The Taleweaver

During the days that followed Arthur was left to his own means most of the time. He dined with William on two occasions and made certain to meet with a few of the other traders from Earth. Questioned about his sponsorship he simply told them one half of the truth. He could make more money by making his money work for him. Another deed breaking with custom, he knew. It would be months rather than years before Terran traders started sponsoring each other, but that was hardly his problem.

He used William's help to set up a totally different kind of business. William was more than helpful for all the wrong reasons and Arthur decided not to disclose the entire truth. He knew he was playing a dirty trick on Harbend when he hired a translator in secrecy.

Day by day, after Harbend had left to cover a day's worth of errands in preparation of his venture, Arthur stole out to meet his new contact. There had been preciously little time to plan what he had in mind, but within hours discreet spies reported what Harbend was doing and Arthur copied the actions as best as he could.

He was being used by everyone he hired, paying double or even triple the amount of money he should for the services he bought. It mattered little at the moment. Gambling that his position as an outworlder would protect him from anything more sinister than a scam, Arthur poured out coins making sure those receiving the excesses never learned that what they stole from him was less than what he had sometimes spent during a single day on Earth.

In two weeks he would have been forced to go back, but then Harbend's problems arrived like a gift from heaven. When that day arrived Arthur intended to be missing, and Harbend, even though he knew nothing about it now, would have much more of a trading partner than he had bartered for.

The frenzied activities served another purpose as well, one Arthur avoided thinking about. The days were always better than the nights. The days carried small problems he could solve rather than the nightmares he could but endure while he slept.

He even managed to set up a kind of bank account with one of the money houses making business with the traders' hall. It had been touch and go a couple of times, but his experience from long years of buying expensive services paid off, and even though he never knew if he was overplaying his part of a haughty outworlder trader he was secure that neither did his counterparts.

Less than a week after he started his underhand affairs reports told him that Harbend apparently was finished. Arthur promptly paid his hirelings off and booked a room for two in the excellent restaurant he by then paid a daily visit to. Harbend at least deserved to get the dismaying news in a stylish environment with a precious bounty of gorgeous food to cushion the strike.

On his way out from the hotel Arthur paid a messenger to run with a request for the meeting and briskly proceeded down the streets whistling happily to himself. He paid no attention to other pedestrians giving him surprised looks when he passed them by, leaving the unfamiliar tune like a whiff of perfume behind him. It might have been unfamiliar to them but it was immediately recognized by a majority of the fifteen billion populating the Terran sphere of influence as the theme framing all of his Golden Secrets shows, and Arthur only saw it as fitting on his way to a meeting where he would indeed disclose a golden secret.

The day was pleasant. Summer giving way to early autumn and not even the hours around noon were uncomfortably hot now. Feeling a bit lightheaded he picked up speed. He raced along a shortcut he'd found the day before and bumped into a group of children playing precariously close to the busy street. He excused himself but they didn't answer and scurried away shrieking with delight.

Suddenly suspicious he looked down and saw he was lacking his purse. That was the second time since he'd started to wear local clothes pickpockets had made away with his money.

He never thought of using the small handgun all traders were now equipped with after an especially ugly mugging several years earlier. He felt uncomfortable carrying a weapon among people, and like most traders he usually left it in his room.

It didn't matter as he only kept several copper and a few silver coins, matching the looks of his expensive outfit, in the purse he had dangling at his waist. Most locals carried the coins called shields, valuable enough for most casual transactions, in such purses. Arthur had a waistband where he kept most of his silver shields and all the gold marks he decided to bring.

He slowed his pace and started searching for a shop that could fill his needs. A few blocks along the street he found what he was looking for and purchased one velvet and one leather pouch to have a spare one.

The conversation with the shopkeeper was awkward to say the least, but with broken De Vhatic, shrugs, smiles and a lot of pointing he made his wishes known. He pocketed the leather pouch, dropped a few coins into the other and tied it to his belt. Hopefully he wouldn't run into another gang of pickpockets in the course one day, but nevertheless he felt a bit uneasy having more silver than copper hanging by his side. The real danger, he had been told, lay not in loosing a few coins, but rather in loosing coins of too high a denomination. That could turn a cutpurse into a mugger.

Unfortunately there were no money traders in the part of Verd he was in so he decided to take his chances and he sauntered away in the general direction of the restaurant.

