by AC Cobble
Martin grunted in assent again. Ben looked his way and then nodded toward a nearby bar that opened to the street. Martin took the hint and gestured at the other porter to join him for a break.
“I think you might be right,” started Ben. “This batch is going to be half again bigger than the last one. I’m not sure we’ll be able to sell it all though. I don’t want to bring on a lot of people then find out we don’t need them, or worse, can’t pay them.”
“You know we have more than enough coming in to pay a few more guys,” argued Renfro. “And we won’t have any problems selling the stuff. Now is the time to expand because Gulli is up in Venmoor and no one is minding the store.”
“Gulli is in Venmoor? How do you know that?” demanded Ben.
“I’ve been talking to some of his people. They’re not happy with the way he’s running things recently. Let’s just say they’re open to new ideas. Anyway, he’s got bigger fish than stocking barrooms in the City. They say he’s up there trying to buy up what’s left of the arms market. Trying to get ahead of the build-up with the Alliance and the Coalition. Good luck I say. Reinhold and his ilk are three or four months ahead of him.”
“You’ve been talking to Gulli’s people!” exclaimed Ben. “Damn it, Renfro. I don’t care if he is out of town. That’s reckless. Someone’s going to tell him. He’s dangerous Renfro. We can’t risk doing something stupid.”
Renfro leaned back against one of the handcarts and crossed his arms. “We’re dangerous too. Let’s put that blademaster friend of yours to work. Finally get something out of it. Maybe go talk to Rhys too. I’m not convinced he’s not all talk, but we can throw him a little gold and put him on the payroll. His name means something in some of the circles in this town.”
Ben ran his hands through his hair. “Renfro, the last thing we need to do is escalate this business with Gulli. His goons went and talked to a few of our customers. Most of them ignored him. The ones who left us weren’t good customers anyway. We should leave it at that. Pulling Saala and Rhys into this isn’t fair to them.”
“You know he’s going to make a move, Ben. All I’m saying is we should be smart and think about it. Do we wait for him or do we move first?”
“I can’t believe you’re even talking about this. What has gotten into you, Renfro? This is crazy. Gulli’s been leaving us alone and no one’s ‘making a move’. Besides, he has a small army of thugs working for him. Even with Saala and Rhys, that’s not a mess I want to get involved in.”
“Your business, your call,” muttered Renfro.
“We’ll look for new customers and we’ll get some more porters, but that’s it. No more talking to Gulli’s people!”
A few weeks later, Ben was still mulling over what to do with Renfro. Their business was doing well and his friend had gold in his pockets, which he’d never had before, but he still wasn’t content. Renfro spent most of his days meandering through alehouses and worse, usually around the rougher areas of the City near the waterfront. He said he was prospecting for customers and networking, but those places rarely paid the premium Ben asked for his ale. They were most successful in the respectable taverns. Those places had clientele willing to pay up for ale that wasn’t watered down or soured.
Ben tried to put it aside as he neared the Issen Consulate. Amelie was getting her regular free days now and they’d agreed to meet there. That allowed her to check for messages from her father that Issen didn’t want to pass through strange hands on the way to the Sanctuary. Also, Saala was staying there, so it was convenient to practice the sword with him.
Amelie, true to what she’d said after the attack in Kirksbane, had begun studying with Saala and Ben. She was still a novice with blades, but learning the Ohms with Rhys had improved her strength and balance. Like Ben, she was quick and had the natural grace of a dancer, or a blademaster.
Ben was lost in thought as he ducked into the back door of the Consulate building and nearly ran over a small, mousy man who crashed onto the floor. A meaty hand shot out from the side and slapped against Ben’s chest, sending him stumbling back a pace.
“You,” a high-pitched voice said with a lisp.
The owner of the hand stooped down to pull up the mousy man and Ben saw it was the bodyguard Raphael and Lord Gregor’s seneschal Tomas.
