Weekly Digest 107 - (#338 - #340) (Patreon)

The Streets of Covehold

When I'd first arrived in Covehold, fresh from a very long sea voyage in a tightly packed ship with food I'd rather not try to remember, the ship had come to rest on a solid stone dock that had been built along one of the encircling stone arms around the cove—the left one from the perspective of the cove entrance, to be more specific. The dock had been made of Whispered stone, something I'd only properly recognized the second time I'd come to the city by the sea, having become familiar with the appearance of the material from Lori's extensive building projects.

Wide wooden piers had extended out into the water supported by pillars of stone to accommodate the people and, more importantly, the cargo that would unloaded and loaded to and from the ships that crossed the ocean from the old continent to this one. Facing the docks were rows of solidly built warehouses, at least one of which I knew was used to temporarily house new arrivals for three days after their arrival so they can be checked over by local Deadspeakers to make sure there was no one with a contagious disease.

Now, however, there seemed to be a second set of docks at the opposite arm of the bay. These docks were not made with Whispered stone, with wood featuring as the primary building material. Even from all the way from the entrance of the bay I could seeseveral of those wooden piers swaying with the waves in a way that was very distressing. I was relieved to realize that some of that seemed to be from how the piers weren't solid, but rather on floating platforms that probably went up and down with the tides. The wooden docks were far more extensive than the stone one on the opposite side of the bay, seeming to extend some ways up the river that fed into the bay, though it was hard for me to tell for sure given the distance.

Fronting the new docks, however, were structures—some made of wood, some that were probably made of rough stone given their colors, and others made from both—that could be politely described as rough and crude, and impolitely described as 'slum-like'. While Covehold had seemed to have a minor problem with overcrowding last time I'd been here, their preferred solution had been to push people beyond the town's walls and subtly encourage them to be the problem of either the farms beyond the walls or the other demesne beyond their borders.

The fact that a… uh, let's call it a 'low-income district'… had arisen implied a new means of making beads—er, earning beads, unless someone had managed to make Lori's discovery as well—had been found, enough to let the people who had set up there afford building materials and people skilled enough to turn those building materials into structures.

I glance behind me at all the boats that hadn't been out there when I'd last visited.

Yeah… that would do it. Even if the rice of salt had been bottomed out due to greater supply… although, perhaps not? There was nothing to say wherethe people on the boats were from, and there were a lot of demesne that had been raised along the river for the fresh water. if many of those in the boats were from those demesne... they might be harvesting salt for themselves and selling surplus to other demesne that were closer to them than to Covehold. Which would still probably lower the prices of the local salt market, but from slightly reduced demand than greater supply, and maybe to stay competitive against those hypothetical demesne. It would depend on whether Covehold was imposing anything on those passing through their territory, from tariffs to toll fees…

I shook my head. While the situation would likely affect how much we could get for our barrels of salt, I already had a seller in mind, as I did for our skins. Hopefully they remembered me… and that they hadn't moved since then. The latter was unlikely, but the former…

Well, hopefully they remembered me.

"All right me, we'll land the same way we did last time," I said, putting a smile on my face to reassure them. "I'll signal you when you need to come in a pick us up. Check for us around late afternoon. In the meantime, go wait outside the bay and don't let any strangers onto the boat, all right? Even if they say they have booze to share." I paused for a moment to set up the line. "Especially if they have booze to share. Someone who brought booze with them when they should have been working, especially on a boat, is probably all sorts of trouble waiting to happen."

There were nods and barely restrained smiles at the admonition. I knew they weren't the sort of let that happen—everyone probably remembered one or two bad experiences from being too trusting or negligent when they'd been in Covehold, heard a story from someone, or seen it happen—but everyone seemed to like the joke in any case.

"All right," I said. "Multaw, Cyuw, empty your belt pouches and leave your valuables here. Leave the pouches too if you're worried about losing them, but grab two micans each for lunch, since we won't have be able to stop anywhere for food. I need to get changed."

After all, wearing you belt pouch on the inside of your pants, under your shirt, is the sort of thing you've got to do carefully, or else you'll end up with an obvious bump.