Colonel Trindai de Laiden sat slouched in a chair, posture belying his station in the imperial army. After twenty years of active service in the assault cavalry he had advanced to the lofty rank where he only gave orders to his desk and the papers cluttering it. Two inconvenient secrets disclosed and a demotion from general to colonel later he was, to his own immense relief, transferred to a special command.

Now he took orders from Madame de Felder, Keen's spy master, holding a position where he could do a real soldier's work. One, he admitted to himself, from which he no longer undermined other operations where too many prying eyes could see the flaws he pointed out. All in all a very satisfying solution to a shared problem.

He was clad in worn leathers revealing nothing of who employed him.

"... volunteers are reassigned?"

Trindai smiled. "Yes, the Feeble Incompetents are indeed reassigned." He put on the airs of a green recruit. "Being but a lawful citizen of Keen I dutifully reported what I witnessed at Krante Gates."

Mairild de Felder glared at him and he returned the favor with a growl.

"General de Markand had the idiots transferred to do their holy duty hunting practitioners of the forbidden arts along the coast south of Hasselden," Trindai ended the report.

Madame de Felder winced. "They'll encounter problems operating outside of our jurisdiction."

"They'll encounter swift and certain death at the hands of the raiders," Trindai added mirthlessly. "Just as you would have it. This way it's a military matter. No traces will lead back here."

He watched the older woman's tight smile. Where he was a soldier she was a predator, expertly equipped for the underhand machinations he disliked. Disliked but acknowledged the need for. Keen needed both kinds, as she needed craftsmen, scholars, farmers and traders.

Rigid adherence to ideals left nations open to scavengers. Like poor Chach that was torn apart by factions commanding enough swords to temporarily gain control of a county or two only to have that power wrested from them a generation later.

He even suspected she employed wielders of the forbidden arts whenever need was great enough, but as long as no one openly displayed the use of magic within the borders of Keen he was satisfied.

"The sky port?" she asked.

"Will be guarded by the Holy Inquisition henceforth," Trindai answered. "De Markand made it clear he wouldn't risk de Saiden's reputation by having that piss poor excuse for a military unit endangering our relations with the outworlders."

"Good. With that matter closed we'll proceed with the next item."

Trindai let go of his posture of tired disinterest. Now they were finally approaching the real reason for his presence. "Yes?"

"How soon can you have your men ready?" Madame de Felder asked making ready with pen and paper to jot down information and orders.

"Within a day, apart from Major Berdaler's squadron around Roadbreak." Trindai summed up the number of relays in his head. "With the use of the farwriter and another two days for rounding up the men, ah, four days before he can act on orders I send him."

"Excellent! He's to ride to Ri Nachi and escort traders to Braka."

Trindai smiled as the glimmer of interest grew to anticipation. "Ri Nachi is almost a season's travel from here, not to speak of Braka. May I ask for the reason?"

"More than that," de Felder answered. "You'll have a field command again," she added, giving him what he had hoped for. "An independent merchant has been sponsored into a full house. His name is Harbend de Garak, and he's reopening the land route to Braka for trade."

"Sounds expensive," Trindai thought aloud. "Especially if you plan to use my full command as escort."

"It is, and I am," she responded affirmatively, but there was a tired quality to her voice that had him worried.

He shot her a quizzical look.

"Look, harvest's been decent. Better than decent, but that still doesn't make the raiders go away."

Trindai waited patiently. Madame de Felder sometimes explained her reasons when all but the best of officers would have stayed silent.

"House de Garak is setting up a major caravan. With luck he might even squeeze a profit out of it, but as far as Keen is concerned it's nothing but grand theater."

"Yes?" Trindai said no longer certain he wanted to know.

"We desperately need that show. At the end of the festival I'll have a pompous declaration made to enforce the impression that Keen knows how to take matters in hand." She offered him a harried expression.

"Or else?"

"Or else you and de Markand along with most of our senior staff will be commanding troops against our own within the year. The Ministry of War as well as the Ministry of Commerce gives us two years, three at most, before the border provinces starts revolting."

Darkness! "I have the utmost respect for Olvar de Saiden, but the greedy bastards in commerce, well..."

"I've had the estimations confirmed by, let's call it external sources," de Felder countered.

When the need is great enough, Trindai thought, and for the first time in years he was discomforted by the fear of the unknown. Still, there was a part to play he knew well enough. He rose. "I take it you've arranged for the guaranteed absence of any mercenaries apart from my men," he muttered as he left in order to gather his men.

