The Taleweaver
Change of plans

After the memorable trading session Arthur became something of a celebrity among the local merchants. He also gained a lot of respect among his traveling companions, enough to be seen as a fellow trader.

During the three months on the ship he'd been looked upon with a mixture of awe and distrust by the other traders. Creating a new market and making a fortune at the same time changed that.

In ten years of trading no one had thought of selling anything but the metal wanted here. That would change when news returned back to Earth. Well, it was only to be expected. Even leaving his old life behind him he was news in the making.

The days took on a routine of their own with Harbend already waiting in Arthur's living room when he woke but never sharing his breakfast. After that they'd go out and Harbend showed him various parts of the city.

This day started no differently and by midmorning they sauntered past a peculiar building displaying an enormous entrance but almost no windows. The first three floors were made of the smooth, white stone Arthur had come to expect, but above that another two wooden stories rose, and he could see they were recently added.

He crossed the street passing nimbly between coaches running in both directions. Coming to the sidewalk Arthur peered across the street to get a better view of the strange building.

"Splendid construction, eh?" Harbend said, coming up to his side.

"You know what it is?"

"Theater. The finest there is. They change the top floors for each play. Something to do with decor, but I would not know. Never been into the business myself. Have you?"

Arthur basked in the thoughts of immersing himself in the fantasies created by an author from another world and didn't listen to Harbend's last question.

"Have you?" he repeated.

"Oh, not really. Yes, in a way, but not with a famous script, or no, that's not entirely true. I've never been part of an ensemble or had a major role in a play if that's what you ask."

Harbend gave him a surprised stare in return. He apparently hadn't expected such an elaborate answer. "I could get us an invitation."

"Yes, yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you, please, if it's possible."

"You do realize you probably shall fail to understand the play?"

"I know. It doesn't matter," Arthur answered, still spellbound by the opportunity of being part of an audience rather than standing in the limelight.

They spent most of the day obtaining clothes more suitable for a visit to the theater. That meant Harbend leading Arthur to different tailors, leaving him with the instructions to say nothing and move whatever body parts the tailor wanted moved, while running away on errands of his own.

When Arthur was left to the all too personal manhandling by the fifth tailor in quick succession his temper began to turn ugly, and he forced Harbend, when he finally returned, to explain what was going on.

"They are tailors. Unlike you outworlders we do not have warehouses where prospective customers can wander in and choose some clothes never fitting properly anyway."

"I understand that," Arthur responded testily and tried to pretend he didn't feel the hands taking measures of his legs. "But why do you have to drag me around half the city like this?"

Harbend stared back in surprise. "I told you magic is banned in Keen."

Arthur didn't understand. "So?" The hands neared his crotch and he barely avoided a twitch.

"Gods! You want me to bring you to the theater this evening. As a trader you of anyone ought to be familiar with the logistical phenomena of production time."

Understanding finally dawned on Arthur. "And they each make one piece?"

Harbend declined to answer the question.

Harbend led his client through a maze of narrow streets. He had one last errand to finish before he could devote himself to preparing Arthur for the evening.

They cut through the southern parts of Verd choosing a route he'd never shown Arthur before, and there was good reason for it Harbend thought grimly. Magical wonder of the world or not, the city still had its poor majority. Right from the planning of it, thousands of years earlier an emperor, more practical than idealistic, had ordered it built with just that in mind.

The few boulevards here were not laid out for beauty but to contain fires should they occur. The streets between them were narrow and crowded with loudmouthed, uncouth people, animals and the occasional cart, all smelly and all dirty. The very buildings were darker, gray rather than the granite red and marble white that was the hallmark of the capital. The streets themselves were flawlessly clean though. This was Verd after all.

Harbend recalled Nachi, his own faraway capital. Larger than Verd and with access to several of the finest magehealers Khi had educated. Dirt everywhere despite a huge workforce employed to transport the unwanted garbage out of the city, dumping it on stinking piles burning perpetually.

No matter how many magehealers made their living there death tolls from diseases were always greater than what he'd seen in Verd during his years here. Only the rich lived longer in Khi, but then Verd had no magehealers to ease the dangers of advanced age.

Eventually he dragged a bewildered Arthur from yet another narrow street to the open place just inside the southern gates. Krante Gates, referring to a large town an eightdays days ride or so to the southeast, attributing more of its fame to legend than any advantageous attractions it had to offer now.

Farmers were bringing in their wares through the gates. Mostly food of different kinds but also bales of linen, leather and wood that would eventually find their way to craftsmen who would turn it into clothes, shoes, furniture and a mass of other items to be sold here.

A squadron of the Holy Inquisition in red and black made their way through the gates cheered on by children staring wide eyed at the display, and a larger infantry unit, all in yellow, waited for their turn to march in the opposite direction.

The regiments prepared to vacate the exercise grounds south of the gates, and soon the last of the soldiers would be sent out to help with harvesting, infantry and cavalry alike.

