Chapter 6 : A Man and His Trade
Chapter 6
A Man and His Trade
Lansius and Stefi continued browsing the quiet market, where only a few persistent vendors remained after the siege. They discovered a small shop tucked between two larger, shuttered establishments. Although there was no wooden sign, an assortment of colorful clothes hung gracefully from the second-floor window.
“Ah, the old grandpa made it through!” Stefi exclaimed excitedly, pulling Lansius by the hand and pushing the door open with the other.
Upon entering, they were met with the scent of well-worn fabric and leather. A tall, sharp-looking man with a thin beard and contrasting dark clothing rose from his seat, setting aside his needle and unfinished work. “Ah, Miss Squire, it’s a pleasure to see a familiar face in Riverstead.”
“Happy I’m not running from my debts, Keith?” Stefi teased.
Keith stifled a polite laugh, turning to Lansius. “How may I help you, tradesman?” He gestured toward the wares in his shop.
“I need a tunic, affordable but with a formal appearance,” Lansius replied as formally as he could be, looking at the neatly organized racks of clothing, which included tunics, dresses, and cloaks.
“And for what purpose?” Keith inquired politely, albeit with a demeanor more akin to a soldier than a tailor.
“He’s a scribe,” Stefi chimed in.
“Ah,” Keith murmured, turning to a neatly stacked pile of garments.
“Why not this one?” Stefi suggested, pointing to an already folded piece of clothing.
Keith glanced at Lansius, and Stefi assured him, “He’s all right; he’s with me.”
Lansius quickly added, “I can keep a secret.”
Keith gave a polite smile and explained, “The folded ones are likely looted from this city or nearby area. Lord Karius’s men forced me to buy them. I’ve already bribed their officers, but they still demand more.”
Stefi looked at them, found something she liked, and inquired. “Can’t you sell them to us?”
“Let’s avoid trouble. Those garments are tailored for nobles, and someone will recognize the original owner. If word gets out, we could all face consequences,” Keith reasoned, pulling two tunics from the pile—one yellow and one blue.
Lansius immediately took a liking to the vibrant blue tunic, but he maintained a neutral expression and replied, “Don’t you have something brighter? I don’t want my employer to think I’m uneducated.”
Keith chuckled, refraining from commenting on Lansius’s accent, and returned to the stack, searching for a tunic that would suit Lansius’s needs.
Stefi approached Lansius and whispered, “I like the blue one.”
“If you’re in a fight, do you show your intention to your opponent?”
She was taken aback and understood his reasoning. “Good thinking.”
“I’m not a teacher for nothing,” Lansius quipped.
“Now, here’s a brighter one.” Keith pulled out a red tunic. Its color was faded, making it closer to a pink, but the intricate embroidery along the neckline and hem spoke of its former elegance.
Lansius had no intention of buying that one, but he put down his leather bag on the table and tried on the red tunic. The fabric felt soft and comfortable against his skin.
So, linen can be this soft?
“You can tell from the stitches that it’s quality work, not too old. You can wear it until you’re too old to work,” Keith joked, promoting the tunic.
“What’s the price for this one?” Lansius asked.
“If it were new,” Keith said, employing his merchant skills, “the material, dye, and tailoring cost would make this tunic worth at least four silver.”
Lansius softly sighed and said firmly, “Too expensive.”
“But you haven’t heard my offer,” Keith protested lightly.
Unbothered, Lansius removed the tunic and politely handed it back to Keith, saying, “If it’s around forty copper new, then I probably can’t afford it. Do you have anything else?”
“How about this Centurian blue tunic?” Keith suggested.
Lansius feigned disinterest. “How much for the yellow one, though it’s a bit too big?”
“Don’t worry about the size. I can tailor it for you.”
Lansius smiled. “I believe that may add to the cost.”
Keith chuckled. “Eleven copper for this fine yellow tunic, adjustments included.” He then showcased its features. “Feel it, fine Midlandian linen, no patched holes, no frayed stitches. It will last you a long time. You can pass it down to your son and grandson.”