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Covehold probably hadn't started right up against the water. Its core had been established some distance inland, most likely at some point of what had these days become the grounds of what is now the Covehold Dungeon. The dungeon was far enough away on foot, through slightly meandering streets. I recognized them as the far future descendent of what the well-worn paths though Lorian and River's Fork would be in a few decades. A part of me wondered what landmarks the paths had meandered between in the old days, and if anyone still remembered, or if they had not considered such silly things worth remembering?

…

Well, anyway! Covehold had obvious grown over the years, and now the ton reached all the way to the water's edge, well beyond the point where a beach would have been naturally. Facing the entrance to the bay was a stone wall, no doubt meant to block the worst of waves and storms and storm waves. Atop it, though set some ways back, was a mid-sized thoroughfare that ran the length of the wall, stretching from the foot of the old dock on one end all the way to the bridge over the river from further inland and the new docks and slovenly area on the other side.

At low tide, the top of the stone wall was well above the waterline, looking like a wall in truth. At high tide, the waterline was half a pace below the top at best, and sometimes particularly energetic waves would lap over the top of the stone, spreading across the stone and dripping down into whatever flood controls the town had.

At the moment, the waterline was a pace and a half below the top, the waters themselves more than deep enough for the Coldhold, letting it come close to the wall.

From the wooden walkway between one of the side outriggers and the boat, I waited until the distance was just right, then took a running jump, pushing off from the end of the outrigger and managed to grab the lip of the wall. My feet flailed against the stone, my boots sliding on the wall but giving me just enough leverage to let me pull myself up with my arms. Once I had an elbow over the wall, I was able to pull myself up the rest of the way.

I smiled at the passersby looking at me as they walked along. “Hello!” I said cheerfully. “Wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it? Wish it wasn’t so hot though.”

Some started walking faster, while others slowed down to watch. Once people realized two other men were going to try to make the jump, they gave us a small open space just to see us fail, and were astonished when Multaw and Cyuw didn't. Having someone with the leverage to help full them up really helped when doing this. It was far cheaper than getting a slot at the pier… and given the changes I could see, I wasn't really sure we'd be allowed onto the pier we'd docked at last time. Or that we'd be able to afford it if we could. I wanted to get a feel for things first before we inevitably had to part with our beads for whatever new berthing fees they'd come up with.

As soon as the three of us were up the wall, Yhorj, who was acting as steersman again, signaled Cottsy—“Driver to third!” “Driver to third!”—and the Coldhold started moving as the latter activated the driver all the way up. The Coldhold shot forward, a white bubbling wake trailing behind it as it accelerated to a speed that was clearly fast than a boat can be rowed, and then even faster, moving back towards the entrance of the cove.

“Come on men, we’ve only got a few hours, and I’m not sure if I remember where we’re supposed to be going,” I said, turning to smile at the people milling about. “Hope you have a good day, everyone. We have somewhere we need to be. Colors, it’s hot.”

At the reminder of the heat, many seemed to think we weren’t as interesting as we’d been before, and resumed walking towards wherever they’d been heading previously. A few kept glancing back, as if still expecting us to do something more.

I didn’t wait for them, leading the way towards the street across the way that led deeper into the town, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Multaw and Cyuw were with me. Fortunately, after the few steps the two men fell in behind me, a lifetime of living in what passed for law and order on the edges of demesne easily coming back to them. The two normally pleasant men had expressions that were at best neutral and in a bad light could have looked stern, maybe even challenging. That was all I saw, because not looking where I was going wasn’t a good idea, so I turned my eyes back in front.

Fortunately, I still remembered where I needed to go, and it seemed like the passing of the recent dragon hadn’t damaged the demesne’s buildings so much that extensive changes had to be made. But then, since our own demesne hadn’t needed to replace roofs again, that made sense.

