“That leaves Fuomon and the Harrasedics,” said Ulwyn. “Neither one is likely worried about Frangel guild retaliation. I’m sure both are aware of the guild fixing prices higher than they should be. Their problem is that Frangel textiles are among the best in the world. I imagine they’d do something about it if they weren’t worried more about the Narthani.”
“Narthani?” said Mark. “I heard references to them. What’s the history? I understand they’re from another realm on Anyar.”
Wiflow and Ulwyn looked at each other. Ulwyn shrugged, then spoke. “I only hear things. Tregallon is far enough from the major cities that we don’t get all the latest news. All I know for sure is that Fuomon and the Harrasedics have been fighting the Narthon Empire for most of a century. Not necessarily continuously, but serious wars have been ongoing for the last forty or so years. They’re supposed to be quite nasty opponents.”
“I hear the same,” said Wiflow. “Seems like they believe it’s their destiny to rule all of Anyar. They think the rest of the world is inhabited by lesser peoples. I’ve even heard the men are clean-shaven as a sign of their superiority. Where they got that idea, I don’t know. Anyway, the Iraquiniks are fighting them, in addition to the Fuomi and Harrasedics. The Narthani also crossed the Throat and invaded Rustal on the Ganolar continent. Rumors are, the conquest may not have been worth it, but it caused worry that the Narthani might someday do the same with Drilmar. That’s the main reason the four Drilmar realms haven’t had serious conflicts among themselves the last fifteen or twenty years. The concern about the Narthani led to a treaty stating that if any Drilmar realm is invaded from outside the continent, the other realms will come to their aid. Whether they would meet the obligation if an invasion happens is anyone’s guess.”
Mark dismissed worrying about the Narthani. They were a distant threat, and he couldn’t evaluate whether his companions’ knowledge of Anyar geopolitics was accurate or informative. His problem was the now.
“So, that leaves us with Fuomon and the Harrasedics. Tell me about them.”
“I don’t know if Fuomon traders would be that interested,” said Wiflow. “It’s worth talking with any in port, but I expect they’re focused on trading for goods to help in the war against the Narthani. The Harrasedics might be better. They aren’t a single realm, but a large number of small states and independent cities more united in trade competition and against the Narthani threat than in any central allegiance. They speak different dialects of Harrasedica. I hear the Harrasedics from the western part can hardly understand those in the farthest east. That’s one of the reasons Suvalu was created. It turned out to be so useful that it keeps adding words from other languages, like Fuomi and Frangelese, and developed into the main trading language for Anyar. I understand it’s used even as far west as the Ganolar and Landolin continents. I’ve dealt with a few Harrasedic traders, and if they’re a good sample, they’ll look to get the best price for goods, no matter what the local political considerations.”
Mark tugged at his beard and sighed. “All right, what I hear is that neither of you think I can sell cloth and thread in Brawsea and that as long as we’re here, I should talk with any Fuomi and Harrasedic traders I can find. But what about Kaledon? You say the guilds aren’t as strong there. Could that be the place to sell cloth to both Drilmar and Melosia traders?”
“Well,” said Wiflow, “the guilds don’t seem as strong there, but I don’t have enough experience to give good advice. Argah or some of others there will be better sources of information.”
“I don’t know either,” said Ulwyn, “but it might have to be Kaledon or nowhere. Tregallon isn’t a port with docks, so it would be hard to ship from there, except for maybe using Derwan Bay to transfer shore to ship. And that assumes you could make enough cloth—which you couldn’t. The town doesn’t have enough available workers. No, I think it has to be Kaledon.”
“Surely, we could increase production in Tregallon more than now?” asked Mark.
“I suppose you could,” said Wiflow, “but not enough to become a major producer, as you’ve described is your goal.”
Mark refused to give up. “All right, so we have problems, but I believe they can be dealt with. The first thing is to talk with Fuomon and Harrasedic traders and find at least one who’s interested.”
