The Ancient Enemy (12 page)

"Pardon me, I'm a terrible host. Your cup is empty. Can I offer you more of this sinfully delicious chocolate?"

Thru was happy to accept. Chocolate was not unknown in his village, but it was a rarity, coming as it did from the tropical isles.

He sipped and savored the rich intensity of flavor, so unlike any other flavor that he knew of.

After a while the merchant fell quiet after a particularly good story about cheats in the woven-mat business.

Thru tapped his cup.

"I know it comes from the tropics, but I don't understand how it gets here."

"Ah, the chocolate trade, a very romantic subject. It is grown far to the south, on the isles of Berguba. The cocoa tree does very well there."

"How far is it?"

"The merchants speak of the sun standing due overhead, every day, which must mean they are in the equatorial regions of the world. It takes them two months to return, if the winds are favorable, and longer if they are not."

Thru mulled that over as he strolled along through the market after his visit to the Merchant Yadrone. As far as he felt he'd traveled in his own life, to Highnoth and to the Farblow Hills, his journeys were tiny compared to voyaging to the equatorial isles of Berguba.

It was a big world, and he felt the pressure of the opportunities that awaited him.

He took one of his mats with the bright leaf pattern on it around the bigger houses in the weave market. Merchant Ortenod liked the work and took consignment of a sample.

"If it sells, then I'll want more. Can you supply?"

"Oh yes, I have ten of this pattern."

"Excellent. Bring me another pair, and we will see. Understand that this is an exclusive for my shop. You may not sell them to anyone else in the market."

"I understand, but this exclusivity is only for this pattern. I have another mat, of a higher quality."

"Higher quality?"

"It is a new style of 'Chooks and Beetles.'"

"Indeed. So, you aspire to wall mats and the like."

"Master Sassadzu in Highnoth suggested I try the House Norvory."

"Ah, well then you're in good hands. Ueillim Norvory is a good mot to deal with for such high-end products. He has impeccable taste."

Thru hurried back to the house in Garth Road and picked up another couple of mats with his bold new leaf pattern. Back in the market, mats delivered, he took stock in a tavern on the corner. He had made his first placements. He had money in his pocket, and if his work sold, he'd have more money to come.

If he sold all of the mats he had he would realize two hundred silvers, about the same as two and a half gold crowns. That would be enough for him to live right through the winter at Kussha's house.

Thru went back to the house and took "Chooks and Beetles" out of Kussha's lock-up in the basement. He spread the mat out in the parlor and contemplated his work.

After Mesho it seemed crude in the finishing, lacking Mesho's incredible realness. He kept looking, though, and found that he still liked his own work. Mesho it was not, but the image on his mat was nicely rendered; his work had an interesting rake to it. The jaunty chooks looked quite crazy. The beetles were diagrammatical, faintly alarming in size. His work might appeal to someone who could not afford Mesho, someone who might enjoy the slightly eccentric cast he gave to the ancient pattern.

He rolled it up and put it away under his bed.

The next day he presented a note at the door of the merchant prince Ueillim Grys Norvory three steps up from the level of the street and fronted by a small covered platform. The note was taken up by a very snooty little mor, who then closed the door on him.

"Wait here for a reply."

He waited standing on the solid steps of the merchant's rather grand house, "Chooks and Beetles" rolled up in its oilskin beside him.

The door opened and the young mor was back, with a slightly embarrassed look in her eyes. He followed behind her, frankly admiring her shapely little form all the way down a long hallway. She led him through a door into a large room, hung with mats and tapestries, then she left him with a smile and a nod.

There was another Mesho on the near wall, a strongly accented "Brilbies at the Gate." Behind the three brilbies of the classic pattern, the trees of the wood held dozens of birds.

And there on the end wall, in pride of place was a classic "Chooks and Beetles" by Oromi, the great artist of the weave in the 203rd century.

Just for a moment, Thru faltered and felt his self-confidence draining away. Who was he to be offering up a "Chooks and Beetles" here? Like he was some great artist. He was in the house of a baron, an important personage at the Royal Court, and he was just Thru Gillo, a complete unknown. Then he recalled Master Sassadzu's calm words of encouragement.