Stables west of the gates, the only buildings almost perpetually dirty despite the magic of Verd, waited for the only eightdays during the year when they were clean and used as storage in preparation for the great market marking the end of summer. With only Inquisition troops and the Imperial Guard left in the city it would take on an almost unnatural absence of uniforms.

Arthur trailing his steps Harbend walked straight to the enclosed area where every visitor was searched for magic and followed the road to the outer gates. One of the few places where he wasn't pestered by peddlers wanting to make a customer of him. As always during daytime the gates were open and he passed under the archway and started searching for the female courier he knew would be waiting. Ah, there she was. He ran between a few carts to meet her and gave her a small package.

"To Hasselden as usual. It should cover their expenses the coming three eightdays. Send my best wishes."

"As you command, sir." She turned her horse and rode down the road.

Harbend stared after her as she headed for the western leg of the highway. With the money he made from selling Arthur's books maybe, just maybe he'd be able to send enough to last half a year rather than a few eightdays.

He'd have abandoned his office in Hasselden years earlier, but honor demanded otherwise. Winter storms forcing prey close enough to the coast for sea hunters to catch made it possible to keep it. The tender meat alone covered much of the expenses of a business no longer visited by traders from Khi. Much, but far from all.

"Now, my dear Arthur, we should have the rest of the day to ourselves," he said turning to his client who, he knew, by now was building up his frustration again. "For my store in Hasselden, and my employees running it for me."

"I see," Arthur said, and Harbend noted how the mounting frustration was gone in an instant.

Good man, he thought. The outworlder obviously knows the importance of taking care of his own.

Harbend made to return through the gates and caught himself smiling. "Arthur, I thank you for your patience. You must be starving. Let me show you the difference between a tavern and a restaurant, with you searching for dining halls early in the mornings and all."

Arthur's stomach rumbled in agreement and they were about to return when he pointed. "What's that?"

Harbend peered at the construction above the gates. Enormous square frames draped with cloth, linen he knew, painted either black or yellow. "That is the farwriter."

"Farwriter? Sounds familiar." Arthur squinted as he looked up in the air. "Oh, it's a telegraph!"

"Telegraph?" Now it was Harbend's turn to be confused.

"Same word, different origin. Telegraph is the correct one though," Arthur explained.

Harbend digested this as they watched one set of frames being taken down while another was winched up, displaying a different pattern of yellow and black.

Arthur slowly turned, but Harbend, anticipating it, stopped him.

"No idea." Harbend grinned. "You need to be standing on the battlements, and you need a..." He searched for the word, "a televiewer."

"Telescope." Arthur laughed suddenly. "Far seer! Well why not? Makes sense I guess. Now, Harbend, my stomach and I would very much like to see this restaurant of yours. How far is it?"

"Some one hundred lamps or so."

"Lamps?"

"Yes... oh sorry. Local measurement of distance. Took me a while to get used to as well. All lamp posts are placed at equal distance along roads and streets."

"I see," Arthur said and started examining two nearby lampposts.

"One lamp should be around forty or fifty of your meters," Harbend answered the unspoken question. "Too long for a hungry walk anyway. I shall get us a coach."

Well inside the gates they started for the main boulevard when Harbend was suddenly pushed aside. He staggered and when he found his balance again he stared into the face of an officer in the yellow and green of the Free Inquisition. He was about to retrace his steps when the man grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.

"Watch where you go you bastard!" the officer growled.

Harbend tried to pull free, but to no avail.

"Not so brave are you now?" another soldier laughed. "Should have stayed home in Khi where you don't trouble decent people."

"And the meaning of this outrage?" Harbend asked hiding the mixture of anger and fear rising within.

"No need we have of magic loving whores your kind thief of food from starving children," a third answered, accent and grammar declaring him a former citizen of magic loving Ira.

The most dangerous kind. Anger gave way and left fear as uncontested ruler of his mind. Outcasts turned fanatics were always welcome to join the Free Inquisition, and here he was surrounded by the very unit Arthur had humiliated at the sky port.

"... devil take them or I'll start breaking arms," Arthur's voice shot in and the sudden need to translate the meaning of outworlder words snapped Harbend out of his rising panic.

"Just angry soldiers," he said. Relief flooded him as he recognized the protection of Arthur's presence, then only stunned disbelief as the soldier from Ira drew and attacked the outworlder trader. Time slowed as he watched the saber descending.

No sound, no smell, only a bitter taste of metal in his mouth, and then Arthur sliding towards the soldier in a fluid motion ending only when he was too close for the bladed weapon to be of any use. Grabbing the sword arm with both hands Arthur twisted, forced the soldier up, around and down in a vicious circle ending with an ugly, meaty sound as he came crashing down on the street face first.

There was silence.

Arthur continued moving across the prone body.

Silence gave way to a horrible, cracking sound as he forced the arm over the back of the soldier, and then only a shrill scream of pain.

Time returned to normal.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean that," Arthur gasped as the arm fell limply to the ground, sword clattering out of reach.

