Imperial Magic

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  "Seven? He's worth at least twelve as he is! Comes from good stock, and my flocks deliver good wool every clip. Twelve and no lower." The farmer folded his arms and glared out from under his hat at Ewoud and Bastian.

  Ewoud shook his head and did his best to look sad and concerned. "Alas, good sir, but with that leg, the condition of the hindquarter might not be good. Birth stretch, cuts under the hair from the hard delivery, and not enough milk to make a good, thick hide? Eight is all he'd be worth, if he survives. Besides, even as a wether, he'll never produce much clip, and his meat won't be as tender. Eight's a good price, four down, four at delivery."

  "Aye, he's got a bad leg, but they grow out of that. Tis nowt but a birth-twist." The farmer acted insulted. "Ten and no lower, or I'll run you off this farm and the Scavenger can take you."

  "Nine, five down, and not a word about where the lamb came from, lest your flock be insulted." Ewoud held his right hand out, palm up.

  A strong, calloused palm slapped down onto it. "Nine, but you're fleecing me and the schaef both, Yoorst as my witness." Ewoud paid the man on the spot, and watched as he found a "sold" collar and put it on the lamb. The three ducked into the long brick building and the farmer made a note on his tally board. Ewoud signed it and offered his father's seal. The farmer inspected the seal, nodded again, and returned it. "Ye be known for fair dealins. New moon, and if it ails or dies I'll send word."

  "Yoorst be with your farm, sir. I'll come collect then." Actually, he'd send Bastian, or would if he thought he could trust his brother not to be outwitted by the crippled schaef.

  They parted ways. Once they'd walked as far as the next farm, Bastian blurted under his breath, "That's too much for a crippled schaef."

  "Aye, but not for an unmarked hide from a flock of known quality. I'm not worried about what's under the skin." Ewoud ran through his mental list of tanners who could be trusted to do a good job. Not everyone who tanned also handled parchment and vellum preparation.

  By the time they returned to Rhonari's walls, Ewoud's shoulder and wallet ached. The cold wind had settled to a breeze that nipped at noses and ears. The brothers hurried into the city just before gate closing, and almost trotted to the wares-house. Of course they'd come in the gate on the far side of the city from the house, Ewoud moaned to himself. But they'd gotten all the animals save one calf, and they'd put an option on that one. The farmer's wife wasn't certain he'd sell. She'd written out a contract in a fair hand for them, so that if her man opted to keep the animal, Ewoud would get the option funds back. "I wager that the crippled schaef will die and ruin his hide out of spite," Bastian opined as they dodged the peace keepers and ducked into the wares-house gate, closing and locking it behind them.

  "Aye, probably," Ewoud agreed. "And the farmer will put his mark on the calf, then decide to sell."

  "Sounds right," Bastian sighed. No one ever trusted a bargain until the goods were in hand, and even then self-praise tended to attract Radmar's attention. Radmar might be more feared than the Scavenger, Ewoud gulped as he removed his boots. The Scavenger only took what belonged to Him by right, and He guarded and protected miners. Radmar turned His wheel whenever His fancy moved him, and no one could know when or why. Maarsrodi gave and Radmar whisked away.

  Ewoud went into the office and left his receipts, along with a note for his father. Then he got something to eat from the platter of still-warm food left in the kitchen, climbed to his room, and fell asleep.

  Maarsrodi and Yoorst smiled on him the next day. The first tanner he tried agreed to take on the hides. "I've not much of that liquid left, so five lambs and three calves will use it up. Give me a reason to make fresh, once the season begins." They shook on the agreement. "You have a butcher or can I pick one?"

  "Pick one, Meester Kwaiker," Ewoud said. "You know best who will skin the beasts properly for the need." He had a few ideas, but given the low price the tanner was willing to accept, and that he was willing to do such a small order at all... Ewoud knew better than to push.

  "Any of the farmers complain about the high cost of feeding this year?" The master tanner gave Ewoud a sideways look.

  Ewoud shrugged. "Aye, but no more than customary. Later in the season, if then." Why the people who grew animal feed and sold it into town complained about high prices for it never made sense to Ewoud, but then farmers complained about everything. Perhaps Gember required it, or it was to ward off Radmar's attention.

