Side Colors II

by Isuna Hasekura

  In exchange for borrowing power, they would assume risk. Fleur felt this would put her and Milton on equal terms and that it would be cowardly, even despicable, to do otherwise.

  It was just such despicable positions that her former husband would take, and yet he had brought such misfortune upon their house. Fleur was sure she could pursue profit without resorting to such tactics. She was sure.

  She admitted, though, that her notions might be naive—but it was the only way to find a partner she could truly trust.

  Fleur explained as much to Olar, insisting that nobody had any intentions of taking a loss, so the fuss over this particular condition wasn’t going to amount to anything.

  Olar looked steadily at Fleur, then closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. And then he folded.

  The tension went out of Fleur’s shoulders, and she smiled in relief.

  “In that case, I have nothing else to say. We need only pray to God that all goes well.” Olar tidied up the scattering of paper, then reached for the bread that Bertra had bought cheaply with her usual skill.

  “It’ll be fine. We don’t need to pray.” Having gotten Olar’s approval, along with a fine demonstration of his skill, she was certain there was no need for divine intervention, Fleur thought to herself, her spirits high as she picked up her spoon and started to sample the soup.

  But then she heard Olar clear his throat yet again. “You must not let your guard down. It is the nature of business to be unpredictable. Even if we do not make a single mistake, the ship could sink and our goods might never reach us, or bandits might attack while the goods are en route to their sale.”

  Olar’s words were a splash of cold water on Fleur’s good mood. Her smile disappeared and was replaced by a pout as she slurped her soup—his observation had hit the bull’s-eye.

  It was true. She could not ignore those possibilities, nor should she. But that hardly meant one should never do anything for fear of what might happen.

  “Still, worrying over such things is for the servants. Milady would never get anywhere if she agonized over such things as I do.”

  At Olar showing the slightest bit of consideration, Fleur completely forgot the taste of her soup. While his logic might have been inconvenient or frustrating for her to hear, it was certainly sound, and she had to admit it would be a mistake for her to become displeased upon hearing it.

  But when Fleur looked up, she saw Olar looking off into space, a rueful smile on his face.

  Regardless of what it was he saw at the end of his vision, Fleur knew this expression well. She’d seen it when her former husband had been Olar’s master.

  “My old master was also an unpredictable sort. Rather, he made decisions his own way, and it was certain he could see things that I never did. Many were the times my worries came to nothing, it’s true. There are different sorts of talent in this world…the sort that forges new paths and the sort that follows those paths. There’s a great difference between the two. And milady…” Olar’s gaze moved from the distant past to the here and now, fixing upon Fleur. “You have the former.”

  This was not the sort of joke or jape that Olar occasionally made.

  Fleur put her spoon down, and after politely wiping her mouth, she smiled a shy smile to hide her real embarrassment.

  “You’ll embarrass me saying such things to my face. And I’m likely to become rather full of myself if you keep it up.”

  “If you have that much self-awareness, then I have little to worry about. And as I said, worrying is my job, not yours. Caution is part of that. And of course Bertra will also be on hand.”

  A model servant, Bertra had betrayed no interest in her masters’ conversation. Although it was more likely that her head was already full of the housework she planned to do next, given that she alone did an amount of work that would normally have been handled by several maids.

  At Olar’s words, though, she returned to herself with a start, her cheeks reddening as she looked intently down. Fleur wondered if she was angry.

  “Risking Bertra’s ire is the second worst thing I might do,” said Fleur with a small smile, looking at Bertra cautiously.

  “And what’s the first?” Olar asked.

  “The worst is making her cry.”

  Bertra’s eyes fluttered; she seemed to understand in what light she was being discussed. She put her hands to her reddening cheeks. “Please stop making such fun of me!” she said.

  Fleur couldn’t help but be charmed by Bertra, who had seriousness beyond her young age.

  “It seems I’ve nothing I ought add this time,” said Olar.

  “And that might be the happiest outcome of all.”

  The old man raised both hands in surrender. “God’s blessings be upon us.”

  Night had quietly fallen.

  Ship traffic was heavy.

  The previous day had seen ships arrive from long distances for repair or resupply only to be gone the very next. Moreover, there was a limited number of priests praying for the safety of those ships and their sailors. If Fleur and Milton missed this shipment, it would be at least a month before the next chance to do business.

  The very next day after her meeting with Milton, Fleur found herself at a table with him at the Jones Company.

  But Hans, the man representing the Jones Company in this transaction, was nowhere to be seen.

  Before they completed a contract with Hans, there was the matter of the contract between Fleur and Milton.

  “Will this do?” It was the very same contract Olar had so carefully revised for Fleur ahead of time. Milton was no mere apprentice, so a brief look was all he needed.

  The nobility used contracts only when they did not trust the other party or else wanted to deliberately insult them. Fleur was certain the thudding pain in her heart was not her imagination.

  Milton accepted the proffered sheet of paper, then looked up and regarded Fleur uncertainly. She froze, and visions of his angry face flashed through her mind.

