When the pin had been placed on this final shuffle, I had noted that the splinter-tipped stick was the one which held the pin, and this was the stick which had ended up in the leftmost place. That stick, therefore, was my selection.
When he heard my choice, you may be sure Capper gave a terrible cry of woe. He said, “You have beaten me, my friend. I am certain your choice is the right one. See, I will show you.”
And he withdrew the stick, so I might take pleasure in viewing my victory. But then an astonishing thing happened: the pin was not there!
Moreover, I could see Capper was as perplexed and astonished as I. Then, wide-eyed, he pulled out the centre stick, which was the one with the white mark, and not the one with the splinter, and what do you suppose? The pin was there, embedded up to the head. This sight brought further astonishment to him and to everyone else who looked on.
Well, of course, all my money was gone! I left that marketplace a pauper, and returned to the inn, where I lay in my bed and puzzled over the strange things which had come to pass.
At length, the explanation of the changing sticks came to me. I realized that, while I played the game, a miracle had occurred. God had interfered with the sticks, so I might not become corrupted by wealth. He wanted me instead to follow the mysterious path which He had laid out for me, and to follow such signs as He might send to me when He was good and ready.
I also saw now that the task of restoring the fortunes of the Duke of Oaster, my old patron (who, I still believed, was exiled by the king) was not something to be completed within a few months as I had thought, but was, rather, a great task, of the sort a hero might take a lifetime to fulfil.
I therefore resolved to stay in Stanneck for a time, and enjoy the fruits of the place until a clear message was sent to me from God that I should move on. I was very tired, you see, of all the hurried travelling I had been doing lately.
I knew I would need money soon to pay for my food and lodging, so the next day, I decided I would set myself in business as a joiner and mender in the marketplace. I knew it was a profession using similar skills to my own, and its practitioners can make a solid wage without having to win the favour of a powerful patron. I am surprised that other stonemages have not thought to use their skills profitably this way from time to time, for it is much easier to stick together broken shoes and pots than to stick together broken buildings.
Of course, before I started I needed a bench and a table, and I had no money for these things. I remembered, though, I had seen benches and tables and all manner of wooden furniture at the shop of Otter, who, you will remember, was that man to whom I gave a valuable cooking pot just a day before.
I thought, “Perhaps he will lend me a bench and a table so I might set myself up in business.” So I set out, looking for his shop once more.
The streets of Stanneck were still new to me, and I had not been paying close attention to which street I followed and which street I turned at when I had left Otter’s company, so I was tramping the streets for some time looking for his shop.
As I walked, I began to think, “What if Otter does not choose to lend me a bench and a table? What shall I do then, for he is under no compulsion to help me?”
Then I thought, “No, no. I must think well of this man, for he released me from the pot when I asked him to, and I owe him a great debt of gratitude.”
Well, I walked on, with this happy and naive attitude in my head for a time.
Yet I felt a nagging doubt, a worry that troubled me, for I felt I had not appraised the situation aright.
I thought through the situation again, about how Otter had helped me.
“Here is Otter, the fat carpenter,” I said to myself. “He is sitting outside his shop, lazing away the day, when along comes our good friend Yreth, in a beautiful and valuable pot. ‘Let me out,’ says Yreth. And so Otter lets him out. And, for the price of a few blows of a hammer, he gains himself this rare pot, whose worth is at least a full arran.”
Of course, it was true I had not asked any payment for the pot, but that is my carefree way. More importantly, though, he had not offered any payment.
Suppose some stranger came to me and said, “The pin of this precious jewelled brooch is stuck through my skin,” and I removed it from the stranger out of charity. In such a situation, I would not think of keeping the precious brooch. Instead, I would give it back to the stranger, and, if the stranger would not have it, why then, I would pay him a fair price for it.
I said to myself, “By rights, that fellow Otter should have offered me a fair price for the pot. An arran, at the least.”
An arran, did I say? Well, as I walked on, I thought upon this, and it occurred to me that, in all my travels, I had never seen a merchant selling so large a pot as the one which Otter had taken from me. Mind, I make no claims to be an expert on the price of pots, but I know they are often expensive items, especially the big ones, and most especially those made of iron, as this one was, for iron is a fine, strong metal. So, while I had seen pots priced at an arran, it struck me that those pots were not quite so large and tough as the pot I had given to Otter. That pot had a lid, too, which not every pot does.
After I had thought the matter through carefully, I decided two arrans would be a more appropriate token price for that magnificent pot, although three arrans would be fairer, and it would not be unreasonable to pay even as much as four arrans for such an unusually large, well crafted, attractive and solid cooking pot as that one was.
At length, I found the shop where Otter worked. He was sitting outside, with his myrmidon standing near, and, as I approached, he waved at me and said, “Ah, my good friend Glissa. How goes, then?”
You will remember, I had given the name Glissa when I had talked with him before, so he believed it to be my true name.
