In The Prince's Secret Service - 10. Merchant-Adventurers

As the Royal Road neared Decan, the companions caught glimpses of the Saaraan River in its gorge. By the time the road markers indicated they were within 10 miles of the city, the road paralleled the gorge. The river rushed and burbled over rapids or slid through quiet pools, depending on its mood. The center flowed slowly, suggesting a deep channel through which boats could move.

The town of Decan was nestled between two hills and the river. Aqueducts entered the city from the south, carrying water for the town’s cisterns, sewers, and mills. The town was fortified with high, stone walls on the south, east, and north. On the west side of town, stone docks projected from somewhat lower walls.

Guards in livery greeted the companions politely enough at the gate, and the formalities were brief. In response to Alan’s query, the tween Sembler who verified their identities suggested an inn near the south end of town, on the wall beside the river. “My sister owns the inn,” he said, “but, in truth, it is most pleasant and well priced.”

The Royal Road led directly through the town, with short side roads branching off to the docks on the right, and longer roads running toward the hills on the left. The inn—whose sign proclaimed it to be The Water Lily—was just inside the southern gate, which was still open in the long afternoon of summer at southern latitudes. The mistress of The Water Lily was brisk, but courteous. “Five of you, and five horses…you’ll want supper and breakfast?”

“Yes, Mistress,” replied Alan, “for three days. We’d like to stay through Mid-Summer day and leave the second day after.”

“Thirty shillings, then; that includes the horses’ feed. A barge with oats landed yesterday, and we got a good price on them. Supper tonight is one hour after vespers…and that’s in…” she glanced at the shadow of a gnomon on the wall, “…about two hours. Plenty of time to bathe. Eric will show you around.” A young boy who had been setting up tables came over when he heard his name spoken.

“Eric, please take these boys to the stable, show them to the big room, and start the bath heating.”

“Yes, Mother,” the boy said as he gestured for Alan to follow him.

The stable were across the Royal Road from the inn, and behind a jeweler’s shop that faced the road. “They’ll be safe, here,” Eric explained. “This is the jeweler’s stable. He has a private guard, and the city guard keeps mostly to the Royal Road, anyway.”

There were three other horses in the stable: a pair of matching grays, and a large, well-formed roan.

“That’s a fine looking horse,” Alan said, standing before the roan.

“He certainly is,” James said.

“Thank you,” Eric said, and blushed. “He’s mine. I don’t get to ride him as much as I’d like…nor as much as he’d like, either,” the boy said as he stroked the horse’s nose. “Since Pap died, and all my brothers gone off, it’s just Mam and me to run the inn. Not counting my sister. She’s married, and lives down the street. She comes in each day to cook.”

After allocating stalls to the companions’ horses, Eric helped Alan unload and curry Dasher, while the two boys talked animatedly about the virtues of each other’s horses. Afterwards, Eric showed the companions to their room. “This’ll be your room. It’s a little big for five, but all the others would be too small. I’ll go start the fire for the bath water…it’ll take a while to warm…about an hour. That’ll still leave plenty of time…” Eric’s words tumbled from his mouth.

Patrick glanced at James and Kenneth, who both nodded. “That won’t be necessary, Eric. There’s more than enough heat in the stones of the building to warm the bath water with a little magic…and we’ll do that. Perhaps it will save you enough time for other chores that you can go for a ride with us tomorrow,” the Elf said.

Eric looked startled. “You’re a mage? You sure don’t look like one. Are all Elves mages? We don’t see…” The boy paused. “Sorry. Mam always says I’m too nosey and ask too many questions of the guests…Yes, I’d love to ride with you, tomorrow. I’ll ask Mam…I hope she agrees…” The boy rushed off.

“He’s lonely,” Thom said quietly to Alan as the two washed each other. Their companions were already clean and in the hot soak, which Patrick had heated to a few degrees above body temperature.

“Hmm,” answered Alan. He knew that Thom would finish his thought, and that he got more out of the boy by letting Thom know he was listening, than by questioning.

“Eric is lonely,” Thom continued. “I know. He’s like me, with just my father at the Wooden Troll. Eric’s happier; his mother is a lot nicer than my father ever could be; but he’s lonely. I can tell.”

