Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (5 page)

Wesp’s face fell as he watched some elderly women standing nearby start wiggling their bodies to the beat, clapping enthusiastically. He got up and started walking back to his quarters.

“Mr. Tunrhak?” called out the Foreman.

“My wagon needs setting up,” replied the trader. He spat on the ground and marched off, hooking a finger angrily at his young assistant to follow.

The slightest hint of a smug grin touched the Foreman’s face and he turned back to face the commons where Abuniah was putting on an astounding show of dexterity and coordination, pumping out a rhythm on the drum that one could barely follow it was so complex. The Foreman crossed behind him to one of the storerooms and re-emerged dragging out a wooden marimba, huge hollow gourds hanging pendulously underneath the carved pine keys. Once in place, he pulled out the beaters attached to the marimba. With a shout, he hit the large bass note of the marimba, a low, earthy pulse that was felt rather than heard. Everyone stopped what they were doing immediately.
Then the Foreman started a solid rhythmic pattern of notes, the beautiful woody sound echoing around the trees. Abuniah joined back in with his drumming, the two slowly working together to create an intricate, but powerful beat. Then the Foreman began to sing, his powerful voice rising above the music, and on cue, the whole village joined in to create an exhilarating blend of voices and instruments in harmony that shook the Forest to its roots.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

When instruments were put away and a small crowd remained, milling around expectantly, Wesp re-appeared with his assistant and stood beside his wagon. Spitting into the ground, he turned and nodded. “Now.“

The young boy quickly stood up and fiddled with a few levers around the side. With a click and groan, the bottom half of the side of the wagon swung down to the ground unveiling rows of merchandise and the villagers clapped as they eyed the colorful array.

Raf stood at the side, annoyed with himself for being impressed as he spotted a beautiful shiny blue wrap flapping gently in the wind. It had waves of darker blue running along its length and glittered as it moved in the fading sunlight as though there were thousands of tiny flecks of silver in it.

“Um, Master trader…” An elderly lady stepped forwards out of the crowd holding a wicker box in her hands, a rather embarrassed expression on her face. “I can’t help but notice that you have a rather lovely garment; the blue one just there.” She lifted a gnarled old hand to point at the delicate wrap. “I wonder if I might have a closer look?”

The boy started to reach across to unhook the garment and Wesp shouted, “Stop!” The crowd collectively drew a breath. “Don’t touch it! You’ll ruin it.”

He climbed out of his chair, carefully putting his flask of whisky down. “What you’ve spotted there is a rare siminutrian garment called a
tso’be.
You’re very lucky that I have one left as the other three were snapped up at the very first village I visited. This particular color is the height of fashion in Miern as we speak. Why, Mesathinia, the Gerent’s wife, has one herself.”

Maritha’s eyes opened at bit wider at this, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as she nodded. “Is it very expensive?”

“In Miern you would struggle to find a
tso’be
of this quality for less than twenty bronze coins.”
There were some gasps from the crowd and Wesp raised his hands to quieten the muttering. “And although I’m sure you’d agree it’s easily worth that, I completely understand that it may be difficult to find that sort of coin.” He stepped back and raised his voice. “However, this is my last stop before I return to Miern and I have one last item left to acquire: something of little value, I’m sure. Certainly less than this
tso’be
. I understand it is called vi-“

“- only,” interrupted Maritha, “I have this box of some lovely old jewelry I don’t wear anymore. Would that be of interest, maybe?” She held up a rather tattered, wicker box which contained an assortment of wooden bead necklaces.

Wesp stared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous, woman. I’m overflowing with bracelets and necklaces. No, what I’m really interes-”

Raf could’ve sworn that the trader’s eyes flickered oddly for a split second as he glanced at the box before he lifted up a hand and stroked his chin. “Ah… your jewelry in there – all of it – for the
tso’be
? Is that what you are offering?” Maritha’s face broke into a hopeful smile and she nodded eagerly. 

“Done!” Wesp snatched the box out of her hands. Then he unhooked the wrap and tossed it to her, but it fell to the ground and she had to quickly stoop down to lift it off the dirt. Behind her, some of the crowd moved forwards eagerly to see her new purchase.

Raf watched as Wesp opened the box, reached inside it to seize something and let the box drop to the ground behind him, the necklaces spilling out. He held something up and blew on it, scrutinizing
it carefully in the light. Raf peered forward to see what it was but then spun around as there was movement behind him.

“Wait!” Maritha’s husband, Alfred, hobbled past urgently towards Wesp. “My ring! My grandfather’s signet ring!”

The crowd went silent as the trader moved a step backwards and raised an eyebrow at the elderly man. The Foreman looked up from the sidelines where he had been sitting and then quickly got to his feet as he took in the aghast look on Maritha’s face. He moved up to put a hand on her shoulder. “Didn’t you know it was in there, Maritha?”

“No, I had no idea! I didn’t know he kept it there, it’s always been
my
box.” She covered her mouth with wrinkled hands.

“It’s obviously been a misunderstanding. And easy enough to sort out,” he said. “Mr. Tunrhak?”

“It
is
rather a nice ring,” the trader said, rubbing the gold band in his fingers. “Of course, the deal’s been made now. No way back. Should probably keep better track of their possessions.”

“Now see here,” said the Foreman, moving towards Wesp, “they didn’t know that was in there. It was a simple mistake. Can’t you just give them back the ring and keep the other jewelry?”

Wesp laughed. It was a loud, obnoxious laugh that sent bits of spittle flying from his mouth. “Keep the other items? Don’t be absurd. They’re worthless.” He casually slipped the ring onto one of his fingers. “
This,
if I’m not mistaken, is pure Ka’toan gold, and it would fetch a decent price from a dealer I know in Miern.” He removed it again, gave it a kiss and inserted it into his belt pouch. “The deal has been made and we are bound to it,” he said.