“How about five copper?” Lansius countered.
“I can’t do it for less than ten.”
“Six, and I’ll pay the adjustment fee.”
“That’s too low for a piece like this.” Keith shook his head.
Lansius sighed and politely said, “Maybe some other time then.”
“You won’t find pieces like this anywhere else,” Keith cautioned.
“That’s precisely my problem. Your wares are too good. I can’t afford them,” Lansius said, feigning a touch of helplessness.
That’s most unfortunate. May I interest you in some less brightly colored tunics? I have quite a selection that would fit you well.” Keith said, his tone quickening, hinting that he was eager to make a deal.
“Like that blue one?” Lansius asked nonchalantly.
“Yes, why don’t you try the blue one.”
Lansius tried it on and found it in excellent condition, the hem clean and the fabric well kept. It was not as soft as the red one, but far better than the coarse clothes he had taken from Bellandia. “I don’t like the color,” he said, almost dismissively. “But beggars can’t be choosers.”
In truth, he had already set his eyes on it, and Stefi seemed to like it as well.
Keith’s lips curled into a smile. “I like you, and since you’re Stefi’s friend, I’ll give it to you for a good price. Seven copper.”
“Four. Even that is too much for blue dye.”
“I can’t do that,” Keith said, expertly angling the tunic toward the sunlight to bring out its deeper color.
Lansius refused to look, knowing it would give the seller the advantage. “I believe you still make a profit at four copper. What do you say? It’s early, and they say a good start brings good business.”
Keith snorted politely and said, “Since you’re a good lad. Let’s make it six, that’s—”
“Best I can do is five,” Lansius pulled his purse and began fishing for five copper.
“Six is a fair price,” Keith said, but Lansius ignored him, so he looked to Stefi, who smiled back at him.
“He’s a good tradesman, Keith,” Stefi remarked.
Lansius presented the copper coins, spreading them on his palm for Keith to see. “Five copper. We’ll both profit, and this might be the start of a good business relationship.”
Keith looked unsure, but Stefi delivered the coup de grace. “He’s the young lord’s newest retainer, you know?”
With his thumb and index finger, Lansius pinched the five coins and offered them to Keith.
Keith snorted, amused, and held out his hand. Lansius placed the five coins into his palm, and the deal was sealed.
“Well, try it on. If you need a simple adjustment, I can do it for you, free of charge,” Keith said.
The last words rang pleasantly in Lansius’ ears. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. He would need every coins he could save to make a start in this city.
The last words rang pleasantly in Lansius’ ears. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. He would need every coin he could save if he hoped to make a proper start in this city. He was not naive. A place like Riverstead demanded far more than Bellandia ever had. There would be clothes to buy, work-related tools to secure, and money spent simply to keep up appearances among people who judged a man by what he owned and how he carried himself.
In Bellandia, survival had been enough. Here, he wanted more than that. Here, he meant to rise.
***
Outside, Lansius proudly wore his new blue tunic as he stepped out of the shop, brimming with newfound confidence.
“Come here,” Stefi beckoned, wanting to admire the blue tunic with its intricate orange embroidery along the neckline and hem.
“Lans, it looks good on you. Now you look the part,” she complimented.
“Of course, it cost me five copper,” Lansius quipped. “That’s enough to buy food for a week.”
Stefi giggled and elbowed him, knowing he had gotten it at a bargain.
“Oof, what’s that for?” Lansius complained but couldn’t help chuckling as he followed her.
“Next up is the sword,” she announced.
“I’m a scribe. I don’t think I’ll need a sword for now.” After seeing the old man’s crossbow at the barn, Lansius could not help thinking that, if he ever bought a weapon, it would be one of those instead. His skill with a sword was still poor, and a crossbow seemed a far more realistic choice if he ever needed to defend himself.
Stefi paused to think for a moment. “All right, then let’s just head there,” she decided, leading him southward toward a large building at the end of the market district.
“What’s this place?” Lansius asked, looking up at the tall stone compound, its walls high and its double gates wide enough for carts.
“Hopefully, your new office,” Stefi replied.
