by Jaxon Reed
“We’re to sit in the Speaker’s Corner, up near the platform,” Bartimo said while leading them across the floor.
A few people from the clustered groups recognized them. The twins stopped and spoke a few warm words with several folks, slowing their progress.
Finally they neared the spot in the gallery known as the Speaker’s Corner. Kirt tarried, staring back toward the floor and said, “Who are all those people around the flags?”
Bellasondra said, “They are the great families of the Ageless Isles. They’re here to conduct commerce.”
Bartimo added, “Someday, Kirt, Bellasondra and I will have a flag on the floor of the Hall of Commerce. Just you wait. When we have made our fortune, we’ll be out there with them, bidding on ventures and letting the young people go out on our behalf for a change!”
Bellasondra smiled at Kirt and said, “First he’s got to find a suitable wife.”
“First,” Bartimo said, “we’ve got to secure funding. If the Creator is with us, Kirt, we will leave the hall with a thousand gold pledged to our cause.”
Kirt tried to share in Bartimo’s enthusiasm, but Stin’s absence tugged at the boy’s heart. He looked around at all the wealthy merchant families seated on the floor of the great hall, and even the people around him in the Speakers’ Corner and elsewhere in the galleries, and he wondered how many pockets Stin might be picking if were he present.
“I miss him, too.”
He looked up at Bellasondra, intruding on his thoughts.
She wiped away a tear and said, “I dreamed of showing Stin the city, our home, this hall. But everything I wanted to show him, I can’t. Bartimo needs to find his wife, his partner, his soul mate, and begin his family. But I already found mine. Only to lose him.”
Kirt squeezed her hand as more tears trickled down her face. He said, “Stin’s not dead. We saw him fished out of the water along with the pirate who took him. The one I clipped with an arrow. They both were alive when the others hauled them onboard.”
At least, Kirt thought, that’s what he wanted to believe. Stin wasn’t moving when they pulled him up onto the burning ship by a rope wrapped under his arms. Kirt had watched it all from his perch in the sails.
But surely, the boy thought, they wouldn’t have bothered pulling a dead body onboard. Several sailors and pirates who died in the fighting were left in the water, their bodies bobbing between the two ships as Dream of the Isles pulled away while the pirates fought the fire.
He clung to that hope, fiercely, and convinced himself his logic was sound. Why would anyone pull a dead body up onto the deck when all the others were left in the water? And surely the pirates were able to put the fire out on their ship and return to port. Stin had to be alive.
“I know, I know.” Bellasondra patted his hand, as if she were the one comforting him and not the other way around. “We’ll find him. Pirates hold people for ransom, usually. If we don’t find him, he’ll find his way back to us.”
She smiled at him through her tears and Kirt realized she had worked through some logical thinking of her own. She clung to her reasoning just as desperately, too.
Bartimo pointed at the platform and said, “The Speaker approaches.”
Conversations throughout the building died down as the Speaker of the Hall of Commerce cleared his throat. He stood at middling height but had a distinctive face with a sharp aquiline nose. Kirt decided he must be about half a century old. From their vantage point, sitting high and to his right, everyone in the Speakers’ Corner could see the bald spot on the back of his head.
His skin, instead of sporting the deep tan typical of native islanders, seemed lighter than most. Kirt decided the man did not go outside much.
“Gentlemen. Ladies. Esteemed colleagues of commerce and people of the Ageless Isles. May I have the attention of your eyes and ears.”
His voice boomed out across the hall, and Kirt realized someone had placed an amplification spell on the platform. Maybe the Speaker himself, Kirt thought. It must be part of his personal magic.
“We are here to engage in the holy act of commerce. All entreaties, all deals, all transactions will be dealt with honorably and honestly. The Scriptures tell us the Creator loves fair scales and virtuous transactions. In all that we do and say today, may our dealings remain fair, and our words ring true.”
A round of polite applause went up throughout the hall.
Kirt remarked, with respect edging his words, “They take their trade seriously.”
Bellasondra nodded and said, “Punishment for dishonest dealings is severe. More than that, those known to have earned gold under false pretenses are shunned by others. They become outcasts, of a sort.”
“Maybe Stin wouldn’t like it so much here after all.”
“Ah, but there’s a lot of intrigue. One man’s honest trade can be another man’s loss. It gets complicated, but some houses have a reputation for gains that scrape hard against ethical bounds, even though they broke no laws.”
-+-
An hour passed, then another. Kirt quickly lost interest in the deals struck on the floor guided by the Speaker. Representatives from city councils made agreements with council members from other cities. Merchants negotiated rights for exclusive sales in certain areas, with a percentage reserved for governments granting those rights. Individuals agreed to prices on land, houses, livestock and other things.
Restless, Kirt wandered off for a while. He found a food vendor selling sweetcakes for a copper, and sampled his fare. Everywhere the underlying hum of conversation, with the exchange of money or the promise thereof, swirled around him.
The Speaker’s voice boomed out from the platform as Kirt headed back for his seat.
“And now for the new ventures!”
A cheer erupted from the crowd, and Kirt decided most of the people in the galleries were here just for this part. He sat down next to Bellasondra, who grew quite nervous. She grabbed his hand and squeezed.
