THE BUSINESS OF YOUR LIFE All the morning I had been buzzy with my Trade, until He came and stopped a couple of yards away. It was about eleven and the Market was at its highest. What struck me about the man was the manifest incoherence of its figure: he had all the signs of the Etyries Merchant, but only carried some long-used remnants of clothes, and an ostensibly Empty bag. What a pitiful soul, one that couldn't even Afford the Luxury of a Pocket to keep his non-existent Money. I resumed my Trade.
After a while he sat, took the only object contained in the bag - his old Abacus - and waited.
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 that.
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 my 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 over his butcher's stall, and was offering him his license, and his stock.
Wait! My stall is better
than the butcher's, my store is the best around! It's mine he should be
taking. I can give him a better Price, he doesn't even have to Pay, I will
Give him my Credit and he can 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. But now there was a crowd
around him.
They were Giving him all: cattle, wine, jewels, money, you name it. I had
to get past all those manure-barters.
Look, it's me ! the man ! nobody can offer you what I've got, all for you, no need for a price, just take it.
Someone - was it the butcher ? - took out a knife. Next, a hammer started to hit, heads for nails. Within moments everyone was fighting. You need to fight when you risk losing 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 grey sage, spoke first:
"This is a most unusual case, I must say. The man is a mason from
Notchet, and stupid, as 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 spoke: "I don't pretend to have such a long and beautiful beard as my colleague has, 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 most 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, umm, weak 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 Hail 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 men no more then half-an-hour to know that there was no trace of the abacus in the prison deposits. In fact, neither were there traces of the deposit 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 entrusted him with 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 (with a Julian's hand)
End of The Glorantha Digest V6 #46
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