Merchant and Empire

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  The emperor frowned and stroked his white-blond mustache and small beard. "There should be a path down and back up, cut as if steps."

  "We," Trollanus gestures to Tycho, "saw one at the beach, a very nice one, with broad places to put winches and frames. We did not go upstream to look at the gorge proper, Most Imperial Majesty."

  "What say you, Master Tycho?"

  He had been wondering just that very thing as he walked back from the cliff. "Most Imperial Majesty, I saw a river that appears far more navigable, although the floating tree suggests that the peak of spring rise might yet be dangerous. The rocks that remain are smooth, like river pebbles, not jagged as they once were. The large sheltered beach will be a fine site for a port, and the lack of overhanging cliffs makes it far, far safer than the last time I saw it. The water of the river travels at least two miles out into the sea, if the brown tongue proves as long as it seemed."

  He took a deep breath. "If the cataracts are lower, or a way found out of the gorge, I foresee two new ports, and far more trade on the Moahne. Low water in summer, Most Imperial Majesty, will always remain a difficulty."

  The emperor sighed and nodded. "The gods ruled that mages could no longer do more than look at weather. Sight mages may warn of storms or floods already coming, but after the Great Cold, changing that which had already begun was forbidden." He gave Tycho a wry smile. "Speaking as a man and mage and not as emperor, I prefer it so, lest the farmers and sailors spend all their days complaining to weather mages about rain, no rain, cold, heat, and no heat at the proper time."

  He sobered. "And what of the other side of the river?"

  Tycho blinked. "It appears no different, save, ah," he tried to recall. "Save that there are no trees, young or old. From the cliff and the coast, I could see hints of the older woods here and to the north. Nothing like that on the southern side, Most Imperial Majesty."

  "The land to the south appears even more drained than these lands, most Imperial Majesty," Trollanus said. "Had I not seen it, I would not think it possible."

  "So there is truth to that wild rumor." The emperor sounded angry and sad both. "Yet another debt in Liambruu's ledger." He waved his fingers in what Tycho took as a dismissal. Tycho bowed low, backed a few steps, and returned to the relative shelter of standing behind the courtiers. "And Liambruu owes your most honored king a debt as well, we are told." He returned to his seat and gestured to the ambassadors from Chin'mai.

  The older of the two men bowed, then folded his arms and scowled. "A great debt, Imperial Majesty. We," he pointed to his chest, "express gratitude for a new safe port that touches not Liambruu. They shattered their honor with false coin and false dealings. Our king claims blood for the insult."

  Tycho nodded. The demand matched what he'd been told about the fate of counterfeiters in Chin'mai. Their ruler too was a mage, and worked magic on the currency, although no one knew what sort. The men of the Empire treated the coins as ordinary silver. However, all knew that the priests of Chin'mai also had a hand in coining the square pieces, and the fate of a counterfeiter combined the punishments for theft and blasphemy. The last man so convicted had been tortured, then put in a metal cage and slowly lowered into the sea, so that the creatures there might eat him alive. One sailor claimed that the man had lasted three days, another insisted only two. Either way, all men of any sense agreed that coins from Chin'mai always matched their stated weight and value, and Tycho had yet to find one that had been clipped or altered, no matter how many hands it had passed through.

  "His Majesty demands blood right, unless," the ambassador wagged his finger at the emperor. Tycho felt his eyebrows rising at the familiarity, but Hugan did not respond and neither did the emperor himself. "Unless the gods take that claim first. Should the gods make their claim and act on it, then we relinquish our claim. Otherwise His Majesty demands blood right."

  That might be difficult, given that the emperor had not brought an army that Tycho knew of. And the men of Liambruu remained south of the Moahne, or at least the army did.

  "We give you that right, unless the gods act first," the emperor said. "We anticipate Sanchohaakon coming here, while his army remains to the south and east, at Milunis. The Duke of Milunis reports that the siege goes in his favor, thus far."

  How would Sanchohaakon cross the gorge? Fly? Without mages, and without an ally on this side, he would not likely be able to construct a bridge. Given the tone of the man's pronouncements, Tycho could not imagine him stooping to wading the river, or taking a raft across. Such would not befit the dignity of the self-proclaimed speaker for the gods.

