No doubt this was her way of rewarding Fleur for waking up so promptly.
In return for this, Fleur embraced Bertra. Bertra giggled and turned to go.
The clucking of the chickens could be heard from the garden, and the morning was very fresh.
After cleaning up evidence of the breakfast – evidence that had to be kept from Olar – Fleur put on her cloak and carefully covered her head in her scarf.
“Goodness, are you leaving so early?” said Bertra, surprised, as she dried her hands on her apron.
“I’m heading to the port. Tell Olar where I’ve gone.”
“Very well, milady,” said Bertra, and then continued in a low, indistinct voice. “It’s surprising… Somehow I’ve gotten used to seeing you in those clothes.”
It was an honest admission from Bertra, though it did not displease Fleur to hear it. She spun around in her cloak. “I’m off,” she said in an affected, dramatic voice.
“Take care,” said Bertra with a long-suffering smile that was very like her.
Upon leaving the house, Fleur found that the morning air was very pleasant. The cold, dry winter had ended, and each day was warmer than the last, the air smelling as fresh as the heart of the forest. The shadows cast by the buildings and trees in the morning sunlight felt somehow deeper and sharper than usual.
When spring came, it would bring blossoms that bloomed and scattered, and then the season would turn vivid green.
Fleur stepped lightly to avoid a merchant dragging a line of goats all tied together. Her destination was a loading dock at the port, where she would meet someone.
Many streets led to the docks, the port town’s center of trade, where many ships arrived every day. The cargo had to be unloaded quickly – as quickly as possible and moving as much as could be moved.
Most of the dockworkers arose before the sun, and by the time the clergymen in the church were ringing the morning bells, the port was already buzzing with work. The working hours for craftsmen in the town were strictly controlled, but the port was an exception. A damaged ship on the verge of sinking could not be turned away just because it happened to arrive outside of working hours – or so the excuse went, and it was probably only half-true.
But the market would not open just because a mule hauling goods there was about to collapse from exhaustion.
“Right, this is everything! God be with you!” shouted a shirtless dockworker, slapping the side of a wagon as he finished loading it. But the din of the port was such that even this shout was soon lost in the tumult.
Once the sun rose, even the oldest, feeblest merchant would be able to move his goods.
This was also the hour, apparently, when travelers setting out from the port were most numerous. The many companies’ docks were crowded with wagons, horses, and people, all making ready to leave. Between them wove errand boys carrying messages between ships and companies, merchants carefully counting boxes to make sure nothing was forgotten during loading, and beggars collecting the salt that spilled from the tightly packed barrels of salt-preserved herring.
It was a mad throng.
In the midst of all the goods, one would want to leave as soon as possible – but the moment one did, they would begin to miss it. It took time to get used to.
At the moment, though she still had yet to reach Olar’s level, Fleur could navigate the waters with some measure of calm.
“This is the last? Huh? Twenty?! It’s fine! They should be there!”
She soon spotted a young man shouting directions to the horsemen fastening goods to a stout horse. There in the midst of shirtless men with arms as thick and strong as their legs, he stood out like a poet on a battlefield.
“Right, I’ll be off! We’ll meet atop the hill! God be with you!” He probably didn’t have to shout so loudly, but the man couldn’t seem to help raising his voice amid the hustle and bustle around him.
Fleur found it a bit amusing, and she approached the man who held the horse’s reins.
The man noticed her just as he was finishing his inspection and making ready to take the horse on its way. “Ah–”
“Morning.” She had wondered how politely to greet him, but when the time came, it was a casual greeting that escaped her lips.
Milton glanced at his cargo, then looked back to Fleur and returned her greeting. “And good morning to you.”
“I’m glad I caught you in time.”
“Ha-ha, I didn’t dare to hope you’d come today,” said Milton with a smile, the breath escaping his mouth in puffs of white in the still-chilly air. He looked past the horse, and after waving his hand broadly, he began to lead the horse. “Mind walking with me?”
“Not at all.”
Fleur drew alongside Milton as they began to walk.
There were many sorts of people who all fell under the title of “nobility.” Some lived in towns, others in forests, others atop hills with grand views. Some even lived in monasteries built on great plains.
The noblemen Milton was now going to deal with were a well-known family who controlled a forest and its adjacent river.
Fleur had not been sleeping well over the past few days, but her youthful, fine features were just as sharp as always. As they cut through the crowds, she did not embarrass herself with a single yawn. Beneath her scarf she took deep breaths, careful not to have them noticed. As a merchant, she had to appear calm.
“So, about our recent discussion,” Fleur began, once they had joined the avenue that led away from the port and the landscape changed from trading houses and companies to inns and taverns. She did not continue, though, and not because she had collided with someone else on the crowded street. It was because Milton smiled as he led the horse.
“It something amusing to you?” If she hadn’t been wearing the scarf around her head, she probably would have exposed even more of her own ignorance.
Or Milton would have been even meaner.
“Ah, apologies,” Milton said, covering his mouth.
