"Start color sorting," Haakom ordered, pointing to the bank rat. By the time they finished, at least half the original sack of furs found their way to the rejection boxes for flaws, false colors, improper tanning, or being of a kind the vlee did not purchase.
"Sir," Ewoud asked, "Why don't we buy the maultan?" He liked the soft, short fur, even if it was rather small.
Meester Haakom straightened up from comparing two pelts for color. "We did until four years ago. The imperial court sent word to stop, because of an illness in the animals. They had reports and witnessed accounts of the dead animals passing a fever to men, probably through the miasma their bodies carried at death. The fur merchants considered and decided that we would stop purchasing them until two years had passed without a report of illness."
"The imperial court, sir?" Kirk squeaked. "A message from the Great Northern Emperor?"
"No, from his court. They govern the far northern lands as well as the Empire, and so know more about the east than we do." Meester Haakom sounded very calm, Ewoud thought, remembering his collapse at the news of the emperor's visit.
Meester Arsenloe added, "And there are messenger mages in the imperial court, a guild no longer found in the western lands." He'd returned to his usual place at the far end of the peltery's main room. "Sir, before color sorting, Meester Dogald has eighteen vyshla, eleven bank-rats, four mynkha, and four schry of excellent quality, and eleven veshla, three bank-rats, and one mynkha of good quality." Ewoud compared those numbers, and the piles, to the heaped-over reject boxes. Oh, Maarsdam have mercy, because Radmar had spun the wheel hard against Dogald.
"Sort by color and set those in the proper box for Meester Dogald, please," Meester Haakom said, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "I will take the news to the good Remko." He departed, leaving the peltery door open a little. Kirk, Ewoud, and Waldis folded, rolled, and tucked the furs in the appropriate spaces in Dogald's box, carefully ensuring that the tags all showed above the coiled furs.
Just as they finished, an servant trotted in. "Sir, there are pelts to be collected," he panted, then hurried back to his usual tasks.
"Kirk and Waldis, please fetch the furs. Mister Ewoud, remain here. I need to step out, and do not care to leave such a large number of furs unattended." Arsenloe winked as he struggled to his feet.
Ewoud tidied the sorting area and swept around the door where men had been coming and going. The masters found things to occupy his hands if he was not actively doing something, Ewoud had discovered. Kirk and Waldis returned with a smaller bag. "Maarsdam as my witness, you can hear Meester Dogald across the width of the courtyard," Waldis said with a whistle.
"Ach ja," Kirk nodded vehemently. "He's calling curses down on everything and everyone except himself and Meester Haakom." His small eyes glittered a little with excitement. "I think everyone in the vlee will know by the evening meal about Dogald's mistake."
Ewoud licked his lips before venturing, "That may be true, but calling curses down... That can end badly."
"That's the point, isn't it?" Kirk frowned.
Waldis shook his head slowly. "That's not what Ewoud means. His father was one of the merchants in Milunis when the ambassador from the southern king swore falsely by the gods and they punished him."
Ewoud raised one hand, palm out. "My hand to Maarsdam, Father says that nothing but ash remained of the man's body, and the gods left his clothes untouched, even his smalls. The priests have confirmed his words."
Kirk paled a little, and all three busied themselves sorting and tagging the furs. Only one needed to be rejected due to a tanning problem. "It is an interesting pattern," Ewoud allowed.
"If you could find out how it was done and repeat it with the same results, you could sell the hides for even more, because the tailors and leather-workers wouldn't have to piece so many furs." Waldis looked at the bi-colored pelt. "I almost wonder if it fell over the edge of the tanning bucket, half in and half out, and the tanner didn't notice. Some things have to be done in darkness, because the sun changes the dye color." Waldis set the pelt aside. "I might see if I can purchase that one for myself, to show my father and his dyers."
Six days later, Ewoud learned why Waldis had not been upset that Meester Dogald's furs had not amounted to enough for a bale or barrel. "These are for a bale," Meester Haakom said, indicating a large heap of clawkarl pelts. They looked a little like hunting dogs, but were larger and wild. "Barrel won't work because of the shape and how they are tanned. They need to breathe a while longer."
