The Serpentwar Saga. Raymond E. Feist

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      ‘Bah!’ said Grindle. ‘Rich people always have money to buy luxuries. Poor people often don’t have money to buy food. And rich people may eat better than poor, but one man can only eat so much, no matter how rich.’

      ‘What about wine?’

      Grindle launched into a discussion, and Erik sat back, turning his mind to the last few days. At first bored by the chatter, Erik discovered there was a lot about the business world that was interesting, especially in terms of risk versus reward. Grindle claimed he was only a modest merchant, but Erik was beginning to believe that was intentional understatement. The cargo in the wagon was an odd mix, a half-dozen bolts of embroidered silk, a dozen small jars carefully lashed together with huge amounts of cotton wadding for protection, some wooden boxes with heavy cord tied around them, and some odd sacks. The boys never asked what was in the packages and Grindle never volunteered. From the course of the recent discussion, Erik assumed the man traded in precious goods, small but of high value, and wore poor clothing and drove a modest-appearing wagon to throw off suspicion. Erik suspected Grindle might have gems or some other cargo of small bulk and large value there.

      The first night together, Erik had noticed that while the wagon was dirty on the outside it was clean in the back where the cargo lay, and it was very well repaired. The wheels had recently been reset and the work had been first-rate, with the hubs properly packed and the iron bands on the wheels carefully attached with more than the minimum number of nails. The horses were likewise more than they seemed. Grindle kept them modestly dirty, though not enough to pose a health problem, but they were scruffy-looking animals until you examined them closely. Their hooves were trimmed at the proper angle and the shoeing was absolutely masterful, as good as any Erik had seen. The animals were more than sound, they were fit and well cared for; every night Grindle supplemented their roadside grazing with fresh grain from a bag he stored under the wagon seat.

      Roo clucked and rustled the reins and the wagon rolled forward again, moving in behind a long line of wagons that were stretching along the highway toward the city. Grindle said, ‘This is the longest damn wait I’ve seen in my life!’

      ‘It doesn’t look like we’re moving any time soon. I’ll go look.’ Roo handed the reins to Grindle.

      Erik said, ‘I’ll go with you,’ and leaped down off the wagon, following after Roo.

      As they moved along, several wagon drivers were standing up in their seats, attempting to see what the delay ahead might be. Ten or so wagons ahead of Grindle’s, they encountered a teamster heading back toward the end of the line, muttering curses.

      ‘What’s the holdup?’ asked Roo.

      The man didn’t even look at them as he said, ‘Some damn nonsense if you ask me. They’re searching the wagons before they even reach the outer edge of the foulburg. Couldn’t do it at the city gate, proper like. No, they set up a second search point down at the creek bridge. I guess they just have to ruin a man’s chances of a hot dinner. It’ll be hours before we get through.’ The man reached his own wagon, five ahead of Grindle’s, and swung up to take the reins from his apprentice. ‘Prince’s funeral – every noble in the West and half from the East in town – and market day, yet they’re climbing through every wagon and looking at every man coming in like they were on the hunt for the King’s own murderer.’ The man’s comments descended into general muttering, peppered by some colorful obscenities, as Erik motioned for Roo to come away.

      Out of earshot of anyone in the waiting line of wagons, Roo said, ‘What do we do?’

      Erik said, ‘I don’t know. With all this funeral stuff going on, it may be something else they’re on the watch for, but it could be our necks if they are looking for us.’ He thought a minute. ‘Maybe we wait until dark, circle away from this road, and see if there’s another way into town less watched. And there’s still the problem of getting into the city proper behind the wall.’

      ‘One at a time. If we can get into the foulburg, we can find a way through the walls, I’m certain. There’s always a way in and out of a city for folks who don’t want too much attention drawn to themselves.’

      ‘Thieves and smugglers?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What if we circle the city and strike out for another port?’

      ‘Too far,’ said Roo. ‘I don’t know how far Land’s End is to the west, but I remember my father swearing a blue streak when he had to go there. Almost half again as far, he’d say. And I don’t know what sort of ports there are to the north.

      ‘Besides, on the road, without Grindle’s wagon, we’d stand out like we were painted red.’

      Erik nodded. ‘Well, we’d better go back and say something to Grindle so he doesn’t get suspicious.’

      ‘He’s suspicious already, but he’s not overly curious, which is better,’ answered Roo. Then, with his infectious grin, he added, ‘Besides, I think he likes me. He says he has a daughter I should meet, and I’ll bet you she’s as ugly as he is.’

      Erik had to laugh. ‘Going to marry for money?’

      As they approached Grindle’s wagon, Roo said, ‘Only if I get the chance.’

      Grindle listened as they explained the delay, then said, ‘Are you going on ahead?’

      Roo said, ‘I think so. We can get through the gate faster if we go now, and you’re safe from any marauders, so you don’t need our company any longer, Master Merchant. We’ve got business near the port, and the sooner we can get there the better.’

      ‘Well then, the gods’ speed to you, and if you ever return to Krondor, drop by and tell me how you’re doing.’ To Roo he said, ‘You’re a rogue and a liar, boy, but you have the makings of a good merchant if you’d just stop thinking everyone else around you is slower than yourself. That will be your undoing, you mark my words.’

      Roo laughed and waved good-bye to Grindle as Erik shouldered his travel bag. They walked down the line of wagons until they were sure they were out of sight of the merchant, and then they angled off, away from the King’s Highway and toward a small farm to the north.

      Erik swatted a persistent fly that refused to stay away from his face. ‘Got the little bastard!’ he said with satisfaction.

      Roo waved away several others and said, ‘Now, if you could manage to kill all his little brothers and sisters, as well …’

      Erik lay back on a bale of straw. The farm was deserted, looking as if the entire household had gone into the city for some reason. It was a well-tended smallholding with a house, two outbuildings – one a privy and the other a root cellar – and a barn. They had found the barn unlocked and wagon tracks leading away, so Erik supposed the farmer and his family had been stuck somewhere in that long line of people waiting to get into the city or had gotten there earlier in the day.

      Erik and Roo were waiting for sundown before attempting to cross the open fields to the east of the city and make their way into the foulburg. Roo was confident that once they found a likely inn he could find someone to show them the way into the city for a small fee. Erik wasn’t as certain of the plan, but had nothing to offer by way of an alternative, so he said nothing. They sat at the rear of the barn, beneath the hayloft.

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