Raf watched as Wesp opened the box, reached inside it to seize something and let the box drop to the ground behind him, the necklaces spilling out. He held something up and blew on it, scrutinizing it carefully in the light. Raf peered forward to see what it was but then spun around as there was movement behind him.
“Wait!” Maritha’s husband, Alfred, hobbled past urgently towards Wesp. “My ring! My grandfather’s signet ring!”
The crowd went silent as the trader moved a step backwards and raised an eyebrow at the elderly man. The Foreman looked up from the sidelines where he had been sitting and then quickly got to his feet as he took in the aghast look on Maritha’s face. He moved up to put a hand on her shoulder. “Didn’t you know it was in there, Maritha?”
“No, I had no idea! I didn’t know he kept it there, it’s always been my box.” She covered her mouth with wrinkled hands.
“It’s obviously been a misunderstanding. And easy enough to sort out,” he said. “Mr. Tunrhak?”
“It is rather a nice ring,” the trader said, rubbing the gold band in his fingers. “Of course, the deal’s been made now. No way back. Should probably keep better track of their possessions.”
“Now see here,” said the Foreman, moving towards Wesp, “they didn’t know that was in there. It was a simple mistake. Can’t you just give them back the ring and keep the other jewelry?”
Wesp laughed. It was a loud, obnoxious laugh that sent bits of spittle flying from his mouth. “Keep the other items? Don’t be absurd. They’re worthless.” He casually slipped the ring onto one of his fingers. “This, if I’m not mistaken, is pure Ka’toan gold, and it would fetch a decent price from a dealer I know in Miern.” He removed it again, gave it a kiss and inserted it into his belt pouch. “The deal has been made and we are bound to it,” he said.
Alfred hobbled quickly round the shoulder of his stricken wife to wave his walking stick in Wesp’s face. “You give me my ring back, trader.”
Wesp smiled and opened his arms in a gesture of friendliness. “The nature of trade is to lose something and gain something else. Perhaps you can recover what you have lost if you have more to trade? If you happen to have any vi-”
“No.” The Foreman moved forwards to stand between the trader and the crowd. “I am disappointed with you, trader; that was a cruel thing to do.” He waved an arm above his head. “Trading is finished.”
Wesp looked at him frostily. “A foolish decision. I am not an unimportant man in Miern, and when I tell of what happened here, you will find a distinct lack of any trade in the future.” He sneered and then spat on the ground at the Foreman’s feet.
The Foreman turned his back on the trader, his face stony with fury, and motioned with his hands for the crowd to move away.
6. VINEHONEY
Raf stood there, his heart pounding. The opportunity was slipping through their hands.
“Wait!”
The Foreman, along with the rest of the crowd, turned around and stared at him.
“Err… we can’t….. I mean, surely it doesn’t have to…. I…”
“What are you on about, Raf?” asked the Foreman.
“I….. was just thinking that… the trader wanted something…” His mind went blank at the sudden barrage of eyes focused on him from everyone and all he could do was stutter, his mouth half open.
“Uhh… Foreman,” came the quiet voice of Tarvil, “what I think my seemingly witless son is trying to say, is that it seems such a waste to… to…”
“Oh come on, Tarvil,” muttered the Foreman. “Can anybody speak properly?”
“I was just thinking that we shouldn’t completely discount dealings with the trader.”
“Oh, we should,” said the Foreman. “No more trading.”
“But, Foreman,” insisted Tarvil, “it doesn’t have to be trade, surely?” He tilted his head staring pointedly at the Foreman. “Maybe Mr. Tunrhak would be interested in spending some coin here.”
“Not likely,” said Wesp from the top of his wagon. “I trade to make money, not spend it.”
The Foreman walked away, shaking his head.
“There must be something we have that is valuable, surely,” Raf said desperately.
Tarvil joined in. “We have many rare things here: orchids, vinehoney, coffee. And not just any coffee, but a rich and strong local blend.”
The Foreman glanced back to see the trader suddenly sitting up, an attentive look on his face. Raf bit his lip nervously as Wesp climbed down slowly from the wagon, his eyes flickering from the Foreman to Tarvil.