  After they completed the transaction, Ewoud took his time going home. His father was at a council meeting, and Ewoud had seen someone with what appeared to be hides coming into the city earlier that morning. Were they a commissioned order or just for the general market? If the latter, studying the competition never hurt anyone. He drifted along with some other men, listening to them discuss the price of great haulers come spring and speculating on just how many repairs the Silver Wave's hull would require. No one quite knew what the ships' master had done, or not done, to put a hole that large in her hull, but the ideas ranged from reasonable to quite exotic indeed. Would a white-head actually bite a ship as large as a koog? Ewoud had heard the stories, but a fish eating a ship? If so, he'd just as soon not sail in those seas, thank you, no matter the profits to be had!

  "...strange it is." He heard a woman complaining. "You're the third person who's said that new-bought spells are not lasting." Ewoud's ears pricked up. "Not arguin' just observin', mind."

  "By Rella's own light, all the spells cast in the last fourtnight run weak, light, preservin', beast-calmin', the lot of 'em." The goodwife planted one heavy clog with a firm thump on the dirt. "I've a mind to complain to the guilds I have."

  Ewoud hurried on, adding the woman's complaints to his gossip basket. Likely as not she'd paid less than the usual, but the first woman's words... Passing strange indeed. Could mages dilute spells the way tapsters diluted beer and wine? He chewed on the idea as he threaded his way through the edge of the market, forcing himself to ignore the food sellers. His mother had decided that the men needed less heat and dry in their food, and Ewoud had begun to suspect that she had spies in the bake shops and behind the market stalls.

  He found the stranger with the hides near the tanners order booth. Ewoud hung back, just watching the others for the moment. He didn't intend to buy anything. A few people inspected the hides, and a man purchased a piece of shoe-sole leather. Much of the stranger's wares seemed to be a bale, still bound and sealed, that took up half of his table space. Was he selling the hides as a lot? That didn't make sense, and edged very close to the border of legality in Rhonari. This was not a wholesale market day, so individual sale of a large bale could be grounds for a complaint to the market master. Perhaps the visitor did not know Rhonari market law yet. The bale held pelts, all of a uniform size.

  "What are those?" a customer inquired.

  "Tamman, from the north," the hide trader declared. "All mage-signed. Twenty kog for the bale, or two kog per hide." Ewoud turned to go. They sold no tamman, so the man wasn't competing with the Galnaars. Or was he?

  Something about the pelts... Ewoud stopped, turned back to the bale, and glanced around for watchers. The trader seemed busy with some dyed hides, his back to the market, and Ewoud touched the fur. It didn't feel quite like the ones that he'd handled in the vlee. Ewoud dug his fingers into the pelt. No, the fur lacked the thickness of Kehlibar tamman. Could it have been a summer pelt? Possibly, but Meester Haakom had said that the north-men never hunted tamman outside of winter. Ewoud crouched down and lifted the edge of the pelt, peering at the hide. The skin...no. It had been bleached or otherwise treated during the tanning process. And he did not like the feel of the leather—too dry and brittle already. It would not wear well. Ewoud lifted the pelt as much as he could without attracting attention, looking for the mage mark.

  Where was it? There had to be a mage mark if it was true tamman because a tanning or preservation mage had to do part of the work. Ewoud managed to lift half the hide, and couldn't see any trace
of the mark. He did not like this. How had the pelts gotten this far, and who was trying to pass them as genuine? They had balls, Ewoud had to admit, trying to sell them under the noses of the north-men, but not much sense. He lowered the hide and eased away.

  Should he do something? No, because they were not his hides, and he might be accused of trying to stop a fair trade. After all, the man would be caught soon enough, as shoddy as some of the hides seemed to the touch. His loss, his problem. Ah, but what would the north-men say? It looked as if they had sold inferior goods, and Ewoud knew the rules for tamman sales. He didn't want to cause trouble or attract attention, but fraud was fraud. Who could he warn? Ankil Webeker served as market master that day, and he wasn't familiar with either pelts or with the tamman rules. Ewoud closed his eyes and prayed a little. When he opened them, one of the emperor's couriers was trotting past. Did he dare? One person Ewoud knew would trust him to judge tamman, and if that man was not in a meeting, and since this was a diplomatic as well as trade concern... But he was an ambassador... No. Someone had to know. Ewoud walked slowly past several other booths, nodding to people he knew at least by sight. It would not do for a Galnaar to run through the market. Once out of sight, he sped up.

