Roo jumped.
The waiter coming out the door swerved expertly to avoid Roo as he came into the kitchen at Barret’s Coffee House, and Roo put down his tray as he called out his order. The chaos in the kitchen stood in direct contrast to the calm evidenced in the common room and the private areas on the second floor of Barret’s. The large oak double doors kept the sound away from those merchants and traders negotiating in hushed voices throughout the coffee house.
Roo had sought employment for almost a week before he thought of Barret’s. Several merchant concerns had looked upon the poorly dressed former soldier with little civility, and no one seemed interested in taking on even the most junior of partners without receiving a large sum of capital as an incentive. Promises of hard work, diligence, perspicacity, and loyalty were far less important than gold to these men.
Most merchants either had sons or apprentices, and few had any work available save as guards or menials. Roo felt close to defeat before he remembered the young waiter at Barret’s named Jason who had directed Erik and Roo to the horse trader by the city gate.
Roo had returned to Barret’s, found the man in charge of the waiters, mentioned Jason by name, and after a short consultation with Sebastian Lender, the manager of Barret’s – a man named Hoen – offered Roo a tryout as a waiter.
Roo quickly learned his way around the floor, with Jason acting as his tutor. Roo had come to like Jason, the youngest son of a merchant in another part of town. McKeller, the headwaiter, had told Jason to ‘show the new boy the ropes.’ Roo disliked being referred to as a ‘boy,’ but given McKeller’s age, he supposed it was reasonable. Duke James would appear a boy next to McKeller.
Jason had proven an easygoing teacher, one who didn’t presume Roo was stupid because he didn’t know his way around the coffee house. Roo’s years of growing up around Erik’s family at the Inn of the Pintail helped, as he wasn’t completely ignorant of what went on in a kitchen or in a common room.
Still, there was much about Barret’s that was unusual to Roo. First of all, he had been required to swear an oath, on a relic from the temple of Sung, the Goddess of Purity, promising he would never reveal to anyone what he might overhear while waiting tables. He was next fitted for the standard uniform of tunic, trousers, apron, and boots – his own were considered too worn – and was informed the price of his clothing would be deducted from his pay. Then he was taken into the kitchen and introduced to the vast variety of coffees and teas, baked goods, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner items offered to the clientele of Barret’s.
A quick study, Roo memorized as much as he could, confident he would learn the rest as he needed. The organized chaos of the coffee house at its busiest reminded Roo of a battle in many respects. The orders came in from each waiter, who was expected to remember everything a customer requested and who would also remember which table to return to and which gentleman or nobleman received which item. Mostly it was coffee, or an occasional sweet roll, but often it was a complete breaking of fast or a noontime meal. Rarely did anyone eat an evening meal at Barret’s, as most businessmen preferred to eat at home with their families, but sometimes the late afternoon business ran long, and waiters and cooks could be working until two or three hours after sunset before the last customer left and the doors were locked. That was the custom at Barret’s, that the doors remained open so long as one customer remained, and a few times over the years, at the height of financial crisis in the Kingdom, the coffee house had remained open around the clock, with the wait staff expected to remain alert, neatly dressed, and ready to answer the call of the frantic businessmen and nobles crowding the floor of the common room.
The cook said, ‘Your order’s ready.’
Roo grabbed his tray from off the counter, double-checked the order, and moved toward the door. He paused a beat to ensure the slight swing of the door was the result of the last waiter moving through it and not because some fool had forgotten which door to pass through – always keep to the right, he had been told. Jason had told him the biggest problem was caused by customers, who occasionally would mistake the kitchen door as an entrance to the jakes or a back way out, and the resulting collision was usually both loud and messy.
Just before reaching the door, Roo turned and backed through, as if he had been doing this for years, and moved with a fluid grace into the commons. Only his battle-trained reflexes prevented a collision with a customer who turned and moved across the aisle down which Roo moved. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Roo intoned, when what he wanted to say was ‘Watch where you’re going, fish brain!’ He forced a smile.
Jason had impressed upon him that while his salary from Barret’s was modest by any measure, the true source of income for the waiters was the gratuity. Quick, efficient, polite, and cheerful service could earn a waiter a week’s wages in a day if business was particularly good. Occasionally a single table would provide enough income for a waiter to invest in one of the common undertakings.
