Gonfred sat staring. His hiccoughs were gone. “Thank you, Spellmasier!” He was at the door when he turned, paced back to the desk, and retrieved both silver coins. In their place he laid down a plain, drilled disk of pure gold. Then he departed.
He entered carrying a sack. His name was Jakob and he was called Blind Jakob.
Strick’s face was sad as he watched Wints guide the fruit pedlar to the chair.
Jakob’s hand found the desk and he set the sack upon it.
“I am Strick, Jakob, and I have fear that I cannot help you.”
“It-it is-you think it is permanent, sir?” The blind man looked stricken. “Ah gods. But it is so troublesome-so embarrassing.”
Strick blinked. “Embarrassing?”
“The roiling inside is bad enough, but when I break wind in public, particularly when a woman is examining my fruits…”
Strick clamped both hands over his mouth to hold back all sound of laughter. The poor fellow was accustomed to his true affliction. But gas disturbed him; it was socially embarrassing! Strick rose and moved around the desk.
“I am coming to put my hands on you, Jakob. Give me something of value.”
The blind man leaned a little forward to touch the sack. “Three people have insisted on buying those in the past hour, sir. They are the most valuable I have had in a long while.”
Strick’s hands were on him, now. He was relieved to feel no death here, and he knew at once that the offering was of value to this man. Then he felt the tension, and was sure that Jakob’s gas was not dietary. He must be careful. This man did not live or work in a truly dangerous area. Yet relieve him of all tension and he might be left so complacent that he really would be in the danger that now he mostly imagined. Strick did what he could, to the extent he dared.