“How did you know that?”
“He told me the last time that he rented wagons and mounts, because it cost less.”
“But carrying a hundred golds?”
“Did you see the coat he wore?” asked Jorhan. “It was made of the fine brown wool, the soft kind that comes from the undercoat of midland goats. The coat itself likely cost two golds.”
Beltur had heard of that wool, and that, supposedly, a thin coat of that wool was warmer than a thick coat made from sheep’s wool.
“I think we can take the rest of the day off,” said Jorhan. “Once I pay you.” After taking out his belt wallet, he counted out ten golds and handed them to Beltur. “This time I can pay you what you deserve.”
Beltur managed not to look stunned as he took them and put them into his belt wallet, making certain that it was securely fastened. He’d certainly hoped for more than the two golds or so that Jorhan had promised him. But ten golds?
“You’re getting a bit less than half after the cost of the metal and everything else. Fair’s fair.” The smith offered a crooked smile that held a trace of sadness. “Best you make it last. We’ll be fortunate to sell a blade or two and a few candlesticks or platters for the rest of the fall and all of winter.”
“That little?”
“Traders in Elparta won’t buy that much. Those who can spare the golds likely already have what they want and need, and they won’t buy to sell elsewhere until spring because they’ll have trouble getting trading goods to their ships in Spidlaria.”
“The river won’t freeze that soon, will it?”
“By the second eightday of Winter, it will start to freeze over, and the water levels will start to drop because the Easthorns will be getting snow and not rain.”
Beltur hadn’t thought about that.
“I’d hoped he’d take it all, but you never know.”
“He really would have taken it? Just like that?” Harfyl’s acts and abrupt about-face still bothered Beltur, more than a little.
“Most likely. Traders stick together.” Jorhan grinned. “That’s another reason why I wanted you here when he came. He’s as smooth as lard, and I have a hard time trusting anyone that smooth.”
“But…”
“It’s not a good idea to trust anyone who has that kind of golds to spend unless you’ve got something to hold over them. You’re all I’ve got against someone like that. Most Elpartan traders won’t buy that much, and we needed someone who would. But all the mages who do City Patrol duty could handle a trader, and after I heard what you did against the Prefect’s army, I figured that Harfyl couldn’t come up with anything you couldn’t handle. That’s another reason for your share.”
“I think I’d better be here anytime he comes.”
“I hadn’t thought otherwise.” Jorhan smiled. “Now … head on out. I’ll see you on oneday. Don’t spend it all on your healer. A little, but not all.”
“I’ll be careful. I’ve been short of coins long enough not to want to repeat the experience.” Beltur slipped on his tunic, then his scarf and gloves.
When Beltur headed down the lane a short time later, he was still a little stunned, both by Harfyl’s blatant attempt to steal the blades and other items, and then the casual dismissal of that effort followed by the willingness to pay extra golds, as if the golds resolved the matter of trust. Is that the way all of them do business? Or did Jorhan need to deal with Harfyl to get enough golds to pay off everything and not rely on the Council?
Beltur shook his head. On the one hand, he could hardly believe that he had accumulated over fifteen golds with what he had just received and what he’d made earlier from Jorhan and the City Patrol. He’d earned more silvers since he’d come to Elparta than he’d seen in his entire life, and he’d never actually held a gold coin before. But you won’t see more golds like that for almost two seasons. And that meant it would likely take several years, if not longer, to buy even a small house … and if he used the golds he had to rent a house, it would be just that much longer before he could buy one.
Still … he couldn’t say he was coinless. At that thought, he smiled as he hurried through the chill afternoon back toward the bakery.
X
By midday on eightday, Beltur was having trouble concentrating on Leantor and his tome On Healing, finding himself reading the same paragraph for the third time. Finally, after struggling through another few handfuls of pages, he lowered the book and just sat there.
Meldryn rose from his armchair in the front parlor and opened one of the inside shutters that helped keep down the chill from the single icy pane of the small window. “It looks like we’ve got dark clouds coming in. I thought I felt something. If you’re going to see the young woman…”
“I should go early, like last eightday.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea. I’ve got a basket ready for you in the bakery.”
“Meldryn … you didn’t have—”
“You didn’t have to lug two stones of potatoes all the way back after working all day, and you certainly didn’t have to get that honey for me.” Meldryn closed the inside shutter. “Besides, I like them, too, and they need help. You’ve been slipping her coins, haven’t you?”
“How did you know?”
Meldryn smiled. “I didn’t. I thought it likely. Healers never earn enough. That’s why some of the women healers end up as consorts to the younger sons of traders. The son gets a consort who’s acceptable, without tying the trader into another trading family in an alliance that might not be advantageous or might conflict with other familial consortings, and the trader gets a healer who’s nearly always available. Traders like that sort of convenience.” The older mage’s last words were heavily sardonic.
“That was how Grenara got the house, you said.” Beltur closed the book, then stood.
“And Viltaar the younger was anything but pleased with that.”
“But why? It’s a small house. It can’t be worth more than … what … twenty golds?”
