Fiveday morning dawned with clear skies. Tom opened his eyes, ending his latest wild dream, and took a few moments to let his soul settle. Nightmares and fantasies. A strange mix. He had had a hard time getting to sleep while listening to Diavla and Varga's cries of passion. He felt his face heat with embarrassment when he recalled the sexy dreams he had had, and was glad that the women had not yet emerged from the grain wagon, so he had a little time to calm down and get his head on straight.
Tom was grateful that Orvan had given him the chance to get a good chunk of sleep before their big day. He also appreciated the hot breakfast the older elf prepared. Orvan apparently had learned a lot from Winnie, as the food tasted even better than usual. Diavla and Varga came out and joined them in time for the meal. Diavla avoided his gaze, and Varga gave him a self-satisfied smirk.
Everyone was quiet that morning. The elves were subdued, presumably at the thought of going into a human city wearing slave collars and being stared at and possibly threatened. There was no pretending that there wasn't danger for them; many things could go wrong. It all came down to how well they trusted him to protect them.
He didn't rush them, and let them have long conversations in Elvish. They took their time packing up to leave. Finally, Diavla brought him four tokens. He put them carefully into a pouch. Then she took a deep breath, reached up and put a slave collar on, shivering with a grimace as the magic took hold. On impulse, Tom stepped forward and hugged her.
“I do good,” he whispered into her ear. “I help you.” Diavla clung to him, and hugged him tightly for several moments. Tom let go when he felt her do so, and stepped back. Only afterward did it occur to him that his attraction to Diavla might have made that gesture awkward if he had been thinking about it. But fortunately, the only thought in his head right at that moment was that she needed comforting.
“Thank you, Tom,” she murmured in Western. The other elves put on their collars, then waited for instructions. Tom weighed the pouch with the tokens in his hand.
We're going into a big city. Getting pick-pocketed and losing these would be a disaster. Tom knew what to do about that, but he didn't want to share his trick with everyone. He beckoned for Diavla to follow him, and walked out of sight of the others behind one of the wagons. He held up a finger for patience, and then unhooked his belt, sliding it free. He glanced up at Diavla.
She was frozen in place, as if shocked, staring intently at him…at his waist… Oh. Tom started to feel incredibly foolish. Did she think I was going to…that we would…? They looked at each other for a few moments. Diavla swallowed. She looked flushed, and afraid, but…not horrified. There was something in her expression that stirred Tom's blood. He felt his body start to respond, and clutched at his trousers in embarrassment. He cleared his throat.
“Diavla, this is my belt. Belt.” He held it up, and Diavla blinked and unfroze, looking confused. Tom turned it over, and pried open the secret pocket. Slowly he pulled out both of the gold coins he had saved up. “This is secret.” He put a finger to his lips. “No say.”
Diavla blinked a few times. Tom could almost see her clever soul working hard to catch up, and she nodded slowly.
Carefully, Tom put the four slave tokens into the pocket. “Four years I do,” he told her, showing her the gold coins, then put them into the pocket after the tokens, so that the gold would be accessible first if he needed it. He closed the little flap, smoothed it until even he could barely tell it was there, and then put his belt back on. When he finished, he pulled out his coin pouch.
“In Rivermarch, boy take this, boy get coin, boy no get tokens. No one get tokens. Do you understand?”
Diavla nodded again, quickly. “Yes. I understand. Thank you, Tom.” She looked very embarrassed.
“Diavla.”
“We (something) get go (something).” She had her face turned away.
“Diavla.” Tom waited until she looked back at him. “You are…very good see. I like you. I no hurt you. I want…” Tom's gaze ran down over Diavla's body. She filled out the blue dress amazingly well. He hadn't realized quite how shapely she was. He longed to run his hands over her, to feel her body, in that dress and out of it. He swallowed, and forced his gaze away from her curves and back up to her face.
“You are very beautiful and I want you very badly,” he near-whispered in Western. “But I will not hurt you.” Tom very much wanted to step closer, but he kept his distance so that he could see her expression clearly. “I want to take you. But I won't. I want you. I no do. Collar.” He reached out toward it, and he heard Diavla's breath catch, so he stopped, and forced himself to look away and take a ragged breath.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”
“Tom. I…I want…” He turned back to face her and Diavla hesitated, then held back whatever she was about to say. “You are a good man,” she said instead. “We go. Please.”
