“Is this of value to you, Gonfred?”
The goldsmith gazed at him, smiled shyly, and added another silver coin. And he hiccoughed.
“How long have you had the hiccups, Gonfred?”
“Six days. I work with my ha-uh!-hands. Can’t work.”
“I want you to sit back and take about three deep breaths. Hold the third as long as you possibly can. If you hiccup during that process, do it again.
Avenestra!”
Sucking up great breaths, Gonfred saw the blue-tunicked young girl who appeared.
“Sir!”
“Please fetch an ounce of Saracsaboona for this honest goldsmith, with two ounces of water.”
She departed. Gonfred hiccoughed and started the deep breathing again. He succeeded in holding the third. Avenestra returned from the adjoining room. In both hands she bore a goblet of translucent green glass. It contained an ounce of ordinary wine, an ounce of water, and an ounce of saffron water for color.
She set it before Strick. Taking it in both hands, he rose and came around to the seated goldsmith. Gonfred accepted it and looked questioning; he was still holding, barely.
“Let the breath out,” he was told. “Drink, and try to do it in such a way that it all goes down at a gulp.”
When Gonfred took the goblet, gasping, Strick put his hands on the seated man’s shoulders. “Your hiccups are going, Gonfred…”
Hurriedly Gonfred knocked back the contents of the goblet. He gasped some more, watching the other man return to his chair behind the cloth-draped desk.
“Your hiccups are gone, Gonfred my friend. There is always a trade, a Price beyond this silver, over which I have no control. If it is unbearable, return.”