"Well met. I bring—" The north-man paused, head tilting a little. Ewoud noticed embroidery on his cuffs and vest. Other northerners had worn plain white, or geometric patterns on their clothes. Could he be a mage, and those guild signs such as some of the free cities' mages wore? "That is rose saka. A large piece indeed."
Wandel stepped back from the counter as the north man came towards them. The man in brown put one hand on the stone and stuck his chest out. "Is honey. They insult me, as do you."
"I will give you ten hrook for the stone."
The trade master eased closer to Ewoud as the man in brown seemed to swell further. "Ten? Ten! How dare you. This is at least eighty."
"Eighty? For a stone of rose and honey, clear honey at that?" The north man shook his head a little. "For the size, I give eighteen. No more."
The two bargained back and forth for an eternity, or so it seemed, with the man in brown turning red in the face and pounding his fist on the counter, and the north-man growing colder and never changing expression. Of the two, Ewoud thought the man in brown might be easier to bargain with, or would he? Could his anger be a bluff, like a male great-hauler trying to scare away smaller males? Did Ewoud want to find out on his own? Well, he would have to some day, and he watched the men closely, trying to learn. The actual bargaining sounded familiar, but their reactions and moods puzzled him. So did some of the dialect words that each man used. Meester Wandel just stood, arms at his sides, watching.
"Forty, but no more. This is too pure, too clear for many to want it." The north-man raised one eyebrow.
The man in brown's eyes flashed wide open. "Valdher and Torval be my witnesses, I should teach you proper manners and respect, and would had I time enough." He extended his hand, palm down. The north-man slapped it from below and turned to the watchers.
"Forty hrook against my account to this man."
Meester Wandel poked Ewoud in the ribs and the two set about gathering sufficient goods and silver to make the amount, as well as what the man in brown had already agreed to. He continued grumbling and glaring at all and sundry, swept his goods into two sacks, and stormed out. As he left, he called over his shoulder, "For this insult, the gods will punish you."
What insult? Absolute confusion hung over Ewoud like a cloud and he struggled to focus on fetching and weighing the goods the northerner requested as the trader and customer haggled and bargained over furs and pots of balm. For Klaas and Meester Wandel to refuse to buy the stone was a grave insult, and so was the north-man's bargaining, but the local had sold the stone even so? Each part made a little sense, but taken together they left Ewoud as confused as a great-hauler trying to read a ledger. Get more salt, Ewoud told himself, and fish. That makes sense. Fine white lace also made sense, even if it tangled too easily for Ewoud's peace of mind.
Once the trading finished, the north-man looked at Ewoud. He had dark eyes instead of blue, eyes that showed nothing of the man behind them. "Is this the one who preserved your honor?"
Wandel looked to Ewoud. Ewoud took a deep breath and told his knees to stop shaking. "I fetched Meester Haakom so that fair dealings would be done, yes sir. Meester Haakom disciplined the journeyman for his poor judgment." That sounded safer than what Ewoud wanted to say.
"Hmm." The customer leaned closer and studied Ewoud, then leaned back and jerked his head down in a nod. "So the tale is true," he said, more to himself than to Ewoud, and left after collecting his goods.
Ewoud looked to the master. Wandel relaxed, his expression as confused as Ewoud felt. "Where is Klaas?"
A loud thump answered the question. "Sorry, sir. There's a problem in the first wares building, roof leak, and Hajo grabbed me to help move things. The mages are checking preservation spells and seals, sir." Klaas came in with a piece of white-painted wood. Someone had attached pieces of saka to it in all shades but red and pink. Colored spots stood for the forbidden colors. "I do not know who moved it, sir."
"Prop it in the corner by the door so it will be on hand from now on." Wandel ran both hands over his tightly braided black hair. "I need a trim." He turned to Ewoud. "Do you understand?"