“I’m so sorry!” Ben scrambled to help Tomas up, but Raphael gently lifted him to his feet as if he was light as a feather.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’re still around.” Tomas sighed. “Got a taste for the good life did you?”
“What?” asked Ben. He thought he should be offended.
“No worries. Amelie is a big girl now and can handle her affairs. She’s in the courtyard with Saala. Since you’re walking in here so confidently, I’m sure you know where that is. Raphael and I were just about to head out to tour some of the City’s baths. They’re really quite splendid. Have you been?”
“Oh, no. I’ve been focusing on getting a business started,” mumbled Ben in response.
“Of course you have. Amelie is an investor I assume? The only investor, perhaps? I’m certain it will be a profitable venture, whatever it is.” Tomas breezed out the door without waiting for a response, the hulking Raphael following close behind.
Ben was certain now that he should be offended. The diminutive Tomas obviously didn’t like him, but he supposed that made sense. The man was, after all, the right hand of Amelie’s father. He had a right to be protective and suspicious of anything involving her.
The clack of reeds on reeds drew his attention back to why he was there and he strolled out into the courtyard to find Amelie trying to hold onto her practice sword as Saala casually, and almost lazily, swatted at it. The scene brought back memories from his first few days with the sword and he silently hoped he didn’t look half as awkward as she did when another swipe from Saala sent her sword spinning across the open space.
Amelie saw Ben standing there when she turned to retrieve her practice blade and panted, “Sorry to start without you. Maybe you’d care to take a turn. I think I’ll watch for a little bit.”
Ben grinned at Saala, stripped off his shirt, and drew his own practice sword. They’d gotten to the point where they would spar for bells with no breaks, but he remembered how early on he felt exhausted after half a bell.
The advantage of being with Amelie at Issen’s Consulate was that they treated her like the lord’s daughter she was. There was no anonymity for her in that place, which was nice when a veritable swarm of staff brought out a light lunch of meats, cheeses, and fruits along with chilled water and white wine.
Ice was barged down from Northport, but at this time of year, nearly two thirds of it may melt before it got to the freezer rooms in the City. It was not a luxury Ben could afford and not one that was even available outside of winter in Farview. It was a luxury he was happy to enjoy, though, as he sipped on a delicate crystal glass of the cool, refreshing wine.
“It shouldn’t take more than a month, maybe a month and a half,” said Saala. He was discussing a trip he would take with Seneschal Tomas to Akew Woods, the westernmost city on the continent of Alcott. The forest around Akew Woods was rumored to be populated by lawless tribes of primitive peoples. No one really knew though because there was limited commerce over land and little reason to travel there.
Tomas’ mission wasn’t explained to Ben, but Saala and Amelie both thought it was worth the extra protection the blademaster could provide. Amelie, behind the walls of the Sanctuary, was as safe as she could be.
“Well, I’m sure Ben would be happy to continue my tutelage in your absence,” Amelie said.
Saala replied, “I’m sure he will also. That’s a whole new level of skill, Ben. To be able to teach, you must know something very well.”
“I’m not sure how well I can teach the sword, but I am happy to try.” Ben was confident he could help teach Amelie to hold the blade and she really wasn’t far advanced past that yet. He also looke
d forward to having one-on-one time with her. He enjoyed Saala’s company, but the man had little sense of humor—particularly when it came to Amelie.
“Do you think Meghan will come next week?” Ben asked Amelie.
“I’m not certain,” she said. “She says learning to become a mage will make the sword an irrelevant skill. Maybe she’s right, but harnessing energy takes a lot out of you and I think knowing practical skills will always be beneficial.”
“I do not claim to know much about these things,” started Saala, “but I do know that understanding your own physical limits and gaining control over your body will be helpful to you. Magic is about willpower and control. Skill with the blade can improve both of those things.”
Amelie smiled at him. “I hope you’re right. Meghan, and many of the other girls, spend their free days studying. I worry I will fall behind.”
