Shadow (Scavenger Trilogy Book 1)

by K. J. Parker

  ‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Poldarn said, making an effort to sound upbeat and enthusiastic. ‘Buttons. Everybody in the world needs buttons, and the biggest button factory in these parts is right here in Sansory. We buy buttons, load them on a cart, go round the villages and sell them. On the way back, we buy bones to sell to the factory. Brilliant.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know anything about bones,’ she said. ‘I don’t even like them.’

  Poldarn laughed. ‘I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary,’ he said. ‘Look, I don’t know anything about bones either. Or buttons. But we can learn.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She looked away, and Poldarn found himself wondering whether he wasn’t being double-bluffed, and if this wasn’t a clever way of manoeuvring him into the button trade. If so, he decided, he didn’t mind, because it was a good idea, even if it was one of hers. ‘I just don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’m cut out to be a trader. I haven’t got the patience.’

  Poldarn moved so he was facing her. ‘If you can pretend to be a priestess,’ he said, ‘you can sell buttons. Being a priestess was hard work, and the pay was lousy.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She frowned and bit her lip – the latter struck Poldarn as just a little too self-conscious, inclining him towards the manoeuvring theory. ‘I can’t decide,’ she said. ‘What if we accidentally go to one of the villages where I did the god-in-the-cart routine?’

  ‘We’ll make a special effort not to.’

  By now he was convinced. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘what do you think? After all, it’s your money.’

  He couldn’t help smiling at that. ‘I think I’ve had enough of the bodyguard business, and we’ve both had enough of the god business. And buttons are as good a thing to sell as any.’

  ‘Quitting to go into a nice, safe, good business with a rich woman who’s crazy about you,’ Eolla said, examining the blanket. ‘You must be off your head.’

  Poldarn frowned. ‘I didn’t say she was crazy about me,’ he replied.

  ‘Stands to reason, doesn’t it?’ Eolla replied. ‘Otherwise, why’d she take you in? I mean, you got no money, you don’t know spit about buttons or bones—’

  ‘Neither does she.’

  ‘Proves my point,’ Eolla said, smirking. ‘If she wasn’t crazy about you, she’d be looking to find someone who did know the business. Bloody good luck to you, my son.’ He peered closely at the blanket. ‘This tear wasn’t here before,’ he said. ‘That’ll be a quarter, dilapidations.’

  If it had been anybody else, Poldarn would have had his doubts. But he could well imagine that Eolla did know every square inch of every blanket in his stores, in the same way that a god knows the names of every man and woman in his world. He paid.

  ‘That’s the lot, then.’ Everything he’d been issued by the Falx house, all the possessions considered necessary, in a neat, folded pile; except for two.

  ‘There’s the sword,’ Poldarn pointed out. ‘And the other book.’

  To his surprise, Eolla shook his head. ‘Keep ’em,’ he said. ‘The book’s no good; there’s a page missing – two hundred and forty-eight – and a big brown stain all down the outside. More trouble than it’s worth to put it back into inventory.’

  Poldarn had noticed the stain all right; given where everything in Sansory came from, no prizes for guessing what it was. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Thanks. What about the sword?’

  Eolla frowned. ‘Don’t want it,’ he said. ‘Just superstition, really. Bad luck.’

  ‘Bad luck? Why?’

  ‘Just a feeling. You get that sometimes, with things, in this job. I wouldn’t want it in the rack, in case it’s catching.’

  Poldarn didn’t like the sound of that, but he wasn’t going to argue. He’d seen one just like it on a stall in the Irongate marked at two hundred quarters, and even if the buying price was only half that, it’d still be a useful sum for the business. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Right, that’s everything, then.’

  Eolla nodded. ‘That’s everything.’ He turned away and started putting things back in their proper piles, chests and racks. ‘Probably a good thing, really,’ he said. ‘For a start, you lasted longer in the job than some, and you’re the only one who’s left it who didn’t leave in a box. And the lads—’ He scratched his head. ‘Nothing personal to you, of course.’

  ‘Just superstition.’

  ‘You know how it is. I mean, if you were them, would you want to ride with you?’

  Poldarn smiled bleakly. ‘I’d sooner quit,’ he replied.