Fleur could not be truly angry, because Milton’s expression seemed genuinely pleased. His smile was a kind one. It was too pleasant a morning to rage at someone with such a smile.
“It just seemed mysterious to me, that’s all.”
“Mysterious?” asked Fleur.
Milton smiled apologetically. Fleur looked away, but not because she was angry. Milton was her trading partner. She reminded herself of that emphatically.
“Yes, mysterious. A year or two ago… or even just a short while ago, if you’d stood beside me and asked about ‘our recent discussion,’ my heart might well have thudded right out of my chest.”
The horse’s hooves clop-clopped as it walked along.
Fleur closed her eyes, trying to calm herself with the monotonous sound of the horse’s footsteps.
It was indeed just as Milton said. Time had certainly changed them both.
“Of course, I can’t say my heart is exactly at ease right now, either,” said Milton with a smile.
When Fleur finally realized she was being teased, she grinned as though she was not wearing the scarf at all.
“My apologies for teasing you. Now then, what do you think of my business proposal?”
They were out of the center of town and now starting to see more travelers and visitors from other towns. Craftsmen’s shops lined both sides of the street, and young apprentices bustled around here and there as they prepared for work. The bakeries were already buzzing with activity, and the sinfully delicious smell of baking bread wafted about.
“I accept,” said Fleur. She had aimed for the moment when the bakery had stolen their attention. She returned her gaze from the bakery back to Milton.
“Truly?”
“I do not lie,” she countered.
Feeling like a true merchant, she exhaled slowly beneath her scarf. But when she saw Milton’s face shift from surprise to happiness, she suddenly felt very small and petty.
Now she truly understood what the term shining eye
s referred to.
“Thank you… very much.” He spoke slowly, pausing in the middle to take a breath.
“Of… of course,” she replied, her voice muffled by the scarf, knowing how foolish she must sound.
Fleur cleared her throat and thought back to what Olar had said. His advice was always good.
“I was up all night thinking about it, and I have decided to accept your proposal.”
“I see… truly, my thanks to you.”
“…”
His boyish smile hit her yet again, and she fought to keep her equilibrium. Looking ahead, she feigned composure and took the opportunity to calm herself. “Still, between the buying and the selling of the clothing, is there truly no cause for worry?”
“No, the trading company that introduced you to me, Miss Fleur, is sincerely trying to cooperate with me, I’m sure.”
Thinking on Olar’s sharp eyes, Fleur continued her questioning. “Can they be trusted? You don’t imagine they’re doing this merely to obstruct other companies?”
“Well, that’s always a possibility, of course. But think of it this way: Clothes are light and can be packed very tightly aboard a ship. And the more you’re moving, the lower your shipping expenses are per unit. But that’s nothing if you fail to sell it. On the other hand, if you believe you can sell it all, then the more you can buy up the greater your profit margin, and because you’re selling a lot, your profits are boosted yet again. The Jones Company is desperately trying to become the largest company at this port. Was your price beaten badly down?”
Milton’s smile was a rueful one, perhaps because he was not speaking ill of the company they were using in order to convince her.
But Fleur was strangely ready to accept this. The sense that they each would do anything for their own self-interest was very clear.
Milton continued. “Everyone’s trying to get away with something. I can understand why you would be suspicious.”
Fleur, a girl who had once been a proper lady and known nothing of the world, drew her chin in at these words.
“Everyone – everyone! – is putting their own self-interest first. I’m no different, of course.”
“If that’s so–” Fleur began, but shut her mouth.
If that’s so, then why should I trust you?
Had she actually said those words out loud, she would have looked like a child who could be counted upon to try to argue with anything. Fortunately, thanks to a mighty effort of self-control, she had managed to avoid embarrassing herself.
And yet Fleur did not know if she was successfully hiding her feelings. Such childish words were trying to come out of her mouth because other feelings swirled about in her chest.
She looked at Milton through the gap in her scarf.
He had youthful, noble, sensible features, and his expression was soft and his voice quiet as he spoke. “It may sound like a poor joke, but this is truly all I can say–”
They had arrived at the edge of town, and Milton stopped.
“–Please, at least trust me.”
She realized a moment later that her own smile was narrowing her view.
Here at the inspection station at the edge of town there were farmers from nearby villages bringing goods in, and as the sun climbed higher, the last travelers to set out were paying their taxes and arguing with the inspectors.
There were oxen and horses, and along with the poultry in various wagons, it was a very noisy place.
But none of that noise seemed to penetrate Fleur’s attention.
“… That’s not a very convincing case.”
“I know. I wasn’t even able to get you to remember my face.”
Fleur very clearly laughed under her scarf, then took a breath. Maybe being driven from the manor had not been such a bad fate.
“Push, pull, push again…
“Catch a butterfly, a cat, a hair, a fox…”
It was a line from a poem that poked fun at young nobles playing at love. There was surely no one else in this town able to hear the little verse and laugh at it.
Fleur and Milton shared merry laughter, which eventually faded like ripples in water.