People walked purposefully along the road, with none of the idle, meandering pace of someone with nothing to do or someone looking for a mark, though I couldn’t really be sure of that. While many wore undyed trousers, and shirt or blouses, just as many were wearing clothes that had been dyed yellow, red, brown, orange or green. It was probably a sign of relative wealth. After a year of living in a demesne where everyone was basically as poor as everyone else, all wore clothes made of the same material, ate the same food, and lived in all-but-the-same houses—my house was the only one with a stone roof, at the expense of being the smallest house in the demesne—it had actually taken me a while to recall that such disparity was something that happened.

It also reminded me that I really needed to ask Lori what the almanac said about plants and bugs that could be used for dyes.

Still, the three of us stuck together, because even if no one nearby looked like they were planning to rob us, that just meant they were probably good at it. I kept my face forward, looking around with only my eyes as I kept an eye out, and hoped Multaw and Cyuw did the same. I noticed many people doing the same, and a few gazes even lingered on the three of us. I made sure to establish eye-contact, smile and nod when this happened. Many people looked away, but a few actually smiled back.

I choose to view that as a positive, with these people simply being friendly to a stranger, and not that they saw me as someone naïve to rob.

Many of the buildings in Covehold were wooden, their surfaces dark from exposure to the elements. My eyes could occasionally pick it the shapes that showed were the planks and beams had been secured by pegs and other forms of joinery. Some of the bigger or more prosperous-looking buildings seemed to have been reinforced with Deadspeaking, the wooden parts fused together for added sturdiness. Most windows had shutters of some sort, whether on the inside or the outside, but all had wooden placed vertically or as a crosspiece to presumably keep people from using them as entrances.

There were no stone buildings, although there were stone chimneys, and sometimes the buildings would be on a raised stone foundation. The closest the buildings had to stone walls was having the lower pace of the wall being made of the material, with the rest of the building above being made of wood. From the way some of that stone was cracked and chipping, on a few buildings the stone was simply an external façade.

The street was about three paces wide on average, and had plenty of room for people walking along it. Occasionally, there would be someone pushing a wheelbarrow, or carrying jars that hung on the ends of a pole balanced between their shoulders. While there weren’t any on the street, I knew that some in the city employed Deadspeakers to operate undead beasts for use in hauling wagons.

A shadow passed over me, and I looked up to see someone running on the roof of the building we were passing. No, not on the roof. There were running on a beam that was raised up slightly above the roof, resting on the building’s support columns. The running woman stayed on the beam, easily transitioning to the beam on the next building, then leaping up to the beam of the building after that. She didn’t even slow, one hand holding the brim of the hat on her head to keep it from flying off, the other holding a satchel tight against her side.

I lost sight of the probably-a-Mentalist as they turned to head down another street that intersected with ours. We kept following the road until we came to what was clearly a major intersection, one I remembered. Somewhere between two or three times as wise as the street wed been following, the width of the road was hard to tell because of all the wagon traffic on it. It was a road I was familiar with from my last trip to Covehold Demesne, as it was one of the major highways the crossed from one side of the town to the other, hence why all the wagons.

Looking both ways to judge where along the thoroughfare we were, I turned right, making sure Multaw and Cyuw were still with me. The place I knew was nearby. Hopefully I’d be able to make a preliminary deal for our salt and skins today so I can devote my time to the issue of selling Lori’s beads sooner.

She wasn’t the only one who wanted her to have a monopoly on this!

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Rian’s Adventures In Mercantilism

The place I was looking for was technically on the thoroughfare, but only their stock gate opened onto it. The actual front door was on a street that extended out from the thoroughfare—I should probably find out what it was called, but honestly I was terrible at remembering street names—that had probably formed because the place as situated their entrance there.

Emborin and Sons was a heavily built wooden building two stories high but several paces long and deep. The wide, open windows were at least two paces off the ground on the first floor, and the bars over the windows were made of slim metal rather than thick wood, and understated display of wealth. Heavy wooden shutters that hinged above the windows were propped up by wooden arms, acting as shady awnings. The wide doors were thrown open, possibly to be inviting, or possibly to in a futile attempt to keep the building cool in the hot sun. Regardless, it did a lot to counteract the impression of a prison the bars made. On either side of the open door were two men with sticks that had the distinct look of hired guards: bored, hot, and reminding themselves of how much they go paid to justify all this.