Madame de Felder nodded. The silence was only broken by the ringing of his heeled riding boots on marble floor as he marched out.

Harbend knew he was being followed. He hadn't, for a day or so, but after Ramdar insisted that Vildir help with the acquisitions of weapons and traveling gear it hadn't taken long before the horse-lord pointed out a number of customers who seemed strangely out of place. Some of them were very good, not only copying the motions of buying wares but paying and leaving with the chosen items as well.

Harbend suspected they had both missed some of their watchers, but Vildir assured him there was nothing truly dangerous about the situation, and after a couple of days Harbend dismissed it all as an irritating method one of the other houses employed in order to check his whereabouts.

In the end he bought a crossbow, two quivers filled with quarrels to go with it and a rapier, the closest he would get to the slender swords favored in Khi. A leather jerkin was all he would carry as armor.

When it came to choosing riding gear and equipment for spending long periods of time outdoors Harbend bowed to Vildir's superior experience. Axes, knifes, sharpening stones, fire starters in waterproof containers, a large tarpaulin and, of all things, a large bell filled the list of essentials. A multitude of other items Harbend was more familiar with were added and lastly Harbend started placing orders for items of trade.

The roles of expertise were turned and Vildir only showed a passing interest as they walked in and out of shops selling perfumes, books and a wild variety of small items displaying the mechanical prowess of Keen, like hand held clocks, instruments for measuring exact distances and regulators for gases and liquids.

Harbend quickly ran out of money. When he received a message requesting his presence at his favorite restaurant he was relieved Arthur had called the meeting. It would be awkward anyway to remind him of the money needed for purchasing horses, wagons and the bulky furniture meant for the market in Braka.

Hiring armed men for protection would be hideously expensive, but without those in place no one in Erkateren would be willing to join the caravan and share the expenses.

Around noon, Harbend locked the door to his office behind him, something he made into a habit after finding his relatives in his home. Uncle Ramdar and Vildir had taken rooms in Two Worlds. With trade as it was Harbend even managed to wriggle a discount from the unhappy manager, but still, lodging his relatives in the way the family name required depleted his already strained resources in a dangerous way.

Harbend shuddered at the thought of what could have happened back home in Khi and took to the streets waving to get the attention of a nearby coach.

"The Tree," Harbend said to the driver and climbed inside. Every coach driver in the city knew the location of the famous restaurant and with a tug the coach started moving.

The streets passed in a blur, not because of any dangerous speed, but because Harbend was too busy counting how many days it would be before he ran out of money. He grimly realized he was acting out the perfect copy of Arthur staring out the window without seeing anything he passed by. The ride took but a short while and he found himself walking down the path in the garden before he came to himself enough to care about his surroundings.

Arthur smiled when he saw Harbend enter the dining cottage. This very cottage had become something of a daily refuge to Arthur.

He was still unused to taking part in his own business, but hopefully he was learning fast enough. Now he had to take care of the unpleasant business with Harbend as well, but Arthur had laid his plans carefully, and he'd caught Harbend in a trap. There would be protests, no doubts about that, but eventually the result would be what Arthur wanted.

"I hope you don't mind my ordering the courses," Arthur said as Harbend took his seat.

"Not at all," Harbend answered frowning.

Arthur suspected Harbend couldn't have cared less about the courses ordered, but an outworlder client being able to communicate anything that complex was reason to be worried, and Arthur needed Harbend to be off balance for the entire dinner. When the servant arrived to make sure both guests were ready Arthur spoke before Harbend had a chance.

"We would like to start with the cold dishes and a bottle of your best white wine," Arthur said in De Vhatic owing more to rehearsal than any real understanding.

The servant replied and Arthur waved her away. He hadn't grasped more than one single word of the reply, but Harbend didn't know that.

Arthur faced Harbend again. "Now, I think we should converse in English. My grasp of De Vhatic is basic at best." He savored the stunned silence that followed.

The dinner continued much in the same way with Arthur placing increasingly specific orders in De Vhatic, and during the courses they shared pleasantries with each other, both men carefully avoiding the topic they wanted to touch.

When at last a bottle of strong, sweet wine arrived together with chilled fruit and cheese they were both ready to breach the subject they had been thinking about all the time. Arthur allowed Harbend to open the real conversation. Counter strikes would be more effective than going on the offensive from the beginning.

"About the financing of the caravan. I have made all the preparations, and we need to be off in a couple of days." He waited for Arthur to say anything, but Arthur declined the offer. "There is still the matter of buying the real cargo as well as the means to carry the load. Not to mention hiring the escort."

