Brandon SANDERSON - The Way of Kings

“I think they must be,” the merchant said. “Isn’t that what you just said?”

“I said we should take thought for what we read or eat. Not that we should be exclusive. Tell me, what do you think would happen to a person who ate only sweets?”

“I know well,” the man said. “I have a sister-in-law who periodically upsets her stomach by doing that.”

“See, she was too discriminating. The body needs many different foods to remain healthy. And the mind needs many different ideas to remain sharp. Wouldn’t you agree? And so if I were to read only these silly romances you presume that my ambition can handle, my mind would grow sick as surely as your sister-in-law’s stomach. Yes, I should think that the metaphor is a solid one. You are quite clever, Master Artmyrn.”

His smile returned.

“Of course,” she noted, not smiling back, “being talked down to upsets both the mind and the stomach. So nice of you to give a poignant object lesson to accompany your brilliant metaphor. Do you treat all of your customers this way?”

“Brightness… I believe you stray into sarcasm.”

“Funny. I thought I’d run straight into it, screaming at the top of my lungs.”

He blushed and stood. “I’ll go help my wife.” He hurriedly withdrew.

She sat back, and realized she was annoyed at herself for letting her frustration boil out. It was just what her nurses had warned her about. A young woman had to mind her words. Her father’s intemperate tongue had earned their house a regrettable reputation; would she add to it?

She calmed herself, enjoying the warmth and watching the dancing flamespren until the merchant and his wife returned, bearing several stacks of books. The merchant took his seat again, and his wife pulled over a stool, setting the tomes on the floor and then showing them one at a time as her husband spoke.

“For history, we have two choices,” the merchant said, condescension – and friendliness – gone. “ Times and Passage, by Rencalt, is a single volume survey of Rosharan history since the Hierocracy.” His wife held up a red, cloth-bound volume. “I told my wife that you would likely be insulted by such a shallow option, but she insisted.”

“Thank you,” Shallan said. “I am not insulted, but I do require something more detailed.”

“Then perhaps Eternathis will serve you,” he said as his wife held up a blue-grey set of four volumes. “It is a philosophical work which examines the same time period by focusing only on the interactions of the five Vorin kingdoms. As you can see, the treatment is exhaustive.”

The four volumes were thick. The five Vorin kingdoms? She’d thought there were four. Jah Keved, Alethkar, Kharbranth, and Natanatan. United by religion, they had been strong allies during the years following the Recreance. What was the fifth kingdom?

The volumes intrigued her. “I will take them.”

“Excellent,” the merchant said, a bit of the gleam returning to his eye. “Of the philosophical works you listed, we didn’t have anything by Yustara. We have one each of works by Placini and Manaline; both are collections of excerpts from their most famous writings. I’ve had the Placini book read to me; it’s quite good.”

Shallan nodded.

“As for Gabrathin,” he said, “we have four different volumes. My, but he was a prolific one! Oh, and we have a single book by Shauka-daughter-Hasweth.” The wife held up a thin green volume. “I have to admit, I’ve never had any of her work read to me. I didn’t realize that there were any Shin philosophers of note.”

Shallan looked at the four books by Gabrathin. She had no idea which one she should take, so she avoided the question, pointing at the two collections he had mentioned first and the single volume by Shauka-daughter-Hasweth. A philosopher from distant Shin, where people lived in mud and worshipped rocks? The man who had killed Jasnah’s father nearly six years before – prompting the war against the Parshendi in Natanatan – had been Shin. The Assassin in White, they called him.

“I will take those three,” Shallan said, “along with the histories.”

“Excellent!” the merchant repeated. “For buying so many, I will give you a fair discount. Let us say, ten emerald broams?”

Shallan nearly choked. An emerald broam was the largest denomination of sphere, worth a thousand diamond chips. Ten of them was more than her trip to Kharbranth had cost by several magnitudes!

She opened her satchel, looking in at her money pouch. She had around eight emerald broams left. She’d have to take fewer of the books, obviously, but which ones?

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Shallan jumped and was surprised to see Yalb standing there, holding his cap in his hands, nervous. He rushed to her chair, going down on one knee. She was too stunned to say anything. Why was he so worried?

“Brightness,” he said, bowing his head. “My master bids you return. He’s reconsidered his offer. Truly, we can take the price you offered.”

Shallan opened her mouth, but found herself stupefied.

Yalb glanced at the merchant. “Brightness, don’t buy from this man. He’s a liar and a cheat. My master will sell you much finer books at a better price.”

“Now, what’s this?” Artmyrn said, standing. “How dare you! Who is your master?”

“Barmest,” Yalb said defensively.

“That rat. He sends a boy into my shop trying to steal my customer? Outrageous!”

“She came to our shop first!” Yalb said.

Shallan finally recovered her wits. Stormfather! He’s quite the actor. “You had your chance,” she said to Yalb. “Run along and tell your master that I refuse to be swindled. I will visit every bookshop in the city if that is what it takes to find someone reasonable.”

“Artmyrn isn’t reasonable,” Yalb said, spitting to the side. The merchant’s eyes opened wide with rage.

“We shall see,” Shallan said.

“Brightness,” Artmyrn said, red faced. “Surely you don’t believe these allegations!”

“And how much were you going to charge her?” Yalb asked.

“Ten emerald broams,” Shallan said. “For those seven books.”

Yalb laughed. “And you didn’t stand up and walk right out! You practically had my master’s ears, and he offered you a better deal than that! Please, Brightness, return with me. We’re ready to–”

“Ten was just an opening figure,” Artmyrn said. “I didn’t expect her to take them.” He looked at Shallan. “Of course, eight …”

Yalb laughed again. “I’m sure we have those same books, Brightness. I’ll bet my master gives them to you for two.”

Artmyrn grew even more red-faced, muttering. “Brightness, surely you wouldn’t patronize someone so crass as to send a servant into someone else’s shop to steal his customers!”

“Perhaps I would,” Shallan said. “At least he didn’t insult my intelligence.”

Artmyrn’s wife glared at her husband, and the man grew even more red in the face. “Two emerald, three sapphire. That is as low as I can go. If you want cheaper than that, then buy from that scoundrel Barmest. The books will probably be missing pages, though.”

Shallan hesitated, glancing at Yalb; he was caught up in his role, bowing and scraping. She caught his eyes, and he just kind of gave a shrug.

“I’ll do it,” she said to Artmyrn, prompting a groan from Yalb. He slunk away with a curse from Artmyrn’s wife. Shallan rose and counted out the spheres; the emerald broams she retrieved from her safepouch.

Soon, she walked from the shop bearing a heavy canvas bag. She walked down the steep street, and found Yalb lounging beside a lamppost. She smiled as he took the bag from her. “How did you know what a fair price for a book was?” she asked.