  ‘There you are, then.’ Eolla picked up the boots and wiped the toes with his sleeve. ‘I’ll tell you this and you can take it any bloody way you want. If you think you can hide in the button trade, you’re kidding yourself. You’re a nice bloke, always been straight with me, and I’m glad for you; you’ll never come to any harm, no matter what. But God help anybody who takes up with you.’

  Poldarn didn’t say anything for a long time; then he opened the door. ‘Thanks for the book,’ he said.

  ‘You’re welcome. Mind how you go.’

  The Potto house stood in the middle of a small square, almost exactly in the middle of Sansory. It was typical of the city that its middle wasn’t its centre; all the markets and temples and public buildings were on the west side, in the old town, and the middle was where the second rank of merchant houses were to be found. It was the closest you’d get to a quiet, respectable neighbourhood; there weren’t many fights and robberies during daylight hours and hardly anything caught fire or fell down because of the vibrations from passing carts. Potto Ilec’s father had built the house forty years ago, when he’d made enough money from the button trade to get out of the north side for good. He couldn’t afford to build it all at once, of course, but he had a firm idea of what he wanted in his mind, so he started on the left, with the kitchens, stables and servants’ quarters, and worked his way gradually to the right as time and money allowed. When he died, twenty years later, his men were just about to fit the frame for the front door. His son Ilec had done well for himself, far better than his father, and it could only be a matter of a few years before the house would be completed with the addition of the family quarters and the master bedroom. Until then, Potto Ilec and his family slept on mattresses in the hall, while his servants, workers and clerks each had a room of their own, with a balcony. Poldarn, on hearing the story, decided that the Potto family’s chief characteristic must be patience and determination. Copis’ interpretation was that they were idiots.

  The main door was open when they approached, and there was no porter in the lodge. They hung about for a few minutes waiting for somebody to show up, but the house and yard all appeared to be deserted, like the ghost town they’d passed through on the moors. Poldarn kept expecting to see crows. Eventually Copis’ impatience got the better of her discretion, and she walked into the house. Muttering under his breath, Poldarn followed her, and they arrived in a beautifully proportioned inner courtyard-cum-cloister, with a granite fountain in the middle of a carefully trimmed lawn. The effect was spoiled rather by a large pyramid of bones heaped up in the northern corner. There was nobody about.

  ‘Just once,’ Poldarn said, ‘I’d like to go somewhere and it’d all be straightforward and simple. Does that sort of thing ever happen, or am I being naive?’

  Before Copis could reply, a small door opened in the cloister wall and a nondescript-looking man in a long green coat came out, holding a ledger. He looked at them for a moment and frowned. ‘Can I help you?’ he said.

  Copis stepped forward and smiled pleasantly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’re looking for Potto Ilec.’

  ‘That’s me,’ the man said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘We’d like to buy some buttons, please.’

  Potto Ilec sighed. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘Any idea of what you want? Size, style, how many?’

  ‘Various sizes and styles,’ Copis replied, ‘and we’ll
start with twelve thousand.’

  ‘Oh.’ It was as if the patient, put-upon Potto Ilec had vanished into thin air and been replaced by a totally different person who happened to be wearing the same clothes. Even his face was different; cheerful, welcoming, enthusiastic. ‘No problem,’ said the new Potto Ilec. ‘Perhaps you’d care to follow me, my office is just through here.’

  He pushed open the door he’d just come through, and led them down half a dozen steps into a large, dark room that smelt of damp, dust and cheese. There was one small window, high up in the wall, and the floor was covered in flagstones. Potto Ilec messed around with a tinderbox for a while and managed to light a fat brass lamp and a tall, thick candle. ‘Please,’ he said, waving at a couple of spindly-legged stools, ‘sit down, make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?’

  He didn’t wait for an answer, and filled two stubby horn cups from a clay jug. There was dust in the wine, and it didn’t taste very nice.

  ‘Now them,’ Potto Ilec went on, sitting on the edge of what was presumably his desk. ‘Twelve thousand buttons. Yes, I’m sure we can help you out there. Would you like to see some samples?’ Again, he didn’t wait for a reply; he vanished behind and under the desk, and reappeared a few moments later with what at first looked like a book, but which turned out to be a slim, flat, hinged wooden box that folded open into two trays. Inside it were about twenty rows of buttons, a dozen or so buttons to each row, pinned to the box with fine brass tacks. Most of the buttons were yellow with age, suggesting that the Potto house didn’t hold with gratuitous innovation in its designs.

