“Does a formal authority run the market?” asked Mark.
“Not exactly. Each space holder pays a yearly amount that goes to a family that maintains order in the market. I don’t know how this specific family got that job, but I’d heard they’d been doing it for over a hundred years. The family keeps a record of who is authorized for each stall. They also prevent anyone from setting up new stalls. That way, they keep the paths open, and they settle disputes.”
“And that works?” asked Mark. “If the market is as big and dynamic as you describe, I expect it would take more than one family to maintain control.”
“Well, when I say ‘family,’ I’m talking about a very extended family. Last I heard, they have twenty or thirty men who go armed with pistols and muskets. Did I mention no other firearms are allowed in the plaza on market day? Anyway . . . any sign of trouble, and they come running. If they aren’t enough, most vendors will support them. It’s to everyone’s interest to maintain order.
“However, if something happens that the family can’t handle, the king’s palace and a troop garrison are only a mile away. I know of two cases in the last forty years where Frangelese soldiers put down riots. Once it was a stupid case of two competing craftsmen starting a fight that spread wide enough that the family couldn’t handle it. Rumor was that half of the family’s men were sick with something and not there that market day.
“The other case was more serious. Most of the people of Brawsea follow Sholsterism, although there’s a large number of Morwynism followers, especially among the trade sectors. Normally, the two groups get along or ignore each other, but occasionally there’s an outbreak of fighting, often started by something stupid like one group being offended by the mere existence of the other group.
“In that bad case I mentioned, a rumor started that a Morwyn mob had burned a Sholster house of worship. Turned out to be a false rumor, but once it circulated, Sholster mobs attacked Morwyn followers and burned several houses and an abbey.
“As you might expect, the Morwyners retaliated, and it got out of control. The Brawsea authorities seemed to suppress the fighting until market day, but then a Sholster mob started moving through the plaza, beating and burning everyone, no matter what sect they belonged to. They claimed fellow Sholsters shouldn’t interact with heretic Morwyners.
“The king at the time, Charlyn the Third, got word something was stirring and had troops ready nearby. Many suspect he let the riot go far enough that when he cracked down on the Sholster faction organizing the riot, he could be more brutal than otherwise.
“But that was an extreme occurrence. Most of the time the market works without trouble, and any normal disturbance is handled either by men at nearby stalls or when the men of the family enforcing customs come running.”
“So, there are both Sholster and Morwyn followers in Tregallon?” asked Mark. He hadn’t been curious about the variety of religious practices—simply assuming the services he attended with the Hoveys’ represented the only religion. “I attended a few Godsday services with the Hoveys in Tregallon, but I didn’t notice any tension in the town over religion.”
“That’s because although most people in Tregallon follow Sholsterism, the people keep their faith to themselves. Everyone knows who follows which sect, but I can’t remember any problems. It’s similar in many places in Frangel, but in large parts of the land most of the people will belong to one of the two sects. Have you seen a map of Frangel?”
“Wiflow showed me one when we were planning our sales,” said Mark. “I also bought a copy from a bookseller in Kaledon.”
“All right, then. Imagine the map and draw a line from Kaledon on the northwest coast almost south to just before Nurburt and then east to the Madyrna border. Every place east of that line most people follow Sholsterism, which includes maybe two-thirds of the population of Frangel. West of the line is mainly Morwynism territory. The only exception is along the northeast coast, a strip of land with people who follow what is called Ar-Morwynism.
“Centuries ago, the two sects were intermingled. When terrible religious wars broke out, the people migrated to areas containing mainly fellow followers. This happened before the king at the time, Markolean the Great, used the army to stop all intersectarian fighting. He was only able to do that with an army made of followers of both sects. The troops respected him because of his successful repulsion of invaders from both Madyrna and Tekleum who tried to take advantage of Frangel’s internal fighting.