“You go now, please. I go soon.” Diavla nodded her understanding, turned, and rejoined the others.
Once she was out of sight, Tom punched his forehead a few times. Stupid, Tom, stupid! Don't scare her like that! You've got to be careful! He waited until his breathing evened out and his body settled before he headed over to the elves.
But gods above and below, she's sexy in that dress.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
Diavla rode with Tom on the crystals wagon in the lead. She practiced her Western intensively as they rode. However, she started fidgeting as they were about to crest the last rise before descending into the valley holding the city. “Diavla? What's wrong?”
“Water.” She pointed ahead.
Tom furrowed his brow, confused, then nodded and led them onward. Once the river was in view, Tom pointed all along it and said, “Water. River. River.”
Diavla stared at him, then closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “Rivermarch!” she called out as if it were a revelation. Then she turned and called excitedly to the others. Varga laughed at whatever she said, then Diavla faced forward again looking at him with a smile. “River is river,” she taught him.
At first Tom didn't hear her. Diavla's smile seemed to blind his soul, making it hard to think about anything else. Gods, how I want to see her smile more. Belatedly, he recited the word back, then returned his attention to keeping the ox from wandering down a side road.
The ride down into the valley was pleasant, and Tom made note of places he recognized, doing his best to become familiar with the city. It was nearly noon before the caravan reached the gate, and the line was long. Finally, Tom rode into position as the wagon before him made room. He noticed that it was the same two guards from his entry into the city on Twoday.
“Hi guys!” he called cheerfully. “Tom Walker, with some goods for sale, others not. These four wagons.”
“You came through here before, right?”
“Yes. The delivery for Whistler's. This is the rest of the caravan.”
“What goods are you selling?”
“Not selling anything in this wagon, grain in the second wagon, third wagon is booze and the fourth is ironwork for Hooper and Drum.”
“What's in this wagon?”
“A delivery for the city Temple. I don't know what it is and I don't want to know.” One guard peered into the back curiously and noted the cases.
When the second guard started to walk past, he got a good look at Diavla and stopped short. “Gods, is that an elf?”
Tom took a deep breath. “Yes. Four elves. They are not for sale, either.”
“You own four slaves?” The first guard was incredulous. “Wait, this entire caravan belongs to you?”
Tom shrugged. “It does now. Long story. I told them about it at the guardhouse when I came through last time, and I talked with Simon Law. If I happen to see you in a tavern tonight, buy me a drink and I'll tell you the rest in person.”
“I'd like to hear that story,” the first guard agreed. He blinked, his soul trying to get a grip on the idea of four elves. “Um…right. Do you know the laws about slaves in the city?”
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Tom recited, “I have to keep them fed and clothed and treated well, I need to back up any promises they make on my behalf, and I am responsible for any crimes they commit in the city. Does that about cover it?”
“Yeah, that's basically it. If you were selling them there would be a big tax.”
“Definitely not selling.” Tom put a hand on Diavla's knee possessively.
“Yeah, I can certainly see why you wouldn't want to,” the second guard said, looking Diavla up and down.
“What's in the second wagon?” the first guard asked.
“Grain. Some of it is already sold, some I'll find buyers for.”
The second guard stuck his head in that one, counted a minute, then said, “thirty silver for this.”
He trudged on and inspected the rest of the cargo, looking over the other elves while he was at it, paying extra attention to Varga. They were too far away for Tom to see what was going on back there, and he got a bit nervous, but he didn't hear Varga shouting or anything.
Finally, the second guard returned to the front. “One gold for the ironwork, two gold for the drink, and thirty silver for the grain.”
Tom blew air out his cheeks, stunned at the total, then opened his coin pouch and fished out the required tax. The guard carefully counted it, then counted five tokens into Tom's hand. Tom couldn't see the markings, but Diavla put one hand on his arm.
“Tom? Please I see?”
Tom held out his hand, palm open. Diavla poked at them one at a time. “Gold, gold, silver, silver, silver, um big, big, big silver, yes?”
“Yes. Exactly. Very good, Diavla.” Tom dropped the tokens into his pouch, and gave her a grateful look.
The guards waved them on into the city, and Tom quietly let out a sigh of relief once they were well past the gate. “Diavla, you see, you see, you see, Varga and Kervan and Orvan are good, please?”