Lansius was taken aback by the size of the municipal building. “But weren’t we planning to do this tomorrow?”
“Well, it’s nearby, and it can’t hurt to try out your new Centurian blue tunic.”
The two walked until they saw a small door just beside the double gate. A guard in brigandine lazily greeted them with a nod but didn’t ask any questions. They entered through the open door and passed several other guards who watched them with similarly little interest.
Inside, they discovered a garden and a large, paved courtyard, with the towering three-story Riverstead municipal office building overhead. The structure had once been a proper castle, but now it served as storage and a taxation office.
Lansius marveled at the well-maintained medieval garden, filled mostly with herbs and a few blossoming flowers and plants protected by a fence. A carpet of grass and tall, old trees with roots spreading into the stone wall and buildings completed the picturesque scene.
The garden was so well taken care of that Lansius commented without thinking, “This would be a great spot for a picnic.”
Stefi looked at him and asked, “What’s a piknik?”
“Mm . . . eating out in the open on the grass?”
“Like when we’re stuck outside on a campaign? Why would you want to do that again?” She rolled her eyes.
Lansius chuckled but refrained from explaining further.
They finally entered the building and observed its disheveled interior, a clear sign that it had been ransacked during the siege. The garden outside had survived, likely because it had been covered by snow all winter, but the once-orderly office, a symbol of Riverstead’s administrative prowess, now resembled a war-torn relic.
The staff had made attempts to restore order, but it was a work in progress. Partially empty wooden cabinets lined the walls and the broken chairs, tables, and desks had been gathered, possibly pooled here to be repaired. Light filtered in through the shattered windows in the back, casting a gentle glow over the sorry scene.
Two servant boys were cleaning up, while a staff member in a gray tunic eyed Lansius and Stefi with suspicion, mistaking them for a merchant and his bodyguard. “My apologies, but didn’t the guard inform you that the office is still closed?”
“We’re not here for business. The guards probably can see that,” Stefi clarified.
Lansius reached into his bag and pulled out a letter from the captain, displaying it to the staff member. “I’m part of the young lord’s retinue. The captain sent me.”
The staff member hastily wiped his hands on his sleeve before approaching Lansius. “May I see the letter?”
Lansius glanced at Stefi, who gave a nod of approval.
The staff member accepted the letter with a respectful gesture and skimmed its contents. “A new member?” His gaze flicked between the letter and Lansius, clearly taken aback. However, he decided it wasn’t his place to question. “Please wait here. I’ll inform Master Hubert.”
Before long, a tall, slender man with a slightly hunched posture from years of poring over documents and ledgers descended the stairs. His confident gait and footsteps signaled a healthy individual, despite his age.
His thinning hair, streaked with silver, was combed back with care, matching his sharp blue attire embroidered with silver. It made Lansius’s second-hand tunic seem shabby.
Lansius swallowed dryly. The man exuded an aura of eccentricity. Unlike the predatory air of the noble, this man meant business.
“Well?” Master Hubert asked his staff impatiently.
The staff member, not much older than Lansius, hastily said, “This is Master Hubert, the vice—”
“Current head clerk of Riverstead Municipal Office,” Hubert corrected. “The old fool vanished before the siege, and we’ve been unable to bribe because of him. Lord Maurice should have listened!” he rambled and continued quickly, “Now, how may I help you?”
“The letter . . .” Lansius found his voice.
“Yes, I read it. But you’re not trained in bookkeeping.”
“I have been trained, Master Hubert, just not in the Imperium standardized bookkeeping style,” Lansius countered with as much technicality as his vocabulary allowed.
Hubert glanced at Lansius and cast his judgment. “The Eastern style is not to be trusted.”
“I’m not from the Eastern Kingdom. Indeed, theirs is not as advanced,” Lansius clarified, standing tall.
Old Hubert let out a sharp sigh and extended his right arm. The staff member hurriedly placed Lansius’s letter into the master’s palm. Hubert gave it another glance and seemed to consider Stefi in her black gambeson, a color of wealth.
