About A Trader in Topaz
Written by Lucius Parhelion
42 pages / 18000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-532-5, 1-60370-532-5
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
Nebyi, trader of the veiled people, has made the hazardous journey to see his friend and trading partner, Raushan, in the City of Dark Gold. Raushan is the heir to an old, aristocratic house, and is a good-natured, if self-indulgent, friend who likes studying magic, making money in the gem trade, and having lots of sex.
Raushan believes Nebyi can help him with two of these three hobbies, but Nebyi’s veils – and the taboos they represent – have nixed the sex, if not the trading, during Nebyi’s past trips. But neither of them can know that this trip will demand trades that require exploring all of Raushan’s interests, ones with surprising results for more than just Nebyi.
Sample
He'd endured two months in a broad-bellied merchant ship with nothing but an ensorcelled sliver of iron to assure him that they hadn't been blown off-course to die of thirst at sea. He'd spent another month traveling in creaking oxcarts, risking hostile rustics, opportunistic bandits, and the driving rains of monsoon season while following the neglected roads of the Old Empire to the City of Dark Gold. And what was Nebyi's reward?
His local host and trading partner, the Magus Raushan, belched elegantly. "Wonderful beer." Then he told Nebyi, "Yes, do sing us a song." Resting two fingers on the wrist of the city official who'd made the suggestion, the Magus added confidingly, "My Younger Brother in Trade has a lovely voice. The Veiled People so often do."
Never argue during drinking parties. That was Uncle Kirubel's eighth rule of conduct while amidst foreigners, and his Uncle in Trade had survived three decades as an outlands trader. Suppressing a sigh, Nebyi stood up from his stool. "A song of love, a song of valor, or a song of laughter?"
After downing six gourds full of barley beer, the Master of Seals and Markets was slow. He pondered. "A song of, a song of, a song of, oh, ah, oh--" Nebyi squashed his urge to thwack the man and see if he would come unstuck "--wealth." The official brightened. "Lots and lots of wealth."
His minions chimed in with "Wealth, certainly." "Yes, wealth is good." "Never miss a chance to hear about wealth."
Since most of the wealth songs Nebyi knew were about fellow traders making fools of barbaric or effete foreigners, this didn't seem like such a good idea. He glanced over at Raushan, who had pursed his lips and was studying the reed straw in his beer in the manner that meant, "You'd better."
Nebyi tilted his head, veils shifting, in the manner that meant, "Oh, fine." Climbing up onto their table, he waited warily for the creaking or snapping noises that would warn of impending collapse; his people were built for sturdier furnishings than the folks of the Great Peninsula were. When all seemed secure, he slapped both hands on his robed thighs for the company's attention and then launched into the "List of Gems," a mnemonic song that catalogued the precious stones every trader of Dymat was expected to recognize.
Since Nebyi didn't translate anything, the alliterations in the verses made them roll out as impressively as a bolt of fine linen, and the song's tune was lovely. Also, the "List of Gems" had a nice beat that one could dance to. Soon, even with his robes' padding, Nebyi's palms were sore with his keeping time. After the interval it would take to boil hard a hen's egg, he had half the tavern bawling along on the chorus. He doubted they had any notion that what they were singing in their horrible, horrible accents was roughly, "gems bring silver, gems bring gold/know them when you see them sold/sort the best ones out to buy/grab them low to trade them high."
Three river tribesmen, still in full scarves and bells, had linked arms and were sliding their feet in a whirlpool dance over on the next tabletop, sharkskin slippers rasping across cedar planks. The Master of Seals and Markets, the sounds of whose personal name would mean "Sour Cheese" in Nebyi's language, was weeping. Nebyi only hoped that the lots and lots of wealth he was weeping over wasn't Nebyi's. As for Raushan, he was swinging one forefinger solemnly to the beat as he sipped delicately at his straw. Nebyi would have tried for a surreptitious kick in his direction if he didn't think Raushan might burst out laughing afterward. So might Nebyi, for all that.