Merchantwoman: And if you do not wish to pay for a trained myrmidon, why then, you may save yourself more money still, for, if you go to the training farms, just outside of the city, the trainers there will be happy to sell you a wild myrmidon, which you may train for yourself if you have the talent.
You: Thank you, good merchantwoman. But tell me, Yreth, is not the ownership of myrmidons a privilege granted only to nobles, as it is in the east?
Yreth: Indeed no. In fact, quite the reverse is true, for, here in the Kingdom of Saghena, the ownership of myrmidons is considered a civic duty. See there, an ordinary tradesman goes about his day’s work. Clearly, he is not a rich man, but he has two myrmidons following him about. Let us strike up a conversation with this fellow. Sir, I see you have two myrmidons there. Are they your own?
Merchant: They are, yes. These two fellows give me solid protection, you may be certain, and they also carry my tools. Here in Stanneck, there is hardly a family which does not have a myrmidon or two to its name, and wealthy families may have dozens of myrmidons which are put to work in the garden, or around the house, just like slaves. During wartime, though, every family sends its myrmidons off to be a part of the city’s army, which, in total, numbers countless thousands.
You: What a fascinating town this is, to be sure. There are so many things to see and to buy. I think I will now go off on my own, and leave you to your adventures here, good Yreth.
Yreth: May good luck follow you, and goodbye.
More Of The Eleventh Part
In Which I Describe Several Events And Encounters, Some Of Them Good And Others Bad
When I saw the buildings of Stanneck, it filled me with a powerful urge to practise my arts once more, and to build some magnificent structure or other, so the local stonemages might see how tall a tower might go, and how quickly it may rise, when it is built with cross-bindings.
I decided to seek out a patron who would pay me to build a great tower. I had no particular plan in mind, except the tower would be very tall, at least a third again as tall as the tallest tower in Stanneck. Nobles and wealthy persons love to pay for such great structures as these, you see.
After several weeks in a pot, though, I was in no state to present myself to a person of quality. My robes were shabby, and torn in places. They also had black stains from the inside of the pot.
Alas, I had no money to replace these clothes, because all the gold I had accumulated earlier was placed into the care of my myrmidons, securely strapped to their backs for protection. After my army was defeated in battle, the enemy wasted no time in picking off all my hard-won wealth and taking it for their own
(Of course, you will remember, too, I still had my ship, which held great wealth and slaves and a few myrmidons. However, it was far away, out at sea at that time, and could be of little help to me here. But do not forget the ship, for it plays an important part in my story later on.)
Nevertheless, I was not a complete pauper, for I still carried a few valuable jewels on my person. I had some fine rings, and a gold bracelet, and a golden cloak clasp with an emerald in the centre, and some gold buckles on my boots. I decided I would sell these valuable items and use the money to buy some fine new clothes to impress a patron.
I searched around the city for a while, looking for an honest goldsmith. When I found one, I exchanged my jewels for gold coins, thirty arrans in all—and you may be sure this was a good price, for I am a shrewd bargainer.
Next, I found a tailor’s shop where the stuff was very thick, and I said to the fellow there, “Take a look at this fat purse full of gold arrans. Now you can see I am a man of means and power, give me the finest set of clothes you can make. Let them be such things as a true gentleman might wear, not an upstart, and do not try to furrow me with old clothes which some other customer has sold you.”
“Oh, I would not do that, sir,” he said.
“You are a liar,” I replied, “for there is not a tailor in all the world who does not try to sell rags as silk.”
He laughed then, and said, “You are very perceptive and worldwise. And because you are shrewd in the ways of tailoring, and not to be tricked or swindled, you may be sure I will treat you well, and will give you a very fine set of clothes indeed.”
Then he said, “I have a thought.” He pulled a fine costume from his closet, then whispered to me, “This costume was made for none other than Matroy, the king of Saghena. It looks as if it will fit you well. Why not try it on, just for the merriment of it.”
Well, I tried the outfit, and it suited me very well indeed. It had a black tunic, with red and purple duffs, and a green leather hat, with gold around the brim, just like the wealthy and eminent persons of those parts wear.
The tailor gasped as he saw how perfectly it fitted me. I said it was a pity these clothes had been bought by the king, for they looked most flattering on me.
“You are right,” he said. “Indeed, these fine clothes suit you so very well I think I will let you buy them, if you so wish, for you have a discerning eye and a good understanding of this business, and I know you will appreciate these clothes far better than the king.”
Then I asked, “Will this not make the king angry at you?”
He said, “Yes, it will indeed. But I will give him some excuse or other, for I delight in vexing him. He dares not injure me, you see, for I am the finest tailor in all of Saghena, and he comes to me three times a week for clothes and such.”
Well, this was a tempting offer, as you may imagine. I asked him the price then, and he said, “The king said he would pay me one hundred arrans for these clothes, and they are worth every part of that sum. However, because you show such discrimination towards my art, I feel inclined to make you a gift of them, in exchange for a token sum, let us say, six arrans.”
