Roo smiled.
The man had come looking for him about midmorning, and McKeller had summoned him from the kitchen, where he was learning to brew coffee to Mr Hoen’s satisfaction. Without introducing himself, the man said, ‘Are you the boy who stole my wagon?’
Roo halted and studied the man. He was of middle height, only a head taller than Roo, was stocky, and had a round face. His hair was cut short, but slicked with some pomander oil in a Quegan style, with ringlets across his forehead. He wore a shirt with a collar that was too high for him, given his thick neck, and with far too much lace down the front. With his cutaway jacket and tight trousers, he looked comic to Roo. Two less than comic bodyguards stood behind him. Each wore only a long belt knife, and otherwise were unarmed, but Roo could see instantly these were killers – exactly the sort of men Roo had served with in Calis’s company.
The man who had spoken might have dressed the part of a young city dandy, but his anger and his narrow eyes caused Roo to sense he was as potentially dangerous as the two men who served him. Roo said, ‘And you are…?’
‘I am Timothy Jacoby.’
‘Ah,’ said Roo, making a display of wiping his hands on his apron before offering his right to shake. ‘Your drunken friend mentioned you by name. Did he ever get to your shop last night?’
Instantly anger was replaced by confusion. It was obvious to Roo that the man had expected some denial. He reluctantly took Roo’s hand and shook in a cursory fashion, then let go. ‘Friend? He was no friend, just a sailor whom I bought some drinks, who … who did me a favor.’
‘Well, he obviously felt that returning to sea was a better choice than telling you he almost drove your wagon into Barret’s Coffee House.’
‘So I heard,’ Jacoby answered. ‘Well, if he ran off, that explains why I had to buy information from a rumormonger. She said someone had unloaded my wagon in front of Barret’s and moved all the cargo. I thought the sailor had been overcome by robbers.’
Roo said, ‘No. Your goods are safe.’ Reaching into his tunic, he removed the large leather wallet and handed it to Jacoby. ‘Here are the customs documents. The entire cargo is in that house across the way, safely dry.’
‘Where’s the horse and wagon?’ asked Jacoby.
‘The horse died. We had to cut it out of the traces, and knackers slaughtered it and hauled it away.’
‘I won’t pay a dime for the knackers!’ said Jacoby. ‘I never authorized that. I could have sent another team and hauled it away myself!’
‘No bother,’ said Roo. ‘The wagon was ruined’ – which he knew to be a lie – ‘so I had it hauled away. Let me have it for scrap to cover the cost of the porters and knackers, and we’ll call it even.’
Jacoby’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ruined, you say? How do you know?’
‘My father was a teamster,’ said Roo, ‘and I’ve driven enough to know yours wasn’t serviced regularly’ – which he knew to be the truth – ‘and with the traces all cut up, there’s not a lot but four wheels and a flatbed’ – which was also true.
Jacoby was silent a minute, his dark eyes studying Roo while he thought. ‘How many porters?’
‘Eight,’ said Roo, knowing Jacoby could check with the Porters’ Guild easily enough.
Jacoby said, ‘Show me my goods.’
Roo looked back to where McKeller stood. The old man nodded and Roo moved across the street. The storm had halted late the night before, but the streets were still deep in mud. Jacoby had arrived by carriage, and Roo took silent delight as the fancy boots and the lower half of his trouser legs were fouled by the thick muck.
Reaching the door, Jacoby looked at the heavy lock. ‘How’d you get the key?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Roo, easily pulling the hasp away. The screws came out and one fell to the porch. Roo picked it up and stuck it back in the hole. ‘The owner obviously thought no one was likely to steal his house.’
He pushed open the door and led Jacoby to where his cargo was hidden. Jacoby did a quick inventory, then said, ‘Where’s the rest?’
‘Rest?’ said Roo innocently.
‘There was more than this,’ said Jacoby, anger barely held in check.
Roo then knew for certain what the plan had been. The silk had been smuggled in from Kesh to the Krondorian docks. From there it had to get to the trader’s office, with the sailor duped into driving the wagon for some quick gold. If Royal Customs arrested the sailor, Jacoby could claim that he knew nothing of the silk and that the sailor was smuggling it in Jacoby’s wagon without his knowledge. Any guild teamster, or even an independent such as his father had been, would have checked the cargo against the manifest, to ensure that he was not accused of stealing something never loaded. But a drunken sailor who was lying about his ability to drive a single horse-drawn wagon was likely not even to think about what was in the back.
Roo looked at the man and calmly said, ‘Well, if you’d like to go to the constable’s office and swear out a complaint, I’ll be more than happy to accompany you. I’m sure he will be almost as interested as the Royal Customs office to know why you’re concerned with something not accounted for on this bill of lading.’