For which reason, Roo, as the newest member of the staff, had the poorest section of the common room. He glanced longingly up to the galleries where the business associations, brokers, and partnerships gathered. Among their number were several bright young men who had begun their business lives as waiters at Barret’s. It might not be as quick a rise as seeking treasure in far lands, but it could be as dramatic as that in results.
Roo placed his order expertly in front of each businessman, as he had been instructed, and they all but ignored him as they continued their discussion. He heard enough to realize they were discussing the extramarital adventures of an associate’s wife rather than matters of business, and he ignored them. A single copper piece more than the price of the coffee and rolls was placed upon his tray and Roo nodded once and backed away.
He moved through his area, inquiring politely if anyone needed anything, and when he had made his way around his area and had received no new orders, he stationed himself quietly in plain sight, ready to answer the call of any customer who needed him.
For a few minutes he had time to himself and he again looked around the room, memorizing faces and names, certain that someday such information might be useful. From across the room a figure waved at him. Roo recognized him as another waiter, Kurt, a tall, nasty-tempered bully who had most of the younger waiters cowed. He was also a suck-up and had both Hoen and McKeller convinced he was a competent and pleasant waiter, while he was neither. He managed to get the younger waiters to do as much dirty work as possible while avoiding work at every turn. Roo wondered how such a lout had come to such a senior position at Barret’s.
Roo ignored the wave, and at last Kurt came across the room toward him. As he approached, Kurt forced a smile for the benefit of the patrons. He would have been a handsome young man, Roo judged, had he not had such a mean turn to his smile and such narrow eyes.
‘I was signaling you,’ he hissed between clenched teeth.
‘I noticed,’ Roo answered without looking at him. He kept his eyes on the customers in his section.
‘Why didn’t you come?’ asked Kurt in what he must have assumed was a threatening tone of voice.
‘Last time I looked, you weren’t paying my salary,’ answered Roo, moving to the elbow of the customer who had just tipped him a single copper coin. He nimbly filled the man’s half-empty cup without being asked and the two businessmen at the table barely noticed him doing his job.
Kurt put his hand on Roo’s arm as he turned. Roo glanced at the hand and said, ‘I would advise you not to touch me again.’
Kurt almost snarled as he quietly said, ‘And what if I do?’
‘You don’t want to find out,’ Roo answered calmly.
Kurt said, ‘I’ve eaten bigger men than you for breakfast.’
Roo said, ‘I have no doubt. But I’m not interested in your love life.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Now get your hand off my arm.’
Kurt withdrew it and said, ‘You’re not worth a scene at work. But don’t think I’ve forgotten you.’
‘I’ll be here every day to remind you in case you do,’ said Roo. ‘Now, what did you want me to come over for in the first place?’
‘Shift change. You’re on the door.’
Roo glanced at the large fancy timepiece that was hanging from the ceiling. A water clock fashioned in Kesh, it displayed the hour and the minute by a rising column of blue water that dripped into a transparent tube marked with the hours at a controlled rate. One of his jobs, as juniormost waiter, was to be in the common room at dawn to quickly flip the valve that caused the strange device to pump water back to the tank above, while the second tank began dripping, so that the time was always accurate. Roo had been uncertain why it was so critical for these businessmen always to know what time it was, but he was fascinated by the device and the fact that he could see what time of day it was with a glance to the center of the room.
‘Why the change?’ he asked as he headed for the kitchen, Kurt a step behind him. ‘We’re not due for a shift change for another hour.’
‘It’s raining,’ answered Kurt with a smug grin as he brushed his black hair away from his forehead and took up his own tray. ‘New boy always gets to wipe up the mud.’
Roo said, ‘Fair enough, I guess.’ He didn’t think it was fair at all, but he was damned if he was going to give Kurt the satisfaction of seeing him distressed by the news. He left his own tray and cleaning cloth on a shelf designated as his, and moved quickly through the large kitchen door and crossed the commons to the front door.
Jason was waiting for him, and Roo looked out to see that a tropical storm up from Kesh had swept across the Bitter Sea and was now dumping massive amounts of warm rain on the Prince’s City.