“From what I have seen with mages in the past, it is not a talent only learned behind walls and closed doors. Few talents are. Experiencing life is just as important as knowledge from a book.”
Ben groaned as he lifted another sack of barley out of the handcart and tossed it onto a pile of identical stacks against the cellar wall. He winced as a fresh cloud of dust puffed up from the impact of the barley sack. Keeping the cellar clean was getting to be a near impossible task with the amount of work they were doing down there. He or one of the growing number of employees swept it out daily now. He knew he’d regret leaving this place with it’s cheap rent, but soon they would need to find a place that was less apt to collect dust.
“That’s the last of this load,” announced Martin as he wiped sweat from his brow. It was early fall and starting to cool, but the humidity had not quite broken yet.
“Thanks, Martin,” responded Ben.
The man waved and rolled the cart off. They had found space in a nearby merchant’s warehouse to store their carts because they’d run out of space in the cellar. Ben started rearranging the barley sacks against the wall.
“That’s a lot of material. How much ale will it make?” called out a confident voice from the cellar stairs.
Ben turned and blurted, “Lord Reinhold!”
“Yes, that’s what they call me,” drawled Reinhold with a sly smile. He nodded to the stack of barley sacks. “How much will that make?”
“Uh, about sixty kegs, sir.”
“And how often do you produce that much ale?”
“It takes a couple of weeks to ferment, but we’re starting a batch a week.”
“And you have no problem selling that many?” quizzed Reinhold.
“Oh, no. We could probably sell a good deal more, but we’ve run out of room. This is the biggest batch we can make in this space.”
“I see,” said Reinhold, peering around the room from the entrance. “What kind of margin are you making on each of these kegs? Ale is almost entirely water, of course, but surely it’s expensive to purchase these wooden barrels and transport the stuff across the City. There are a lot of taverns on this island, but I see sailors drinking whatever swill they serve down by the docks and the highborn and other wealthy citizens are inclined toward wine. How do you compete in that market profitably?”
“We do okay,” answered Ben slowly. “Excuse me, sir, but why are you asking all of these questions?”
Reinhold stepped the rest of the way into the cellar and made a show of examining its contents before responding. “I’m considering going into business with you.”
“I, uh…” Ben was stunned and didn’t know how to answer.
“I’ll pay fair value for a stake, of course. If what I’ve heard is true, then it’s certainly more gold than you’ve ever laid hands on. I also have access to capital for expansion and networks you could leverage to get into places you are currently not welcome. The Foreigner’s Barracks, for example. The visiting soldiers spend more on ale than the rest of the city combined. I can get you on their taps if you can stomach a lower price than what you’ve been asking. Most importantly, I can offer protection from Gulli.”
Ben eyed Reinhold suspiciously. The man seemed to know a lot about the business.
Reinhold continued, undeterred by Ben’s silence. “I’m aware of what your current partner has been doing, and you and I both know it’s dangerous business. Your friend the blademaster is leaving town and while Rhys is dangerous, he’s unreliable. When Gulli sees an opening he will take it. You are not prepared for the type of competition that man is. Partner with me, though, and you have no worries.”
What the hell had Renfro gotten them into now? Ben hadn’t even seen the former thief in days. Renfro spent most of his time down by the docks from what Ben had heard. Recently he had only been coming by to collect his share of the profits and encourage Ben to keep hiring more strong-backed porters. Renfro had taken to treating the men to a night on the town and always footing the bill, which Ben knew was a tactic to buy their loyalty. He just didn’t know why. When they’d last spoken, he confronted his friend about it, but Renfro blew him off, saying it was just a way to recognize the help everyone had been on their way to success.
“I see you need time to think,” declared Reinhold. “I can accept that, but do not take too long. Gulli is sticking his nose in business that does not belong to him. He’s reaching outside of the City and disrupting trading arrangements that have been in place for years. His income is still almost entirely on island though, so it’s time to send him a warning. With you, I plan to take his ale business from him. That is the way I do things. His way of dealing with competition is more violent. Keep that in mind when you decide what to do.”