Jacoby fixed Roo with a dark stare, but after a moment it was clear he could do nothing. Both men knew what was going on, but at this point Jacoby had only two options left open to him, and he took the obvious choice.
Jacoby nodded once to the man on his right. From within his jacket he produced a dagger as Jacoby said, ‘Tell me what you did with the silk or I’ll have him cut your heart out.’
Roo moved to the center of the room, giving himself space to defend himself. He had a dagger secreted in his own boot, but waited to pull it. Jacoby’s two thugs might be dangerous to an untrained man in a tavern brawl or if they had the drop, but Roo knew his own abilities, and unless these men were as skilled as the men Roo had trained with, Roo knew he could defend himself.
‘Put that away before you hurt yourself,’ Roo said.
Whatever reaction Jacoby had expected, that wasn’t it. ‘Cut him!’ he said.
The first thug lunged forward while the second pulled his belt knife. The first attacker found Roo’s hand on his wrist, and suddenly pain shot up his arm as Roo dug his other thumb into a particularly delicate set of nerves in his elbow. He quickly wrestled the knife from the man’s hand and let it fall to the floor, deftly kicking it aside. He then disposed of the first guard with a kick to the man’s groin, causing him to groan as he collapsed.
The second thug was disposed of as quickly, and Jacoby pulled his own knife. Roo shook his head and he said, ‘You really shouldn’t do this.’
Jacoby’s temper got the best of him and he made a growling sound as he lunged at Roo. Roo easily got out of the man’s way, gripped his arm as he had the first man’s, and found the same bundle of nerves. But rather than jabbing to force the fingers limp, Roo ground his thumb into his elbow, ensuring as much pain as possible. Jacoby cried out softly as his knees buckled and his eyes filled with tears. Then Roo released his grip and the dagger fell from limp fingers. Roo calmly picked it up.
Jacoby knelt, holding his right elbow with his left hand. Roo calmly took the dagger and reversed it, handing it to Jacoby. ‘You dropped this.’ The first thug was slowly trying to regain his feet and Roo could tell he would need to soak in a cold bath to reduce the swelling in his groin. The second guard looked at Jacoby with uncertainty written on his face.
Jacoby said, ‘Who are you?’
‘Name’s Avery. Rupert Avery. My friends call me Roo. You can call me Mr Avery.’ He waved the dagger.
Jacoby took the dagger and looked at it a moment.
Roo said, ‘Don’t worry, I can take it back any time I want.’
Jacoby got to his feet. ‘What kind of waiter are you?’
‘The former-soldier kind. I tell you so you don’t think about sending these two buffoons with some friends tonight to “teach me a lesson.” Then I’d be forced to kill them. And then I’d have to explain to the City Watch why you were trying to teach me a lesson.
‘Now, I suggest you get back to your office and get another wagon and team and get this cargo out of here. The owner of this building might want to charge you rent if he finds you warehousing your goods here.’
Jacoby signaled to his guards to go on outside and, after they had left, followed them to the door. He paused and regarded Roo over his shoulder before leaving. From outside the door he said, ‘The wagon?’
Roo said, ‘Do you see a wagon anywhere around here?’
Jacoby said nothing for a long moment, then spoke. ‘You’ve made an enemy, Mr Avery.’
Roo said, ‘You won’t be my first, Jacoby. Now get out of here before I get irritated with you, and thank Ruthia’ – he invoked the Goddess of Luck – ‘that someone hasn’t taken all your cargo and vanished with it.’
After Jacoby left, Roo shook his head. ‘Some people. He didn’t even say thank you.’
Returning to the door, he closed it and crossed the street. McKeller was waiting for him and said, ‘You were gone a long time.’ It wasn’t a question.
Roo said, ‘Mr Jacoby seemed to think some of his cargo was missing and was ready to claim Barret’s was responsible for the loss. I carefully accounted for every item on the manifest and he was satisfied when he left.’
If McKeller wasn’t completely convinced, he seemed ready to accept the lie at face value. With a nod of his head, he indicated Roo should return to his duties. Roo moved back toward the kitchen and found Jason standing next to the door. ‘You taking a break this hour?’
Jason nodded.
‘Do me a favor if you’ve a mind to: go to the hiring hall and see if my cousin Duncan is still in town.’ After the destruction of the wagons of wine, Duncan had decided Roo’s get-rich-quick plan was over and was seeking guard duty on a caravan heading eastward.
‘If he is?’ asked Jason.
‘Tell him we’re back in business.’
If Jacoby had revenge on his mind for Roo, he didn’t attempt to extract it quickly. The night passed with Roo sleeping lightly in the loft he rented above the kitchen at Barret’s. Duncan had returned with Jason, complaining that he had been about to leave on a large caravan heading to Kesh, and was sleeping next to his cousin.
