Rise of a Merchant Prince (34 page)

Roo shook his head but said nothing. He followed his host through the doorway, and Estherbrook motioned he should precede him. Roo followed Sylvia down the hall, and as they came into the well-lit antechamber at the entrance to the house, he found himself again captivated by how the candlelight played off her golden hair.

He followed her into the dining hall, his heart beating far too fast for the tiny bit of exertion walking to dinner entailed. He hardly noticed as he moved to a chair at a long table, with his host on his left at the head of the table, and Sylvia across from him. There was room for another seven people to sit at this table.

Roo said, “I have never seen a room like this.”

Estherbrook said, “It's an idea I found in a description of a dining hall in a distant court, in one of the kingdoms down in the Keshian Confederacy. That king preferred intimate dining to the usual court chaos, and instead of sitting in the middle of the table, which would be to your right by two chairs, with everyone arrayed to his right and left, he decided to turn the table sideways, sit at one end, and be able to talk to everyone.

Sylvia said, “We used to have this very large round table, and you'd have to shout across it to be heard by whoever sat opposite you.”

Roo smiled. “I like it.” To himself he vowed to have one made just like this. Then he realized there was no room for a table this large in his small home. Suddenly he remembered the gamble he and his partners were taking, and realized that if they won, he would be able to build a house to match this one. He put aside his worry over what would happen should the gamble fail.

Conversation passed quickly, and Roo couldn't remember half of what was said. Throughout the night he found himself working hard not to stare at Sylvia, but he couldn't avoid it. She drew his eyes. By supper's end he had memorized her features as if they were a map home. He knew every curve of her neck, the set of her lips, the slight imperfection of one tooth in front that was slightly turned and overlapped the one next to it, the only flaw in her beauty he could ascertain.

Without knowing how, he found himself at the door, bidding his host and hostess good night. Sylvia took his hand and held it tightly, moving up close to
him so that his knuckles brushed lightly against the top of her breasts. “It's been wonderful, Mr. Avery. I hope you'll visit us again, and very soon.”

Roo almost stammered as he promised he would call again. He turned and mounted his horse and rode slowly to the gate. He could only wonder at this magic thing that he felt, and from every indication he was amazed to discover that Sylvia Estherbrook was apparently pleased with his company.

As the gate closed behind him, Roo wondered at that improbable fact.

Sylvia waited until the door was closed and then moved to a window beside the door, watching as Roo rode off. Turning to her father, she said, “What do you think?”

Jacob Estherbrook replied, “A young man with unlikely promise.”

“He's certainly unattractive, though there's a wit about him that's charming enough, in a rat-faced sort of way,” she said dryly. “But his hand was surprisingly strong.” She tapped her teeth with her fingernail. “Those wry lads, they tend to have . . . great stamina.”

“Sylvia,” scolded her father, “you know I don't like that sort of talk.”

Sweeping past her father as she made to climb the stairs to her bedroom, she said, “Father, you know what I am. You made me this way.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Are you going to kill him?”

Estherbrook said, “I hope not to; he has wit, and from some of the things I've heard of his soldiering days, he has the ability to survive. He would make a better ally than foe, I think.”

Sylvia started to climb the stairs, “But that still doesn't keep you from trying to ruin him.”

Estherbrook waved away the comment as he turned toward his library. “Ruining a man is far different from killing him. If he's ruined in this wheat speculation, I may even offer him a position with one of my companies. Then I would not have to worry about a rising competitor, and he might be made a valuable asset.”

Sylvia vanished at the top of the stairs and Jacob walked back toward the library. To himself he said, “Besides, if I need to, I'll have Tim Jacoby kill him.”

Roo sipped at his coffee. It was his fifth or sixth cup of the day and he was drinking from habit, not any enjoyment of the drink.

Dash hurried up the stairs to the table where Roo sat with his partners. “Message for you.”

He handed a note to Roo. The gem buyer in Salador had offered a price lower than Roo hoped for, but not too low to make Roo consider shopping for a better deal. He quickly calculated and said, “Reply by fast rider. Forward the gold at once.”