“Yes. I watch.” Diavla taught him, and suited action to words, turning and looking back at the others to make sure nothing bad happened to the elves or wagons as they moved through the city.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
Now, which should we do first? Guardhouse, Temple, or sell the goods? Tom mulled that over a moment. We'll sell the goods first. I'll tell the guard once it's a finished deal and I've turned the cargo into gold. The temple is important, but it can wait another day or two.
Tom drove to a wagon lot that he had picked out on his previous visit. They paid a silver per wagon to stash three of them, and all climbed aboard the fourth, to go deliver the ironwork to Hooper and Drum. It was a short ride, only made slow by the need to weave the ox and wagon past pedestrians on the crowded streets.
The elves were staring at everything, and a fraction of the people they passed noticed them and stared back. Their first time in a human city…at least, when free to move around. I'll have to do my best to make it as pleasant an experience as possible. The gods know they've suffered enough.
Once they pulled up in front of the big general store, Tom went inside and told a clerk that they had a delivery, but that there were complications. He hurried back out so as not to leave the elves alone longer than necessary. Diavla looked a question at him and he patted her knee reassuringly.
Within a couple of minutes Gabriel Hooper came out. He was a man of middle height and tubby shape, bald and with a sour expression that brightened a little at the sight of the cargo.
“Is that the ironwork from Southby? Excellent. Just bring the wagon around to the back.”
Here was the tricky part. Tom steeled himself against his nervousness. He cleared his throat and said firmly, “Ah, we have a matter to discuss first.”
“What do you mean? We paid for this cargo.”
“And it was lost, the owners killed. I salvaged it. Now, I would have been within my rights to drive off with it to some other city and sell the whole thing for a tidy sum, but I didn't. I brought it to you. I know you have use for the items or you wouldn't have ordered them. It seemed simpler all around to bring them here.”
“Well, we appreciate that very much, but it is our property,” Hooper said warily.
“Technically, it isn't. It's probably about to be, but it isn't yet. Not until we finish delivering it.” Hooper started turning red.
“I can call the city guard on you!”
“By all means! Let's tie up this cargo at the keep, and bring it to the attention of the Lord of the City, who might take an interest in it and confiscate some of it for his own use in caring for the city. Or, we could settle this right now with a minimum of fuss.”
Hooper glared at Tom for several seconds. “What do you want?”
“Just a bit of fair recompense for my efforts is all. Now, the contents of this wagon are worth, oh, fifty or sixty gold—”
“We paid forty-five!”
“Forty-five then. I would think that six gold would be a fair payment.”
“What! That's absurd.”
“Feel free to make me a counteroffer,” Tom declared mildly. A small crowd was gathering as passersby stopped to watch the haggling.
“One gold!”
Tom scoffed. “Don't be insulting; I already paid a gold just to bring this inside the city gates! But I understand the pain of an unexpected expense. Five and a half gold.”
“This is ridiculous! I'll call the guard!”
“Go right ahead! I think I see one down that way,” Tom declared, pointing. “Or make me a better offer.”
“Two gold.”
“Now you're getting it! Five gold even.”
“Two fifty!”
“Four gold fifty.”
“Three gold even!”
“Is this cargo worth that little to you? Because I can still drive off with this and find another buyer. Maybe one of your competitors here in town would like a steep discount. I'm sure they'd be delighted to acquire forty-five gold worth of ironwork for ten gold, and I'd be much better off.” Tom raised his voice for the last. At least one urchin saw an opportunity, and dashed off.
Hooper noticed. He took a few moments to scan the crowd, then glared at Tom. “Enough! I'll give you four gold and not a copper more!”
“Done!” Tom called loudly. “Bring me the four gold and it's all yours.”
Hooper fumed a moment, then turned and stomped back into his shop. Tom did his best to hide a nervous tremor. Then Diavla's hand was there on his, just for a moment. “You are smart,” she whispered.
Hearing her say that really made a difference. I can't let her down now. He firmed his resolve.
It felt like forever but was probably under a minute before Hooper returned and held out four gold coins. Tom took them in his hand and quickly passed them one by one to the other. “There! You have your payment—”
“Just a moment!” Tom interrupted him with a frown. “You've only paid me three gold. This coin is a fake.” He tossed the faulty coin at the shopkeeper, who fumbled but made sure to catch it; it was probably still worth half a gold, after all. “I'm sure you have got one more true gold coin somewhere, don't you? Surely Hooper and Drum is not so financially shaky that they would try to pass on counter—”
“HERE!” Hooper shouted, apoplectic now. He handed Tom another gold coin, and the weight felt right.