Roo suspected it was a lie, as Duncan was inclined to aggrandize his own discomfort and diminish others’, but he didn’t mind. He knew that the silk he had hidden in the building was worth a great deal more than he had first thought. Otherwise why would Jacoby have been so desperate to regain it? So having Duncan around was important; Roo knew he needed someone reliable to guard his back as he entered into the world of commerce.
The night passed slowly as Roo lay awake making and discarding plan after plan. He knew that the silk would be his recovery from the disaster of his wine venture, and that while sound in theory, the manner in which he had undertaken to build up his wine trade revealed to anyone who cared to look just how unpracticed Roo was in matters of business.
As dawn approached, Roo rose and dressed. He went out into the predawn morning, listening to the sounds of the city. A village boy from a small community in the mountains, he found the strange sounds of Krondor exhilarating: the squawk of the gulls flying in from the harbor, the creaking of wagon wheels moving over the cobbles of the street as bakers, dairymen, and fruit sellers brought their wares into the city. The occasional craftsman, moving cautiously through the gloom of the streets on his way to work, passed by, but otherwise the street was abandoned as Roo moved across to the old building. He had felt a strange attraction to the once-rich domicile from the first moment he had seen it. He had visions of himself standing at the large windows on the second floor, looking down upon the busy intersection that stood between the home and Barret’s. Somehow that house had become a symbol for Roo, a concrete goal that would show the world he had become a man of importance and means.
He entered the dark house and looked around. The grey light that came in the doorway barely outlined the stairway under which he had stored the silk. He suddenly wondered at the upper room and moved up the stairway.
He paused as he reached the top of the stairs, as they bent to the right to form a balcony overlooking the entry-way. He could see the shadowy form of the chandelier and wondered what it would look like with the candles ablaze.
He turned and saw that the hallway led into pitch darkness. He could barely see the handle to the first door on the right, the one that would provide a window view of the city street. He opened the door and saw the room in the dim light of the grey morning.
The room was empty save for some rags and a few shards of broken crockery. Roo walked to the window and looked out. In the morning gloom he saw the doorway of Barret’s. A thrill ran through Roo and he put his hand out and touched the wall.
He held motionless as the sun rose in the east, until at last the street below him filled with citizens of the city about for the day. The noise of the quickly building throng below robbed him of the secret quiet he had taken for himself, and he resented it for that.
He moved quickly through the other rooms, curiosity making him want to know every inch of the town house. He discovered a master suite in the rear, several other rooms, a garderobe, and a rear servants’ stairway. A third floor seemed equally divided between a storage area and what might pass as a workspace for the servants; at least, there were shreds of fine clothing and a thimble to convince Roo he had found where the lady of the house had once met with her seamstress.
Roo worked his way through the house, and when he was done, he left with a twinge of regret. He closed the door behind him and promised himself that he would return someday as the owner.
As he reached the center of the street, he realized he was holding a small shred of cloth. He examined it. It was a faded piece of once-fine silk, now yellowed by age and dirt. Without understanding quite why, he slipped it inside his tunic and moved past the doorway to Barret’s.
The doors swung open as he passed through the side street and he knew he was late. He should have been among those opening the coffee house.
Roo returned to his quarters, put on his apron, and hurried to the kitchen, where he slipped in with the other waiters without attracting attention. Duncan had not stirred for a moment and the silk was still safe below the stairway.
Roo knew it would be a long day until he was free in the evening and could embark on making his fortune.
Duncan found him during his lunch break. Roo moved into the rear courtyard of the coffee house and said, ‘What is it?’
‘It’s less than diverting sitting in that cramped loft, cousin. Maybe I could be about seeing if there’s a buyer for –’
A warning glance from Roo silenced him. ‘I have plans already. If you really want to get something done, return to the house across the way and inspect the wagon. Let me know what you think we need to repair the traces. You’re no teamster, but you’ve been around enough wagons to have some sense of it. If we need to buy new leathers, let me know. And if we can repair what’s there, so much the better.’
‘Then what?’ asked Duncan.
Roo reached into his tunic and pulled out the gold piece he had acquired from McKeller the day before. ‘Get something to eat, then buy what we need to refit the wagon. I need enough for two animals.’
‘Why?’ said Duncan. ‘That won’t buy what we need and get us horses. Besides, what are we going to haul?’
Roo said, ‘I have a plan.’
Duncan shook his head. ‘Your plans seem to lead nowhere, cousin.’ Roo’s features clouded and he was about to say something in anger, but Duncan said, ‘Still, it’s your gold and I’ve nothing better to do.’ His smile caused Roo’s anger to flee before it was fully formed. Duncan’s roguish ways always brought a smile to his lips.
‘Get on with you,’ said Roo. ‘One of us has to work for a living.’