“No,” insisted Wiflow, “the first thing we need to do is return to the main reasons we’re in Brawsea. Market day is in two days, and we need to get ready. Plus, you need to talk with the guilds about your springs.”
Ulwyn picked up on the jeweler’s diversion back to safety pins and leaf springs, and although Mark participated, most of his internal focus stayed with textiles. He came back to full attention only when Ulwyn mentioned he had rented a cart and spent three hours riding around Brawsea talking with mothers carrying babies. He had only to show how the pins were an efficient and safe method of securing diapers to create fervent advocates—especially after promising free pins if they spread the word among friends and relatives.
Wiflow nodded vigorously. “Yes, we all should have been doing this. We had more time and spent more effort creating a market in Kaledon. I suggest Ulwyn and I continue spreading the word, and Mark, you take care of getting the goods from the wagons to the market. We didn’t tell the baker we might need his stall for several market days, but if sales go well, we need to arrange temporary selling sites, so we can continue selling between market days. There must be tradesmen who own vacant land or buildings we could use.”
“All right,” said Mark. “Let’s do as you suggest.”
The other two men didn’t comment on Mark’s evident lack of enthusiasm. His mind had moved on from selling their existing products in Brawsea to finding outlets for cloth production.
Patience, he chastised himself. Patience. We don’t have enough coin to expand cloth production unless the pin and spring sales go well.
“However, we can’t ignore talking with Fuomon and Harrasedic traders,” Mark said. “We should have time for both activities—finding traders and getting ready for market day. But I’ll need Wiflow’s help with Suvalu since I still don’t speak the trade language fluently. I’ll try to locate possible contacts and then ask Wiflow to come with me tomorrow afternoon to talk to them in more detail.”
The next morning, Mark spent a frustrating hour at the wagon-maker guild’s headquarters. He was unable to get to see the dumon, and an underling evidenced no interest in leaf springs that might change how wagons were made.
“If we had more time, I could keep pestering them until I got someone to listen,” said Mark. “Maybe I can get more attention if I create community interest in the springs. We’ll have a wagon at the plaza on market day, and we’ll give free rides to anyone who wants to test our new ‘marvel.’ Maybe that will get the guild’s attention.”
“I don’t know, Mark,” said Wiflow. “You’ll risk getting a bad reaction from the guilds, plus you’ll be giving away the idea of the springs without getting sales.”
“Those are the risks, but I’m not sure what else to do. However, maybe we can still sell at least some of the springs to customers who would buy them for their own wagons and have smithies do the modifications. We’ll see what happens.”
CHAPTER 13
A VEILED WARNING
None of the three Fuomi traders Mark located showed even marginal interest in a man they had never heard of or dealt with, who seemed ignorant of basic facts of the textile trade, who had no connection with the Frangel guilds, and who had outlandish ideas about supplying cloth at half the usual cost. Despite their dismissal of Mark’s overtures, all three Fuomi were polite. Two of them treated Mark like a poor besotted soul to be humored and sent on his way. Not so with the Harrasedics.
“Why should I believe you can deliver quality cloth at half the price as usual?” Juko Nigulas said with a sniff of derision. He was a Harrasedic trader from the free city of Hapsula and the least obnoxious of the Harrasedics Mark had approached.
“You said that you’re new to Frangel,” said Mark, straining with his Suvalu. Talking with Wiflow in a controlled setting was one thing; carrying out a spontaneous back-and-forth chat with a fluent speaker was something else.
“Yes, I’m new to Frangel,” said Nigulas, “as is who I represent—the House of Vanyo. We’ve traded exclusively with eastern Melosia and occasionally Krinolin. I’m here in Brawsea to see if it’s practical for us to establish a presence on the Drilmar continent. Another of our people is in the Novaryn capital doing the same. We’re starting small to see if our house’s resources would be well invested in Drilmar trade.”
As with all their exchanges, it took Mark a moment to gather his thoughts and form them in understandable Suvalu. “Then this is a chance to get ahead of other Harrasedic trading houses already in Brawsea. You’re trying to start new here, as are we. You compete with other trading houses, same as we do with Brawsea guilds. Maybe this is an opportunity for both of us.”