“I can’t ignore the captain’s wishes, so be it,” Hubert said without even facing Lansius. He then quickly added to his staff, “Don’t let him touch ink or paper. Get him into storage and see if he can help in any way.”
“Gratitude,” Lansius replied sincerely. Though he hadn’t recovered his memory from his past, he somehow knew this nasty work treatment all too well.
As Master Hubert climbed back up the stairs, Lansius was left with the same staff member who didn’t mince words. “Are you by chance a noble?”
“No,” Lansius replied, knowing he would be at the bottom of the pecking order.
Before the staff member could nod, Stefi stepped forward. “He’s my master, though, and a direct retainer of young Lord Arte. I’d be careful if I were you.”
“There should be no problem between us. My name is Vince. I’m not very smart, but my family has been clerks here for generations.” He extended his hand to Lansius.
Lansius grasped Vince’s hand, saying, “Call me Lansius. I hope I can be of help.”
“Hopefully so. We need lots of hands to clear this mess,” Vince rubbed what little goatee he had. Lansius noted that the man’s hair was neat and slick, a sign that he was trying hard despite his modest introduction.
“Oi, Jan, come here.” Vince suddenly called for one of the boys.
A bright-looking boy stopped scrubbing and ran toward them. “Yes, Vince?”
“Take care of Lansius for me. Show him the empty quarters at the far end, so old Hubert doesn’t see him,” Vince added. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Lansius replied lightly, but then asked, “Empty quarter?”
“For your lodging, of course. You’re our clerk now. We can’t let new staff go in and out every day; there are too many risks involved. But don’t worry, the dormitories are quite neat. You’ll like it, unless you’re from a much higher station than me.”
“Ah,” Lansius nodded and exchanged a glance with Stefi, who nodded back, clearly pleased. They had just solved his housing problem, and he got it for free.
I have to buy something for that captain. The man’s a hero!
Watching the duo’s reaction, Vince furrowed his brow, suspicious of their relationship, but continued. “As I said before, Jan will show you the room and then escort you to the storage. That’s all, Junior.”
Lansius snorted softly. Vince introduced himself as a fool, but in the end, he asserted his seniority. “Yes, Senior Vince, I’ll comply.”
Amused, Vince patted Lansius’s right arm and headed out to the guardhouse, likely to lecture them for allowing a guest to enter without notice.
“Come, Master Lans, Squire. I’ll show you the room.” Jan happily motioned for them to follow him up the stairs.
...
Lansius and Stefi followed Jan to his new quarters on the third floor of the same building. The complex, while old and fortified with gray stones on the outside, boasted a more refined interior that was plastered and painted a pastel orange.
Despite the aging paint, the corridor remained neat and more attractive than most buildings Lansius had entered. The place was well ventilated. From the window, Lansius could observe the comings and goings at the building’s gate.
Another window offered a view of the storage room entrance, likely designed for monitoring purposes.
The three walked past the row of rooms for the officials working there, noticing that only half were occupied since many hadn’t returned to Riverstead.
“This is the place,” Jan said as they reached the furthest end, pushing the door open.
Lansius detected a damp smell, but the room was adequate and showed little evidence of looting. The walls were plastered, and since they were on the third floor, the flooring was made of timber. The room also had a glass window, which Jan promptly opened, letting in a fresh breeze and sunlight.
It’s glass . . .
This window was the first high-quality glass Lansius had seen in this world. It was lightly tinted but transparent, unlike the kind used in lanterns, which was only as transparent as parchment or fabric.
The room contained a proper raised bed with legs, a mattress without bedding, a small worktable, a chair, and a wardrobe.
“Do you like the place?” Jan asked cheekily.
“I will, after I do some cleaning,” Lansius replied lightly.
That brought a grin to Jan’s face. “I’ll help you with it.”
Stefi approached the wardrobe and discovered a selection of fine linen clothing. There was even a silk undergarment. “Is the owner not returning?” she asked.
Jan licked his lips and said, “The previous owner is unlikely to return. He’s one of the few who ran before the siege happened, along with the stolen money.”