Roo returned to the kitchen as he was due to return to the floor, and he regretted he had spent his few free moments talking with Duncan rather than grabbing a bite to eat, as was the purpose of the break. Suddenly he was hungry and that only made the day pass even more slowly.
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ asked Duncan.
Roo said, ‘No, but I can’t think of anything else to try.’ He adjusted the end of the silk bolt he carried under his arm.
They stood before a modest home, located as far from Barret’s as one could live without leaving the Merchants’ Quarter. Duncan carried the other end of the long bolt of silk, still wrapped in canvas and linen, and glanced around. They were not in a particularly rough part of town, but it wasn’t a completely safe area, either. Only one street over, a traveler would find the homes less cared for, occupied by working families, often several to a dwelling, four or five people living in a room. Roo shook his head as he realized this house was totally in keeping with what he would expect from Helmut Grindle.
Roo knocked on the door.
After a minute, a woman’s voice said, ‘Who is it?’
Roo said, ‘My name is Rupert Avery and I seek Helmut Grindle, a merchant with whom I am acquainted.’
A cleverly hidden peephole opened in the door – Roo noticed it only because of a tiny glint of light – then, after a moment, the door opened.
A plain-looking young woman, plump, with light brown hair pulled back under a modest fillet of dark cloth. Her blue eyes were narrow with suspicion, but she said, ‘Wait inside, sir.’
Roo and Duncan stepped inside. The girl turned and Roo noticed she wore simple but well-made and well-cared-for clothing. A possibility crossed his mind and he let his face cloud over.
‘What?’ whispered Duncan when they were alone.
‘I hope that’s the maid,’ was all Roo said.
A few minutes later a narrow-shouldered, stooped-over man entered, glanced at Roo, and said, ‘Avery! I had heard you’d been hung.’
‘Pardoned by the King himself,’ said Roo, ‘and any who don’t believe me are free to inquire at the palace. Tell them to ask for my good friend Duke James.’
A lively light came into Grindle’s eyes. ‘I may have someone do that.’ He motioned through a curtained doorway. ‘Come inside.’
They left the plainly decorated hallway and entered a very finely finished sitting room. The decor was what Rupert expected, and was consistent with what he had learned of Grindle when he and Erik had ridden along with him on the road to Krondor.
Grindle was a merchant who specialized in luxury goods, small and easily transported, which he moved across the Kingdom in ordinary wagons that looked to be carrying unremarkable wares. In fact they contained more gold in value per square foot than Roo had seen in any cargo during a young lifetime spent loading and unloading wagons.
The young woman returned and Grindle said, ‘Karli, bring us a bit of wine.’ He motioned for the two men to sit, and Duncan did. Roo introduced his cousin to the merchant, then said, ‘I hope we’re not intruding.’
‘Of course you’re intruding,’ said Grindle with no hint of tact. ‘But I suspect you’ve got some scheme or another that you think would interest me, and I find that sort of nonsense occasionally diverting.’ He glanced at the bundle that Duncan and Roo had put down, now propped against the side of Duncan’s chair, and said, ‘I suppose it has something to do with whatever you have in that large canvas bundle.’
The girl whom Roo – with an inward sigh of relief – took to be the maid, returned with a tray, three silver cups, and a carafe of wine. Roo sipped and smiled. ‘Not your best, but not your worst, either, Master Merchant?’
Grindle smiled. ‘You’re from Darkmoor, now that I think on it. Wine country. Well then, maybe if you can show me something worthwhile, I’ll pull the cork on something rare. What is your plan and how much gold do you need?’
His tone remained light, but Roo could see the suspicion in his eyes. This was as shrewd a man as Roo had ever encountered and one who would smell a confidence job before Roo could dream it up. There was nothing to be gained by trying to dupe the man.
Roo nodded and Duncan put down the bundle and slowly unwrapped it. When he had the canvas open, he began unwrapping the linen, and when at last the silk was revealed, Duncan stepped away.
Grindle quickly knelt and inspected the cloth, gently picking up a corner and thumbing the weave. He moved part of the bolt and calculated the weight and from that the length. From the size of the bolt, he knew the width. ‘You know what you have here?’ he asked.
Roo shrugged. ‘Keshian, I’m guessing.’
‘Yes,’ said Grindle. ‘Imperial. This silk is supposed to go to the Plateau of the Emperor. It is used to weave the little skirts and other light clothing worn by the Keshian True-bloods.’ A calculating look entered his eyes. ‘How did you come to possess this?’
Roo said, ‘Something like salvage. No one appeared who could prove ownership –’
Grindle laughed as he sat back down in his chair. ‘Of course not. It’s a capital offense to smuggle this silk from the Empire.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not that it’s the best in the world, you understand, but the Truebloods have a strange sense of ownership with anything associated with their history and traditions. They just don’t like the idea of anyone but one of their own possessing such items. Which makes them all the more valuable for those vain nobles who want something they’re not supposed to have.’
