L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

Rahl didn’t sense any deception or chaos, not beyond the slight whiteness that apparently accompanied Daelyt all the time. “I’ll hurry.”

“That would be good.”

Rahl moved toward the door.

Outside, the sun had lifted over the hills to the east of the harbor and shone through an already hazy greenish blue sky. There were more people on the street, but still not so many as the evening before, and most looked to be older and graying. Rahl hadn’t taken three steps before he began to sweat. He hurried past the still-closed iron gates of the warehouse courtyard. Tyboran was standing inside the heavy iron grillwork. The guard looked at Rahl impassively.

Rahl smiled back and called cheerfully in Hamorian, “Good morning, Tyboran.” He didn’t feel all that cheerful, but that wasn’t the point.

Tyboran just looked at Rahl, but Rahl had the feeling that the guard was at least slightly glad to be recognized.

An older man, weathered and bent, stood in the morning shade of the northernmost warehouse, so close to the corner that Rahl had to come to a halt quickly to avoid running into him.

“Loaves, just a day old, good loaves!”

“How much?” asked Rahl.

“For you, young ser, a mere four coppers. For the rye. Five for the dark.”

“Old bread? Four coppers?” Rahl snorted. A half silver for a loaf of bread? Between his wages from the training center and what Liedra had given him, he had but three silvers. “A half copper is more like it.”

“You’ve been in Atla too long, where bread and women are cheap, young ser.”

Rahl grinned. “You’ve been in Swartheld too long, where even dung is sold as incense. Not more than a half copper.”

“For your fine tongue I might accept three.”

“Flattery is cheaper than coin. No more than one and a half.”

“My bread may be a day old, but it is far fresher than most loaves, and of better quality.”

“Only the dark bread, and who can afford that?”

In the end, Rahl paid two coppers for a loaf of dark bread, the first he’d had since he’d left Land’s End. He could have gotten the rye for a copper and a half, and doubtless would have to settle for it in the days to come, but he had wanted the dark.

He walked back to the merchant association, only nodding to Tyboran as he passed. The guard did nod back.

“I see Gostof was there,” observed Daelyt, when Rahl walked toward the long desk. “Take the bread to your cubby and eat it there. The director doesn’t like crumbs or food out here.”

As he hurried toward the storeroom and his cubby, Rahl wondered just how much else there was that Shyret demanded or didn’t like. Once in the back, he ate half the loaf and wrapped the rest in one of his cloth squares before wiping his face and hands and returning to the desk.

“We need to check through your forms and make sure that you have everything,” Daelyt said. “Start with the declarations…”

Rahl had not quite finished reorganizing his side of the desk when a slender man with a short black beard and dark eyes stepped through the door and made his way toward the two clerks. He wore the same type of loose-fitting embroidered shirt that Rahl had seen on Shyret the day before, but his was tan with brown embroidery. Despite the intricacy of the stitches, the garment had seen better days.

The newcomer ignored Rahl and looked at Daelyt. “What is the next vessel bound for Nylan, and when might it be expected?”

Daelyt slipped several sheets of paper from the drawer to his left and scanned them. “The Legacy of Diev is already in port, but her cargo space is all spoken for, and she’s almost loaded out. The next would be the Legacy of Westwind. She should port here in Swartheld in about three days. Most of her cargo space is taken. The Legacy of the Founders is scheduled in about an eightday, and there’s space for up to two hundred stones or the equivalent cubage.”

The young trader frowned.

“There’s more space on the Legacy of Montgren, Trader Forisyt,” Daelyt suggested, “but you’re looking at two to three eightdays before she ports. Does it have to be Nylan, or would you consider Land’s End?”

“Nylan. There is little profit and less satisfaction in dealing with those at Land’s End,” replied Forisyt. “I’ll take a hundred stones on the Founders. Brassworks and oils.”

Daelyt began to write on a form that looked vaguely familiar to Rahl. “What is the approximate declared value, Trader Forisyt?”

“It is a cargo of insignificance, so small that it would be an insult to your association to declare a value.”

“The minimum valuation is fifty golds,” Daelyt pointed out, “and the reserve on that is five, and the cartage would be six.”

“Insignificant as it is, it might be of greater worth than the minimum.”

“That is often the case, for we will ship goods with little value, except to the shipper, and your goods are usually far beyond that.”

“We might claim a value of ninety golds,” mused the trader.

“The reserve would be nine, and the cartage ten. Without cargo assurance.”

“As always, you will break me, but what can a small trader do?”

Rahl could sense that the trader wanted to haggle and bargain, but it was clear that the rates were fixed.

“As you may recall,” said Daelyt, “the reserve is due when the consignment order is signed, and the cartage before any cargo can be manifested and loaded.”

“Alas, has it not always been so?” Forisyt shrugged expressively. “I will be back on sixday with the reserve.”

“The consignment order will be ready, honored trader.”

Forisyt smiled wanly, then grinned, before turning and departing.

After the trader had left, Rahl glanced at the older clerk. “Could I look at that schedule? Or should I make a copy for myself?”

“A copy for you would be a good idea-after we deal with the consignment agreement. Have you ever done any of those?”

“I’ve seen them and had them explained, but I’ve never done one,” Rahl replied.

“All right. I’ve got the rough form here. I’ll tell you what to enter and why. Then you can make two copies. We need three, one for the trader, one for the ship, and one for us.”

“Why don’t they use their own ships?”

“Traders like Forisyt only have small cargoes. He doesn’t own a vessel, and the Hamorian traders charge more per stone the smaller the cargo is. If they don’t have a Hamorian shipper, they’ll always try to get on one of our vessels, because we lose almost nothing to piracy, and less than most others to storms. That means less risk to them, or lower indemnity payments if they wish to pay for cargo assurance.”

Rahl had never even heard of cargo assurance. “How does cargo assurance work?”

“We’ll get to that after we do the consignment forms.” Daelyt handed a form to Rahl. “It’s all in Hamorian. First, you fill in the ship and master.” He handed the sheets he had used earlier to Rahl. “Look for Legacy of the Founders …”

As he proceeded in following the other clerk’s directions, Rahl was again bemused and amazed at the amount of paper required by trading.

He had barely begun when Director Shyret appeared from behind them, suggesting that he had entered through the rear storeroom door. Shyret was cheerful and smiling.

“Good morning to all, and it is a good morning, if a trifle warmish.” The director spoke in Hamorian, clearly, but with an accent. “Have we had any business yet this morning?”

“Trader Forisyt has requested a hundred stones on the Founders, ” replied Daelyt. “The declarations for the Diev are on your desk, and Rahl will need a key if you don’t want him using the windows to get in and out.”