Already a pile of damp rags were tossed into the corner and Jason said, ‘We try to keep the floor as clean as possible before the rail so we don’t have to mop down the floor completely throughout the coffee house.’
Roo nodded. Jason tossed him a rag and knelt and began to clean up the mud that was splashing in from the force of the rain, along the edge of the doorway on his side. Roo duplicated his actions at his own door and knew it was going to be a long, frustrating morning.
After the fourth cleaning of the portal, a large carriage turned the corner at high speed, just a few feet from the doorway to Barret’s. The splash of mud through the door barely missed Roo’s boots. He quickly knelt and used a rag to get as much of it off the wood as possible. The rain continued its steady tattoo, and little splatters of dirty water continued to edge the wooden floor with grime, but the majority of the entrance hall to the coffee shop was still clean.
Jason tossed Roo a fresh rag. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thanks,’ answered Roo, catching it. ‘This seems a bit pointless,’ he added, nodding through the open door to where the rain was picking up in intensity. It was a typical fall storm off the Bitter Sea and it could mean days of unrelenting rain. The streets were becoming rivers of mud, and each new arrival at Barret’s tracked increasing quantities of the dark brown ooze onto the wooden floor of the entranceway.
‘Think how it would look by now if we didn’t keep at it,’ suggested Jason.
‘What else do we do besides fight mud?’ asked Roo.
Jason said, ‘Well, we help customers out of coaches. If one pulls up on your side, first see if it’s driven by a coachman alone, or if there’s a footman riding on the back. If there’s no footman, open the carriage door. If the coach has one of the new fold-down steps, lower it for whoever’s inside. If there’s no step, get that box over there and carry it to the coach.’ He pointed to a small wooden box kept in the corner of the entrance for such use. It sat next to some dirty towels in a larger metal pan.
A coach pulled up, and Roo glanced at Jason, who nodded; there was no footman, as this was a hired coach, and Roo could see there was nothing like the fancy swing-down step in evidence. He grabbed up the box and, ignoring the rain, placed the box below the door, then pulled down on the handle as instructed. Swinging the door open, he waited. An elderly gentleman climbed quickly down from the coach and took the two steps into the relative shelter of the entranceway.
Roo grabbed the box and was barely a stride away as the coach moved on. He reached the entrance in time to hear McKeller greet the newly arrived patron: ‘Good morning to you, Mr Esterbrook.’
Jason was already cleaning the mud from Mr Esterbrook’s boots as Roo replaced the box in the metal pan designed to confine water and mud. He then took up a rag, and by the time he had it in hand, the client had moved into the inner sanctum of Barret’s.
‘That’s Jacob Esterbrook?’ asked Roo.
Jason nodded. ‘You know him?’
‘I know his coaches. They’d come through Ravensburg all the time.’
‘He’s one of Krondor’s richest men,’ confided Jason as they finished cleaning up the floor. ‘He’s got an amazing daughter, too.’
‘Amazing how?’ asked Roo, putting away the muddy rag.
Jason was a young man of middle height, a lightly freckled, fair complexion, and brown hair, one whom Roo judged unremarkable in appearance, but his expression became close to transfixed as he answered, ‘What can I say? She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.’
Roo grinned. ‘And you’re in love?’
Jason blushed, which amused Roo, though he kept any jibe to himself. ‘No. I mean, if I could find a woman who looked like that who would give me a second glance, I’d tithe to Ruthia’ – the Goddess of Luck – ‘for the rest of my life. She’s going to marry some very rich man or a noble, I’m certain. It’s just that …’
‘She’s someone to daydream about,’ supplied Roo.
Jason shrugged as he put away his cleaning rag. He then glanced at Roo’s feet and said, ‘Boots.’
Roo looked down, saw that he was tracking mud on the floor they were trying to clean, and winced. Taking the rag out of the metal pan, he cleaned his own boots and then the tracks he had made. ‘You don’t do much of this when you spend your life barefoot.’
Jason nodded. ‘I guess.’
‘Now, about this wonder …’
‘Sylvia. Sylvia Esterbrook.’
‘Yes, Sylvia. When have you seen her?’
‘She sometimes travels here with her father, on her way to shop in the city. They live out on the edge of the city, near the Prince’s Road, on a large estate.’
