Well, now you saw that did you? Well spotted young Arkilla, well done indeed. Now how often have I told you, lads? It's the details that matter. Keep your eyes open for the details and the profits will follow. As a reward, young lady you can sit here by the fire and help me cook the supper while the others curry the horses. Yes, I know we do it that way every night but tonight it's a special reward. Why? Because I say so.
Ahh, now they're off you can get your real reward. You saw for yourself how the uzko lady came up to me at the end of the market. Asked if she could be of any further service, didn't she? And what made you think there was anything special about that?
Yes! Yes, well done! That is Old Darktongue. Only the nobles and a few of the troll traders know it nowadays. Sounds strange to our ears nowadays but before the Pharaoh came it was the way they all spoke up there on the Shadow Plateau. These times, they saves it for special occasions. For formality like. And that question she asked me is very special, very formal. Goes back a long way, a long, long way.
Yes, I knew I was onto a winner when I picked you to apprentice what was it? Four years back?. You've been a good lass for all you was a bit squeamish with some of the folks we've met. But you soon got used to our ways and you've been a grand help around the camp. Never eaten better since I started and you haven't shirked an hour, not in work nor in learning. Not like some hereabouts I could mention. So what I'm saying is I'll miss you.
No, no, I'm not sending you home lass! No, not at all! I'm sending you on! Your time as my apprentice ends tonight and I'll send you on as a journeyman, fully qualified and ready. Yes, I know Jorry thinks he's going to be made journeyman this year. Jorry's going to be disappointed.
I have to send you on, lass. Because I'm not allowed to tell apprentices the story I'm going to tell you now. It's the story behind that question the troll lady asked us tonight.
Open that chest over there. The maplewood one. Fine craftsmanship that, sturdy and good to look at. Got it from the estate of a baron in Heortland after his peasants burnt his manor house down around his ears. Now fetch out what's on top.
That's a herald's tabard. To announce to whoever sees it that the one wearing it is protected by the Speaking God. It has our Master Issaries' marks on it, the signs of His power. Movement. And the mark that is His Mystery. Now, take a close look and tell me: what's strange about it?
No? Can't you tell? Now, here's another thing you must learn from me tonight. Look not only at the things you see that are new but also the things you see that you've seen every day of your life. What's strange is this: Our Master is the source of the mark that bears his name, the mark that is Talking and Trading. If you look at the banners of the other gods that are sources, at Humakt for Death, at Umath for Air, you'll see that they bear their Powers twice over. So why doesn't our Master have His Mark twice over?
Well, that's a very good question. I'm glad you asked me.
See, back in the days of Darkness, after the Sun fell from the sky Our Master Issaries was roaming the world, as we do now, looking for what was good and fair and fairly priced so that he could trade for it and take it back to his Lord Orlanth's tula. He learned all the languages and all the customs in the world and what each people wanted but didn't have and everywhere he went he moved things from where they was cheap to where they wasn't and he made sure he was welcome at the table of every lord and every farmer. His mule drawn cart took him everywhere and he saw everything.
But one day (not that they had days then) he got a little careless. He was going along, driving his cart, thinking hard about something I suppose, like you gets when you're learning a new tongue, when before he knew it, whang bang wallop he'd been whacked over the head with a dirty great club and shoved in a bag. He was slung over someone's shoulder (and a big muscle-bound shoulder it was too) toted a good long way, his head pounding and then dumped out of the sack into the middle of a great big hall.
Now, this hall was made of black glass and looked very fine indeed with walls that reached up to the dark skies and a huge, huge throne. But what filled the hall wasn't so nice. The hall was full of trolls, big hungry looking trolls who looked at him like he was a particularly nice bit of roast pig, with lots of crackling. And sitting on the throne was the biggest troll he'd ever seen.
But you don't get to be God of Trading and Talking by imitating a wallflower so Our Master pops right up and introduces himself.
"Greetings, your lordship! I am Issaries! Issaries Silvertongue,
Issaries the Trader! All sorts of goods bought and sold, your lordship!
No deal too small or too large! Who have I the honour of addressing?"
The big fellow on the throne he rumbles (his voice making the glass palace quiver) that he is Argan Argar, the son of Night. And what did Our Master mean by wandering around his territory?
"Fine larynx, you've got there me lord. Wonderful projection. Marvellous
diction. If I had a voice like that... Yes, yes... I'm coming to
that.... Don't let your lads poke me with their spears, lordship. This
suit is crushed velvet. Well, as to what I was doing, your Eminence, I
was going about my business. Trading, sirs. Oh and ladies! Sorry. Buying
and selling. Moving the goods. Making a living." He cast his eyes about
and saw that his cart and his mules had been brought into the hall with
him. "Look here, me lord. Finest silks from the furthest east, look very
good on your ladies. A couple of hogsheads of finest kvass. Some
mahogany spear shafts. Anything I could interest you in? Hmmm?"