I nodded politely in reply, and said, “Well enough. Well enough.” Then I walked on, looking casually into his shop as I passed.
There were good benches there, and fancy chairs too, as well as many tables. At the back of the shop, a long folding door was open, so you could see right through the shop into a garden at the back. In this garden, I saw the pot. It was lying in the grass and a child was playing in it.
I walked away then, saying nothing about the pot, for I had not quite settled my thoughts.
I continued through various streets, thinking over this matter of the pot. I felt angry and offended that this valuable item was being wasted, just left to rust in a garden while children used it as a plaything.
I said to myself, “No, this matter must be settled, for otherwise it will twitch at my stomach for nights to come! I must seek immediate and satisfactory redress.” Then I turned around and marched to Otter’s shop.
He waved once more, saying “Ah, it is Glissa again.”
I said, “It is none other.” I used a friendly tone, for I thought it would be best to resolve this matter in an amicable way, especially since Otter had a myrmidon guarding over him, whereas I had none.
He said, “Well then, how is Stanneck treating you?”
I said, “The place fills me with ambition. I intend to become a joiner and mender in the marketplace.”
He said, “Why then, you will need a bench and a table for that.” (As you can see, I had no sooner mentioned my new trade than he starting thinking of how it might benefit his own old one.)
I said, “Yes, and I know the very place where I will acquire these things, which is to say, here.”
He was delighted at this news, and told me what an excellent decision I had made, for his craftsmanship was the finest anywhere, and so on. Then he showed me all the tables he had for sale. I looked carefully over a number of them, but they were too large to carry, and besides, I did not need a large table for the work I planned to do. In the end, I decided upon a very fine little walnut table, with an intricate flower pattern around the edge.
Otter laughed at my judgement, saying, “These are not for setting in a marketplace. These chairs are such as you might set at a dinner table in a fine house.”
I said, “Why is it necessary that a trader or merchant must sit at a plain bench when the same person might sit upon a fancy chair? There is no sense in it whatever.” Then, so Otter might see my good taste was nothing to be mocked, I picked myself a very pretty chair, with padded red cloth upon the seat and back, and carving upon the legs.
He said, “Well, you have chosen some good carpentry there. Now, shall we discuss the price?”
I said, “Without delay, for it will be a short discussion. As you will remember, when we first met, I made you a gift of a very fine pot. I have calculated its worth very carefully, which I estimate as four arrans.”
He said, “Do you think me so wealthy that I will pay you four arrans for an old pot. No! No indeed! Take it back, if it is so valuable to you! I have no need for it anyway.”
I replied, “The pot was a gift, and I asked no payment for it. In discussing its value I am merely pointing out what a generous gift it was. Moreover, I think it very rude of you to make light of my gift by trying to throw it back at me.”
He was shamefaced then and apologized for his rash words, saying he had mistaken the angle of my argument.
I said, “I do not insist on any payment for my pot, let me be clear on that point. And yet there are important customs and traditions at stake here. For example, where I come from it is customary, when you are given a gift, to offer a comparable gift in return. Does the same tradition hold here in Stanneck.”
Otter said, “Very often it does, yes.”
I said, “And it is a very fine tradition, too, for we are all brought closer by the spirit of generosity. In the church the priests use the terms “charity” and “love of neighbour” to describe this excellent state.”
He said, “Yes, but let us cut to the sap. If you are saying I should give you this beautiful chair and table as a gift, because you have given me that pot, which is, frankly, an old one, well then, it is simply not fair, for the value of one gift outweighs that of the other.”
I said, “Let us not quibble over silver, for such discussions are not part of the true spirit of gift-giving. If we are to measure every gift so scrupulously, we might as well be two merchants haggling over the price of a hen.”
Well, he thought about this, and then he laughed, saying, “Very well, take the chair and the table as my gift to you, and may your new business flourish. In fact, I am certain it will flourish, for I see you are a much cleverer man than I, and quick with your wits besides.”
I laughed at this, for it was so true, then I thanked him for his gift and we bade each other farewell.
I left his shop, with the chair under one arm and the little table under the other. I felt very sweet and charitable and in love with the world, for my good friend Otter had given me a fine gift.
But as I walked away from his shop, he ruined it all, for he shouted after me, for everyone in the street to hear, “Make me no more gifts, though, or I will be a pauper!” Well, his thoughtless comment instantly made my mood very sour, for it made it seem as if my gift had been no gift at all, whereas his was like alms to a beggar.
I said nothing in response, of course, and merely kept walking. Later, though, I came across the shop of another carpenter, so I went in, with my chair and table, and said to the old man there, “Here, what would you give me for the two of these?”
He said, with barely a glance at them, “Half an arran.”
At once, I saw what a paltry gift I had been given—a chair and table worth half an arran in exchange for a pot worth four! Well, I returned to the inn with my furniture, but when I reached my room I had already decided I would settle the score with Otter.
