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Dearest Readers, may every seed you plant bear fruit. ;)
THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 22 : Money Tree
It took another wagon ride to get to the former coster base by the City's western gate. Another crawl through the maze of narrow lanes jammed with people and choked with stores overstepping their bounds, their merchandise displays competing with pedestrians for space. Something dripped, and dripped some more on Irse's head, though she dared not look up lest it be followed by worse, a torrent of something unpleasant. Only when their wagon inched forward did she finally glance up, relieved to find the source merely a line of wash hanging by an upper floor of a tallhouse. The young elf snorted. Hopefully, whoever laundered those clothes were half as thorough as the washerwomen back at home.
But that shouldn't dampen her hope for them having their midday meal on time today. Irse eagerly rubbed her hands together. If the leathers lady's information proved correct, they might even get to meet Okami's acquaintance not too long past noon.
No more running around from store to store at risk of them getting blown to human and elfin bacon bits or bumping into random folks itching to stuff her Teacher into scandalously questionable wear.
Relief doubled in her mind as they crossed the border separating the Lower City and the Docks. Tymora must be smiling down on them today, the young elf praised in her heart, for the carriage driver knew of the place and didn't charge extra for dropping them off at the doorstep.
And then it occurred to her they had merely circled back to the Docks where they started.
The old trade house of chipped brick and wood stood as drab and uncheery as every other structure in the district. Outside, a handful of armed and armored men and women stood milling about - chatting with each other, some smoking a pipe or taking a swig from their waterskin, one of them even dozing standing up and simply leaning against the wall. All seemingly unmindful of the noonday sun beating down upon their heads. Only fleeting, uninterested looks were thrown their way. Odd, why would they prefer to stand out here in the heat and dust and mud and noise and the smell of horses and river water when they could be indoors instead, the elf wondered.
Inside, the coster base appeared sparse and empty save for a lone clerk sitting at the front desk; gaunt, pale and freckled, an eggplant for a nose and nearly balding.
"If you're here about a rude escort, a missing wagon, excessive charges, or desperate enough to even think about working here, then you best come back another day. The boss is too busy," he droned in a nasal half-hearted welcome.
The clerk made a great show of gathering the papers in front of him, snapping them in alignment before slamming the bundle to his left, inadvertently scattering them even more, some falling to the floor. He cast an indifferent side-eye at the discarded sheets and went on to fiddle with the inkbottle to his right.
The pair bowed in greeting. Okami approached and showed him the note.
"Good day. We wish to speak with the owner of the Blackmaul Protection Enterprise."
"Like I said, the boss won't see any complaining customer nor riffraff applying for thug work today."
"We are neither of those. Please inform him, it is the Kozakuran smith he spoke to in Beregost and that I have come to accept his offer."
Scowling, the clerk eyed them from head to toe, leaning over the counter, raising an eyebrow at the blade at Okami's side. He rose from his seat, walked over to a closed door, rapped on the wood a few times, and pushed it ajar to peer inside.
"Mister Kagain, there are people here to see you."
"Customers? Payin' or complainin'?" answered a gravelly voice.
"Neither, Mister Kagain. It's –"
A hoarse wave of curses cut him off, some smattering of Common and another tongue. The clerk scrunched his face and inched his head away from the door.
"By the vermin in Vergadain's vaults! Did I say ye can disturb me when I'm countin' the gold yer wastin' not bringin' in customers, Mister Squard!"
The clerk rolled his eyes as he yelled through the narrow opening, "Not in my job description, Sir. And it's the Kozakuran blacksmith."
Silence. Then the sound of papers crumpled and drawers slammed.
"What? The smith? Took his damned time gettin' here! Well what are you doin' gawkin' at me, Mister Squard? Drag him in!"
The man sure sounds like a piece of work. Irse observed her Teacher, wondering if he thought twice of working for this gentleman, but his face betrayed no hesitation.
Squard beckoned. "Mister Kagain will see you now in his office. But I wouldn't advise bringing the elf with you. Negotiations are usually confidential," he said coolly though his face mocked as if to say - so the old miser could haggle the nine hells out of your soul in the absence of a living witness.
Okami glanced at his apprentice who gave him a timid thumbs-up. He nodded and walked into the office, the clerk shutting the door behind him.
The first half-hour, Irse sat still on a dusty patched-up couch, drumming fingers on the arm rests then clasping her knees to keep from fidgeting. Ears pricked in the chance of catching anything through the door – a muffled shout or laughter, anything to indicate an interesting discussion. But nothing, only silence. Hopefully and despite her first impression of him, this Kagain might be more reasonable than the last person to try and get something out her Teacher.
Eyes trained on the door. Still closed. Taking their time. Eyes darted to the clerk sitting once more at his stool behind the counter, rifling through a chapbook with a bored expression.
"Psst! Hey," Irse called at him. "Mister Squard?"
She pouted as the man ignored her with practiced deliberateness.
"Mister Squard."
But the page on the pamphlet continued to flip with forced intensity.
Finally, an imitation of his boss' raspy call. "Mister Squaaaaarrrd?"
