Rise of a Merchant Prince (4 page)

Along the walls stood courtiers and pages ready to do the royal bidding at a moment's notice, and a formally attired Master of Ceremony struck the floor with an iron-shod staff of office, announcing Robert
de Loungville, Baron of the Court and Special Agent of the Prince. Roo shook his head slightly in amusement, for de Loungville was the company's sergeant, and to think of him as a court baron was too alien a task.

Members of the court watched as the squad came to stand before the throne. Roo calculated as best he could the worth of the gold used to decorate the candle holders along the near wall, and decided the Prince could better use his wealth by replacing them with brass—highly decorative, but far less costly, freeing up wealth to invest in the proper enterprise. Then he wondered if he might be allowed to speak to the Prince on just such a subject.

Thinking of the Prince returned Roo's attention to the man who had once pronounced the death sentence upon him. Nicholas, now his nephew's Admiral of the Western Fleet, stood to one side of the throne beside his successor, Prince Patrick. To the other side stood Calis and the man Roo knew to be James, Duke of Krondor, speaking to the man they had seen on the docks, Patrick's uncle Prince Erland. And sitting upon the throne was his twin. Roo suddenly flushed when he realized they were being presented to the King!

“Your Majesty, Highnesses,” said de Loungville with a courtly bow, “I have the honor to present five men who acquitted themselves with bravery and honor.”

“Only five survived?” asked King Borric. He and his brother were both large men, but there was an edge to the King, a toughness beyond his brother's own powerful appearance. Roo couldn't rightly judge the why of such things, but he instinctively
considered the King a more dangerous opponent than Prince Erland.

“There are others,” said de Loungville. “Some will be presented this afternoon at court—soldiers from your various garrisons. But these are the only ones to survive from among the condemned.”

Nakor said, “That we know of.”

De Loungville turned with a look of irritation on his face at the breach of protocol, but Borric only grinned. “Nakor, is that you in that getup?”

Returning the King's smile, Nakor moved forward. “It's me, Majesty. I went, too, and came back. Greylock is with the other ship, and any others who survived and made their way to the City of the Serpent River will be with him.”

De Loungville bit back anything he was going to say to Nakor. It was obvious that he and the King knew each other. Nakor nodded toward Erland, who also smiled at the sight of the little Isalani.

To the four prisoners the King said, “You are all pardoned, your crimes and your sentences are vacated.” Glancing at Erik and Jadow, he said, “We see you've taken service.”

Erik merely nodded, while Jadow stammered, “Ye-yes, Majesty.”

Looking at Sho Pi and Roo, the King said, “You have not.” Sho Pi bowed his head. “I will follow my master, Majesty.”

Nakor said, “Stop calling me master!” He turned toward the King. “The boy thinks me some sort of sage and insists upon traipsing around after me.”

Prince Erland said, “I wonder why. It wouldn't be because he saw you pulling your ‘mystic sage' scam, would it, Nakor?”

“Or is it the ‘wandering priest' dodge?” asked the King.

Nakor grinned as he rubbed his chin. “Actually, I haven't tried those in a while.” Then his expression darkened. “And I never should have told you two about them when we rode back from Kesh.”

The King said, “Well, take him along with you, then. You could probably do with an extra set of hands on the road.”

Nakor said, “On the road? I'm returning to Sorcerer's Isle.”

The King said, “Not for a while. We need you to go to Stardock on the Crown's behalf, to speak with the leaders of the Academy.”

Nakor's expression darkened. “You know I'm quits with Stardock, Borric, and you have a good idea why, I have no doubt.”

If the King objected to being addressed so informally, he didn't show it as he said, “We know, but you also have seen firsthand what we're up against, and you've been to Novindus twice. We need you to persuade the magicians at Stardock what stands against us. We will need their help.”

“Find Pug. They'll listen to him,” said Nakor.

“If we could find him, we would,” said the King. He leaned back in the deep well of the throne and sighed. “He's been leaving messages here and there, but we've not managed to get him to come speak with us in person.”

“Try harder,” answered Nakor.

Boric smiled. “You, friend, are the best we've got. So, unless you want us to let every gambling hall in the Kingdom get word about how you can handle cards and dice, you'll do this one little favor for an
old friend.”

Nakor made a disgusted expression and waved his hand as if dismissing the King's remark. “Bah! I liked you better when you were just the Madman.” He held his sour look for a moment while Borric and Erland exchanged amused glances.

Turning his attention to Roo, the King said, “And what of you, Rupert Avery? Can we not enlist your aid as well?”

