Chapter 40 - Supper for Important People

The man who offered to save us arrived in a carriage too narrow to sleep in and too polished to trust. Master Rulven traded grain, extended credit, and wore a little gold sheaf on his lapel so nobody had to ask which of the two had made him rich.

Dain saw the carriage through the kitchen door.

"Oh, no."

"You know him?"

"I know the coat."

Rulven stepped down, took in the forge and the market stalls and the wagons under the repaired gallery, and smiled at me like he'd found something quaint.

"Lord Solvane. I had hoped to find you before the next delivery became a difficulty."

"An admirable ambition. We should all aspire to arrive before our own prices."

His smile sharpened. He'd understood. Good. Maybe we could save time.

His offer: grain for six weeks, delivered in four days, no cash up front. In return, assignment of the delayed military receivable, a handling premium, security over our commercial stores, and preferred purchasing rights for the rest of the year.

I read the last clause twice.

"Preferred."

"Merely the opportunity to meet another supplier's terms."

"With access to the competing offer. And ten days in which to respond. For grain already needed."

"Planning prevents that difficulty."

The man had come because we were short of grain and then suggested the consequences reflected poor foresight. I almost admired the efficiency.

"Your annual privilege seems a substantial consideration for a six-week delivery."

"It is how I make the risk economical."

Pell, beside me, following the figures: "How large is the risk?"

Rulven turned to him with a gentleness I disliked on sight. "The crown's paper is not the crown's silver, young man."

"No," Pell said. "But you've entered the principal, the collection expense, the handling premium, and the same delay allowance twice."

Rulven looked at the page. His finger moved.

"One is a reserve."

"Then it returns if unused?"

A pause. "We can refine the language."

I hid my face behind the document. Pell was getting expensive to underestimate.

Rulven stayed for supper. I'd invited him before I'd seen the full offer, and withdrawing it would have said more than I wanted to say.

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Unfortunately the kitchen had interpreted merchant considering a large supply arrangement as important guest who should be impressed. So there was a river fish long enough to need two platters, and nobody at the table knew how to carve it. Dain knew how to cook it. She regarded the gap as something the diners should have solved before sitting down.

Gerren went to get a knife from the workshop. Halwen made him put it back.

Rulven watched all this with good humor, which was worse than offense. He was comfortable. The crowded room, the improvised furniture, the enormous fish: all of it confirmed he'd arrived somewhere that needed an experienced man to rescue it from itself.

I meant to fix that impression. The fish came first.

Aoi stood up. "Give me the knife."

Every head turned.

"The kitchen knife."

She'd eaten fish like this at home. That didn't make her a chef, but it put her ahead of the rest of the table by an embarrassing margin. She worked carefully, found the bones weren't quite where she'd expected, and swore under her breath.

Rulven leaned toward me. "A talented attendant."

The knife stopped.

"Aoi decides whether to travel with me," I said. "At present, she also appears to be deciding whether you receive supper."

She set a portion on his plate. Perfectly adequate. I got a larger one.

Rulven preferred talking to asking. Over the meal he explained shortages, transport, dishonest debtors, unreliable harvests, and the special burden carried by men willing to advance resources. Most of it was true. He'd spent years turning those truths into reasons everyone should accept his next sentence.

Aoi listened for a few minutes and then started telling Ressa's kids about a festival back home. Lanterns. Food stalls. A game with paper scoops and goldfish. Jori, who'd come up from Harrow with a carrier and was staying with relatives at the watch, wanted to know why anyone would make a scoop badly enough to dissolve.

"That's the game."

"It sounds like the seller wins."

"He does."

Jori thought about this. Then pointed at Rulven.

The room went dangerously quiet. Rulven laughed. I gave the boy more fish before he could improve on it.

I walked our guest to the gate afterward. His lamps were lit.

"You have capable people. They deserve stability. That is what I'm offering." He glanced at me, kindly, the way teachers glance at a student who has answered correctly and is still, regrettably, a student. "And forgive me, but you're very young to be carrying a district. There's no shame in letting an older hand take the weight."

I let him have the silence. He was waiting for gratitude, or an objection he'd already answered.

"What happens if we decline?"

He sighed sympathetically. "You seek another supplier. Perhaps someone with less concern for the district's long-term needs. Prices have risen. I can hold the offer until noon the day after tomorrow."

"Please do. I would hate to misunderstand the deadline."

The carriage went. I stood at the gate until its lamps were past the bend, and a while after that, with very young sitting in my chest like something I'd swallowed wrong. Then I went back in. Pell had the military papers across the table. Ressa beside him. Aoi on the bench mending a tear in Jori's borrowed shirt.

"Well?" Ressa said.

"He expects us to negotiate the premium."

"Are we?"

"No." I took my coat off. "We are going to find out who else values the paper."

Pell had three notes in the margin of the army's payment authorization. Assignment. Official verification. Customs dues.

"Explain this."

"A registered merchant can tender qualifying military payment orders against crown customs liabilities. After validation."

"How long does validation take?"

"Usually the same delay as payment. Usually." He handed me Edren's inspection acknowledgment. Our receivable had been checked in the crown's audit. Amounts, services, signatures. No dispute entered. The claim still waited on silver from the mint. Its validity didn't wait on the same queue.

"Has Rulven seen this?"

"He saw the inspection seal. He asked whether the full audit was available. I gave it to him."

Ressa swore.

Rulven had priced the claim as uncertain military paper. He knew it was better than that. That alone wouldn't feed us. But somebody bringing expensive cargo through crown customs might find our delayed payment a lot more useful than a lender would.

"Pell. How quickly can Tamasin receive a message?"

"She's at Mereholt until morning."

"Good."

Ressa folded her arms. "What are you planning?"

"To stop selling this to the only man who has offered to buy it."