“Oh yes,” Hanse said, covering fast. “She had that early meeting with them. I nearly forgot. I’ll be meeting Anorislas back here at noon. Better slip me something for the cats, will you?” While he waited, he mused, She sure had to rush, to get out so fast. She was very sure she didn’t want to be here when I came back in! Damn. I guess we’ve just had trouble.
The trouble was that now he had no idea what to do with himself. The only definite was a negative: he certainly was not going to the bazaar, new tunic awaiting or no! He visited with the cats for a while.
“Think I’ll go for a walk. Damn, Notable, sometimes I wish you were a dog. A dog could walk along with me. Whoever heard of anyone walking around with a cat pacing alongside, or on a leash? Especially a great big red one!”
Sitting and working on his paws as if somehow the area between his toes had become just filthy overnight, Notable paused with one foot up to stare attentively, “mew,” he said, in that disgustingly sweet voice he sometimes used.
“Trying to let me know you’d be just ever so sweet, aren’t you, you big fake? I love you, Notable, I swear — but I just can’t take you out that way!”
Notable put the foot down, stared, and turned to pounce up on the windowsill. He stood staring at it in obvious signal until Hanse opened it to let the cat step out on the roof. Guess l ought to get a washtub or something with dirt in it for him, Hanse thought, pretending not to watch.
Then he spent the next twenty minutes trying to get the rotten stubborn beast back into the room.
Only then was Hanse able to go for his walk, since he had nothing else to do. Without even thinking about it, he reverted: automatically he was looking upward. Gauging this roof and that for distance between, climbability and slant; this salient as a possible handhold-footrest for climbing; the availability of this or that window. What was a man to do, when he had spent his adolescence doing just this, and yet no longer had to worry about those matters that of necessity had occupied his thoughts: tonight’s meal, tomorrow’s breakfast, and maybe picking up a little night-time companionship along the way?
At least looking this way, with a consummately practiced eye, was interesting and passed the time.
Somehow it passed, and he spent three hours with Anorislas and a friend of the dealer’s. They took the horses over to the main gate, and out, and the two men tried the horses while Hanse mostly watched. Later he learned about Anorislas’ honesty.
“These are good animals, Hanse. Even the onager. He’ll probably be heading out with the next caravan. You’ve learned or decided that good horses are worth about a dozen hearthers, haven’t you?” The Firaqi paused long enough to see a tiny smile of corroboration. “Right. But see, Tejana horses are prized, and I can get probably fifteen hearthers apiece for them, Hanse. It just wouldn’t be right not to tell you that. I tried not to, but it’s not possible for me to be other than totally honest.”
Hanse was more than impressed, although the last part was surely unnecessary bragging. Few things made him so suspicious as a man who proclaimed his absolute honesty.
“Meanwhile, though, I won’t take just any offer for good animals, and I am not wealthy. I’d like to hand you fifty hearthers and take the five animals; and I’d like to stop in at the PR office and sign an agreement to pay you more as I sell the animals. I’ll guarantee you a dozen each for the horses and seven for the onager. That comes to fifty-five; just the figure you mentioned, remember? And I’ll agree to pay you half of anything any of them brings in over fifteen.”
Hanse was staring, close onto being dumbfounded. “I can’t decide whether to say ‘That sounds like you left me nothing to dicker about,’ or ‘Why should I trust you?’ What’s a PR?”
“Public Recorder. We both agree to an official document while he witnesses. If I break the bond, I go to prison. See, in a way you’re loaning me money at no interest. On the other hand, I’m the one who now has to feed and stable the horses. Your interest will be anything I can get over fifteen. I think I can.”
Hanse wished the man had never suggested such a bargain. It was one of the hardest decisions possible, for an orphan street-urchin become thief who had learned long ago never to trust anyone. And yet, and yet…
In the office of the Public Recorder he watched the man write out just what Anorislas had said. The smallish fellow had dusted the document with powder and was preparing his seal when abruptly one of the principals turned and walked out. Both Anorislas and the PR stared. In less than a minute Hanse returned, with a well-dressed man who looked unsure whether to be affronted, afraid, or complimented.