The King's direct address caused Roo to forget momentarily how to speak; then he swallowed hard and said, “Sorry, Majesty. I promised myself if I lived long enough, I'd come back and get rich. That's what I propose to do. I'm going to be a man of commerce, and I can't do that in the army.”

The King nodded. “Commerce? We suppose it's a better trade than many you could choose.” He avoided any further remarks about Roo's past. “Still, you've seen what few men outside our service have seen. We count upon your discretion, and if our meaning isn't clear, we
expect
your discretion.”

Roo smiled. “I understand, Majesty. And I will promise this much when the time comes, I'll help in whatever way I can. If those snakes come here, I'll fight.” Then with a twinkle and a smile he added, “Besides, the day may come when I can be of more use to you than just another sword.”

“Perhaps, Rupert Avery,” said King Borric. “You certainly do not lack for ambition.” He waved over Lord James and said, “If it doesn't compromise our dignity, see if we can be of a little help in getting Mr. Avery's career under way. Perhaps a letter of introduction or some such.” He then waved over a squire who carried five bags, which were distributed one to
each of the men. “A thank-you from your King.”

Roo hefted the bag and knew inside there was gold and even could estimate the worth from the weight. He quickly calculated he was already a year ahead of schedule in his plan to become wealthy. Then he noticed the others were bowing and moving away, so he quickly made an awkward bow to the King and hurried after the others.

Outside the hall, de Loungville said, “Well then, now you're free men again.” To Jadow and Erik he said, “Stay out of trouble and be back here on the first day of next month.” To Nakor and Sho Pi he said, “The King's messages will be ready tomorrow. See Duke James's secretary, and he'll give you travel warrants and money.”

He turned to Roo and said, “You're a rodent, Avery, but I've come to love that pinched-off little face of yours. If you change your mind, I can use another experienced soldier.”

Roo shook his head. “Thanks, Sergeant, but I've got to find a merchant with a homely daughter and start making my fortune.”

To the assembled men, de Loungville said, “If you must enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before returning home, go to the Sign of the White Wing, over near the Merchants' Gate. It's a brothel of high standard, so don't track mud inside. Tell the lady who meets you that I sent you. She may never forgive me, but she owes me a favor. See you don't cause a riot there, because I can't bail you out two nights running.” Looking from face to face, he said, “All things considered, you did well, lads.”

No one spoke until Erik said, “Thank you, Sergeant.”

To Jadow and Erik, de Loungville said, “Stop by the Knight-Marshal's office on your way out and get your warrants. You're the Prince's men, and from this day forward you answer only to Patrick, Calis, and me.”

Erik said, “Where?”

“Down this hall and turn right, second door on the left. Now get out of here,” said de Loungville, “before I change my mind and have you arrested again for being such a bunch of ruffians.” He sent Roo down the hall with a playful slap to the side of the head, then turned and set out on his own affairs.

The five men walked down the hall and Nakor said, “I'm hungry.”

“You're always hungry, man,” said Jadow with a laugh. “My head is still reminding me that I was not wise last night. My stomach hasn't forgiven me either.” Then he paused, and added, “But I might do with a bite to eat, after all that.”

Erik laughed. “I'm hungry, too.”

“Then let us find an inn—” said Nakor.

“A quiet inn,” Roo interjected.

“—a quiet inn,” continued Nakor, “and eat.”

“Then what, Master?” asked Sho Pi.

Nakor grimaced, but said only, “Then we go to the Sign of the White Wing, boy.” He shook his head. Pointing to Sho Pi, he said to the others, “This one has much to learn.”

The Sign of the White Wing was nothing like what Roo expected. Then he considered he really hadn't known what to expect. He had trafficked with whores before, but that had been on the line of march, with camp followers who would tumble a
man beside to his comrades and be off to the next as soon as he could count out her pay.

But this was a different world. The five slightly inebriated men had had to ask several times to find their way. After a few failed attempts, they finally discovered a modest building near the edge of the Merchants' Quarter. The sign out front had been almost impossible to make out, being little more than a simple metal wing painted white, unlike the more boldly painted large ones marking more traditional trades.

The door had been opened by a servant who admitted the five without a word, indicating they should wait in a tiny anteroom, without furnishing of any sort, only decorated by some nondescript tapestries that hung on the two side walls. Opposite the entrance stood another door, of simple painted wood. When it opened, a well-dressed if somewhat matronly woman had stepped through.

“Yes?” she had asked.

The men glanced at one another, and it was Nakor who had at last answered. “We were told to come here.”

“By whom?” she then asked, looking somewhat unconvinced.

“Robert de Loungville,” said Erik softly, as if afraid to raise his voice.