Stefi nodded, reached into the drawer, and found several pairs of woolen socks, old and new, long and short. She picked one of the older pairs and signaled for Jan to take them.
“For me, Squire?” Jan asked uncertainly.
She nodded again. “I’m Stefi. It’s nice to meet you, Jan.”
Lansius understood her intention. She was making an ally with a simple gift. Old socks cost next to nothing. He turned to Jan and said, “If we find more things I won’t use, I’d give them to you. Would that be a problem?”
Jan quickly shook his head. “Maybe someone will ask, so don’t give them all away at once.”
Stefi chuckled, glanced at Lansius, and remarked, “He’s smart.”
Pleased with the compliment, Jan bowed his head. “Oh, don’t put your bag here yet. We should get the key first, but that has to wait until supper.”
“Well, that can wait. Let’s head down to the storage and see what my job looks like,” Lansius said with a hint of excitement. After being stranded in a barn all winter, he was ready to put his skills to use.
***
Ground Floor
At Lansius’s request, Jan led them to the ground floor, where they encountered three cavernous warehouses that made up the storage area. Each warehouse could accommodate three carts at once for loading or unloading.
After introducing themselves to the other staff, Lansius quickly surveyed his designated work area and found it a mess. His shoulders slumped as he took in the chaotic scene that resembled a crash site more than a warehouse.
Sacks of grains and flour were piled haphazardly, wooden crates were scattered everywhere, and piles of leather curled from mismanaged storage, gave off a strong odor.
Earthen jugs, likely filled with wine, were tied against the wall to an old wooden rack, while wooden or wicker baskets of various sizes held smaller jugs.
To make matters worse, dozens of wooden barrels blocked the way, making it hard to move around. Some of the unmarked barrels contained ale, while others were filled with goods like nails, fur coats, or blankets.
“The lord just won a tremendous victory at a fort near the Great River,” Jan said proudly, referring to the battle that took place while Lansius was still traveling to Riverstead.
“I can see that.” Lansius observed another unsorted pile near the warehouse gate, likely dumped after the valuables were recovered.
“This is going to take ten men and a week just to tidy things up,” Stefi commented with stiff lips.
Lansius let out a sigh. He approached the mess, trying to figure out where to start.
“The workers are at your command if you need help,” Jan informed him. “I can’t stay for long, though. I’ll be needed in the kitchen soon.”
“For lunch?” Stefi guessed. “Will we get any?”
“Of course. Where do you want to take your lunch?” Jan inquired.
“Probably here,” Lansius said, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
“This is just like Ceresia,” Stefi muttered as Jan left the warehouse.
"Ceresia isn’t plundered and pillaged like this," Lansius lamented.
That old fart, he named me a clerk but gave me manual labor . . .
Lansius exhaled deeply. He had joined Lord Arte and traveled to Riverstead, enduring winter and war, with the expectation of working on something important. Yet this did not seem much different from stacking firewood. Still, he examined the crates one by one and sketched a crude map on a wax tablet, trying to come up with a plan.
Time passed, yet their efforts seemed to have little effect. Despite working through lunch, Lansius, Stefi, and a single unmotivated worker had only managed to rearrange some of the items. The storage area now looked even more chaotic, like a half-finished puzzle of misplaced pieces.
“This isn’t working,” Lansius muttered, sitting on a crate, his blue tunic soaked with sweat.
“We only got one worker. The rest just nod their heads when called, but leave as soon as someone else calls them back,” Stefi replied, sweat dripping from her chin.
Lansius observed the workers in the neighboring warehouse and snorted, realizing their tactics.
Whether working here or there, hard or not, the pay is probably the same...
The place was rotting in plain sight.
“Stefi,” Lansius called.
“Yeah?” she noticed the shift in his tone.
“I need your help with something—something that might solve our problem.”
Stefi looked around at the disorganized warehouse. “Show me your magic, Lans, because we won’t finish this on our own.”
Lansius gave a short nod, his thoughts already racing. “We’re not going to solve this by working harder. We need to change the game.”
***