“As one last attempt to leave things amicably, perhaps… I might be interested in something you just mentioned.”
“Wonderful news,” said Tarvil. “Some coffee, perhaps?”
“I was wondering more about this vinehoney.”
“Vinehoney?” replied Tarvil. “Well, the kind we harvest here is sweet and wonderfully thick.” He paused and looked up at the trees, pursing his lips. “It’s been a very difficult season though and the pickings have been unusually slim.”
The Foreman stared at him. “Tarvil? What are you talking about? You know that we have pl- ”
“Of course!” said Tarvil quickly, staring intently at the Foreman. “Of course I know we do have a limited reserve set aside for the annual Council meeting.”
“The annual -”
“- the annual meeting, Foreman. You know, the one you’re hosting next week?” Tarvil rolled his eyes comically, slapping the Foreman on his shoulder.
The Foreman stared at Tarvil. “Silly me. To forget such an important thing… The annual meeting. Vinehoney...”
Tarvil turned to Wesp. “I hope you understand that this is highly irregular and will leave the Foreman in a bit of a predicament at the meeting?”
“I see,” said Wesp.
“And for that reason, as the village’s accountant, I’m afraid we can’t ask for less than five silvers per jar.”
“Four jars would cost me twenty silvers?” spluttered Wesp.
“And the ring returned.”
“What? That’s absurd!”
“I understand completely and apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Tunrhak. Perhaps you will find a better deal on your way back to Miern.”
Wesp closed his mouth and a sour look appeared on his face. “Fine. Four jars and the ring. Done. They better be absolutely full to the brim, you hear.”
Tarvil shouted over his shoulder to Raf. “Fetch them from the Foreman’s office, would you?”
Raf turned and sprinted past the school, under the chimes and when he reached a small storage room, he barged in to find Nedrick waiting.
“Did it work?”
“I think so.“
“How many did he want?”
“Four jars.”
Nedrick turned to pass him two from the pile of jars behind him that reached to the ceiling and then took two himself, holding one under each arm. Together they walked back to the wagon where the crowd moved to let them pass.
Tarvil nodded at Raf and turned to Wesp. “The silvers?”
Wesp stood grinding his teeth so that the tendons in his cheek stood out. “Boy!” he snapped.
The youngster scrambled up to the driver’s area and dug around underneath the bench for a bit.
“Hurry up!”
“Yes sir!” called the boy, pulling out the leather bag and climbing down off the wagon. He held out the bag to Wesp, but as he did so, his thumb caught on the side-latch, unclasping it and the bag swung open downwards, tipping out mixed coins all over the ground.
“Idiot!” shouted Wesp, and he swung his hand around to cuff the boy hard on the back of his head. He bent down and counted out twenty silver coins from the ground and put them into Tarvil’s hand before scooping the rest back into the bag. Tarvil waited until Wesp took out the ring and dropped it into his palm as well.
“Done,” said Tarvil. “Or is it ‘deal’? I’m not sure what the exact wording is; we’re seldom so forma
l with guests.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly and held out a hand for Wesp to shake.
The trader snorted, spitting on the ground. “Twenty silvers... It’s robbery. You may think you’ve done well today, but let me warn you, forester, I will not be quiet about this. I have friends in Miern. Don’t be surprised if no trader comes within a mile of you in the future.” He walked towards the wagon.
Raf made himself exhale slowly as his pounding heart started to calm down in his chest. There was a rush of wind behind him and suddenly his mother was standing there.
“I understand you’ve bought some vinehoney from us, Mr. Tunrhak?” she said brightly. “This is splendid news. Do make sure you strap them on carefully; they’re not the most stable containers as we discovered.”
“Mom…” muttered Raf. She was going to ruin everything!
“I’m just saying, it’s very easy to knock one of these silly jars over. Not that that poor trader minded too much.”
Wesp’s lifted his head up from packing. “What?”