Oh, he just lost balance, understanding dawned on Harbend, and then used the arm as leverage to avoid falling over. Harbend had wondered, and now he was gratefully convinced that the rich and mighty of the outworlders received at least some proper training befitting men of their station.

He stared at the fallen soldier, numbly noticing the Staff master doing the same, and in the meantime a crowd slowly gathered.

"Go! This is a matter for the Inquisition," the officer ordered.

The crowd, more fascinated than afraid, slowly started to disperse.

Bad, very bad! They pretend we're mages and we're in trouble.

"Halt!" A different voice this time.

"Go screw your horse!" the Staff master responded.

Harbend dared turning. A staff displaying the winged swords of mounted infantry rose into the air. Dragoons, only found in Keen, and with harvest festival only eightdays away Harbend didn't need to identify the insignia to recognize the presence of the Imperial Guard.

"I'll confer those words to the council, no, better yet, you shall do so," the newcomer said, and now Harbend could see a graying officer riding up beside the standard bearer. "Escort our uniformed guests to the gate."

A growling murmur of laughter followed by the clattering of hooves announced more soldiers making ready to obey the order to round up Inquisition troops. There was no love between Imperial Guard and Free Inquisition -- only the Holy Inquisition held their foreign counterpart more openly in contempt.

Harbend let out a long sigh accepting that they were safe.

"Any witnesses?" the officer demanded, and at that the crowd melted away. No one was interested in wasting half a day waiting for a questioning.

"I saw what happened," someone shouted from behind the horses.

And of course the singular idiot to prove you wrong, Harbend mused. He raised his face to his rescuer, but the graying officer was searching for whoever had volunteered.

"Oh, you." Turning his stare back to Harbend the officer smiled thinly. "You should leave unless you have a statement to bring before the council."

Harbend blinked. The officer didn't move. Unwilling to push his luck Harbend grabbed Arthur's arm and led the bewildered trader in search of a public coach.

Arthur recognized the uniformed monkeys from the day of his arrival, but accustomed to long years of benefits given to the famous he paid little heed to the twist of fortune allowing them to leave a scene of violence in which he'd taken part. He did expect Harbend to explain or explode, but as the merchant declined to do either during their ride to the restaurant Arthur decided to leave the episode in silence as well, and it wasn't long until they reached their destination.

Whatever he'd expected this wasn't it. Deeply hidden among great villas in the far northwest of Verd, where the very rich lived, a building crouched in a tree covered garden.

Walking nearer he saw that the trees closest to the walls were no trees at all but the work of artisans of almost unimaginable skills. Fastened to the branches, high above them and hugging the trunk of each tree a small brown, wooden cottage with thatched roof seemed to grow as part of the tree itself. Slender bridges of what looked like crystal connected the cottages to an open platform on the roof of the main building, almost like a terrace, but Arthur couldn't see much of it from where he stood on the pathway.

He smiled in wonder and was still smiling as they entered the building.

Harbend had always enjoyed coming here from the very first time he was invited years earlier. Not only was it quaint in extreme but the artificial seclusion also allowed him to forget the noisy city for an afternoon, and this one had been busier than he cared for.

Grateful that the partial immunity clinging to the outworlders had extended to himself this time he wanted to celebrate his luck in style. He intended to show Arthur how civilized men enjoyed their meals.

Even though they had certainly eaten together the past few days they still had never dined together. He'd been forced to watch Arthur simply approach the nearest stand selling roast fowl, or meat and once even a bland soup. Harbend, unwilling to let his client look like a fool, then had to buy himself something as well and eat it standing on the sidewalk like a simple laborer.

They chose the westernmost tree cottage he preferred and entered its single room, a table already laid with sweet fruit, chilled water and thin crisps of white bread awaited them.

The cottages were of different size. One large enough to host ten diners, but most built to accommodate four. The walls surrounding them glimmered with blue and green as if they were sitting in an open forest a summer day. Whatever magic magecrafters had wrought here all those years ago before they were banned still worked its charm making him feel genuinely welcome and wanted.

Arthur stared in amazement and Harbend enjoyed the childlike happiness sparkling in his eyes. If Arthur was so easily moved by simply coming here there was little doubt he would be thoroughly happy when they had eaten.

They ate their dinner in silence broken only by the muted sounds of steps when a servant brought in a new course, and this was repeated two more times. At the end only Harbend, who knew what to expect, had enough of an appetite left to truly give the last course justice.

"This is better than street food, eh?" he said when the last of their platters was finally carried out. They were left with a crystal goblet each and one bottle of red wine, a vintage Harbend had chosen carefully.

"Heaven!" Arthur sighed. Childish happiness spread over his face, and suddenly the outworlder looked twenty years younger.

"Truly, I cannot abide by the things you have had the misfortune to mistake for a proper meal. You have a stomach like a millstone."

Arthur, apparently misunderstanding the friendly barb, got serious at once. "We have magic of our own where I come from. At least I believe the field of medicine we call genetics would be like magic to you. I could probably digest anything short of a synthetic poison with little ill effects."

