by Mark Eller
Aaron sighed. "I'll carry what I can. There's still a limit to what I can bring back. I can at least bring four of the coins back and only give Gore one, but I really don't know if I can carry even one extra gold. I almost didn't make it home this time."
"Well, do what you can," Hill grudged. "Can you handle this load? That box weighs ten pounds, and you were a little overweight to start with."
"I moved some of the stuff," Aaron lied. "Hid it away. Now go."
Hill left. Aaron waited an extra five minutes to make sure he was not coming back. After deciding that the man was gone for good, he concentrated on his return.
Stilling briefly, Aaron pictured the lower cellar in his mind while longing surged through him. He reached out his thoughts, encompassed the supplies, and folded them into his self-image.
Flicker
And he was there.
"Ugh!" His shoulder cracked and slowly straightened. Gradually uncurling fingers sent pains shooting up his forearm. His hips shuddered. Waves of agony radiated through his spine and into the back of his neck. Tentatively, Aaron lowered himself to the floor. Past experience had shown that only time allowed him to walk without wanting to scream. If he had need to he could manage the climb back up to the main floor. Right now he did not have that need.
While waiting he thought of General Field and the black man and Mays. He even thought of Klein and wondered if there was really a one of them who had anything other than their self-interest in mind when they made their plans for what they were going to do to this world.
He snorted in self-derision, closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Acting in their own self-interest was one crime he could not condemn them for. He was as guilty of that as the rest of them.
Chapter 6
Appearing early the next morning with a wicked smile on her face and evil designs in her heart, Sarah Townsend's hand slapped against her pant leg, beating dust from her old faded workout clothes. She eyed Aaron's store apron and finer town clothes speculatively.
"You're a day early," Aaron groaned.
"Yep," Sarah agreed. "Sure am. The way I figure it, the more you practice the sooner your bruises will get a chance to heal." Her grin grew bigger. "Not too tender are you?"
Aaron stuck a closed sign on his door, and then they tramped half a mile outside of town so he could have the pleasure of getting the crap beat out of him--again. She laid a few new bruises on top of his yellowing older ones, and then, because she was in a good mood, she found all the places she had missed during the last lesson and hit him there too. The good news was that he did not get nearly so tired while handling the sword. Of course, the practice only lasted an hour so he had far less time to get tired and, of course, the sword spent more time lying on the ground than it spent in his hand.
After Sarah gave up on him for the day, he tramped the half-mile back to town and to his store to find a middle-aged woman pounding on his door. The eyes she turned on Aaron were stern, accentuating her harsh lines and fading looks.
Sighing, Aaron halfway wished Sarah was still beating up on him. Almost anything was preferable to dealing with Mistress Kingsford. She was the most irritating customer he had.
"Here I am," Aaron said when he reached her.
Her glare intensified. "This is no way to run a business, young man. It is certainly no way to gain the favor of the Lord or of Mister Kingsford either."
From the tone of her voice, Aaron was not sure which of the two names was on a higher level. He unlocked his door and opened it.
Mistress Kingsford strode into the store like she was royalty gracing a peasant with her august presence. She gave the place a brief glance and sniffed disapproval.
"And how," she censured, "is a body supposed to find anything if you cannot maintain your goods in their proper locations?" Thrusting out her hand, she shoved a sheet of paper at him. "Here is a list of the things the Manor requires. Have it delivered promptly today. I will accept no excuses, and you will put the bill on our account."
Aaron took the list from her while her eyes furrowed with disapproval.
"I have no idea why Mister Kingsford makes me run these errands. A servant would be much more appropriate for dealing with mere merchants." Her eyes dared him to say anything at all.
Aaron took his courage in hand. "Ummm--I really dislike bringing this up, but the balance on your account is becoming rather large. Mister Kingsford has not made a payment on it in over half a year."