  An hour by sun later, Ewoud swallowed hard, hands shaking, and bowed to Ambassador Count Mangus. "Ah, Ewoud Truthspeaker, Tycho's son. I am told you have a...concern?"

  How to phrase it? "Your Excellency, one of the newly arrived traders has a bale of tamman hides. Or so he claims. I looked at one, sir, and, ah, I believe it to be false. The fur lacks the double-thickness of the tamman I saw and packed in Kehlibar vlee, The skin also looks and feels different, and sir, I failed to find a mage mark." Ewoud swallowed again—his mouth felt so dry. "I could not inspect the entire hide, Your Excellency, so perhaps I only failed to see it because it was hidden."

  Count Mangus's eyes drooped, half closed, and he studied Ewoud. What was he looking for? "This is a grave accusation, Ewoud Truthspeaker."

  "Yes, Your Excellency. I would not have mentioned it, save that the laws are so clear about tamman, the market master on duty does not know pelts, and because, well," the words came out before he could temper them. "Whoever tanned the hide did piss-poor work and the leather is starting to crack. Whatever the trader is asking for the pelts is too much, Your Excellency. The low quality shames all of us who trade in furs or hides."

  Pale eyebrows rose at Ewoud's declaration. "Spoken like a hide merchant in truth. Amund," he raised his voice and a servant appeared. "My coat and a guard. I would see these tamman for myself."

  "Yes, my lord." The servant brought a blue and white coat, and one of the guards appeared. Count Mangus also accepted a black leather sword-belt. "All is as you request, my lord."

  Count Mangus pointed to the door. "Show me." Ewoud bowed and led the north-men out of the council building, through the main market, and down to where the stack of hides had been. To Ewoud's relief it sat on the same table, the bands now cut open and hides out for display and sale. Ewoud gestured to them with one hand. Count Mangus studied the pelts, eyes narrow, then turned to the guard. "What say you, Oska?"

  The bigger man loomed a little as he peered down at the hides. Then he flipped one over, without effort, and wrinkled his nose, then spat to the side. He pointed with one gloved finger. A pattern of dark lines like a mage mark covered the center of the hide. Count Mangus made a twisting gesture with his right hand. Nothing happened.

  "Your observation is correct," he said loudly, drawing the attention of anyone not already staring at the scene. "This hide is not tamman and was not tanned properly. The mage mark is false."

  An angry voice burst from behind the table. "No it is not! Who are you to—" The words stopped as if chopped off with a blade. "I was sold these as true tamman," the trader continued, just as intense but more quietly.

  Count Mangus nodded to Ewoud, who had been trying to be invisible off to the side, near one of the poles holding up the rain-shed canvas. "Go through those. Oska, those." Ewoud bowed a little and propped his staff against the table. The hides did not feel as heavy as true tamman, either, and he quickly flipped through a dozen. "Well?"

  "This one's genuine, my lord," the guard said, pulling a smaller pelt out of the stack. "The others are all fake. Ovsta that's been bleached and fluff-combed is my guess, my lord."

  The north men turned to Ewoud, who gestured to the hides. "I'm sorry, Your Excellency, but all of these... None are tamman, and only two have been properly tanned. Two are already cracked, and I think this one is starting to, ah, see for yourselves, please." Ewoud tugged and worked the offending hide out of the stack, flipped it over, and let them see the bad spots. "I fear it was tanned in the summer, and tanned poorly, then got wet." He felt sorry for the trader, if the man was telling the truth.

  As green as the stranger had turned, Ewoud suspected that he'd been cheated and cheated very badly. Hands shaking, the trader shook his head, then pulled off his cap and looked as if he were about to cry. "I... I paid ten kog for these. All my wife's dower, and debt on my other goods."

  Count Mangus frowned. "Can you describe the seller?"

