Tom led the way outside and back to the wagon lot, where he retrieved the booze. They headed uphill to the nicest part of the city, and Tom looked for taverns. Arriving at the first one, he pulled up the wagon, climbed down and headed inside. Diavla followed, and Varga stayed with the wagon.
“We don't open until two hours before sunset,” the man behind the bar announced warningly.
“I'm here to sell alcohol.”
The man's expression relaxed somewhat. “I already have a supplier.”
Tom nodded. “That's fine, I only have the one wagonload. Are you topped up right now?”
The bartender nodded. “We're all set here.”
“Fair enough. Do you know who around here might be thirsty?” Tom pressed as politely as he could.
The man eyed him for a moment as if passing judgment. “Try The Walking Staff across the way.”
“Thank you very much. Good fortune to you.”
“And to you…” the man trailed off, looking at Diavla, but didn't seem inclined to speak further. Tom led Diavla outside, waved to Varga, and headed across the street.
It turned out that The Walking Staff did need some ale, and once he showed the stronger spirits, the owner got interested in the brandy. Tom reminded himself that he was trying to act more like a noble, and also that he was raising money to help the elves. He pushed in the negotiation a bit harder than he normally would, and was mildly surprised that the man accepted a significantly higher price. Tom collected the gold while two men came out to unload the casks. His instinct was to help the men, but he held himself back. He was pretending to be above common labor, and it did not come naturally, so he needed the practice.
For the next two hours, they made the rounds of all the places likely to purchase alcohol, and sold everything except the dwarven whiskey. Diavla or Varga was always hovering near him, sometimes holding his arm. Tom had to admit that having two lovely women paying attention to him improved his mood and gave him more confidence.
At the end of all the negotiation, Tom had managed to get fifty gold for the alcohol, thanks to one buyer showing too much desperation for one cask in particular. We're a lot closer to 120 gold now. But the hardest part still lay ahead.
Tom drove them to Sally's Sweets. Diavla looked thrilled to be back and Tom enjoyed her expression immensely. He dropped the two women off with money for desserts, paid a boy to watch the wagon, and picked up the cask of whisky carefully. Then he walked up to the guard at the entrance to the Keep. It was yet another stranger, and Tom introduced himself to her.
“Who is in charge of purchasing for the Keep?”
“What have you got there?”
“Dwarven whiskey.”
The guard's eyebrows went up for a moment. “You'll be wanting the Steward of the Keep. Straight ahead, then ask the bald guy just past the doors.”
Tom gave a formal nod. “Thank you.” He walked in.
A few minutes later, he was doing his best to act calm while he and the Steward watched a woman examining the cask with care. “This is certainly written in Dwarvish, and is carved into the wood.” She pointed at something Tom couldn't see. He didn't understand what she was doing, but after another minute she straightened up. “In my judgement, this is genuine dwarven whiskey, and at least seven years old.
“Excellent. Thank you, Lucille,” the Steward told the woman, who stepped back. He turned to Tom. “Well, Mr. Walker, what price are you asking for this?”
This was the hard part. Tom steeled his nerve. The elves need me to do well here. Almost feeling as if he wanted to faint, he spoke calmly. “This is not a common item, and I'm sure in the capital it would fetch over a hundred gold, but here in Rivermarch I will only charge eighty.”
“Eighty gold!” The Steward looked stunned. “I was prepared to offer thirty…five,” he amended quickly as Tom pretended to slowly grow outraged.
“Sir. If I wanted to waste the value of this, I could easily get more than that from the Green Horizon Inn. I brought it here first out of courtesy to the Lord of the City. The price is eighty gold.” It took every bit of Tom's nerve not to lower the price. This is not an ordinary haggle, he told himself firmly.
The Steward looked at the cask. “I suppose I could go up to fifty gold.”
Fifty gold! Tom's instincts screamed at him to take the price. He fought them down with effort.
“That is barely half of what I would get in Baria City. But I understand that your funds might be limited. I can lower the price slightly, to seventy-five.”
“Thank you for your flexibility. I believe I could spend sixty gold on this item.”
Tom sighed. “I am afraid that it is not possible for me to accept that offer. Seventy gold, and that is the very lowest I can go.”
“Perhaps sixty-five, then?”
Tom shook his head. “My apologies, but I have used up my discretion. Seventy gold is my final offer.”
The Steward looked at him hard, then eyed the cask. Several moments passed.