  As if the thought called forth the act, a priest of Korvaal bowed to the emperor and was acknowledged. "Most Imperial Majesty, the gods take first right. Why and what is intended is not known to their servants, but they have made their will known."

  "If it is not sufficient, His Majesty demands the false king once the gods finish with him." The ambassador sounded far more confident than Tycho would have been, but perhaps he had not heard what transpired in Milunis and Rhonari. Or he believed the tales well embroidered, given how stories grew and improved with distance and time. Tycho had to admit, had he not seen both instances with his own eyes, he would not believe them. Likewise the snow in the council chamber.

  The brown-clad priest smiled, but only with his lips. "I believe that, should the gods intervene, justice will be sufficient for Chin'mai's honor."

  Tycho closed his eyes, hiding the bone-deep fear the priest's words woke in him.

  "This audience is at an end," Mimir Borghindson announced. "We must rest before our," ice appeared in his eyes, "guest and visitor arrives."

  Tycho bowed low and eased out before the others made their own obeisance. He wanted nothing to do with diplomacy and offended ambassadors. What he did want was something hot to eat and drink. And to get the great-haulers dusted and back in the pen before nightfall, if possible.

  That evening Tycho found himself rushing back from the great-hauler dust-pit, rinsing as much of himself as he could, then racing to the meal. His imperial Majesty requested Tycho's presence, and Tycho wondered for half a heart-beat if the gods had heard him muttering to the great-haulers about diplomats, trade, and behavior. At least he was not the last to arrive, and he was not panting. He'd lost all of his city-fat since leaving Rhonari, and moved a little more easily, so long as he moved smoothly. His shoulder and hips kept reminding him that twenty had passed several decades ago.

  Radmar had heard him. Tycho found his little wagon token beside the place of the younger of Chin'mai's ambassadors. He breathed a silent prayer to Maarsdam and Donwah both that he not say or do anything that would lead to a trade dispute. The younger man regarded Tycho with curiosity. Neither said anything until the emperor arrived and gestured for all to be seated. Lord Hugan lurked in his accustomed place at the emperor's right hand and seemed to be keeping a very close eye on the meat dishes. Tycho wondered if the cat had ever helped himself, or if he behaved in public and stole in private. How would one secure cooked or cooking meat from a feline that large? Short of locking it in an iron pot, Tycho couldn't think of any solutions.

  The first course, fish roasted with herbs, arrived and Tycho waited until the others had taken portions before accepting one. He did not recognize the lady seated across from the ambassador, and preferred to wait rather than give offense. The fish could have been fresher, but it was still sound. He ate carefully, piling the little bones on the right side of the waste platter set between the diners. The ambassador regarded him with a little puzzlement, then discovered the problem and did likewise. Too small to eat around easily and too large to swallow, the bones required diners to eat slowly unless they wanted later difficulties.

  A mild golden wine followed the fish, cleansing the mouth before the meat arrived. Tycho recognized the grain in the meat and smiled. Great-hauler. This he could devour without qualm or question, a partial repayment for the mess the birds had made of his road clothes as they shook aft
er dust-bathing. The ambassador studied the slices and their sauce, sampled one, and decided that they were at least edible. "Is this fish, flesh, or fowl?"

  "Fowl, your excellency," Tycho replied after swallowing. The tart green sauce complimented the heavy meat.

  "Is it a clean bird?"

  The northerners shared puzzled looks, and Tycho wondered as well. "Your Excellency, if you mean does it eat carrion, then no. It is great-hauler, and the birds eat grain, seeds, and nuts if they can find nuts." Woe betide anyone who did not properly fence a stand of gold-shell trees in fall if great-haulers scented the ripe nuts.

  "Thank you. The only table-fowl on the islands has a much paler flesh and milder flavor, and all men know of barbarians who will eat flesh-eaters." The ambassador scowled for a moment. "That may be the only crime Liambruu is not guilty of yet."

  The others blinked and the woman across from Tycho went pale and put one plump hand to her mouth as if ill. "No one does such here," her companion assured everyone. "And His Imperial Majesty would never permit such in his presence."