Instantly the woman's features had transformed themselves from dubious to joyful. “Bobby de Loungville! By the gods, if you're friends of Bobby's, you're welcome here.”

She then clapped her hands once and the door she had slipped through opened wide, revealing a short entryway occupied by two large armed guards. As
they stepped aside, Roo thought it clear they had been standing by to ensure the safety of the woman.

“I'm Jamila, your hostess, and here,” she said, reaching another door, which she pulled wide, “we enter the House of the White Wing.”

The five men gaped. Even Nakor, who had seen riches in the court of the Empress of Great Kesh, stood in stunned awe. The room wasn't that opulent; far from it. In fact it was the lack of gaudy displays of wealth that made the setting so impressive. Everything about the room was subtle and tasteful, though Roo would have been hard put to say what made it seem so. Chairs and divans were placed around the room so that those inside would be within sight of one another, yet there was a clear sense of each area being apart from the others. This was made abundantly clear by the fact of a wealthy-looking man sprawling upon one divan, sipping wine from a goblet while two lovely young women attended him. One sat upon the floor, allowing him to caress her shoulders and neck, while the other hovered over him, offering him sweetmeats from a gilded tray.

As if by magic, girls appeared through several curtains. All were modestly dressed, like the two attending the man already in the room, wearing loose-fitting gowns of light material. That they were covered from neck to ankle did nothing to hide the curves of their bodies as they moved to greet their guests.

Each man found a pair of girls leading him toward one of the chairs or divans, allowing him to choose how he wished to relax, sitting or lying down. Before he knew it, Roo had been led to a divan and gently pushed down on it, had his feet raised and
placed on the divan, had a goblet of wine handed to him; one of the girls began firmly kneading the muscles in his shoulders before he spoke.

The woman called Jamila said, “When you're ready, the girls can show you to your rooms.”

Jadow, circling the waist of one of the young girls with one powerful arm, pulled her toward him, planted a loud kiss upon her cheek, and said, “Men and gods, I've died and gone to paradise!”

This brought a round of laughter, and Roo settled back, letting the light touch of the girls' hands relax him in a way he'd not experienced in years.

Roo yawned.

The body next to him stirred under white sheets and he realized where he was. He smiled, remembering the night before, and ran his hand under the sheet and across the back of the young woman next to him. He didn't think of her as a whore; the term was fit for the women who followed soldiers around camp, or who leaned over the balconies in the Poor Quarter of Krondor shouting ribald suggestions and insults at the workers and sailors below, but these
ladies,
he decided, were unlike anything he had imagined as a boy.

They were flirtatious, seemed well educated, were impeccable in their manners, and, as Roo had discovered the night before, creative and enthusiastic. The young woman next to him had taught Roo more things about pleasing a woman and himself in one night than he had learned from every woman he had been with in his young life. And they smelled wonderful, like flowers and spices. He found himself becoming aroused and with a grin continued to caress the body next to him.

The girl awoke, and if she had any problem with being awakened thus, she masked it with incredible skill; she actually seemed pleased to discover Roo lying next to her.

“Good morning,” she said with a wide smile. Running her fingers along his stomach, she said, “What a nice way to wake up.”

As he gathered the girl into his arms, Roo considered himself fortunate. He had no illusions about his looks; he was easily the homeliest boy from Ravensburg, but he had managed to bed two of the local girls in town before he and Erik had been forced to flee. He knew, given enough time, he could charm most anyone, though he rarely tried. But now he was alive, with gold in his belt, and a woman willing to make him feel handsome. It was the start of a wonderful day.

Later he bid the girl good-bye, realizing that he couldn't remember if her name was Mary or Marie. He found Erik already dressed and waiting in the antechamber, speaking with a particularly pretty young blonde.

Erik looked up. “Ready to leave?”

Roo nodded. “The others?”

“We'll see them when we get back from Ravensburg, or at least I will.” He rose and was still holding on to the girl's hand.

There was something about his manner that struck Roo as odd, and as they left the brothel, he remarked, “You seemed smitten with that pretty girl.”

Erik blushed. “Nothing of the kind. She's. . .”

After a silent moment, Roo supplied, “A whore?”

The city was busy at that hour of the morning,
and they were forced to wend their way through the press. Erik said, “I guess. Something more like a lady, I think.”

Roo shrugged, the gesture lost on Erik “They get paid well, that's for certain.” He was now considering the diminishment of his purse as he weighed the cost versus the reward. He decided he needed to husband his capital a bit more carefully. There were far less expensive whores to be found.

“Where to next?” asked Roo.

“I need to talk to Sebastian Lender.”

Roo brightened. Barret's Coffee House was one of the places he wished to visit, and having a social call to make upon one of the solicitors who plied their business there was an eminently acceptable reason.

