“I didn’t know they were here, Belgarath,” Silk protested. “They’re not supposed to be here.”
Belgarath stalked away muttering curses under his breath.
The muleteers in the camp had begun to load their animals when Silk, with Garion walking on one side of him and Belgarath on the other, rode in. A hard-bitten looking man with a pockmarked face and thick wrists approached them and saluted. “Your Highness,” he said to Silk, “we didn’t know that you were in this part of Mallorea.”
“I move around a lot,” Silk said. “Is it all right if we join you, Captain Rakos?”
“Of course, your Highness.”
“The rest of our party will be along shortly,” Silk told him. “What are we having for breakfast this morning?”
“Bacon, fried eggs, chops, hot bread, jam—the usual, your Highness.”
“No gruel?”
“I can have the cook mix some up for you, if you’d like, your Highness,” Rakos replied.
“No, thanks, Captain,” Silk said. “I think I can live without gruel, for today anyway.”
“Would your Highness care to inspect the troops?”
Silk made a face, then sighed. “They sort of expect it, don’t they?”
“It’s good for morale, your Highness,” Rakos assured him. “An uninspected trooper begins to feel unappreciated.”
“Right you are, Captain,” Silk said, dismounting. “Fall them in if you would please, and I’ll boost their morale.”
The captain turned and bellowed an order.
“Excuse me,” Silk said to Belgarath and Garion. “Certain formalities are the price of command.” He smoothed down his hair with the palm of his hand and carefully adjusted his clothing. Then he followed Captain Rakos toward die ranks of soldiers standing at attention beside the road. His manner was grand as he inspected his troops, and he rather meticulously pointed out missing buttons, unshaved faces, and boots not polished to perfection. Durnik, Polgara, and the others arrived while he was progressing down the last rank. Belgarath quickly explained the situation to them.
When Silk returned, he had a certain self-satisfied look on his face.
“Was all that really necessary?” Velvet asked him.
“It’s expected.” He shrugged. He looked rather proudly at his men. “They look good, don’t they? I may not have the biggest army in Mallorea, but I’ve got the sharpest. Why don’t we go have some breakfast?”
“I’ve eaten soldiers’ rations before,” Beldin told him. “I think I’ll go look for another pigeon.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Beldin,” the little man assured him. “Bad food is the greatest cause of dissatisfaction in the ranks in any army. Yarblek and I are very careful to hire only the best cooks and to provide them with the finest food available. Dry rations might be good enough for Kal Zakath’s army, but not for mine.”
Captain Rakos joined them for breakfast. Rakos was obviously a field soldier and he had certain difficulties with his utensils.
“Where’s the caravan bound?” Silk asked him.
“Jarot, your Highness.”
“What are we carrying?”
“Beans.”
“Beans?” Silk sounded a little startled.
“It was your order, your Highness,” Rakos said. “Word came from your factor in Mal Zeth before the plague broke out that you wanted to corner the market in beans. Your warehouses in Maga Renn are overflowing with them, so lately we’ve been transferring them to Jarot.”
“Why would I do that?” Silk said, scratching his head in bafflement.
“Zakath was bringing his army back from Cthol Murgos,” Garion reminded him. “He was going to mount a campaign in Karanda. You wanted to buy up all the beans in Mallorea so that you could gouge the Bureau of Military Procurement.”
“Gouge is such an ugly word, Garion,” Silk protested with a pained look. He frowned. “I thought I’d rescinded that order.”
“Not that I’ve heard, your Highness,” Rakos said. “You’ve got tons of beans pouring into Maga Renn from all over Delchin and southern Ganesia.”
Silk groaned. “How much longer is it going to take us to reach Jarot?” he asked. “I’ve got to put a stop to this.”
“Several days, your Highness,” Rakos replied.
“And the beans will just keep piling up the whole time.”
“Probably, your Highness.”
Silk groaned again.
They rode on down through the remainder of Rengel with no further incidents. Silk’s professional soldiers apparently had a wide reputation in the region, and the poorly trained troops of the varying factions there gave them a wide berth. Silk rode at the head of the column like a field marshal, looking about with a lordly manner.
“Are you going to let him get away with that?” Ce’Nedra asked Velvet after a day or so.
