Raymond Feist - Rise of a Merchant Prince

Roo stuck out his hand, ‘Wasn’t,’ he replied.

‘Kind of obvious,’ returned the man named Gaston. He spoke with a slight accent, one common to those living in the smaller backwater towns in the province of Bas-Tyra, but he had lived in Darkmoor since before Roo had been born. He shook Roo’s hand and said, ‘What you need?’

Roo said, ‘Got a wagon?’

‘One out back for sale. She not much to look at; need a little work, but she sound.’

They walked around the building, a combination carpentry shed, tannery, and tinker’s shop. Gaston was master of no trade, but adept at fixing all manner of things, and the only source of repair for those without sufficient funds to pay the local smiths and carpenters. If a poor farmer had a scythe that needed to last one more harvest, he brought it to Gaston, not the forge where Erik used to apprentice to old Tyndal and then Nathan. Roo had heard Erik comment that Gaston might not be a fine smith, but he was solid on the basics. And Roo’s father had always taken his wagons to Gaston for repair.

They moved to a low fence, composed mostly from scraps of wood Gaston had found here and there, and Gaston opened the rickety gate. It swung open on stiff, loud hinges, and Roo entered the yard where Gaston stowed most of his property. Roo halted a moment and shook his head. He had been in the yard countless times; nevertheless he was amazed whenever he saw the colossal collection of refuse Gaston lay claim to: scraps of metal, a shed full of cloth, and a huge covered stack of wood, all organized in a fashion known only to Gaston, but one which Roo knew was flawless. If Gaston had what you needed, he knew where it lay, and could put his hands on it in moments.

‘Saw your papa.’

‘Where’s he now?’ asked Roo, not entirely interested.

‘Sleepin’ off a drunk. He came back from a run down to Salador. Six or seven wagons, I don’t remember, but they got there in good order and were paid a bonus, then he picked up a cargo and came back full, so he blew off a bit last night.’

Gaston hiked his thumb over his shoulder to a bundle of rags under one of two wagons nestled against the lee side of the barn. Roo went over and found the bundle was snoring. He recognized one of the two wagons as his father’s. It was as familiar to Roo as his own pallet had been at home. And truth to tell, he had slept in it about as often. When his father got into one of his drunken rages, Roo had often hidden under the canvas tie-down and slept the night there, rather than risk a pointless beating.

‘Too drunk to walk three streets home?’ said Roo, kneeling and pulling back the topmost rag. The stench that struck him as he did made him wish he hadn’t. Not only hadn’t his father bathed in some time, his breath hit Roo full on as he snored in obvious stupor.

‘Gak!’ Roo moved back a couple of steps.

Gaston scratched his chin and said, ‘We had a few, truth to tell. Tom was buying, so I weren’t going to leave him lying there in the street. I bring him over here; I wasn’t going to take him all the way home, by damn.’

Roo shook his head. ‘Not likely.’ He regarded the snoring face of his father. The old man seemed smaller somehow. Roo wondered at that, but knew that he would seem large enough if he was awakened before he bestirred himself.

Then Roo laughed. He wasn’t a boy any longer and his father hadn’t towered over him in years. Roo wondered, if his father tried to strike him again, would he cower as a child would before an enraged parent, or would he act without thought and break his father’s jaw?

Not willing to put that to the test, he said, ‘We’ll let him sleep. He probably didn’t miss me when I was gone, so I doubt he’ll be glad to see me now.’

Gaston said, ‘You shouldn’t go saying that, Roo. He was right enough upset you were going to be hung. Said it more than once. Thought thirty years’ hard labor was fair, he said.’

Roo shook his head and changed the subject. ‘The wagon?’

‘She be over there,’ said Gaston, pointing to the one that sat next to Roo’s father’s. It was a serviceable wagon, though in need of some repair and a lot of paint.

Roo quickly inspected it, ensuring the axles and wheels were sound. He said, ‘We need to replace some of the fittings on the tongue, but it’ll do. How much?’

Gaston and Roo began haggling and after a minute a deal was struck. It was slightly more than Roo wished to pay, but a fair price, and the wagon was exactly what he was looking for. He paid the money and said, ‘Horses?’

‘Martin still be cheapest for sound animals,’ answered Gaston. ‘Your papa got an extra team these days. Won them in a dice game last month.’

A calculating look crossed Roo’s face and he said, ‘Thanks. That’s good to know.’ Glancing at the snoring figure of his father, he said, ‘If he wakes before I return, keep him here. I need to talk to him before I leave town.’

Roo started for the gate and Gaston said, ‘Where are you off to now?’

‘Growers’ and Vintners’ Hall. I have to buy some wine.’

He left the yard and made his way down the street as the town began to stir into the day’s activities. Workers were already at their shops, and now those women heading out to purchase goods and food for their families were also about. Roo nodded in greeting at a few familiar faces, but mostly he was lost in thought about the next step in his plan for wealth.

As he reached the town square, opposite the Growers’ and Vintners’ Hall, a clatter of hooves upon cobbles heralded the approach of riders, and from the sound, Roo knew they were coming fast. A moment later the squad appeared around the corner of the very hall for which Roo was bound, five riders at a canter. Pedestrians scampered out of the way as the five men in the colors of the Baron of Darkmoor hurried by. Roo marked the leader, the same corporal they had encountered in Wilhelmsburg, and he knew instantly where they would eventually stop: Milo’s inn. Roo hesitated and decided against heading directly there. He had business to conduct and, besides, he was pretty sure this would be a matter between Erik and his half brother Manfred. If the Baron needed to speak with Roo Avery, he could come looking for him after he finally found Erik. Roo entered the hall.

Erik stood admiring the forge. Nathan and his apprentice Gunther were showing off the changes they had made since Erik had left. They were minor, but Erik made a point of admiring the boy’s work. It was clear he doted on Nathan and had developed much the same attitude that Erik had toward the smith, that of a boy for a foster-father. Nathan’s own children had been killed in an almost forgotten war and he took special pains to care for his apprentices.

‘You look fit,’ said Nathan. ‘You like the army?’

Erik said, ‘There’s much about it I don’t like, but … yes, I think I like the order, the sense of knowing what is expected of you.’

Nathan motioned with his head for Gunther to find some task to attend to, leaving them alone. ‘And the killing?’

Erik shrugged. ‘Not much. There are times when it’s like hacking wood for the fire. Something you must do. Other times I’m too scared to think. But mostly it’s … I don’t know … ugly.’

Nathan nodded. ‘I’ve worked with a lot of soldiers in my day, Erik. Be cautious of those who enjoy the butchery. They serve when the fighting’s hard, but they’re like guard dogs; better to keep them on a short leash most of the time.’

Erik looked at Nathan and their eyes locked. Then Erik smiled. ‘I promise I’ll never get to liking it.’

‘Then you’ll do,’ said Nathan, returning Erik’s grin. ‘Though you’d have been a fine smith, no doubt.’