Roo shrugged. He knew that in Krondor the King’s Highway was called the Prince’s Road, and he had traveled it with Erik the first time he had come to Krondor, though they had left the highway and cut through the woods and some farmland. Later travels had been by the southern road to the training ground where he had learned the soldier’s trade, so he had never seen the estate of which Jason spoke.
‘What’s she look like?’
‘She has the most amazing blue eyes and blond hair that’s almost pale gold in color.’
Roo said, ‘Blue, not green? Blond hair?’
‘Blue eyes, blond hair,’ answered Jason. ‘Why?’
‘Just checking. I met a really beautiful woman who almost got me killed. But she had green eyes and dark hair. Anyway, go on.’
‘There’s nothing more to say. She rides up with her father and then goes off after he gets out. But she smiles at me, and she even took a moment to speak to me once.’
Roo laughed. ‘That’s something, I guess.’
A shout and the sound of a large wagon moving near caused Roo to turn. Heaving around the corner, looking for a moment as if it were about to attempt to enter the building, came a horse, as tired, old, and ragged a creature as Roo had ever beheld. A loud grinding of wood upon wood was punctuated by oaths and the sound of a lash as a wagon wheel ground across the open portal and the driver came into view.
An instant was all Roo needed to realize this man didn’t possess even the most rudimentary knowledge of driving a wagon and had tried to turn the corner too sharply, jamming the wagon against the side of the building.
Ignoring the driving rain, Roo turned and moved in front of the horse, grabbing the animal by the bridle, while shouting, ‘Whoa!’
The animal obeyed, as it was hardly moving at all because of the jamming of the wagon against the corner, the deep mud, and near-total exhaustion. ‘What’s this?’ demanded the driver.
Roo looked up at a young man, only a few years older than himself, thin and soaked through to his skin from his appearance. It was also obvious he was a sailor, as he wore no boots or shoes and was sunburned and drunk.
‘Heave to, mate,’ cried Roo, ‘before you run ashore.’
Trying to look threatening, the young sailor shouted belligerently, ‘Clear away! You’re fouling my rig!’
Roo moved around the animal, its side heaving from the exertion, and said, ‘You cut that too sharp, friend, and now you’re hung up. Do you know how to back this animal?’
It was obvious he didn’t. The sailor swore and jumped down, losing his balance and falling facedown into the thick ooze. Cursing and slipping as he tried to stand, he at last regained his feet and said, ‘Damn the day I tried to do a favor for a friend.’
Roo looked at the overloaded wagon, now up to the wheel hubs in mud. It was piled high with crates, all covered and lashed down with a canvas cover. ‘Your friend did you no favor. That load needs two horses or, better, four.’
Just then Jason yelled, ‘What is all this?’
Before Roo could answer, he heard Kurt’s voice shouting, ‘Yes, Avery, what is this?’
‘A blind man could see we have a wagon stuck in the doorway, Kurt,’ he answered.
An inarticulate growl was the best reply he got. Then McKeller’s voice cut through the sound of the driving rain. ‘What have we here?’
Roo hurried away from the mud-covered sailor and ducked under the neck of the still-panting animal. Without bringing more mud into the entrance, he peered into the coffee house. McKeller and some of the waiters stood there just beyond the splash of mud and rain and watched the spectacle of a horse almost inside the establishment. ‘The driver is drunk, sir,’ explained Roo.
‘Drunk or sober, have him get that animal out of here,’ demanded the ancient headwaiter.
Roo could see Kurt smirking at the order.
Roo turned and saw the sailor starting to walk away. He took three quick steps – as quick as possible in the ankle-deep mud – and overtook the man. Swinging him around by the arm, he said, ‘Wait a minute, mate!’
The sailor said, ‘Yer no mate of mine, bucko, but for all of that, I’ll not hold it against you. Care for a drink?’
‘You need a drink like that horse needs another lashing,’ said Roo, ‘but, drunk or not, you need to get that wagon from out of my employer’s doorway.’
The sailor looked halfway between anger and amusement. He took that pose of control assumed by drunks who don’t wish to appear drunk, and slowly said, ‘Let me explain to you, me lad. A friend of mine named Tim Jacoby – a boyhood chum I just met today – convinced me that it would be better to be a wagon driver in his father’s employ than to risk another voyage.’