Her expression had the strength of an earthquake. "Young man, do you doubt Mister Kingsford's ability to pay? I won't have you saying such things! An attitude like yours will get you thrown out of this town. Worse yet, it could get you in serious trouble with the Mister. Do as you are told and get these supplies up to the Manor."
With another snort of disapproval, she turned and stormed out of the door.
Aaron looked at the list. As usual, other shops carried half the items she expected him to fill. Also as usual, he would have to pay his own money to the other shop owners in order to complete the list. Something about that arrangement seemed more than unreasonable to him. The other shops were getting paid because he was doing the paying. He wasn't getting paid because nobody ever thought to give him money. The practice was not breaking him. He did not need to make a profit. In fact, he had serious doubts he made anything on the local items he bought and sold when the store's operational costs were thrown into the equation. It was just that he did not like being taken advantage of. The Kingsford account was huge and long overdue, and he had no idea if he was ever going to be reimbursed for it. To date, the Manor had only made one payment on their account in the year he had done business with them. True, it had been a substantial payment, but it had not come close to covering their bill.
Fighting back frustration, he spent some time trying to fill part of the Kingsford order with the goods he carried. He had to admit that Mrs. Kingsford did have one good point. The job took him twice as long as it should have because he did not know where everything was anymore.
Cathy entered the store before he was half finished.
"I saw Mistress Kingsford leaving town. She looked like she'd eaten something sour."
"She always looks like she's eaten something sour," Aaron said irritably. "Miss Bayne, could you do me a favor and finish filling out our part of this list? A good deal of it needs to be passed on to the other merchants so I have to go talk to them. I need to rent a wagon and a driver too."
"Sure, Mister Turner--only you don't need to hire a driver. I can drive a team." She looked over the items he had gathered.
"You can?" Aaron was surprised. "Forgive me, but you hardly look like the kind of person who can handle a team."
"Pa was a driver for the new salt mines over in Burnridge before we moved here some years back. He made sure I knew how to drive a team of four when I was eight years old. Mind you, he always kept his hands on the reins, but after a few months he hardly ever had to help."
Aaron laughed. "I don't suppose he taught you how to be a team of mules and a wagon too?"
"No," she replied, "but he always said I was as stubborn and bull-headed as an entire team of mules. If you give me the list I can start filling it now."
Aaron handed it to her and watched with awe as she filled his part of it in only a few minutes. True, she had been the one who rearranged the store and did the inventory, but things had only been moved yesterday and a person would expect she would have forgotten where some of it was--at least one or two items.
"I'll see to renting the wagon and team," Cathy called as Aaron walked toward the door.
Stepping out of the shop, Aaron walked next door to the Chandler's. Two dozen tapers, smelling of wax and floral scents, hung from racks set against the rough hewn cedar plank walls, cooling before their next dip. Another two or three hundred candles were packed in boxes, but the wax in the melting pot looked hard and the burner beneath it was unlit.
"Hey neighbor."
"Hey
yourself," Mistress Banks replied, smiling brightly at him. Her smile was sweet and smooth despite her age. "How's business?"
"Busy. I hired on full time help so I can keep up with everything I have to do now. Yours?"
"Me? I'm slow as molasses. Not many people want candles anymore. It seems they all want those new kerosene lanterns. On top of that, most people who want candles just make their own." She chuckled. "No matter. This is more of a hobby than anything else. It gives me something to do with my time. After all, it's not as if I need the money to live on. I made a few smart investments when I was young, and the Mister has his job with Mister Doland."
"Well, your business just got better," Aaron told her. "Mistress Kingsford wants a hundred candles. I'll pay for them and put them on her account."
"Well, if that is not something. Actual and real money coming into the shop. Like I said though, it isn't that I need the money. Right now there is only Mister Banks and myself. Paula went and died on us, and all the children have grown and moved on. I miss them, but I suppose that is the nature of children. I did the same in my own time."
"I suppose it is," Aaron agreed. "I'm a far bit away from home myself."
