Hood

by Laurence Dahners

  Daussie frowned over at the woman, “Is she sick?”

  Farlin shrugged, “I don’t think so.”

  Daussie gave a tiny shake of her head, “She’ll need to wait till we’re done seeing patients then.”

  Saying, “Okay,” Farlin gave the woman an uncertain look. He looked back at Daussie, “Um, she says it’s about some business deal she has with you and Tarc?”

  Daussie sighed. What’s Tarc gotten me into now? she wondered. “I’ll go find out what it’s all about before I brush her off,” she said, starting across the room. Arriving at the table, she said, “You say Tarc sent you?”

  The woman looked up at her, “Are you his sister, Daussie?”

  Daussie nodded, “What do you need? I’ve got patients waiting for me.”

  “I’m Fava,” she said, standing and shaking Daussie’s hand. This made Daussie even more impatient. Diffidently, the woman continued, “Tarc said…” She held out a palm containing a small red sphere and a blue ovoid, “that you know the man who made these last time I came through Clancy Vail?”

  Daussie immediately recognized the beads she’d teleported out of chunks of red jasper and lapis lazuli. Why would Tarc tell her I’d “know the man who made them?” she wondered. Then she realized Tarc probably didn’t want this woman to know who’d actually made them in case someone decided the process stank of witchery. She nodded.

  “Could you get him to make some more? Or…” Fava hesitated, “you could just tell me how to find him? I’d be happy to save you some time by working with him directly.”

  “Um, no, he’s secretive,” Daussie said. “If you have more of the raw stone I could take it to him if you wanted?”

  “That’d be nice,” the woman said, seeming simultaneously disappointed not to be able to deal directly and relieved to be able to deal at all. She lifted a large, heavy cloth bag onto the table. “Our caravan’ll be here in Clancy Vail for three more days. There’re several more kinds of stones in here. Some of them, for instance the yellow stones, may be too hard for him to shape, but if he can shape them, that’d be wonderful.”

  Daussie peered into the bag, seeing a pile of nondescript lumps of stone. Their dusty outer surfaces gave little hint as to any beauty that might be found on polished interior surfaces. She looked up, “Spheres, flattened disks and ovals, teardrops, and cylinders like last time?”

  “Sure… Do you know if he can make any other shapes?”

  “Like what?”

  “Cubes, rectangular boxes…” Fava reached into a pocket and pulled out several sheets of paper. “If he can do shapes like these, they’d be even better.”

  Daussie found herself looking at drawings of a number of faceted gems. They were simple facets, nothing like Eva’s prized ancient diamond, but still… She said, “Those ones with all the beveled corners, they’d require a lot more effort.”

  Fava frowned, “How do you know?”

  “Well… I don’t. But I’m pretty sure. I think it’d take… him much longer to make one of those than several of the rounded ones.”

  “Okay, if he can make them, ask him to make three of the beveled ones from each kind of stone he can work. I’ll pay ninety silvers for each of those. I’ll need to see how well they sell before I buy any more at that price.”

  Daussie blinked, “Um, how much are you paying for the rounded ones?”

  “Thirty silvers.”

  “Uh, isn’t that more than you paid last time?”

  The woman sighed, “A lot more. Your brother drives a hard bargain. There isn’t any chance you might go a little easier on me, is there?”

  On the verge of saying yes, Daussie asked, “How much are you selling them for?”

  Fava sighed again, “A gold. Sometimes two.”

  Daussie gave a little laugh, “Seems like you can afford thirty silvers then, right?”

  “I have to hire guards to protect them. And, I spend a lot of time negotiating to get those prices.”

  Daussie grinned, “But you don’t have to spend much on transportation or on a huge display booth. I think with a markup of 300 to 600 percent; you’ve got to be doing well.”

  The woman shook her head, “It may look easy from the outside, but it’s a lot more difficult than you might think.”