Understand what? Discretion warred with honest, and Ewoud opted to thread between them. "I understood in part, sir. We do not buy, cannot buy, rose or red saka. Men of the north who act for the emperor can. Clear saka has less value than does that with inclusions and shadows, but fully clouded saka is only for beads and baby-rings, and hand cooling bags." That had been a surprise, that people made bags of copper wire and silver, filled them with saka beads, and used them to cool their hands so they did not get sweat on things. "I understood most of the bargain, I think. Some of the, ah, hard words made no sense, though, sir."
Both master and journeyman smiled. "If they were the same as he used before you went to fetch Meester Wandel, they were...choice," Klaas allowed. "I know a few in that dialect, but only a few."
"They mean the same as our insults, although I still do not quite know why calling someone an apple-eater is rude in the north. But then, if you wish to start a fight with a man of Chin’mai, accuse his mother of having dry feet." Meester Wandel shrugged. "I recommend that if you do not understand both what a word means and how men consider it, you should not use it."
That sounded like excellent advice, and Ewoud bowed toward the trader.
"Fire!" All the chimes clanged and deep danger drums shook the men of the vlee awake that night. Ewoud struggled out of the sleeping cupboard, almost falling on top of Jan as the other man struggled to pull on his breeches. "Fire in the wares house!" Ewoud heaved on his trousers, shoved feet into shoes, and ran for the door.
"Here," Jan tossed a heavy jacket at him. "Sparks and embers."
Ewoud joined the men streaming toward the red glow of the wares house. It was the same one that had suffered the roof leak. A large shadow loomed up and pointed to the journeyman and sons. "You get a bucket. You grab the pull-pole, you and you, to the beast pens, in case someone tries to be stupid." Human or animal act stupid? Ewoud picked up the leather bucket and joined the line of men passing empty buckets to the well and filled buckets back to the fire. By the light of the flames he could see movement as other men used poles with metal hooks to drag things out of the building, or to pull bits of roof off and away from the flames. The rough handle of the bucket rubbed his hands. Men yelled, calling for others to move things farther away. One apprentice—was it? He looked young—appeared on the roof of the next wares house with a broom. In the flaring light, Ewoud saw him moving back and forth, sweeping away burning bits. The tiles should hold, but if some of the lead softened...And parts of the roof remained wood, like that of the others. Yellow fingers and crimson grabbed at the building, while glowing bits of destruction danced in the night wind.
"More water!" The men and boys passed bucket after bucket as quickly as they could without spilling. Hissing splashes alternated with roaring sounds. Ewoud's shoulders and hands hurt. Something stung the back of his neck and he passed the bucket then slapped at the pain, knocking free whatever it had been. Darkness and roaring, the sound of flame licking and devouring, and of men calling back and forth, that he would always remember. "More water!" The heavy buckets moved. Where were pumps and hoses, like they had on the ship? He passed another bucket, tossed the returning empty to the man beside him, and shivered. Had the fire touched the city as well?
Master and apprentice, no one carried rank in a fire, that Haakom and the others had drummed into Ewoud. Another figure appeared on the roof, also with a broom, and swept embers away. Who was it? Someone, that was all that mattered. How many goods could they move out of the wares house? And what else might be burning? Grab the bucket, hold it by both handles, pass it without swinging, take an empty bucket. Then no more empty buckets, only filled ones. "Apprentices running empties back, load and pass faster," the man beside him panted. Ewoud nodded, breathing through clenched teeth. Soot and smoke made breathing hard, and soon nothing but buckets and breathing mattered.
"Stop." Had he heard properly? "We need to move goods to the other buildings." Ewoud wanted to groan or cry. Instead he handed the bucket to someone and followed a group to where barrels, bales, and sacks lay in a jumble, surrounded by water and debris. "Those go to the far end of the row, away from the fire. We'll sort them after dawn." Ewoud nodded and helped Master Vansluit tip the first barrel onto its side, then began rolling it away from the water and ash. At least it was not a bucket, and they could roll it. Or had he died and gone to the place of punishment? Ewoud did not think. He rolled, dragged, carried, rolled, and longed for a respite, just one instant of mercy and stillness. He'd never been so tired.