After collecting the candles already packaged inside two boxes, Aaron carried them back to the store and found that Cathy had returned from the stables. She stayed in the store to watch the counter while he visited the other shops and finished filling the rest of the Kingsford order. In all, it took him over two hours to collect the needed items from the potter, the tanner and the carpenter. He saved the smithy for last.
As usual, Aaron found Jorrin drenched in sweat and surrounded by the stench of smoke and hot metal while he worked his trade. Lengths of glowing metal bars rested in a large forge that roared with charcoal and oak flames. Grunting, Jorrin swung his hammer, striking a chunk of red hot metal that rested on his anvil. The hammer struck with a sharp clang, making fiery sparks fly. One landed on the leather apron covering the Smith's massive torso. It rested there, smoking, eating its way into the leather. Its glow faded and died, creating one more scorch mark joined the hundreds of others decorating the apron.
Without a doubt, Jorrin was the hairiest man Aaron had ever seen. His back was covered by a full two inches of thick fur. The hair ran across his neck, down his sides and across his arms. Nowhere on his entire body, or at least nowhere Aaron had ever seen, was the hair less than two inches long. It was even longer along his arms, and it probably reached out four inches at his shoulders. The leather vest covered Jorrin's chest, but Aaron assumed the hair was equally thick there.
Sweating in the heat, breathing in the acrid fumes, Aaron watched while Jorrin replaced his work into the forge. Thick plates of glowing brass were pulled from the flames. Jorrin set the plates together, one on top of the other, and clamped them into place. Heavy brass tongs removed a thin rod from the fire. Jorrin laid the rod across the seam where the two plates joined and, still holding the tongs, beat the rod into the seam with heavy hammer blows that made Aaron's ears ring.
Aaron had no idea why Jorrin was doing this, but then he had no idea why most tradesmen did whatever it was they did. The important thing was that the end product was always exactly what it was supposed to be.
Frowning thoughtfully, Jorrin set the tongs on a hook and laid his hammer on the anvil. He turned to Aaron. "Well, Storeman. What can I do for you?"
"I have an order from Mrs. Kingsford. She would like three sets of identical brass hinges before the day is out."
Jorrin chuckled. "Is she still pushing her chores on you? I don't know why you put up with it." He wiped sweat off his brow and reached to lift a large water jug. Raising it, he quickly drank down half the water in the container and set it back down. "I swear, I have never met the man who needs to drink as much as I do. Must be all the sweating over the fire. So tell me, what size hinges does she want? Are these for doors or for cabinets or what? After all, I only have plans for about fifteen different types of hinges here."
"First, I let her push me around because I'm still new here, and I'm trying to build some goodwill. As to the hinges, the list does not say, but I suspect they are for new outside doors since I just stopped off at the carpenter's and placed an order for three of them."
Jorrin peered into the forge and moved a few coals with a poker. "I already have a few sets of hinges made up. Actually, I wanted to have a talk with you."
"With me?" Aaron asked. "I hope I haven't given offense, Mister Bran. Have I encroached on your business in any way?"
"No, you have not," Jorrin said emphatically, "and that is what bothers me. I wish you would do some encroaching. Hinges and latches are time consuming, and I don't get the value out of them that I should. Truth is I have to make all sorts of items that don't pay well at all. Worse yet, I don't have the time it takes to properly make them since Alexis made journeyman and left me to start her own forge. What I was thinking was that you have all those wish books from out east. Do they have these types of items in them? Is it possible you could just order these things and save me a good deal of trouble?"
"Well, yes," Aaron admitted. "I have a few books that show some of the items you are thinking of. I suppose I could bring a couple over and let you look through them so you can decide what you want to order."
With an emphatic shake of his head, Jorrin squashed that idea. "Oh no. I don't think you're getting the gist of this conversation. I want you to order them and to put them in the store. If you like, I'll go over the books, and show you what items I think will sell well. This will save me a lot of time and it will bring you some extra profit. The way I see it, we both come out ahead."