Harbend carefully analyzed what he had just heard. "Do not explain this genetics of yours. I will probably fail to understand. However, what does synthetic mean?"

Arthur looked back, smiled and explained. "By the way, I expected to see more people with swords, other than the soldiers that is."

Harbend frowned at the memory of their encounter with the Inquisition. Well, it wouldn't do lingering. "You all say that when you come here the first time. I fail to understand where you got the notion." Harbend raised an open palm to indicate peace. "No civilized city allows everyone to carry weapons. Brawls would get dirty. Only soldiers are allowed to have them. Now, what constitutes as soldiers may vary between cities, of course."

Arthur seemed to be content with the answer. He merely sipped more of his wine to allow Harbend the next question.

Harbend grabbed the opportunity. "Now, something I should have asked the first outworlder trader I represented. Your days are shorter than ours I have heard. Is that not a problem for you, or is it solved by this genetics of yours?"

Arthur laughed and put down his goblet on the table. "Interesting idea, but I'm afraid the answer is far simpler." He looked thoughtful for a while. "It takes many, eh, eightdays, to journey here. The ship has no windows so all light inside is artificial. During the journey from Earth to here they make each day a little bit longer than the previous."

"I should have guessed." How elegantly simple. "Almost a pity it was not one of your technological wonders though."

They spent the rest of the afternoon there, comparing notes about things unimportant, both of them carefully avoiding any topic of potential danger. Neither of them told enough to compromise their positions and both told more than they were aware of, which is the natural way of sharing words in the company of fine wines. When the bottle was empty, and another as well, Harbend ordered a coach and they returned to Two Worlds. He told the driver to wait for Arthur.

Harbend made sure Arthur's new clothes had been delivered and went to the closest bathhouse while Arthur prepared himself in privacy.

The entrance hall was filled with people, all dressed up for the evening, but Arthur didn't recognize any of them. He was among people without Harbend to translate for him for the first time since his arrival and felt a bit handicapped.

He had rushed to the theater to enjoy some solitude for a while, but now it didn't seem such a good idea any longer. The crowded entrance was hardly a place to be alone in. Then he saw a familiar face and pushed his way to the stairs where the man was standing, muttering excuses no one would understand to anyone he pushed aside.

"Arthur? What a pleasant surprise."

"I was about to say the same, William," Arthur admitted. "Beginning to feel like an idiot."

He gave William Anderson a long glance. Like almost all Martians he was tall and thin, as if the lower gravity there made humans soar when they grew. He had taken to wearing local clothes, short, yellow jacket and red trousers both sporting pink details to honor his origins.

The man was a professional trader, one of the few true adventurers who made a living from trading with Otherworld. Famous enough for Arthur once to dedicate an entire holo show episode to the daredevil's slightly illicit pursuit of a trading license, and he didn't know how William would take this attempt at striking up a conversation.

"Strong legs," Arthur tried, suddenly at a lack for anything else to say. Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished them unsaid.

Damn, facing a person isn't always as easy as facing the camera.

William straightened his blue, silken coat and grinned.

"Spend most of my time on ships and very little planet side on Mars. Wouldn't be able to stand Earth otherwise."

Arthur smiled thinly in response. He didn't have anything to talk about, and hinting that clumsily at the difference in gravity between Mars and Earth was impolite enough to make him feel like an idiot.

"Don't worry. No affront." William chuckled at Arthur's discomfort. "Feeling alone are we? I've been here dozens of times and still feel shut out."

"You tell me," Arthur agreed recalling the days that had passed. "How much of their language do you understand?"

"Very little. Enough to make myself understood and to get a general feeling about what they're talking about, but not much more." William moved aside to allow an old man in blue and green to climb the stairs.

Arthur thought about what William had said. Harbend was always there to translate, and only Arthur's interest in anything having to do with language made him pick up bits here and there. He looked at William only to meet a wide grin. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"You're a fast one, aren't you?" William said. "Can almost see the wheels spinning in your head. Wasn't until my fifth visit here I understood they're deliberately keeping us away from other people." He raised a glass of wine, sipped a little and continued: "Yes, we're led around and meet people, but the merchants here do all the talking for us."

"That's bloody awful!"

"That's sound," William retorted flatly. "This way they control our movements and if we stray we can't communicate with anyone anyway. That's the real reason we can't bring any communicators here, or at least the result of that ban."

Arthur looked at the man with new respect. There was something still untold.

"But you've found a way around it?"

"Sure as hell I have." William laughed. "To begin with I never ask for a specific house. That way I'll be represented by different people every time I'm here."

"Why would you want that?" Arthur wondered.

A liveried servant passed with a platter containing dried fruit and Arthur mutely accepted one and sent the woman away with a nod.

"Because then they won't learn my habits." William paused to swallow the piece he'd grabbed for himself. "Always hire an extra translator who doesn't belong to any of the trading houses here, and I intend to keep that a secret for as long as I can."

"How's that possible?"