“Of course not,” Velvet replied, “but let him enjoy it for now. Time enough to teach him the realities of the situation later on.”
“You’re terrible,” Ce’Nedra giggled.
“Naturally. But didn’t you do the same thing to our hero here?” Velvet looked pointedly at Garion.
“Liselle,” Polgara said firmly, “you’re giving away secrets again.”
“Sorry, Lady Polgara,” Velvet replied contritely.
The trail of Zandramas was soon joined by the sullen scarlet trail of the Sardion, and both proceeded down across Rengel to the River Kallahar and the border of Celanta. The trails also seemed to be going toward Jarot.
“Why is she going toward the sea?” Garion worriedly asked Belgarath.
“Who knows?” the old man replied shortly. “She’s read the Ashabine Oracles, and I haven’t. It could be that she knows where she’s going, and I’m just floundering along in the rear.”
“But what if—”
“Please don’t ‘what if’ me, Garion,” Belgarath said. “I’ve got enough problems already.”
They crossed the River Kallahar aboard a cluster of ferries that seemed to belong to Silk and arrived in the port city of Jarot on the Celanta side. As they rode through the cobbled streets, crowds came out to cheer. Silk rode at the head of the column graciously waving his acknowledgment of the cheers.
“Have I missed something?” Durnik asked.
“His people love him very much,” Eriond explained.
“His people?”
“Who owns a man, Durnik?” the blond young man asked sadly. “The one who rules him, or the one who pays him?”
Silk’s offices in Jarot were opulent—even ostentatious. Mallorean carpets lay thick upon the floors, the walls were paneled in rare, polished woods, and officials in costly livery were everywhere.
“One sort of has to keep up appearances,” the little man explained apologetically as they entered. “The natives are so impressed by show.”
“Of course,” Belgarath said dryly.
“Surely you don’t think—”
“Just let it pass, Silk.”
“But it’s all so much fun, Belgarath.” Silk grinned.
Belgarath then did something Garion had never thought he would see him do. He raised his hands imploringly, assumed a tragic expression, and said, “Why me?”
Beldin chortled.
“Well?” Belgarath said crossly to him.
“Nothing,” Beldin replied.
Silk’s factor in Jarot was a baggy-eyed Melcene named Kasvor. Kasvor walked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and he sighed often. He came wearily into the office where Silk sat as if enthroned behind a very large writing desk and the rest of them lounged in comfortable chairs along the walls. “Prince Kheldar,” Kasvor said, bowing.
“Ah, Kasvor,” Silk said.
“I’ve seen to the rooms your Highness wanted.” Kasvor sighed. “The inn is called the Lion. It’s two streets over. I’ve taken the entire top floor for you.”
Durnik leaned over and whispered to Garion. “Wasn’t that inn we stayed at in Camaar also called the Lion?” he asked. “The place where Brendig arrested us that time?”
“I’d imagine that you could find a Lion Inn in just about every city in the world,” Garion replied.
“Capital, Kasvor. Capital,” Silk was saying.
Kasvor smiled faintly.
“How’s business?” Silk asked.
“We’re showing a fair profit, your Highness.”
“How fair?”
“About forty-five percent.”
“Not bad. I need to talk to you about something else, though. Let’s stop buying beans.”
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that, your Highness. We own just about every bean in Mallorea already.”
Silk groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“The market’s up ten points, though, your Highness.”
“It is?” Silk sounded startled, and his eyes brightened. “How did that happen?”
“There have been all manner of rumors going about and some tentative inquiries from the Bureau of Military Procurement. Everyone’s been scrambling around trying to buy up beans, but we’ve got them all.”
“Ten points, you say?”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Sell,” Silk said.
Kasvor looked startled.
“We bought up the bean crop in the expectation of an imperial military campaign in Karanda. There won’t be one now.”
“Can your Highness be sure?”
“I have access to certain sources of information. When the word gets out, the market in beans is going to sink like a rock, and we don’t really want several million tons of beans on our hands, do we? Have there been any offers?”
“The Melcene consortium has expressed some interest, your Highness. They’re willing to go two points above the market.”
“Negotiate with them, Kasvor. When they get to three points above the market price, sell. I don’t want to have to eat all those beans myself.”