“No, not much memory for names, have you? Well, just as well you bought his when you had the chance. Mine’s gone, if you hadn’t heard. Not that I’d have sold it anyway.”
“Oh? Should’ve sold it to me, then. Ah—How gone?”
“Stolen. Or transformed, might as well be stolen.”
How stubborn-foolish that adventurer is, thought Dilys. Magical transformations unknit. If his citron stays a citron, he should know Torin isn’t responsible.
But such proof might be long in appearing. One of Torinel’s accidental transformations into life, a little brookstone turtle, had crawled around his workship five days before unanimating itself, until they feared it might feel hunger and thirst. That had stirred up one of their first conversations about the rightness of changing such accidental transformations back at once.
Meanwhile, here in Kasdan’s pavilion, Valdart was saying, “Well, Brother, bring out this twin pendant and maybe I’ll buy it from you.” Again Dilys thought she heard his moneygems. She could picture him kneading the pouch with his thick brown fingers.
“I…uh…don’t have it with me.”
“Left it in your tent with some charm-neutering magicker prowling around this fair? Overtrusting of you, Brother Merchant.”
Dilys felt her breath hotten.
“Well, I only heard rumors a little while ago,” the merchant was saying.
“And you sit here with your cup of wine, Brother? Come on, let’s get back to your tent and check your stock against your list.”
“I’m sure it’s all safe. Charms all around—two on my door and another on every chest.”
“And I tell you I had one of High Wizard Talmar’s own on my door.” Valdart must have drunk Kasdan’s strong wine too fast. His speech was slurring a little.
“They say High Wizard Talmar’s on his deathbed. So his charms could be…uh…coming undone.”
Valdart snorted. “Not likely!”
“Well, their transformations herearound… Besides, the charms on my chest were fashioned by mages of Thrak and Erbolis,” said the merchant.
“I’ve traveled rather south than Thrak and farther north than Erbolis. Aye, and twenty days into the land beyond the western ocean. And charms always work best in their own neighborhoods. And it’s one blamed crafty magicker we’ve got herearound watching for chances. Besides, I want to buy that little bit of bluemetal and orangestone from you.”
“I’m not offering it for sale! Not here. Not yet. It’d be lost profit. I have to take it at least as far as Weltergrise.”
“Tell me what you’d ask for it there.”
“Eat two plates of something before you drink any more wine, Brother Adventurer,” said the merchant.
“Ah? I don’t see any plate beside your cup, Brother Merchant. Come on, let’s at least take our look at your orangestone and be sure that culprit hasn’t found it yet, same way he found mine.”
The merchant made some further sound of protest, which was swallowed in the noises of two men getting to their feet, one seemingly pulling the other.
Dilys breathed slowly and deeply. She might have succeeded in keeping quiet until they had left Kasdan’s pavilion. But Valdart’s foot hit her thigh in passing, and he halted to give some apology.
“Not much footpath space in here, Senior Storycrafter,” he began. “No rudeness meant—”
“Not to me, I suppose.” Dilys stood, swinging around into his way, hands on her hips. “You meant enough rudeness to your old friend.”
“What?”
“‘Culprit.’ ‘Charm-neutering magicker prowling.’ ‘Blamed crafter magicker.’”
Valdart reddened. “Well, my orangestone’s gone, and who else could have done it? Except some blamed charm-neutering magicker?”
“But you meant Torin, didn’t you? Your old friend! Fragile friendship on your part, not even to trust—”
“Here, here, gently,” the merchant tried to interpose.
“All right, I meant Tor,” said Valdart. “Blamed fragile friendship on his part, too, and he strained it first. And if you want to think maybe I stepped on you just now because of him—”
“It was the wine treading down,” said the merchant. “The wine shaking his steps, Sister Storycrafter.”
“I guessed that much.” Dilys glanced around at the eight or nine other buyers and Kasdan, standing with her meal in his hands, all watching the wine-brawl. A good number for this time of day, but the tent could hold four times as many. “It certainly wasn’t the crowd pressing on you. But even supposing the worst, Adventurer,” she went on, lowering her voice, “even supposing Torinel was the one who took your silly orangestone—I don’t believe it, but pretend he did—not even you can be so foolish as to think he’d do it for the thing’s value in moneygems, so you have no reason to suggest anyone else’s property is under threat!”