“Um-hmm,” Alan said as he applied boy magic to clean behind Thom’s ears.

“He misses his brothers, too. I never had brothers, so I don’t know what it’s like to miss them. I guess one of them initiated him in the Mysteries. It must have been nice,” Thom said, wistfully.

“Um-hmm,” Alan said as he added shampoo to Thom’s hair.

“I was probably lucky,” Thom said, “that it wasn’t one of my father’s cronies who initiated me. I had a friend, William, a tween who delivered straw to the inn’s stable, and took away the muck. His father and mine didn’t get along, but I think William’s father was responsible…he got my father to let me visit William…on a farm just outside the city. William was sweet, gentle. He left home while I was kidnapped. I don’t know what happened to him…”

“I think Eric would be sweet, too…”

“Does he remind you of William,” Alan asked, concerned that Thom might be trying to recreate something in his past…something Patrick and James had privately warned Alan about.

“What? Oh no, he’s a lot different. I just think he would be sweet…”

“Perhaps tomorrow, after our ride, you could ask him to share…” Alan suggested, to Thom.

“Oh,” Thom said, “Might I? I mean…Should I? Would it be okay with you and Patrick? And the others?”

“Of course, Thom. As long as we are companions, Patrick and I are responsible for your safety. If we don’t know the boy, you must ask me or Patrick—or James—first. But you may invite others to share your bed, if you wish. We would not refuse you if the boy were Good.”

*****

Mid-Summer Day, and the night of that day, were celebrated by people of the Light with bonfires and fireworks, symbols to affirm a commitment to the Light and to defy the gathering Dark as the days grew shorter and the seasons marched toward Mid-Winter. The rituals were symbolic rather than superstitious, and mostly provided an excuse for celebration. In Decan, as in many towns, the evening’s fireworks and bonfires were preceded by a daylong festival. Custom decreed that festival attendees be in costume. The companions were ill prepared.

“I’d like to go to the festival, but what can we do for costumes?” Patrick asked. “We have nothing but our ordinary clothes, and little time to prepare.”

“We could go as the Five Fishermen,” Kenneth said.

“I don’t know the five fishermen,” Thom said. “Who are they?”

“They’re in a fable that my eldest brother used to tell me,” Kenneth said.

The Five Fishermen

There were five brothers, who were fishermen. They fished in a lake from a boat, and used thin bamboo rods with lines and hooks tied to them. One day, one of the brothers hooked a fish that was so big it broke his thin rod, so he cut a thicker rod. He started catching bigger fish, so his brothers cut bigger rods, as well. They caught bigger fish, too, and decided that if they had really big rods, they would catch bigger fish. They all cut huge rods. The next time they went fishing, they each hooked really big fish, all at the same time, and were pulled out of the boat. They would have drowned if they hadn’t turned loose of their rods. The next day, they went back to using thin bamboo.

*****

“We can use our quarterstaffs as fishing rods,” Kenneth said. “I saw a stationer next door to the Temple School. We can make fish out of foolscap and colored ink, and tie them to string from our quarterstaffs,” Kenneth added.

“Sure, I know that story,” James said.

“I remember it, too, and I like it…they’ll probably not want swords worn during the festival, and a quarterstaff is better than no weapon at all,” Alan said.

Eric was expected to work during most of the festival, but his mother agreed that he could join the companions for a ride in the afternoon, and said that supper would be served at nightfall on the porch overlooking the river. “Our bonfires will be lit on rafts just up the river, and will float past the town. The fireworks will be over the river, as well. If the weather is good—and it promises to be—it’s a spectacular sight.”

Because Decan was squeezed between the river and the mountains, the town did not have a square. The festival was held along the main street. The companions joined the crowd that filled the street. The striking appearances of Patrick, the redheaded Elf, and of Alan, the tall, ash-blond Human, or perhaps that the companions were strangers, attracted considerable attention. Many of the children seemed familiar with the fable of the Five Fishermen, and skipped along after them. Their numbers increased when Alan bought a bag of candies, and freely distributed them to the rag-tag army that gathered.

When a man juggling flaming torches diverted the children’s attention, Patrick whispered to Alan, “Don’t you think we’re attracting too much attention?”