It all made me very nostalgic.

I walked through the front door with a confident step and a purposeful air, completely ignoring the two guards on either side, and thankfully they didn't stop me.

Inside, the place echoed with a mess of voices. To one side, there were several tables spaced apart where people were talking. On one side of the table were Emborin and Sons factors, wearing plain shirts and near-identical brown-dyed trousers. Opposite them were people where had trousers dyed different colors, perhaps a spot of embroidery on their own shirts. Usually they'd have a hat on the table next to them, made from either felt or leather. There were no reed hats here.

No, wait… there was one reed hat over there, next to that woman, decorated with flowers that looked far too lively. To be fair, it was a much nicer hat than the one we used when on lookout duty.

On the wall just inside the door, there was a board set up, listing the rates they were buying and selling certain commodities. I glance over them. Seels and furs haven’t really changed much since last time, but I was surprised that salt also remained the same. Huh. Does that meant that the salt the boats were collecting hadn’t been significant enough to drive the price down?

On the other side of the door from the tables, set back slightly so that people rushing down wouldn't run into people entering, a relatively wide wood stair headed up to the second floor, where I could hear more people at work. At the top and bottom of the stairs were more guards with sticks, no doubt to keep unauthorized persons from just walking up. Messengers were running back and forth from the tables towards the back, and upstairs some carrying what looked like tokens made from bone—or possibly sea shells—in their hands one which things were written in blackened char. Other messengers lingered where they could watch the people entering through the door and tables, waiting to be called over.

To the back was another wide open door that led out the back to the rest of the enclosed compound. The parts that could be seen looked a lot like the lumberyard I used to work at: stacks of wood at various stages of greenness, and what looked like a long shade finished with sun-dried mud or clay, which was probably a curing shed. It even had someone who might have been a Whisperer sitting next to it under an inadequate little roof. Somewhere at the back, there were no doubt Deadspeaker putting together sheets and planks of wood.

I kept myself from looking around beyond a curious glance as I waited, and sure enough, one of the waiting messengers approach me. "Could you please inform Master Ravia we're here to see him about what we had discussed?" I said.

"Who should I say is here, master…?" the messenger said.

I gave him my name, saying it twice just to see if he'd get it right. As the messenger rushed upstairs, I stepped aside so that I wasn't blocking the way of other people passing through the front door.

When we'd come to Covehold a couple of seasons ago to sell our salt, skins and furs for supplies, I hadn't just taken the things to the first place that would take them off our hands for beads. While that would have been the quick and easy route… it wouldn't have been optimal. Especially since I later learned that many such places dealt with low volume sales, so they would have expected us to bring what we had to them. Given how muchwe'd had, us carrying anything from the Coldhold to such a buyer would have mostly likely resulted in us getting robbed in transit. If not the first time we'd, then almost certainly when we were passing with the second batch.

It had taken lot of asking, following leads that I'd managed to wheedle out of people in seemingly casual conversation, then following up on those leads by talking to various merchants, and going around asking about their reputations in various places round Covehold. It had taken a lot of walking, but it hadn't been summer then, and I'd needed to do a lot of research anyway about what was considered a fair price for salt, furs... everything, really.

After a lot of work, during which I'd also scouted out the best places to buy the things we'd needed, I'd been able to narrow down my choices, one of which had been Emborin and Sons. The deciding factor had been the fact that they had been willing to send a cart to pick up the goods we'd been selling when I'd implied that the cart we'd used to bring it to the demesne had broken down.

That's the sort of thing that will get me to give you my business, and from the looks of it, it's not just me.

Thankfully, the wait wasn't long. Soon, a man who looked a few years older than me—maybe? I wasn't really very good at telling people's ages—was coming down the stairs, his gaze falling on me after sweeping over the trading hall. Slightly shorter than me, his skin tanned skin a little bit darker than I'd last seen him and orange hair darker than Karina's, Ravia was one of the 'sons' mentioned in the sign. The brief smile when we made eye contact was a good sign.