“A trader was here a few weeks back and my husband -” she tilted her head back towards Tarvil who tried to subtly shake his head at her, “- managed to knock a jar all over him.” She gave a half-hearted chuckle. “I told you, these jars aren’t the b-“
“He bought vinehoney?” interrupted Wesp.
“Well… yes.”
“He was from Miern?”
“Yes, like most traders who visit. He was very complimentary about the vinehoney, actually. He wanted some for his trip back to the city. He said it was for a party, I think. Or a banquet, maybe.”
Wesp hit the side of the wagon with a fist and growled furiously.
Leiana tried to placate him, saying, “That’s right, yes, a banquet. Nothing to do with trade, W-”
“- the Gerent’s banquet! The same banquet I bought the honey for!”
“No need to get so worked up, y-“
“I’ve bought it for nothing! This other trader will be there before me! You said -” His eyes suddenly narrowed and he raised a finger to point it at Raf and then Tarvil. “You knew! You knew all along.” His eyes stared around. “I’ve been tricked… Give me back my money, forester!”
Tarvil shook his head. “The deal is made and we are bound to it. Isn’t that how you said it, Mr. Tunrhak?”
“No!” hissed Wesp. “I must have that money back. I have items here to sell, rare and beautiful objects. Tools from the famous smithies of north Almia, books and medicines.” He rummaged desperately through his chests as the villagers watched him.
“I’m afraid the trading for today has come to an end,” said the Foreman. “Come, Council, let us depart and discu-”
“No! I have more! Things you have never dreamt of. Weapons of Miernan steel, -”
“We have no need of weapons here.”
“Maps? Dyes?” Wesp was frantically throwing things out of trunks onto the wagon floor. “Wait! I have something you will most certainly be interested in. It’s an instrument made of a rare, fine wood, a piece of art of such intricate beauty you will hardly believe it real…” He whipped his hand up in the air, holding the instrument. Madam Ottery, who was standing at the rear, murmured in appreciation.
“Orfea!”
Every set of eyes swiveled to rest on Raf who covered his mouth as soon as the word left it.
“Raf?” asked his mother.
“Uh… nothing, sorry,” replied Raf, blushing furiously.
“Who’s this Orfea?”
“Her name… I mean, it’s the name of the instrument.”
“Really?” puzzled Tarvil. He turned to Madame Ottery. “Have you heard of one of those before, Resma?” She shook her head.
“Yes, that’s right! An orfea!” said Wesp.
“How do you know that, Raf? Where have you seen one before?” asked Tarvil.
“Well… I... I think I made it,” stuttered Raf, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.
“Ha! Made this? You? This beautiful piece of artwork?” Wesp sneered.
Tarvil approached him, frowning. “None of your pranks now, Raf.”
“I’m not lying, Dad, I did make it. I lost it a few days ago on the northern path. The trader must’ve found it.”
“Can you prove it’s yours?” asked the Foreman. ”Have you carved your name on it or anything like that? Do you have another one like it? Anything that would stand as proof? I want to believe you, but I must be fair.”
Raf looked down nervously. “No. I mean, I could… maybe play it for you?”
“That might do,” said the Foreman with a nod.
Wesp snorted and held the instrument out, sneering at Raf with a withering look. Raf took Orfea and held her in his hands, smiling faintly.
“Well?” came the harsh voice of Wesp. “What are you smiling about, boy? Called your bluff now, have I? This is no simple forester pipe; this takes a master musician to play.”
Raf shook his head as he covered the holes with his fingers, drew a breath and lifted it to his mouth. A soft, sweet, mellow note flew out of Orfea, followed by more as he trilled a fluid reprise of the farwelayre.
“Well, I think that’s settled,” said the Foreman, giving Raf a quick approving look.
“What do you mean settled?” said Wesp. “That proves nothing.”
“I believe him.”
“I don’t care what you believe, I want that pipe back!”
“As Foreman of Eirdale, I’ll gladly look into the matter further but it will take some time.” He looked up at the branches above them, his fingers moving as he counted under his breath. “My estimate, bearing in mind that the Festival is just around the corner, is that it will probably take a month or so to come to a satisfactory conclusion.“
“A month?” chirped the young boy from the wagon top. “Mr. Wesp, can we stay?”