“We’re going last. Bartimo said the Speaker thought his was an interesting pitch. We’re probably asking for more money than anyone else, though, so I hope people are still willing to invest by then.”
Kirt looked down at the platform and found Bartimo standing with nine or ten other people, waiting patiently for their turn at the podium.
The first to make his pitch served as captain and owner of a ship. He explained to the crowd he wanted to establish a new trade route to the southern ports. This generated considerable interest among the families, with several offering to help finance his maiden voyage and others offering their own cargo for sale. He ended with 300 gold pledged and a full hold of promised cargo.
The second was a cook hoping to start a new restaurant of her own in Refugio. Several on the floor questioned her, asking who she apprenticed under, how she planned to make ends meet, how many helpers she would require, who her landlord would be. The woman answered with assurance and had a ready response for every question. Satisfied, several families responded and she left the podium with 25 gold pledged in exchange for a cut of her future profits.
And so it went. A pub owner wanting to expand. A tailor looking to start his own shop. A caravan leader seeking gold for an overland supply train. And half a dozen more with similar ventures. The families waved, the Speaker recognized them, and they shouted out their commitments from the floor while a scribe took notes.
At last, the Speaker turned to Bartimo and motioned for him to step forward. He said, “My esteemed colleagues! I have saved the most intriguing for last. This venture, should you find it of interest, will require copious sums of gold. But hear young Bartimo’s pitch, and decide for yourselves if you wish to offer him some coin!”
A hush settled over the crowd as Bartimo approached the podium. When he spoke, his voice boomed out across the floor under the amplification spell. He began by telling the story of encountering dwarves in Port Osmo and sampling their ale. It was far too strong, but a local pub offered some watered down mug
s for human sailors who frequented the place. Bartimo developed a taste for it and began inquiring about purchasing some kegs to take home. The pubmaster told him all he had was the cheap swill, but in Ore Stad he drank beer prepared by the greatest brewer in all of Norweg. This dwarf happened to be the pubmaster’s distant cousin. After considerable persuasion, and with the promise of much gold to be made, Bartimo talked him into arranging a meeting with the master brewer in Greystone Village, a neutral midway point.
The crowd, now hanging on his every word, listened as he described the most amazing ale any man had ever tasted, and how the patrons of the pub in the magical village deep in the heart of the Hidden Forest quickly drained every drop the dwarf and his son brought with them.
Then he described the attack by Darkstone and his metal men, the wizards’ plight and the battlemaiden’s struggle. He told of his and Bellasondra’s experiences in the Battle of Greystone Village, and how the dwarven prince returned with an army that turned the tide of battle. At last, he told them about the tragic death of Barley.
“But his son lives on. His son, who apprenticed under him for lo these many years, is brewing the barrels as we speak. If I can deliver the gold to Port Osmo in time, I have the assurances of Prince Dudge himself that this remarkable ale will be delivered, prepared to ship.”
When he finished, a buzz went up around the floor as husbands and wives conferred with their children, in-laws and each other.
Someone stood up under a flag bearing a red sigil. He was an elderly man who stood straight and tall, despite his ring of gray hair. The Speaker approached the podium next to Bartimo and pointed at him. He said, “House Paladio has the floor.”
“I understand the beer is good, and I judge you are speaking honestly here, as we all are bound to by oath. You say it’s the best anyone has ever tasted and I believe you. However, don’t you agree a gold coin per barrel is awfully expensive? How do you propose to turn a profit when your wholesale product is that steep?”
Bartimo nodded as if expecting the question and said, “The dwarven ale is so stout, it must be diluted with water for human consumption. Each one will produce three barrels of quality beer when properly diluted.”
The buzz of discussion picked up again, a little more excitedly this time, Kirt thought. Bartimo looked up to the Speaker’s Corner and smiled at him.
“He has them,” Bellasondra said. “Now he just needs to close the deal.”
“My colleagues! One final word.”
The buzz quieted down as everyone looked back toward Bartimo.
“I want you to know that no one else can produce this remarkable ale. No human can, anyway. I will hold the exclusive rights to the best drink in the land. Yes, there will be imitators as it grows in popularity. Some may even start buying cheap dwarven beer in Port Osmo and passing it off as our product. But it won’t be the same. It won’t be anywhere near the same. And anyone tasting the cheap stuff will know it’s not ours.
“I believe after one sample, every owner of every establishment in all the major kingdoms will happily pay one gold coin per barrel. And since I’m getting three barrels for every one I buy, I expect to return 3,000 gold back to my investors, minus the standard 15 percent cut for arranging the venture.”
The conversational buzz picked up in earnest. A young man signaled the Speaker.
“House Enesto has the floor.”
“House Enesto will commit ten gold for Bartimo!”
The Speaker nodded and pointed at the scribe seated to his right, who dutifully recorded the amount in a ledger.
Someone else signaled.
“House Florio has the floor.”
“Twenty-five gold for Bartimo from House Florio!”
Several more hands went up and the Speaker called on each while the scribe recorded them all and kept a tally.