  But far from being angry, Milton smiled. “Well, this is certainly a relief.”

  Fleur had trouble understanding what he meant, so though it made her sound like a fool, she asked, “A relief…?”

  “Yes. I was mostly certain that you wouldn’t assume a verbal contract would be sufficient—not that I don’t trust you, Miss Fleur. But since you’re the one lending your precious money, and money is life. If it had remained a verbal contract…” Milton jokingly patted the hilt of the short sword at his waist. “Like any knight, I’m ready to lay down my life.”

  Fleur realized what he meant with a start. “Ah!”

  Unlike the relationship between a noble and their knight, the relationship between merchants was one of clear mutual responsibility, where profit and loss were shared.

  Though Fleur might have infinite trust in her partner, the amount of profit that partner would bring her could be very small—uncomfortably so.

  A large amount of trust invested did not necessarily lead to commensurate returns—such was the way of trade.

  A knight could lay down his life. A merchant did not have that luxury.

  “Still, this is very generous. No merchant is unhappy at being trusted. And this amount…I’ll have to work like mad to be worthy of it.”

  Though he was simply discussing the figures in the contract, Fleur felt her face redden at Milton’s words. It was hardly surprising that he was interpreting the degree of trust she was putting in him as a measure of her affection.

  But this was a company meeting room. Fleur chose her words carefully. “An old veteran knight who saw many battles once told me that it’s only when you have no worries that you can reach your full potential.”

  “And worries can be banished with trust.” Milton ran his eyes over the contract, then signed his name at the end. While the terms were indeed very favorable, he could still incur debt if things went poorly. “Next, it’ll be my turn to banish your worries. I will sell it all!”

  Her former husband
had shouted those same words in their home. “Sell it all! Buy everything!”

  She no longer found this vulgar. The words echoed in her mind like a horse’s gallop on the battlefield.

  “Now, let us turn to the purchase.”

  Fleur signed the contract after Milton, then rang a small bell that sat on the table, calling Hans back into the room.

  “Woolen fabric from Lubick, thin, in various colors, twenty-two pieces. Hempen robes stamped with the mark of the Yirin Craftsmen’s Guild, in various colors, twenty pieces. Silver jewelry from Chuaifult…”

  Hans slowly read off the list of goods Milton had chosen and Fleur had written down. His expression was the same as it always was, so Fleur had no sense of the impression the list of goods might give. Yet she still had the sense that they had been well chosen.

  Of course, since they were buying the goods through Hans’s employer, she didn’t expect there would be any trouble no matter how fine they were.

  Hans checked the quantities again, looking carefully over the colors and prices, then rubbed his eyes and looked at Milton. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get twenty-two pieces from Lubick right now. Their wool is very popular at the moment. There’s no problem with supply, but they know what the current market here is like so they’re keeping the price high. I might be able to get ten or fifteen. They won’t be gold threaded, so shall I put the order in for that?”

  Naturally Hans’s company, being the importer, would earn more if the purchase were larger. And this was an overseas order, so his claim couldn’t be immediately confirmed.

  “I can’t move on the price. Just get as many as you can in that range.”

  “Understood.” Hans wrote the order directly on the paper, then moved to the next item. “The pieces from Yirin…these colors shouldn’t be a problem, and at this price we should be able to buy ones with the guild seal on them. As for the Chuaifult silver…do you have a particular shop in mind?”

  “Not particularly, so long as they all include either pearl or coral.”

  Hans’s eyebrows went up for the first time at Milton’s reply. “I see…so their amber’s no longer moving, eh?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  The strangely antagonistic conversation was full of implications and somehow still friendly. Rather than feeling as though her own negotiation skills needed work, Fleur was taken back to her childhood and the way she had felt excluded when she heard boys exchanging secrets to which she was not privy.

  “Understood. I’ll do my very best to obtain the listed goods. Now, if you’ll both sign here.” Hans put the list down on the table with a smack, indicating the bottom of the page.

  She wondered if this was a substitute for the contract. Milton glanced at her, and Fleur nodded. Milton accepted the quill pen and signed first, then allowed Fleur to take her turn.

  “Please confirm the goods one more time,” Hans said from across the table.

  It was an order from across the sea, after all. If there were any mistakes, returning the goods would be no simple matter. Particularly when colors had similar spellings, small mistakes could cause huge problems. Having Fleur and Milton sign both the list and a warning statement was both for their protection and for Hans’s.

  Fleur thought back on Olar’s words, words she had merely memorized, and started to feel a bit more appreciation toward them.

  “Is this correct?”

  Fleur didn’t know how many times she’d checked the list, but she checked it yet again before signing her name: Fleur Bolan.

  Hans’s eyes lit upon the name and then glanced up at her. She saw a flicker of surprise beneath his inscrutable mask but pretended not to notice.