"Merchants are not omniscient. May seem so to us, but they're not. Keen has a system of houses for all kinds of business. One for making weapons, one for writing and printing books and so on."

"Guilds."

"Guess you could call them that. I'm a trader, not a historian. Word's familiar to me, but it's ancient history anyway."

Arthur laughed. "Important history for the likes of us, but I won't pursue the matter any further."

William gave him a quizzical look and shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, there's a money trader's house, or there has to be more than one, but one I know of. They're not part of the trading houses but run their own internal system." William made as if to let Arthur squeeze in a question.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"Very well. As such they're cut off from any direct contact with us. At least they were until I lucked out and got in contact with one of them." William paused and looked thoughtful. "I've got the gold and silver they're interested in and they've got the alternative source of information I'm interested in. Don't think they'll sell me out."

Arthur pondered the information for a while and shook William's hands. "I'd very much enjoy your company at a later day as well. I've been shown a truly marvelous restaurant and if you wish we could dine there later."

"Take it your Harbend's arriving here now." William nodded at the entrance and Arthur looked over his own shoulder.

"You're correct. I live at Two Worlds. You can reach me there. I suspect you'd prefer not to be recognized by Harbend here."

William grinned in agreement, returned Arthur's handshake and climbed the stairs leaving Arthur to his own thoughts. He strode to the entrance with a newborn awareness and met Harbend just inside the great doors.

"There you are, Arthur. I hope the waiting was not too tedious for you," Harbend greeted him. "There are some people here I absolutely must introduce you to," he continued and led Arthur away to an elderly couple standing by a marble statue at the edge of a small fountain.

Arthur followed him and enjoyed the charade with new eyes.

Halfway into the play the motions of the actors stirred memories in him, and Arthur stumbled from their loge muttering a lie about an intensive headache caused by too much sunshine.

He found a corner where he could hide, racking in sobs. When his head cleared a little, and he was able to lock the emotions inside him again, he found the small fountain he'd seen in the foyer. It took him another few minutes to wash his face and when he returned the play was almost over.

Harbend said nothing except expressing his sympathy for Arthur's bad luck and hastily added some polite nonsense about the dangers of having a cold bath after a warm day. It was all too evident that Harbend suspected something but was also too well mannered to say anything about it, and they both spent an awkward time waiting for the play to finish.

They left quickly, only pausing to allow Harbend to exchange polite words with some dignitaries interested in the presence of an outworlder and parted ways at Arthur's hotel.

The following morning when Harbend, true to their morning ritual, suggested a visit to the battlements, Arthur, remembering his conversation with William the night before, feigned tiredness and received Harbend's best wishes in return. He deliberately made the entire scene as uncomfortable as possible by being uncommonly silent. Playing on Harbend's obvious unwillingness to dwell on neither the assault nor the failed visit at the theater the previous evening it was all too easy. There wasn't anything to say, and he watched as Harbend simply closed the door on his way out.

Arthur had made up his mind and he decided to stroll around Verd on his own to learn more about the city by himself. The tours he'd been given this far had been just a little bit too convenient.

Harbend opened the door to his small office and called on the main lights. He'd chosen quarters in the western, older parts of the city, and the buildings here showed their heritage by displaying narrow slits rather than the more modern wide windows that allowed more daylight in. The slits were glassed of course. An addition to all old houses several hundreds of years earlier, but one that increased the need for lamps.

He'd bought several oil lamps in order to be able to work during evenings when the main lights didn't quite suffice. Late work was a must here where the days grew considerably shorter during winter.

The rooms were generally smaller in this part of the city as well, designed during an age when defense was more important than luxury. Great wars had raged then, some almost reaching the city itself when it was but a fortified display of power, a provincial capital when Keen was still part of an ancient empire now long gone.

Harbend used to feel the shadow of that empire looming closer when Hasselden was his center of operations. From there ships could take him to the southern tip of the Ming peninsula in a day or two, and visiting traders sometimes still boasted of Ming Hjil de Vhat and La, the ancient capitals from where emperors had ruled all of the northern world.

Now all that remained of the twin capitals were an insignificant fishing town to the far north on the peninsula and a mass of haunted ruins on the isthmus, the latter half a day's ride from a small town usurping the name of the once great city.

But he wasn't in Hasselden now. He was standing in his office in Verd, and sounds came from a back room that should have been quiet. He rounded his desk and made his way through the doorway to find out who had intruded on his privacy.

The sight made his heart jump.

"Uncle! And Horse-lord Kanir, what a pleasant surprise!" They stared back at him in disdainful incomprehension and he caught himself. Quickly he repeated himself in his native tongue.

"You have been here long indeed when you greet your family in such a harsh language." The words carried a barb, but Harbend could see the affection shining in his uncle's eyes. He looked old, but then he'd always seemed old to Harbend. Beardless now, but with long, white hair. He'd become thinner as well since Harbend last saw him.

Ramdar Garak, Harbend's uncle, was by far the oldest of three brothers and as such head of their family and therefore responsible for leading the noble line. He already had two married sons securing the continuity of the line.