  “Everybody’s job’s harder than you’d think. But, if you don’t like the deal Tarc’s given you, I’m sure we could find someone else to work wi—”

  “No!” Fava abruptly interrupted. “No, no, we can work this out. Thirty silvers would be fine for ones bigger than this,” she indicated the ones in her palm. “Fifteen silvers for ones smaller than that size, and forty silvers for ones bigger than this,” she showed Daussie one about twice the size of the first ones.

  “Okay,” Daussie said, “and three times those prices for ones with flat surfaces and bevels, right?”

  Fava sighed again, “Yes.”

  Daussie picked up the sack, “And you’ll be back tomorrow to get the finished stones?”

  Fava looked astonished. “You think he can do them in one day?!”

  Daussie shrugged, she didn’t want to get a headache. Or make the work seem too easy. “Make it two mornings from now. Don’t come in the afternoon. Afternoons I see patients.” She tilted her head, “Would you like holes drilled through them so you could string them into necklaces?”

  Fava narrowed her eyes, “He can do that?”

  Daussie nodded.

  “And how much are you going to charge me for that?”

  “Five silvers per hole.”

  Fava nodded, “Put holes through about half of them. But not through the ones with facets, only the rounded ones.”

  “Okay,” Daussie said, turning to go.

  “Wait,” Fava said, “You owe me thirty silvers for the stones in that bag.”

  “You can’t just take that out of what you’re going to pay me for the finished stones?”

  “And if you’re not here in two days? Gone off to join your brother or something?”

  “Okay,” Daussie sighed, “let me go get you your thirty silvers.”

  “Leave my stones here,” Fava said, indicating the heavy bag Daussie held.

  ~~~

  Two mornings later when Daussie stepped back into the big room she saw Fava’d brought her guards, two burly men with swords. This seemed completely appropriate considering the number of gems Hareh and Daussie’d been able to cut out of the chunks of stone. When she’d used the displacement method to measure the volume of the forty-three raw stones Fava’d left, they’d come to a little over three liters. After removing about half of the material that was simple rock, there’d still been over fifteen hundred cubic centimeters of material that was mostly gemstone She’d had to recruit Hareh to help her teleport all the finished stones out of the raw rock.

  Even working around all but the tiny flaws in the stones, they’d made 1303 gems.

  She suspected that Fava’d drive hard bargains, arguing that more of them were in the small fifteen silver category than Daussie’d agree with. To shorten those disagreements, Daussie’d set up their scale in the corner so they could compare weights with the stones Fava’d set as the standards. But even if the stones only averaged twenty-five silvers each, that’d come to over thirty-two thousand silvers or three hundred and twenty-six golds. It’ll be a freaking fortune, Daussie thought, wondering if Fava would really have that kind of money with her.

  Fava sent her guards over to sit at another table before she started wheeling and dealing.

  Daussie realized Fava didn’t even trust her guards to know just how much money was going to be involved. Daussie started the proceedings by pouring the red jasper stones into a shallow box. Fava couldn’t keep her eyes from lighting with avarice as she saw the glowing shimmer of the cut gems as they flowed out of the soft cloth bag Daussie had them in. However, as they kept pouring out, she began to look a little dismayed. “My god, how many are there?”

  “Three hundred and forty-two of t
he red ones,” Daussie said, feeling proud. “Red jasper, right?”

  Fava nodded, looking dazed. She closed her eyes and whispered to herself, “How in the world could he have gotten that many stones out of those chunks of jasper?!”

  Oops, Daussie thought, when Fava breaks up a big piece, then tumbles it to a polished stone, a lot of the material’s lost. Our mythical man who was sawing and grinding them out of that big chunk should have had similar amounts of loss—as opposed to how we teleported them out with as little waste as possible. Inspired, she said, “He had a chunk of his own red jasper. He added it to what he cut and polished.”

  Fava seemed reassured by this. She started stirring through the red stones, sorting them into little piles by beauty and size.

  Daussie picked up the four bags containing blue lapis lazuli, green jade, yellow topaz, and stones with mixed colors she hadn’t been able to identify. She handed them to Hareh. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “We’ve got more stones than we should. Take these back upstairs and dump out 20 to 30 percent of each color.”

  Hareh frowned, “But—”

  “Later!” Daussie hissed. “I’ll explain later. For now, please, just do it.”