I raised a hand, waving at him casually once I was sure he'd seen me. "Hello, Ravia," I greeted once he was close enough. "Sorry I haven't been by a while, I've had to accrue some stock for you."

"Master Rian," he replied with a professional smile. It was a good smile. Not eager, and just the right amount of welcoming without making me feel we were close enough for favors, while making me feel he was genuinely glad to see me. I met his smile with my own, though I liked to thing I was being more sincere. "It's good to see you again, though I wish you'd sent word you'd be coming."

"Well, I didn't have anyone to send except myself and the men here, and given how the streets can be…" I shrugged. "So… this is word that I'm coming? However, if you’re busy, we can come back tomorrow."

“No, no, it’s fine, Master Rian,” Ravia said. “I can accommodate you right now. If you’d follow come with me?” Ravia began to walk towards the tables, and I followed after him, Multaw and Cyuw falling into step with me. “I take it you came back on your unusual boat?

“Yes, though we had to leave it at sea. I see people haven’t decided to follow our example, and chose to be boring by making theirs out of wood. Well, at least their suppliers are probably happy.”

“Oh, you were quite influential,” Ravia said as they passed by other occupied tables. “All winter we had fools trying to float blocks of ice down the river and into the sea.”

“Well, there’s the problem right there,” I said, nodding knowingly. “They should have made boats made of ice, not just blocks. Amateur mistake.”

“I suppose you would know.” Ravia sat down at a table near the end of the hall. “So, what do you have for me, Master Rian?”

I felt the belt pouch under my shirt pressing against my side. “Salt, beast skins and seel furs, mostly,” I said. “How much are those going for these days again?”

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Despite the listed prices, there was always a little room for margins to be negotiated. The fact we had far more salt than most people coming to trade, and definitely far cleaner than what those harvesting from the shore could offer, allowed me to nudge up the price per sengrain of salt a little.

“I will need to examine a sample of the salt to make sure it’s as clean as you say,” Ravia said. “We get a lot of sand from people trying to add a lot of weight to their salt.”

“Of course, that’s perfectly fair,” I said with a smile. It was always funny when you just agreed with something people thought you were going to haggle about. “Though, we’ll need you to bring an advance for the salt when you come to pick it up so we can pay for the berthing fee for our ship. Getting all the salt out is going to be time-consuming, after all, and I’m sure the harbormaster is going to be annoyed if we don’t pay.” I made a show of tilting my head. “Actually, would we still be allowed to dock there? I notice that there’s a new wooden dock across the bay.”

“You’ll be allowed as long as you can pay the fee,” Ravia assured me. “The rickets are there to lure the new boaters on their way back home from their demesne with dinner and quick beads for their salt. I wouldn’t recommend berthing there. I’m informed gangs have claimed that part of the bay.”

Of course they have. Why wouldn’t they?

“We’ll stay away. Thank you for the warning.” I wondered which of the trading houses had taken over the area, with the alleged gangs as their enforcers? After all, Lori wasn’t the only one who liked the thought of having a monopoly, small as it was.

As a concession for the favorable salt rate that we’d agreed to, I left the prices of the skins and furs alone, letting Ravia have his own margins. Besides, it wasn’t like we had any means of arguing how much better it was compared to someone else’s.

We’d be back with more salt anyway, so getting a good rate on that during our stay here was a better investment in the long run.

Even with the added margin to the salt, I was probably only getting as much as I would have gotten at some other merchant house. That wasn’t the point. The point was that part of the agreement was that Ravia was willing to send wagons to pick up the goods from us on the Coldhold, rather than requiring us to bring the goods to their trading house ourselves. Not having to worry about the security of the goods as soon as it was off the boat was worth the potential risks.

Without the heavy haggling happening at the other tables, Ravia and I finished out business quickly. Two copies of a preliminary contract was drafted, written out in black in on paper, and it had been so long since I’d seen someone write on something besides a stone tablet. I checked both copies, making sure they both said the same thing, before nodding and writing my name on both copies of the agreed upon term.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure dealing with you again, Ravia,” I said cheerfully as I waited for the ink to dry fully before I folded it up to slip into my belt pouch. “We’ll see you tomorrow at the docks, then.”