"Ah, yes?"

"Eh, my resources are currently sadly lacking, and if you could join into the investment as previously agreed..."

Perfect! As Arthur had been informed Harbend was close to bankruptcy and now needed the money to proceed.

"That shouldn't pose any difficulties. As you understand I'll need to oversee the handling of my investment."

Harbend frowned slightly. "I fail to see any problems with that," he agreed carefully.

"Great. Then we're still in agreement. I'll make the money available for you before we leave."

The relief Harbend expressed was so great Arthur almost felt sorry for him.

"Wonderful! The core wagon train should be on the road in three days..." Harbend ground to a halt, understanding dawning in his face. "We? You cannot come! You have a sky ship home to catch within eightdays. The caravan will be on the roads for seasons."

Arthur decided to end the feinting there and then. "I'll not go back home without my money. If it stays, I stay where it is. I've deposited almost all of it with the de Felder money traders." Color rose in Harbend's face, but the merchant was a defeated man.

"It would take you several days to get your personal gear, and that will be too great a delay," Harbend said grasping desperately for a way out.

"My personal gear is already stored away. You may inspect it if you like, but I doubt that you'll find anything wrong with it." So easy, delivering the coup de grace. Harbend deflated in front of him. Then, slowly as if remembering something, Harbend started to grin.

"Why not, just one more tradition smashed to splinters. You are welcome to join the ride, partner." He laughed, more to himself than for Arthur's benefit. "But how did you know where to buy equipment for the road..." A startled expression grew in his face and he glared at Arthur with something like amused respect glimmering in his eyes. "You... you... you ill begotten son of nameless parents! It was you who had me followed!"

Arthur merely smiled and raised his glass in acknowledgment. Harbend laughed in response and filled his own.

"This should be very, very interesting," he said, still laughing. "You have to tell me how you did it. You have wrought more changes to us than any other outworlder trader I know of. Gods! More than all of them together."

Arthur sipped his wine, almost as sweet as the taste of victory.

"No, no, no! I shall see no stallions in my caravan. Give me your good mares if you lack geldings." Agitation rose in Harbend. They needed to be on the road in a day but still lacked several horses. At least hiring men at arms had been easy thanks to Vildir.

Harbend turned on his heels and faced the horse trader. "Do you have any good horses left at all, or do I have to find one of your colleagues?"

The man winced. Losing a buying customer was usually a bad thing, and Harbend was buying a very large quantity of horses, so his threat was substantial.

"Of course I have, sir. It just takes some time to round them all up," the trader said, freckled cheeks reddening visibly. "Sir, you're not exactly asking for plough horses you know."

Harbend did. Vildir had personally examined each of the creatures offered, and while he wasn't looking for war-trained beasts he made sure Harbend didn't end up with weak creatures not capable of lasting the long days to come.

The trader they were buying the horses from was supposedly one of the best, and most honest. Vildir had only placed his veto once and Harbend suspected it had been more for show than any solid reason. The horses were good, but now the trader tried to sell him the uneasy stallions he had available rather than fetching more horses from fields where they still grazed.

Harbend liked the smell of horses. Not all men did, but you didn't grow up with a man like Vildir Kanir around you without learning to appreciate the graceful animals, stupid as they all too often were.

"Sir, I can have another five mares here this afternoon, but you've already bought all my geldings. I'm sorry." Desperation tinged the voice, but to Harbend it was like listening to music.

"Five? This afternoon?"

"Yes, sir." The trader's face brightened at the prospect of closing an affair of such magnitude.

Harbend knew he'd save the trader the cost of long months of stabling with food and grooms adding to the renting of stables. Five horses. He needed another four. An idea struck him.

"Do you have mules?"

"But, of course, sir. How many do you need?"

Genuine relief coursed through him. He beamed at the man. "Six of them, at a discount."

The horse trader hesitated for a moment.

Harbend stared him down. Relief was no reason to allow unnecessary money to escape his grasp.

"I'll have them here this afternoon as well. Actually I'll bring eight for you to choose from." The trader's expression was almost comical to see. So eager to please now he'd forgotten some of the basics of trading, and Harbend realized he wouldn't have to pay much for the mules.

"That will be excellent, my good man. I shall return here later. My man will accompany me, of course," he added nodding towards Vildir. There was no reason to make the horse trader feel too comfortable.