  ~~~

  After a lot more time spent sorting than Daussie’d expected, Fava had chosen nine hundred and seventy-eight stones for which they’d negotiated a price of two hundred and fifty-three golds.

  When Fava proved to only have two hundred and fifty golds with her, Daussie rolled her eyes and agreed to sell her the stones for two-fifty, “In the interest of their future business dealings.”

  Still, two hundred and fifty golds was a fortune! And they had the leftover stones—the ones Fava’d declared she didn’t want, though Daussie suspected she just couldn’t afford, and the ones that she’d had Hareh set aside. They could sell those leftovers to the jewelers in town.

  I think we need to come up with some plan for sharing windfalls like this with the entire family, Daussie thought.

  Chapter Ten

  Arriving in the erstwhile Walterston, now Farleysville, Tarc planned his first stop for John Blacksmith’s shop. The Blacksmiths knew of his role in freeing Walterston from Krait and had given him six throwing knives as a token of their appreciation. He thought of them as his best—and maybe only—allies in the town. Ms. Blacksmith was the one person in Farleysville he’d trust to give him the real low-down on what was going on in the town.

  Besides, he had an excuse for seeing them because of his need to replace the throwing knife he’d left stuck in Shibone.

  He couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad news that guards stopped everybody coming in the main gate to Farleysville, demanding their weapons—“to be stored until they left.” Tarc offered them the throwing knife from his left boot, but the guard snickered and said, “No, we’re only holding real weapons like swords or archery gear. You can keep your little squirrel sticker.”

  Tarc thought it was encouraging they were making an effort to keep out armed men—presumably in memory of Krait’s takeover. On the other hand, he’d seen two men he knew lived in Farleysville stopped at the gate as well. They’d also had to turn over their swords which were going to be “held in the armory.”

  Disarming the populace seemed a bad idea. It’d probably reduce the frequency with which brawls turned into murders, but it left Farley and his men the only real force in the town. Tarc thought it’d be hard for a weaponless populace to push back against Farley if he governed to his own benefit.

  He saw several people he knew and almost waved, but their eyes passed over him without recognition. They don’t recognize me with my short hair, he thought. And maybe because I’ve grown and lost some baby fat. He hadn’t been looking forward to being an ostracized Hyllis again, so he saw no reason to re-introduce himself to anyone.

  When Tarc pushed open the door to the Blacksmiths’ shop, he was surprised there wasn’t anyone behind the counter. He was about to call out when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ms. Blacksmith come around a corner. When he turned his eyes on her he felt a little startled to see she’d lost about fifteen years of age. Oh, he realized, this must be her daughter. He vaguely recalled a girl named Blacksmith attending Ms. Alman’s little school to learn letters and numbers with him when they were children. “Um,” he said brilliantly, “is your mother here?” Belatedly, he thought, She’s really pretty. Dammit! I should’ve talked to her first!

  And, why can’t I remember her name?!

  The girl gave him a suspicious look. “My mother’s busy. What do you need?”

  Tarc sighed. To prove he was actually there to do business, he pulled a throwing knife out of his right forearm sheath, “I need another throwing knife like this one. And… I’d really like to talk to your mother.”

  The girl was staring at the knife. Her yellow-green eyes rose to his then widened. “Tarc Hyllis?” she whispered hoarsely.

  Her name suddenly rose to the surface of Tarc’s mind. Shyly, he said, “Hi Gloria.”

  Her eyes searched his face. Tarc thought she was looking for the little boy she’d known. She stared at him long enough for Tarc to consider the fact she was tall. Not as tall as he was, but quite tall for a girl. Then she looked down at the knife and back up at him, “I’m pretty sure we don’t have any like this in stock,” she said roughly. “My dad’ll have to make you another one.”

  “I’ve got a few days.”