“I’ll be there, Rian,” Ravia said, his smile slightly more genuine now that we’d come to an agreement we were both satisfied with. I don’t see why people strive for compromises were both parties were equally miserable. Compromises where both were equally happy were much better. “I must say, I look forward to seeing your ship again. Are you sure you’re still not willing to take a charter?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. We have other plans for our stay.”

“A pity.” Ravia looked towards the windows, checking the shadows. “Well, if there is nothing else, I must see to making arrangements for tomorrow.” He made to stand.

“Actually,” I said, and Ravia paused, sitting back down. “I could use some advice. Do you happen to know if there’s anyone nearby with a bound tool water cutter who can do fine work?”

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Back On The Streets Of Covehold

With the preliminary contract dry and secreted into my belt pouch, an address and name from Ravia, and plenty of daylight ahead, I had time to start working on trying to sell Lori's wispbeads.

The problem, as I saw it, was deciding what the best way of doing so actually was.

Ideally, we could sell directly to the workshops that would want the beads, such as carpentry or smithing workshops who had bound tools that have probably become very expensive to run. As long as the cost of the wispbeads was lower than the monetary value of the denominated wispbeads they'd otherwise need to use to run their bound tools, and that we proved to be reliable in providing them with their beads, we'd have steady customers for however long their bound tool was in repair and functional.

That was probably how Lori would see the problem, but as her lord—and more importantly someone who once worked in a lumberyard—I knew that satisfying demand was only a small part of properly establishing a monopoly. We needed to able to adequately supply that demand as well, and that was a problem more complicated than Lori spending her time making beads instead of expanding the demesne, ugh! If we sold her wispbeads directly to the owners of bound tools, we'd need to bring the beads from Lorian Demesne all the way back to Covehold Demesne. While each leg of the trip was a little under a week—though that was only because of the limitations of the Coldhold's design—that meant that to keep our customers, we'd need to provide two weeks' worth of beads for all our customers. Then we'd need someone to stay in Covehold to distribute those wispbeads to customers to fulfill orders. Repeat every week and a half or so to keep up a demand…

The logistics that I'd have to set up made me want to cry. Of course, we could hold back, maybe send a new batch of wispbeads once a month… but that would create scarcity, and if they were driven up enough, the wispbeads would be equal in value to denominated beads, disincentivizing purchasing them… or perhaps the workshops would only use them strategically. But still, I would probably need to find potential customers by myself…

It was a lot of work, and while it could be done… it was very labor and resource intensive, especially on my part since organizing everything would likely fall to me.

Alternately, we could employ a middleman. We could just sell all the wispbeads to Emborin and Sons through Ravia, and they'd be the ones who'd need to worry about finding customers and selling it to them. Since we'd be their only supplier of beads—as far as I knew, at any rate—we could name out own price, and as long as we kept in reasonable, the trading house would probably be willing to buy what we had, and I could foist all the headaches of selling the wispbeads to them. They'd be the ones who had to deal with the problem of controlling the price of the beads to keep them cheaper than using actual denominated beads.

Despite her grumbles, Lori has been amenable to that plan. It minimized work on our parts, we could have more time in between deliveries, and we wouldn't have to deal with the inevitable problems that would arise when we dumped the wispbeads into the market. The problem was when someone else discovered how to amalgamate their own beads—and someone would outside of Lori, it was inevitable—we would be subjected to market forces when we were no longer the only option available to our middleman.

If we directly sold to the workshops, we'd at least have a prior relationship, and even if we had to lower prices, I would bet on Lori's work ethic against any other Dungeon Binder on the continent. Our supply would be farmore stable than anyone else, so in the long run—or until Lori figured out how to properly mass produce beads the way older demesne do—I'm sure we would still be making a great profit.

Either way, it would only be a matter of time before the government administration of Covehold Demesne—probably not their Dungeon Binder himself, but most likely someone who answered directly to them—was going to find out that someone was putting wispbeads into the market. Regulation and taxes would probably be inevitable, but… well, even Lori was resigned to that.