Roo glanced back and with alarm saw the horse was attempting to kneel in the mud, an impossible act because of the confining traces. ‘Oh, gods!’ he said, grabbing the sailor’s arm and trying to pull him back toward the wagon. ‘He’s colicking!’
‘Wait a minute!’ shouted the sailor, pulling away. ‘I haven’t finished.’
‘No, but the horse has,’ said Roo, grabbing the man again.
‘I was saying,’ continued the sailor, ‘I was to deliver this wagon to Jacoby and Sons, Freight Haulers, then get my pay.’
The horse started making a sick, squealing noise as McKeller’s voice sounded from the doorway, ‘Avery, move along, will you now? The customers are starting to be annoyed.’
Propelling the sailor back to the wagon, Roo found the old animal down on its knees, with its back legs trembling furiously. Pulling a knife from his tunic, Roo quickly cut the traces, and as if sensing freedom, the horse struggled to its feet, staggered forward, then collapsed into the mud. With a sigh that sounded like nothing so much as relief, the horse died.
‘Damn me,’ said the sailor. ‘What do you think of that?’
‘Not bloody much,’ said Roo. The horse had managed to stumble around the corner, so that now the other entrance was half-blocked. The exiting and entering patrons could now choose how they would get soaked and muddy: climbing around a filthy wagon or over a dead horse.
McKeller said, ‘Jason, you and the other boys pull that animal and that wagon away from here.’
Roo shouted, ‘No!’
McKeller said, ‘What did you say?’
Roo said, ‘I meant to say, I wouldn’t advise that, sir.’
Roo could see McKeller peering past the wagon from the doorway as he said, ‘Why is that?’
Hiking his thumb toward the horse, Roo replied, ‘That animal was old and sick, but it’s a draft horse. It weighs fourteen hundred pounds if it weighs an ounce. The entire staff’s not going to be able to pull it from that sucking mud. And that wagon was too heavy for it to pull, so we won’t be able to move it.’
‘Do you have a suggestion?’ called McKeller to the now completely soaked Roo.
Roo’s eyes narrowed and a slight smile crossed his face for a moment as he said, ‘I think I do.’ He turned to the sailor. ‘Walk to your friend’s company and tell him that if he wants his cargo he can come here to claim it.’
‘I think I’m going back to sea,’ said the sailor. He reached inside his tunic and pulled out a leather wallet, bulging with documents. ‘You can have this, sir,’ he added with a drunken half-bow.
‘You do and I’ll hunt you down myself and kill you,’ said Roo. He took the wallet and said, ‘Go tell your friend’s father his freight is here at Barret’s and to ask for Roo Avery, then you can go drown yourself in ale for all I care.’
The sailor said nothing as Roo shoved him away, but he turned in the direction he had indicated Jacoby’s lay and not back toward the harbor.
‘Jason!’
‘Yes, Roo?’
‘Run and find some knackers – wait!’ he corrected himself. Knackers would charge money to cut up and haul away the animal. ‘Run to the Poor Quarter and find a sausage maker. Tell him what we’ve got here and that he only has to come and haul it away. The knackers are going to sell the meat for sausage anyway; why pay a middleman?’
Jason’s voice could be heard asking McKeller if that was all right, and when the answer came in the affirmative, he ran out into the rain and disappeared quickly toward the Poor Quarter.
Roo quickly inspected the wagon and knew that it would never be moved until it was unloaded. ‘I’m going for some porters,’ he shouted to McKeller. ‘We need to unload the cargo before we can move this rig.’
McKeller said, ‘Very well. As quickly as possible, Avery.’
Roo hurried down to the next street, then one street over, until he came to a Porters’ Guild hiring office. Stepping inside, he saw a dozen burly men sitting around a fire, waiting for work. Moving to the small desk where the guild officer sat, he said, ‘I need eight men.’
‘And who are you?’ asked an officious little man sitting on the stool behind the desk.
‘I’m from Barret’s and we have a wagon stuck in the mud in front of the coffee house. It needs to be unloaded before it can be moved.’
At the mention of Barret’s, the man lost some of his officious manner. ‘How many men did you say?’
