Chapter 3
Righty was up at 6 a.m. sharp and just barely won the battle against his body, which was insisting he had earned at least another hour of sleep. Janie had made eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes, and he tore into them like a wolf with a freshly killed deer.
Janie chuckled appreciatively at the display. They showered together, and then she went off to work at the library while he headed out to the woods for his morning sword practice.
As he began to practice, his enemy was not apathy but enthusiasm. He felt so desperately eager to get to the ranch and start planting crops that it was hard to focus on his lessons. To correct that he reminded himself that unless he mastered this weapon he would be foolish to stay in this business, let alone keep expanding it. His alleyway experience had already cemented that fact.
Nonetheless, much of the passion was gone today from his movements. To any outsider he would have seemed quite animated, but inside he almost felt like an employee going through the motions at a nine-to-five job. However, he knew from his boxing days that what makes a champion is the ability to practice even when the activity in question has lost all its luster. Enthusiasm will come and go, but the need to practice never does.
Three hours later, he was drenched in sweat as usual, and he considered that sufficient evidence of his having done his duty. Now, he felt like a kid who can finally get to his ice cream. Harold had noticed his rather sullen demeanor and had decided to watch from atop a tree. The konulans flew about the forest playfully, only making sure not to venture too near the razor-sharp blade slicing the air mercilessly.
It didn’t take him long to realize they were as excited as he was to go to the ranch, and he wasn’t finding any volunteers to snoop about town to watch his wife at the library or to surveil the woods, his garden, or his house. He feared he was going to make enemies out of these little devils if he didn’t placate them somehow, so he suggested they rotate in six-hour shifts.
One of the four families would stay here, two would accompany him to the ranch, and one would have to spread out and form a line of communication between Ringsetter and the ranch. He had the leader of each family (and was relieved to find no major dispute on this point, as it boiled down to age in konulan society) pull straws to see who would do what.
He found most of the process rather amusing—although he noticed Harold’s tempestuous eyes suggesting displeasure at Righty’s coddling of the konulans. Righty decided allowing Harold to assume an authoritarian role in the future would probably be more efficient. Meanwhile, Righty would work on cultivating the bonds of friendship with them.
With these matters decided, Righty mounted Harold and took off to his ranch.
Righty told Harold to set him down on the side of the mountain bordering the ranch, and they discussed business briefly. Although Righty was all but convinced he had no choice but to involve his ranch hands in his business, he was experiencing some jitters about this step. After all, they knew his real name. Harold said Righty ought to think of this as a horse race to be the first to establish a major exportation route to Sodorf. Selegania, particularly in the south, was known to have a better agricultural climate than Sodorf, so Sodorf’s Smokeless Green was going to be mostly imported. It was possibly virgin territory at this point, but it was only a matter of time before others established themselves there.
The problems he had had in the city of Sivingdel alone had given him a sufficiently bitter taste of breaking into an established market. He shuddered to think at what that would be like in a foreign country.
He told the konulans to go scout out the ranch and let him know if it would be possible for Harold to take him inconspicuously as far as the house. They soon came back and said it would be, since all the ranchers were a couple miles behind the house. Feeling emboldened, Righty mounted Harold and told him to fly low and keep flying until he told him to stop.
Harold happily complied with a speed that just about sent Righty’s breakfast onto the ground. Righty told Harold to stop once it looked like he was around a half-mile away from the ranchers’ area. There was a wall of trees there, which Righty found to be a convenient curtain of privacy.
Righty hopped off and went to approach the ranchers. He greeted them all with a handshake and a renewed request for their names, something he knew would have to be repeated several more times before he committed every last one to memory.
There wasn’t a lot of haggling involved. After Righty promised each of them $1,000 for one day of agricultural assistance, provided he was sufficiently impressed with their productivity, the ranch soon had as much hustling and bustling as a fortress preparing itself for imminent assault.
Gone were the lean, mean stallions the ranchers rode around on like so many bolts of lightning, and out came large, musclebound oxen that looked like they might struggle in a race against a tortoise but would possibly win a game of tug-of-war against a dinosaur.