"Obstacles will appear, but you will sweep them away. Remain true to the simple message of the spirit, and your kyo will flourish." He had to hope that even if he wasn't as great as Oromi or Mesho, he might still be good enough.

The door opened a few moments later and in came the Grys Norvory, a well-fed mot of middle age wearing a white tunic and purple trousers. The Grys came right across the room and shook Thru's hands warmly.

"Welcome, ah, Thru Gillo. You have work you would like to show?"

"Yes, Grys Norvory."

"I am always looking for fresh weaving." Thru smiled and nodded, hoping that his work would be good enough.

"Good," said the Grys.

There was a twinkle in the aristocrat's eyes, and Thru immediately became wary. In this game Thru had only his work to play with, and the Grys had everything else.

"Now, you have something to show me I believe?"

"Ah, yes, Grys Norvory."

Thru unrolled his "Chooks and Beetles" and laid it out on the big table.

Ueillim Norvory cast an eye on the piece and nodded happily. The piece was charming, a wry twist on the ancient pattern. Fresh, but not unnaturally advanced.

"Mmmm. An interesting approach. You have talent, young mot. 'Chooks and Beetles' is a favorite of my own, as you would expect seeing the Oromi on the wall, here."

"Yes, Grys Norvory, it is beautiful."

"Few of us can aspire to the status of Oromi, but some of us can at least make the attempt. Young Thru Gillo, I think you can certainly do that."

The Grys bent over the work and examined it with a magnifier.

"I think the piece will sell for twenty gold pieces, retail. I will mount it for the festival. If it sells, you will receive twelve."

Thru's heart jumped. Twelve gold pieces would keep him in luxury for a year and let him send coin back to Ware and Ual in the village, too.

While he thought about the offer, the Grys continued to wield the magnifying lens, going over the mat very carefully. He was checking Thru's stitching and knots, examining his technique for possible faults.

He turned it over and looked carefully, and then turned it back.

"This is good work. I am impressed, young mot. My gallery always draws a good crowd at festival. I'm confident we will find a buyer."

"Thank you, Grys Norvory. I will accept the offer."

"Good. I will have the papers drawn up at once."

The Grys rang for a secretary, then ordered some tea brought in. They drank tea and ate small butter biscuits to seal the deal.

After leaving the mansion, Thru walked along the main streets of the city with his head in the clouds. He had come to the city and found himself a good room to live in. He'd got a deal for selling his "Leaf" mats and he had a gallery accept his "Chooks and Beetles." If he sold a few "Leaf" mats, he would earn enough to make it through the winter. If he sold "Chooks and Beetles" he would be well set for a year or more.

It was time to turn his thoughts to finding a work space, perhaps in the Quarters. It would be nice to be in the center of things. He wandered that way and came upon a troupe of street jugglers and acrobats at work on the corner of Grand Street. A figure in a tight-fitting scarlet costume was tumbling and somersaulting. It was Nuza and Her Magnificents, the same group Thru had seen with Meu and Utnapishtim in the Farblow town of Lushtan. Flips and rolls, high jumps and somersaults, the scarlet figure continued down the pavement while her friends went by with drum and whistle, the signboard held high.

Thru watched for a while, enjoying the sight of the lithe figure bouncing and flying into the air. She ran, somersaulted, and flew into the arms of the big brilby, who caught her like she was no more than a kitten and set her down with a graceful flourish.

She bounced up with her hands high and bowed to the thin crowd along the pavement. There was more scattered applause. Her glance met his, and Thru felt something go through him that he never could explain. It was as if he knew her from a former life.

She grinned at him and went back into the air for another somersault down the block. The mot with the signboard gave Thru a peculiarly intense look.

Following the troupe came the barker, calling loudly from the street that Nuza and Her Magnificents would appear that evening, in the open space by the Laughing Fish Tavern. A full display was planned, with jugglers, clowns, and an exhibition of the craft of swordfighting by Toshak the Great.