“But if it wasn’t your toymaker,” said the merchant, who suddenly seemed eager to get out of Kasdan’s tent, “if some thief is prowling with a charm-neutering trick—”
Dilys looked from Valdart to the merchant. “Far-traveler. Yes. You bought quite a number of toys from Torin yesterday. Two bagsful, as I remember. Ulrad, isn’t it? You were going to bring round your payment this morning.”
“Aye—aye…” He shook his head. “I didn’t? Razors! You’re sure?”
“I was with him most of this morning.”
“Ah…ah… Pure oversight. Here—” Ulrad lifted his money pouch. “I’ll pay you now. For him.”
“If I knew his prices, you’d have paid me yesterday before I let you carry those toys away.” Dilys took hold of Ulrad’s arm. “He’s spending this afternoon in the Scholars’ Pavilion, if you hadn’t heard. We can go there right now. Don’t worry, with your business they’ll let you in to see him without making you pay for his little magic show.”
“Later!” Valdart clamped his hand on Ulrad’s right shoulder. “I’ve got my own business with this merchant first. He can find his way to the magickers’ tent afterwards.”
Still gripping Ulrad’s arm, Dilys put her other hand on Valdart’s and started straining to lift it away.
The merchant gasped and tried to pull free of them both, but they were all too closely interlinked by now—like Torinel’s figures, Dilys thought vaguely, but different. She was half aware of shouts and people hurrying forward to separate the brawlers, but before anyone could reach them they had toppled over. The nearest brazier fell, hot coals rolling out on Kasdan’s rugs, and people who had come to pull the brawlers apart turned their attention to stamping out smolders instead.
Kasdan deliberately used Dilys’ milk-posset to quench a cushion that was smoking with several embers. She did not try to see what he had done with her plate of food. She squashed a last coal, leaving her foot on it slightly too long and snatching it away with a gasp. She looked around the floor, but all danger of fire seemed to have been washed and trampled away.
“Well!” said the mealseller.
“Not my fault!” said Ulrad. “It isn’t my fault. Everyone here could see—”
“Damages to my rugs, cushions, and floor matting,” Kasdan went on, studying the scorchmarks and winestains. “At least twenty pebbles’ worth.”
“The merchant’s justified,” Dilys admitted, though it hurt. “He was not responsible.” She glanced at Valdart. “But this adventurer deserves to help pay for your damages!”
Valdart folded his arms across his chest and returned her stare. “We weren’t the ones who stood up in your way when you tried to leave the tent, Senior Storyteller.”
“Either I’ll have twenty pebbles before any of you leave my pavilion,” the mealcrafter said quietly, “or I’ll take my grievance to the judge against all three of you.”
Dilys folded her arms in imitation of Valdart. “All right. Let’s go to Judge Alrathe now. All of us.” But—twenty pebbles? So much? And her foot burned like the coal she had stamped, and she had brawled like a wine-fool, without even the fumes i
n her brain to explain it. And her throat definitely scratched when she swallowed. Someday all this might help add texture to her tales, but it was very uncomfortable right now. And the report might swell her audiences for the rest of the fair, but she wished she would not need to face them.
Chapter Eleven
“So,” said Alrathe, “in coastal towns beyond the western ocean such a bluemetal and orangestone pendant might sell for as little as one of our large stones, which is the equivalent price of a single citron in Weltergrise during their harvest season.”
Having drunk the last of her cordial, Kara turned the cup in her long fingers. “I have never myself been beyond the ocean. I’ve only heard adventurers boasting they had bought such jewelry for a large stone or two. Also, Brother Ulrad has spoken loosely of such equivalent values. I assume he’s heard similar travelers’ boasts.”
“Then in theory some neighborhood might exist where such a pendant and a single citron would bring identical prices?”