“Very well. Seventy gold.”
“Thank you.” Tom very slowly let out the breath he had been holding.
“I will write you a draft on the Treasury, then.”
Tom had a moment of panic, because he didn't know what that was. Keeping his voice casual with an effort, he answered, “I already have a box in the Treasury.” Does that matter? Is that the right thing to say? Gods, what is a ‘draft’?
“Convenient. There won't be much of a delay if you tell them to transfer the gold there.” The Steward walked over to a desk and wrote rapidly on a piece of parchment, then shook a bit of something over the wet ink. He inspected his writing, then handed the paper to Tom, who took it and pretended he was reading it.
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“I will. Thank you, Steward…?”
“Steward Williams, Mr. Walker. Thank you for bringing this in. The Lord of the City has a particular fondness for dwarven spirits. Do you expect to obtain more in the future?”
“Sadly, no; getting this one involved some luck. But if I do acquire similar goods, I will be sure to offer to sell it here before going elsewhere.”
“Thank you for your consideration. The Treasury is just around that corner and down the hall.”
“I remember. Thank you very much.” Tom turned and walked away with a smile. Inside he was panicking.
Is this for real? Do I just have to show this piece of paper and they will hand me the coin? Or will there be some trick or excuse? Will I have to read something? Did I just blow it?
It seemed to take forever to complete the short walk. Fortunately, the fellow manning the counter was the same as the one who had sold him the Treasury box. Tom took a deep breath, and held out the piece of paper with a smile. “Hello again. This is for seventy gold coins. I would like them deposited in my box.”
The clerk took the paper and held it close to his nose, squinting. “Yes. Just a moment, please.” He moved back and pulled out a huge ledger which he lay on a table. With the ease of long practice he turned the new but well-worn pages. When he found the page he wanted, he squinted a moment, then frowned. “I'm afraid this is too much.”
Tom's heart stuttered. It was hard to answer evenly. “How so?”
“The Steward has exceeded his budget for the kitchen with this.”
Thoughts raced through Tom's soul. It was a real struggle to keep the panic off of his face, and he wished he could wipe his brow. “Interesting that the Steward would make such an error, and in front of Miss Lucille, too.”
“Miss Lucille? Oh, was this for drink?”
“Yes. Dwarven whiskey.” Please, gods, let this work…
“Ah, I see. He should have made note of that on the draft. That's a different part of the budget.” Again the clerk turned pages, stopped and squinted, then picked up a quill and made a few scratches. “Shall I bring the gold and the box out to you?”
“If you would.” Tom could barely speak, his mouth was so dry. His heart continued to pound as he imagined calamity. As soon as the clerk's back was turned, he went to wipe his brow with his sleeve, but caught himself and pulled out a small rag to use instead. Fancy shirt's expensive. Got to look fancy. He tucked it away again and struggled to keep his breathing even. It will work, it will work, it will work, he chanted in his soul.
It was a couple of minutes before the clerk returned. “Please proceed to the same room we used before.” Tom nodded and walked over. He took a deep, shaky breath when he saw his box and the neat stacks of coins on a tray. Thirteen stacks? Each should be five gold coins. Why are they short? Tom's soul raced. He laid his hand on the last stack, quickly feeling that it had three coins instead of five. Seven short, out of seventy. Oh.
“I see that ten percent has been set aside?”
“Yes, young lord. Tax for the city on major sales is ten percent. It was marked on the draft.”
“Of course.” Tom took a moment to force his hand to be steady, then pressed his thumb to the blood lock and the box opened, revealing the twenty-five gold already inside. Yes, it is my box.
Tom loaded the coins in neatly. Then he pulled out the fifty gold coins he had collected from the sale of the other alcohol. Do I owe tax on this too? Should I volunteer five gold for tax? No, I'm pretending to be a rich man here. Rich men wouldn't offer money unless they had to. I can just claim absent-mindedness if it comes up, like it wasn't important enough for me to think about.
Tom added the fifty coins, then stared in awe for a moment. That's 138 gold coins, plus what I'm carrying on me. Never in my dreams did I think I would ever have such a fortune. But, it's not all mine.
“I have another task,” Tom told the clerk. “Keep this readily available for a few minutes. I have someone nearby. I wish to bring them in and add them to the blood lock.”
“Of course. Thank you for telling me, young lord. You saved me carrying the box back and forth. It grows heavy with your wealth,” the clerk added, attempting to flatter Tom, though it was literally true. The whole situation felt unreal to him.