Six arrans is a great deal of money, of course, but when it is in payment for clothing worth one hundred arrans, it is well worth the paying. I handed him the gold on the spot, and I left the shop looking every part the wealthy gentleman of Saghena. Then I looked at the clothing of those around me with a keen new eye, and I quickly saw how bright and colourful my clothes seemed, compared to the inferior garments of Stanneck’s other inhabitants.
You can see, then, how important it is to be frank yet friendly with such people as tailors, and to have a little knowledge of how they do their trade, for in that way you can avoid being cheated and instead receive excellent goods at bargain prices.
To complete my outfit, I bought myself a slyte, which is a weapon gentlemen carry in that region. It is like a stiff whip, eight or nine feet in length. At its tip is a tiny blade, called a nugget, which is like a miniature axe blade, and is no more than two inches long. I know it does not sound a very formidable weapon, but in the hands of an expert it is lethal indeed, and can easily crack open the skull of a myrmidon.
For myself, I carried the slyte only for the sake of appearance, and, like many well dressed gentlemen, I walked the street with the whip part folded over double, so I might use it as a walking stick. Still, although I never learned the proper use of the weapon, I dare say I could have done so easily enough, if I had been inclined. In fact, I am sure just a little training would quickly have made me a master of the slyte, and I would have been able to perform the many tricks people do with it, such as flicking fruit from a tree, or chopping a man’s beard, or killing a lucifer beetle in flight.
For my defence, I bought a very fine new throwing-razor, with a silver handle and an ornamented blade. I kept this in my other boot, so I now had two throwing-razors at my disposal. I planned to use the old steel weapon for killing thieves and scoundrels, and the new silver one for killing enemies of higher rank.
Next, I paid for a room at a good inn, The Horse, and I treated myself to a large supper, then socialized with the various patrons of the inn. This was an expensive inn; many of the patrons were lords or wealthy merchants, and ev
erybody there was exceedingly refined. So, while it was an inn by name, its atmosphere was closer to the court of some king or emperor.
I talked with one man—his name was Travyn Horne, and he was a sheinor, which is something like an earl. We talked a little about the towers in the city, and the various heights of them, and then he asked me if I was a merchant.
I said, “No, I am a stonemage.”
He said, “A stonemage, is it? Peh peh peh.”
I said, “What do you mean by saying ‘peh peh peh’?”
He said then, “Oh, no insult, surely. It is clear from your face and your voice you are from some far land, and I am certain, in that place, the occupation of stonemage is held in high regard.”
I said, “That is so. It is an honourable profession, and a well paid one, too.”
“In these parts,” he said, “we look down a little on our stonemages, for they do not accumulate riches as our merchants do. Indeed, if I wore your boots, and was a wealthy stonemage coming to Stanneck, I would abandon my craft altogether and turn my hand to the pursuit of gold through trade, for it is in that direction a person may gain fame and prominence and wealth for himself, and there is no better place than Stanneck to do it. You can live a good life here if you have plenty of gold to spend.”
I saw at once he was right, and I would be a fool to return to building work when I might easily make a fortune as a merchant.
An ominous voice seemed to speak in my head, though, saying, “Do not listen to this man’s words, Yreth. You have another path to follow. Remember, you cannot serve both God and Gold.”
But I was caught up in my dreams of wealth, for having tasted some of the luxuries it bought, I thought it would be a very fine thing indeed to be a wealthy merchant. So, I ignored my wise inner voice, and I resolved that very moment to follow this excellent lord’s advice, and to turn my ambition from the building of a tower to the building of a great fortune. I told myself that, if I became very wealthy, I might even buy myself a new army here, and, when I was ready, I would take it back to Cyprus to aid the Duke of Oaster. Deep in my heart, though, I knew I desired gold for gold’s sake, and no good will ever come of that, as any person of morals will tell you.
Over the next few days, I looked around the markets with a new eye, searching for a bargain I might buy at a low price, then quickly sell again for a high one. This, you see, is the essence of the merchant’s art, and I calculated, by doing this repeatedly, I could quickly parlay my small fortune into a very large one.
Now, as I crossed the numerous bridges of the city and wandered the various markets, I came upon a group of men playing a curious game. Here was how it worked. One man, who was clearly very rich, sat at a bench in the centre, clutching three wooden sticks. In clear view, he placed a metal pin into the end of one of the sticks, then closed his hand around the sticks at that end, so the pin was hidden. Next, he shuffled the sticks around a little, and the men standing around placed bets on which stick contained the pin. After the bets were placed, he pulled the sticks from his hand one by one, so all might see where the pin lay. Now, as I stood there, the man in the centre called out to me, asking if I wished to play.
I said, “I prefer to watch, for the present, so I might see how the game is played.”
He said, “Gladly, friend. Watch to your heart’s content. And if you wish to place a wager, why, just say, for you may do so at any time.”
Well, I watched the game for a time, trying to figure for myself which stick held the pin. On every round, I was able to guess correctly, for the shuffling of the sticks was easy to follow. Yet the other fellows there seemed to have a hard time of it and always picked the wrong stick.
After watching this for a short while, I became frustrated at the poor play of these unfortunate dolts. One fellow was about to place his money on the leftmost stick when it was clear to me the pin was in the centre stick.