Late that night, I set out once more for Otter’s shop. Of course, the shop was locked up by then, but it was easy for me to gain entrance, for the window frames were held in place with just a few of those ring bindings their builders are so fond of. I removed these bindings from one of the windows and pulled it out, frame and all, from the wall. Setting the window frame against the ground, I climbed inside the building through the hole where the frame had been.
I had brought along the little bedside lantern from the inn, and by its dim light I started hunting around for Otter’s money box. I searched every cupboard and shelf, but to no avail. Well, after I had searched for half an hour or so, I began to despair, for the hour was late and I was growing weary. I thought to myself, “Ah well, perhaps I shall accept my losses as they come.”
I think, though, that God read my thoughts and decreed I should be recompensed fully and fairly, as I had first intended, because, just as I was about to leave, I suddenly felt a piece of the floor wobble beneath my foot. I looked down and saw I had stepped upon a small, square section, set cunningly in among the planks.
“Hoho!” said I. “I will wager this is where he keeps his gold.”
I pried up the section and pulled out a wooden box placed beneath. When I opened it, sure enough, it was filled with money—Saghenian crowns, mostly. I counted out eighty of these for myself, which is approximately the value of the four arrans he owed me for the pot.
Then I thought, “Ah, but what of the chair and table Otter gave me as a gift? If I take this money for my pot, I will then be indebted to him for the gift.” The solution was simple. I decided to pay him for the chair and table, so they would no longer be a gift from him, but would rather be an ordinary trade, silver for wood. So I took ten crowns from my purse (which is to say, half an arran) and placed them back in the box in payment for the chair and the table.
I left the building exactly as I had found it. I placed the box back in its hiding place and I carefully replaced and repaired the window—for I was not there to do mischief, but simply to rectify an inequity.
And do not think I returned directly to the inn with my money, as a thief might do. No, I made certain that, on the way there, I passed a church. Although it was locked, I knelt at the door and prayed my thanks to God, and then I placed five crowns under the door as a gift to Him to show my appreciation for His wisdom and justice.
Yet More Of The Eleventh Part
In Which I Describe My Practice As A Joiner And Mender In The City Of Stanneck And The Friends And Enemies I Made There
The next day, I rose early and went to one of the better marketplaces. I set up my chair and my table near the centre, and when the people started to arrive, I called out to them. I had a fine cry to bring in the crowd. It went:
O, you that have things broken or unjoined,
Come to me, and I will make those things mended or joined once more!
My prices are half those of any other mender or joiner,
And my workmanship is better also!
My cry attracted a good many customers, and they soon found my claims were not idle. Most joiners in the city charged two crowns for each tiny binding they placed, so if you came to them with an urn broken in many pieces, you could pay fifty crowns by the time all the pieces were secured. What is worse, they would take days to complete the job.
I, on the other hand, charged a flat rate of five crowns for all easy repairs, and ten crowns for a difficult repair, and I completed most jobs within minutes of receiving them. What is more, my repairs were so well executed that people gasped to see the high quality and durability of the work, which far exceeded anything the local menders might achieve, for their bindings were weak and delicate, whereas mine were the same powerful bonds I used to strengthen mighty walls and towers.
On one occasion, a woman came to me with the pieces of a valuable ivory statuette which had been broken. She wore rich clothin
g and had ten myrmidons escorting her, She asked me what it would cost to repair it and how long the repair would take. I said, “Ten crowns, and it will take me five minutes.”
She said, “How is that? Yon Crowid said it would cost eighty crowns and would take a week.”
I said this Yon Crowid of hers was an unskilled rascal, and I told her I would set to work immediately. “If you do not like the results,” I said, “then pay me nothing.”
Before her eyes, I assembled the parts of the statuette, with strong point bindings, then, when all was done, I placed sheet bindings and cross-bindings throughout the ivory, for added strength.
Then I turned to her and said, “Is that to your liking?”
She said, “Yes, very much.”
I said, “Well watch this!” Then I threw the statuette down onto the cobblestones with all my strength.
She cried out at this, but when she saw the statuette was not broken or even chipped by my violent action, her cries of alarm changed to cries of the utmost delight and pleasure.
She said, “I declare you are the finest craftsman in all the world.” Then she paid me twenty crowns, which was twice what I had asked, and said, “My name is Shellith and I have many powerful friends. You may be sure I will speak to them all about your singular talents.”
She was true to her word, and many of the city’s wealthiest patrons started coming to me, bringing valuable and precious objects in need of repair.
Another time, a young child was crossing through the market near to my table when a group of older children set upon him, teasing him about his fine new cloak. Then they took hold of the cloak and started pulling it, so it tore.
I cannot bear to see injustice done, and I immediately leaped over my table and dealt out discipline with a few good swipes and punches, chiding the youths for their heartless behaviour. Then, so they would all remember the lesson, I took the leader of the group and gave his ears such a boxing that the blood flowed from them and he howled for mercy.
The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography Page 20