Years of being around teamsters and porters served Roo well as, without hesitation, he said, ‘Your stoutest eight men.’
The officer quickly singled out eight of the twelve men and said, ‘There’s an extra charge for the weather.’
Roo narrowed his gaze. In his best no-nonsense tone he said, ‘What? They’re now tender boys who can’t stand to get wet? Don’t try to hold me up so you can cadge some extra drinking money, or I’ll be talking to the Guild Masters about how many other clever little schemes you may have conceived over the years. I was loading and unloading wagons since I could reach a tailgate, so don’t be telling me about guild rules.’
Roo actually had no idea what he was talking about, but he could smell a con in his sleep. The man’s face turned red as he made an inarticulate sound in his throat and said, ‘Actually, that is for snow and ice, not rain, now that I think on it. Sorry for the misunderstanding.’
Roo led the eight men back into the storm to the wagon. He unhitched the tailgate and pulled up the canvas. ‘Oh, damn,’ he said. The cargo was mixed, but right before him was a large pile of fine silk, worth more gold than he’d make this year and the next, if he was any judge of fine fabric. But once wet and muddied, it might as well be homespun for the price it would command.
He said to the lead porter, ‘Wait here.’ Rounding the wagon, he found McKeller still at the door with a mixed company of waiters and customers, the latter watching the performance with some amusement.
‘I need one of the large, heavy tablecloths, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Some of the cargo will have to be kept dry and …’ He glanced around. Seeing the unused building catercorner to Barret’s, he continued, ‘and we can put it there for the afternoon. But we’d probably have less difficulty if we kept the cargo undamaged. They might claim we damaged their goods and should have let it sit where it was until they came to collect it.’
That argument might not have convinced any inn or tavern keeper in Krondor that it was a good idea to possibly ruin a precious tablecloth, but Barret’s was an establishment founded on protecting cargo, among other investments, and McKeller nodded. With dozens of litigators among his clientele, he wanted nothing to do with a possible hearing before the local magistrate. ‘Fetch a large tablecloth,’ he instructed Kurt.
Looking pained to have to do anything to help Roo, Kurt turned and moved between the patrons, returning a few minutes later with a large cloth.
Roo held it close to his chest and hunched over in an attempt to keep it as dry as possible as he ran to the back of the wagon. He pushed it under the tarp and then loosened the two end tie-downs. Holding the canvas up with one hand, he climbed awkwardly into the back of the wagon, making sure he didn’t touch the precious silk. He motioned to the nearest porter and said, ‘Climb up here, but be cautious you touch nothing. Get any mud on this cloth and you’ll be discharged without pay.’
The porter knew from the exchange in the hall that this boy knew a thing or two and that one of the Porters’ Guild’s reasons for existing was for goods to be carried without damage, so he was cautious enough to be almost slow in getting up next to Roo.
‘Hold the canvas so it keeps this dry,’ Roo said, pointing at the silk. Roo tried to examine the balance of the cargo, which was difficult in the dim afternoon light of this heavy storm. After a moment, he was convinced it could withstand a little water. He unfolded the table cloth and made sure that only the clean side, not the mud from his tunic that had gotten on it, touched the silk. It took him nearly ten minutes to get the entire bundle covered and turned over and covered again by the large linen cloth, but when it was as protected as it was going to be, he said, ‘Now untie the rest of the tie-downs.’
The other porters hurried to obey, and when the job was done, he said, ‘Wrap this canvas around the bundle.’
Two porters jumped into the wagon and did as instructed, while Roo jumped down and started across the street. ‘Bring it here!’ he shouted to the porters, urging them to move as quickly as possible.
He reached the door of the abandoned building and saw that there was a small, decorative lock on the door. He inspected and then rattled it. With no idea how to pick such a lock, he sighed, raised his boot, and kicked as hard as he could. The lock remained intact, but the small hasp’s four screws pulled from the wood as the door swung inward.
Roo stepped inside the abandoned house. The faded grandeur of the entrance was nothing short of spectacular to Roo. A large staircase wound up from the hallway to a railed landing on the second floor, and from the vaulted ceiling of the entranceway a large crystal chandelier hung, dust dimming whatever sparkle the faint afternoon light might have imparted.