Roo said nothing. He simply looked at Grindle. At last the old man said, ‘So, what does this rare bit of contraband have to do with whatever plan you have rattling around in that devious skull of yours, Rupert?’
Roo said, ‘I don’t really have a plan.’ He outlined his attempts to import wine from Darkmoor in bulk, and, surprisingly enough, Grindle didn’t comment unfavorably on the idea. When he explained his encounter with the Mockers and the fatal outcome for Sam Tannerson, Grindle waved him to a halt.
‘You’re at the heart of the matter, now, boy.’ He sipped his own wine. ‘When you deal with this sort of item’ – he waved at the silk – ‘you’re dealing with the Mockers or those businessmen who must needs deal with them regularly.’ He tapped his chin with his bony finger. ‘Still, there are dressmakers who would pay dearly for silk of this quality.’
Duncan said, ‘What makes it so dear, besides the Imperial exclusive, I mean?’
Grindle shrugged. ‘It is rumored to come from giant worms or spiders or some other fantastic creatures, rather than from the usual silkworms. I have no idea if any of that is true, but there is this one thing: it’ll wear for years without losing its luster or shape. No other silk I know of can claim that.’
Again silence fell on the room, then Grindle said, ‘You still haven’t said what you wish of me.’
‘You’ve already been a great help,’ said Roo. ‘Truth to tell, I have a wagon but no horses and I was thinking of selling this. I thought perhaps you might suggest a likely buyer and a fair price.’
A calculating look crossed the merchant’s face. ‘I might.’ He then nodded once and added, ‘Yes, I just might.’
Duncan covered the silk again, and Grindle called out, ‘Karli!’ The girl appeared a moment later and Helmut Grindle said, ‘Daughter, bring me a bottle of that vintage from Oversbruk, what year was it?’
‘I know the one, Father.’
Looking from father to daughter, Roo forced a smile. He had two reasons not to smile. The first was the girl wasn’t the maid but the daughter. He sighed inwardly, and turned to smile in her direction. The other reason was the choice of wine. He knew exactly what Grindle was proposing to do: drink one of the very sweet Advarian-style wines that flourished in the cold climates of Grindle’s ancestors. Roo personally had had limited experience with sweet wines, and had only drunk such on one occasion, a bottle he had stolen from his father’s wagon the last time the rare handpicked berry wine had been transported into Ravensburg. He had suffered the worst hangover of his young life from drinking too much, but he knew that right now he wanted nothing more in life than Helmut Grindle’s approval, and he would drink the entire bottle if asked. Then, glancing at the plump and plain girl, he knew he also wanted the girl’s approval as well.
His steady gaze caused the girl to blush as she left the room, and Grindle said, ‘None of that, you young rogue.’
Roo forced a grin. ‘Well, it’s hard to ignore a pretty girl.’
Grindle erupted in laughter. ‘I told you once before, Avery, that your biggest fault was in thinking other people were not half as clever as you.’
Roo had the good grace to blush, and when the girl returned with the sweet white wine, he said nothing. When they had hoisted a toast, Duncan offering up some meaningless pledge of good faith and hope for good fortune, Roo said, ‘Then I guess we’re going to do some business?’
Helmut Grindle’s expression turned from an affable smile to stony coldness as he said, ‘Perhaps.’ He leaned forward. ‘I can read you like a parchment nailed to the side of a tavern, Roo Avery, so let me set you straight on some things.
‘I spent enough time with you and your friend Erik on the road to have a good sense of you. You’re smart, and you’re clever, and those aren’t the same thing; you have a cunning nature but I think you’re willing to learn.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m an old man with a homely daughter and no one pays court to her who doesn’t have his eye on my purse.’ He halted, and when Roo said nothing in protest, he nodded once and continued. ‘But I won’t be around forever and when I’m dead I want grandchildren at my bedside shedding tears. If the price of such vanity is finding my son-in-law among those who have an eye on my purse before my daughter, so be it. But I’ll pick the best of them. I want a man who will take care of my grandchildren and their mother.’ He spoke even softer. ‘I need someone to take over my trade and to care for my girl. I don’t know if you’re the lad, but you might be.’
Roo looked back into the old man’s eyes and saw in them a will as hard and unyielding as any he had encountered, including Bobby de Loungville’s. He only said, ‘If I can be.’
‘Well then,’ answered Grindle, ‘the cards are on the table, as the gamblers say.’
Duncan looked as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was hearing, but he continued to smile as if this had been but another friendly chat over wine.
‘What should I do with the silk?’ Grindle asked.
Roo considered, then answered: ‘I need a start. Take the silk, and give me horses, refit my wagon, and give me a cargo and a place to take it. Let me prove myself to you.’