“He felt it had belonged to his sister and that it should have come back to the family when Ghelhan died rather than going to Ghelhan’s second consort.”
“So he would have just pushed her out on the street?”
“That, or charged her rent.”
“For the house she’d lived in for years?”
“You’re surprised? Viltaar’s a trader. Not one of the larger houses, to be sure, but definitely a trader.”
Beltur didn’t want to believe that, correct as he suspected Meldryn was.
“Go get yourself ready to go. I’ll get the basket from the bakery.”
By the time Beltur was bundled up in his heavy coat, with scarf in place and gloves on, Meldryn had returned with the basket.
“Three loaves of bread, two large meat pies, and an assortment of pastries. Just ones made with the black sweet syrup, though.”
“I appreciate that, and they will as well. Thank you.” Beltur took the basket and set out into the graying early afternoon. Although there had been no more snow since late on sevenday, the wind swirled patches of what there was into piles at the base of walls or in corners, leaving the streets relatively clear, not that there had been much new snow there.
There were few people out, and most were hurrying toward whatever their destination might be. Beltur looked northward. The darker and heavier clouds were definitely advancing toward the city. He was about to turn off of Bakers Lane onto Crafters Way when Jessyla appeared almost in front of him.
He stopped short. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you’d be coming, and I didn’t want you to be surprised.”
“Surprised by what?”
“Cohndar is at the house talking to Mother and Auntie.”
Beltur had a very good idea what the subject might be, but that raised another question. “Why aren’t you there?”
“Cohndar said that he wished to talk privately with them. Besides, I know what he’s doing, and so do
you.” Jessyla looked directly at Beltur. “Or do I have to spell it out for you?”
“He’s most likely pointing out how remunerative a match with the noble and well-connected black mage Waensyn would be for you and your family.”
“How long have you known this? Why didn’t you tell me?” There was an edge to Jessyla’s voice and scarcely concealed anger behind it.
“I’ve known Waensyn wanted you practically since he arrived in Elparta. I overheard conversations that suggested he and Cohndar wanted me out of the way. What else could his visit be about?”
The hardness largely vanished from her face. “You could have told me.”
“I thought you knew all that from the time when you said that they were trying to kill me.”
“You’re still hiding a little something.”
“Not much. Your mother told me that Cohndar was hinting along the same line.”
“And she didn’t tell me?”
“She said that you’d be furious, and that she didn’t want to get you upset.” Beltur smiled wryly, knowing as he did so that she couldn’t see the expression, except in his eyes, given that his mouth was partly concealed by the heavy scarf. “I had the feeling she didn’t want me to tell you, but I can’t not tell you … since you’ve asked.”
“You won’t lie to me, then?”
“No. I never have. It’s possible I may not have said everything or not said something clearly, but I’ve tried never to deceive you.”
Abruptly, she smiled. “Good. Now, we can go back to the house.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“See what the most dishonorably honorable Cohndar will say … or not say.”
Another thought occurred to Beltur. “Just how did you know I’d be coming about now?”
“You always come when you can, and I just felt that it would be about now.”
“I did bring a few things.”
“I can see that.” Jessyla dropped her eyes for a moment.
“Oh?”
“Auntie says you’re trying to bribe your way into my affections and into Mother accepting you.”
“I care about you.”
“I know. So does Mother. Auntie … she worries.”
“Because she consorted for love, and her consort’s brother tried to take even her house from her?”
“How did you know that?”
“Meldryn told me. He and Athaal helped her on some healing. He might have found out then.” Beltur noticed that Jessyla was shivering, and that her jacket wasn’t all that warm-looking. “We need to get you back where it’s warmer.”
“It’s not all that warm in the house.”
“I’m sure it’s warmer than out here.” Beltur took her arm and started down Crafters Lane toward Grenara’s small house.
“Cohndar’s an evil old man.”
“He’s set in his ways.”
“They aren’t good ways.”
Beltur agreed with that, but saw no point in saying that aloud. “We need to get you where you’re not shivering.”
“You’re changing the subject. Why won’t you admit he’s evil?”
“I don’t see much point in it, not when he has so much influence over the way most black mages in Elparta feel.”
“That’s cowardly. I thought better of you.”
“If not wanting to get exiled from Elparta with winter coming on is cowardly, then I’m cowardly. I’d rather oppose him less obviously.”
“You’re a stronger mage than he is.”
“That doesn’t earn me any silvers, and my duty with the City Patrol ends in the first eightday or so of Winter. I can’t ask more of Meldryn, not when he’s lost Athaal and the silvers he brought in.” And I won’t be able to keep helping you and your mother if Cohndar makes it harder for me to earn coins.
“I still don’t like it.” Jessyla stopped before the closed front door.
“Do you think I do?” countered Beltur.
“Oh … Beltur…” She shook her head, just standing there for several moments before opening the door.
The front room was empty, but as Beltur followed Jessyla inside and closed the door, he sensed that there were three people in the kitchen. He handed the basket to Jessyla so that he could take off his coat, gloves, and scarf. “You might put that in the far corner for now,” he murmured.