Righty asked one of the ranchers who seemed to be calling out most of the orders what his name was. “Tim Sanders” was the reply. Righty then asked Mr. Sanders for a recommendation regarding the most tucked-away area of the ranch.
“Depends on how big a crop you’re planning on.”
“I’m looking to start with about five acres of my main cash crop, all of which I would like surrounded by about a half-acre of corn. But in the future, I might wish to expand to hundreds of acres, depending on how well the agricultural market is doing.”
“Follow me,” Mr. Sanders invited, pointing Righty towards a stallion.
Righty had ridden horses throughout most of his adult life, but he knew there was a big difference between trotting a few miles around town on a domesticated horse and mounting an unpredictable beast such as the one Mr. Sanders was now indicating. But he would be darned if he showed weakness to an employee, so he feigned confidence and jumped atop the animal, which fortunately had a saddle already securely in place.
Righty felt a good connection with the horse, as it appeared to offer no rebellion, and in a jiffy he was following Tim to the proposed location. This caught the eye of most of the other ranchers, who had been assembling farming tools and beasts of burden. They now began heading in Righty and Tim’s direction.
After a few minutes of swift riding, Righty began to notice a large cornfield. Tim led him alongside it for a few miles. Once they reached the back end, Tim stopped.
“I s’pose here’s as good a place as any,” Tim opined. “We’re a good five miles or so behind your house, and you’ve got several good miles to work with between here and where the ground starts to get too rocky.”
In a tone that almost sounded like an apology, Tim said, “I’m not sure if Mr. Wilkins ran it by you, but in the past he’s allowed us to harvest and sell our own corn and keep half of the proceeds.”
This seemed a bit generous to Righty, and Tim seemed to sense it, so he proffered, “We’ll understand if you have a different arrangement in mind, but for whatever it’s worth, the reasons Mr. Wilkins set it up this way are because a lot of the corn is for personal consumption and the profits aren’t particularly high. And also as kind of a bonus, since that’s helped him keep food expenses down. We also plant some other things—beans, tobacco, coffee. We have sort of our own little natural pantry back here.”
Righty wasn’t about to start grousing about fifty percent proceeds on crops whose worth was tantamount to grains of sand compared to the crop he was about to be planting, so his response was, “Well, it sounds fair to me.”
Tim’s relief was etched clearly on his face.
“You know, Mr. Sanders, I’m starting to feel like the lot of us are going to get along just swell. We might even need more help here on the ranch in the not-too-distant future. We’ve certainly got the physical space for it. Supposing—for cattle or agricultural reasons—I needed more help here, do you think it would be hard to come by? I would want good, competent workers such as yourselves. Men who
can use a crossbow and sword, who know their way around a garden, and who can lasso and ride. And, above all, men who know how to keep business affairs private.”
“You’ve just described Sovelians in a nutshell,” Tim said, grinning.
Righty paused for a moment and barely managed to suppress a blush, as he then realized how provincial he was. Sovelia was the state neighboring Rodalia, Righty’s home state.
“But don’t worry—I could go to town and handpick people anytime you need more help,” Tim said smiling.
“How far away’s that?”
“About a hundred miles.”
“Well, that’s good to know, Mr. Sanders. I will certainly keep you in mind as a recruiter should business here at the ranch begin to grow.”
“Yes, sir,” Tim said.
Righty surveyed the area and couldn’t be more pleased. To his back was acre upon acre of corn and whatever else these ranch hands planted. In front of him was lush, open country for miles before imposing hills began, which then quickly graduated to steep mountains. And all of this was miles away from any prying eye.
“Looks good to me. I’ll need some help hauling the seeds here. They’re back at the house—all ten of them,” he said, wishing that he hadn’t left all twelve there but had buried two of them in the mountains, just in case things here didn’t work out. He would make sure no more than ten barrels left the house.
A loud whistle issued forth from Tim. “Yo?” the nearest rancher replied.