They parted, but not before Harbend had seen the trader throw Vildir a sullen stare. Harbend strode away forcing himself to hide a wide grin threatening to spread all over his face.

"Vildir," he called in their shared language, "time to leave. We need to meet Arthur."

Merchant and horse-lord converged just outside the corral.

They were south of Verd, outside Krante gates. Whore's Crotch as the fields were called by the poor referring to the highway splitting in one easterly and one westerly leg and the city gates open to anyone with goods to sell or money to spend.

A temporary town grew here late summer each year. During two frenzied eightdays, just before the harvest festival, a gigantic market took place on the exercise fields when most of the four cavalry regiments stationed in Verd were away in small groups to help farmers with harvesting.

Harbend shuffled along the dusty ground with Vildir beside him. They were thirsty and tired, and a late heatwave had caught them wearing clothes far too warm. Harbend wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and stared longingly at a tent they passed. They served cold beer there, but Arthur had seated himself in a pavilion at the edge of the market so they still had some distance to walk.

"What do you think?" Harbend asked, mostly to turn his thoughts from the alluring promise of a thirst quencher.

"Horses are good," Vildir admitted.

"Horses are good," Harbend echoed, a tinge of scorn in his voice. "Gods! Horses are superior would be more correct. We do not have these beasts in Khi, and you know it."

"Nothing wrong with our horses," Vildir countered defensively, but Harbend could see the calculating mind of the horse-lord working. No doubt he was trying to find a way to buy and transport several of the stallions Harbend had refused to have anything to do with. As studs they would be perfect.

He repressed a smile until he saw Arthur. He was no longer sitting at the table where they had left him. He wasn't sitting at all. A group of children and some young women had dragged him to an opening between the tents and were teaching him one of the local dances while a crowd of spectators cheered them on with whistles and rude jeers. On a dais an older woman in plain, linen clothes played a flute and beside her a youngster hammered away on two drums. One jester threw wildflowers over Arthur and the girl he currently danced with, while another tried to collect money from the audience.

Harbend winced slightly and Vildir looked at him in alarm.

"Mock wedding," Harbend explained.

"Arthur does not know?" Vildir asked, just a bit too gravely.

"The man does not know at all," Harbend agreed gleefully. He looked at Vildir and saw the usually somber horse-lord biting back a grin.

"She would make a strong wife," Vildir sputtered.

They both burst out laughing, and taken by the air of festivity they threw themselves into the dance to the approving cheers of people around them. More joined, both musicians and revelers, and Harbend soon found himself with his arms around the waist of a very pretty, very young woman laughing wildly as they swirled round and round again.

Arthur examined the horses while he absentmindedly counted his coins. No copper or silver shields this time. He was still sweaty and happy after the impromptu celebration he'd taken part in earlier. A large quantity of weak beer had cooled him down somewhat, but he still felt a bit giddy. Years since he danced the last time and he was pleasantly surprised he hadn't forgotten the motions.

Arthur opened his right hand to Harbend who accepted more money. They had bought over eighty horses and a few ponies, or mules. Arthur wasn't certain about the latter.

Sixteen wagons already on their way to the eastern gates, driven there by the men they hired. All in all a massive undertaking. Several hundreds of the gold marks had changed owners, enough money to buy a number of large farms with livestock and all, and the expensive part was yet to come. The men had to be paid two weeks, or rather eightdays as they counted time here, in advance. Hundreds, if not thousands more of the coins would flow before they reached their final destination, and then they needed to come back the same way.

Arthur continued studying the horses closest to him. Mares and geldings he guessed. Brown or gray all of them. Sedate, but to his untrained eye they looked healthy enough. He searched again.

That one, the brown with kind eyes. "Harbend, I'll ride the brown one, to the right."

"Ride? Should you not be on a wagon instead."

"To begin with, yes. We don't want anyone recognizing me on our way out of Verd, but after that I'll ride."

Harbend glared angrily. "This is a real journey. I do not have the time to break in an untrained rider."

"No need. I spent a lot of my youth on horseback." Arthur didn't lie. He fondly remembered long treks in the Canadian wilderness. Harbend didn't seem convinced though.

"A lot? I thought you outworlders did not use anything as mundane as horses."

"At home that would be exotic, not mundane, but you're right." Arthur laughed. "My grandfather bred horses for rich people to use in their spare time. We call it tourism. I've spent weeks riding cross country, but I admit it was a long time ago."

