ceiling; shafts of moonlight filtered in through high narrow skylights. It smelled damp and he could hear the river gurgling by outside. Piles of sacks layered high formed small hills. Aisles led between them, all as regularly laid-out as the streets of the Terrarch Quarter. Barrels lined the walls. Some smelled of salt meat, others of vinegar, others of booze. The warehouse seemed well-filled, most likely with the sort of things that would supply the army. Somebody around here was going to profit from the coming war.
The counting house was a small, square area, roofed and walled off. Inside were tall stools and long high desks containing inkstands and quills. Massive ledgers lay atop each. In the corner was a massive strongbox. Rik recognised the type. It was bound with locks both magical and mechanical. Difficult but not impossible to bust, he judged.
It looked like the clerks had gone home for the night, all except the chief clerk, a small wizened man who sat behind the lowest of the desks in a stuffed armchair, his face underlit by an open topped lantern. The man’s pince-nez glasses caught the light. The fringe of white hair around his head, his rosy cheeks, and small neatly trimmed spade beard gave him an air of gnomish good cheer. His twinkling smile added to his benevolent appearance. It was a few moments before Rik realised that this small, conservatively dressed man was Bertragh, the factor himself.
“You brought the sample?” he said. His voice was surprisingly deep and pleasant, with the cultured accent of a priest or a well-schooled actor.
“Aye,” said Weasel. Rik noticed that the richer and better educated the company, the more peasant-like Weasel became. He supposed it helped put them off-guard, if they thought they were dealing with a bumpkin.
“That will be all, Malek. You can wait outside. I will call you if I need you.”
Malek nodded and gave his employer a grin. Rik filed that away. Bertragh was obviously a man who inspired loyalty. He was not lacking in self-confidence either, since he had no fear of being left alone with the three of them. Or maybe he was just letting them know that he was dealing with them above board. Give trust to get it. Subtle bastard, Rik thought. He supposed Bertragh had to be. Nobody got to be the factor of one of the Great Houses otherwise.
From inside his tattered green tunic, Weasel produced one of the volumes they had collected in the mine. It looked unimpressive enough in its leather binding. A slight disparaging smile quirked Bertragh’s lips. “Is this it?” he asked.
“There’s more,” said Rik. “This is just a sample.”
Weasel nodded his support. He was out of his depth here though, Rik thought, since he had no idea what the books contained. No doubt Bertragh sensed this. He shook his head ever so slightly, adjusted the wick of the oil lamp and sat himself down at his desk. He pushed the book away slightly as if he had already decided it was not worthy of his attention. Either he was a very good dray-trader, Rik thought, or it really wasn’t. Under the circumstances, it seemed better to assume the former.
“Take a look,” said Weasel encouragingly, obviously determined to play the game as well as his handicaps would allow. Rik decided not to support him. The merchant rejecting the books suited him fine.
“Do you know what these contain?” Bertragh asked. He obviously doubted it. He’s fishing for information, Rik decided. He wants to know exactly how much they know.
“They are grimoires,” said Weasel confidently and convincingly. You did not get to be as good a card player as he was without some ability at bluffing. “They belonged to a sorcerer.”
“And may one ask how they fell into your hands?” asked the merchant. His tone was pleasant but his gaze raked pointedly over their uniforms.
“One may not.” Weasel responded in an amiable tone that mocked Bertragh’s accent. The factor gave him a sharp look.
“If you are not interested,” Rik suggested, “perhaps, we should seek out someone who is.”
“I will glance over them,” said the merchant. His tone was that of a man doing a favour for a friend. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, glanced up and smiled at them avuncularly and then opened the volume. The effect was not what Rik had expected. His face paled, and his eyes went wide. He flipped the leaves over quickly and leaned forward. His breathing was fast and panting. He kept turning the pages, moving quickly towards the end of the volume, and then closed it with a snap.
Got you, thought Rik, not entirely happy with the way things were going but caught up in the deal making in spite of himself.
Bertragh pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began mopping sweat from his forehead. He tried for his smooth and confident smile again but he was fooling nobody. A ghastly rictus contorted his face, and a near religious look of exaltation was in his eyes. At that moment, he looked like Gunther delivering one of his messages from the Prophets, although he tried very hard to hide it. What could possibly have such an effect on a man as smooth as this merchant, Rik wondered. Any doubts he had ever had about keeping the books vanished. He wanted desperately to know what was in them. Now all he had to do was find a way of keeping his hands on them.
“There are more like this one?” Bertragh asked. There was a slightly strangled quality to his voice. Sweat beaded the bald dome of his forehead. His glasses reflected the light of the lamp, giving his face an almost demonic look. Rik shuddered and told himself he was imagining things.
“Oh yes,” said Weasel. He was grinning broadly now, knowing that he had been dealt a good hand even if he did not understand all the rules of the game. The Barbarian chewed the ends of his moustaches nervously, not understanding what was going at all but sensing the excitement.
“You have them with you?”
“No.”
“Can you bring them to me?”
“Perhaps. If you are certain you want them.”
“I might take them off your hands.” Bertragh tried to sound casual but it was obvious he wanted them as desperately as a virgin boy wants his first woman. Weasel shrugged.
“There are other people who might want them too.” It was the oldest and most obvious of ploys but Bertragh went after it like a fish going for a nice fat maggot on the end of a hook.
“How much do you want for them?”
“How much are you offering?” Weasel asked.
“If the books are all in as good condition as this one there is gold in it for you.”
“How much gold?” said Weasel.
“Say one gold piece per volume.”
“Let’s say five royals per volume,” said Rik. He did not expect the merchant to go for that. One royal was more than most people would see in a year. Bertragh appeared to consider.
“Very well. I will have to consult with my patron but I think we can work something out. You will leave the volume with me, of course, so that my patron can inspect it.”
Weasel just stared at him fish-eyed.
“I will pay you the five gold for it. Consider it a deposit. If you give me a moment I will get the money from my strongbox.” He rose from the desk. There was something desperate and almost inhuman about his appearance.
Weasel shrugged again. Rik leaned forward and scooped up the book. Weasel and the Barbarian looked at him in surprise. He needed a quick explanation for them.
“The books are worth more as a complete set,” he said. “If for any reason, this deal falls through, it would be best if we had them all.”
The Barbarian looked a little shocked at the loss of his gold but Weasel gave a faint smile and an even fainter nod of understanding. Bertragh’s response was once again not what Rik would have expected. The factor looked at him with murder in his eyes. For a moment, Rik was convinced that the merchant was going to call his guards and order them to take the book away from him by force, then with an effort of will, he got himself back under control, and became almost a parody of the urbane man he had been when they entered.
“As you wish.” He appeared to consider for a moment, and then added hopefully. “We could consider the royals a deposit. I would return the book if you returned the money.”
“Suppose we were to be robbed on our way home,” said Rik. “We would be unable to repay you. All manner of things can go wrong. Best to let things stand as they are.”