Dash said, “And Duncan says there's starting to be some rumblings around the inn. A miller was overheard last night, while he was getting drunk, saying that he has no wheat to grind because the farmers aren't bringing it into the city.”

Roo nodded. “Keep me informed.”

Dash hurried away and Roo said, “It's starting.”

Masterson nodded and signaled for a waiter to come to the table. The young man did and Masterson wrote out a note and handed it to the waiter. “Take this down to the floor, please. It's for Mr. Amested.”

Roo sighed. “How are we doing?”

Masterson said, “We are now in debt, or have paid out six hundred thousand golden sovereigns' worth of wheat options. You have created the largest single seizure of wheat in the history . . . of the world!” He ran his hand over his face. “I doubt there's a grain of wheat between Malac's Cross and the Far Coast that's not going to show up at the city gates in the next two weeks with our name on it. We'd better have guessed right, Roo.”

Roo smiled. “None of you would have gone along with my plan if you didn't realize it would work.” He hiked his thumb toward the floor below. “It all turns on one fact, Jerome. Everyone here, including you and me, is a greedy bastard.”

Masterson laughed. “There's more truth in that than not, Roo.” He leaned forward. “Truth to tell, when I was a boy I cut purses for a living. Got a chance to go straight and I did, in the army, during the Great Uprising. I was little more than a kid, but like every man serving, I got the King's pardon. I decided to turn my hand to honest business, and found that the biggest difference between honest business and dishonest is in how you approach your mark.” He leaned back. “Oh, it's not like I'm taking everything a fellow has, and if we work well together, we both end up making money, but often it's just as vicious as if I cut his purse and ran through the market.”

Roo said, “Where are we with price?”

“We're steady at three silver pieces for ten bushels against a six percent guarantee.”

Roo said, “I'm too tired to calculate the numbers. How much do we stand to make?”

Masterson said, “I have no idea. We still need grain buyers from the Free Cities to show up and start running up the price.

“Not for a few more days, I hope,” said Roo. “We still need to buy a few more cheap options.” He lowered his voice. “Duncan reports word is starting to spread that wheat from the outlying farms isn't coming in. In a few days no one will be making offers. We need to finish this today, by tomorrow at the latest.”

“I'm out of gold, and I've put up everything I own as security to the moneylenders,” said Masterson. He laughed. “I should be scared to death, but the truth is I haven't felt this happy since I was a boy running through the city with the City Watch hot on my tail!”

Roo said, “I know what you mean. It's . . . like putting your life on the line for one toss of the knucklebones.”

“Never cared for dice,” said Masterson. “Always preferred cards. Lin-lan or pokiir. You against the other fellows.”

Roo said, “I've got gold coming from Salador. Another ten thousand, if we need it.”

“We're going to need it,” said Hume, who had just walked up. “We're so overbought now we don't have the coppers to pay for our coffee.” He leaned over. “Keep it on you, in case we all need to make a quick escape.”

Roo laughed. “I don't think that's going to happen. Any minute I expect we'll see what we've all been waiting for, and when that happens . . .” He grinned. He held out his hand, palm up, then suddenly closed it, saying, “We have them!”

A few minutes later a waiter appeared with two
notes. Masterson opened the first one and said, “Amested's agreed and he's in for ten thousand. He is just about popping to know what we're doing, gentlemen.”

Crowley walked over and sat down. “What's that? Amested's?”

“Yes, he's in,” said Masterson.

“What's the other note?” asked Roo.

Masterson opened it and read it, then grinned. “Here it is.”

“What does it say?” demanded Crowley impatiently.

“A syndicate is offering us thirty thousand bushels at two silver for three bushels secured by a ten percent option.”

Roo slammed his hand on the table. “It's them. It has to be. The greedy bastards couldn't resist. They're ours.”

Masterson did some calculations. “Not quite.” He sat back, blowing out his breath, his cheeks puffing out. “We don't have enough gold.”