Grindle rubbed his chin. ‘That silk is decent collateral, no doubt.’ He waved his hand in the air, as if calculating figures in his mind. Then he said, ‘One more thing before I say yes or no. Who will be looking to find you for loss of that silk?’
Roo glanced at Duncan, who shrugged. Roo had told him of the run-in with Jacoby, and Duncan didn’t seem to think it worth holding back.
Roo said, ‘I think Tim Jacoby had the silk smuggled in from Kesh. Or he was to receive it from whoever did. In any event, let’s say he’s less than pleased with not having it tonight.’
‘Jacoby?’ said Grindle. Then he grinned. ‘His father and I are old enemies. We were boys together, friends once. I hear his son Randolph is a decent enough boy, but Timothy is a different sort; he’s a bad fellow. So I gain no new enemies by supporting you in this.’
‘Then we’re in business?’ asked Roo.
‘Seems we are,’ answered Grindle. He poured more wine. ‘Now, another drink.’
They drank, and after the second glass, Duncan said, ‘You wouldn’t have another daughter, then, would you? A pretty one, perhaps?’
Roo covered his eyes but was taken aback when Grindle laughed. He uncovered his eyes and was surprised to see Helmut Grindle genuinely amused at the question.
They drank the bottle dry and spoke of many things, but mostly Helmut Grindle and Rupert Avery made plans, discussing various trading strategies and cargoes, which routes to take, and after a while neither man noticed that Duncan had fallen asleep in his chair or that Karli Grindle had come down, removed the bottle of wine, replaced the low, guttering candle, and retired, leaving the two men to talk late into the night.
Roo said, ‘Look alert.’
Duncan nodded. ‘See them.’
They were driving a wagon along the coast road, just south of the town of Sarth, the next safe harbor north of the city of Krondor. The wagon had been restored to Roo’s satisfaction and the horses were fine animals, and Grindle assured him that his share of the profits from the silk would prove ample for his participation in this undertaking.
A band of armed men gathered near the roadside, holding some sort of discussion. As the wagon approached, one of the armed men called it to the attention of the rest, so that by the time Roo and Duncan were upon the group, the men were arrayed across the road, with one in front holding up his hand.
‘Who disputes my right to pass on the King’s Highway?’ demanded Roo.
‘No man,’ said the leader, ‘but these are difficult days and we need to ask if you’ve seen armed men riding past to the south.’
‘None,’ said Duncan.
‘Who are they?’ asked Roo.
‘Bandits, and they hit us late last night. A full score of them, or more,’ said a man nearby.
The leader threw the man a black look over his shoulder, then said to Roo, ‘Bandits. Late last night they robbed a couple of merchants, ransacking their stores, then robbed the two inns in the town.’
Roo glanced at Duncan, who looked amused. It was nearly midafternoon, and there was a small ale cask nearby, so Roo was pretty convinced these ‘soldiers’ had been debating the best course of action since dawn.
‘You’re the town militia?’ asked Roo.
The leader puffed up a bit. ‘Yes, we are! In service to the Duke of Krondor, but freemen protecting our own.’
‘Well then,’ said Roo, as he urged his horses forward, ‘you had better get right after them.’
The man who was doing the talking said, ‘Well, that’s the problem, then, isn’t it? We don’t know where they went. So we’re not too sure which is the best way to take out after them.’
‘North,’ said Roo.
‘That’s what I said!’ The man who had presumed to talk before was speaking again.
‘Why north?’ demanded the leader of Roo.
‘Because we’ve been on the road since leaving Krondor. If raiders had hit you, then fled south, they would have passed us on their way. None came by us this morning, so it’s safe to assume they’re heading north up toward Hawk’s Hollow or Questor’s View.’ Roo was no student of geography, but he knew enough about trade routes to know that once past the northeast branch road that led up the eastern edge of the Calastius Mountains, there was no easy route across them south of Sarth.
One of the more drunken soldiers said, ‘Why not west or east?’
Roo shook his head. To the leader he said, ‘Sergeant?’ The man nodded. ‘Sergeant, if they were heading west, they would have been in boats, not on horseback, and to the east lies what?’
‘Only the road to the Abbey of Sarth and more mountains.’
Roo said, ‘They’ve gone north. And odds are they’re bound for Ylith, for where else would they fence what they’ve stolen here?’
That was enough for the leader, who said, ‘Men, we ride!’
The deputation of town militia moved in something like haste, though some of the defenders of Sarth were having difficulty moving in a straight line.
Roo continued up the road, and watched as the little squad headed for various locations around the town, to get their mounts.
‘Think they’ll find the bandits?’ asked Duncan.
‘Only if they are very unfortunate,’ said Roo.
‘Where’s the Prince’s army?’ asked Duncan.