The sound of the porters coming up behind him caused Roo to forgo exploring the upper hall for a moment as he crossed the entranceway and opened a large sliding door. A formal sitting room, devoid of furnishings, lay below the balcony. But it was dry, as both large windows on the opposite wall were intact.
Roo told the porters, ‘Bring that in here, and put it against this wall.’ He indicated the farthest wall from the windows, just in case someone managed to break one of them. Salvaging this silk would be worth something to him only if he kept it undamaged. The porters put the bundle of cloth down and Roo said, ‘Get the rest of the cargo and haul it over here.’
It took the eight men less than a half hour to unload the wagon. Roo had opened the wallet and found the inventory list, as he had expected, but with one significant difference: there was no bill of lading for the bolts of silk. Each of the boxes bore a customs stamp and had a corresponding paper also bearing a stamp and signature. But as far as the Royal Customs were concerned, that silk did not exist.
Roo considered this, and after the last load was brought into the building, he had the workers pick up the silk again and move it to another room, a small storage closet under the stairs, next to an old metal pail and dried-out mop.
He led the men back outside and secured the door by pushing the hasp screws back into the stripped-out holes in the wood. There was no security in it, but any casual passerby might think the lock still intact.
By then Jason had returned with a sausage maker and a half-dozen apprentices and workers, as unsavory a band as Roo had seen this side of the war in Novindus. Leading the porters over to where Jason stood, now as drenched as Roo was, he said, ‘Remember to tell me where you got this crew so I never buy sausage there.’
Jason made a face. ‘One step inside his shop would do it.’ He watched in revulsion as they set to the horse with large knives. ‘I may never eat a sausage again, even if it’s from the King’s own table.’
Horses, dogs, and other animals died in the streets of Krondor often enough that the bloody spectacle of the sausage makers cutting up the horse did little but cause a few passersby to look twice, but it would have been a major embarrassment for Barret’s to have its customers have to move around a dead animal to enter or exit. Over his shoulder, the sausage maker shouted, ‘Do you want the hooves, skin, and bones?’
‘Take it all,’ said Roo as the lead porter came up to tap him on the shoulder.
‘You owe us eight sovereigns,’ said the porter.
Roo knew better than to argue price. The guild official working behind the desk might try to net a little extra gold out of him, but this worker would be quoting guild rates and no merchant in the Kingdom would get the guild to come down a copper piece from those rates.
Roo said, ‘Not quite yet.’
He motioned for the porters to follow him back to the wagon. ‘Pull this out and get it to that courtyard behind the building where we put the cargo.’
‘We’re porters, not bloody horses!’ said the lead porter.
Roo turned and gave the man a dark look. ‘I’m cold, wet, and in no humor to argue. You can pick it up and carry it like porters for all I care, but move it over there!’ he shouted.
Something in this little man’s manner impressed the porter, for he didn’t argue and signaled his men to form up. Four took the ruined traces, while the other four moved to the rear of the wagon. They raised the tailgate and two got ready to push while the other two moved to turn the rear wheels by hand.
It took some struggling and a great deal of swearing, but after a bit of work, the wagon was broken loose from the mud and was half rolled, half dragged through the mud across the street and down the little alley that led to the rear courtyard of the abandoned building.
‘How did you know there was a courtyard behind that house?’ asked Jason.
Roo grinned. ‘I told a friend I might buy that place someday, so I got curious and looked around. There’s a little alley that leads around it, and two windows that look out of the sitting room over it. Might be a nice place for a lady’s flower garden.’
‘Going to marry a fine lady?’ said Jason in only slightly mocking tones.
‘I don’t know,’ said Roo. ‘I might marry that Sylvia Esterbrook you speak so highly of.’
Soon the sausage maker and his half-dozen apprentices and workers were finished with their bloody work, and they carried off the horse, leaving some scraps of skin and entrails behind. Roo said, ‘The rain will clean things up quick enough.’
He led Jason back toward the entrance as the porters returned. ‘Here, now!’ shouted the seniormost porter. ‘About our pay…?’
Roo motioned for them to follow and led them across to the portal to find McKeller still there. ‘Sir, these men need to be paid.’