Kara shrugged. “Aye, but I’d guess that neighborhood would have to exist in the middle of the western ocean. They say there are islands, of course. Remember, too, that folk beyond the ocean might value your common large stones more highly than you’d think, for their fine carving and rarity in those neighborhoods.”
“Well, I see, Cousin Kara, that for complexity of number-knotting your merchantcraft must be as interesting as our skyreaders’ study.”
“And now you’ll want an account of my actions?”
Alrathe nodded, though suspecting Kara’s account would offer little evidence in either direction.
“Well, then. Yesterday morning, after seeing to my pack animals in the enclosure, I purchased goods from Merprinel the mirror-maker and Camys the weaver. That afternoon I visited the toymaker—by chance, at the same time Brother Ulrad was there. We made our selections, but could not pay because Torin was called to his brother the wizard’s bedside and those who came to watch his showledge, first the young skyreader and later Dilys the storyteller, did not know his prices. After Torin, I visited my animals again. After seeing them fed, I ate in Kasdan’s meal tent. As I had at midday. In the evening I listened to a couple of storytellers, Dilys and Valdart, then returned to my own tent, packed my day’s purchases, and slept. This morning after visiting the animal enclosure I went to pay Torin for yesterday’s purchases, but I heard a conversation within and guessed his doorcords hung loose by oversight. I traded with Boken the furniture crafter, bought another meal from Kasdan, and visited Elvar the music-crafter. Elvar did not mention that you had come looking for me until after he sold me as many of his instruments as I chose to purchase. The child gave me the same message in passing when I was already on my way to you. I can gather witnesses for my movements in the daytime and evening, but not for the hours I was alone last night, and I suppose they interest you most.”
Alrathe nodded again. If Kara had slipped into Valdart’s tent last night and exchanged citron for orangestone, she would not likely confess it. “The amount of time you must have spent with the furniture crafter surprises me. I’d have thought furniture too bulky for traveling merchants’ stock.”
“With furniture makers, I trade in scraps of wood for inlay work.” Kara changed her position slightly. It seemed a calculated rather than a restless motion. “If I have answered your questions for the present, Cousin Judge, I would like to pay the toymaker. I understand he’s giving displays of magic in the Scholars’ Tent. And visit my animals before supper. I had meant to purchase from your shoemaker this afternoon, but now that must probably wait until tomorrow.”
“You show great care for your animals.”
“Far-traveling merchants can recover losses of stock more easily than losses of good animals to carry it. At present I have only two adventurers in my employ, and they share the task of watching my donkeys and mules. Derek I can trust, but I have some doubts of Vittor.”
Alrathe lifted one hand in a gesture of good-bye. “Prosper in your trading, Merchant. Should I want to speak with you again, I’ll send someone to find you.”
Kara rose. “You may search my chests, but had I stolen Valdart’s pendant I would of course have buried it in the woods, to recover secretly after this fair.”
The judge had so reasoned and therefore made no search plans, but Kara’s quiet offer might be a ruse to forestall searching. If that were her intent, however, would she not have made the remark earlier in this interview? As Alrathe quickly rethought the decision not to search, Kara lifted the doorcurtain and looked out, then stepped back into the tent.
“Four people are coming,” she said. “They’ve just passed the Scholars’ Pavilion, and they have the look of a group in need of judgework.” She smiled. “One of them is my fellow traveling merchant, Brother Ulrad.”
“Did you recognize the others?”
She glanced out again. “Dilys the storyteller, Valdart the adventurer, Kasdan the meal-merchant. A wine brawl, I’d guess.”
“Dilys? You’re sure?”
“They are almost here, Cousin Judge.”
Their footsteps were audible now, through the gentle rain. Alrathe sighed. Continued freedom from other judgecraft had been too much to hope, even at a fair as small as East’dek’s, but perhaps this new problem would be simple and easily judged. “You may go about your own business at will, Cousin Kara.”
She nodded and pulled back the doorcurtain, standing to one side. Dilys entered first, looking curiously and perhaps a little suspiciously at the merchant. Valdart and Ulrad followed, with the mealcrafter last as if herding them all inside.
“Is there one chief complainant,” the judge asked them, “or have you all interlinked grievances?”