At his command, Anders fetched waxed canvas from the storage section and the four young men spread it evenly over the bottom of the press. Kirk, the tallest, wound the top plate as high as it could go, and the others started spreading the pelts out, then stacking them, careful to smooth the fur before the added the next pelt, head-ends all going the same way. The pile reached Ewoud's waist by the time they finished.
"Good. Now put the frame boards in place. Ewoud and Kirk, make sure that the canvas hangs out over the top of the frame." As Meester Haakom watched, Waldis and Anders made a box with the boards, while Ewoud and Kirk pulled the canvas up, draping it over the top of the wood. The pelts just fit into the boards without having to fold in the legs. "I'll turn the screw. You four keep the canvas taught."
The wooden mechanism protested as the big man started walking around and around, lowering the heavy plate. Once he touched the top of the furs, he pulled the fat wooden pole out of the screw and replaced it with a longer one. Meester Arsenloe took Kirk's place and the young man joined Haakom on the beam. As the plate pressed down, the canvas tried to go down as well, and Ewoud found himself leaning back with all his weight, pulling on the end of the canvas. Around and around, until even Haakom could no longer move the mechanism. Kirk panted, and the master pointed to some rocks. "Bring those and set them on top."
Ewoud crouched down and heaved the smooth, clean grey speckled stone, staggering with it over to the press, and setting it carefully on top of the wood and metal plate. "That keeps it from rising once I let go, because it will try to fight. We'll leave it for the night, and finish wrapping the bale tomorrow."
At the night meal, Ewoud grimaced as he thought about the bale. "What? Find a mouse?" Jan said, poking him in the ribs.
"No, just thinking about moving the bale of furs. And about loading the bale of furs. We can't roll it like barrels, and it has to go into a wagon, so someone has to lift it."
The others groaned as well. "We should have more mages here," Jan sniffed. "We heirs are working too hard. These are mage tasks."
The senior journeyman pointed at Jan with his spoon. "Do not say that where others can hear you, especially not men from south of Platport. There are stories that the northern cities are making to much profit from the lack of mages in the south, and some are even calling for the Great Northern Emperor to force northern mages south until the dearth ends."
Klaas stirred his porridge and thought. "So, like just price claims, but just magic?"
Jurgin finished his mouthful before answering. "Are mage skills leb goods?"
"No. We can preserve food, and weigh things, and heal, and other things without mages," Ewoud blurted, then added, "Um, just not as easily or well, or so my father once said a priest told him." The others glared at him. "Well, you can make oil lamps and candles, and pickle meat instead of using a preservation spell."
"But you can't settle beasts and find out what's wrong inside them, or heal people, without magic, or confirm a merchant's seal," Anders snapped. "So magic is a leb-good, and subject to just price."
Jurgin planted his elbows on the table. "So, you go tell Journeyman Hanka that he must serve at a healing temple, wherever the need is greatest, so long as there is a need, and at no more than the town, or village, can afford to pay him."
Anders raised both hands, palms out. "Oh no, you tell him. And he's not a healer, is he?" The dark young man looked to Ewoud.
Ewoud shrugged and swallowed. "I don't know. I'm not going to ask, ei
ther. I guessed that he is a preservation mage."
"Nah, that's me," Jurgin admitted. "But barely. I can keep wax from melting in heat on the road, and honey from turning into honey-candy lumps, but that's all."
"I still say some magics are leb-goods," Anders grumbled, but more quietly. Sister-lady Bettana had arrived, and no one wanted a thump from her ring. Ewoud wondered if she had been born to Donwah and had been blessed with some of the Water Lady's temperament. Or maybe it was the city goddess, who had already punished someone for impiety by having birds drop nuts on his head. Very large, dense nuts, the kind that had sharp prickles on one end. Ewoud turned his attention back to the food. At least there were not so many pickled things tonight. Pickled cabbage and porridge sweetened with apple butter... His stomach churned. Bad idea, very bad idea indeed.
Ten days later, Ewoud found himself in the main trade house by the gate. Hanka glared at him. "Radmar forgive me what I have done to be cursed with you," the journeyman said, echoing Ewoud's own thoughts exactly. "Go, start pulling samples." Ewoud waited. "Well, are you deaf as well as violent?"
"No. Which samples?" Ewoud could not bring himself to call Hanka sir in private.
"Basic trade goods."
