Merchant and Magic, page 8
part #1 of Merchant and Magic Series
The next day, despite the holiday, a messenger came from junior mayor Antil Webeker, summoning Tycho to an urgent small-court. Tycho brought Ewoud along so the young man could see what it was like. A servant had started a fire in the chamber’s ornate fireplace, and the heat felt welcome after the cold walk from the house. The pale chamber always seemed cold to Tycho—a pleasant coolness in summer and an ache-inducing chill come winter. The paneling was lighter and simpler than in the great room, probably because the smaller court had been constructed later, during a space of hard years when the city had far less money to spend on luxuries like inlaid paneling.
Tycho turned from the fire to see the others taking their places in front of the wooden rail-bar and brown-draped judges’ table. Antil Webeker had tied dark-brown cloth to his merchant’s staff and Tycho stiffened. So did the other men as they entered the smaller gathering room, once they saw the death-cloths on the mayor’s staff and the judges’ table. He could guess who had died, and what the problem was. There were always problems, always always.
The dozen or so men and a few other witnesses stood in a loose half-circle behind the wooden bar separating the judges’ table from the rest of the room. A small door opened behind the table, and three men in white judges’ masks and dark blue gowns entered, followed by a woman in dark brown wearing a gold chain of authority and carrying a red-sealed leather folder. A boy—perhaps eight years old—walked behind her, carrying a ledger and peering around as if he’d never seen the room before. The woman and boy had empty, worn faces, and she seemed to be shaking as if with summer’s fever chills. They stopped two paces from the judges’ table and Webeker spoke to them. The woman nodded and led the boy off to the side, into the area reserved for petitioners and witnesses. Webeker turned to the gathered men as the judges took their seats. The woman handed the folder to the clerk, who in turn passed it to the closest judge then took his place in the back, recording every word.
“Andrade Godkurt and his two oldest sons are dead. They died outside the gates of Harnancourd, killed by road-robbers.” Webeker stopped, waiting for the hisses and snarls to fade. All the traders made the horns, warding off similar fates. “They were not alone, but had gotten separated from the rest of the group by difficulties with the ferry. Before you ask, the lord of Harnancourd is investigating to see if the difficulty was deliberate or because of an accident.” He shifted so that he faced the woman.
She spoke calmly and clearly, her voice carrying so all could hear. “My lord and husband left instructions for such a thing. But he did not anticipate his primary heirs dying with him.”
The judge on the left-hand end of the table broke open the seal after showing it to the group. Tycho leaned forward, then nodded like the others. What he saw matched Andrade’s seals on the barrels he’d brought back for him. If the magic matched he could not say. No one raised a protest, so he took the seal to be genuine. The judge removed papers from the folder and showed them to his associates and the junior mayor as the watchers observed in silence. Tycho wondered how close to Harnancourd’s walls the men had been when they were attacked. It had been a few years since he’d travelled that route, and he recalled a bend in the road just north of the river and ferry, where rocks and trees had hidden the way ahead. If Andrade had been there alone, and had decided not to wait for the rest of the larger group to catch up…
“This will states that Marta Godkurt born Corwindes is to give authority to Karl Andrade Godkurt, eldest son of the couple. No provision is made for an exception.” The judge sounded irritated behind his mask, and Tycho and several others made “tsking” sounds of disapproval. What had Andrade been thinking? “Marta Godkurt is to turn over all books and the chain of authority to Karl Andrade. She will receive her dower and a widow’s portion. The unmarried children of the house will receive a quarter share of the estate, payable upon their majority, and will remain in the house with their mother and Karl until they come of age.
“All unpaid debts are owed to Karl and he is charged with collecting them. Karl receives authority to pay all known outstanding debts, either in full or in proportion to the amount owed until such time as all debts can be cleared. All contracts are transferred to Karl and Karl alone.” The judge set down the page, and Webeker appeared to be fighting the desire to speak. “Karl Andrade Godkurt is dead, and left no testament or widow.”
Tycho winced. Ugh, what a disaster. By city law, Andrade’s estate lapsed to the city and would be divided among his creditors in its entirety, leaving nothing for his widow or surviving child or children. Children? Tycho tried to recall but couldn’t. Widow Godkurt nudged her youngest son, and he stared at her. She leaned over, whispered, and he straightened up, carrying the ledger to the judges. The man on the right end of the table stood and met the boy, taking the heavy book from him and sending him back to his mother. The judge passed the ledger to the man in the center, who opened the book and studied the most-recent entries. “Current holdings are valued at two gold kog, eighteen vlaat in the city now and three kog, one thin-half-kog four vlaat outstanding. Debts owed three kog, nineteen vlaat.”
“That is if my lord of Harnancourd releases what remains of my lord husband’s goods, sirs,” the woman said. She remained calm and Tycho admired her composure. She had the dark skin of someone from the sea islands to the east, and looked young, with a round face under her headdress. Was she his first or second wife? Second, Tycho remembered. The first had died of winter cough twelve years ago.
Tycho considered what Andrade had owed him and raised his hand. The judge with the ledger nodded. “I release half Andrade Godkurt’s debt to my house. I, Tycho Galnaar speak.” It wasn’t much, a few vlaat, but mercy to the widow and child seemed only right.