  Poldarn stared at the buttons for a while, trying to think of something appropriate to say. To him, they looked like buttons, nothing more or less. If there was anything to choose between them, he certainly couldn’t see it. Copis’ approach was better. He was sure she knew roughly as much as he did about buttons, but that wasn’t the impression she gave; she quickly inspected each row and then let her face sag just a little, disappointed but hardly surprised, like a small child who’s just been told she isn’t going to be allowed to stay up late for the party after all. After holding this face for a moment she looked up, with just a glimmer of hope still smouldering in her eyes. ‘Are there any more we could see?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Potto Ilec replied awkwardly. ‘That’s all the designs we carry.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It’s the best selection you’ll find in Sansory,’ Potto Ilec said defensively. ‘And I don’t suppose you’d do much better in Weal or Boc, or even,’ he added with obvious insincerity, ‘Torcea. Of course, if you wanted a large enough quantity, I’m sure we could turn up something to your own specifications.’

  Copis shook her head. ‘That’s all right,’ she said.’ After all, it’s quantity we’re after, and continuity of supply. We might as well start with, say, fifty of each pattern and see how we go from there.’

  Poldarn kept quiet during the negotiations that followed. Copis appeared to be doing a good enough job on her own, though of course neither of them had a clue as to what would constitute either a stupendous bargain or a merciless fleecing (and where Copis had got the number twelve thousand from, he had no idea). The outcome, good or bad, was that they ended up with twelve thousand assorted buttons for five hundred quarters.

  ‘Have we got five hundred quarters?’ Poldarn asked anxiously once they were out in the street again.

  ‘We should be so lucky,’ Copis replied. ‘How much did you say you’d be likely to get for that sword?’

  ‘Maybe a hundred,’ Poldarn replied. ‘And I’ve got a hundred. What about you?’

  ‘In ready money,’ Copis replied, avoiding his eye, ‘clear and uncommitted, bearing in mind all the other expenses we’ve got to cover, at least thirty. But it’s all right,’ she added quickly, as Poldarn made a rather frantic noise, ‘payment’s not due for another ten days. Plenty of time.’

  ‘Plenty of time? To raise two hundred and seventy quarters?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Poldarn frowned. She appeared to be absolutely confident about it. Then again, she’d seemed absolutely confident when she’d been haggling with Potto Ilec. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘How?’

  She smiled. ‘Come with me and find out,’ she said.

  Neither of them said anything until Copis suddenly stopped outside a thoroughly magnificent house in a row of equally magnificent houses and knocked sharply on the sally-port. When the porter’s head appeared through the gap, she told him that she wanted to see Velico Sudel, immediately. The porter stared at her as if she had an extra eye in the middle of her forehead and opened the door.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said, shooing them into the lodge. ‘What name?’

  Copis raised one eyebrow just a little. ‘Oh, tell him we’re from the Potto house. He’ll see us.’

  Velico Sudel’s office was quite different. Behind the main desk was a long table, with a dozen clerks sitting round it. Beyond that there was a huge counting-board, as big as the bed of a cart, and another dozen clerks were leaning over it swishing counters backwards and forwards with long-handled rakes. All the walls were lined with pigeonholes stuffed with rolled-up papers, most of them stowed in brass or silver tubes. Velico Sudel turned out to be a thin, silver-haired man in a heavy-looking thick wool coat. He had gold rings on all eight fingers, and a massive lump of some red gemstone, carved with his seal and set in gold, on his left thumb. He looked at them carefully, as if trying to decide whether to buy them.

  ‘Potto Ilec sent you?’ he asked.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Copis replied, in an incongruously cheerful, even playful voice. ‘He suggested you’d be the best person to take up the loan we’re raising.’

  ‘I see,’ Velico Sudel replied. ‘Why?’

  ‘I was assuming he owed you a favour,’ Copis said, ‘or maybe he just likes you. Now, we need to borrow three hundred quarters for two months. Can you manage that?’