Ewoud inclined his head toward the journeyman and set to work. Tiny glass jars with salt, sample books with swatches of different weights and colors of fabric, some metal goods, and illustrated pages with herbs on them all found their way to the front counter, where Hanka set them out for visitors to look at. They did not need a sample of the dried fish, thanks be. Everyone knew what that looked like.
Once he finished with that, Hanka set Ewoud to cataloguing the goods currently in the main sales room, comparing the shelves and drawers to the list from the day before. Ewoud grumbled to himself but tried not to be too irritated. His father did the same thing with their wares-house at least once a week, more often when trade season became busy. Ewoud opened a cabinet and heard rustling. "May I borrow a mage-light?"
"Why?"
Ewoud gritted his teeth at the journeyman's tone. "Because vermin have gotten into this cabinet."
"Are you—Blast it!" A rat scuttled out of the open cabinet door, glared up at the men, and hurried off on his own business. The brightest mage light Ewoud could recall shone into the depths of the wooden cabinet, and Ewoud gingerly reached in, removing soiled fabric and the remains of hard bread. He didn't see anything more, other than a hole gnawed in the back of that particular shelf. At least it was on the floor level, so the rat hadn't fouled more things. "The Scavenger's toll?"
Ewoud thought for a moment. He wasn't certain—perhaps Hanka might have the right of it. "I don't know, sir, but it might be better to wait and ask Maarsdam's Daughter before disposing of these." He pointed to the cloth and food.
Hanka opened his mouth, considered, closed it, and then grunted. "Put it back and I'll ask the priestess when the time is appropriate." Ewoud complied, tidied the floor in front of the storage cupboard, and returned to inventory.
A customer came in, a man in dark clothes and the odd wrapped shoes of the woods. One of the journeymen said the fabric wasn't fabric but bast, the inside of tree bark. Ewoud tried not to stare at the man's large, rounded feet and lower legs. "Here," the bearded individual announced. "Wax. Ten hives worth." He thumped a tightly woven basket as big as Ewoud's chest onto the trade counter. Without waiting for Hanka, Ewoud set up a balance scale where the stranger could watch the weighing. The journeyman glared a little. Had he gotten the wrong scale? Ewoud checked again. No, this was for medium weights, between one and fifty gaalrund. Hanka opened the lid on the basket with great care, then set the lid aside.
Did they weigh the basket with the wax or remove the wax? As Ewoud struggled to recall, Hanka and the stranger both reached into the basket and lifted. "Hold it down, novice," Hanka snarled over his shoulder to Ewoud. Ewoud hurried over and ducked under the men's arms, taking a grip on the bottom of the basket as the others lifted. A cloth wrapped bundle appeared, smelling of sweetness and light. Pure wax, not the raw comb wax, Ewoud knew. Hanka carried the mass to the scale, setting it on the goods pan. Clang. Ewoud guessed ten gaalrund and set the appropriate weight on the opposite side. "Ten?" The mass rose. Ewoud added another gaalrund, then a second one, and several ten pooz disks until everything balanced. "Twelve gaalrund, thirty pooz," he announced. Hanka scowled at him, expression as dark as a storm cloud, then cleared his face and picked up a bead counter.
"Wax finished, twelve gaalrund thirty pooz," the beads clicked on their wires. "Forty one hrook, at a quarter vlaat per hrook," more beads moved.
"Neh. Finished wax half vlaat," the native protested. He pointed to Ewoud. "You. What is price? Look on talking board."
Ewoud found the day's price board and read down the list. "Finished wax, packaged, not comb, half vlaat per hrook," he confirmed.
"My error, good sir. Half vlaat per hrook, forty one hrook, twenty vlaat and one half vlaat." Hanka recited aloud as he moved the beads, and showed the stranger the results.
The stranger counted on his fingers and nodded. "Two hrook salt, four arm-lengths dark blue cloth, one hrook fine soap, and the rest in fish."
Ewoud set to work getting the items, hiding a grimace. That should have been Hanka's job. And why had he mis-remembered the price of clean wax? That was one of the things the masters made them recite over and over until everyone knew it by heart. As he returned with an arm-load of fish planks, he felt an odd mental pressure and stopped, watching Hanka.
"This?" the journeyman held out cheap blue cloth.
"Neh. Winter heavy." The stranger touched a fold of good, dense winter wool. As he did, Ewoud felt magic. Was it from Hanka or the stranger? Ewoud started to warn Hanka when the stranger's hand moved to the cheaper material. "This one."