“The separation of sects left a pocket of Morwynites split off from most of the rest. Over time, their rituals drifted away from those of the other Morwynites in southwest Frangel. Now I understand they almost form a third sect, though I haven’t dealt with them myself since I’ve never been to far northeast Frangel.
“Legends say that after Markolean the Great stopped most of the intersectarian conflicts, the isolated Morwynite pocket in northeast Frangel still had enough problems that many people left Frangel, never to be heard of again.
“Oh . . . I wandered off your original question about how the Brawsea market works. You and Wiflow need to find one or more stall owners willing to let you use their space. I don’t see how you can sell in multiple markets like you did in Kaledon since you don’t already have contacts. That means we’ll likely need to stay for several market days, as well as find a place to sell the pins the other days of the sixday. All I can do for your textile project is introduce you to a few of the tradesmen I used to purchase from. After that, it’ll be up to them to point you to who to see next.”
Following Ulwyn’s advice, they stopped at a two-story inn that reminded Mark of Tudor-style architecture. They were still five miles from the center of Brawsea. The inn’s stable was too small for their party, but a vacant piece of land behind the inn served as a place to stake and hobble the horses. The inn was able to accommodate the men once they agreed to double up by sleeping on the floors, in addition to narrow beds. A quarter of the men stood armed guard over the wagons and the horses during the night, trading off every two hours. Mark was worried enough about their goods to rise twice during the night to check whether the guards were alert.
They changed their intent to continue on into Brawsea the next morning when they gathered for the inn’s morning meal service—a porridge-like dish, fruit, and kava, a coffee analog.
“What if we leave the wagons and rest of the men here?” Mark suggested to Wiflow and Ulwyn. “It’s three days until market day, and there’s so much to do, it makes no sense to bring the wagons any closer until we know what’s happening. What if Wiflow and I investigate market day and talk to any blacksmiths we pass? Ulwyn, you find the tradesmen you know who might have insights about selling cloth in Brawsea.”
“Makes sense,” said Wiflow. “I was thinking about visiting a few jewelry shops near the Great Plaza. Even if I don’t know the jewelers, we should be able to find a few willing to answer questions from a fellow jeweler. I can always say we’re here after hearing about the far-reaching reputation of Brawsea jewelry.”
“Is it well-known?” asked Mark.
“Nah,” said Wiflow. “Mainly pieces of trash meant for the thousands of foreigners always in the city and local citizens who think trinket styles copied from other realms are somehow exotic. Naturally, I won’t say any of that to the jewelers we ask to advise us. Leave the talking to me.”
“What about you, Ulwyn?”
“Probably best if you two ride the horses into the city, but my back won’t let me. I’ll go by wagon or cart or something where I can sit. I’ll ask the innkeeper where we might rent a small wagon or cart, and I’ll get one of our drivers to go with me.”
They arrived near the city center at mid-morning. Wiflow and Mark put their horses in a stable and left Ulwyn with a cart and a driver to search for past acquaintances.
Wiflow’s confidence in jeweler camaraderie was tested by mid-day. Seven jewelers near the city center refused to talk with them once they knew the strangers
’ interests, wanted to be paid for advice, or gave Mark or Wiflow bad vibes.
They experienced a similar lack of progress after talking with two blacksmiths who referred them to the wagon-maker guild.
“Seems like I’ll have to go straight to the guild. I was hoping for more interest from blacksmiths, but evidently there’s overlap with the blacksmith and wagon-maker guilds. At least, the last smith gave us directions to the wagon-maker guild headquarters.”
“As for the pins, maybe the jewelers we visited are too fancy,” said Mark. “You know, accustomed to dealing with the upper classes around the center of Brawsea. Let’s try closer to the harbor.”
The two men walked a half-mile before looking again for jewelry shops. Within sight of the harbor, down a straight avenue, they found their first useful source. The owner of a small jewelry shop was not in, but his eighteen- or-nineteen-year-old son was without customers when they arrived and proved gregarious.
“Well, our family doesn’t have a stall—we’re not important enough in the jewelers’ guild. My father hates our guild’s dumon.”