“I found the most honest-looking man in Firaqa,” Hanse blithely declaimed, having merely approached the first decently attired passerby he saw. “Sir, I beg you: read aloud this document the PR has just prepared.”
Still looking mostly confused, the fellow had been complimented too highly not to comply. He read, and Hanse heard the same words Anorislas had spoken, with embellishments obviously added only to protect the seller. He thanked the man profusely, watched him depart, and bowed to the drop-jawed horse-dealer and the PR. Then, slowly but with pride, Hanse printed his name at the bottom of the sheet.
Anorislas was laughing. “That’s about as clever an action as ever I saw,” he said, bending over the page. “And I appreciate it. Now don’t you be insulted, Blomis — you know I can’t read, either!”
Hanse had to laugh. Blomis the Public Recorder never did.
*
Anorislas’ moneyhandler was a portly man with extremely thin, cloud-grey hair and a large moustache, completely white. His clothing was black, mauve, and russet and his name was Perias. Hanse watched his fleshy, ring-glittering hand count out fifty pieces of silver to Anorislas, who stepped back and gestured, with a smile directly at Hanse.
Hanse swallowed as he stepped forward to claim the stacks of flame-marked silver. I’m rich!
“Who do you bank with?” Perias asked, and one thing led to another.
Hanse learned that Perias was partners with several people, but the name that was obviously supposed to impress was Arcala. Once again his misplaced pride kept him from gaining information; he would find out about this Arcala from someone else. Also about the partner who was a wealthy widow “and not all that old, either!”
He received another document and four pieces of silver, which he stowed away. The other 46 would remain with this moneyhandler, in what Hanse was assured was the safest keeping in Firaqa. He even learned how money made money. Aye, he understood that his 46 coins were worth 2,300 copper sparks. Perias told him that if he did not touch them, they would grow within one year to 2,346, or just short of 47 hearthers. That was thrilling, though despite anticipated income from Anorislas, Hanse couldn’t see how he could leave all the money untouched for so long. He asked if it earned even when he had to take some out. Perias managed not to stare or smile at his ignorance. He solemnly advised that the balance would indeed earn. Though Anorislas obviously wished to go, Hanse tarried to ask a few questions about rents, in Firaqa. Ah, Perias knew of some property…
Buyer and seller departed Perias’ place of business. Hanse had noted how low the sun had slid. Anorislas bade his friend or assistant lead the animals away, and suggested that he and Hanse stop at an alehouse for a cup. Hanse told the dealer that he needed to meet someone in the open market. A couple of blocks later they parted company and Hanse hurried back to the moneyhandler.
His question surprised Perias, who advised that “we” considered a silver Imperial to be worth a Firaqi plus eleven; more in volume.
“What’s volume?” Hanse asked.
“Well, if you brought in ten or more, we could talk sixty-two of our coppers to the Imperial.”
Hanse thanked the man and left, surprising Perias more. The banker’s parting words were “don’t forget that nice property on Coriander, now!”
Hanse found his way back to the PR, who advised that the document from Perias said just what the banker had told him. H
anse hurried to the bazaar. He worked out his finances as he walked. Eleven of those Imperials from the total of 85 left 74. Now, at 62 coppers each…He bogged down. Working it out in his head wasn’t possible. It remained thrilling. He had no thought for his presumably waiting new tunic, and it was not Mignureal’s presence in the open market that hurried his steps. In his excitement over a newly-learned knowledge of money, Hanse wished to talk again with Tethras, that money-handler in the bazaar.
Tethras was about to leave, but listened long enough to forget about hurrying. He spoke very quietly.
“I had no idea, Hansis. You are not one who flaunts your wealth. Now let me affirm this. You possess fifty Firaqi silvers and seventy Imperials, and you have an income as well. Is that what you have told me?”
“Yes, And of course a couple of horses and this — warmer.” He flicked his coin-necklace with a finger, watching Tethras make swift notations. “I want to know what you would offer for the Imperials, and what, oh say forty-six hearthers would be worth at the end of a year in your keeping.”
Tethras cocked his head. “Forty-six. May I ask why you mention that particular figure?”