“You’re so cautious.”
“There are times caution is a good idea.”
Jessyla crossed the room and set the basket in the corner, then returned to stand next to Beltur.
“Jessyla? Is that you?”
“Yes, Mother. Beltur’s here.”
“I didn’t hear anyone knock,” called Grenara.
“That’s because I saw him coming.”
“Just settle yourselves there,” said Margrena. “We’ll be out in a moment.”
“Yes, Mother,” replied Jessyla in a tone that was definitely falsely sweet. “Thank you.”
Beltur didn’t bother to hide the almost inadvertent wince.
“I wasn’t nasty,” Jessyla whispered.
“Just sweet-nasty,” Beltur murmured back.
Jessyla mock-glared at him in return.
Beltur managed not to laugh, but pointed toward the hearth, thinking about how she had shivered. Jessyla shook her head.
So they waited, standing there and not speaking, for perhaps a tenth of a glass before Margrena opened the kitchen door and walked into the front room followed by Cohndar.
The white-haired mage had loosened his heavy black overcoat, but not taken it off, and his black scarf was draped around his shoulders and hung down over the front of his coat on both sides. “Good afternoon, young Beltur.”
“Good afternoon to you, ser.”
“Are you still working with that smith?” Cohndar’s tone was casual, almost bland.
“I am, ser.”
“He’ll only be able to sell so much cupridium here in Elparta, you know, and not that much more to traders in Kleth or Spidlaria.”
“Some have said that might be a problem, but there don’t seem to be any other smiths forging cupridium anywhere else in Candar. Do you know of any?”
“Trade is scarcely my business, Beltur. I do know that very expensive goods have few buyers.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Beltur asked calmly.
“I’m suggesting nothing. I’m merely observing.”
“Then I’ll be careful to keep your observation in mind.” Beltur inclined his head, just slightly, and stepped back, as if to clear the way to the door.
Cohndar turned toward Margrena. “I do hope you’ll consider what I suggested most carefully.”
“It’s wise to give anything suggested by such a well-known senior mage careful thought, and I will do so.”
“Very careful thought,” said Cohndar strongly but pleasantly.
“I will.” Margrena’s smile was pleasant, but not particularly warm as she escorted the older mage to the door.
Once Cohndar had departed and Margrena had closed the door, Beltur walked to the far side of the front room, reclaimed the basket, then presented it to Margrena.
“You are making a habit of this, Beltur,” she replied.
“I’m just doing my best to repay your kindness and past support,” he replied.
“Cohndar would suggest that you’re trying to gain favor with me.” A hint of a smile appeared at the corners of her mouth.
“He’s done more than suggest, I’m sure,” said Jessyla.
“I need to listen to him. That doesn’t mean I have to agree with him. Besides,” Margrena went on, her voice turning wry, “since you won’t agree to his suggestion, I need to be as polite as possible for as long as possible.”
“I couldn’t live for a moment with that serpent Waensyn.”
“You’re acting as though no one else matters,” interjected Grenara.
“You got to consort someone you loved,” returned Jessyla. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Th
at’s not something we’ll discuss at the moment,” declared Margrena firmly. “You’re too young to be consorted to anyone right now, especially since you’re a healer. Healers need more time to learn about healing before they have to deal with the complexities of consorts and households.”
“Waensyn doesn’t think so,” pointed out Jessyla.
“But I do, and I am your mother.” She turned to Beltur. “Since you were so kind as to bring gifts, and since there are several meat pies—”
“And some special pastries,” interjected Beltur.
“You should stay for an early supper.”
“Thank you. I’d like that very much.”
Margrena lifted the basket slightly. “I’ll take this, and you two can sit here while Grenara and I see what we can do about supper.” She turned, gestured to Grenara, and the two reentered the kitchen, but the door remained open.
Beltur gestured to the padded bench nearest the hearth.
This time, Jessyla did move and seated herself.
Beltur sat beside her.
“Cohndar was as much as telling you that no one will buy much more cupridium from Jorhan. How can he say that?”
“Because there’s some truth in what he says. Traders in Elparta and the Council won’t sell copper and cupridium to Jorhan. He had to get his last supplies of copper and tin from Axalt. His sister’s consort—he’s a merchant there—brought them on his last trading visit the sixday before last. Once the snows come and close the Axalt road…” Beltur shook his head.
“That’s awful. You said he had trouble getting copper, but you didn’t say why.”
“I think Jorhan’s had problems all along. He sort of hinted that he’s always had to pay more for metal. He owed some traders for metal when we started working together. Almost all the cupridium blades and pieces we’ve sold have gone to outlanders, but the Council’s armorer here in Elparta said that the blades he saw were as good as the best anywhere.”
“That sounds like they’re trying to ruin him.”
“I think it’s more that they want everything under their control.”
“Like Cohndar.”
“I’m not sure he has that much choice.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Outcasts of Order Page 11
