Rise of a Merchant Prince

by Raymond E. Feist

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  self space to defend himself. He had a dagger secreted in his own boot, but waited to pull it. Jacoby’s two thugs might be dangerous to an untrained man in a tavern brawl or if they had the drop, but Roo knew his own abilities, and unless these men were as skilled as the men Roo had trained with, Roo knew he could defend himself.

  “Put that away before you hurt yourself,” Roo said.

  Whatever reaction Jacoby had expected, that wasn’t it. “Cut him!” he said.

  The first thug lunged forward while the second pulled his belt knife. The first attacker found Roo’s hand on his wrist, and suddenly pain shot up his arm as Roo dug his other thumb into a particularly delicate set of nerves in his elbow. He quickly wrestled the knife from the man’s hand and let it fall to the floor, deftly kicking it aside. He then disposed of the first guard with a kick to the man’s groin, causing him to groan as he collapsed.

  The second thug was disposed of as quickly, and Jacoby pulled his own knife. Roo shook his head as he said, “You really shouldn’t do this.”

  Jacoby’s temper got the best of him and he made a growling sound as he lunged at Roo. Roo easily got out of the man’s way, gripped his arm as he had the first man’s, and found the same bundle of nerves.

  But rather than jabbing to force the fingers limp, Roo ground his thumb into his elbow, ensuring as much pain as possible. Jacoby cried out softly as his knees buckled and his eyes filled with tears. Then Roo released his grip and the dagger fell from limp fingers. Roo calmly picked it up.

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  hand. Roo calmly took the dagger and reversed it, handing it to Jacoby. “You dropped this.” The first thug was slowly trying to regain his feet and Roo could tell he would need to soak in a cold bath to reduce the swelling in his groin. The second guard looked at Jacoby with uncertainty written on his face.

  Jacoby said, “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Avery. Rupert Avery. My friends call me Roo. You can call me Mr. Avery.” He waved the dagger.

  Jacoby took the dagger and looked at it a moment.

  Roo said, “Don’t worry, I can take it back any time I want.’’

  Jacoby got to his feet. “What kind of waiter are you?”

  “The former-soldier kind. I tell you so you don’t think about sending these two buffoons with some friends tonight to ‘teach me a lesson.’ Then I’d be forced to kill them. And then I’d have to explain to the city watch why you were trying to teach me a lesson.

  “Now, I suggest you get back to your office and get another wagon and team and get this cargo out of here. The owner of this building might want to charge you rent if he finds you warehousing your goods here.”

  Jacoby signaled to his guards to go on outside and, after they had left, followed them to the door. He paused and regarded Roo over his shoulder before leaving. From outside the door he said “The wagon?”

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  here?” Jacoby said nothing for a long moment, then spoke. “You’ve made an enemy, Mr. Avery.”

  Roo said, “You won’t be my first, Jacoby. Now get out of here before I get irritated with you, and thank Ruthia”—he invoked the Goddess of Luck—

  “that someone hasn’t taken all your cargo and vanished with it.”

  After Jacoby left, Roo shook his head. “Some people. He didn’t even say thank you.”

  Returning to the door, he closed it and crossed the street. McKeller was waiting for him and said, “You were gone a long time.” It wasn’t a question.

  Roo said, “Mr. Jacoby seemed to think some of his cargo was missing and was ready to claim Barret’s was responsible for the loss. I carefully accounted for every item on the manifest and he was satisfied when he left.”

  If McKeller wasn’t completely convinced, he seemed ready to accept the lie at face value. With a nod of his head, he indicated Roo should return to his duties. Roo moved back toward the kitchen and found Jason standing next to the door. “You taking a break this hour?”

  Jason nodded.

  “Do me a favor if you’ve a mind to: go to the hiring hall and see if my cousin Duncan is still in town.”

  After the destruction of the wagons of wine, Duncan had decided Roo’s get-rich-quick plan was over and was seeking guard duty on a caravan heading eastward.

  “If he is?” asked Jason.

  “Tell him we’re back in business.”

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  didn’t attempt to extract it quickly. The night passed with Roo sleeping lightly in the loft he rented above the kitchen at Barret’s. Duncan had returned with Jason, complaining that he had been about to leave on a large caravan heading to Kesh, and was sleeping next to his cousin.

  Roo suspected it was a lie, as Duncan was inclined to aggrandize his own discomfort and diminish others’, but he didn’t mind. He knew that the silk he had hidden in the building was worth a great deal more than he had first thought. Otherwise why would Jacoby have been so desperate to regain it? So having Duncan around was important; Roo knew he needed someone reliable to guard his back as he entered into the world of commerce.

  The night passed slowly as Roo lay awake making and discarding plan after plan. He knew that the silk would be his recovery from the disaster of his wine venture, and that while sound in theory, the manner in which he had undertaken to build up his wine trade revealed to anyone who cared to look just how unpracticed Roo was in matters of business.