They headed to the area of the city known locally as the Merchants' Quarter, even though it held only a slightly higher percentage of businesses than elsewhere in the city. What marked the Merchants' Quarter was a high number of very costly homes, many erected behind or above the stores that generated their wealth, the highest concentration of influential men who were not nobility.

The craftsmen had their guilds—the thieves, too: the Mockers—and the nobility had their rank from birth, but men who pursued their fortune through commerce and trade had only their wits. While a few of them had banded together to create trade associations from time to time, most were independent businessmen without allies but with many competitors.

So those who survived and became successful had few peers with whom to share their pride of accomplishment, few fellows with whom to boast of
their good fortune and perspicacity. A few, like a merchant Roo had met named Helmut Grindle, kept their appearance modest, as if to call attention to themselves might bring ruin. But others chose to shout their success to the world by building huge town houses, rivaling those owned by the nobility, throughout the city. And over the years the nature of the Merchants' Quarter had changed.

As more and more rich merchants purchased property
in
the area, the cost of land rose so high that now few businesses in the Merchants' Quarter were owned by those who lived there; the price of housing was too dear. There were a few modest storefront enterprises, established by the fathers or grandfathers of those tending them now, that continued to provide conventional goods and services to those in the area—a bakery on one street, a cobbler on another—but they were quickly being replaced by shops specializing in luxurious items for these very wealthy merchants: jewelers, tailors of the finest clothing, and traders in rare goods. And those who lived in the Merchants' Quarter were now almost exclusively these very wealthy businessmen, those with far-flung financial empires elsewhere in the province or in distant cities. In time the last of the modest merchants would sell their property, as the offers to buy became too good to refuse, and relocate to more distant quarters in the foulburg,
that expanding portion of the city beyond the old wall.

Barret's Coffee House stood at the corner of a street now known as Arutha's Way, in honor of the late Prince of Krondor, father to the King—but still called by most locals Sandy Beach Walk—and Miller's Road, a route that had once led from a mill
no longer extant to a farmer's gate long torn down. Barret's was a tall building, three stories, with two open doors at the corner, one on each street. Standing in each door was a waiter: a man with a white tunic, black trousers, black boots, and a blue-and-white-striped apron.

The three other street corners were occupied by a tavern, a ship's broker, and, diagonally across the street from Barret's, an abandoned home. It had once been splendid, perhaps one of the finest in Krondor, but misfortune had cost its owner dearly from all appearances. It had been neglected long before it was abandoned, and its past glory was now faded by peeling paint, boarded-up windows, missing tiles from the roof, and dirt everywhere.

Roo glanced at that building. “Maybe someday I'll buy that house and fix it up.”

Erik smiled. “I don't doubt it, Roo.”

Roo and Erik walked past the waiter standing at the door on Miller's Road, and entered. The two outside doors opened on a simple receiving area, offering several well-upholstered chairs, but otherwise closed off from the main floor of the coffee house by a wooden railing. There was one opening in the railing blocked by a man attired in a manner similar to the two waiters at the door. The main difference was that his apron was black.

A tall man, he looked eye to eye at Erik, then down at Roo as he said, “Yes?”

Erik said, “We've come to see Sebastian Lender.”

The man nodded. “Follow me, please.” He turned and walked onto the main floor of the coffee house.

Roo and Erik followed and were led through a large area of small tables, several occupied by men
drinking coffee, while waiters hurried from table to table. To the left as they reached the center of the room a broad flight of stairs led up to a balcony rather than a true second floor, leaving the center of the room open to the high vaulted ceiling. Looking up, Roo saw there was no third floor, but rather a double set of high windows above the second-floor balcony. Barret's was a very open, well-lit building as a result. They reached another waist-high railing, which cut off the rear third of the room, and there the waiter said, “Please wait here.”

The waiter moved a small section of the rail that was on hinges, and stepped through and toward a table at the far side of the house. Roo motioned upward and Erik's eyes went to where he pointed.

Above them, on the second-floor landing, men sat at tables. Roo said, “The brokers.”

“How do you know?”

“I've heard a thing or two,” said Roo.

Erik laughed and shook his head. Most likely he had heard it from Helmut Grindle, the trader they had traveled with for a while when coming to Krondor. Roo and Grindle had spoken of many things commercial, and while Erik had found some of the conversation diverting, as often as not it put him to sleep.

A moment later, a dignified-looking man wearing an unadorned but expensive tunic with an overvest and cravat approached. He studied the two young men before him for a moment, then said, “My word! Young von Darkmoor and Mr. Avery, if I'm not mistaken.”