“I release a quarter of Andrade Godkurt’s debt to my house. I, Dalmat Enkerman speak,” came from behind Tycho. The others followed suit, releasing parts of the debt in order to leave at least survival funds for the remaining family. Andrade had paid his debts on time as best he could when the gods willed, and had shown mercy himself on occasion. To do any less would be to tempt Maarsrodi’s displeasure.
The judge who had read the will stood and turned to Widow Godkurt. “What man will speak for you, Mistress Godkurt?”
He could hear her swallow. “No man speaks for me, honored sir. My father is dead and I have no brothers or brothers-in-law within the Free Cities. My son, our son, Andrade Marlo is ten years from manhood.”
And the will had made no provision for anyone other than the oldest son, now deceased, to act for the estate. The judges huddled together, as did the merchants.
“Can you take a ward?” Talman asked Enkerman.
“No. I’ve taken one two years ago, and that’s more than enough.” Enkerman ran a hand through the bit of hair that had escaped his soft black cap.
Other voices said, “Not me.”
“I can’t.”
Talman looked back to Tycho. “Tycho, what about you?”
He looked at Ewoud, who glared at the floor. Taking the woman and her son on would mean that Tycho had to run both businesses, and that his son would share the responsibility of paying off Andrade’s debts if Tycho could not do it. He considered his assets, losses, and what Gerta would do if he surprised her with this. Chase him through the market with a fishing-spear or laundry bat came to mind, although he wasn’t certain where she’d find either one on short notice. And without magic… No, absolutely not. He couldn’t afford the risks. “I cannot.”
They heard a surprised noise from the judges bench and looked that direction. “And are you willing to swear this under god oath?” the man in the center seat demanded from the widow.
“I am, honored sir.” Whatever it was she sounded confident of it. The clerk got up and eased out of the room, returning quickly with a priest of Maarsrodi and some wood for the fire. The priest carried something in a blue-green cloth, which he set on the judges’ table. They in turn stood and backed two steps away from the table, clearing space for him. He laid the cloth on top of the ledger and unfolded it, revealing a cube of iron-stone and a chain.
“Come here, Mistress Marta Godkurt born Corwindes.” The woman walked to the priest. “Stop. Stand here,” he pointed down, moving a little so that all the men on both sides of the table could see what transpired. “Extend your hands, palms up.” She did as ordered. She wore no rings, Tycho saw. Interesting. The priest laid the chain over her hands and moved the loose ends of the black chain so that they touched the grey-flecked, dark green iron-stone.
“Mistress Godkurt, who kept Andrade Godkurt’s records?” One of the judges demanded.
“I kept Andrade Godkurt’s records.”
A second judge asked, “Who handled his accounts within Rhonari?”
“I handled his accounts within Rhonari.”
She held her hands still, and the men around Tycho murmured, “All true.”
“Will you discharge all duties of a citizen of Rhonari and a trader in faith?”
She swallowed. “I will discharge all duties of a citizen of Rhonari and a trader in faith, so far as my sex permits.”
The priest pointed to the woman. “All have seen and heard her oath?”
“Aye,” the men chorused.
“Marta Godkurt born Corwindis, you are charged with all privileges and duties of a free merchant of Rhonari, so far as your sex permits, until such time as you and your son return to this court for him to assume those duties.” Antil Webeker met the eyes of each man in turn. “You have seen and witnessed her oath.”
“It is witnessed.” Tycho joined in with a clear conscience. He had not seen the truth spell, but he had seen and heard her vow before the company and a priest.
“Go now, Widow Godkurt, and assume your duties.” The priest removed the chain from across her hands and she walked past the wooden bar, standing with the men as one of them. Tycho wondered if she were strong enough to handle one of the pole arms the city militia used. If not, she’d be assigned to work the walls, boiling water and throwing it on any attackers and other similar duties. Four other widows served the city in like fashion.
“If there is no further business for the court?” No one wanted to mention anything if they had it, Tycho knew. Webeker looked to the leftmost judge, who nodded. The mayor thumped the butt of his staff on the floor. “The court is dismissed.”
“And that, Ewoud, is why you do not travel with me,” Tycho said once they were clear of the building and well on their way home.
The boy nodded vigorously. “Now I understand, honored father.”
Tycho made a mental note to review his will when they got home. He’d be going south again come spring, and he did not want to leave anything to Radmar’s whim.
6
The Sea-Road South
The winter passed as they often did, with a little snow, much cold rain, a few flooding storms, and the onset of negotiations for dowry rates. It wasn’t that Tycho didn’t think his daughter was not a fine, well-trained, and charming young woman with an abundance of skill and an attractive face, far from it. But Geraarda should not require two gold kog to find a husband. Especially since Tycho would have to leave much of the selection and opening negotiations to Gerta while he went south. Both Gerta and Geraarda had candidates in mind, and to his great surprise several of the same names appeared on both lists. One of Geraarda’s he crossed through, then scratched it over until all that remained was a black splotch.
“He is unacceptable, my lord husband?” Gerta raised one eyebrow.