Of course, if we wanted to try to get around such, we could instead make the government of Covehold Demesne our middleman by trying to sell the wispbeads to them directly. However, such a thing would immediately bring the wispbeads to the administration's attention, which would mean regulation like customs duties and perhaps special taxation of sales much, much sooner. It also would likely get political. And while Lori seemed comfortable with talking to Dungeon Binders, I knew she'd rather not. So while it was probably inevitable… best to procrastinate it for her sake.

However, even if I was reasonably sure I wanted to partner with someone to act as a middle man, I needed to do proper research. We had a supply, but even if I was reasonably sure there was demand, I needed to find out how great the demand was. Hence why I was off to talk to a carpentry workshop.

The carpentry workshop that Ravia had recommended wasn't far, and as the sun was still getting to noon, I could hopefully catch them when they were having lunch. Otherwise, I'd have to come back later, possibly even tomorrow.

As we set off, I glanced over my shoulder at Multaw and Cyuw. "How are you doing, you two?" I asked. "Do you still have your micans on you?"

"Have them here, L—Rian," Mutlaw said, holding up a bundle made from a carry cloth. "We got some for you too, don't worry."

"Can't have you getting lightheaded from missing lunch, Rian," Cyuw said, nodding knowingly. "You're the one doing the talking."

I opened my mouth to tell them they didn't need too, and just barely managed to strangle that sentiment before it managed to slip out. "Thanks, you two. Tomorrow, we're going drinking, how does that sound? Same place as last time, if we can remember where it was."

The two smiled at that. "Looking forward to it, Rian," Multaw said. "It's been months since I've tasted booze."

"Food," Cyuw sighed. "Some nice noodle soup, steamed buns, something fried…"

"Oooh, yes…" I groaned. "Fried beast thigh meat with breading, fermented bean sauce, sweet fruit juice…"

The three of us sighed as our stomachs reminded us that while we'd had breakfast, we were coming on to lunch, and all we had to eat until we got back on the Coldhold were micans.

"The two of you can eat when we get there while I'm talking to them," I said as we walked, turning down one street as we'd been directed. We passed an ice house, likely run by some enterprising Whisperers, a water wagon parked in front providing them with raw material, which was being pumped into a large wooden tank in front of the establishment. A butcher next to them was clearly a customer by the piles of ice in front on which the cuts of meat were laid out, shaded to keep them from melting in the sun. The telltale feeling of fairs rising on my arms told me the butcher had the same sort of binding that kept away bugs anchored in front of it, spotting the stone that had been inlaid into the wooden frame of its frontage.

"You sure, Rian?" Cyuw said.

"Sure. I can eat later." I hadn't really been planning to eat lunch today, but luckily for me the men were taking care of me.

After a few twists and turns, a stop to ask for directions to make sure we were going the right way,

Thankfully, Ravia had given me actual directions rather than some street name, as well as a name for the place, which allowed me to ask for directions on the way just to be sure I was on the right path. We passed smithing workshops ringing with the sounds of metal being hammered, ground and cut. At another workshop we passed, I saw large mesh trays and piles of what were probably still-wet sheets of paper. A small but prosperous-looking two-story building between two larger workshops shop had the discreet sign of a Deadspeaker—a root and a bone twined together—capable of some degree of healing. There were several people waiting outside it sitting on a bench, some holding their stomachs, while others had no obvious maladies.

Finally, the three of us reached the carpentry workshop we'd been directed to. I breathed in the smells of fresh sawdust, the oils, stains and glues the carpenters used, and knew I was in the right place. Men with saws, chisels and sharp stylus for scoring the wood were working, but many had the air of men putting on finishing touches, or at least preparing to stop working. The place was one of several workshops standing next to each other in a row, or at least, that's that they looked like from the outside. There were no walls between the neighboring shops, and which I knew from my days in the lumberyard was so that the shops could share workspace to work on projects. The second floors of the workshops were self-contained and where anything valuable was kept.