The trolls in the hall came forward and poked their noses into the cart and sniffed everything including the terrified mules. And then the chappie on the throne said:
"You're a puny little thing, aren't you? How did you come by such fine
trinkets as these? You couldn't possibly have robbed anyone of them. You
must be some sort of sneak thief."
Well, Issaries couldn't stand to hear that. Especially since so many people had uttered the same slander after he had left them and they started thinking they could have got a better deal out of him.
"No, sir! No your lordship. If you'll pardon me for saying so, there
your lordship speaks most ignorantly. No, everything I get I get by fair
and honest trade. Open and above board in everything that's me."
"You've said that word before. What is this 'trade' thing?"
Well, when he heard that he knew that he had a chance of coming through alive. He pulled himself back and let rip with his greatest feat of all. He Sold them on Trade.
If you think you've seen something when I've got a prospect lined up in front of me and willing to listen then I'm here to tell you that what I can do at my best is just a pale shadow of an imitation of our Master Issaries when he got going. Of course, it helped that he'd spread the word to most of the rest of the world first because, being trolls, they had some unique objections of their own.
"So," said one big fellow, "when they come with the stuff they've
made... Do we get to eat them then?"
"No, no, sir. Look, if you eat them then they won't be back next year,
will they? If they eat them then their children and their children's
children won't be back. Not ever, unless it's with sharp pointy things
and fire. If you give them something they want and you don't and they
give you something they don't want and you do, then they'll be back year
after year after year. That's Trade for you."
Now the fellow on the throne had listened all the while as Our Master explained this idea of his. He'd liked what he heard and he'd been flattered by what Issaries had said about his voice. But he was also a very clever fellow in his way and he knew that what he was seeing in action wasn't any ordinary wanderer.
"This Trade thing, did you think it up yourself?" he asked Our Master.
"Yes, indeedy," said Issaries, "All My Own Work."
"Then you'd know more about it than anyone else in the world?"
"I think I can say that, in all honesty and humility, yes sir."
"Well, then, if I were to grab hold of you now and eat you up, brains
and all, then I'd eat up your Trade idea with you, wouldn't I? And I'd
know more about this Trade thing than anyone else in the world. You
see," he added in a kindly way, "what we Trolls know more about than
anyone else in the world is Eating."
Well, Our Master swallowed and paled a bit at this but he rallied and said: "Ahhh, you see your Lordship, that wouldn't work. That sort of thing, taking without giving in exchange, that's the very precise opposite of Trade. And you can't control a thing by its opposite can you? Logical impossibility!" And he made a mental note to thank Lhankhor Mhy for the tedious lectures in philosophy he'd been made to listen to when they journeyed together.
Argan Argar settled back into his throne and admitted that this might very well be true. (And for all I know now or Issaries knew then it might really be true.)
"So what would you propose as an alternative. Because I am determined
not to let you leave this hall unless I have in my hand and my heart and
my head the secret of this power Trade."
"Weeeellll," said Our Master, "I suppose that I have a bit more of the
magic of Trade than strictly speaking I need. I could cut my veins a bit
and you could drink my blood and have a bit of my magic inside of you.
That would work."
"Yes, that would be good," said the troll god. And then he added (which
showed he had really been paying attention during Issaries' explanation)
"What would you want in exchange?"
And when they'd agreed on a price the deal was done and the power of Trade passed on.
Now, young apprentice, for the last test of your apprenticeship. What do you think it was they agreed on?
No, not money. You're right to rule that out. The trolls hate the bright fire of gold and Our Master wasn't going to lug huge amounts of lead around.
No, not spider silk. (Though it's a good thought and we're carrying a good lot of it nowadays.) Nor honey nor royal jelly nor any of the insect wares we're taking back to Boldhome.
No, certainly not their drinks. (I wonder what that barman up in Furthest does with all the Powzie we send him...)
No, you have one last guess. Think hard about what you saw tonight and you'll know. For what he took away didn't increase the weight of his cart by a feather's worth.
Yes, that's right. He asked the Son of Night for a favour. A favour to be done some time in the future. And it hasn't yet been repaid. So whenever you treat with the Argan Argari they will ask 'Is there anything more we can do for you, Trader?' And you must be careful, always, to say no, ever so politely.
And this tabard is for you, the mark of a journeyman. Not as a gift (a
gift would be against the way of Our Master) but as due payment for your
years of apprenticeship. And now here's the boys back and we can have
supper. Put your tabard on lass and we can both enjoy watching young
Jorry seeth into his rabbit stew.
- --
Michael Cule
End of The Glorantha Digest V7 #401
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