Harbend's stare grew milder. "And you have not forgotten how?"

"How could I?" Arthur decided to take a chance. "I'm a trained initiate. Even have a healed broken rib as a reminder of where to stand around a horse," he said grinning.

Harbend grunted, but Arthur could see he was satisfied nonetheless. Arthur sighed in silent relief. He hadn't forgotten the shaky ride from the terminal building to the train station the day he arrived. The wagons they had bought now didn't have the metal shock absorbers all carriages and coaches used in the city boasted.

"Well, I think we are done for today. Let us go back to your hotel," Harbend said.

Arthur yawned. It wasn't late in the afternoon, but they had started early and he was tired already. "Agreed," he said, and they marched away spreading dust with every step. Vildir caught up with them and together they made their way back to the city.

The day had begun with clear skies and a blazing sun, but the afternoon was overcast. The sweltering heat continued however, with humidity as an added torture. Arthur pressed his temples to ease a slowly spreading headache.

They walked in silence. The next day would see their formal parting with Harbend's relatives, of whom Arthur had only met Vildir, and Arthur could see that Harbend was uneasy. He hadn't spoken much of them, only that the man he sometimes called uncle and sometimes Ramdar was the leader of their family. From what little Harbend had told Arthur got the impression that Khi was a clan based, feudal society.

Vildir, the stern follower who preferred listening to talking, was obviously a military commander of some kind. High ranking, if Arthur's guessed correctly. Vildir had showed some sense of humor earlier, but it was the first time Arthur saw an expression of joy in the silent soldier.

During earlier conversations it became clear that Arthur was in reality paying Harbend to save his family from some trouble. Arthur wasn't sure Harbend had meant him to know though.

Striding past a weaponry Harbend asked them to wait and went inside. Arthur could hear him talking with someone inside, and then Harbend returned with a package in his hands.

"Wait until you reach your rooms," he said when Arthur gave the package a quizzical look. Arthur shrugged and they continued.

The streets were busier now. Everyone seemed to prepare for the eightday of festivities ahead and long strings were already stretched between buildings, adorned with small flags. In one corner a man and a woman, both in bleached linen, laid the finishing touches to a stage they'd been busy erecting over the last few days. In another tables and benches occupied most of the sidewalk where a tavern had moved outdoors.

They had to push their way through the crowd when they weren't pushed aside themselves. All very chaotic, but a friendly chaos tinged with humor and anticipation. Not without a certain pang of regret Arthur realized he was going to leave all this behind, but Harbend had told him that during the coming eightday the roads would be clear and travel easy. After that people returned home clogging the roads for a full two eightdays, and Harbend wanted to reach some point along the road before autumn turned to winter.

They approached another temporary tavern, one of many springing up everywhere, occupying a large portion of the street for the eightday to come.

Now this is perfect. Cameras, three on the street, two in fliers and one hidden behind a hole drilled in the wall. Arthur grinned. Now just add myself on that bench and I'll have the audience scrambling to their feet. They'll die to be here with me. The scene was so perfect Arthur decided he no longer was in a hurry and sat down on the bench he'd marked mentally.

"Friends, the day is far from closing, and my thirst is great." He winked at his companions and nudged a woman at his side to make place for another thirsty reveler. She smiled shyly at him and moved away as far as the crowded bench allowed.

"Mere thirst?" Harbend teased after he translated Arthur's words to Vildir.

Arthur made a show of growling at Harbend. The woman moved away further than Arthur first thought possible. An angry voice from the end told him that he'd been correct and he had to think rapidly to keep the fun from turning ugly.

He rose, looking Harbend in the eyes and shouted, "Today is my lucky day. I'll buy each of you one mug or cup of whatever you fancy here. Only one, mind you, you greedy ones."

Harbend translated loudly and the anger turned to happy cheers. Arthur had to accept a rain of hard slaps on his back and shoulders. He threw a glance at the man who had been pushed out from the bench. He was grinning happily from where he was leaning against the wall. A free drink seemed to have been compensation enough for losing his seat.

Arthur studied the people surrounding him. There was a mix of clothes he didn't recognize from just a few days earlier. Not only the bright colors of the rich and the gray, black and white of the majority who made their living in the city, but also brown and muted green. Farmers, timber men and others who lived outside the city, their faces more tanned and weatherbeaten than the city dwellers, hands large and calloused from long days of labor. All come together in celebration, and it dawned on him that there was far more to Verd than the city itself.