Nothing, not even an eyeroll. Impatient, the elf rose from the couch and tiptoed swiftly towards the counter. Miscalculating her speed and the distance, Irse banged a knee against the wood, startling the clerk who yelped and almost dropped his leaflet.
"Do you mind – What do you want?" he snarled, picked up the chapbook, flipped to the last dog-eared page and resumed ignoring the girl.
Irse winced as she rubbed the sore knee. "Sorry about that. But don't you serve tea to your guests while they're waiting?"
Something Winthrop used to do for the patrons – his wife Marna's idea to welcome their visitors with a bit more cheer. Unfortunately, the most miserly and entitled of the customers assumed the gesture of goodwill now meant goods-for-free and insisted the exorbitant room charge already included the price of meals. Effectively putting a stop to the welcoming tea and biscuits, and sadly, to the girls' supply of filched cookies.
"You mean free food. Do we look like we're running a charity house down here?" Squard retorted. He failed to notice the office door opening beside him.
"What's this I'm hearin' about charity? Didn't I ban that infernal word within my business premises?" a dwarven man roared as he sprouted up behind the counter next to Squard.
The elf jumped in surprise, but the bored resignation remained plastered on the clerk's face.
"Yes, Mister Kagain. I read that. First paragraph in the company manual, repeated on every page and stamped on the inner and outer covers in case the illiterate misses it."
"Right, Mister Squard. Best ye remember or yer doin' my business some good by kickin' yerself out o' here an' forfeitin' backpay. Now fetch me that ledger with the blank contracts," the dwarf ordered.
Squard sighed and dragged himself into another room, the door opening briefly to give a glimpse of a dusty space and shelves of logbooks and boxes. Irse peered over the counter to get a good look at Kagain. Thickset, squarish, if a squat boulder grew a dark beard and scars, and a mouth harping unceasingly about gold and money and business.
The dwarf must have noticed the pair of eyes scrutinizing him, for he looked up and growled, "Ye the knife-ear with the smith? The nine hells is yer deal with him?"
"I'm his apprentice, Sir."
Kagain guffawed without mirth. "So he says to me. Really, now. One o' yer snotty uppity kind who thinks they're better than everyone else, stoopin' lower than yer boney butts to learn from a mere human! Are the realms so turned topsy-turvy on its bottoms, next thing ye know, the gods are lickin' my arse for holy favors."
Irse opened her mouth, but hesitated, unsure about answering.
"Or maybe they kicked ya out of the treehouse and yer not allowed back in anymore."
She drew back, mouth drawn to a thin line. Could that be why? In her childish dreaming, the imagined story was always an adventure gone wrong, forcing her parents to leave her in Gorion's care. At the very worst - untimely deaths, hopefully at least heroic, with circumstances so tragic, her foster father couldn't bear to reveal any details until she came of age. But to be cast out by her own People? Could she have been the child of pariahs, the only plausible reason for Ulraunt's contempt and Tethoril's pity? And Gorion's silence.
Kagain must have noticed the cloud upon her countenance for he bared his teeth in a self-satisfied sneer.
"Yeah," he needled, stroking his beard and chuckling to himself. "Kicked ya out for not frolickin' enough like the rest of 'em leaf-sniffin' pansies."
That snapped the world back to the present. She considered his words. Strangely though, rather than getting riled, the elf found herself snickering.
"And ya find it funny now, do ya?"
"That's just the thing, Sir. Everyone in Candlekeep probably wishes I did more frolicking than playing a lark on the monks."
"Candlekeep. The library at the Coast run by human bookmongers."
"It is, Sir. I lived there all of my almost sixteen years alive before I ran away and snucked in a passing caravan heading for the Gate."
Kagain murmured to himself, as if surprised at the idea of an elf fostered by humans. He pointed at her face.
"And what's with yer ear? Rabid dog got to ya?"
"A bandit got to it, Mister Kagain. They attacked along the Coast Way. There wasn't anything we could do, even with the caravan guards." Irse waved a hand to gesture at the general direction of their origin.
For a fleeting moment, the dwarf looked thoughtful, then his eyes hardened. He pointed at the scarred palm.
"That, too?"
Irse paused from gesticulating and looked at her hand. "Yes, Sir."
"Fool, did ya try to stop a sword with yer pinky?"
"Well, it's better than using my face instead, which I bet the bandit was hoping for."
"Huh. Bastard must've been a bad aim."
The elf grinned affably. "He was, I guess. But a good thing that Teacher isn't, or I wouldn't be here." She crossed her forearms and laid them on the counter, leaning forward and resting her chin on a knuckle.
"That's why I'll follow him anywhere, to learn everything he's willing to teach me," Irse added wistfully, the smile gone, voice hushed and earnest.
Kagain narrowed his eyes at her, then turned away and huffed.
"Then ya better not waste his time," he admonished, and squinted at her again. "Because humans don't have a lot of it. Not as ye and yer kind do."
Irse straightened herself and squared her jaw, nodding her promise.
The clerk emerged from the stock room. He dusted the ledger and handed it to his boss who took the book without another word, returning to the office and quietly shutting the door behind him. Squard stared at Irse, apparently surprised, but the elf shrugged her shoulders and went back to waiting at the couch.