The son noticed his two visitors’ blank looks.
“Dumon. You know. A guild head.”
Two heads shaking brought forth a sigh. “Every guild is led by the dumon, plus the larger guilds have a group of dumonotes, men who act for the dumon and are candidates to be the next dumon.
“But back to your question. No, we don’t have a stall, but I suggest checking with some of the small bakeries near the Great Plaza. There’s a few of them that have stall positions left from long ago when the market day wasn’t that big. There’s always grumbling about making them give up their positions. However, so far no one or group has wanted to make a change from tradition that might set an example.”
“Why should I give up my family’s stall at market day?” asked Wis Nampton, patriarch of the third bakery Mark and Wiflow visited. “We do good business on those days, and it lets people know about our baked goods.”
“I understand,” placated Wiflow, who continued to do their talking—tradesman to tradesman. “However, it’s unlikely you get all that many new customers on any Godsday market, and the six hours between the end of Godsday services and market day closing can’t be but a small part of your sixday’s income. We appreciate that you would lose some business, which is why we’re willing to generously compensate you for business lost. Shall we say one small gold coin for use of your stall for one Godsday?”
Nampton’s eyes narrowed. He laughed. “One small gold? That’s not near enough.”
Here we go, thought Mark. We’re going to get the stall. Now it’s just a matter of Wiflow bargaining with the baker.
Thirty interminable minutes later, they had permission to use the baker’s stall on the next market day. It cost one small gold and two large silvers—about $350, by Mark’s estimation. He would have paid more just to get the two bargainers to shut up.
Mark’s irritation was fostered by his feeling that although plans were progressing, they weren’t moving as fast as he would like. He kept reminding himself to be patient, a trait he’d had to work on too often back on Earth. His mood wasn’t helped when they returned to the inn just after sundown and reunited with Ulwyn, whose report on textiles was not encouraging.
“I started off visiting cloth sellers I’ve done business with before, although it was many years ago. I told them I was in Brawsea to buy bolts of cloth for my trade and for shop owners in Tregallon—which was honest. As I told you, with our wagons going back empty to Tregallon, I’ll be buying more trade goods than I could carry with just my own wagon. Among what I’ll buy are enough cloth bolts for two wagons, three if the prices are right. We can sell them to towns on the way back. Any left when we get back to Tregallon, I’ll use on my trade route.”
“And you don’t think it’s a little odd to be buying wagons of cloth when we’ll be producing it much cheaper in the next few months?”
“No offense, Mark, but that’s true only if everything works as you hope. There’s always the chance you won’t succeed, or it will take longer than you think. Even if things work out well, we can’t be sure when you’ll be producing enough cloth. Also, your cloth will be in limited colors. I’ll be buying medium to higher-end cloth that your first efforts won’t compete with.
“Anyway, the first merchant was a disagreeable man who would only talk about potential sales. All my questions about the cloth trade in Brawsea were ignored at first, and then he got suspicious and angry when I kept asking.
“The second man was better. He pretended he remembered me, but I think he was lying so as not to offend a potential customer. I spent two hours with him and came away with half a wagon of cloth. He was talkative, and I think I got a good sense of the textile trade here in Brawsea. It doesn’t sound good for you.
“The guilds have fiber processing, thread spinning, cloth weaving, and clothes making wrapped up tight as could be. No one can enter into any of those trades without being a member of one or more guilds. The Council of Guilds is, for all practical purposes, the government of Brawsea. Oh . . . it’s not official. There’s a mayor appointed by the king and representatives of the different sections of the city to advise the mayor, but the mayor doesn’t do anything without the approval of the Council of Guilds. No mayor is going to go against the guilds because they pay so much in bribes to members of the Frangelese court, including members of the king’s family.”
“And we can’t just set up shop and start selling cloth without guild membership?” asked Mark.
