Now, I can spot a good deal at half-a-day's walk, eyes closed. That man
meant business. I didn't know which business, but he really meant it.
Damn'it the customers didn't give me a break to figure it out.
The more I looked at his impassible expression, the surer I was that this
was my day.
Finally I had an opportunity. But when I moved he was already occupied by
the butcher of the next stall.
Damn'it, damn'it, damn'it!
His soft voice was like honey, his demeanor all trustful promises of riches. Already the butcher had passed to his hands his butcher's stall, and was offering him his license, and his store. Wait! My stall his better then the butcher's, my store his the best around! It's mine's he should be taking. I can do him a better price, he doesn't even have to pay, I will provide him my credit and he will use my word to do business with whomever he wants. I am his man, not that dumb butcher.
I moved boldly, I had to act quickly. Only that now there was a crowd
around him.
They were giving him all: cattle, wine, jewels, money, you name it. I had
to pass past all those manure barters. Look, it's me the man, nobody can
offer you what I've got, all for you, no need to do a price, just take it.
Someone - was it the butcher ? - took out a knife. Next an hammer started to hit, heads for nails. Within moments everybody was fighting. You need to fight when you risk loosing the business of your life. My destroyed stall and my broken ribs are proof enough.
Two days latter, the governor was confronting the sages. The older, a gray
sage, spoke first:
"This is the most unusual case, I must say. The mean is a mason from
Nochet, stupid and dumb as my mule. I just can't figure out how he could
start such a mess."
While he spoke, the second sage just nodded in accordance, clearly showing
his own disconcert, but the third was smiling, all irony. He took the word:
"I don't pretend to have such long and beautiful a beard as my college, but
I suppose that what we need here is a little perspective. Pardon me Sir and
distinct sapientes, but I'm sure you're allowing your left eye to lead the
right, if you forgive-me the saying."
"I mean, you're looking at the wrong man."
"Yes, yes, our efficient militia only needed a couple of hours to put his
hands on the rascal, and all the merchants (at least those that could walk,
sense, and talk) confirmed it was him. But it still is not the man we
want."
"You know, some years ago there was this famous merchant in Glamour. He was
the brightest and the more skilled of the Etyries flock. Nobody could beat
him in barter, nobody had more charm and a better eye to discover gold in
the dust. He had only a minor, hum, week point: he had this tendency to not
always play by the book. Some would even say he was a little dishonest."
"That was to become the source of his downfall. You see, once he attempted
to cheat the Emperor. Yes, the Emperor! (All Ayle the Rising Moon.) Of
course, that was when he had 'to eat his abacus', as they say." (1)
"The Emperor was merciful: he allowed him to choose either to become a
meatball for the Crimson Bat, or to really eat his abacus. He choose the
second option."
"You see, Governor, you should not look for the slave, but for the master.
Go pick the abacus, and I'm sure you'll find the merchant inside."
It took the four man no more then half-an-hour to know that there was no trace of the abacus in the prison's deposits. In fact, neither were there traces of the deposit's clerk. The last thing he said before leaving was that "enough is enough, I had enough of this boring job. Trade, business, merchandise! That's my future."
The innkeeper was stupefied: how could it be possible that he had forgiven that miserable clerk all three seasons of non-paid rents? That he had given him his best horse and mule? That he had trusted him all the money he kept in the Inn? And that he had signed letters of credit for all the major merchants of the surrounding cities?
(1) Reference to a well know merchant's saying: "I'll eat my abacus if I don't get a fat margin."
Sergio
PS I didn't include the statistics of the spirit in the abacus or his carriers. I suppose you can figure it out. PPS How about that Ian?
Powered by hypermail