Roo nodded as Erik said, “Yes, Mr. Lender. We gained our pardon.”

“Most unusual,” said Lender. He motioned for the waiter to open the railing for him to step through. “Only members are permitted behind this second railing.” He indicated with a wave of his hand that Roo and Erik should sit at an empty table a few feet away.

He motioned for the waiter and said, “Three coffees.” Looking at Roo and Erik, he asked, “Have you broken fast today?” When they answered in the negative, he said to the waiter, “Some rolls, jams and honey, and a platter of cheese and sausage.”

As the waiter hurried off, Lender said, “As you are pardoned, you obviously do not need my services as a solicitor, so perhaps you need them as a litigator?”

Erik said, “Not really. I came to pay you your fee.”

Lender began to object, but Erik said, “I know you refused to take gold before, but despite your having lost the pleading, we are here and alive, so I think you're entitled to your fee.” He produced his money pouch and put it upon the table. It clinked with the heavy sound of gold coins.

Lender said, “You've prospered, young gentlemen.”

“It's a payment for services from the Prince,” said Roo.

Shrugging, Lender opened the purse, counted out fifteen golden sovereigns, then closed the purse, pushing it back toward Erik. He pocketed the coins.

“Is that enough?” asked Erik.

“Had I won, I would have charged you fifty,” said Lender as the coffee arrived.

Roo had never cared for coffee, so he sipped at it,
expecting to put aside the cup and ignore it. But to his surprise, instead of the bitter brew he had tasted before, this was a rich complex taste. “This is good!” he blurted.

Erik laughed and tried his, then said, “It is.”

“Keshian,” said Lender. “Far superior to what is grown in the Kingdom. More flavor, less bitterness.” He waved his hand around the room. “Barret's is the first establishment in Krondor to specialize exclusively in fine coffees, and as a sign of his wisdom, the founder placed his first shop here in the heart of the Merchant's Quarter, rather than trying to sell to the nobility.”

Roo instantly came alert; stories of success appealed to him. “Why is that?” he asked.

“Because the nobility are difficult to approach, expect extreme discounts, and rarely pay in a timely fashion.”

Roo laughed. “I've heard that from the wine merchants at home.”

Lender continued. “Mr. Barret knew that the local businessmen often needed a place away from their homes or offices where they could discuss business over a meal, without the distractions of an inn's taproom.”

Erik again nodded, having spent a fair part of his life in the taproom of the inn where he had worked as a child.

“So was born Barret's Coffee House, which prospered from the first week it was opened. Originally a more modest enterprise, it has existed for nearly seventy-five years, in this location for close to sixty.”

“What about the brokers, and syndicates, and . . . you?” asked Roo.

Lender smiled as a tray of hot rolls, breakfast meats, cheeses, and fruits, along with pots of jam, honey, and butter, was brought to the table.

Suddenly hungry, Roo took a roll and slathered butter and honey on it while Lender answered him. “Some of those without offices of their own used to conduct business all day long and, to keep Barret happy, would buy coffee, tea, and food in a steady stream. Seeing this a pleasant alternative to hours of empty tables between meals, Mr. Barret ensured certain tables would remain reserved for those businessmen.

“They formed the first syndicates and brokerage alliances. And they needed representation”—he put his hand upon his chest and bowed slightly—“hence litigators and solicitors became habitués of the establishment. When things became crowded, the son of the founder moved to this inn, tore out the third floor, and created the exclusive members' area above, and things have continued that way since.” He motioned at the second rail. “Some members were forced to use this end of the ground floor, hence the newer railing. Now one must purchase a location in the hall for one's syndicate or brokerage, or risk not having a table at which to sit when arriving to conduct business.”

Glancing around, he added, “You now are in the heart of one of the most important trading centers in the Kingdom, certainly the most important in the Western Realm, and rivaled only by those in Rillanon, Kesh, and Queg.”

“How does one become a broker?” asked Roo.

“First you need money,” answered the litigator, not in the least put off by the youngster seeking
instruction. “A great deal of money. This is why there are so many syndicates, because of the great cost of underwriting many of the projects that are conceived of here at Barret's or brought to us from the outside.”

“How does one start?” asked Roo. “I mean, I have some money, but I'm not sure if I want to invest it here or try my own hand.”

“No partnership will admit an investor without good cause,” said Lender. He sipped his coffee, then continued. “Over the years a complex set of rules has evolved. Noblemen often come to Barret's seeking either to invest wealth or to borrow it, and as a result, the interests of those here who are commoners need to be closely protected. So, to join a syndicate, one needs a great deal of money—though not as much as to become an independent broker—and one also needs a sponsor.”