The Burning City (64 page)

“Not worried about the profits?” Burning Tower asked innocently.

Saber Tooth struggled with his dignity before putting his tongue out at his sister.

“I can't risk taking the whole caravan,” Whandall said. “Not this time. I need four wagons, and son, I can leave you refined gold to hire more, but I'll need the best traders and fighters you have… no, not quite the best. The most ambitious.”

“Same people, curse you.”

“We need trade goods, anything that can't get to Tep's Town by ship. Terror bird feathers. Grain. Cooking pots. Nothing magical, not for Tep's Town. We'll pick as many Miller and Ropewalker kids as we can get, because they've got relatives in there. I have more refined gold, and that's a lot more valuable in Tep's Town than out here.”

“But what do the harpies have that we need?” Saber Tooth demanded.

Burning Tower giggled. “We're harpies too, brother!”

Saber Tooth grinned at her. “Sure, but it's still a good question.”

“I don't know,” Whandall said. “Whatever we buy, we'll have storage after we get rid of Morth's bottles….”

After that, they all talked at once.

Late that night Whandall dismissed the others and went to Saber Tooth's travel nest. They sat on ornate carpets in a wagon den of polished wood.

“You'll be wanting this wagon, of course,” Saber Tooth said.

“Well—”

“It's yours, Father. I have my own.”

“Who's in that?”

“Hammer Miller.”

“Is his wagon here?”

“Yes, it's loaned to one of his wife's relatives.” Hammer had married a girl from a town in Paradise Valley and was content to be a wagoneer foreman.

“Complicated,” Whandall said. “Think Hammer would like to come to Tep's Town?”

“I think you would have to tie him to a wagon tongue to keep him out.”

“And you as well?”

Saber Tooth didn't say anything.

“Son, I would rather have you with me,” Whandall said, realizing that it was true. “But Feathersnake can't spare you. It can spare me—”

“Father!”

“It can, so long as you're in charge,” Whandall said. “And you know it. You're a better trader than I will ever be.”

Saber Tooth didn't answer. They both knew it was true.

“So I can be lost, and Green Stone can be lost, and Feathersnake goes
on. Your mother will grieve, but she won't starve, and neither will your sisters and their kin. Number One, we need you out here.”

Saber Tooth was a long time answering. Finally, “Father, I'll take the caravan on to Condigeo. Having a new opportunity doesn't make an old one less worthwhile. I've always wanted to be the Feathersnake wagon boss. Most never see their dreams in old age, let alone as young as me.” He sighed. “I've always wanted to see Tep's Town, too, but that can wait. You go in. We'll travel light to Condigeo, and we may be back here when you come out. If not, you can wait here for us.”

“Good plan. What are you carrying to Condigeo?”

“Marsyl poppy seeds. Gorman hemp. Some bad carpets that will still be better than anything they have that far south.”

Whandall nodded to himself. The Feathersnake wagons didn't go all the way south unless they had cargo Condigeo would pay for, and time to reach Road's End before the snows. Storms chopped off the Condigeo leg two years out of three.

“And civet cat glands,” Saber Tooth said. “Two jars.”

“I want one,” Whandall said.

“Did your nose die of old age? Or do they make perfume in Tep's Town?”

“Not that I heard,” Whandall said. “Just an idea. I won't need a whole jar; two cups of the juice will do. Be sure it's sealed tightly.”

Saber Tooth's nose wrinkled. “Don't worry about that!”

“So,” Whandall said. “It's my wagon, and Hammer Miller's, and who else do I take?”

“Four, you said?”

“Four wagons if I can get 'em.”

Saber Tooth poured tea. Sipped. “Not Fighting Cat Fishhawk,” he said. “His mother's getting pretty old now; she'll expect to see him.”

“How is she?”

“Sorry she retired, I think,” Saber Tooth said. “But she was too damn old to be on the road!” He brooded, thinking of the first hard decision he'd had to make as a wagonmaster. Beaching one his father's oldest friends. The worst of it was that Whandall should have done it years before and hadn't.

“So who?”

“Insolent Lizard,” Saber Tooth said positively.

Whandall nodded. Kettle Belly's fourth son. Reliable and skilled, if a bit of a smart-ass. “One more, then.”

“You'll need a blacksmith,” Saber Tooth said. “I can hire another for a while. Take Greathand. He'd follow you anywhere.”