Roo said, ‘Off on the Prince’s business, I should think.’ Sarth lay within the boundaries of the Principality of Krondor, which meant it had no local earl, baron, or duke to answer to, and to provide protection. Krondorian soldiers would ride a regular patrol from the boundary between the Principality and the Duchy of Yabon to the north to the city of Krondor itself. But for local problems, a militia, watch, or town constable would have primary responsibility to keep the peace until such a patrol arrived, or answered a request for help.
Roo and Duncan had been pleased with the beginning of the journey. Roo had tendered his resignation from Barret’s, and had been surprised to hear something akin to regret from McKeller. He promised Jason that should fate take a kind turn, he might find him a position that matched his wit someday.
Helmut Grindle had been straightforward enough about bringing Roo into the business. He had spoken several times of matching the boy, as Grindle called Roo, with his daughter, Karli. A couple of passing references had caused the girl to blush when she was in earshot, but Grindle had at no time bothered to ask his daughter what she thought of the matter.
Roo had joked with Erik about marrying Helmut Grindle’s ugly daughter, and now that the reality was before him, he wondered at his quips. The girl wasn’t ugly, just not very attractive, but then neither was Roo, so he didn’t think much about that. He knew that if he were to become rich enough he could afford pretty mistresses, and that his primary obligation to Grindle would be to keep his daughter fat with child and ensure that the old man’s grandchildren were well fed and provided for. Roo also knew that if he could build upon what Grindle already had in his possession, he stood to inherit – or, rather, Karli stood to inherit, which would be the same thing – quite a tidy sum, and that with that to work with, why, there was no limit to his future.
Roo had talked with Duncan about several plans he had, but Duncan’s interest in business was cursory, beginning and ending with when he would be paid and how much, and where the nearest whore or willing barmaid might be found. Traveling with Duncan had been an education for Roo, and he found himself more likely to spend the night with a tavern wench than alone because of Duncan’s influence, but he was constantly amazed at how focused Duncan could become on wooing an innkeeper’s pretty daughter. The man had a passion for women that far exceeded Roo’s normal young male appetite.
Duncan, on the other hand, had absolutely none of Roo’s passion for riches. He had traveled, fought, loved, drunk, and ate, and his dreams were not shared. But while easy money appealed to him, hard-earned money was something that would never come his way.
Roo drove through the south end of Sarth, and when he saw a store with a broken-in door, he pulled over. ‘Keep an eye on things,’ he said to Duncan as he jumped down from the buckboard.
He entered the establishment and saw at once it had been totally ransacked. ‘Good day,’ he said to the merchant, who looked at him with an expression halfway between irritation and hopelessness.
‘Good day, sir,’ said the merchant. ‘As you can see, I am unable to conduct business in my usual manner.’
Roo studied the merchant, a middle-aged man with an expanding middle. ‘So I’ve heard. I’m a trader, by name Rupert Avery,’ he said, sticking out his hand. ‘I’m on my way to Ylith, but perhaps I may be of some service.’
The merchant shook in a distracted manner and said, ‘I’m John Vinci. What do you mean?’
‘I am a trader, as I said, and I am able perhaps to provide some goods that you may need to replace your pillaged stores.’
The man’s manner changed instantly, and he regarded Roo with a studied expression, as if suddenly he had wagered every coin he owned on the outcome of a bet. ‘What sort of goods?’
‘Only the finest, and I am embarked upon a journey to Ylith, and was planning on purchasing goods to return to Krondor, but I may be able to add a leg, as it were, providing you can, in turn, trade with me those goods I was seeking to purchase in Ylith.’
The man said, ‘What manner of goods?’
‘Goods easily transported in small quantity, but of high enough quality to ensure me a profit.’
The merchant studied Roo a moment, then nodded. ‘I understand. You trade in high-priced baubles for the nobility.’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, I need little in the way of finery, but I could certainly use a dozen bolts of sturdy linen, some needles of steel, and other goods required by the townspeople.’
Roo nodded. ‘I can take a list with me to Ylith and return within two weeks. What have you to offer?’
The merchant shrugged. ‘I had a small cache of gold, but those bastards found it quickly.’
Roo smiled. The merchant had most certainly left a small strongbox of gold poorly hidden to let the raiders think they had captured his only treasure, but almost as certainly had another, richer, deposit of coins nearby. ‘Some items of worth?’
The merchant shrugged. ‘A few articles, perhaps, but nothing that might be called unique.’
‘Unique is for the very rare client,’ said Roo. He rubbed his chin and said, ‘Just something that might wait a long time to find a buyer here, but that might find a quick home in Krondor.’
The merchant stood motionless for a moment, then said, ‘Come with me.’
He led Roo through the back of the store and out across a small courtyard and into his home. A pale woman worked in the kitchen while two small children fought over possession of a toy. The man said, ‘Wait here,’ without bothering to introduce his wife to Roo, and went up a narrow flight of stairs. He returned a few moments later and held out a leather-covered box.