  "Dark, taller than that young man there," he pointed to Ewoud, "lean, looked as if his mother ate sour cherries while he was nursing. He'd just come from Kehlibar vlee and said that these were genuine tamman."

  Now Ewoud felt sick. Then furious. His hands balled into fists at his side and he fought to keep his mouth shut. Surely it wasn't—But only one man matched that description, didn't he? But what if it wasn't—? Could it, no, what had Wiebe said about magecraft? Something about mages knowing mages... That was it!

  "Ah, Your Excellency," Ewoud ventured.

  "Yes?"

  Ewoud licked his lips. "Ah, is there a way to tell if a mage journeyman made those marks or had anything to do with them, or with the hides?"

  Something that might have been a cold smile curved the north-man's mouth at the corners. "Yes. Are you thinking of a particular journeyman, Master Ewoud?" Ewoud nodded. "Let us find out." Count Mangus removed the glove from his left hand, closed his eyes half-way in concentration, and lightly touched the mage mark on one of the false hides. As he traced it, it seemed to shift, wavering almost, and as Ewoud and the others stared, it took on a different shape. Several people made the Scavenger or Maarsrodi's sign and backed away. The guard's face hardened into an angry frown. "You were correct in your thought, Ewoud Truthspeaker." Count Mangus backed away and pulled his glove back on. "A locked illusion spell, at least on this hide." The noble nodded to the distraught trader. "You are not to blame, sir. It will be cold comfort, but the man who set this is answering to the gods for his crimes."

  The stranger had gone from green to crimson to deadly white. "I cry for justice. The man who sold these to me uses this mark." He turned around, dug through a bag, and handed Count Mangus a piece of parchment with a seal on it. The ambassador in turn passed it to Ewoud.

  Ewoud's stomach dropped. He'd been right. "Your Excellency, sir, this is Meester Remko Dogald's seal, Remko Dogald Bushmakkda." So much for Dogald claiming that he had not given Hanka orders and that he had no idea that Hanka had been cheating customers. No, Ewoud forced himself to admit, Dogald might not have told the journeyman specifically to act, but he certainly might have overlooked and ignored certain things. Like master like man, Ewoud recited to himself. "I believe that the priests of Maarsrodi and the market master should be informed, sir, should you wish to file a suit for fraud. Ah, a notary might also be wise." He returned the contract.

  "I recommend just that," Count Mangus said. "I will witness that these are not tamman and that an illusion was used to deceive." Murmurs flowed from the gathered crowd, and several people darted off, either for the acting market master or to find the closest priest.

  As they waited, the north men conferred and Ewoud looked at the hides once more. "Sir," Ewoud ventured, "I do not know if you would wish to sell those hides that are of sale quality, but ovsta is not common in
these areas."

  "What's ovsta?" He sounded angry. Ewoud didn't blame him one bit.

  "Ah, it is a beast of burden, like a giant schaef but tougher, has horns like so," Ewoud sketched them in the air. "They are sheared for coarse wool, and combed for finer wool for making felted work garments and winter coats and cloaks. Some of these can still be sold. I'm a leather merchant, hides tanned and untanned, hair on or off. Ewoud Galnaar Rhonarida."

  "Huh." The man looked less angry, but still very unhappy. Ewoud heard hurrying steps and moved out of the way, collecting his staff and easing around the other men until he stood half-hidden behind Count Mangus's guard.

  Meester Antil Webeker bustled up, a priest of Maarsrodi and one of the Scavenger's priests not far behind. A notary mage stomped through the crowd from the other direction. "What's going on? Who needs what?"

  The trader held out the contract. "Is this seal genuine?" The notary took the contract, read over it, lips moving, and raised one eyebrow. "Well, sir?"

  Everyone moved back a pace as the mage's eyes lost focus and he murmured to the parchment. His thin eyebrows pulled down toward his nose. The notary set the contract on top of the hides and dug in a pouch on his belt, removed something, and held it close to the seal, his nose almost on the parchment as he did something. Then he straightened up, returned whatever it was to the pouch, and picked the contract up with two fingers. Ewoud took that as a bad sign. "The seal is genuine. But," he raised one finger on the other hand. "There is a second spell on the seal as well." He bowed to the black, hooded form and handed the Scavenger's priest the contract.