The sensation of listening to words spoken in Khi filled Harbend with joy. Years had passed since he last had a chance to hear it.

"You are right, of course. I apologize most deeply for my bad manners." Harbend bowed, as was expected from him.

When he rose he saw the horse-lord still keeping his steely gaze. A hard man in his fifties he commanded all cavalry under the noble line of the Garak family, a line Harbend was more than satisfied he wasn't part of. Vildir Kanir wore the long leather coat coming with his position, and he'd worn it for as long as Harbend could remember. Horse-lord Kanir was large, large the way a predator loomed over its prey before striking, and Harbend assumed he had very little fat hidden under the clothes. There was gray in his black hair now though, and new lines streaked his face. Change came even to this pillar of stability.

"When did you arrive, and how?" Harbend asked.

"We sailed for Rhuin. They still keep their coasts clear with the help of Nijan and us, but there we learned that the only way north was by land. We were fortunate enough to buy passage in Ira."

"Ira?" Harbend drew a mental map. It didn't make sense. "But the caravan route from there to Kastari takes ages!"

"We didn't join a caravan."

"But how... Oh. But you abhor the jump towers"

"Yes." The old man smiled. "I was sick for days after we arrived in Chach, but we made a season's worth of travel in a day." The frown on Ramdar's face belied his tone of satisfaction. "Then crossing the Narrow Sea," he continued, and Harbend could almost see the worry they must have felt when taking the dangerous sea route with westerners roaming virtually unchecked. "The roads on this side are fantastic so we sold our horses and paid for the use of a truly excellent coach service. From Chach to Verd in less than a moon. I would not have believed it possible had I not traveled the part myself," Ramdar finished, and there was real wonder in the old man's face.

Harbend already knew about the network of roads so he was more interested in the implications for such a journey.

"Now I know how you made your way here, but please enlighten me as to why."

"There is something you ought to know." Ramdar sat down on a bench in the back of the room and Harbend, guessing the news could be nothing but bad, did the same. Only Vildir remained standing.

"Tell me."

"We are here on behalf of your father, but there is more to it so I had better start at the beginning. Our family is very large for a minor family, too large, and it has been for the last two generations."

"I was never told," Harbend said surprised.

"Deliberately so," Ramdar said. "We are making a bid for full clan status."

Harbend was mute. He'd expected bad news, maybe even the news of his father's death, but this piece of information rocked his world.

"The Rikar family is undermining your father's economy," Ramdar continued relentlessly.

That piece of information made sense, painfully so. The noble line of a mere family couldn't be seen transferring resources to the lesser lines, but a clan failing to help each of its families would lose their clan status.

"But, uncle, each clan must symbolize something unique, something that breaks with tradition, and we fail to... Oh, no, you are not seriously..."

"I am very much so. Your father has known all along. That is the reason your restless mind was never disciplined. That is why you have been allowed to play the merchant half a continent away from your home."

Harbend was too astonished to feel cheated of what he had believed to be the result of his firm determination and not part of an elaborate plan. "What do you expect me to do?" he whispered.

"When you made your intentions clear I started to read about Keen and how politics work here." Ramdar gave Harbend a warm smile. "You might have forced the issue and traveled here even if I had not found out what I did." Ramdar sighed slowly. "You were always the impatient one, but as it turned out I did find a use for your wishes. I want you to found a trading house."

"With what funds?" Harbend asked, still far to surprised to be angry. The resentment would come later.

"Have you not made funds of your own?"

"Yes, but the last four years have been ghastly. My skills at trading have barely enabled me to pay for my store in Hasselden and my office here. The raiders..."

"That was bad news, very bad news. I do not accuse you of the western devils' doing. I know better than that, but you should know your line faces execution should your father go bankrupt."

Harbend didn't need telling. He'd studied more of the politics in Khi than his uncle knew. Normally bankruptcy was a disgrace, but for a family making such a bid for power there would be no excuses. Khi had no use for a clan only managing to gain power but failing to wield it wisely. Ramdar had been kind enough not to tell all of it. Harbend's father and sister would meet the gallows, but not until after every living member of the noble line was hunted down and killed.

Harbend stared at both of his visitors. He didn't know what to think. Finally his anger caught up with him and he wondered what had really happened to make Ramdar play the desperate game. Still, loyalty to family overshadowed anything else, and Harbend knew his raging wouldn't help them. Then an idea formed out of memory, one that would give them a way out while still allowing him a stinging retort.

"It would seem there are those who think I have overstayed my welcome here, and combined with your journey it gives me an idea. I do not know if it will work, and if it does, our entire family will be indebted to a stranger," he said silently. The smile he kept for himself.

"That is an unacceptable disgrace and a breach with all our family stands for," Horse-lord Kanir said, breaking his silence for the first time and swallowing Harbend's bait whole.

"Yes, that would definitely shine in stark opposition to all our values," Harbend said looking at his uncle. They sat in silence for a while staring at each other and then Ramdar laughed loudly.

