as I begin to write . . .
On SOLAMNIA’S CASTLES
RAVENS ALIGHT.
DARK AND UNNUMBERED
LIKE A YEAR OF DEATHS,
AND DREAMT ON THE BATTLEMENTS,
FIXED AND HOLY,
ARE THE SIGNS OF THE ORDER
KINGFISHER AND ROSE –
THE BARGAIN DRIVER
MARK ANTHONY
I’ll give you the two bronze knives, the string of elven beads, and
the silver drinking horn, but that is my final offer.”
“Are you mad, Matya?” the grizzled old trader said in
exasperation. He gestured to the bolt of fine cloth that lay
between them on the counter, in the center of the trading
post’s one dingy, cluttered room. “Why, this was woven for
a noble lord in the city of Palanthas itself. It’s worth twice
what you’re offering me. Nay, thrice!”
Matya watched the trader calculatingly with her bright
brown eyes. She could always tell when she was about to
best Belek in the driving of a bargain, for his nose
invariably would begin to twitch.
“If the doth is so fine, why did the noble lord for whom
it was made not buy it?” Matya asked pointedly.
Belek mumbled some excuse, but Matya waved it away
with a ring-covered hand. “You may take my offer or leave
it, Belek. You’ll not get so much as a bent nail more.”
The trader sighed, a look of dismay on his haggard face.
“You’re determined to drive me out of business, aren’t you,
Matya?” His bulbous nose gave a violent twitch.
Matya smiled inwardly, though she did not let the trader
see her satisfaction. “It’s simply business, Belek, that’s all.”
The trader grunted. “Aye, so it is. But I’ll warn you,
Matya. One day you’ll drive a bargain too cleverly for your
own good. There are some bargains that aren’t worth taking,
no matter how profitable they seem.”
Matya laughed at that. “You always were a sore loser,
Belek.” She pushed the goods she had offered across the
counter. Belek sighed – his nose twitching furiously – and
pushed the bolt of cloth toward her. Matya spat on her palm.
Belek did likewise, and the two shook hands. The bargain
had been struck.
Matya bade Belek farewell and loaded the bolt of cloth
into her wagon outside the ramshackle trading post. The
wagon was a colorful, if somewhat road-worn, affair – a
wooden box on wheels, painted in countless bright but
peeling hues. Hitched in front was a single dun-colored
donkey with patient eyes and extraordinarily long ears.
Matya’s wagon was filled nearly to overflowing with all
manner of wares, both mundane and curious: pots and pans,
cloaks and boots, arrows and axes, flints, knives, and even a
sword or two, plus countless other objects she had bought,
haggled for, or – most of the time – scavenged. Traveling
from town to town, trading and striking bargains, was how
Matya made her living. And it was not a bad one at that.
Like the wagon, Matya herself was a bit worn with the
years. Her long hair, coiled in a thick braid atop her head,
had been flaxen, but now was ash gray. Countless days of
sun and wind had tanned and toughened her ruddy cheeks.
Fine wrinkles touched the comers of her eyes and mouth,
more from smiling than frowning, and so were attractive.
And, like the wagon, Matya was clad in a motley collection
of clothes representing all colors of the rainbow, from her
ocean-blue skirt to her sunflower-yellow shirt and forest-
green vest speckled with tiny red flowers. Her willowy,
figure had plumped out, but there was still an air of beauty
about her, of the simplest and most comforting kind – when
her nut-brown eyes weren’t flashing fire, that is.
“Let’s be on our way, Rabbit,” Matya told the donkey as
she climbed onto the wagon’s wooden bench. “If we hurry,
we can reach Garnet by nightfall. There’s a merchant there
who’s an even worse haggler than Belek.” The donkey gave
a snort that sounded uncannily like laughter.
Matya tied a bright red kerchief over her graying hair and
grasped the wagon’s reins in her strong, thick fingers. She
whistled sharply, and Rabbit started off at a trot down the
dusty highway, pulling the gaudily colored wagon behind.