“Send a wagon to the house.”
The rancher replied with an affirmative whistle.
Righty began galloping to the house. He wanted to make sure he unloaded the specified number of barrels and that no one peaked inside. He simultaneously cursed himself for not having the foresight to padlock the front door, but he promised to fix that mistake soon enough.
He didn’t make it to the house first—it was nearly impossible to contend with these ranchers on horseback, and apparently they felt obligated to express their dedication by arriving there first to pitch in with whatever was going into the wagon. To his relief, however, they were all waiting a respectful distance outside.
He approached the door and then said jovially, “No need to come inside; I’ll bring the barrels to the front door.”
And do so he did. Quicker than a flash he carried them out one by one, and just as quickly the ranchers loaded them onto the wagon. Mere minutes later they were all heading back towards the planting location.
When they got there, plows and beasts of burden were ready to go.
“You’ll learn I welcome expertise, and I get the feeling that you all know a lot more about agriculture than I do,” Righty said, addressing the ranchers, whom he now counted to be precisely thirty-two.
Righty then took out a knife, opened a barrel, and showed them the seeds. “This is what we’re planting, gentlemen. So far, my agricultural setting has mostly been forests, so I’ll watch and observe as you show the best way to plant these.”
“Do you mind if we ask what it is we’re planting?” Tim asked. Then, he added quickly, “I mean, so that we can properly plant them.”
“Not at all,” Righty responded. “It’s something called Smokeless Green.” He looked carefully into the faces and eyes of each man. Not a facial muscle twitched, but he could easily sense the incredible exertion it required on their part to keep their poker faces.
Righty had thought this out long and hard, and he had decided that brazen honesty would be the best policy with these men, as it would give him a chance to see their reaction to the unadulterated truth being given in one swift dose. Before speaking, he had privately noticed, with satisfaction, the presence of konulans flying about. They would be giving their opinion later as to the trustworthiness of these men and their subsequent conversations.
“I’m an honest man,” Righty began, “and I realize this might come as a bit of a shock to you, but those swords you carry at your side are just as illegal as these seeds, even if the prison sentence isn’t quite as steep.” This seemed to put the men at ease, as they realized their scofflaw tendencies were clearly exposed.
“I realize that this is illegal and therefore requires risk. I myself am a firm believer that risk ought to be rewarded. I think I’ll demonstrate the sincerity of that belief right now,” he said, handing each man a thousand falons.
“That’s just a small taste. If you make these plants grow and help me package them, you are going to see increases in your salary you could have only dreamed about before. That is, unless you have qualms about lawbreaking. If that’s the case, I fully understand. We can pretend none of these unfortunate words were ever spoken, you can go back to ranching, and you can even keep the thousand-falon bills in your pocket to alleviate your stricken consciences.”
The men in the group looked to Tim for guidance, and after a quick gulp, he spoke up, “We’re in, sir. There was never any doubt about it. It’s just that you kind of took us by surprise. But we’re in. All the way.”
All the ranchers quickly assented without Tim even having to prod them further.
“Good,” Righty said, with sincere pleasure. “I want to start with five acres being planted today. If you can get that done, I’ll throw in another thousand falons per person. Thereafter, I want these plants watered any day it doesn’t rain. I also want you to keep your eyes peeled for any unwelcome intruders around here. That goes for both the human and animal kind, although I must warn you I’m an incurable bird lover, and on this ranch it is strictly prohibited to kill a bird for any reason whatsoever. Birds have a special place in my heart,” Righty said, with only some guile.
Righty realized the ranchers were itching to get started so that they could have a feasible chance of getting the five acres planted, and so without further ado he asked them to begin.
They worked like a well-trained team, several of them cracking the whip to get large oxen pulling the plows while other men trailed behind planting the seeds. Righty had a personal stake in the outcome of this project, desired to learn as much as he could about agriculture, and wished to establish rapport, so he moved along with them, scattering the seeds by hand.
The International Businessman Page 3