Suddenly there was a flurry of running legs and swinging skirts around them when servants came out with the beverages he'd ordered. Tankards, cups and glasses of all sizes hit the tables. It was going to be a lot more expensive than he first planned, but to hell with that. Tomorrow was adventure, today celebration.

He smiled at the woman beside him and was rewarded with a grateful grin as she raised her glass, saluting him briefly before returning to her conversation with a friend sitting across the table.

A commotion behind him had him turn to get a better view. A jester climbed the table and shouted to get the attention of those present. It was slow going, but by sheer persistence he eventually managed to attain his goal. He could have been thirty or so, Arthur guessed. Short, red hair, blue eyes and a face that would never tan, but rather turn painfully red if it was ever exposed to too much sun. He wore the linen and leather of a farmer and a wide brimmed hat hung from a string around his neck.

"... friends gathered... generosity." He pointed at Arthur and loud voices of agreement rose together with mugs and tankards. "... true value of generosity... valued in gold..." Arthur only understood broken parts of what was said, but when he looked around himself for a translation Harbend only shook his head. The man continued for a long time, meeting laughing interjections with retorts bringing more laughter before he continued.

Arthur knew he was watching a show, and the man on the table displayed a reasonable talent for the art. He could have performed professionally on a small club anywhere on Earth. Arthur leaned back and enjoyed the performance even though he was unable to grasp what it was all about. When the man finally came to an end a roar of appreciation greeted him. Several in the audience called servants to attention, and the man received more than his share of beverages soon enough.

"What was that all about?" Arthur asked Harbend when the noise had subsided to a more reasonable level of cacophony.

"A story well told," Harbend answered, still grinning.

Even Vildir looked as if he had enjoyed the show, and from what Arthur knew Vildir's grasp of De Vhatic was virtually nonexistent.

"Lucky coincidence then that everyone seemed to enjoy it."

Harbend gave Arthur a confused glance. "Eh?"

"I mean, what if they had preferred to drink and talk undisturbed instead?"

Harbend just shot Arthur another blank look. This was definitely an interesting turn of events. Another grain of knowledge.

"Why should everyone, everywhere just accept a joker like that, funny as he may be?"

"Sometimes you outworlders never cease to amaze me. The man you call a joker is a storyteller. A decently good one as well. The art is... how do you call it... ah, yes, sacrosanct in all the lands I have heard of."

Arthur started to understand. "Like our glorified view of the medieval bard?"

"No, not a bard. Songs and music may be welcome from time to time, but storytelling is, well, storytelling," Harbend said with something looking like agitation.

"Explain more to an idiot truly unfamiliar with this world."

Harbend looked confused again. For a short while he stayed silent as if grasping for words.

"Storytelling, my friend, is the lowest form of the art, but holy, or inviolable, or whatever a man may prefer to call it nonetheless. The higher form is called tale telling, and on that level the art brings memories of our past to us. It keeps us connected to our history, to our world in a way no written words can do."

"I think that I..."

"You shall not interrupt me. You asked for an explanation. The highest form of the art is the Weave, but taleweavers are rare. Only a few live at any given time. They have the gift to bring our history here so we can live it through their words. In a sense they are our history."

Arthur was baffled. Otherworld was truly different. He understood the experience of taking part of a good story, be it told in a good book, a musical masterpiece or a holo show brought to perfection. He couldn't have imagined a place where people believed such an experience could be limited to one art form only.

"Then I apologize for my ignorance," he said to avoid dampening the mood. He was still having a good time and didn't want them to break up just yet.

Harbend smiled back. "No need. What you do not know, well, you do not know."

"Have you seen any of these taleweavers?" Arthur asked politely.

"Only once," Harbend answered, and there was a sense of awe to his voice. "One Ken Leiter de Ghera is supposed to be the finest there is, but I have yet to earn that honor."

"And he's working at the theater?"

"No, no." Harbend laughed. "They always work alone. As I said, they are very few. As legend has it he journeyed overseas, with the westerners, in search of more of his own kind over a generation ago."

Harbend raised his glass and Arthur did the same. The wine wasn't too bad considering the price, and he called to get the attention of a servant.

"I trade one standard unit of this item," Arthur said in De Vhatic.

Harbend laughed loudly and clarified the order.

"You are catching up, my friend, but not everything is measured in standard units." He proceeded to explain the differences between jugs, glasses, mugs and tankards, and Arthur greedily absorbed the words and their meaning.

