by Tim Stead
“A spice?” Todric asked.
“Yes. Just try a spoonful.”
“May I try it?” Felice was curious. There were many spices on the market, and she was puzzled by the captain’s almost apologetic presentation.
“If you wish, Miss Felice,” the captain said, “but only the smallest mouthful.”
She dipped her spoon into the dish, which was, to all appearances a beef stew in a thick sauce. She put it into her mouth and chewed. At first it seemed merely rich, with a strange sweetness that she liked, but then her mouth began to burn. At first it was little more than a tingling, but in a few moments it had become a raging fire. The sensation was amazing. She looked at Todric with wide eyes, but he was reaching for a glass of water.
“Are you trying to poison us?” he gasped at the captain, but Pelorus just laughed.
“Too strong for you, I think,” he said. “The cook should have used just one pod.”
“I like it,” Felice said. “Well, perhaps like is the wrong word, but it is like nothing I have ever eaten. What do you call it?”
“Fire seed,” the captain said. “They can be ground into a powder, and do not lose their sting for many months. Do you think there is a market for them here?”
“Why would anyone want to get their mouth burned?” Todric asked, pouring another glass of water. Felice studied her brother and the captain. She reached out and took another spoonful of the stew, expecting the sensation this time. She found it less shocking, more like a culinary rush of adrenalin, and there was flavour beneath the fire.
“I like it. I think I do, Captain. How much of this do you have?”
The captain shrugged. “A quarter corn weight,” he said. “It’s enough to fill a small package, about a foot long.”
“And how many seeds might that be?”
“I cannot say for sure; maybe eight hundred.”
“And how much do you want for them?”
She saw the captain’s eyes sharpen at the mention of price, and saw his body deliberately relax.
“Two silver coins,” he said casually.
Todric looked at her and raised an eyebrow, but she ignored him.
“I’ll give you twenty coppers,” she said. It was a tenth of what he had asked, and barely short of an insult.
“I can’t sell them for less than I paid,” the captain laughed. “One silver and a half.”
“You heard my brother,” she said. “There’s no market for these things. I’ll give you fifty coppers.”
“Shall we just split the difference?” he asked. “One silver?”
“Done.”
“And now will you tell me why you bought them?” Todric asked.
“I have an idea,” she said, “and just because you’re not man enough to eat your Pekkan Fire Beef doesn’t mean that the taverns aren’t filled with better men.”
Todric looked hurt for a moment, and then burst out laughing, to be joined a moment later by the captain and the mate.
“Your sister is no fool, Trader Caledon,” the mate said.
“Indeed,” the captain agreed. “I’m mortified that I didn’t see the opportunity myself. The men of every ship that calls here will happily compete to eat the fieriest food as they do to drink the most ale. I like the name, too. Pekkan Fire Beef has a ring to it.”
“It’s just an idea,” Felice said, reddening slightly. “I have yet to sell them, and I will certainly keep some for myself.”
“Never the less, I predict a good profit,” the captain said, and Todric was nodding his agreement. “And while we are all in a good mood I want to show you something else new.” He turned and called to one of the sailors attending them. “Bring the box, and a sample of the wood.”
The man brought over a small plain box about a foot square and half as high. It was made of a honey coloured wood and displayed a silken smooth finish. It was placed on the table between Felice and Todric, and beside it the man placed a short plank, seemingly of the same wood but rough and unfinished.
“What is it?” Todric asked.
“Flower Wood,” the captain replied. “A ship from Pek managed to trade with the Shan – a dangerous enterprise these days, for the Shan have become intolerant of visitors. It came from there.”
“Flower wood?” Felice picked up the box and opened it, releasing a burst of fragrance that she found quite pleasing. “The wood is perfumed?” she asked.
“No. That is its natural state, we are assured. This piece was made for me in Pek as a sample six months ago, and it has not lost its scent. The Shan claim that it will hold for years, and is the perfume of the wood sap.”
“How much do you have?” she asked.
“Another idea?” Todric raised his eyebrow again.
“I think so,” she replied.
“Do not expect to get this for so good a price, trader,” the captain said. “We have a ton on board – fully half of what was gained from the Shan.”
“What are you thinking, Mouse?”
“If the box were made larger, or if a larger box were lined with the wood, then it would be a fine thing in which a lady might store her clothes.”
“Or for lining a wardrobe,” Todric said. “Yes. There are possibilities there for luxury items, though we will not sell many. What is your price, captain?”
The captain looked at his hands for a minute, as though thinking some thoughts that required more than simple mathematics. “They say the odour also repels insects,” he said.
“Even better. What is your price?”
“Fifteen silver.”
“That is a lot for a ton of wood, captain.”
Eventually they settled on a price of twelve silver, which was a little in the captains favour, Felice thought, but you had to be prepared to let your trading partners win a few rounds to keep them happy.