“Who’s going to buy it? Clothing makers won’t. The guilds are so intertwined that the clothing-maker guild will only buy cloth from members of the weaving guild. It would be the same if you tried to sell thread—no weaver will buy thread not spun by a spinner guild member. The guilds might send thugs to wreck your goods and attack our people. Alternatively, they might prevail on the authorities to stop us. I just don’t know.”
“Well, shit,” mumbled Mark. Neither Ulwyn nor Wiflow needed a translation from English to interpret Mark’s response to the news.
It’s a cartel, monopoly, or whatever economists would call it, Mark thought. A neat tangle of relationships to keep out competition where there’re no anti-trust laws.
It was a system designed for the benefit of those who had, against anyone who wanted the products or the services of those in control. No competition meant the cost of clothing you bought ready-made, the end product, was higher than it had to be. Coin that could have gone into food, better living conditions, and medical care went into the hands of the guild members. It also meant poorer families were more likely to make as much of their own clothing as they could—thereby reducing the market for ready-made clothing and having family members spend more of their time not doing other productive work. The entire society and most members were less productive and poorer as a result.
Well, that’s the society’s problem, thought Mark. My problem is what to do? I’m too committed to textiles to drop the idea and end up wasting a good part of a year and all that coin. I’d then still be looking for innovations to fund what I really want to do.
“What about bribing someone with influence in the guilds?” asked Mark.
Wiflow shook his head. “That might work in Kaledon and Landylbury, but the guilds are too strong and organized here in Brawsea. Any bribe would have to be so large you wouldn’t have enough coin left to expand cloth production.”
“Something else occurs to me,” said Ulwyn. “I stopped briefly in several what you call ‘factories.’ We don’t have them in Tregallon, and the ones I saw in Kaledon are far smaller. In one factory here, I saw hundreds of women, in row after row, weaving cloth on looms the way Dayna used to do. In other places, there were large rooms of women spinning thread. Men brought new supplies of thread, and scores of boys maybe ten years old ran to exchange filled spindles with empty ones. It was similar in a weaving factory—hundreds of men and women weaving cloth and many more men and
boys working to supply the weavers and take away finished bolts.
“Mark, do you realize that if your project works, thousands of people will lose their jobs? Imagine the reaction of all those people finding out your faster way to make cloth takes away their income. I don’t know which would be more dangerous, the guilds or the families of workers.”
Ulwyn’s comments stirred a memory in Mark, but he couldn’t quite dredge it up—something about riots in Europe during the early stages of the Industrial Revolution. He hadn’t paid much attention to the required humanities courses at the Naval Academy. However, he dismissed worrying about workers. It was the guilds he saw as the biggest threat.
Mark visualized a map he’d studied of Anyar. “What about selling the cloth to traders from other places on Anyar? I assume much of the textile production is traded to other realms on Anyar—elsewhere in Drilmar or across the Throat in eastern Melosia?”
“I’m not sure about traders from Tekleum and Madyrna,” said Wiflow. “They border with Frangel and have a difficult history with us, what with past wars and continuing incidents, but the guilds’ reach may even go to them—at least, in textiles. I just don’t know. Novaryn might be possible since we have good relations with them, but they have guilds, too. You’d have to talk with people from all of these places to see if they might be interested. We might have a better chance with the Melosians—Fuomon, the Harrasedics, and even Krinolin.”
“Forget the Krinoliners,” said Ulwyn. “I overheard a group of men at the harbor talking about how Krinolin ships are barred from all Drilmar and Melosia ports.”
Wiflow noted Mark’s puzzled expression. “Krinolin, the last large land mass to the east before the Great Ocean. They keep to themselves and only allow trading at one port in southern Krinolin, even though they want their own ships to have access to all ports elsewhere. Every so many years there’s a blow-up, and the Krinoliners are forbidden port access. If it goes as usual, a year or so from now everyone will forget what the current problem was, and you’ll again start to see an occasional Krinolin ship in a major harbor.”
Passages Page 15