Roo groaned. “How short are we?”

Masterson calculated. “We could use that ten thousand gold pieces you have coming from Salador.”

“Is that enough?”

“Almost,” said Masterson. “But we'd still be two thousand gold short.”

Roo groaned. “I need to get out of here.” He stood up. “I'll think of something.”

He left his companions and walked down the stairs through the heart of the coffee house. He stepped outside and found the streets relatively uncrowded. Catching sight of the house where he
had hidden the silk that launched his career, he crossed the street, avoiding puddles. It had rained hard the night before, which was partially responsible for the light traffic in the city.

Reaching the porch of the abandoned house, Roo saw that no one had replaced the broken hasp on the lock he had forced. Whoever owned the place had merely stuck the screws back into the stripped-out holes as if the sight of the lock on the door would keep the curious out. As there was nothing inside worth stealing, thought Roo as he pushed open the door, it was probably a safe bet.

He wandered through the house, again finding some sense of place there. He hadn't said anything to Karli, but when he was rich he intended to buy this house. Having quarters close to Barret's was appealing to him, for he had already decided that while the freight company would be the heart of his business empire, it would be only one of many ventures he would embark on.

Trading at Barret's was like nothing he had ever encountered before; it was gambling on a scale undreamed of by any soldier losing his pay in an alehouse. It was intoxicating, and Roo was drunk with possibilities.

He sat there a long time, listening to the rain when it came, and the sounds of the city, as the light faded and the day trailed off. When at last he decided he needed to return, it was near sundown.

He left the house and crossed the street to find Dash waiting for him. Dash said, “Luis says the first load of wheat has shown up. One of the villages outside of Land's End harvested early.”

Roo swore. “Do we have room for it in our warehouse?”

“Barely, if we push everything else outside into the yard and street.”

Roo said, “This could turn ugly. We don't have the gold to rent storage at the docks and there's no ship in from the Free Cities.”

“There is,” said Dash.

“What?” asked Roo.

“We've got word of a Free Cities trader docking at noon. I've been looking for you for hours to tell you.”

Roo's eyes widened and he said, “Then come with me!” He hurried to the docks on font, breaking out into a trot when traffic opened, and Dash kept up with him. As they reached the docks, Roo said, “Where's the ship?”

Dash said, “Out at anchor. There.” He pointed.

Roo said, “The master must be at customs. Come on.”

They hurried to the customs shed and found a busy clerk going over documents, while two very impatient men waited nearby. Roo said over the counter, “Has the master of the Free Cities ship been in?”

The clerk looked up and said, “What?”

One of the two waiting men said, “Aye, he has, and he's still waiting for that stone-headed clerk to sign off on his paperwork so he can turn his cargo over to his buyer,” and he pointed to the man next to him.

Roo said, “I have cargo for the Free Cities, if you're unbooked.”

The Captain said, “Sorry, lad, but I am booked. I have letters of credit and authorizations to secure
cargo. My employer was most emphatic about this.” He lowered his voice.

“If it's a tiny bit of cargo, I might be able to squeeze it in, but otherwise I'm instructed to fill my ship with grain and hurry back as fast as possible.”

Roo grinned. “Grain?”

“Aye, lad. Wheat. I'm to purchase high-quality wheat at a fair market price, then leave as quickly as possible.” He glowered at the clerk. “Which is why I'd like this business done as soon as possible so I can let my lads go ashore. They've been at sea three weeks, and we'll be here but a day or two.”

“Who have you contacted for your wheat?” asked Roo.

“No one yet, though I fail to see how that is any business of yours.”

Rupert stood and said, “Captain, I forgot my manners. I am very sorry. May I be allowed to introduce myself and my companion.” He turned to Dash and said, “This is my associate, Dashel Jameson, grandson to the Duke of Krondor.” He put his hand on his chest as the Captain and his buyer both rose at the mention of the Duke. “And I am Rupert Avery, of the Krondor Grain Traders Association.” Almost unable to contain himself, he said, “How much grain do you need?”