The morning after dinner with Chip’s family, Sam floated downstream, as she was wont to do on her days off. Her swimming costume, white with black stripes, covered her from hindpaws to upper arms. If all went well, she would be a full merchant by the end of winter, working for the Company full-time. She savored these days doing precious little as she drifted on her back.

Ahead of her was docked the flagship of the Riverfolk Company, a long walk northeast of the Yellowrock mesa. The docks around the city proper were crowded and expensive, leaving the flagship to berth farther out. The Otter Plotter was where the Riverfolk conducted their most important ceremonies, and was known to take on important jobs when the situation called for it.

It was on a deepwater dock, and the increasingly brackish water was her first clue that she was floating in the right direction. Ahead of her workers ferried crates down off of the gangplank and onto smaller boats. The pier itself stood isolated from the riverbank, making no allowance for the other creatures of the coalition to drop in uninvited. They would have to paddle their own watercraft out to the large dock, or in the case of the Aviary, fly in.

Clambering onto the nearest access stairs, Sam shook salt water out of her fur. Crews of dockworkers hurried back and forth, and farther down the pier was a line of little shops selling trinkets and snacks. The sweet aroma of ka-pi mingled with the sugary smell of the baked treats she had grown up on.

Prices were indicated in company scrip first, clams and pearls second. A two-story warehouse loomed behind the shops, and she made a mental note to see what they had in stock after she met with her contact.

She had to push past a crowd of dock workers on break to reach the bakery stand, and the squat beaver manning it. "Chuck!"

"Well, if it isn't our Sam," Chuck said.

"I've heard that you're the eager beaver that volunteered to get me a flier for the upcoming baking contest on board...I know it’s not the big one we wanted yet, but all the same a win here…" She motioned over her shoulder to the flagship.

"Ah, I've got it right here. The competition will be fierce, I think."

Chuck handed Sam a sweetroll along with the list. She scanned the flier quickly. "It says here that there will be a special guest judge. Do you know who?"

His buck teeth flashed as he grinned. "Oh, you won't believe this one, Sam."

***

Sela stood at attention, fighting back a yawn. Guard mount was never terribly exciting, and today’s briefing was on the importance of selling additional services.

“So you see, if the company makes more, then we all make more. A rising tide lifts all rafts… I mean, ships,” Sergeant Andrews said, addressing the riverfolk arranged in front of him. The slip garnered a chuckle from the other five otters on the bazaar and central staircase detail. “If there’s nothing else, remember that the harvest is almost done and you’re going to have to be vigilant as more of the coalition gets ready for winter. Festival season approaches, and all that comes with it.”

With a stern nod, Sergeant Andrews dismissed the gathered guards, and everyone scattered to head to their assignment. Sela didn’t always get the top floor – sometimes he was on their VIP protection detail – but usually he got his favorite posting: the bazaar rover.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

It was as the rover that he got to mingle with the crowds. The nobles that paid this contract wanted them around as a display of force, to intimidate potential thieves. Usually, this meant putting on a good show whenever any lords were around. Any shopkeeper smart enough to get an open-air slot on top of the mesa was wise to cutpurses and footpads, and smart enough to either pay a protection fee or take out a contract with the riverfolk.

Among the latter group was a baker named Henry, who usually set up near Sam’s spice stand. He was already piping icing on a batch of rolls despite the early hour and sparse crowds.

Sela gave the otter a head bob in greeting. He bobbed back, waving at a tray off to the side.

“Hey Sela, you want a sample?”

“Is it free?”

“For you? Sure. Just tell me what you think. It’s a recipe I’m trying for an upcoming competition.”

Sela accepted the baked half circle, a croissant in the fox style, and took a bite. Despite himself, he grinned in salty admiration. It was good. Chip was going to have to up his game substantially to compete.

“Tell me more about your recipe."

***

River flapped down, landing beside the inn where she had been staying. Built against the inner east wall of Yellowrock, The Carrot and the Stick was a popular choice for druids visiting the city due to it’s central location. Much of the first story was taken up by an oversized kitchen, galley and storeroom. Stone stairs at the side of the building climbed all the way to the top of the east wall, giving the patrons and any passersby a view of the gentle sloping farmland, the riverfolk shantytown and the distant creep of the river.

Despite the early hour, Cathy was already setting up the bar. She was a spry mouse with a penchant for holding her paws out too long for tips, as if generous druids had all the clams in the world to spend. Her ears perked up at River’s entrance.

“There you are! She told me that she would be upstairs for the next hour if you wanted to talk to her.”

“Thanks. I’m going to want some extra seeds – or, not extra. Just the usual.”

It was habit, asking for extra, but Cathy always doled out larger portions than most. Maybe it was a mouse thing.

“Not a problem, miss.”

River gave her a pearl for her trouble, and the palm stayed open just a breath too long for River’s comfort. She sighed, dropping a note of Riverfolk company scrip. “It’s what I have.”

Cathy didn’t seem to mind; currency was currency. She nodded at the stairs, already turning back to set up. River plodded up the steps, taking them two at a time. It would be too much wasted energy to flap up the three stories to the wall.

Out the side door, just a left-turn from the top of the steps stood the open arch leading into the old guardhouse. River kept it warded whenever she was in, having learned that trick from her mentor. She paused at the door, reaching out to find if the warding was in place. There was just one, simple, but powerful.

River knocked, waiting impatiently for the protection to drop. The ward disappeared a second later, accompanied by a call of “Come in.” It was a plain building – the guardhouse had been designed for efficiency, not aesthetics – and Druid Spring sat cross-legged in the center of the room, eyes closed.“River, I trust that you’ve been practicing?”

“I have. And I have brought you some samples that you might enjoy.” River opened her pack, bringing out a sweetroll from the bazaar.

“Good. Your special project is in motion, I take it?” Spring opened her eyes, accepting the roll and sniffing it deeply.

“More or less. I might get one ranger, but I might get three at this rate.”

“Don’t be greedy. When I make the ask of the riverfolk, I want them to agree willingly. If they think that you’re poaching some of their best talents… well, let’s not go down that path.”

“I was able to start laundering some of the company scrip, but at this rate I’ll need to be an otter more often. Or we need to find someone among the riverfolk that will do the work themselves.”

“Remember that this is just training, and when it’s real you won’t get the chance to debate the ethics of using the company's money.”

River nodded.

“Now let me tell you about my latest inroad with the Admiral,” Spring said.