Rise of a Merchant Prince (17 page)

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 font 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 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 looked 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 GrindIe 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 drank such on one occasion, a bottle he had stolen from his father's wagon the last time the rare hand-picked berry wine had been transported into Ravensburg. He had suffered the worst hangover of his young life from drinking ton 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.”