‘Paid?’ said the headwaiter. It was obvious to Roo that the old man hadn’t given a thought to cost when Roo had gone to get the porters.
‘These are guild porters, sir.’
At mention of that word, McKeller almost winced. Like every other person in business in Krondor, he was used to the many guilds in the city, and no business could long endure if it found itself at odds with the guilds of the city. ‘Very well. How much?’
Before the head porter could answer, Roo said, ‘Ten gold sovereigns, sir.’
‘Ten!’ said McKeller. That was more than a skilled craftsman might expect to earn in a week.
‘There are eight of them, sir, and it is raining.’
McKeller said nothing as he removed a large purse from his belt and counted out the coins, handing them to Roo.
Roo went to where the porters stood and gave the head porter nine. The man frowned. ‘You told the old coot –’
In low tones, Roo said, ‘I know what I told him. You take the nine and give eight to your guild scribe, and he gives you back your share. He doesn’t complain about the ninth coin he doesn’t know about and you don’t complain about the tenth.’
The man didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t look that unhappy either. The extra few silver royals each man would get were a proper bonus. He slipped the money into his tunic and said, ‘I get you. We’ll hoist a drink to you this evening.’
Roo turned away and moved back to the entrance, where Jason was toweling himself dry. Roo stepped into the area and saw it was now filthy with mud and rain. The wind was picking up, and McKeller said, ‘We’d better close the shutters and then we’ll clean up this mess.’ He signaled for Kurt and another waiter. ‘Clean up this area.’ To Roo and Jason he said, ‘Go around back and come into the kitchen from the alleyway. I don’t want you tracking mud across the floor. Change into clean clothing and get back to work.’
Roo tossed his dirty, wet towel back into the metal pan and saw Kurt glowering at him, as if this extra work was Roo’s fault and not the result of the weather. Roo grinned at him, which deepened Kurt’s irritation.
As he started to leave, McKeller said, ‘Avery?’
Roo turned. ‘Sir.’
‘You thought and acted quickly. You did well.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Roo as he and Jason stepped back into the storm.
As they headed for the alley behind the coffee house, Jason said, ‘That’s rare.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t often hear McKeller compliment one of us. Sometimes he calmly tells us how we’re lashing things up, but most of the time he says nothing. He expects us to do the right thing. You’ve impressed him.’
Roo rubbed his nose. ‘I’ll remember that when I’m dying of a cold tonight.’
They turned the corner and moved down the alley, reaching the large delivery yard behind the coffee house. They climbed up on the loading dock and then moved into the kitchen. After the time spent in the cold storm, the kitchen felt hot to them. They went to where they kept dry clothes and started to change.
As Roo finished dressing, Kurt came into the kitchen to where Roo and Jason were tying on their aprons. ‘Well, I had to clean up your mess, Avery. You owe me for that.’
‘What?’ said Roo, his expression a mix of amusement and irritation.
‘You heard me. I don’t get door duty, but because of you I’m mopping up more mud than I’ve seen since I started working here.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ said Roo, pushing past him.
Kurt’s hand fell on his arm. Roo turned and, using a hold taught him by Sho Pi when they were traveling across the sea in Calis’s mercenary band, he bent Kurt’s fingers back to a very uncomfortable angle, just short of causing him injury. But the pain gained him instant results. Kurt’s face drained of color and his eyes began to water as he dropped to his knees. Roo calmly said, ‘I told you you didn’t want to find out what would happen if you touched me again.’ He caused Kurt another moment of pain, then released his fingers. ‘Next time I’ll break your hand, and then we’ll see how fit you are for waiting tables.’
Kurt whispered, ‘You’re mad!’
Roo saw fear in Kurt’s eyes. Like all bullies, he didn’t expect any resistance, and when it came from a small man like Roo, he was doubly shocked. ‘Very mad,’ said Roo. ‘And capable of killing you with my bare hands. Remember that and keep your mouth shut when I’m around and we’ll get along just fine.’
Roo didn’t wait for a response or to say anything to the kitchen staff, who had turned to stare at the sight of Kurt being forced to his knees. Roo knew he now had an enemy, but he didn’t fear Kurt. He had lost all fear years before, and it would take something a great deal more frightening than a pumped-up town bully to make Roo Avery know it again.