  “I’ll go get my mom,” she said without moving away from the counter. She’d picked up his knife and was testing its weight and balance. She looked up into his eyes again. “I’ve… I’ve been learning to throw knives myself. Could you give me a few pointers?”

  Her mother told her about me! Tarc thought, mortified that this pretty girl likely thought of him as a cold-blooded killer. Which I am, he thought unhappily, but... “Um…” he said, uncertainly.

  Staring into his eyes, she said, “Please!”

  He shrugged, “Okay.” He frowned at her, “I hope you aren’t telling a lot of people about…?”

  “Oh, no. Mom swore me to absolute secrecy. She wouldn’t have even told me except…”

  “Except what?”

  Sheepishly she looked down at the floor, “I’d been… saying bad stuff about you. It made her really mad.” She looked back up into his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She shook her head, “I just didn’t know.”

  “Nobody did,” Tarc said softly. “And I hope they don’t find out. You’ll keep my secret?”

  She nodded. “Though I think they should know,” she said fiercely. Subsiding, she continued, “But, if you want it to be a secret, I’ll keep it a secret.”

  “Um, do you have a throwing knife?”

  She nodded, “Two.” She reached up and patted her back between her shoulder blades, “Like yours.”

  “Okaay,” he said slowly, not sure what to make of her mindset but worrying that she was holding him up to some kind of sick hero-worship. Which I definitely don’t deserve. “Where do you want to practice your throwing?”

  “Oh,” she said lifting the segment of countertop and stepping through it and over to the shop’s door. She dropped the bar into place, then waved him through the opening in the counter. “We have a post out back we use for practice.”

  Remembering the post quite well, he had to resist the temptation to say, “I know.” Tarc followed her through the back of the shop and out into the yard behind it. Why’d I agree to this? he wondered. It’s not as if I’m an expert at throwing technique. I probably can’t teach her a thing.

  They stopped before the familiar old post and Gloria asked, “Do you want me to throw the way I usually do first? You know, so you can see what I’m doing wrong?”

  This is such a bad idea, Tarc thought, but he shrugged and said, “Sure.”

  She stepped up to place her foot beside a partially buried stone. With a quick movement, she reached up over her shoulder and into the back of her shirt. Her hand came out, whipping the blade at the po
st. It missed the square pillar of wood on the right side, though barely. “Dammit!” she said, sounding frustrated and embarrassed. A moment later she’d thrown the second one. It did stick in the post, though it was pretty far to the left. She turned to him, a disgusted look on her face, “As you can see, I need a lot of help.”

  “That wasn’t bad,” Tarc said. “If you’d been throwing at a man instead of a post, you’d have hit him both times.”

  She shook her head, “I want to be genuinely accurate… Like you.” She sounded sullen.

  “Um…” Tarc said, trying to think of something he could teach her. “How do you compensate if the target’s nearer or farther from you?”

  She narrowed her eyes, “What do you mean?”

  “You’re throwing the knife so it flips end over end. If you’re the wrong distance from your target, the knife’ll hit butt first. Do you try to spin it faster or slower depending on the distance?”

  She sighed, “I’ve been worrying about that. I don’t know how to… to compensate for distance.” She pointed at the rock she’d put her foot beside. “If I don’t have my foot on the mark it doesn’t stick.” She looked at him, “Can you tell me how you do it?”

  Tarc shrugged, “I throw the knife so it doesn’t flip over. Flipping might gyroscopically stabilize the knife’s flight, so you lose that, but at least you don’t have to worry about whether or not it’s going to hit point first.”

  “Gyro… what?”

  “Gyroscopic. Sorry. It means the tendency for spinning objects to be more stable.” Tarc shrugged, “I think it’s more important the knife always hits point first.

  “Really?” she asked eagerly. “Can you show me how?”

  Tarc pulled the knife out of his forearm left sheath and demonstrated how he gripped it., Then he showed her the throwing motion, moving slowly so she could see it. “…and let your finger slide off the handle like this to stop any final tendency to flip,” he finished.

  “Throw it,” she said, sounding awed.