“I have none!” said Ulrad. “I want only to pay my share and go back to my own business, Parent Judge.”
“Don’t be fuzz-minded,” said Dilys. “You can probably make your own complaint against ’Dart and me and pay nothing.”
“All the damage was to my property, Cousin Judge,” Kasdan put in. “So I’m chief complainer. If these wine-brawlers want to settle who pays by complaining against one another, that’s agreeable to me as long as I have my repayment by nightspread.”
Alrathe studied them. Kasdan was sober, as befitted merchants who sold wine. Dilys also looked sober, though angry and ashamed. Valdart seemed tipsy; his face was flushed and he stood grinning cockily, with hands on hips and chest puffed out. Ulrad was pale and looked as if he were swaying a little, but whether from drink or nervousness would be difficult to say at a glance.
“I’ll interview Kasdan first,” the judge decided. “Dilys second, Valdart third, and Ulrad last. I will give final judgment in Kasdan’s pavilion tomorrow morning before breakfast. Cousin Mealcrafter, one night’s wait for your payment should not inconvenience you overmuch, now the damage is done.”
Kara stepped into the doorway, but paused when Ulrad—not Kasdan—protested.
“My tradecraft, Parent Judge!” said Ulrad. “Good Brother Kasdan asks twenty pebbles. I’ll pay my share—seven pebbles, that’s even a little more than a third—but I’ll lose more than that in trade if I lose the rest of my afternoon.”
“Brother Ulrad has a point,” said Kara, though she cocked an eyebrow as if to ask how much trade could be accomplished in the remainder of this afternoon. “Have you made your purchases from Kendys the shoemaker yet, Ulrad? I’m willing to take him there with me now, Cousin Judge, and return him here in an hour. I can pay the toymaker what I owe him,” she added, looking at Dilys, “and do my other tasks this evening.”
The thought crossed Alrathe’s mind that these two traveling merchants could conceivably have stolen Valdart’s pendant together. But only one could keep it, they followed different trade routes, they did not appear fully to trust one another, and this wine brawl was not likely to have been part of any preconcerted scheme. “Your offer’s generous, Cousin Kara,” said the judge. “I agree.”
Kara took Ulrad’s arm and led him from th
e tent.
Alrathe fetched out two judges’ tokens. “Dilys, Valdart, you can wait in the Scholars’ Tent. Hand these to the place-sellers and they’ll let you wait without paying for the magic show.”
“I’d rather wait outside in the rain, Cousin Judge,” said Dilys.
“And I’d rather wait where it’s warm and dry and there’s a little entertainment,” said Valdart.
“And a chance of insulting your old friend to his ears?” the storycrafter replied.
“Go to the Scholars’ Tent,” said Alrathe. “If Vathilda or Laderan gives permission, you may wait in one of their tents. But you may not wait outside mine to overhear another’s private interview.”
The judge spoke with authority. They nodded and left. Dilys limped slightly.
* * * *
Kasdan’s complaint was soon made. Alrathe, with half a cup of sweetblend remaining (herbwater was the strongest beverage judges should drink while engaged in their work), made the meal-merchant his choice of plain tea, and Kasdan finished his tale before he finished his cup. He had heard only snatches of the angry conversation, not enough to describe it—let the brawlers tell that story. All he could testify was that the three of them had grabbed each other and fallen in their strain, toppling a good brazier and thus causing considerable damage to rugs, cushions, and floormat.
“But your initial figure of twenty pebbles was a hasty estimate?” the judge said at last.
Kasdan drained his cup. “Hasty, but I know my property. I won’t be mistaken by more than a pebble or two either way. Depending on how badly that brazier may be knocked askew.”
“Go back and make your careful tally of this damage. Then enlist Camys or Boken to make a separate, uninfluenced estimate. You will have your payment when I can be sure how much is fair.”
“There’s also my loss of time, and the trouble and inconvenience. This wine-brawling always hurts us honest shopcrafters most. Just collecting payment for damages doesn’t seem like sharp enough correction to keep it from happening again.”
“How many wine brawls have you suffered this season?” asked the judge.
At Amberleaf Fair Page 11