“Shut up!” Wesp leaned up and smacked the boy’s dangling foot hard so that it crashed into the wagon rail. The boy scrambled backwards, cowering against the back railing rubbing his bruised leg. Wesp growled and turned back to the Foreman. “You’re nothing but thieves, forester. The first thing I’m going to do when I get back to Miern is report this!”
“I understand your frustration, trader, but my decision is made.”
“How dare you!” sneered Wesp, drawing himself up. “I am Wesp Tunrhak, personal friend to the Gerent!”
Tarvil smiled faintly and then, cupping his chin with his thumb and forefinger, said, “Yes, quite so.” He turned to the young boy. “Perhaps we should hear what this young lad has to say about it? I imagine he would have been there when you first obtained the instrument. Were you, boy?”
Wesp lunged to the wagon, pointing a finger at the boy. “Do you remember what I said about that hole?” The boy’s face went white and he shrunk against the wagon side. “If you say another word…”
The Foreman frowned and said, “That really is enough now, trader. Go easy on the kid, will you? You may stay overnight, but I think it would be best if you left at first light.”
He gave the young boy in the wagon an uneasy glance and then walked away, gesturing to the other villagers to follow suit.
7. THIEF
The village was painted with the muted half-light of evening as the lanterns’ orange glow filled the commons. The stream of birdsong that accompanied daylight had diminished now to be replaced by the soft calls of nightingales and larks, and behind it all, the incessant vibrating rasp of cicadas.
Raf waited by the trunk of the sequoia Ancient that served as the Council chambers as his parents and the Foreman followed the other Council members inside, and then he tried to surreptitiously nip around the corner.
“I don’t think so, young Gency. We have one or two things to clear up first,” said the Foreman wryly, indicating for Raf to enter.
“Yes, sir,” said Raf.
The Foreman pulled the oaken door closed behind him and then strode to the back of the room where he sat down, arms crossed, and swung his boots up to
rest on the table top.
“So, what did you think of that trader then, Raf?”
“I… I’m not sure, sir,” muttered Raf, feeling a flush rise again on his face under the stare of the Council. “But it is my pipe sir, I promise!”
“And how is it that you’ve hidden this ability to craft what is an incredibly intricate instrument? And with no training?” asked Madame Ottery. “I know you haven’t been trained because I am the only person within miles who knows anything about the craft and even I couldn’t make a perfect flarehorn like that.” She stared at him.
“I don’t know,” said Raf shrugging. “I honestly don’t know how I did it, exactly. But I did.”
“Let’s leave that for now,” said the Foreman. “What game were you two playing there, Tarvil?”
“Well,” said Tarvil, “Raf overheard the trader speaking about wanting vinehoney. He brought the information to me and -”
“- and you didn’t think to share it with us?” said Leiana.
“- and, bearing in mind our current financial difficulties, it seemed wise to maximize the situation. It’s unfortunate that he found us out, though.”
The Foreman grunted. “A fine line to tread, Tarvil. As much as we need the money to fund the Festival, we also need to build ties with Miern. I’m sure he was mostly full of wind, but bad news travels twice as fast as good news, and it could be grim for us if he follows through with his threats.” There was a general mumbling of agreement. “Still,” he added, “it seems that against the odds, we now have the money to get the Festival back on track. Which is something to celebrate.”
Raf was making his way for the door when the Foreman called out, “Well done today, master Gency. I don’t imagine things would’ve turned out quite so well for us if it wasn’t for you.”
The other Council members added their appreciation with a few pats on the back. His mother sat, looking slightly bemused, and then broke into a reluctant grin.
Then the Foreman stood and walked to hold open the door. “When you return from your sojourn, perhaps there might be reason to create a junior Councilman role? A third Gency?” The Foreman winked at him, and as Raf stepped out into the night, the last thing he saw before the door swung shut was his mother’s glowing face.
Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) Page 4