesty, and because you prevented a grave insult to the representative of the Great Northern Emperor, you are spared damage and honor payment to those Hanka injured."
Ewoud heard every other word, and stammered, "Th-Th-Thank you, sirs, for mercy. I will never fail to act again."
"Good. Obedience and respect for age and honor are important, but men know when such respect has been lost and act accordingly." Meester Arsenloe raised on eyebrow. "Take that to heart, Ewoud Rhonarida."
"Yes, sir. Sirs." Ewoud bowed. Lashes, bread and water, and extra work? He could survive those. More importantly, his family's honor and reputation would survive those.
"Go, and be ready to begin your punishment this evening, with the night meal," Meester Hajo ordered. Ewoud went.
The next morning, he discovered just how much lashes even with a single-tail whip could hurt. Meester Dogald laid the blows on with a will, or so it felt to Ewoud. It took everything in him to keep from pleading for mercy or screaming, and Ewoud tasted blood in his mouth after the third blow from biting his tongue. When Jurgins and another man untied him from the post, Ewoud collapsed, whimpering without shame. They dragged him back to the room where he'd been confined and left him lying on the floor, hurting too badly to move. He'd never felt pain so bad or such shame. His father would know instantly what had happened once they went to the bathes. Maybe he could skip bathing, say he'd taken a vow like that sailor who said he'd promised Donwah never to touch water again. But promising gods things did not end well, did it? He hoped that Hanka got twice as many blows of the whip.
When Ewoud woke, his back hurt a little less. "Do not move quickly or you will tear the skin open further," he heard one of the beast-healer apprentices say. "Lucky for you that Meester Rohnald is used to this kind of injury, and your hide is not that different from an ovsta's." He wasn't as furry, was he? Ewoud couldn't remember. He absolutely had to move, and he pulled his knees under himself and pushed upright with his arms. "Stop." He wasn't going any farther. Ewoud hung his head, panting, tears falling. Something ice cold touched his back and he almost screamed. Then the pain faded from agony to mere torture. "Now you can move a little more. Privy-bucket's in the corner."
Another day passed before Meester Rohnald allowed him to leave his cell. Ewoud had not wanted to move, nor to eat. "Do not begin privy duty until those have scabbed and stay that way. If you get blood poisoning from the miasmas, there's nothing I can do for you," the beast-healer warned.
"Yes, sir."
Meester Haakom did not slap Ewoud on the back, unlike Meester Dogald. Four days after his release from confinement, Dogald passed by as Ewoud carried an arm-full of wood for the brewers. The master smacked exactly where the whip-welts lay. Ewoud staggered and almost hit him in return. He managed to catch himself just at the last moment, not dropping the wood, not striking his superior. "Enough, Remko," the pelt master rumbled from behind Ewoud. Dogald snorted and continued on his way. "He blames you for making Hanka so angry that he forgot not to use persuasion spells," Haakom told Ewoud. "None of the rest of us believe that argument, you may be certain. Avoid him."
"Sir, um, where is Hanka?" Ewoud had not seen him, and wondered how many stripes he'd gotten. Lots, Ewoud hoped.
"He's on the gibbet outside the city wall. He broke their laws, ours, and those of the Great Northern Emperor. All three ruled that he should die as one of corrupt blood." The pelt master sounded as calm as if he were discussing fur colors in veshla, and Ewoud wanted to vomit. He never intended the man to die! "If we cannot trust ourselves to do business honestly, and if he was so willing to violate all the rules of the vlee and of Kehlibar, then he is no merchant. And we learned that our customers were not the only ones he 'persuaded' with his mage talent. Two women's fathers demanded his life." Meester Haakom clenched one fist, voice still calm. "No man can tolerate that."
No. Ewoud knew what he'd promised to do to anyone who injured his sisters or led them to dishonor through deceit. "No, sir."
Ten days later, Meester Arsenloe called him back to his desk. "Ewoud, have you spoken to anyone from the north since that day?"
Ewoud tried to remember as he stretched his still-tender back. "No, sir, not that I know of. I bowed to one man as he left the courtyard and I came into it, but we did not speak."
The accounts keeper and mage sighed, rubbing under his nose. "I believe you. Young men are worse than women when it comes to telling stories, even if fish are not involved. You may return to your task."
"Thank your, sir." The next to last person Ewoud wanted to see was someone from the north. If he ever returned to Rhonari and became a master, he would confine all his travels to the west and perhaps Chin’mai, where snow never fell and the sun turned men the color of jerked meat.
7
The North Awakens
Ewoud walked briskly but did not run to fetch Meester Wandel. The lean man had only just arrived from a trading trip well to the south, bringing with him wild stories augmented with pure chaos as his ovsta tried to fight the others. Ewoud tapped on the door of the dining commons and bowed. "Yes, Ewoud?" Meester Moere sighed. Mornings did not agree with the food-stuffs trader.
"Meester Wandel is needed, sirs. A man has brought saka, red as well as gold and yellow."
Wandel almost overturned his chair as he sprang to his feet. "Where?"
"The main trading room, sir." Ewoud lurched out of the way as the master raced past, dignity be damned. Ewoud took that as a bad omen and debated following or hiding somewhere. No, it was not his fault, not at all, and he needed to be at his place when whatever happened, happened. Instead he followed at a safe distance, enjoying the cold bite in the air. The last days of summer brought miasmas out of everything, or so it seemed, and without a sea wind... He would not bemoan the wind of Rhonari again, at least not in summer. Ewoud strode instead of trotting, getting his breath back. The journeyman's panic had afflicted him as well.
Ewoud ducked into the back door of the trading room in time to hear Meester Wandel's voice rise in volume. "No, we do not buy red or rose saka. Su
ch is reserved for his majesty the great northern emperor. All other colors but not those."
"You call me liar? Say my goods not true?" A stocky man in brown shook his fist at Klaas, the journeyman on duty, then at Meester Wandel. "You call me liar!"
The master's narrow face showed nothing but politeness. "No. I say we do not buy red or rose saka. Others we buy based on size and kind."
"This is honey saka." A crooked finger poked a lump of stone as big as Ewoud's two fists together across white fabric. Even Ewoud could see the red tint in over half the lump. He'd never seen a mixed piece, and wondered why it did that.
"Part is honey saka, yes. But this," Wandel picked up a pointer of white wood and pointed to the larger portion, "this has rose in it. Imperial law, merchant law, we cannot buy this. Only the men of the north may buy and then only for the emperor."
What would happen if someone did break the law? Ewoud did not recall, but his still-aching back persuaded him not to think too much about trying. Maarsdam's justice could be swift indeed, and painful. Wandel added, "If the stone is cut, then we buy the honey saka."
"How dare you challenge my truth," the customer hissed. "May the gods strike all of you for this insult."
Wandel looked to the journeyman and moved his hand in a curious gesture. Klaas bowed and trotted off. As he did, the main door opened and a man in blue and white stepped over the threshold. Had the master prayed for a sign? If so, Maarsdam had moved quickly indeed. Ewoud scooted a few steps farther away, in case the gods chose to repeat their action of Milunis.
"Well met, good sir," Wandel said. The man in brown turned and seemed to shrink. Was it because the northerner stood a head taller than him, or something more?
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