Customary with the type of service in this city, the breadbasket came first with none other following within the half-hour. Irse stared it down with steel in her eyes, the knife stayed in her hand. Okami must have noticed the angry vein in her forehead for he motioned at the waiter to hasten. True enough, two servings each of roasted fowl and tomato and bean stew soon landed on the table in swift succession.
"So, how did you come to know Mister Kagain anyway?" she asked in between slurps.
"I worked for a time in a smithy in Beregost, a few months before I joined the caravan to Baldur's Gate. He used to be a regular customer of ours."
The dwarf ran a mercenary company, hiring themselves to accompany merchants as protection against bandit attacks along the Coast Way or the Uldoon Trail. She wondered if Kagain's men had been their escorts that night.
Even if they were, it'd be too late to demand a refund anyway.
Her Teacher continued with his story. Apparently, being a regular customer doesn't always translate into favorite customer. The dwarf was notorious for haggling and bargaining down to the last copper and patina on the coin edges, finding fault or changing the terms, anything to push everything to his favor. To the point that the exasperated smithy owner expressly instructed his workmen to never give discounts, not even a hint, to Kagain. Though that didn't stop the pinchfist from trying, having succeeded with either bribing or bullying the hapless staff in the owner's frequent absence.
Then one day, Kagain tried it on one newly-hired Kozakuran, probably thinking to himself - surely a lone foreigner, a stranger in town and in want of friends and connections, would eagerly oblige the demands of a big name customer.
Irse pursed her lip. "What did you do?"
"My employer's commands were clear. Though Mister Kagain's gifts would have benefitted my pocket, I knew the terms and prices he desired will be detrimental to my employer's interests over the days of the contract."
Irse bobbed her head in righteous agreement. "And what did he say?"
"He called me a fool and the vilest of names before he stormed out of the shop."
She frowned, indignant at the injustice, fuming at the imagined scene of that dwarf wrongly insulting her Teacher in front of others, a familiar feeling bubbling and boiling beneath the surface.
Had she been there, she might have given the old crab a piece of her mind and whatever she was holding in her hand during the moment.
What if it's a turkey leg, though. The young elf paused and puffed her cheek. All right then, maybe just a piece of her mind.
Okami continued, "Yet within the day he returned and offered me a place and contract to practice my smithing for him here in Iriaebor where he runs another branch of his business."
"He did?" Irse blurted out. "And he told you he's sorry and he's only testing to see if you're an honest fellow," she added expectantly, proud of her Teacher vindicated.
Okami shrugged. "He did not. He was truly expecting to get his way."
"Oh."
"But he seemed convinced I am least likely to defraud him, hence, the proposal. When my contract with the smithy expired, I thought it a welcome chance to venture here."
Irse gripped the mug of tea but didn't raise it to her lips. Admittedly, this man, however mean and selfish, was responsible for her Teacher making the journey north. But what if Okami had decided instead to seek his living in the wealthy cities of the south?
She shivered and exhaled, knocking on the wooden bench to reassure the self she was truly here and not in the funeral pyre where she might have ended in.
The rest of the afternoon gave way to acquiring supplies, tools, and a few other basics for their new lodgings – a cottage with an adjoining smithy in the hamlet of Dearg along the Dusk Road, a journey of a few miles north of Iriaebor. Most likely something akin to Mister Filmon's set-up at the village where she did her first forging. Just as well, Irse thought to herself. Far better than squeezing themselves like roaches among the crammed tallhouses in the city proper. A quiet, wide, and open place - like the Keep but without walls.
Rather than have themselves lug around a house and smithy's worth of equipment, her Teacher wisely hired a porter - a young man and a wooden wain to carry their purchases through the stream of trade and people.
Along the way, Okami explained the agreement with Kagain. A simple arrangement – her Teacher would repair and forge weapons for the company and under a contract, previously held by another smith who left for more glittering pastures in Waterdeep. Nonetheless, a favorable deal given the assurance of a steady flow of work. But then, the elf wondered if Kagain going through the trouble of securing a blacksmith for his own company was due to none other in the city willing to have anything to do with the crusty dwarf; or His Miserliness thinking every breathing soul in Iriaebor existed only to con him out of his gold and thus preferred an honest outsider.
Fortunately, Okami made it clear they could get still commissions from others or be free to sell their output in the open market by the North Gate.
Not a fly in his ale, the dwarf had said, so long as they prioritized his orders and paid him rent on time.
Rent? Well, who did they think owned the title to the smithy and cottage they will be staying in?
Irse smirked and looked askance ahead of her, imagining the churlish dwarf rolling in celebration around the thatched roof of their hut, tossing their rent money in the air then quickly wriggling down the wall like a fat black bug to hungrily snatch the coin once more. Chuckling to herself, she picked up pace, strolling alongside the cart and casting a glance at her Teacher, preoccupied with discussing directions with their porter.
Everything should be fine, she reasoned with herself; whatever happens in the coming days, as long as the old skinflint doesn't dicker them out of a fair deal, then nothing's going to be a fly in her pudding.