Roo took the box and opened it. Inside was a single piece of jewelry, an emerald necklace, closer to a full choker, of matched stones. It was set with cut diamonds, tiny but brilliant, and the goldwork was fine. Roo had no idea of its real worth, but calculated it was probably of fine enough quality to warrant a second look from even the most jaded dealer in gems.
‘What do you want for it?’
‘I was keeping this as a hedge against a disaster,’ said the merchant, ‘and this qualifies as one, I guess.’ He shrugged. ‘I need to restock, and quickly. My business will be nonexistent if I can’t provide goods to the townspeople.’
Roo was silent for a minute, then said, ‘Here’s what I’ll do. Give me a list of what you need, and we’ll go over it together. If we can agree upon a price, then I’ll bring back the goods from Ylith, within two weeks, perhaps as quickly as ten days, and then you’ll be back in business.’
The man frowned. ‘There’s a Quegan trader due in less than a week.’
‘And what assurance have you he’ll have any of the goods you need?’ said Roo instantly. ‘What good would it do you if he’s a slaver?’
The man shook his head. ‘None, but then again, we don’t see a lot of slavers in these parts.’ Slavery was banned in the Kingdom, save in the case of condemned criminals, and the importation of slaves from Kesh or Queg was illegal.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Roo. ‘For a small premium, I can bring you exactly what you need.’
The man hesitated, and Roo said, ‘The children will continue to eat.’
The merchant said, ‘Very well. Go to the inn at the end of the street and find a room. I’ll meet you for supper and we’ll go over the list together.’
Roo shook hands with the man and hurried to where Duncan waited. Duncan was half-dozing when Roo climbed aboard the wagon. ‘What?’ he said in sleepy tones.
‘The inn,’ said Roo. ‘We find ourselves a room and make a deal.’
Duncan shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
Roo grinned. ‘I say so.’
Helmut Grindle looked up when Roo entered his study. ‘And how did we do, young Rupert?’
Roo sat and nodded in appreciation when Karli entered with a glass of wine for him. He sipped at it and said, ‘Very well, I think.’
‘You think?’ asked Grindle, sitting back in his chair. He glanced through the window where Duncan stood watch over the wagon. ‘I don’t see a wagon large with cargo, so I must assume you found something tiny but valuable.’
Roo said, ‘Something like that. I took our goods to Ylith and, after three days of shopping them around, made trades I thought were most profitable, and restocked with goods.’
Grindle’s eyes narrowed. ‘What manner of goods?’
Roo grinned. ‘Twenty bolts of fine linen, two hogsheads of steel nails, ten dozen steel needles, a dozen hammers, five saws, one gross spool of fine thread –’
Grindle interrupted. ‘What?’ He held up his hand. ‘You speak of common inventory! What of the long discussions we had on rare items of value for wealthy clients?’
Roo said, ‘I got a little gold as well.’
Grindle sat back in his chair and fingered his shirtfront. ‘You’re holding back something. What is it?’
‘I took those items mentioned and traded them in Sarth for this.’ He held out the leather box.
Grindle took it and opened it. He sat silently for a very long time, examining the necklace. After a moment he said, ‘This is very fine.’ He calculated in his head. ‘But not worth enough more than what I sent north to make this a very profitable journey.’
Roo laughed and reached inside his tunic. He pulled out a large purse, which he tossed on the table. It landed with a heavy clank. ‘As I said, I got a little gold as well.’
Grindle opened the purse and quickly counted. He sat back with a smile. ‘This is a profit to be reckoned with, my boy.’
‘I got lucky,’ Roo said.
‘Luck is when those who are prepared take advantage of the moment,’ answered Grindle.
Roo shrugged, trying hard to look modest and failing.
Grindle turned toward the rear of the house and called, ‘Karli!’
After a moment the girl appeared. ‘Yes, Father?’
‘Karli, I’ve given young Avery here leave to pay court to you. He will come to escort you out next Sixthday eve.’
Karli looked at her father, then Roo, uncertainty etched on her features. She hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, Father.’
Looking at Roo, she said, ‘Sixthday, then, sir.’
Roo sat awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Then he nodded, saying, ‘After the noon meal.’
The girl fled through the curtains at the rear of the room, and Roo wondered if he should have said something pleasant, such as he looked forward to it, or she looked attractive in her gown. He shook off the irritation that this uncertainty brought, and counseled himself to quiz his cousin Duncan on what to say to the girl, then returned to matters at hand.
Grindle poured them both a stiff drink of sweet wine and said, ‘Now tell me how you did this, my boy. Every step of the way.’
Roo smiled, basking in the approval written in Grindle’s eyes as he beamed at Roo, occasionally looking down at the necklace.