"Enough." He blinked at the mountain of a man looming ahead of them. "All the goods are safe. The fire is out. Go sleep." Ewoud stared, blinking again. Meester Haakom pushed him back, away from the bale, but gently. "Rinse off, then sleep," he repeated. Ewoud made it as far as the floor of the sleeping room. He sat against the wall, resting his back against the boards for just a moment.
Cloudy sunlight trickled into the room. Someone had opened the shutters and removed the storm boards s well. Everything smelled of soot. "Your turn to steam," Waldis reported. Leave everything here for the servants to wash. Go."
The steam felt good, even if the room smelled more of smoke than of needle leaf. A life-servant scuttled in, left towels as Ewoud dried, and hurried out, carrying the dirty towels and some ashy clothes. She kept her head down, eyes to the floor, face hidden behind a veil of ragged hair. What had she done to be made a life servant? Or was she one of those who would never find a husband or learn a trade, and so had been given as a bond-servant to be raised and then labor for her keep and to pay the cost of her upbringing? Whatever the cause, Ewoud thanked the gods that he'd been born free, and that his people did not practice life-servitude. He finished dressing and for lack of a better idea went to the dining commons.
Trays of bread, pots of preserved meats and pickled vegetables, and pitchers of small-beer and sour milk waited. "Eat what you need, then check the list," Meester Meroe said around a chunk of something. "Duties are posted there. Don't try to go out the main gate."
"Yes, sir." Ewoud used the pickled yellow root and bors to soften the bread, then smeared a little meat on it before eating. The small-beer soothed his throat. Bors... he didn't know if he liked bors yet or not. What did it taste like not pickled? He had to have eaten it, because nothing that shade of blue existed back home, and he'd have recognized it fresh. The journeymen said it helped prevent winter tooth-drop. Ewoud gnawed and tried to sort out the flavor. A little sweet and spicy at first, like that warm-scented bark they used for making sweet breads, but heavier and meaty in a slightly unpleasant way. Pickles should not coat the tongue, and bors lingered in his mouth the way too-fatty sea-schaef did.
After filling the empty place in his middle, Ewoud glanced at the duty board now propped up at the end of the hall. He was to work in the peltery.
"I don't understand why we're not all working to clear the debris and repair things?" Anders looked at two bank-rat pelts, took them to the window and peered at their fur. "Spots?"
Ewoud left the veshla he'd been rolling and joined Anders. He rubbed the fur back and forth. Still dark brown with very faint shadows of spots on the fur. "Spots." That was for the masters to deal with, and if no one had caught it earlier, he wasn't going to worry about it. He'd already been thumped once by Hajo for missing a mynkah being sold as veshla. No one had told him to sniff the pelt—if it smelled of fish even after tanning, it was mynkha. That is, unless it was river-slider but only two of those had been sold that season. Most went east, or so Meester Haakom said. Ewoud returned to rolling pelts.
After a while of rolling and thinking, he ventured, "Perhaps it is because there are too many of us. We won't all fit, and all I know about wood is that it burns and some is very expensive but other kinds aren't." And that young, whippy branches stung when his mother and the priests of Korvaal had used them on his back side after he and his friends had tried to sneak fruit from the orchard. That had been enough to convince him to leave the fruit alone. "And if they are using ovsta and great-haulers to bring things in through the main gate, too many people will make the animals nervous."
"There is also damage on the city side of our wall, and the less the people see of us for today, the happier all are." Meester Arsenloe's voice carried from the door leading into the locked and spell-warded storage room for the highest value pelts. "Whoever set the fire also burned two houses outside the vlee, although if by design or accident no one knows. If he or she is caught, may the gods have mercy on them, because the people of the city will not." He limped over to where Anders stood puzzling over the two spotted pelts. "Something wrong?"
"Yes, sir. These have spots, and I do not think they are painted on, or dye problems."
"Hmm. So they do. They might not be bank-rat, or they could be bank-rat from a new area. Set them aside for Tadol." The mage limped back to his desk and sat heavily. "I am too old to be fighting fires all night."