I said to him, “Sir, you would be wise to choose the stick in the centre.”
He considered this a little, then said, “No, no, I feel it is on the left this time.”
I said, “Hear my advice. I have a keen eye for this game, whereas you have lost repeatedly.”
He replied, rather insolently, “Then place your own wager.”
“Not just yet,” I replied, and I continued to watch the progress of the game. Well, of course, the pin was within the centre stick, just as I had said, and the dolt lost his bet.
At this point, suspicion began to scratch at my shoulder. I said to myself, “How do these fools have so much money to bet upon a game such as this? And why is it that this ignorant fellow, on receiving the advice of one who is dressed very much better than he, and who is clearly very much wiser than he, should ignore that advice and go his own foolish way? It does not make sense.
Then I realized there was trickery going on here. These players, I instantly saw, were in the employ of the man holding the sticks, their purpose being to lure innocent dupes into playing his game. I have heard of such swindles—games and challenges which seem easy at first, but which, when the unwary traveller places his bet, suddenly take on a new level of difficulty.
I thought to myself then, “Ah, walk away from this game, and give it no further heed.” And indeed, I was about to do so, but something held me back. I seemed to hear God speaking to me saying, “No, Yreth, stay and play this game. Use your sharp wits and your cleverness to swindle these swindlers, and punish them for their deceptive ways.”
And so I did not leave, but stayed, carefully watching the next shuffle of the sticks. It was an easy one, so I turned to the man with the sticks and said, “Very well, I will play.” Then I drew out a small sum, just a few Saghenian grotecs, and I tossed them into the pot, saying, “I will wager these upon the centre stick.”
Of course, the pin was within the centre stick, just as I had said, and I instantly doubled my money. You may be certain those other players acted as if they were very much impressed by my skill, and they tried to tempt me to play on, saying perhaps it was the luck of the novice, and I should play again, betting all my winnings and a little more besides.
I pretended I was taken in by their words, and I made more wagers, increasing the amount of my bets by a little each time, but still keeping my bets very small. Of course, each time I played, I won, for the game was still very easy. The other players laughed and slapped me on the back, saying I was an excellent fellow to win so much off old Capper (which was the name of the man with the sticks).
“It warms my heart to see you win,” said one, “for I have lost great sums to Capper in the past, but now I see he is getting a taste of his own pie.”
I said, “I am sure you are pleased indeed. But watch on, for I plan to win much more.”
When Capper heard this, he gave a groan and pulled at his hair, pretending he did not like to play the game against such an opponent as me.
I played some more, and won some more, and then Capper said he had lost enough and wanted to go home for the day. Of course, I did not believe this, for I knew he wanted to trick me into placing a large bet.
All the other players said he must not end the game so soon. Those sly rogues pretended to plead on my behalf, saying, “You were willing enough to stay while you were taking our money. Now you must stay while this gentleman takes yours.”
“No no,” said Capper. “I have had enough. I will play only one more round.” Then he placed the pin one last time, and shuffled the sticks once more, while I watched very carefully. This shuffle was cleverer than the ones which had gone before, and the movements of Capper’s fingers were more deft.
The other players then said, “It is the last round. Use the hidden pin to stick old Capper for all he is worth.”
One of them whispered to me, saying, “Yes, throw all your money into the pot so you might win a great fortune off him.”
This plan suited me very
well, therefore I asked Capper whether I might place a higher bet than before.
He said I might. (Naturally he said this, for he wished to rob me of all my money!) Thereupon, I poured the contents of my purse, together with all my winnings so far, into the bowl.
Capper cried out at this, and pretended he was horrified. He said, “What! When you asked if you might increase the stakes, I thought you to mean by just a few more crowns, not by this great fortune!”
But my fellow players said, “None of that, Capper! You agreed he might place the bet, and now you must face the consequences, for he has outwitted you with his cleverness and guile.”
Capper said then he would accept the wager, although he shook his head at it, and sighed terribly, as if he was very sorry he had been trapped in this way.
Well, Capper asked me which stick my wager was on, and I replied, “The leftmost stick. The pin is there, I am certain.”
Now, you will wonder how, when I knew I was playing amongst rascals who planned to use trickery against me, I could be so certain the pin would be where I said. After all, the final shuffle of the sticks was very much more deft and confusing than the shuffles that had preceded it, and old Capper had used all his skill in performing it.
Well, here I will confess I was using a little trick of my own against these would-be tricksters. You see, I did not do what most simple-minded folk would have done when watching the play of the game—following the movement of the pinned stick until it finally came to rest—for I knew this old rogue’s nimble fingers would be able to outwit even my keen eyes. No, I used a different strategy. I had noticed that the three sticks, although they were very similar, bore subtle differences each from the other. One, for example, had a slight bend to it. Another had a white mark on one side. The third had a little splinter sticking out of one end. By observing the key feature when the pin was first placed, I had only to find it again when the shuffling ceased and I would be certain of victory, no matter how much dexterity Capper’s hands might display.
The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography Page 19