Fleur then let quiet words slip from her lips. “I’ll trust you, then.”
It was not a long statement, but far weightier than the lengthy contracts merchants so frequently drew up.
Milton nodded seriously, then let go of the horse’s reins. “I shall rely on it.”
Fleur took his offered hand. “As will I,” she replied.
Milton then immediately retook the reins, looking at the horse, then back to Fleur. “I’d like to stay here, if possible.”
His earnest face was too earnest by half.
“Surprisingly skillful words.”
“The moment of falling is decided in the manner of parting.”
“To feign interest so that I lie awake all night unable to think of anything but you?” Fleur herself was surprised at how smoothly the words slipped from her mouth. It was surprisingly refreshing to dust off the rusted old mask of nobility that had lain buried at the bottom of her mind for so long.
“If my hand is so easy to read, perhaps I’m unfit to be a merchant.”
“Oh? I haven’t even yet asked when next we might meet.”
It was not such a bad thing to play the part of a nobleman’s daughter, pining away for her knight so desperately that a single day felt like an eternity.
“In the evening, three days hence.”
“I shall be waiting.” Her body moved of its own accord – no doubt her noble blood reasserting itself. Her chin rose, but she still lowered it and averted her eyes deceptively.
Milton pretended not to notice. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said and began to walk away. The clop, clop of his horse’s hooves faded into the distance.
“In the evening, three days hence.” She murmured the words to herself as she watched Milton’s form recede, and for the first time, she realized her hand was clasped to her breast. She hastily removed it, smoothing the wrinkled material of her clothing.
Milton greeted the guard at the inspection station and passed through unhindered.
He looked back only once.
Fleur turned and walked the opposite direction, as though she did not care about Milton at all. She could not bear to look at him any longer.
“In the evening, three days hence.”
As she headed back into the city’s tumult as it awakened and began to work, Fleur repeated the words to herself again, as though they were the name of some treasure.
The spring sun shone down.
In the city, buildings were packed so closely to one another that it was sometimes impossible to even slip a single piece of paper between the houses. Where once sunlight could be taken for granted, now it was a luxury commodity. And when even something that fell in unlimited quantities from the heavens was a luxury, life on the earth was hard indeed.
Such idle thoughts ran through Fleur’s mind as she leaned on the windowsill and rested her chin in her hands, watching songbirds gather around the midday meals leftover crusts.
“Milady,” came an ill-timed voice, finally.
But Fleur was not angry as she continued to stare out the window, because even she knew that it was Olar, who had the right to anger.
“Milady!” The birds flew off at the suddenly loud voice.
At this, Fleur finally raised her head and turned lazily in the direction of the voice. “Why must you yell so?”
“If yelling is what convinces you to listen, then yell I shall!”
“Yes, yes… it’s just, the weather is so fine…” Fleur yawned, then stretched grandly in the chair.
On the desk were several sheets of paper as well as a quill pen and ink. One of the sheets was covered in smooth-handed writing.
It was a list of common words and phrases used in contracts between merchants. It included terms like purchase and disposal, loan and borrow, and all their usages, as well as all the ways one migh
t pray to God.
Merchants had a whole vocabulary unique to them, as they often had cause to trade with people from far-flung lands. Small trades were one thing, but misreading a single line or clause in a contract involving fortunes could utterly ruin a merchant in a single instant.
When dealing with those who would prey upon one’s inattention given the slightest opportunity, one had to be at least slightly prepared for battle.
Fleur thought on Olar’s exaggerated warnings and turned over another sheet of paper. On it was a large table of currencies and their names. Beside the names were the exchanges rates with other coins, all of which seemed like so much esoteric spell craft to Fleur.
But to become a proper merchant, she had to have a general grasp of such knowledge. She didn’t have to be told as much to know it was true.
“Milady,” came the flat voice, the one that came out when he was truly angry.
Fleur looked back at Olar, then furrowed her brow. “Don’t be so angry at me. I hate being like this myself, you know.”
Olar was clever enough to know she wasn’t talking about her restlessness in the face of the nice weather.
The wrinkles in his forehead reached all the way to the top of his head, and he regarded her with a single open eye – which meant his next words had been very carefully considered. Olar was both extremely clever and possessed of a deep sense of duty.
Even in the face of such foolishness on Fleur’s part, his treatment of her was meticulously courteous.
“Milady, as your ledger keeper and your tutor, I must speak my mind.”
“Mm,” replied Fleur, whereupon she was met by the following words.
“Be careful not to misunderstand the truth.”
It was an irritating insinuation to hear. Merchants excelled at constructing such maddeningly vague statements, and if she tried to turn it back upon him, there was no telling how many different ways he could twist the meaning.
Hearing those words, her smile clouded over as she hit upon the realization.
Olar rubbed his head and continued. “I don’t particularly wish to say this, but the master of the Post family came to prosperity by wooing the widow of the former lord. Rumors swirl that the disposition of all the family lands and wealth is decided within ladies’ bedchambers. What I mean is–”
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