  ‘What makes you think I’d lend you three hundred quarters? ’

  Copis frowned. ‘You’re a banker,’ she said.

  ‘True. But I don’t lend money to just anybody. What about security?’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Copis produced the bill of sale Potto Ilec had given them. ‘Take a look, and you’ll see that we’ve just acquired twelve thousand best-quality bone buttons from the Potto house, for five hundred quarters. Will that do you?’

  Velico Sudel’s manner changed slightly. ‘Twelve thousand?’ he said. ‘What were you planning to do with twelve thousand buttons?’

  ‘Sell them, of course,’ Copis said, with somewhat exaggerated patience. ‘In the towns and villages. Rock-solid proposition.’

  The expression on Velico Sudel’s face suggested he had his doubts about that. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘so you own five hundred quarters’ worth of buttons. Suppose you do manage to sell them. That’s my security gone.’

  ‘Ah,’ Copis said, with a suffering-fools-gladly look on her face, ‘but we’ll use the money we get from the buttons to pay you back, and then you won’t need any security. It’s really quite simple when you think it through.’

  Velico Sudel looked like a man trying to argue with a child who’s too young to realise that the reason Daddy hasn’t got an answer to his questions is because there is no answer, not because Daddy’s an idiot. ‘Yes, but what happens if you’re robbed on the way home, or if one of you runs off with all the money? Or supposing—’ He frowned, flexing his imagination like an old man stretching his legs after he’s been sitting in the same chair for too long. ‘Supposing you’re trying to cross a flooded river, and your cart’s washed away. Where’s my security then?’

  Copis sighed. ‘My partner here was a special courier for the Falx house, so anybody who tries to rob us will end up feeding the crows. For the same reason, I wouldn’t dare to run off with his money, and he won’t run out on me because he’s in love with me.’ (That was news to Poldarn, but Velico Sudel seemed to accept it as a valid
argument, so he stayed quiet.) ‘And as for the third point, I promise you on my father’s grave that we’ll take special care crossing rivers. Also,’ she added, as Velico Sudel made dissatisfied noises, ‘naturally we won’t be taking all twelve thousand buttons with us every time we go out; probably no more than a thousand at a time, which means that even if one of these dreadful things does happen, there’ll still be more than enough buttons left to cover your rotten three hundred. Satisfied?’

  Velico Sudel didn’t look satisfied in the least, but he did look like someone who’d willingly pay three hundred quarters to get Copis out of his life. ‘And Potto Ilec recommended you?’ he said.

  Copis nodded. ‘He said there’s a lot of thieves and lowlifes about who’d try and gouge us for five per cent on a simple loan like this, but you weren’t like that, you’d be quite happy with two. Oh, he said you’d pretend to make a fuss,’ she went on, as Velico Sudel pulled a horrified face and opened his mouth, ‘but that’s just force of habit. So,’ she said, ‘have you got the money here, or do you need a moment or so to fetch it?’

  Velico Sudel was staring at Copis as if she were some fearsome legendary monster he’d never actually believed in but who’d suddenly appeared in his office and started building a nest. ‘You haven’t even told me your names,’ he said, clearly aware how feeble that sounded but entirely incapable of thinking up anything better.

  ‘I’m not sure I remember you asking,’ Copis replied. ‘My name’s Copis Bolidan, and this is my cousin Balga.’

  ‘Copis Balga?’

  ‘Balga Bolidan,’ Copis corrected him. ‘We’re from Torcea, we do names differently there.’

  ‘And you said he’s your . . . oh well, never mind.’ Velico Sudel had gone a dark red colour. ‘That’s up to you, I suppose, nothing to do with me. And it’s beside the point,’ he realised, looking up sharply. ‘I still can’t see how I could possibly lend you three hundred quarters secured on your stock in trade alone.’

  But he was fighting a losing battle, and all three of them knew it. To his credit, he kept the discussion going for another quarter of an hour before agreeing terms – three hundred quarters for two months at two per cent, secured on the buttons. When eventually he surrendered and sent a clerk for the money, Copis gave him the bill of sale so that he could endorse his loan on the back. He took a long time sharpening his pen, and his writing was tiny.