Mark watched the garishly dressed man finger the right upward curl of his mustache. The shine of that patch of hair and the three-inch goatee, along with the way they held their form as if starched, made Mark suspect the Harrasedic groomed his hair with oil.
“Opportunity only exists with firm conditions. In the case of you and I, the question is whether you can deliver quality cloth, as you claim. If the answer is yes, then, of course, I would be interested. Can you do what you say?”
Mark cursed to himself for his staccato Suvalu, though he knew he was doing better than he’d feared—Wiflow had interceded only once when Mark got stuck. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “To do the level of business that will make both of us rich will take time. We cannot spend all our coin to make mountains of cloth without having assured buyers. What if we go slowly? I’ll work to produce enough bolts of cloth for you to take to Melosia. If the House of Vanyo is satisfied, I can increase production. In a year, I believe we can produce all the cloth your house would want.”
The other end of the mustache got Nigulas’s attention. “As long as it doesn’t change what I’m doing here in Brawsea with the existing producers, I see no reason not to be open to future possibilities. You say your cloth is made in a town several hundred miles from here. I will be here in Brawsea for at least another four months. If you send me a message when you can deliver one hundred bolts of the same quality cloth you’ve shown me, I’ll arrange for one of our ships to pick up the bolts when I return to Hapsula, and I’ll pay you the price we’ve talked about. That should give you enough coin to expand production. I’ll then check with you when I return, and we can plan from there.”
Mark turned to Ulwyn and Wiflow. The jeweler had listened to the discussion, but Ulwyn’s raised eyebrows conveyed that his Suvalu was too rudimentary to follow the trade language exchange.
“Let me talk with my friends,” said Mark. He motioned for Wiflow and Ulwyn to move forty feet away to a section of the wharf devoid of workers.
“What do you think?” Mark asked his two companions quietly in Frangelese. “We have another fifteen bolts back in the wagons. We should be able to reach one hundred. In fact, I’m thinking of offering two hundred bolts to give him more confidence we’re for real and not wasting his time. Can we do another hundred and eighty-five bolts in time?”
“Too bad the Firmans didn’t come with us,” said Ulwyn. “They’re the ones actually doing the weaving, so they’re the ones to say if it’s possible.”
“Remember,” said Wiflow, “although we took all the finished bolts with us, they’ve continued to work while we’ve been gone. It wouldn’t surprise me if, by the time we get back to Tregallon, they already have another fifteen to twenty bolts finished. Most of the coin is yours, Mark, but I’m willing to risk my share you’ve promised me of the cloth profits. How about you, Ulwyn?”
The elderly trader grimaced. “If I was twenty years younger, I’d agree in an instant. Now . . . well . . . Gwanel nagged me not to get too enthused about what we’re doing. She’s happy with the extra coin I’ve already made since Mark arrived.” He sighed. “Oh, well, if it all works, she’ll have no complaint. Of course, the two of you don’t need my small share. I expect you’ll succeed without me.”
The elderly trader scratched his beard for a moment, then grinned. “I agree. Gwanel’s been mad at me before. If we lose everything we’ve made so far, she’ll get over it . . . eventually.”
The three men walked back to Nigulas.
“Ser Wiflow will speak for us,” said Mark. “His Suvalu better than mine. We want to be sure we understand one another.”
The Harrasedic nodded and looked to the jeweler.
“Ser Nigulas, after discussing your idea, we agree, although we believe we can finish two hundred bolts before you return to Hapsula. They would be yours at the agreed-on price.”
Nigulas’s eyes widened slightly. His goatee got his attention this time.
“Well . . . if you think you can have two hundred ready, then I’ll say that I will take them all, as long as it’s the same quality as the bolts you’ve shown me. I’ll confess your increased number has intrigued me. I still think there’s some trickery on your part, or maybe you’re just delusional, but if you can do what you claim, then there may be a profitable future for all of us. I’ll send you a message when I know for sure the date I’ll leave Brawsea. Are you near a harbor where we can dock for the loading?”