  As dawn approached, Roo rose and dressed. He went out into the predawn morning, listening to the sounds of the city. A village boy from a small community in the mountains, he found the strange sounds of Krondor exhilarating: the squawk of the gulls flying in from the harbor, the creaking of wagon wheels moving over the cobbles of the street as bakers, dairymen, and fruit sellers brought their wares into the city. The occasional craftsman, moving cautiously through the gloom of the streets on his way to work, passed by, but otherwise the street was abandoned as Roo moved across to the old building.

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  He had felt a strange attraction to the once-rich domicile from the first moment he had seen it. He had visions of himself standing at the large windows on the second floor, looking down upon the busy intersection that stood between the home and Barret’s. Somehow that house had become a symbol for Roo, a concrete goal that would show the world he had become a man of importance and means.

  He entered the dark house and looked around.

  The grey light that came in the doorway barely outlined the stairway under which he had stored the silk.

  He suddenly wondered at the upper room and moved up the stairway.

  He paused as he reached the top of the stairs, as they bent to the right to form a balcony overlooking the entryway. He could see the shadowy form of the chandelier and wondered what it would look like with the candles ablaze.

  He turned and saw that the hallway led into pitch darkness. He could barely see the handle to the first door on the right, the one that would provide a window view of the city street. He opened the door and saw the room in the dim light of the grey morning.

  The room was empty save for some rags and a few shards of broken crockery. Roo walked to the window and looked out. In the morning gloom he saw the doorway of Barret’s. A thrill ran through Roo and he put his hand out and touched the wall.

  He held motionless as the sun rose in the east, until at last the street below him filled with citizens of the city about for the day. The noise of the quickly building throng below robbed him of the secret quiet he had taken for himself, and he resented i
t for that.

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  He moved quickly through the other rooms, curiosity making him want to know every inch of the town house. He discovered a master suite in the rear, several other rooms, a garderobe, and a rear servants’ stairway. A third floor seemed equally divided between a storage area and what might pass as a workspace for the servants; at least, there were shreds of fine clothing and a thimble to convince Roo he had found where the lady of the house had once met with her seamstress.

  Roo worked his way through the house, and when he was done, he left with a twinge of regret. He closed the door behind him and promised himself that he would return someday as the owner.

  As he reached the center of the street, he realized he was holding a small shred of cloth. He examined it. It was a faded piece of once-fine silk, now yellowed by age and dirt. Without understanding quite why, he slipped it inside his tunic and moved past the doorway to Barret’s.

  The doors swung open as he passed through the side Street and he knew he was late. He should have been among those opening the coffee house.

  Roo returned to his quarters, put on his apron, and hurried to the kitchen, where he slipped in with the other waiters without attracting attention.

  Duncan had not stirred for a moment and the silk was still safe below the stairway.

  Roo knew it would be a long day until he was free in the evening and could embark on making his fortune.

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  and said, “What is it?”

  “It’s less than diverting sitting in that cramped loft, cousin. Maybe I could be about seeing if there’s a buyer for—”

  A warning glance from Roo silenced him. “I have plans already. If you really want to get something done, return to the house across the way and inspect the wagon. Let me know what you think we need to repair the traces. You’re no teamster, but you’ve been around enough wagons to have some sense of it. If we need to buy new leathers, let me know. And if we can repair what’s there, so much the better.”

  “Then what?” asked Duncan.

  Roo reached into his tunic and pulled out the gold piece he had acquired from McKeller the day before.

  “Get something to eat, then buy what we need to refit the wagon. I need enough for two animals.”

  “Why?” said Duncan. “That won’t buy what we need and get us horses. Besides, what are we going to haul?”

  Roo said, “I have a plan.”

  Duncan shook his head. “Your plans seem to lead nowhere, cousin.” Roo’s features clouded and he was about to say something in anger, but Duncan said,

  “Still, it’s your gold and I’ve nothing better to do.”

  His smile caused Roo’s anger to flee before it was fully formed. Duncan’s roguish ways always brought a smile to his lips.

  “Get on with you,” said Roo. “One of us has to work for a living.”

  Roo returned to the kitchen as he was due to return to the floor, and he regretted he had spent his few free moments talking with Duncan rather than grabbing a bite to eat, as was the purpose of the prince.qxd 9/4/02 10:37 AM Page 186

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  break. Suddenly he was hungry and that only made the day pass even more slowly.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  asked Duncan.

  Roo said, “No, but I can’t think of anything else to try.” He adjusted the end of the silk bolt he carried under his arm.

  They stood before a modest home, located as far from Barret’s as one could live without leaving the Merchants’ Quarter. Duncan carried the other end of the long bolt of silk, still wrapped in canvas and linen, and glanced around. They were not in a particularly rough part of town, but it wasn’t a completely safe area, either. Only one street over, a traveler would find the homes less cared for, occupied by working families, often several to a dwelling, four or five people living in a room. Roo shook his head as he realized this house was totally in keeping with what he would expect from Helmut Grindle.

  Roo knocked on the door.

  After a minute, a woman’s voice said, “Who is it?”