Reinhold swept up the stairs and Ben heard a clatter of arms and armor move as the lord made it to the streets. He had a team of heavily armed guards up there, Ben realized. He looked over at his sword leaning against the wall and felt like things were spinning out of control.
That night at a candlelit table at the back of the Flying Swan, Ben shared a pitcher with Mathias. His thoughts swirled around the earlier conversation with Reinhold, but Mathias brought him back to the present with news.
“Well, I hate to be the one to mention this, but since you haven’t brought it up, I guess you haven’t heard.” Mathias stared down at his thick hands wrapped around a tankard. “The Coalition is mobilizing. I’m hearing there will be a spring offensive.”
Ben shrugged. “We knew that was coming, right? I mean, that’s been the talk at least. Both the Coalition and Alliance are building up armies. You don’t do that unless you’re planning to use them.”
“Aye.” Mathias sighed. “But the expected target will be Issen. Lord Gregor’s going to get hit, he’s going to get hit hard. The Coalition is gearing up to make an example. At least, that’s what the rumor is.”
Ben slumped back in his chair. They’d worried about that too. Issen was in between the centers of power for the Coalition and the Alliance. Amelie said her father had to join one of the other. In a war like this, there is no room for the middle ground.
“They’ve got half a year to prepare,” continued Mathias. “Maybe this one won’t be so bad.”
Mathias was a veteran. The network of scars across his body and the limp he had when he stood after sitting too long spoke to what he knew about war. His grim face spoke to what he thought the chances were that this one ‘won’t be so bad’.
“Amelie will want to return to Issen and be there for her people,” stated Ben.
“I’m sure she will. That doesn’t mean they’ll let her go. Gregor had to know what was going to happen and I suspect that’s why she’s here in the first place. The City is far from the conflict and no one would be stupid enough to come here with an army. Gregor’s no pushover. With support from Argren and the rest, he could make a stand. If he does, Issen will be a bloody mess next year. He wouldn’t want that for his daughter.”
Mathias didn’t know Amelie as well as Ben, but he knew people. His assessment of Lord Gregor was likely spot on, thought Ben.
&nbs
p; Thoughts of Lord Reinhold and his offer were forgotten until Ben saw Renfro early the next morning.
Ben was sitting at a quiet café across the street from their cellar having a cup of kaf and a fruit and soft cheese-stuffed pastry. The cool of the fall morning felt good compared the sticky heat that marked summer in the City. He’d taken to rising early to enjoy the quiet moment while the sun was rising and the city had not yet fully awoken. Unlike life in the country, the City did not really get moving until midmorning.
“Renfro,” called Ben.
His scrawny friend spotted him at the café and crossed the cobblestone street to join him at the table.
“I was just coming to see you,” said Renfro.
“Kaf?” asked Ben. “You look tired.”
“I’ve been up all night,” responded Renfro, shaking his head. “I wanted to catch you, then I’m going home to crash. That stuff just makes me jittery.”
“You’ve been up all night? What for?”
“There’s a gambling den over near the Sunset Tower and the owner is interested in us.” Renfro scooted his chair closer to the table and laid his elbows on it. “If last night was any indication, they’d easily be our best customer. The place was packed until just a bell ago. Raffe, that’s the owner, said he’s trying to attract heavier-pocketed clients so he’s improving his offerings and likes what we’re selling. The ale he has now is piss water. It could be a big deal for us.”
“That’s great,” agreed Ben. He inhaled some of the bitter steam off his kaf then took a sip. “What’s the next step?”
“We send over a couple of kegs and if it sells well, he’ll put in a serious order. Maybe forty or fifty kegs a week if it goes really well.”
Ben grimaced. “We don’t have room to brew that.”
Renfro frowned at his friend. “We can find another place. That cellar was good for low rent, but that’s about it. We need to move out anyway.”
“Moving takes coin and that’s something we don’t have a lot of extra,” challenged Ben.