“Uh . . . no,” said Mark. “But there’s a cove not far away. A ship can anchor near enough to the shore that the transfer can be done by longboats in no more than a few hours once you arrive.”
“All right, then,” said Nigulas, “when you’re ready, send a message to our Brawsea office. We’re located on the second floor of a building near the harbor. A House of Vanyo sign is prominent. I’ll either be there, or they’ll know where I am and get the message to me.”
As they left the meeting, Wiflow said, “Can we now focus completely on market day tomorrow?”
By noon the next day, they knew two things. The first was that safety pins were a success, though not as great as in Kaledon. Wiflow countered Mark’s disappointment.
“No, sales aren’t as good, even with a bigger market and larger crowds than in Kaledon, but remember, we spent more time spreading the word about the pins—your marketing, as you phrase it. Don’t worry. The customers who are buying are just as enthusiastic as in Tregallon and Kaledon. That only means it will take longer for the market to build. No matter what happens, I think we’ll sell most of what we brought with us from Tregallon within two sixdays, three at the most.”
Mark didn’t argue. He suspected the jeweler was right, but he chaffed at the delay in getting back to Tregallon. His focus had already moved on to the weaving project.
The second thing they learned was there would be no leaf spring market in Brawsea. Mark had arranged for the smallest wagon they’d come with to be held on a street near the baker’s stall. A wagon bench with leaf springs was set up at the stall so potential customers could bounce on the bench to experience the spring’s effects. Customers needing further convincing were sent to the wagon for a short demonstration ride.
They’d sold twenty springs by the first hour after the market opened when five men approached the stall and pushed customers aside.
“Who is in charge here?” demanded a burly man Wiflow recognized as dressed in Brawsea officialdom clothing.
Before Mark could speak up, Wiflow jumped in, worried that Mark would say the wrong thing.
“I am, Ser. And who do I have the honor of speaking with?”
“Wortson’s the name. I have market duty today to ensure all the proper customs are followed. These men with me are from the Wagon Guild and have charged that you are selling wagons without being members of their guild.”
Despite protestations that they were not selling wagons, only a part that could be added to existing wagons, after twenty minutes of argument, Mark reluctantly accepted that they wouldn’t
be selling leaf springs in Brawsea. However, he balked when the wagon guild members tried to insist they would confiscate the springs. After Wortson listened to both sides, Mark suspected he perceived that Mark would not give up the springs without a physical confrontation. The guild members were sent on their way after Wortson told them they needed a writ from the Guild Council—something that wouldn’t happen until the next council meeting in two sixdays.
Mark stewed as the five men left.
“It’s not like we expected big sales,” said Ulwyn. “In Kaledon, we had Stillum to work with us. We’ll just take the springs we brought with us back to Tregallon and send them to Kaledon. We can stop at blacksmiths on the way back home and see if they’ll buy springs from us. I think a demonstration will convince most smiths they can sell them to the more affluent local residents. I might even be able to sell them on my trading route if I ever get back to it. Of course, you’ll have to tell Hamston to cut back on making new springs.”
“That leaves the six hundred springs shipped from Kaledon,” said Mark, shaking his head. “They’re sitting in a warehouse for now. We’ll have to arrange to send them back to Stillum, along with news about what happened here. I trust he can sell them in Kaledon. He’ll also be cutting back production now that the Brawsea market is closed to us.”
Wiflow’s prediction was confirmed that pin sales would build over the next two sixdays. Although the first market day disappointed Mark, word spread, and the temporary site in a vacant stable had more customers each day. On the second market day, this time the jeweler and nail guilds tried to shut them down. However, the overseer of the market was again called to settle whether the Tregallon safety pins impinged on an existing guild. To Mark’s relief, the issue was settled when the guilds could not show that safety pins were a product already being produced by guild members.
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