The dinner reverted to a social occasion, and wine was more liberally poured. She noticed that the captain chose to speak to her more often than he spoke to Todric, and although the mate picked up the slack she noted that he, too, glanced frequently in her direction when he was talking to her brother. She enjoyed the attention in a way that she had never really experienced in the Scar, and felt almost fair.
3. A Crime
It was all done. Prices were agreed and for the whole morning and part of the afternoon the wagons had stood along the pier beside the Sea Swift, creaking as the weight of trade goods had slowly filled them. Felice had felt distanced from the process. For a while she had been part of it all, talking with the captain, discussing the merits of trade goods and haggling over prices, but that was all at an end and Todric was firmly in charge again, striding up and down the line of wagons, telling who to pack what where.
She watched, but she did not feel connected, and the feeling that she had treasured, the adventurous spirit that had briefly invaded her the day before, had departed. Now she wanted to be back in the Scar, back home. She missed her father and her mother, wanted to tell them of the small adventured that she had shared with Todric. There was nothing more that she wanted from Yasu. She had seen the town, experienced it, devoured it even, but it was all past, done, complete. She wanted to be on the wagons again, riding up out of the woods onto the heath land and back along the desolate road that led to the Scar, to East Scar itself, to their house, to her room.
Todric certainly seemed to know what he was doing. Men ran around doing his bidding without question, and shortly after a break for lunch the wagons were packed, cloths and ropes tied over the loads and their trade goods proceeded off the pier and back to the camping grounds to the north.
“When will we leave?” she asked as they rode back.
“In the morning,” her brother answered. “It’s best to get out onto the plateau before we camp. Any bandits that are left in these parts prefer the cover of the woods. They leave us alone out on the plain.”
She nodded. It was reasonable, though she would have been happy to leave at once. She spent the afternoon walking around the town again. Th
e Sea Swift was still loading – from another merchant’s wagons now. The mate waved a salute in her direction as she passed by, and she returned it, feeling the faint tug of an echo of the days just past.
It was a calm day, a beautiful spring day, and she walked out onto the mole that pointed out into the sea. There was a sort of rough path laid along its spine, rough enough that she had to watch where she put her feet to avoid tripping, and so it was that she arrived at the end almost without expecting it. She looked up and the sea was all around her, the town at her back within the grasp of a single glance, and the ocean immeasurably bigger than it had been from the shore. She could hear nothing but its hiss and slap as it pulled gently at the stones of the mole. In a storm the waters would rage right over the top of it, she had been told, even over the spot where she stood. It seemed impossible. She did not think that she would like to see the angry sea.
She walked back along the mole and into the town, passing the Red Sail again. It was here that she had sold her fire seeds. As Pelorus had predicted she had made a handsome profit. With a little persuasion the landlord had seen the competitive and commercial possibilities of Pekkan Fire Beef, as she had named it, and so he had wanted an exclusive deal, been prepared to pay more to be the only one to sell it. In the end she had sold for five silver coins, and so it was that she finished her trip with more silver in her box than she had started with, and there were still some goods that she had picked up for trade stored in the wagons. She would realise perhaps another two silver for those. Yet the thought of profit did not gladden her heart as it might have done her father’s. She could trade. She had proved that, and her father would be pleased, but she felt unfulfilled by the achievement. The life seemed too simple. Travel, buy, sell, drink wine, drink beer, eat, sell, buy, travel, and perhaps raise a family. That was her father’s life, and it was the one to which Todric aspired, and yet it seemed pointless beyond its obvious merits.
Growing up in the Scar it had seemed admirable. Just surviving was an achievement with the monster in the castle suppressing any ambition, and her father had done more than survive. He had made a comfortable life for his family, treated his neighbours and the people with whom he traded with respect, dealt honestly with all, and made his money through hard work and an unerring eye for a bargain.
Change had come quickly. First there had been the appointment of a seneschal, a man to rule in the monster’s name, and to everybody’s surprise the iron grip had lifted. Guardsmen from the castle had flooded out into the land. Kalla Houses were built in all the towns and the guards had occupied them. Bandits were hunted down and either fled the domain or were rounded up and dissuaded from their outlaw ways, some by offers of land and work, and others by the edge of a blade.
A council was assembled in East Scar, right under the shadow of the Faer Karani, and apparently at his insistence. People were afraid to be part of it at first, thinking it just a trick to trap them, but eventually they had accepted it was a real change, and that real power to run their lives was being passed down from the castle. The name Serhan became known to them. It was he, people said, who had begun the changes in White Rock. Some were suspicious, but most revered the name. He was the bringer of justice, the scourge of bandits, and the herald of peace.
And then came the day of miracles. It had started as any other day. The sun had risen and the wind had blown steadily from the east. Shopkeepers had opened up their shops and her father had taken Todric to open up the storehouse. Her mother had been baking. She remembered the smell, the exquisite aroma of hot bread. Edwin had run into the house, out of breath and excited.
“There’s going to be an announcement,” he said. “Something big. There are guards coming down from the castle, hundreds of them. The seneschal is going to speak.”