  Roo said, “My name is Rupert Avery and I seek Helmut Grindle, a merchant with whom I am acquainted.”

  A cleverly hidden peephole opened in the door—

  Roo noticed it only because of a tiny glint of light—then, after a moment, the door opened.

  A plain-looking young woman, plump, with light brown hair pulled back under a modest fillet of dark cloth. Her blue eyes were narrow with suspicion, but she said, “Wait inside, sir.”

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  and Roo noticed she wore simple but well-made and well-cared-for clothing. A possibility crossed his mind and he let his face cloud over.

  “What?” whispered Duncan when they were alone.

  “I hope that’s the maid” was all Roo said.

  A few minutes later a narrow-shouldered, stooped-over man entered, glanced at Roo, and said,

  “Avery! I had heard you’d been hung.”

  “Pardoned by the King himself,” said Roo, “and any who don’t believe me are free to inquire at the palace. Tell them to ask for my good friend Duke James.”

  A lively light came into. Grindle’s eyes. “I may have someone do that.” He motioned through a curtained doorway. “Come inside.”

  They left the plainly decorated hallway and entered a very finely finished sitting room. The decor was what Rupert expected, and was consistent with what he had learned of Grindle when he and Erik had ridden along with him on the road to Krondor.

  Grindle was a merchant who specialized in luxury goods, small and easily transported, which he moved across the Kingdom in ordinary wagons that looked to be carrying unremarkable wares. In fact they contained more gold in value per square font than Roo had seen in any cargo during a young lifetime spent loading and unloading wagons.

  The young woman returned and Grindle said,

  “Karli, bring us a bit of wine.” He motioned for the two men to sit, and Duncan did. Roo introduced his cousin to the merchant, then said, “I hope we’re not intruding.”

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  “Of course you’re intruding,” said Grindle with no hint of tact. “But I suspect you’ve got some scheme or another that you think would interest me, and I find that sort of nonsense occasionally diverting.” He glanced at the bundle that Duncan and Roo had put down, now propped against the side of Duncan’s chair, and said, “I suppose it has something to do with whatever you have in that large canvas bundle.”

  The girl whom Roo—with an an inward sigh of relief— took to be the maid, returned with a tray, three silver cups, and a carafe of wine. Roo sipped and smiled. “Not your best, but not your worst, either, Master Merchant?”

  Grindle smiled. “You’re from Darkmoor, now that I think on it. Wine country. Well then, maybe if you can show me something worthwhile, I’ll pull the cork on something rare. What is your plan and how much gold do you need?”

  His tone remained light, but Roo could see the suspicion in his eyes. This was as shrewd a man as Roo had ever encountered and one who would smell a confidence job before Roo could dream it up.

  There was nothing to be gained by trying to dupe the man.

  Roo nodded and Duncan put down the bundle and slowly unwrapped it. When he had the canvas open, he began unwrapping the linen, and when at last the silk was revealed, Duncan stepped away.

  Grindle quickly knelt and inspected the cloth, gently picking up a corner and thumbing the weave.

  He moved part o
f the bolt and calculated the weight and from that the length. From the size of the bolt, he knew the width. “You know what you have here?’ he prince.qxd 9/4/02 10:37 AM Page 189

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  asked.

  Roo shrugged. “Keshian, I’m guessing.”

  “Yes,” said Grindle. “Imperial. This silk is supposed to go to the Plateau of the Emperor. It is used to weave the little skirts and other light clothing worn by the Keshian True-bloods.” A calculating look entered his eyes. “How did you come to possess this?”

  Roo said, “Something like salvage. No one appeared who could prove ownership—”

  Grindle laughed as he sat back down in his chair.

  “Of course not. It’s a capital offense to smuggle this silk from the Empire.” He shook his head. “It’s not that it’s the best in the world, you understand, but the Truebloods have a strange sense of ownership with anything associated with their history and traditions.

  They just don’t like the idea of anyone but one of their own possessing such items. Which makes them all the more valuable for those vain nobles who want something they’re not supposed to have.”

  Roo said nothing. He simply looked at Grindle.

  At last the old man said, “So, what does this rare bit of contraband have to do with whatever plan you have rattling around in that devious skull of yours, Rupert?”

  Roo said, “I don’t really have a plan.” He outlined his attempts to import wine from Darkmoor in bulk, and, surprisingly enough, Grindle didn’t comment unfavorably on the idea. When he explained his encounter with the Mockers and the fatal outcome for Sam Tannerson, Grindle waved him to a halt.

  “You’re at the heart of the matter, now, boy.” He sipped his own wine. “When you deal with this sort of item”—he waved at the silk—“you’re dealing prince.qxd 9/4/02 10:37 AM Page 190

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  with the Mockers or those businessmen who must needs deal with them regularly.” He tapped his chin with his bony finger. “Still, there are dressmakers who would pay dearly for silk of this quality.”

  Duncan said, “What makes it so dear, besides the Imperial exclusive, I mean?”