He pointed at the blot. “He abuses hired women. Was almost thrown bodily out of the merchants’ housing in Gheelford for beating a prostitute when she insisted on being paid the full amount he owed her. He was forced to pay damages as well as twice her hire. I do not trust some of his business practices, either.” What passed between a man and woman was their business so long as both agreed, but bad trade practices plus abuse? Absolutely not in any man who would marry one of Tycho Galnaar’s daughters.
Gerta inhaled with a hiss, frowning mightily, and planted her hands on ample hips. “I agree entirely. I knew of questions about his business practices, and there are rumors that he has injured great-haulers and other beasts, but only rumors. He is off the list and I will tell the boys that he is not welcome to court should he take the initiative.”
“Thank you. Just say that he is not acceptable at this time and leave it there. Should he push matters, you may go into more detail. I witnessed the episode in Gheelford, if a question arises.”
She nodded once, then pointed to a second name and shook her head. “He is not going to inherit more than a quarter-share. His mother informed me that he is not, as she phrased it, the kind to wed a woman.”
Tycho blinked but did is she recommended. He had not noticed the young man’s behavior, but was that in itself a sign? That he had not done anything while out as a journeyman? Well, possibly, but Tycho reminded himself that he’d been continent before marrying. Did the boy have the same disability that he did? It mattered not. Gerta had spoken and he trusted her judgment.
Mid-summer would pass before Geraarda came of age, but it was better to be prepared than surprised and forced to pay more than was needful, especially since he would be away. Not that he anticipated rapid selections and bargains, but sometimes the gods blessed a couple and they found a quick and solid match.
“Do you have a route planned yet, sir?” Ewoud inquired the next afternoon as they inventoried the outgoing goods. A light-mage had refreshed the spells in the wares-house the afternoon before, although Tycho had insisted that he not make all of them reading-bright, just colors and shapes bright. Why spend money for magic they did not need?
“Platport, then well to the south, to Milunis.” He mentally traced the route on a map. “Alas that the gods did not see fit to create a port at the mouth of the Moahne, but so it is.”
Wiebe bounced on his toes. He looked very much like Tycho’s own father, leaner than Tycho but with his father’s green eyes and fast, skillful hands, and a gift for trade charms. Perhaps it was time to apprentice him to a mage, Tycho thought once more. “Moahne, that is the river that ends in the old mountain, is it not, honored father?”
“Yes, it is. For that reason ships cannot go upstream and the cliffs on the coast prevent docking or building a trade city. It is said,” he straightened up, easing his back. “It is said that some of the lords in the south once petitioned the Great Northern Emperor to send a stone mage to carve the cliffs into a city, or at least carve a hole large enough for a port, with a way to reach the top of the headland, but those are stories from around the evening fire, nothing more.”
Ewoud looked thoughtful. “Honored father, are there mages that strong in the emperor’s court?”
“No one knows. I have been told that in times of great need, several mages from the same guild can pool their strength for a single work, as we pool money for ship shares, but I’ve never asked a mage.” Asking a mage for guild secrets struck Tycho as a very good way to find himself in very great trouble.
“Ah.” Ewoud wrinkled his nose a little and moved to the next stack of goods. “One box of bone knife handles.”
“Check,” Wiebe marked the line on the wax tablet.
“Ten white-fish teeth, uncarved.”
“Check.”
“Five white-fish teeth, carved.”
“Check.”
“One white-fish hide, tanned.”
“Check.”
“Oof.” Ewould struggled to lift the enormous skin. “Um,” the pale grey skin seemed to take on a life of its own as the young man moved around underneath it, looking for a tag. Tycho bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Ah, one chest of spices and medicinal herbs from north of Griklant.”
“Not on the list.”
A muffled “What?” came from under the hide.
“I do not see it on the list.”
The hide humped and lumped and Ewoud emerged. He smoothed his hair and peered over his younger brother’s shoulder. “It should be. No, that’s not. Ah, there it is,” he pointed.
Tycho peered as well. “That chest has already been marked off. This one,” he pointed to the lump under the hide and other goods. “Should be over there, with the goods to be shipped on the first voyage. This one has camphor-moss in it.”
Both boys wrinkled their noses. “Cool season, yes, sir.” Everyone knew how camphor-moss sweated out its essence in the heat, and no one wanted to be around large amounts of it when that was going on.
“And we need to bundle that hide. It has aired long enough.”
That night, after Gerta had ordered the boys and her husband to go to the public wash-house to get rid of the white-fish smell, she asked, “How long until the season begins?”
“The priests said two more weeks to the port opens, but I want to wait for the Great Fir to be ready, so another week after that, the gods willing and the shipyard doesn’t find anything wrong.” And another week allowed for the storms that always came with the opening of the port to pass by. He’d written his agent in Platport already, giving the man time to ensure that the great-haulers were ready and in condition. Once again, Tycho wondered if the northern oxen could be conditioned to working in the southern lands. Probably not, and shaving their coats so they did not overheat might be exciting, at least for someone watching from the safety of a wares-house roof. He smiled at the thought.
“Oh?”
“Imagining someone attempting to shear northern oxen to use for hauling goods in the south.”