The air cooled slightly while they emptied a jug, and then one more, of wine, and late afternoon turned to evening. Streetlights came on as darkness fell but people showed no interest in returning to their homes as they usually did at this hour, and they drank and sang together late into the evening.

Harbend occasionally translated the words accompanying the tunes, but mostly Arthur was satisfied singing along not knowing the meaning of what he drunkenly bawled.

There was a hammer and an anvil, and there was his head caught between them. He heard horses and coaches rumbling like thunder outside his window, and then someone threw open his door in the adjacent room and crushing steps hammered across the floor. The sliding doors crashed open and Harbend peered in.

"Rise, my tired partner. Rise. We have a long day ahead," the voice thundered.

Arthur groaned and staggered to his bathroom. Then he came to think of the small med kit he had brought.

"Give me a few moments," he called weakly. He chose a harsh treatment and pressed the injector to his throat. Almost immediately he started to sweat and his temperature rose. He vomited several times before he felt sure his stomach had calmed down. After a short bath he had his hangover under control. It seemed his earlier boast of being able to cope with poisons had been a bit exaggerated, but then again, the amount of alcohol he'd drunk last evening had indeed been impressive.

Arthur sat down at his breakfast table, and he knew from sidelong glances that Harbend was checking his surprise. Still, the treatment had cost Arthur a lot of energy and he needed the food. Indiscriminately he gulped down everything on the table.

"On our way then?" Arthur asked when he was finished.

"I could have sworn I would have needed to carry you out from here," Harbend said no longer trying to conceal that he was impressed.

"I told you we have some magic of our own," Arthur teased.

Harbend grunted. "Well, there is one thing left before we go. I have seen you carrying that rapier you bought, and it just shall not do. Bring it by all means, but carry this instead to begin with." He showed Arthur the package from the weaponry they passed the day before.

"What is it?"

"Open it and see for yourself."

Arthur did so. He grabbed the handle of a short, lightweight club with a metal head. A mace.

"Why?"

"Hopefully you shall never have to use it, but if you do, this is easier to handle. Waving that rapier of yours without proper training shall only get yourself killed," Harbend explained mercilessly.

Arthur realized the assessment of his skills as a swordsman was correct and kept his silence. He hadn't known what to buy when Harbend's acquisitions had been reported to him, and while trying to wear the weapon he'd soon found out he risked tripping himself. The mace he could hang by his side without fearing it would interfere with his walking.

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

Harbend nodded.

"I have your gear on a wagon outside. Your rooms are paid for and I have given Ramdar what he needs to secure our absence."

"How much?"

"One hundred and seventy gold marks. It should more than cover any expenses he could possibly encounter on our behalf."

Arthur agreed silently and they departed. A wagon waited as promised. As it was covered with cloth Arthur changed his clothes inside while Harbend drove to the eastern gates. Closed in as he was Arthur didn't see anything when they drove through the streets. The ride was less bumpy than he feared, but he had the excellent streets of Verd to thank for that rather than the wagon.

Arthur sat down on a chest and pulled on a pair of leather boots. He couldn't see much of himself in the muted light. Thick, linen trousers, the sleeves of an uncolored silk shirt sticking out from his jacket, some intricate patterns woven into the wool.

He found a leather coat in the chest, but it was still too warm to be used and he let it lie there.

Arthur missed the cotton from Earth, but it didn't seem to be available here. His clothes itched in a way he wasn't used to. He had his own underwear, but they wouldn't last very long without the treatment only available at home. He picked up the soft hat and hung its string around his neck. When he finally could leave the wagon he wanted something to protect him from the sun.

The wagon came to a halt. He knew they were passing the walled in part of the gates where the Inquisition checked travelers for magic. He heard Harbend exchange some bored words with them and they left the city walls behind them.

Loud voices greeted them and Arthur could hear the creaking of wagons getting into motion. Horses shuffled along on both sides of him, the noise of clinking metal telling him the riders were armed. He would get to know them better later, but for now it would have to wait. He'd agreed to Harbend's request that he wait for half a day before he mounted a horse of his own. They didn't want to chance an unlucky encounter before they were well away from the city. Harbend would have to take his farewell of his uncle with Arthur still hiding in the wagon.

Arthur sighed and decided to catch up on some of the sleep he should have gotten last night. Making a bed from his cloak and some spare clothes took but moments, and he soon fell asleep, gently rocked by the moving wagon.