So they had gone. Her mother stayed behind for a few minutes to make sure that the bread did not burn, but Felice allowed herself to be pulled along by the sleeve, Edwin running ahead at times, then coming back to tug her forwards, like an over eager dog, she thought.
In the square there was a second square, a box of guards and archers drawn up with parade ground precision, glittering like so much silver and gold cast before the crowds. East Scar had always been big, and a fair proportion of the population had come to see what was happening. They had pressed into the back of the chattering, slightly nervous mass of people. Edwin determined to get a good view and Felice trying not to lose sight of him, calling for him to come back.
The seneschal had ridden down from the gates, flanked by two captains and a colonel, looking as lordly as men could look, dressed in the finest clothes she had ever seen, upright and confident in their saddles. They had stopped within the square of guardsmen and allowed a silence to fall. For perhaps half a minute there had been only the wind, the small noises that the horses made and the occasional child’s voice not stilled by the atmosphere of expectation.
He had stood in his stirrups and drawn his sword to hold it high above his head. Edwin had dragged them so close to the front of the crowd that she could see the expression of joy on the man’s face, see what may have been tears on his cheeks.
“We are free!” he shouted at the crowded square. “The Faer Karan are gone! All of them! Gone!”
His words had been greeted by a stunned silence. Such a thing was not possible. They did not know, when they heard his words, that the battle between Serhan and the demon lords had taken place nearly a day and a half previously, that Serhan himself had visited the castle in East Scar last night and that forces were already in motion all over the world.
So now it was a world of men. The seneschal ruled East Scar and all the lands from the Scar to Yasu. But he was a kind man, and his rule was a light yoke to bear.
In this new world she saw the trader life in a different light. She wanted something more. Yet there was still duty; her duty to her father, whom she loved, to her brother, who she treasured beyond all others, to the trading house of Caledon. In all her life there seemed little room for ambition.
Her feet led her back to the camping grounds. Most of the men were preparing themselves for a night on the town. She had never seen them so presentable. Todric, of course, was smartly dressed and jingling the silver in his pocket.
“Ah, there you are, Mouse,” he said. “I thought we were going to have to go without you.”
“Please, I’d rather stay here and read.”
Todric shook his head. “It’s part of the job, Mouse,” he said. “Pelorus is a great man to do business with, and we were lucky to see him here this time, but we need other captains, other ships to do business with, and this is where we meet them. There’s a game of Castle that sits every night in a back room of the Red Sail, and most of the captains go there.”
“Gambling?”
“Not with our trading money,” Todric laughed. “Just a few coins of my own, And if I lose a little, well, the value of good contacts is far greater.”
“You do not expect me to play?” she asked.
“Not unless you want to, but take the opportunity to learn and listen.”
“I do not even know the game. What will I learn?”
“Now you have asked me to explain it to you,” he smiled.
“Must you?”
“It is simple enough, Mouse.” He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and fanned them out on the ground. “You see that there are five families of cards. Four are named after the cardinal points, North, South, East and West. The fifth is called Home. There are ten cards in each family, numbered one to ten.”
“And what are those?” She pointed to two cards, each of which displayed a representation of a human skull.
“Dead cards. There are only two of them, as you see. I will explain how they are used in a moment. Each player is dealt ten cards by the dealer. The player to the left of the dealer then lays a card on the table. This card determines the winning family. Other players must play cards of the same family if they have them, each laying one card on the
lead. If they do not have a card of the same family they may play any card in their hand. Anyone who is holding a dead card may play it on any hand, and the hand is discarded – usually it’s best to play the dead card if you are the last to play.”
“And the point is?”
“The aim is to win a trick with each family. The game ends if someone does this, which is called Castle, having four walls and a keep. It is not common for this to be achieved, however, and so points are awarded for each trick. Each wall built scores five points, but six if there are no other families in the trick. A second trick on the same wall does not score more points unless it is pure and the original trick had other families. This is possible because of the way we gamble. We usually play for copper stakes, so it is one copper coin to receive your cards, and anyone who wins a trick has the option to raise the stakes by another copper coin. If another player considers his cards too weak to continue he may drop out at this point and take no further part in the hand. The only exception to this rule is if a player has all of his tricks won by the same family. If this is the case then his point score is the same as the number of cards he has taken. This is called Invasion, and is the only hand that can defeat a castle, though it may not. The highest number of points wins the money that had been gambled, and then the cards are shuffled, passed to the left and dealt by the player who led the previous hand.”
“It seems simple enough.”
“It is a dangerous game,” Todric said, suddenly serious. “The better players play quickly, and a great deal of money can be lost in a short time. Even with copper stakes I have seen a man lose half his wealth in an evening.”
“And you are in no danger of this?”
“Not in the least, Mouse. I take two or three silver with me, play carefully, and usually come out a little ahead, though if I lose all the money I am not distressed by it.”
“It is a lot of money to risk,” Felice said. It was possible for a family to live on ten silver for a year, though it was not a good living.
“I can afford it,” Todric said. “Come and watch. See what you think.”