"I don't have the room to carry them," Aaron told the smith, "and I don't want to take away trade that is properly yours."
"Well--ummm." Jorrin looked carefully around to make sure no one was near. "Could I speak to you confidential like? Can you promise not to tell anyone what I'm going to say? If you make me a promise, I'll trust it. You seem to be a man of your word."
"You have my word."
"The truth is, and I'm ashamed to say this what with me being a businessman and all, I can't read nor write a lick. There's no way I can order them things from those books. What's more, Mister Bronson just delivered a load of metal so I'm short of cash."
"You can always get a loan from the bank."
Jorrin shook his massive head. "I don't deal with banks. They can't be trusted. One time, my daddy lost everything to a bank. Besides, when you get a loan you have to sign papers and read them too, and that takes us back to my not being able to read."
Aaron nodded. "That's true. How about if I loan you the money you need and ask for nothing more than a handshake and a promise to repay me when you are able. That way I don't have to deal with stocking items I have no room for, and you don't pay interest. Besides, if I did carry them I would have to put up the money and take the risk they would not sell."
"Would you do that for me, loan me money and all?" Jorrin seemed more astonished than anything.
"I would. Further, I could send Miss Bayne over here to fill out your orders. Her mother was a tutor so she is well educated. Between you and me, I have a great deal of confidence in that young lady. She is not prone to gossip and will keep any confidence you hand her."
Jorrin scratched his head. "Well now, I suppose something like that might work. Let me think the matter over some. Maybe we can talk it over a bit at tonight's dance." He shook his head. "Never did like those things. My stompers are too big. They keep stepping on the wife's feet."
"We won't talk at the dance," Aaron said. "I've too much to do and too little time so I won't be going."
Jorrin nodded knowingly. "I wouldn't go either if it weren't for the two Missus Brans. Well then, I might stop by later if I get a little time."
* * *
By twelve thirty the Kingsford order was complete. Missy and Doyle had been in the store to dust and sweep but they left before Aaron returned. Cathy left to drive the wagon to th
e Manor. Aaron decided it was time to eat.
The church bell rang at twelve fifty-five, and people walked toward the church. As usual, the worshipers were mostly farmers and women because the Lady's mantle was fertility. A scattering of others attended as well because many people worshipped both the Lord Maker and His Lady Mistress. Aaron attended the Lord's service on Sunday since that service was early and short, often lasting less than an hour, while the service for the Lady demanded no less than four hours of the day. As a rule, because of the crazy mixed up religious schedule, Friday afternoons were traditionally slow for business.
Wearing trail dust and an uneasy frown, her long red hair awry, Miss Hawks came into the store, waved Cathy away, and headed straight for Aaron.
"Mister Turner." She seemed nervous. Her eyes did not quite meet his. Flitting around the store, they refused to settle in any one place.
"Miss Hawks, can I help you?"
"Yes sir." She shuffled her feet and then stood tall. Her shoulders stiffened. "Mister Kingsford sent me, sir."
"Oh?"
"Sir, Mister Kingsford has discovered from your driver that the last several shipments we received from you have been purchased on credit. He has been informed that he has a substantial bill due."
"He does," Aaron agreed, wondering how Cathy had managed to get past the harridan in order to reach the Mister. "The Manor has been on my books for about the last six months."
"Sir, may I speak in private?"
"I suppose. We could step into the back room. No one ever enters there except for me." He led the way.
"So," he said once the door closed, "what is this about?"
"Sir, Mister Turner, Mistress Amelda Kingsford was supposed to pay cash for those supplies. Mister Kingsford gave her money at the beginning of the year to run the household. After your delivery girl informed him of the extent of his bill he confronted Mistress Kingsford and discovered that she used the money to buy an emerald necklace. He was going to make her give you the necklace as payment for his bill, but upon inspecting the necklace he discovered that it is a fake."