Alan demurred. “You said this was a Good place, and we’re traveling as a group of boys from the capital city on a hunting trip. We’re supposed to attract attention. Besides, you’ll want to talk to merchants, tomorrow, and it won’t hurt if they remember our generosity, today.”

“You’re right, of course,” Patrick said.

Alan hugged his companion, “So, let’s have some fun!”

Thom, especially, was agog at the festival. Not only was the first festival he’d attended since his rescue, but also it was so much more than he’d ever experienced. “We never did anything like this back home,” he said, over and over, as he dragged the companions from one sight to another. Besides the man juggling fire, there were acrobats, puppet shows, musicians, and dancers. Every few yards there was a merchant or vendor with a pushcart offering food and drink. The crowd ebbed and flowed from one attraction to another.

All the while, Patrick made mental notes. This merchant had inlayed wooden boxes, small enough and well enough made that they might be worth shipping to Arcadia for sale. Here, a weaver displayed fine cloth with patterns that might catch the eye of even a sophisticate in the capital city. This vintner offered a wine so dry it puckered the lips, but which also carried the flavor of summer flowers and cardamom; it would be highly prized, and worth the cost of shipping. That currier offered baldrics on which designs were highlighted with brilliant colors.

By early afternoon, the companions had seen all there was to see, and were glad to return to the inn, where Eric was waiting.

“All chores done,” he reported. “Mam and Sister are in the kitchen. It’s going to be a fine supper. Mam said that she’d serve starting two hours after vespers, so we have time for a ride and a bath!”

Patrick and James remained at the inn, making notes on what they’d seen, and drafting letters to be sent back to Arcadia, while Alan took the boys riding.

*****

“I understand you’ve met my brother, Carl,” Eric’s mother and the Mistress of the Water Lily said as the companions entered the patio overlooking the river.

“Yes, we have. He is responsible for our being here, although we didn’t know his name until now,” Patrick said.

Alan gave Eric’s mother a basket. “A vintner at the festival was offering this wine; we thought you might like it.”

After supper, while waiting for the bonfires and fireworks, Patrick cautiously explained to Carl the nature of their visit to Deccan. “We travel to Agium to visit one of Alan’s friends; we’ve been working for a trader in Fortmain, and we’re investigating trade possibilities as we go along. Tomorrow, James and I hope to visit some merchants and get an idea of what business they might have for caravans between here and Fortmain and on to Arcadia.”

Carl offered to accompany them, “I’m not on duty at the gate tomorrow, and I do know a lot of the people in town—and they know me. I would be happy to walk around the town with you.”

The supper, bonfires and fireworks were as spectacular as promised, nor was it difficult to convince Carl and Eric to join the companions in their room, afterwards.

Patrick had accepted Carl’s offer to be their guide. The next morning at tierce he and James set off with Carl. Thom and Kenneth were delighted to have the day off, and worked out some arrangement with Eric and his mother to share the boy’s tasks so that they could have the afternoon to ride and then swim in the river. Alan had volunteered to chaperone the boys.

Alan and the boys had finished bathing when Carl, Patrick, and James returned to the inn. After washing each other, the three tweens sat in the hot soak. Patrick thanked Carl for his help during the day, and then broached a more delicate matter.

“There is another side of our business that is concerned with the safety of caravans. We know that there have been a number of attacks on caravans in this area and especially to the south, but we don’t have enough information to assess the risk accurately. We would like to learn about such raids—in detail, where that is possible. That might help us determine where and when it was safe to ship, how many guards would be needed…things like that,” Patrick explained to Carl.

Carl thought for a moment before replying. “You did not forget that I am a Sembler, did you? Eric told me you were a mage, but my talent is inborn, so you wouldn’t feel a spell. There’s truth in what you say, but there’s more to it, too.”

James and Patrick exchanged glances before Patrick replied, “No, we didn’t forget, nor were we testing you. There is more, but before we tell it, will you swear on the Light never to reveal it?”

“Since you ask that I swear on the Light, I will trust that you serve the Light. I will swear on the Light that I will not reveal your secret,” Carl replied.

James let out the breath he had been holding. Asking someone to keep a secret was an admission that there was a secret that needed to be kept.