"Gods! You are learning already. Your father has much to be proud of. Now, tell me more about this stranger of yours."

For the first time in years Harbend locked his office going out. Burglaries were almost unheard of in Keen, but the waiting relatives had him deciding against leaving his home open to anyone who wanted to enter. Making it a habit to leave it locked in the future was an easy way to avoid unnecessary surprises, he thought, coming up to a woman standing behind a cart. Harbend almost passed her by, but driven by a sudden impulse he halted and reversed his steps ending up in front of the woman selling flowers.

She could have been his own age, maybe a few years older, sun tanned face and hands. She stood on the sidewalk, a pallet behind her for when there were no potential customers in sight, and the cart still half full with flowers of different colors and sizes. This close the mixed scents were overwhelming.

"Flowers sir?"

"Yes. Long ones. One red, one blue and one white." He pointed at the flowers he wanted, not knowing their names.

She looked up and squinted at him. His singing accent gave him away as a foreigner more clearly than his dark complexion. "A girl waiting for you, eh?" she teased, all business again.

"No, a man."

She glared disapprovingly at him.

Harbend stepped aside momentarily to give way for a passing couple. "Where I come from we sometimes buy flowers just to show respect."

She frowned and squinted at Harbend again. He realized she must be nearsighted.

"I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have assumed. He a foreigner just like you?" she asked.

"Yes, yes he is," Harbend said thoughtfully, and without knowing why he bothered telling this stranger on the street, he continued barely audibly: "but most of all he is a very lonely man."

Arthur sat waiting in the restaurant he'd made his second home. He'd even managed to get a private cottage for two by himself. Most of the words and expressions he knew came from the world of merchants, and the amused response from the servant told him he'd probably tried to buy a room measuring two standard Terran units or something equally hilarious.

Harbend wanted to meet him here for a purpose that apparently couldn't wait another day. Otherwise he'd simply have waited for Arthur to finish his breakfast next morning as usual.

There was a certain appealing touch to the habit of serving diners their meals in separate rooms. Arthur had never thought of it before, being used to the large dining halls on Earth. Of course he knew of the custom, but it was more a local color adding spice to the experience of some regions and most commonly found in Japan, but nowhere as elaborate as here. He hadn't expected to find a place like this in a surreal version of a fairytale Vienna indefinitely placed somewhere in time a millennium or so earlier.

He was drumming his fingers on the table when Harbend arrived with a few flowers in his hand. He looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept well and Arthur worried about what could have changed him so since morning. He was sure to bring some dire news. That, however, to Arthur's great joy, was not what happened.

A cool and clear morning greeted him, with the worst of the heatwave abated. During the night rain had put glittering jewels for the morning sun to play on in the streets, and the air was fresher than in days.

Now Harbend sat in the trading hall waiting for the traditional eightday meeting to start. It had to be done this day. The next meeting would be dedicated to handling any complaints before the outworlder traders departed and to assign those who would represent the traders arriving next.

Merchants started to arrive, not as many as an eightday earlier, and when the four finally arrived less than half of the places along the walls were occupied.

"Are there any matters to be resolved involving all of us present today?"

That was his cue. "I have come here with a request to be accepted as a full house." A low murmur filled the hall and the other merchants looked at each other in apprehension.

"It's not often we have the honor to bear witness to the founding of a new house." This time it was the oldest of the four who made his voice heard. "Would the sponsor please step forward?" Now all the merchants present looked around, searching for who among them had agreed to sponsor a foreign merchant's founding a new house.

"You are aware that you need a sponsor?" The old man's voice showed clear surprise at the absence of a sponsor.

Harbend was the only one anticipating the shadow falling over the doorway and rose. "My sponsor is Arthur Wallman."

An outcry came from the bench opposing Harbend, and a tall woman, the same age as Harbend rose. "This is an outrage. Everyone knows that only those representing a house may sponsor a new."

Almost immediately two men rose, one of them resembling a darker version of Harbend and the other ebony skinned with curly hair the color of terracotta. "That is a lie," the latter said.

"But..." It was clear the woman saw how she was losing ground almost at the onset. "But that was almost a hundred years ago."

"Are you saying we do not represent a proper trading house each?"

"No, no of course not."

Harbend smiled. Thank you for that help. He well knew how two merchant families, one from Khanati and one from Rhuin, had put aside the enmity grown from perpetual wars fought between their countries, and, shocking the merchants of Keen, sponsored each other.

"Then, Harbend Garak, please proceed." Old Master de Verd again.

"No! I refuse to see this happen! He's an outworlder," the woman yelled.

"You know that the law only requires the sponsor to be a merchant, and Arthur Wallman has indeed sold his wares in this very hall."

The woman sat down staring sullenly at the black man closer to their four leaders. Then she gave Harbend a dark look and a cunning glimmer reached her eyes.

"So be it, but by the same law he must personally make it clear that this is what he wishes and that he hasn't been coerced into the sponsorship."