Hanka's hand moved as well and he said, "Very good material, yes sir." Ewoud set the fish on the counter and started to protest, when Hanka shoved the heavier fabric at him so hard that he staggered and almost fell backwards into the cabinets. "Put that back, since the gentleman does not care for it." Ewoud hesitated, then did as told. Hanka would not have worked the magic without permission, would he? If he did, then Meester Dogald had told him to cheat customers. That was bad. Maarsdam frowned on blatant cheating. Or was the man the person who had sold Dogald the bad furs? If so, then Radmar's wheel had spun and balanced. Ewoud folded the cloth and fretted.
He should stop Hanka before the deal was shaken on. But if the masters had given permission to balance the loss by cheating... Ewoud wrung his hands and tried to decide what to do. He had to tell Hanka's master, but Dogald wouldn't believe him, and if he had given permission then what could Ewoud do? And the other masters would likely believe that Ewoud was sowing trouble.
The journeyman and the customer shook on the trade. The native seemed a little confused or perhaps overwhelmed, and Ewoud bit his tongue. His younger brother Wiebe had said... had said... oh what was it? Ewoud tidied the counter as Hanka saw the man out. Some kind of mage spell that was like notary mage but not exactly, something about intention and doing instead of just reading. No mages in the Free Cities practiced that kind of magic and the guilds discouraged experimenting in it, that much Ewoud remembered clearly. "Oh, fish scales," he blurted under his breath, frustrated.
"What?" Hanka loomed beside him. Ewoud straightened slowly, gaging the man's weight and strength. Almost equal in size, Ewoud had bigger shoulders and arms, but the mage wouldn't fight fair, Ewoud knew in his bones. And he was older, more experienced.
Ewoud lied. "Just frustrated that I couldn't remember the price for that fine salt, the pink powder kind."
Hanka narrowed his eyes and tried to stare through Ewoud. Ewoud didn't break gaze, though he wanted to. "Well, study it better." The door opened and they turned to attend to the customer.
6
Corruption and Whispers
By midsummer's passing, Ewoud knew he should have spoken up. The other sons balked at working with Hanka mor
e than once, and if the masters had duties outside the main business building, such as bargaining over wood and similar large goods, well, that left an apprentice or Ewoud. He had mentioned the rat at least, and Maarsdam's Daughter recommended leaving it be as the Scavenger's toll taker. Losing some food and fabric cost less than having furs or other thing spoiled, so Ewoud told the others not to pester the rat.
One morning, storms battered Kehlibar. They'd passed around the city the day before, and Ewoud guessed that one of the showers had realized its mistake and had come back. He'd been standing stood double fire watches because of the dryness, but now Ewoud wished the rain had waited for the evening. Water poured down outside the trade building, interspersed with thunder, no doubt discouraging those who wished to do business in the vlee. The rain fell straight down, something Ewoud found most curious. Rain from the sea came sideways, unless it was the small wet, the sort that made winter so bone-aching. Not in Kehlibar vlee, and Ewoud whispered thanks that the courtyard had been paved. The sea of mud outside the vlee's walls...yuck. Meester Hajo said that even the paved parts of Kehlibar had mud on them, tracked in by the wooden wagons and animals, and people.
Hanka drummed his fingers on the top of the counter and stared at the door. Was he trying to summon a customer? He might exercise care if that were the case, Ewoud sniffed. He'd heard the stories about the gods granting wishes in a very literal fashion. "Send me a hundred veshla" might lead to a swarm of the beasts erupting from the storage cupboards. If so, it would serve Hanka right, Ewoud sniffed again. Then he checked to make sure that he was not facing toward Hanka or the window, so the journeyman couldn't see his expression.
They heard splashing, an animal complaining about animal woes, and a man soothing it. Hanka flicked his fingers and mage-lights flared. Such a waste of magic, Ewoud grumped, even as he straightened up and lit an oil lamp beside the price board. Salt had gone up because of wet weather. The door opened, and a very tall man folded himself under the lintel, lifted a heavy bag over the threshold and closed the door. He wore blue, and as he stood, his head seemed to brush the beams above him. A man of the north stood before them, and Ewoud wondered what treasures he carried in the sack.
Imperial Magic Page 8
