Irons in the Fire Read Free Page B

paupers in Lescar.
    But who was he to judge Wyess? How many days went past when he barely spared a thought for his own mother and father, for his sisters? Ashamed, Tathrin hurried through the busy kitchen after the merchant.
    The noise in the vast taproom struck him like a physical blow. Every conversation seemed to be trying to outdo the ones on either side. Rune stones were cast in trios across the scarred tables, gamblers shouting blessings to Halcarion or pained laments that the fickle goddess's favour had deserted them.
    "Fair festival! Come and join us!" Cries of delight from all sides greeted Wyess. Gesturing hands invited him to sit, brandished flagons slopping incautious ale.
    "Fair dealings and Raeponin's blessings!"
    As far as Tathrin could see, Wyess acknowledged every hail with a cheery smile and a wave. The merchant didn't slow, though, as he threaded through the crowded tables and benches. They soon emerged onto the wide thoroughfare in front of the tavern.
    Tathrin took a moment to orientate himself. As the lower town sprawled around the great lake's margin, it wasn't always easy to see the slope of the land towards the water. It had been much simpler when he was living in the upper town. Streets either had to scale the undulating hills or bridge the steep gullies between them.
    "That's saved us fighting through the crush around Misaen's shrine," Wyess said with satisfaction, straightening his hat, "but you do need to visit the booksellers before the end of festival. Buy a good book of maps and start making notes in it. A sound one, mind. The cheap ones are only good for wiping your arse."
    "Yes, Master." Tathrin focused resolutely on the challenges that lay ahead this evening. He mustn't let anyone think him a fool, even if his two years at the university hadn't given him half the knowledge he was going to need in Master Wyess's fur-trading business. These first two days in the merchant's employ had already taught him that much.
    How could Vanam's scholars be so wilfully ignorant? Granted, they grudgingly respected their rival university in the southern city-state of Col and acknowledged some of the learned societies in Selerima and Drede. Beyond that, the mentors largely ignored the towns threaded along the high roads. Unless one of them happened to be the birthplace of some particularly notable scholar.
    Whereas even the junior clerks in Wyess's counting-house could list every trader's speciality, not just in the major towns like Peorle and Drede, but in every remote corner of this vast region between the western forests and those countries to the east that had once made up the long-fallen Old Tormalin Empire. At least, that's what it felt like to Tathrin. Furthermore, as they laboured for the master merchants, those apprentices so scorned by the scholars of the upper town learned to cannily negotiate the complex web of obligation and alliance connecting the Guilds in Vanam with trading partners everywhere. And how to judge the likely outcome of a prospective business deal.
    At least that was something Tathrin had learned from his father. A good innkeeper gets the measure of a man inside a few moments. But he was starting to wish he'd had the leisure to spend more time in the lower town when he was studying at the university. Then he might not have felt at such a disadvantage at that moment.
    "Write down everything you've heard when we get home tonight, before you go to sleep." Wyess shot Tathrin a glance as a coach rattled past. "We'll discuss your notes tomorrow and I'll tell you what you've missed."
    "Thank you." Tathrin recalled one of the other clerks assuring him that Wyess would examine him as closely as any of the mentors he'd studied under. Only the merchant's tests could happen at any time, not just at the quarter-year festivals, and mostly without notice.
    As they crossed the high road something stung him sharply on the cheek. As he slapped a startled hand to his face, more pale missiles pattered