“Because I know what Perias would pay me,” Hanse said, holding the other man’s eyes.
“Ah. Perias. Yes. Umm. You know that Arcala is-main partner in that establishment?”
“Aye,” Hanse said casually, vowing that he had to learn who this Arcala was. “But I do not know who backs you, or partners with you.”
He received three names, and once again was obviously supposed to be impressed with the first: Corstic.
“Who’s Corstic?”
Tethras showed true surprise, but muttered “Oh, I forget how recently you have come here, Hansis. Corstic is Arcala’s chief rival! They two are surely the most powerful men in Firaqa!”
“Oh.”
“Hansis, I will need to confer. May I expect you here in the morning?”
“Someplace more private than this.”
“Of course. Meet me here and we will go elsewhere, all right?”
Hanse nodded. Without another word he turned away, sure that Tethras was gazing at his back. With the glint of silver in his eyes.
Hanse reached the S’danzo stall wearing his new russet tunic, and carrying the day-old one. Turquoise and her daughter were so sorry to tell him that Mignureal had left, just a few minutes ago. Perhaps if he ran…
Hanse thanked them, and in the orangey light of a sun squatting on the horizon, he walked back to the Green Goose.
*
“Hanse! Oh the tunic looks wonderful on you! What have you been doing all day?”
He maintained an impassive expression in the face of her smile and delighted greeting. “Selling the horses,” he said coolly.
Her smile could not endure the chill. “Good. I — I thought you’d come to the b — oh! The new tunic…you did come to the bazaar.”
“I got to Turquoise’s stall just a few minutes after you left, she said.” He was squatting, stroking Notable and Calico while incidentally making himself unembraceable. “Did you eat there too, before you left?” he asked, looking at Notable because he wouldn’t look at her.
“No, darling! I left in plenty of time to meet you here for dinner. Hanse?”
He waited, but she left it at that until he looked up.
“Oh Hanse please — what’s wrong?”
“You know what’s the matter.” He rose, looking as stem as his tone.
“I don’t, oh I don’t!”
Notable banged his leg in enthusiastic rubbing, and Hanse looked down. “I don’t see how you couldn’t know.”
“Hanse, darling, I — ” She had to pause and take a deep breath to control the quaver in her voice. “I don’t, Hanse, I swear I don’t know what’s wrong. What have I done?”
He hissed air through his nostrils. “What do S’danzo swear by?”
“Oh, Hanse!”
He looked at her after that piteous wail, and reflected briefly on how difficult it was to remain chill and angry when it was with her and he really didn’t want to. Still, there was some satisfaction, a sort of pleasure, in feeling hurt and making sure he hurt back. Oh faint, he thought, in a sort of mental mockery.
He paced. What I should he doing is babbling away to a delighted Mignue about the horses and what I’ve learned about money and my shrewdness! Instead, I have to keep this up; how can I stop? He paused to look at her stricken face. Even her nice pretty body looked suddenly smaller, saggy. Forlorn.
“I was really shaken about the coins and the names last night, Mignureal. Having to live with something sorcerous this way and not knowing what’s happening or what might happen next, or why…! I couldn’t sleep and needed to talk. You’d let me know you wanted to make love, but I just couldn’t do that right away. I had to, to settle down some, first. And you went to sleep while I was talking. I didn’t even know it until I asked you a question. What I wanted to do was kick you right out on the floor. What I did was lie there, tense all over again, and stare at the ceiling. Not that I saw it! If I’d had a whole sack of, of wine, I’d have drunk it all, I swear. Just to relax and be able to sleep.”
“Oh Hanse!” She sank down onto the bed, to weep. “Oh Hanse I was just so…I didn’t even know — oh I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
He gazed at her for a moment, looking so tiny and pitiful and lovable. Then he went to her because he had to. After that one thing led to another, and they were past that one. They were also very late getting downstairs, and their dinner consisted of what Chondey had left.
*
They slept late next morning, and when they came down a man was waiting. Gaise, Sergeant, City Watch of Firaqa. All friendly, he nevertheless was here on business. Gaise had questions.