Thru took the corner and went up Grand Street. That image of Nuza doing that backward somersault didn't go away. She had to be as supple as a snake, and probably just as strong. He had an odd urge to laugh out loud, which he suppressed; but he did find himself smiling. There had been a friendly message in her eyes, and he wanted to hear it from her lips.

He headed for the Guild Hall, where the craft industries in the city were regulated. He needed to register himself as a weaver working within Dronned. Only then could he be represented in the markets. Only then was he protected by the laws of the Guild and sure of having contracts with merchants enforced.

Under a complex roof of turrets and spires was a central hall with offices along the sides. Tables ran down the middle, where scribes and ordinary folk wrote with pen and ink.

At the first desk he explained to a narrow-faced mot with dark eyebrow tufts that he was new to the city and wished to set up a shop for weaving.

"Are you resident in the city?"

"Yes, now, I have a room near the royal park."

"Have you relatives who are already within the Guild?"

"No."

"Ah."

A message was scribbled on a scrap of paper.

"Take this to Desk Seven."

At Desk Seven he found a weary-looking mot of late middle age.

"You are nonnative to the city of Dronned, yes?" said this person.

"Yes."

"And you want to come to Dronned and take part in the craft of weaving?"

"Yes."

"Unfortunately the Guild of Weavers is full at the moment. Places rarely come open, and there is a waiting list."

"But I have already sold weaves here; surely I can join?"

"You have sold weaves? Here in the city?"

"Is it illegal? I'm sorry, I did not know."

"No. But it is outside Guild rules. We do not enforce such contracts."

"Can I not rent a room and just weave in it?"

"You cannot. As someone out to take work from the Guild membership, you cannot be allowed to rent workrooms in the city of Dronned. If you do rent such rooms and work in them, you will be outside the Guild and therefore outside the protection of Guild Law."

"So if the merchants want to, they can refuse to pay me and I can do nothing?"

"Nothing within the law of the realm."

"Surely they will not be so harsh with me?"

"It depends on who you have dealings with. Some are like sharks, they'll take off your whole leg. Others are more subtle, but they bear watching, too."

Back outside the Guild Hall a little later Thru found himself standing on the wide plaza chewing his lip. He couldn't hope for a place in the Craft Guild of Weaving for two or three years. In that time no contracts he entered into would be legal. Anyone could cheat him.

His thought whirled to the Merchant Ortenod. Would he pay up for the mats that Thru had already delivered? He wouldn't have to, once he found out Thru's lack of status with the Guild. But he heartened himself with the memory of the merchant, who had seemed to be straightforward and honest. He had liked Thru's work.

But what if Thru had just been taken by a wise old trader who knew a pigeon when he saw one?

And then there was the "Chooks and Beetles." Even if the Grys Norvory kept his side of the deal, he would not be able to rent workrooms in the city.

Suddenly his enthusiasm for the city and his eagerness to try his mats in the market seemed foolish and ill-thought out. He should have checked here first. But he had been so keen to see if anyone would buy his work that he had put it off, and now he'd made himself vulnerable.

He could go back to Warkeen and work there, and bring his work to the fairs and the festival markets. But he would always be at the mercy of the merchants. And, somehow, such a move tasted of defeat.

But before Thru could do anything about his weaving, the city shut down for the Rites of the Spirit for the summer festival, which were held in the royal park and drew a large crowd. Tiers of wooden seats had been set up, but all the best spots were taken long before Thru arrived. He wound up only getting the most distant glimpses of the mummers and the charms. But like everyone else, he was caught up in the huge emotions aroused by the singing of the great hymn that gave thanks for life to the Spirit.

Everyone left the rites that day with a fire in their hearts. It was a day of celebration and the markets were open and stands lined the road selling pickled melon and sweet beer. Others purveyed ears of grilled maize or crispy fried root.

Thru roamed around, enjoying the size of the crowd and the sense of occasion. He bought a bag of roasted chestnuts, ate some of them, and threw the rest to the squirrels that haunted the trees in the park. The squirrels always did well on festival days.

"Hail, Thru Gillo, how are you enjoying the day?"

"Hail, Noop, it's wonderful. This is very different from the village summer festival."