Harbend blinked.

What is she planning now? Then truth dawned on him and he realized that if he as much as said a single word now his request would fall.

Arthur stood between the lines of benches listening to angry voices bouncing between the walls, desperately trying to catch the meaning of the quarrel. That he was playing a part was clear, even what part. Almost as quickly as the shouting had started it subsided and he turned to Harbend.

"I hereby make it clear for each and everyone that I will stand as sponsor for Harbend Garak. I also declare that this is of my own wish, and that I intend to pay the fee requested only because I personally want to do so; because it amuses me to play this prank on you." They had agreed upon the last part to make his declaration sound a little more personal.

He waited for Harbend's translation but none came.

What the hell now? No explanation from Harbend who only rigidly stared at the woman who'd started the row. Something was amiss, but what?

Arthur started sorting through the memories of their planning. Slowly he guessed the reason for the silence in the hall. Only a guess, but it had to do.

"House de Garak ... Harbend called welcome... Arthur Wallman, I... ," He faltered. "I trade standard unit... buy Harbend de Garak I wish and... wholly satisfied thereby," he continued remembering the phrase used when a deal was struck.

Damn, I can't run a good show without knowing the language. Simply doesn't work that way. Bloody awkward failing to master what I should do best.

He fell silent. The old man facing him grinned almost exploding with anger. No, not anger. He was laughing so hard he was shaking and Arthur had misunderstood it for wrath.

Harbend couldn't believe what he was hearing. The grammar was awful to say the least, and the pronunciation had a strange singing quality as if spoken by someone... He blushed. As if spoken by someone from Khi. The man was a wonder, learning that amount of De Vhatic in a single eightday.

"You can't accept that as a formal declaration of sponsorship." The whining voice cut through his thoughts. By all gods unholy! Of course it was the same woman again.

"I think he made his intent clear." Master de Verd had turned on his feet and was now facing the female merchant.

"But, Master de Verd, he clearly has no idea of what he's saying. They must have repeated this earlier." The dismay was clearly showing in her eyes.

"I believe that may be true, but he was clear enough that even I could hear him naming the new house. I'm certain he understood what he was saying, and I refuse to believe they deliberately rehearsed that horrible parody of our language."

"But..."

"That will be quite enough!" He turned to Harbend. "Now, Harbend de Garak, I advise you not to show the declaration of your house to other than those you trust with your embarrassment. The law is clear. As your sponsorship was spoken so shall it be written. Let it be clear for all who come after us to know at what time, in what manner and with whom present your house came to be. We welcome House de Garak to our ranks."

Harbend groaned. Master merchant Glarien de Verd could hardly have twisted the knife harder than he did by ending the matter in the traditional high ceremony, but still, it was done. He was representing a trading house. He was Harbend de Garak.

He glared at the master merchant and received an amused stare in return. Almost giddy with relief he hardly noticed Arthur walking to the center of the wooden part of the floor.

While Arthur paid the insane amount of money required of a sponsor Harbend eagerly waited for the finishing question that procedure required. As if teasing him Master de Verd made a show of displaying a benign interest in Arthur's growing stack of jewelery, silver and gold.

"Well, Master de Garak, most recent of our houses. Each new house must show in deed as well as intention why we should not revoke the title granted. Even though I'm personally inclined to think you've already done so..." He was interrupted by a growl coming from the woman he ordered silent earlier and disarmed her with a smile that made several of the gathered merchants laugh.

"Oh well, I had to try, didn't I?" she exclaimed dramatically and joined the laughter even though it was clear to them all how forced it sounded.

"So, what are your plans for making a lasting impression among the trading houses of Keen?" Master de Verd said. "Other than what you have already done," he added, drawing further laughter from the seated merchants in the hall.

"Master de Verd. Considering the impact the western raiders have on trade I mean to reinvent methods normally found lacking in efficiency," Harbend answered trying to keep his voice level.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"I will reopen the old caravan route between Erkateren and Braka."

A murmur of surprise greeted him.

"While I agree your proposal is sound at the present time when we're virtually cut off from that source of metal, the cost for setting up the first caravan seems, how shall I put it, somewhat steep. How could you possibly raise the funds needed.

"The funding for this venture is already secure. Let me introduce you to my partner, Arthur Wallman."

This time the murmur only displayed appreciation. The source of money needed had been clear all the time, but they wanted confirmation and now it was given.

"What's up?" Arthur asked when he heard his name mentioned.

"They just wanted me to confirm the means necessary for the caravan."

"Ah, yes. Tell them that their consternation is all I sought. Amusement has a value, and that's all the profit I crave."

Harbend translated. He was rewarded with a chorus of guffaws and clapping hands.

"Well spoken. The arrogance and airs of a true merchant among equals. He'll do well," was the finishing response from Master de Verd before the merchants present rose to greet their newest member.

Harbend slowly realized that he'd been accepted formally as well as emotionally, and Arthur had carried the key to open a door Harbend expected to stay closed for years to come.

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