“Payment is received; it's all yours. There, that wasn't so hard, was it? Think of the forty-one gold you just rescued from loss with my help, eh?” Tom gestured to the elves, and they all clambered down.
“Hey, where are you going? Drive it around back!”
“I don't work for you, Mr. Hooper. I'm sure you have staff to help you. Oh, and that's my ox and wagon, you'll need to give those back when you're finished unloading.”
“I'll give you one gold for the ox and wagon, if you get out of my sight and never darken my door again!” The ox and wagon were worth two gold, but Tom could feel he was riding the edge of the deal and simply held out an empty hand with a flourish.
Hooper made as if to pay with the counterfeit coin for a moment, but a warning look dissuaded him, and another gold coin landed in Tom's palm. “There! Now go!”
“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Hooper!” Tom shouted over his shoulder as he walked away, followed by the elves. A smattering of laughter and applause followed them for a few moments, and then the crowd started to disperse. Tom kept the elves moving until they were back at the lot.
Then, once they were among the wagons and out of sight of the crowd, Tom doubled over, breathing heavily for a few moments. He found he was shaking. Diavla crouched down next to him. “You did are very good smart, Tom,” she told him.
Tom nodded jerkily. He only needed a couple more moments before he could straighten up again and work out a few more shivers. A deep breath, and he felt himself grow calmer. He nodded again; he was ready for the next challenge.
He thought about the new gold coins in his pouch. That's a relief. We were down to six gold, with all we've had to spend.
Tom looked around at the elves. “Now we get grain, give grain, get gold.” It felt good to just say what they were going to do next, instead of asking the elves every time. In town, he got to lead them, and it was a great relief.
They pulled the grain wagon out of the city lot. An urchin was happy to point the way to the right markets for a pair of small copper coins, and followed along for a while, staring at Diavla and the others.
The elves were drawing attention wherever they went. Again, most of it was curiosity, or interest at the novelty. Some people asked questions, others just stared. Twice, someone glared at them instead. Both times it was an older veteran, judging by the scars and posture.
“Cursed elves shouldn't be getting better treatment than I am,” one grumbled loudly. “I served my king!”
“You're right,” Tom told him. He pulled out a couple of silver. “Have yourself a good meal and a good room tonight, on me. Thank you for your service.”
The man was stunned into silence as the coins hit his palm. They had moved on past the next building before the veteran yelled after him, “Thank you, young lord!”
Lord? Tom blinked, then thought it over. I guess normally someone casually giving out a couple of silver as a gift would be a noble. I should remember that most of this money belongs to the elves and not spend too much. I can't give out coin every time, but this time…it felt right. Tom suspected that the veteran's attitude towards him and the elves at least would be softened now. You never knew when that would be handy.
At the grain market, Tom asked around for the correct stalls he had memorized from the wagon's list of goods. First, he went to the prepaid vendors and gave them what they were owed. Each time, he asked for a gratuity for getting the goods delivered and paying the city tax. Generally, the vendors gave him at least a little something, enough to cover the tax and a bit more.
Once that was done, Tom had to start asking merchants who might be interested in buying the remaining grain. Now that he had gotten used to it, his skills at haggling came back and it got easier. They found a mill willing to take most of the wheat, for starters. The day wore on as Tom and the elves went from place to place, exchanging grain for gold a little at a time. It was midafternoon before they finally handed over the last sack of barley.
“Twenty-two gold,” Kervan said quietly. “Good.” The elves made other comments that Tom didn't catch, as he tried to shake the soul-fog sinking into him. Gods, I'm tired. He took a deep breath. Keep going, Tom.
“All right, let's sell the ox and wagon, then get to the Keep so we can use a Treasury box.” The elves looked at him blankly. “Um…we go, give ox, give wagon, get gold. We go, give gold to guard. Get gold tomorrow.” Thirty gold or so was a lot of coin to be carrying around in a city, given pickpockets.
It wasn't hard to find a buyer for the ox and wagon, just a matter of walking to the right part of town. Once that was settled, they started up the hill, and Tom mulled over what Simon Law had told him. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to bring a bunch of elves into the Keep and draw extra official attention too soon. What should I do with the elves now?