An older woman with a wrinkled face, wearing an elegant dress and expensive jewels sparkling brightly in the diffused light, signaled the Speaker.
“House Palento has the floor.”
“A hundred gold for Bartimo’s venture!”
A murmur swept through the crowd.
Bellasondra whispered to Kirt, “They are one of the major families. This is a real sign of support! We just might make our thousand.”
A few clusters away a smartly dressed man with a regal glow about him and a shock of white hair stood and signaled the Speaker.
“House Finero has the floor.”
“We commit 500 gold to Bartimo!”
Audible gasps burst from the crowd. Bartimo beamed at the man, and nodded his thanks. Finero held his eye a moment and nodded back.
Bellasondra whispered, “He is a big rival with Palento’s widow. They don’t like each other very much. I’ve heard it’s good to get them into a bidding battle with one another, if you can. I think Finero was waiting to see how much she would offer so he could upstage her.”
Kirt let the information soak in. Then he had a thought and said, “So, if we take 15 percent, and the venture earns 3,000 gold like Bartimo says, that means we get to keep 450 gold?”
Bellasondra grinned and nodded.
Kirt breathed a silent, “Wow!” He had never seen that much gold before.
“Well, of course we have to pay all the venture’s expenses out of our cut,” she said.
Kirt continued doing the math and said, “But eventually Finero will get 1,500 gold, minus 15 percent? So, his 500 gold turns into 1,275.”
“That’s right. It’s a good return, if everything goes well.”
“Things can go wrong?”
“Oh yes. They often do, in ventures like this. The families may lose some or all of their gold. Of course, we hope and pray they don’t. Our future depends on this, too. It’s one of the reasons the families are entrusting us with their gold. They know how much this means to us. They all had ventures of their own when they were young, so they understand the process very well.”
Kirt said, “It does seem risky, though. Nobody else was there to meet with Barley and Fret. Everyone in this hall is taking Bartimo’s word for it, and they seem to believe him when he says it’s the best beer anyone has ever tasted.”
Bellasondra shrugged and said, “He’s bound by honesty in the hall. If he were found to be lying, it would be the end of our hopes to establish a major family and join them on the floor. There’s risk with everything in life, Kirt. The great families of the Ageless Isles have been making bets on ventures like this for generations. Sometimes they lose a lot of gold. But more often than not, they take home more than they invested.
“If we’re successful, with our share of the profits Bartimo will have enough to start a family. And the next time we’re in the Hall of Commerce, we’ll join the minor houses and invest our gold in those petitioning the hall. And if we make good bets, our fortunes will grow and someday we’ll become a major house, just as Palento and Finero are now.
“It’s the cycle of commerce in the Ageless Isles. And now it’s our turn to go out and earn some gold.”
Kirt’s attention returned to the platform, where the scribe waved at the Speaker. The Speaker acknowledged it with a wave of his own, and stepped back to the podium.
“Bartimo’s venture is fully funded. The floor is closed. Thus ends our session.”
7
“Larboard sail! Sail on the larboard!”
Feet scampered across the deck as men dropped everything and rushed to the left side, crowding the rails for a glimpse.
The pilot turned the wheel and other men scrambled to adjust the sails. Ropes squealed through the hawseholes, masts creaked and canvas snapped in the wind as Wavecrest turned her prow for an intercept.
An hour later everyone could see the other vessel clearly across the water. A red-orange flag flew from her mast.
“Coralian,” Plinny said, his voice booming out cheerfully. He slapped Stin hard on the back, knocking the wind out him.
“I like taking ships from Coral! They’re rich. And I hat
es Coralians!”
A susurrus of assent rippled through the crowd along the rails.
Melton tromped out on the deck with his wooden leg beating a rhythm, his ever-present scowl deepening.
He said, “Get back to work y’ lazy scalawags!”
Reluctantly, men left the railing and dispersed. As Stin turned to go with them, Melton said, “’Cept for you, Steck. Cap’n wants to see you.”
-+-
Stin had to ask three people before he finally found the captain’s quarters. Melton didn’t bother to help, he stormed off looking for other slackers to yell at.
Finally, Stin found the appropriate door. He knocked on it.
“Enter!”
The cabin was spacious, for a ship. A single bunk graced one wall. A desk stood against another. Shelves held books strapped into place with leather strips. Maps and naval charts lay scattered on a table in the center of the room. Several chairs sat about, inviting fellowship and conversation.
“Ah, Steck. I trust you have enjoyed your journey so far?”
“Certainly, Captain. As much as one could expect after being waylaid by pirates.”
Cessic flashed his golden tooth in a smile and said, “You’re lucky I’ve taken a liking to you, Steck. Hailing from my home town is quite your good fortune indeed. Well, that and the fact you’re poor and in debt to Felway the Fence and practically worthless for ransom.
“However, as you now are about to participate in your first act of piracy with us, I’m afraid I must ask you to remain onboard until the fighting subsides.”
“Well, I certainly won’t miss the fighting.”
“Indeed. You can understand my caution in having you go out armed with my men. The temptation to fight for the other side might be too strong for you. Perhaps you’d consider an ill-advised break for your freedom or try and tip the scales to the wrong side.”
