“It’s handsome, is it not?” said the Twk chieftain
Bosk made no reply. He knew what he was looking at.
“Part of my bargain with Chun was that I would never return the thread to Lith. So you can see my dilemma.”
“I am not Lith,” said Bosk. “In fact, the thread has so struck my fancy that I would prefer to keep it for myself. It would make a handsome ornament for my hat.”
“You wear no hat,” observed the Twk-man.
“That can be remedied. What will you exchange for the thread?”
Dandanflores contemplated the hammock. “I am reluctant to part with it.”
“I can offer a large quantity of fresh mushrooms of many varieties.”
“Yet how many mushrooms could my family consume before they spoiled?”
“There could be an ongoing supply over a period of weeks or months.”
“Even so. After a time they would surely pall.”
Bosk had to admit that he understood the complaint. In his memory, he could see his father at the dining table, happily eating his own mushrooms and urging his sons to eat theirs. He wondered if his father had been told of the missing mushrooms. Probably no one had noticed, they were so few. An ongoing supply, though, would have been more obvious, and some servant at Boreal Verge would have been blamed for the theft. Bosk felt suddenly guilty for having no way to pay for the mushrooms he had so blithely offered. Sorcerer or no, he was still a merchant’s son and he had not been raised to cheat the family.
And then, the merchant’s son truly awoke in him. The Twk, small enough to live in Rianna’s doll house, were small enough to pass through the Insinuating Eye.
“I have a proposition for you,” he said, and he outlined a partnership between the house of Septentrion and the Twk-folk. With the Eye as their highway, the Twk would convey fresh mushrooms from the north to the city of Kaiin, where Bosk would purvey them to the jaded appetites of the rich. The Twk would receive a commission for their labors, Bosk would take one for his enterprise, and the Septentrion family would profit from a previously nonexistent commerce.
Dandanflores looked dubious.
“Dried mushroom are excellent,” said Bosk, “but as you yourself so recently observed, the fresh are superior. They will command a premium, but are unlikely to diminish sales of the dried significantly, if they are only available in a limited supply, let us say, once a month.”
“I was thinking more of your magical tunnel,” said Dandanflores. “Magic has its dangers and is generally best avoided.”
“I have come to no harm,” said Bosk.
“You are a sorcerer.”
Bosk thought of the spells written on his arms, covered by his loose sleeves. “I am a mere apprentice. If there were danger, it would have found me.” When Dandanflores made no reply, Bosk pushed harder. “I thought the chieftain of the Twk would be wise and brave in the service of his people. Would you deny them such profit as would enhance their lives?”
Dandanflores crossed his arms and looked past Bosk. The children had climbed to the platform below and were listening to the conversation. One of them shouted, “Take me along, Da!”
His father glared at him. “Boys,” he muttered, and shifted the glare to Bosk. “You are all alike.”
Bosk shrugged. “Someone has to dare.”
“Very well,” said the Twk chieftain. “Show me this Eye, and I’ll judge for myself.”
They mounted the dragonfly and returned to the smoky ring floating among the branches. Bosk dismounted first, stepping into the tunnel. He braced his back against one side and held a hand out to the Twk-man. Dandanflores did not take it but rather ran his own hands around the ring until he seemed satisfied with its solidity. Only then did he test it with one foot. Bosk eased back to allow him into the tunnel.
“Once inside the ring, you became a wraith of thinnest smoke,” said the Twk chieftain. “I suppose the same has happened to me.”
“It only appears so from the outside,” said Bosk.
“Obviously,” said Dandanflores. “Let us continue this adventure.”
They reached the opposite end of the Eye and emerged into Bosk’s bedchamber.
“The tunnel can be shifted until its two ends are anywhere I choose,” said Bosk.
The Twk-man flexed his hands and looked down at his body. “I am unharmed,” he said, “and therefore we have a bargain. When does our commerce begin?”
“As soon as I make the arrangements with my father. And may I suggest that your payment will be due after the first consignment of mushrooms is sold in Kaiin.”
“That seems satisfactory.”
Bosk conducted him back to the Twk town.
Bosk’s father and Fluvio were at supper when Bosk descended the main stairway at Boreal Verge. Fluvio occupied the chair that once had been Bosk’s, and he had been listening to some fatherly declamation before his father stopped speaking in mid-sentence. They both stared as Bosk approached the table.
“Good evening, Father, Fluvio.” He pulled out a chair for himself. “I hope I find you well. Ah, I see the evening meal is based upon mushrooms again.”
His father found voice first. “Shall I order some for you?”
“No need, Father. I’ll sup at Miir.” He nodded. “Yes, I travel in magical fashion these days. I have spent a most productive time at Miir and expect to learn more in years to come.”
His father cleared his throat. “Master Turjan sent us word. He has been pleased with your progress. I still disapprove, but you do seem to have an aptitude for it.”
“True as that may be,” said Bosk, and he laced his fingers together upon the table, “I have not forgotten what I learned at your side.” He outlined his plan to employ the Twk, citing unspecified sorcery as the means rather than giving any details of the Eye. “The family will profit from this. All we need to begin the operation is a small amount of silver for rental of a modest shop in the heart of the city and a sufficient supply of the commodity for our first consignment, which will be limited but choice. Once the wealthy of Kaiin sample our wares, they will not hesitate to purchase. Possibly we will gift the Prince with a selection, given his penchant for setting the fashion. Does this appeal to you, Father?”
“The price must be high,” said his father. “Commensurate with the complexity of the transport.”
“Exactly my thinking.”
His father regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I did not expect you to use sorcery to profit the family.”
Bosk met his gaze. “I am a Septentrion.”
His father nodded. “This is a good plan. We will implement it.” He turned to Fluvio. “You will help your brother as necessary. I will fetch the silver.”
Fluvio watched their father leave. “We should talk,” he said. “Shall we walk out on the grounds where we cannot be overheard?”
“As you wish,” said Bosk.
Outside, Fluvio spoke in a low voice. “We have two new servants. What you have said already will fly back to the mines, and the miners will want higher pay for their goods. Father should have thought of that. Perhaps his age is beginning to tell on him.”
“Father is hardly old. And there is no reason why the miners should not share in this new source of income.”
Fluvio shook his head. “For doing nothing more than they have always done? I think not.”
Bosk shrugged. “Father will decide.”
“We should unite in our opinion. Then he will listen.”
“Perhaps,” Bosk said, though he doubted it.
“We are the new generation of Septentrions,” said Fluvio. “The family commerce will be ours.”
Bosk laughed softly. “Yours,” he said. “I have made another choice.”
“Then why have you come back? Why have you brought this proposal?”
“I have my reasons.”
They walked in silence for a time, Fluvio looking down at the grass, Bosk waiting for him to speak again, for