Alfred hobbled quickly round the shoulder of his stricken wife to wave his walking
stick in Wesp’s face. “You give me my ring back, trader.”

Wesp smiled and opened his arms in a gesture of friendliness. “The nature of trade is to lose something and gain something else. Perhaps you can recover what you have lost if you have more to trade? If you happen to have any vi-”

“No.” The Foreman moved forwards to stand between the trader and the crowd. “I am disappointed with you, trader; that was a cruel thing to do.” He waved an arm above his head. “Trading is finished.”

Wesp looked at him frostily. “A foolish decision. I am not an unimportant man in Miern, and when I tell of what happened here, you will find a distinct lack of
any
trade in the future.” He sneered and then spat on the ground at the Foreman’s feet.

The Foreman turned his back on the trader, his face stony with fury, and motioned with his hands for the crowd to move away.

R
af stood there, his heart pounding. The opportunity was slipping through their hands.

“Wait!”

The Foreman, along with the rest of the crowd, turned around and stared at him.

“Err… we can’t….. I mean, surely it doesn’t have to…. I…”

“What are you on about, Raf?” asked the Foreman.

“I….. was just thinking that… the trader wanted something…” His mind went blank at the sudden barrage of eyes focused on him from everyone and all he could do was stutter, his mouth half open.

“Uhh… Foreman,” came the quiet voice of Tarvil, “what I think my seemingly witless son is trying to say, is that it seems such a waste to… to…”

“Oh come on, Tarvil,” muttered the Foreman. “Can anybody speak properly?”

“I was just thinking that we shouldn’t completely discount dealings with the trader.”

“Oh, we should,” said the Foreman. “No more trading.”

“But, Foreman,” insisted Tarvil, “it doesn’t
have
to be trade, surely?” He tilted his head staring pointedly at the Foreman. “Maybe Mr. Tunrhak would be interested in spending some coin here.”

“Not likely,” said Wesp from the top of his wagon. “I trade to make money, not spend it.”

The Foreman walked away, shaking his head.

“There
must
be something we have that is valuable, surely,” Raf said desperately.

Tarvil joined in. “We have many rare things here: orchids, vinehoney, coffee. And not just any coffee, but a rich and strong local blend.”

The Foreman glanced back to see the trader suddenly sitting up, an attentive look on his face. Raf bit his lip nervously as Wesp climbed down slowly from the wagon, his eyes flickering from the Foreman to Tarvil.

“As one last attempt to leave things amicably, perhaps… I might be interested in something you just mentioned.”

“Wonderful news,” said Tarvil. “Some coffee, perhaps?”

“I was wondering more about this vinehoney.”

“Vinehoney?” replied Tarvil. “Well, the kind we harvest here is sweet and wonderfully thick.” He paused and looked up at the trees, pursing his lips. “It’s been a very difficult season though and the pickings have been unusually slim.” 

The Foreman stared at him. “Tarvil? What are you talking about? You know that we have pl- ”

“Of
course!”
said Tarvil quickly, staring intently at the Foreman. “Of course I know we do have a limited reserve set aside for the annual Council meeting.”

“The annual -”

“- the annual meeting, Foreman. You know, the one you’re hosting next week?” Tarvil rolled his eyes comically, slapping the Foreman on his shoulder.

The Foreman stared at Tarvil. “Silly me. To forget such an important thing… The annual meeting. Vinehoney...”

Tarvil turned to Wesp. “I hope you understand that this is highly irregular and will leave the Foreman in a bit of a predicament at the meeting?”

“I see,” said Wesp.

“And for that reason, as the village’s accountant, I’m afraid we can’t ask for less than five silvers per jar.”

“Four jars would cost me
twenty
silvers?” spluttered Wesp.

“And the ring returned.”

“What? That’s absurd!”

“I understand completely and apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Tunrhak. Perhaps you will find a better deal on your way back to Miern.”

Wesp closed his mouth and a sour look appeared on his face. “Fine. Four jars and the ring. Done. They better be absolutely full to the brim, you hear.”

Tarvil shouted over his shoulder to Raf. “Fetch them from the Foreman’s office, would you?”

Raf turned and sprinted past the school, under the chimes and when he reached a small storage room, he barged in to find Nedrick waiting.

“Did it work?”

“I think so.“

“How many did he want?”

“Four jars.”

Nedrick turned to pass him two from the pile of jars behind him that reached to the ceiling and then took two himself, holding one under each arm. Together they walked back to the wagon where the crowd moved to let them pass.

Tarvil nodded at Raf and turned to Wesp. “The silvers?”

Wesp stood grinding his teeth so that the tendons in his cheek stood out. “Boy!” he snapped.

The youngster scrambled up to the driver’s area and dug around underneath the bench for a bit.

“Hurry up!”

“Yes sir!” called the boy, pulling out the leather bag and climbing down off the wagon. He held out the bag to Wesp, but as he did so, his thumb caught on the side-latch, unclasping it and the bag swung open downwards, tipping out mixed coins all over the ground.

“Idiot!” shouted Wesp, and he swung his hand around to cuff the boy hard on the back of his head. He
bent down and counted out twenty silver coins from the ground and put them into Tarvil’s hand before scooping the rest back into the bag. Tarvil waited until Wesp took out the ring and dropped it into his palm as well.

“Done,” said Tarvil. “Or is it ‘deal’? I’m not sure what the exact wording is; we’re seldom so formal with guests.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly and held out a hand for Wesp to shake.

The trader snorted, spitting on the ground. “Twenty silvers... It’s robbery. You may think you’ve done well today, but let me warn you, forester, I will not be quiet about this. I have friends in Miern. Don’t be surprised if no trader comes within a mile of you in the future.” He walked towards the wagon.