Ewoud and Anders exchanged confused looks. Surely Arsenloe's deformation had kept him from working, hadn't it? Before either of them dared ask, Meester Dogald stormed in. "Here." He threw an envelope at Ewoud's face. "I have done my duty."
Once the door closed behind him, Arsenloe intoned, "And may the beauty of the gods go with you as well." Ewoud shrugged, slid the folded paper into one pocket and resumed rolling. They needed to be ready to fill the barrel as soon as the coopers finished it.
"...the good news is that no goods burned up, and only one small bundle of that strange, loose bark cloth got so wet that it couldn't be saved," Jan told everyone the next morning. "The bad news is that the gate is damaged, and the building too rotten to keep standing. The masters are debating having masons take it apart to reuse the stone, where there is stone, or giving the stone to the people who lost houses as part of the damage recompense." He shrugged with one hand. "There are no priests of the Scavenger here to ask."
"Wait. Damage Recompense? I hadn't heard that yet." Klaas weaved his cup toward Jan. "There are claims against us for the fire?"
Jan leaned back and peered left and right for Sister-lady Bettana before leaning in and lowering his voice. "I heard that they caught the man who set it, and that he wanted to burn us out to avenge an insult. Since our fire spread to their buildings, we owe damages." Ewoud froze. The man in brown. He'd been serious with his threats.
"I will believe it when the masters tell us," Klaas said. "Arson is too serious to accuse anyone without very, very good reason. The penalties here are higher than in the free cities."
Before Ewoud could ask what they were, Anders poked him, tipped his head toward the kitchen door, and said more loudly, "What was in the message?" Sister-lady Bettana strode into the dining commons, looking left and right for any hint of disorder or impropriety.
Ewoud had read it just before going to sleep, once he remembered that it was in his pocket. "I'm to return to the cities at the end of this season. No, my father is not ill or deceased, but it said little else." At least, little else that had made sense. Why would someone specifically request his presence after port closing? He couldn't think of any religious rituals that needed him to participate, and if one of his sisters had found a husband, well, he had no say in that, unless it was that cooper's journeyman who had been a little too interested in Rikila, and Ewoud's father had already informed the law-keepers that the journeyman was not to be permitted anywhere near the family. Riki was not yet twelve, far too young to marry or hand-fast. The journeyman felt slimy, like rotten fish, even if he was skilled in his trade. Ewoud had wanted to plunge him into the harbor to see if that might
remove the ooze that seemed to follow the man.
"Maybe your father found a girl for you." Waldis winked. "If you marry early, he can make certain that another generation knows how to manage the business before he passes."
Several of the men from Bushmaak shuddered. "Not funny," one of the journeymen brewers snarled, but very quietly and only after glancing left and right for the sister-lady. "You never met Antil Smithson, the poor bastard."
"Oh, Korvaal, Marsmaak, and Radmar have mercy," another older journeyman murmured. The others gave him curious and eager looks. "His grandfather would not allow any one else to have any say in the business. Even after the old man had started to," the journeyman tapped his temple and stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth. "Made all sorts of terrible business decisions. Antil's father had died. Antil petitioned the council for assistance, but the old man overrode him, had him flogged for disrespect. By the time Smithson the Elder passed, the family's debts..."
The brewer nodded. "The council's bailiffs overturned his trade table and declared the family bankrupt." Everyone gasped, horror struck. "Antil, the others in the family, are still working to pay off the debts. Old man died eleven winters back."
Several of the sons had turned greenish-grey, and Ewoud shuddered. He'd heard stories, but oh, may Maarsdam have mercy.
Silence covered that portion of the long table for quite a while. At last Anders cleared his throat, choked, and coughed. "Sorry." He wheezed, then caught his breath. "Is it true that there are stories that Great Northern Emperor will be visiting the Free Cities soon?"
Ewoud and the others from Rhonari exchanged glances. Waldis took a deep breath. "I was told that a messenger from the Great Northern Emperor visited the city council and said that yes, his majesty would be requesting the hospitality of the city come winter, and that he left a token of his truth."
Imperial Magic Page 10