“I will return shortly.” Tom held his head high and strode out of the Treasury and out of Keep. It was a matter of moments before he approached Sally's Sweets. There was a crowd gathered, and Tom caught his breath. Oh, no, now what?
As he drew close, he could hear singing—in Elvish. Diavla and Varga were giving a performance; Diavla carried the melody, while Varga produced a beat and odd little harmonies. He gently pushed his way to the front, and stopped when he could see them.
Both of the elves were smiling, and Tom felt himself smiling back. Diavla caught sight of him and nodded, continuing to sing. The sight was a balm to his soul, and Tom felt some of the enormous tension leaving his body. A scan of the crowd showed only curiosity and enjoyment. It was almost like a magic spell, and Tom listened to the rest of the song with the others.
As soon as they finished, the crowd broke out in applause. Diavla turned to face Tom and smiled. “Hello, Master.” Everyone turned their eyes to Tom for a moment, and he smiled politely to the people gathered.
“Thank you,” a few people told him, instead of the elves. Tom kept the smile on his face, but it grew a bit stiff.
“You're welcome.”
Both of the elven women looked startled when the audience started throwing coins at their feet. Diavla murmured to Varga, who bent down and started scooping up the coins while Diavla kept standing and bowing to the audience. “Thank you. Thank you…,” she said in Western, then gestured at everyone.
“ ‘All,’ ” Tom told her. “You say, ‘Thank you all very much.’ ” He forced a little condescension into his voice. It's just acting. It's just acting.
Diavla bowed to him, then to the crowd again. “Thank you all very much.”
“Will they be performing again?” one woman asked him.
“I do not have plans for that as yet,” he told her. “They're still learning Western.”
“I hope to see them at the Green Horizon Inn, if possible.”
“Perhaps. Thank you for the suggestion.” He smiled at the woman again, then turned to the elves. “Diavla, come with me. Varga, stay here. We will be back soon.”
“Yes, Master,” Varga said, bowing. She acted meek, but Tom could see her amusement and the twinkle in her eye. Thank you for playing along, Varga. You're a good sport.
“Yes, Master,” Diavla echoed, turned and rattled something off in Elvish, then recited, “ ‘My Master will go here soon.’ ”
“My Master will here soon,” Varga attempted. Close enough.
Tom headed for the Keep and Diavla followed. “T—Master? Why I go Keep?”
Tom furrowed his brow a moment. Why did she call me ‘Master’ when she's speaking Elvish baby-talk? Oh. Even people who don't know Elvish would hear my name. Tom marveled at Diavla's soul again. She's so quick!
He gathered his thoughts, then said, “I need you here. Very soon we go.”
Diavla bowed her head as they passed the guard, who stared at her curiously. Tom led her straight to the Treasury, and the man at the counter nodded to him and met him in the ‘box room’ as Tom thought of it.
The box lay waiting, and the clerk had already laid out the implements he needed to change the lock. Tom felt that odd itchy tingle again. Magic feels weird. Soon the clerk was ready, and held out a pin. Tom pantomimed for Diavla. “They need you red water. Very small.”
Diavla nodded her understanding, then hesitated, looking at the pin. After a moment, she smiled at the clerk, reached up and pulled a pin of her own out of a pouch. She seemed to be wiping it carefully, then pricked her own finger, providing the drop where the clerk indicated. The clerk finished the magic, then gestured at the box. “Please verify that it works for you both now.”
Tom went first, placing his thumb in the right spot, opening the box slightly. He nodded and pushed it closed again. Then he stepped aside and gestured for Diavla to do it. Slowly she placed her finger against the metal, and again the box clicked open.
Diavla opened the lid all the way, and her hand flew to her mouth. She murmured something emphatically in Elvish, then picked up one coin and felt it. She turned to Tom in amazement. He smiled and nodded for her to take it. She closed the box, still clutching the coin, and turned to him, eyes shining.
“Thank you very much,” Tom told the man. “My business is concluded for today.” Tom considered taking the coin and tossing it to the clerk, but he wasn't feeling that generous. That would be insane. I'm not a king. And most of this money isn't mine. They left the Treasury.
Temptation is a strange and powerful thing, he mused. He led Diavla out of the Keep and back to the sweets shop. I need to be careful. As they walked, he looked at her lovely figure showing in the blue dress, and the breathtaking smile on her face.
Very careful.