  Tycho ate some more. He'd worked that day. The ambassador did likewise, and conversation flowed around them, mostly about the weather, the new port, and the lack of young trees and crops.

  "You are not of the north?" the ambassador inquired after eating just over half his serving.

  "No, Your Excellency. I am of Rhonari, one of the Five Free Cities, not the far north." Tycho speared another piece of meat, stirred it in the little bit of sauce that had not soaked into the bread plate, and ate.

  The diplomat studied Tycho for a while. "What is your place in court?"

  An excellent question, and one Tycho himself had wondered about since leaving Rhonari. After sifting possible answers, and rinsing his fingers in the proffered bowl, he said, "I am outside the court, Your Excellency. I am not a mage, but am familiar with this land from earlier travels, and his Most Imperial Majesty on occasion prefers to have someone who knows the area describe what is seen or not seen."

  "A spy?" The man's hand eased toward the larger knife still in his belt. Tycho did not recognize the leather but approved of the quality and the tight stitching.

  "No, Your Excellency. Ah," did Chin'mai have the same word? "One who goes ahead and looks for new dangers? Like the man who rides atop the mast to look for great fish or distant storms and land?"

  The ambassador's shoulders sank and his hand returned to the top of the table. "A wave-reader and guide. Such are known to us, although it has been long since one such has travelled with his Most Gracious Majesty." A darker gold wine travelled down the table, followed by fresh greens to settle the heavy meat and sweeten the breath. "Rhonari. One of the trade cities."

  "Yes, Your Excellency." The best of the trade cities, but one did not say such things to outsiders.

  "Did the ground truly open and flames emerge to destroy the false-priests of Liambruu? Or did the fire come from the sky?"

  Tycho finished his mouthful of greens. "The ground opened, Your Excellency, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them once more, nothing remained of the false-priests save a few hands emerging from the soil like plants. The priestess of Gember declared the gods satisfied. The snow disappeared from the ground, but no flames that I felt or observed." Flames would have been too much for anyone, Tycho suspected. The race for the safety of the city walls... Thanks be that the gods were satisfied with lives and nothing more.

  "Huh. That is enough of a wonder. The stories that have reached my and my uncle's ears..." The younger man shook his head, and Tycho caught a glimpse of a gem in his ear, hidden by nearly shoulder-length black hair. "Flames pouring down from the clouds made no sense. Flames from the ground we could believe, for one of the far western islands has a fire-mountain. Why not turn them into ice?"

  The lady across from Tycho opened her eyes wide. "Your Excellency, please do not tempt the Lady of Snows. When Sneelah walks, no man or beast can turn her until She wills. It is said that she is Donwah's elder sister, cold and harsher than her younger siblings."

  Harsher than Donwah? Tycho gulped.

  The young man raised one black eyebrow but did not reply further. Tycho himself preferred not to think about such things. A dish of early fruit in cream followed the greens, then tender slivers of schaef lamb in a mild, cooling sauce. Spice bread studded with dried fruits from Chin'mai finished the meal. As before, the sauces combined very well in the bread platter, and Tycho wondered how long the cooks had to train to learn what blended in harmony and what might cause distress. The ambassador found the practice of eating the platter odd, or so his expression suggested, but he followed the others. At the head table, the senior representative of Chin'mai gestured with his left hand, features drawn down into a scowl. Mimir Borghindson looked equally pleased—or rather, displeased—and Hugan's ears tipped back. At last the emperor cut the air with his right hand and stood. All others followed, and he called, "You are dismissed save Master Tycho Rhonarida. Master Tycho, a few moments of your time."

  Tycho followed the others to the end of the table, then doubled back into the open center of the tent. He took a deep settling breath and went to one knee before the head table. The emperor and ambassador had both sat again, Hugan on the emperor's other side. Now Tycho could see the cat's thrashing tail and his mouth started to go dry. The emperor's voice remained calm and his countenance moderate. "Master Tycho, Ambassador Lord Zheemae has expressed some doubts about the status of trade between the lands of our empire and those of Chin'mai." He waved toward Tycho. "Ambassador Lord Zheemae, Master Tycho Rhonarida trades within our lands and without." He sat back.