  “Very well. I’ll now sign. And…in the name of God…”

  Neither Fleur not Milton were unused to writing with quill pens, but Hans was clearly in a different class altogether. Wil even bothering to sit down, he had the strongest and clearest hand of anyone present—even elegant. And as proof of the agreement that the three of them now shared, he wrote the usual godly phrase beneath the signatures.

  Hans wrote his own name in a flowing script, but the benediction he wrote in bold, solemn letters.

  How many styles of writing had he mastered? Fleur wondered at how many talents merchants concealed.

  “Our company has entered into a contract with you both to obtain these goods on your behalf. May God’s blessing be upon us.”

  Previously Fleur had engaged in trading only with Olar’s help. This was the first time she was personally involved in signing documents.

  With Hans’s statement, the paper that Fleur and Milton signed would now determine their fate. Fleur felt something akin to regret, having now started down a path from which there would be no return.

  She took a deep breath, then exhaled. It was a pleasant nervousness.

  “We leave it in your capable hands,” said Milton as he shook hands with Hans.

  Hans then offered his hand to Fleur, which both surprised and pleased her. The feeling of being treated like a true merchant was a buoyant one.

  “It will probably take around two weeks to procure the order.”

  “So quickly?” asked Fleur, which Hans smiled and nodded at.

  “If we had to go to each town separately, it would take years. But the wonderful thing about the items written here is that procuring them is much simpler. They’re all items that have been stockpiled in warehouses here and there nearby, and none of them will be difficult to find. Hence, two weeks. Of course, that’s provided there are no delays with the ships.”

  Judging that the ink on the contract was dry, Hans carefully rolled up the signed document and placed it in a desk drawer. Fleur took note of this, but perhaps that was simply how deals proceeded when conducted via companies like this.

  Most importantly, there was nothing in the contract that could be taken advantage of. As long as the specified items were purchased, all would be well. If the goods were not purchased, Fleur and Milton would be able to object.

  Fleur reminded herself of that and directed her gaze toward the shelves on the wall. The many documents stored in those shelves were all records of trade, just like this one, and the notion stirred her heart. Even a quick glance revealed the enormous number of them.

  When she tried to imagine how many transactions like this happened in the world, her imagination boggled at it.

  “Let us hope all goes well,” said Hans casually. Fleur and Milton both smiled and nodded.

  To toast the commencement of their contract, Fleur and Milton went to the same tavern where Hans had first introduced them.

  Mornings around the port were the busiest, as ship cargo was taken from the docks and distributed into the town. Come afternoon, the flow reversed, and goods were brought from the town to the docks. And in the evening came the work of loading those goods from the docks onto the ships that awaited them.

  Those ships would depart early in the morning.

  The work continued through the years, repeated tirelessly.

  As Fleur savored her ale, she realized that as of today, she herself was now a participant in this great river of commerce.

  Milton was not saying much, and Fleur did not ask him his thoughts. He was simply sitting across from her, smiling quietly.

  Buy clothes, then sell them. Even splitting the profit, it could come to 20 percent of the original investment if they did well. Fleur had taken a moment to write the figures down and do the calculations. Twenty percent profit in one trade. The next time, she would make another 20 percent of 120 percent. Continuing to repeat the process would double her money in four trades and quintuple it in nine. If the goods could be obtained in two weeks and it took a week to sell them, they could conduct this trade seventeen times in a single year.

  Thinking about the profit that would result from that made Fleur spontaneously grin. She was like a daydreaming child as she called up the memory of the figures she had written down.

  In a year
, she would have twenty-two times her current wealth.

  She could now understand why it was that merchants tended to snicker at the nobility. They must be earning such amounts every year. If she’d told Olar how easy she found trading, he’d surely scold her yet again.

  But the outlook was so bright she wanted to tell him nonetheless—to tell him that there was such a thing as a fortunate encounter.

  Fleur drained her first cup of ale with much greater speed than was her usual wont. She was not particularly strong with liquor, but she felt like she could do anything.

  “Careful—if you overindulge, you may find yourself stumbling.”

  Fleur was overindulging enough that these were the first words out of Milton’s mouth. She had just finished ordering her second round, and facing the tavern keeper with a raised hand, she lowered it in embarrassment.

  “Although truth be told, I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I stayed awake by candlelight, thinking of profit.”

  “Twenty percent in one trade. Double the money in four, right?”

  Milton seemed surprised at Fleur’s words but covered his smile with a quick sip from his cup. “Possibly, but I wasn’t assuming that everything will proceed according to plan.”

  “Do you suppose the Jones Company is up to something sly? Or are you talking about your debt?”

  After gazing out at the men busily working on the docks, Milton looked to Fleur. “There was also the possibility I wouldn’t have been able to gain your trust.”

  “…Add that in, then.”

  It might have been better not to be in so crowded a place. But they had ended up here, which was why they were having the conversation in the first place.

  “It might just be my prejudice to imagine trading companies to have a vicious side.” Milton smiled self-consciously, but unlike their last meal together, there was more than just beans on the table. He stuck his knife into his roast mutton. “For good or ill…they will do anything that brings them profit.”