Starfall Ropewalker's brother, not her father. The son took the father's name when the first Greathand died six years ago, a skilled giant to his last
day. He wasn't blood, but he was kin. “Good. I'll talk to them after we've left this town behind.”

Saber Tooth nodded agreement. The less the townfolk knew of family affairs, the better he liked it.

“Sure you'll be all right letting me have this wagon?”

“Truth is, Father, I like my own better. This is the nicest travel nest on the Road, but—”

“But you designed and built yours,” Whandall finished for him. “Yup. All right, now for supplies.”

“This is going to be like herding snakes. We have to cut out four wagons, take all the Condigeo cargo off them, put anything you want for Tep's Town onto them, and get it done out of town without making camp before the damn Leathermaster caravan catches up and sees us!”

“No doubt you are competent—”

Saber Tooth took on a cagey look. “This will be tricky, and tricky is expensive.”

“Never knew I'd have to bargain with my own son,” Whandall said.

“Sure you did.” Saber Tooth looked thoughtful. “It's Morth who needs the gold in those bottles.”

Whandall nodded.

“I do not exactly see why we need Morth.”

“There's me and there's Morth, and nobody else on this expedition knows a cursed thing about Tep's Town.”

“And we need him that much? I could sell everything we have and not come up with that much gold.”

Whandall sighed. “Son, it's wild gold. Unrefined.”

“But contained. There are wizards in Condigeo who would be more than pleased to refine it for us.”

“It's not mine. Morth helped gather it. It's a matter of our word,” Whandall said.

“Oh. I take it this is entirely a Feathersnake enterprise?”

“Yes, if we can keep it that way.”

“Do that,” Saber Tooth said.

Every wagon owner expected to call at Whandall Feathersnake's wagon den, to present respects and get a glass of the best wine or tea or both, to meet the wizard who was Whandall's guest, to learn why Whandall Feathersnake kept a boy from a bandit family as guest, to test bargaining skills. Had Whandall Feathersnake gone soft from living in town?

Fighting Cat Fishhawk hailed Whandall with a glad cry. Ruby Fish-hawk's son was four years older than Whandall, a touch of his mother's kinless ancestry in the ears.

“Give my warmest respects to your mother,” Whandall said.

“Won't you see her yourself?”

Curse. “Perhaps not. I will not go farther than the Springs this trip,” Whandall said. “Tea or wine?”

“Both, please, but little of the wine. The Springs? So you believe the stories of gold in the hills above?”

“Lurk, make us some tea.” Whandall had taught him how. It was best to have something to do to cover a social gaffe. And Burning Tower was eager to be hostess for her father, but Whandall had sent her on errands. She wanted to help, too much.

“Condigeo is getting soft,” Fighting Cat said. “I sold a Marsyl carpet, used, for seven sea turtle shells.”

“Good price. Are sea turtles so common now?”

Fighting Cat grinned. “No more common than ever.”

Whandall sensed a story. “How?”

“I don't talk so much.”

Whandall grinned and waited… and Fighting Cat grinned back. Whandall said, “Excellent!” and they moved on to what Whandall needed, which was two repaired wheels, water jars, root vegetables, and dried meat.

When Fighting Cat left, Whandall told Lurk, “My first trip, the caravan had just found out we had a wagonload of refined gold. I'm passing Fighting Cat's wagon, he pulls me into his travel nest by the arm. Shows me a necklace that would look wonderful on Willow. I admired it. He wanted nine thumbweights of gold. Far too much, but it really was a beautiful necklace, and I was—I wanted very much to please Willow. He showed me each turquoise, blue to match Willow's eyes, tiny gold flecks. He pointed out the absence of cracks, that there was no yellow or green, which are flaws, but I didn't know it then.

“I kept looking. It was clear I wanted it, but the gold wasn't all mine—we hadn't divided it yet—and I wasn't saying anything. He told me its history. Offered me three Shambit figurines to go with it, still nine thumb-weights. Y—” Lurk wasn't listening closely, getting bored.

Some things you say because they'll be understood later. “I already knew nobody could force me to buy without actually drawing a knife. So I was entertained. He showed me everything he had, and I smiled and admired and watched him go from nine thumbweights to two and a half. Willow loved it. And I told Fighting Cat what he'd done wrong a year later.”

They left Firewoods Town at dawn of the third day. At noon they came to a side road that led steeply downhill and off to the west.

A score of locals had been overjoyed to find there was suddenly employment in the Feathersnake wagon trains. Where the road forked, they watched in astonishment as four wagons were separated out.