  The ambassador scowled and pointed at Tycho. The embroidery on his cuffs gleamed in the lamplight, but the leather trim appeared too thin, and the dye? Or was that the natural color of the hide? "How much in taxes do you pay?"

  On what and to whom? And how long did the Lord Zheemae want to listen? "My Excellent Lord, on goods shipped direct from Chin'mai to Rhonari, merchants pay five percent to his Most Imperial Majesty and two percent to the gods, and another one percent to the city for the honor of Rhonari. The temple tax is paid when the goods arrive, the others after sale."

  "And other times?" The ambassador sounded annoyed.

  Tycho spread his hands. His knee hurt. "My Excellent Lord, which port of entry and through how many fairs or trafelds or markets do you wish to know about? Hides tanned or untanned, and what weight of leather or hide? All markets charge the emperor's five percent, no matter the goods or the market value, save on leb-goods, and no leb-goods come from Chin'mai that I know of." Despite what some said about spice-bark and that sweet pickled root, all men could survive without them—and most did. "Temple taxes vary from two to eight percent for the local and patron gods, and city taxes vary from two to sixty percent. Foodstuffs, spices, fabrics, leathers, animals? Do we discuss gems or feathers or undyed hides, my Excellent Lord?" Tycho rested his hands on his bent leg again. "Some goods from Chin'mai are listed as high luxuries, some as moderate, some are restricted by local laws, some are claimed outright by the ruling noble..." He settled down a little. "Your pardon, your Excellent Lordship, but I need more specifics, please."

  Hugan's ears had risen and his tail stilled. The emperor smiled a little behind is mustache. "As you can see, trade is a touch more complicated within Our empire than in His Majesty's lands and waters. We are content to leave it so, although," he turned to Tycho. "Sixty percent?"

  Tycho nodded, "Yes, Most Imperial Majesty. Furs, fine spices, and finished jewelry in sold in Guill are taxed at sixty percent now. It had been twenty-five percent, but the lords of Guill felt that the merchants were not providing sufficient support for the expenses of running the market." Tycho selected his words the way a master white-smith selected stones to mount in a ring or necklace, or Gerta selected fish in the market.

  The emperor's eyes narrowed, as did Hugan's. "We shall look into that. Sixty percent is high in peace time, especially for goods already scarce."


  The ambassador stared at Tycho, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. He blinked at last, then turned to the emperor. "That is—That makes no sense. Such disorder! How can trade proceed with such disorder?"

  Tycho blinked a little and shifted his weight. His knee truly ached now. Why should trade not proceed? Each lord or city set what it chose within reason and within the laws of the gods and the Empire. How was the emperor to stop them? Why should the emperor stop them? That required keeping men and warriors in all the markets and cities and trafleder, and higher taxes to pay for such. Tycho preferred things as they were, although someone slapping down the excesses of the lords of Guill would not be amiss. The priests had gently remonstrated with the nobles, and had been ignored. Yes, furs were a luxury in that area, not needed as they were elsewhere, but the precedent boded ill for other goods. The separate taxes on fine leather versus work leather were sufficient headache and complication now.

  "It proceeds well, when outsiders do not interfere, as they have between your king's lands and waters and ours." The emperor frowned. "We do not seek to interfere in your internal matters, and we prefer to keep a light touch on our own."

  The ambassador shook his head. "Your ways are passing strange, Imperial Majesty. Passing strange indeed."

  "Thank you, Master Tycho. You may go, and Maarsdam grant you a quiet night."

  Tycho staggered to his feet and bowed low. "My thanks, Most Imperial Majesty. May your rest be sweet and your waking quiet."

  Ugh, he grumbled as he lay down that night. He never wanted to go anywhere near diplomats again.

  10

  The Will of the Gods?

  It rained the next day. Then the sun burst from the clouds and dried everything faster than Tycho could imagine, so he took the birds to dust again. They did best when they could dust every five days, and he'd been a little remiss in finding or making places for them. He truly missed the confraternity properties and inns. They had dusting facilities, beast-mages, and other things a trader needed. Well, not so many beast-mages now, at least not in the south, he reminded himself. The bird rolled again, then shook hard. She flapped her wings, then shook again, blinking as she did.