Patrick continued, “The impact of brigand activity on trade is only the surface of a much deeper pool of information that we—James and I—collect. We are interested in all activities of Evil or Darkness. It is believed that the Dark is trying to rise in Arcadia and the information we gather is used to assess the danger and to combat it. Not by us. We play a small part. The information that we gather is sent not to merchants and traders, but to Prince Auric and King Oberon. The information that we would ask you to gather would similarly be sent to Arcadia—to a secret address from which it would be forwarded to the prince.”

Patrick paused; Carl was still; James held his breath again. Was this a good idea? Is it worth the risk to Kenneth and Thom? he wondered.

“Of course,” Carl said. He smiled. “I thought it was a bit odd that someone with horses as fine as yours, and who paid my sister in gold for their lodging, would be interested in the small profits to be made by shipping Master Accord’s baldrics to Arcadia.”

“Were we that obvious?” Patrick asked, alarm in his voice.

“Only to a Sembler,” Carl said. “No, the merchants you talked to were completely taken in, and are looking forward to opening new routes of trade.”

The tween hesitated, and then continued. “You will be opening new trade routes, won’t you? You weren’t lying to them, were you? It didn’t seem like it.”

“Oh, no. That is, we weren’t lying,” James said.

Patrick added, “The names of the merchants, the nature of their goods, and the amounts they described at the prices they quoted will be sent by letter to merchants in Fortmain and Arcadia. The people here will be contacted within the next month or two at the most. Of course, the prices will be bargained, but if contracts can be agreed, trade will be open. We are legitimate—if somewhat inexperienced—traders.

“On the other hand, the information gathering is secret. Where it affects trade, it can be discussed openly, but…well, sometimes we find it very hard to separate the open information from the secret information.”

Patrick went on to explain how to communicate, both openly and secretly, with a correspondent in Arcadia. Since Carl did not have the talent magically to seal a letter, Patrick went to great lengths to describe circumlocutions that Carl might use. He also established a phrase, much as Cadfael had established for Patrick and Alan, by which Carl might know that a message was, indeed, from Patrick.

Patrick’s letter to Cadfael described, in very general terms, the various trade opportunities he had identified.

…and, he wrote, the merchants to whom we spoke seemed eager to establish trade routes to the north. They are accustomed only to sending goods south, to Agium. The Saaraan River is navigable all the way to the sea, and enters the sea but a short distance south of Arcadia, at Valparasio. Sending goods by barge down river, and then by ship or land from Valparasio might be feasible.

We have recruited a correspondent who will begin sending reports on trade opportunities in this area. We were quite open with him about the business, and believe his reports will be both reliable and useful.

I remember your love of coffee, and have enclosed a jar of some that is grown on the shaded slopes of the hills. The soil is said to be volcanic, and the coffee is supposed to be quite good although I’ve not tried it.

“But he doesn’t like coffee,” Alan said. “And he knows that you do. Ah, you want him to be careful opening the jar.” Alan’s talent for riddles allowed him to penetrate Patrick’s ruse.

“Yes. He won’t harm the magical seal on the note that’s packed inside the coffee. It has Carl’s name, as well as the names, trade items, quantities, and costs of the items that will be available for trade.”

“Do you really think that he’ll set up a caravan or barge route all the way here?” James asked.

“Yes, I think he will. In addition to strengthening ties to the capital city, such trade—the profits from it, at least—are, I’m sure, what Cadfael uses to fund the Intelligence Corps,” Patrick said.

*****

Carl had left as soon as curfew was lifted, kissing each of the companions, and giving his nephew Eric an especially warm hug. Eric was lucky to have met such fine boys, Carl thought. He’s been lonely…I should visit him more often.

Eric and his mother saw the companions on their way. The sun had not yet crested the mountains, but the sky was bright, and the mountains west of the river were tinged with rose. The gate was open, and the companions rode briskly south toward Sophie.

“According to Stoltz’s data and map,” Patrick said, “many of the raids occur near Sophie.” He showed the map he’d sketched. “It looks as if the raiders are coming from the swamp…but there’s no way to be sure. We’ll need to keep a sharp eye out.”