"Hello?" I called. A workshop was not someplace you just stood around and waited to be noticed. People had more important things to do, like carefully shaving off wood with a chisel so they could get the tolerances just right. "I'm looking for master Yhosed?"

For a moment, there was no reaction, until a carpenter who'd been scoring a board called out, "Yhosed, someone's here for you!" Then he took a saw and started cutting, not looking towards either the man he'd called or me.

"Thank you!" I said anyway, even if he didn't even so much as grunt. His work was important, so of course, he'd focus on it, but it didn't feel right for me to not acknowledge his help.

Soon, a man who'd been somewhere at the back approached. The already short sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up presumably to try to get some air under his shirt, and the lean muscles on his arms were on full display, implying the same of the rest of him. His dark blue hair was tied back in a bun and kept out of his eyes with a cloth, and he had the kind of scraggly beard of someone who cut it to get it out of the way once a week, but didn't particularly care about how it looked. "I'm Yhosed. What can I do for you?" Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that some of the carpenters had slowed their work and were watching us.

I took a moment to consider how this looked like. I was fairly young man who'd just walked in off the street followed by two older men who looked like they could handle themselves. Despite it being the middle of the day, we were here instead of whatever job we should probably have, while I could be here to commission something or perhaps even ask for a job…

I turned to Multaw and Cyuw. “Why don’t you to step outside and eat,” I said. “We wouldn’t want to get mican peels all over Master Yhesod’s workshop.” Hopefully that would dispel the image they were there to loom threateningly for me, and put a little food in their stomachs. I turned back to the carpenter. “Hello, Master Yhesod,” I said, doing my best to quash my reflexive desire to smile disarmingly and instead simply focused on sounding sincere as I introduced myself and the men. "We're from a different demesne, and someone gave us your name when we asked around for a carpenter with a bound tool." I held out my hand, and after a moment we exchanged grips. His was rough, hot, and had a little sawdust on his palm. A working man’s hands.

Don't smile, be sincere, don't smile, be sincere, don't smile…

Master Yhosed peered at me intently, then grunted and waved back at the other carpenters behind him. They relaxed, and many turned back to work, though those nearby kept glancing at us ever so often. "Is that so? What do you need done that you need a bound tool for? I warn you, even if we can do it, we'd need a wizard to run the tool. Best if you hire your own, the one we know asks for a lot."

"Can't we just use a wispbead?" I asked.

"If you do, you'll have to use your own," Yhesod said, shaking his head emphatically. "If you're from off, you wouldn't have heard, but a while back word came down from the lords that we should stop using beads with bound tools because we were running out of beads. It took a while, but after I stopped seeing any small wispbeads I only used my bound tool with a wizard, and so did everyone else I know. Even wizards stopped using them."

"Ah… I see…" I said, nodding. "Did it affect business a lot, not being able to use your bound tool?"

He shrugged. "We've been able to get by. That's what saws and chisels are for.”

I nodded, frantically thinking of what I could commission that would need a bound tool to make quickly and not just a lathe or a saw…

A thought occurred to me. Well, if we actually needed to buy it, I was pretty sure it was something we could use at home. “I was wondering how quickly you could carve out a water screw?” I said. “We need it in something of a hurry, and no one in our demesne has the skills to make one.”

“A water screw?” Master Yhesod said thoughtfully. “That will take some work. It might be faster to commission one from a smith instead. It would weigh less and last longer. A wooden water screw would work, but…” he shrugged. “Well, it’s your beads. If we’re going to make it, it’ll take a lot of work to properly shape a log. You’re right, this would be faster if we could use a bound tool. As I said, you’d need to provide the beads for it though.“

I reached under the hem of my shirt and pulled out the wispbead I’d secreted in a little pocket I’d made with my handkerchief so I wouldn’t have to reach into the belt pouch I had hidden. Holding up the wispbead, I smiled, and did my best to keep it politely pleasant instead of mischievously 'I-know-something-you-don't-know'. "I only have a couple of the right kind of beads. Can you show me your bound tool, if it's not too much trouble? If I'm going to be the one providing the bead, I'd like to see how you plan to go about it, so we can manage with what we have."