Had Hanse been in company with one Lallias, when that poor wight had been run over by a runaway draft-horse? Um-hmm; and why had Hanse run? Ah, well, that might have seemed intelligent at the time and Gaise could understand panic, but foreigners need fear nothing in Firaqa merely because they were foreigners! Fortunately there had been several other witnesses, and Hanse was not in the least implicated. And what business had he had with the deceased? Ah, and had he then succeeded in finding this Horse? Oh, good. Anorislas was known as a man honest almost to fault.
Penas and Tethras? Of course; everyone knew of them and their partnership establishments. Opinion? Well, they were bankers; everyone who had business with bankers had opinions, and most conflicted. “No man recommends his own moneyhandler, lest he be blamed later.” No, no further questions; Gaise merely expressed a wish that Hanse had seen his way clear to tarry and tell what he had seen. Of course; he’d be delighted to answer questions, now. Let no one say that Firaqa’s police were not helpful to citizens and travellers; newcomers and multigeneration citizens alike!
Yes, Firaqa had laws against chariots in the city, and laws about wagons and horses, and their speed, and where they must remain. The centre of the street, aye. Ah, the wagon driver!
Well, the poor fellow had been popped into prison. It wasn’t that he had done anything, really, or even been negligent. The man Lallias was dead, and someone had to be responsible. A runaway horse wouldn’t do, although it had been executed, just in case. Neither would the unidentifiable child do; the one who had struck the standing, peacefully snoozing animal in the flank with a wire necklace containing a few copper coins.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Mignureal blurted.
“I cannot argue, Min — uh…”
Gaise smiled and gestured helplessly, while Hanse only muttered to the wall: “Executed…the…horse!.”
Once again, Mignureal pronounced her name. And asked about the poor wagoner. A farmer in town to peddle his melons, she learned. And what would happen to him? Well, Gaise said, a fine had been levied, and the fellow couldn’t pay it. The sergeant shrugged, as if that explained everything.
“How much?”
“Three hearth — excuse me. Three silver pieces.”
“We know what hearthers are,” Hanse said, defensively.
Mignureal glanced at him. That was not what was important! That poor man was in jail, because a child had shocked his horse into panicky runaway, and had run over a man. That was what was important: the farmer in prison, for no reason save want of three silvers. Laws that insisted that someone had to be responsible for everything, she thought with anger, marked a sick society.
And what of the melons, she thought to ask. Ah, they were a frightful stench already, rotting as they were. But — but if he were not imprisoned, she reasonably pointed out, he could sell his melons, which was why he came to town in the first place. Then he’d have money to pay the fine!
Ah, true, unfortunately true, but the Law was the Law, and all that stood between civilization and the chaos of barbarism. And besides, he no longer had a horse to pull his wagonload of melons, had he?
Mignureal looked at Hanse, and thought of all the silver pieces they had realized this day, from the sale of a few horses…
Hanse asked about power in Firaqa. He’d heard that the Hearthkeepers held most power in Firaqa. Then he had been told that two men named Arcala and Corstic held most of the power in Firaqa. Just before he was killed, Lallias had said that the power in Firaqa was held by sore — something. What?
All were right, Gaise said, but the banker and Lallias had been more right. The Hearthkeepers were public, and were indeed the final court 6f appeal. Even the Chief Mage had to defer to them. The what? The city ruler, or nearly; the Chief Magistrate, elected official here; sort of a duke of the city, or mayor. Aye, there was a council, too. Firaqa, after all, embraced not just the city but a broad area all around it. But what about this Corstic and Arcala, then?
They were the two most powerful men on the Council, Gaise explained. That made them the most powerful men in Firaqa. People said ill of both or swore by both. If both opposed another candidate for council or Chief Mage, that man could forget being elected. If one opposed but the other favoured — too frequently the case, naturally enough since they were rivals, Gaise said with a helpless gesture — then things got exciting indeed. Such a situation added spice to the dullish dish of life, in a well-policed and mostly law-abiding city. Firaqa had ever been protected by casters of spells, and —
Shadowspawn (Thieves' World Book 4) Page 19