Radiant, unblemished, heavy silver coins lay in the merchant's hand, their polished surfaces a testament to wealth. Yet, even with their brilliance, he was unceremoniously turned away from a grocer. The clerk barely spared the coins a single glance before dismissing him, his attention more focused on an ornate ledger with gilded edges—a detail that didn't escape the merchant's notice. The shelves, though modestly stocked, carried an air of meticulous care. The faint scent of spices, uncommon and undoubtedly expensive, lingered in the air. The merchant did not argue. He simply left, resolving to try his luck elsewhere.
After several failed attempts, the merchant finally found a grocer with a proper scale—a modest establishment stocked only with essentials. The place lacked the grandeur of others, with no elaborate displays of fresh produce. It suited the merchant just fine; freshness mattered little for goods destined to sit in his caravan for weeks.
The clerk, a wiry man with a weary demeanor, inspected the coins with meticulous care before nodding. "With these," he said, "you could buy all my stock. Anything specific you're looking for?"
The merchant's gaze swept the shop, assessing its contents with practiced efficiency. His eyes lingered on the sacks of beans. Durable, easy to transport, and in steady demand—an ideal commodity for his purposes. "Beans," he said. "I'll take your entire stock."
The clerk tilted his head, calculating. "One sack of beans is worth half a silver coin," he said. "Fair price, I'd say."
The merchant tilted his head, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the counter. "Half a silver per sack?" His tone was even, almost distracted. He let the silence stretch, his face giving nothing away. "That's steep for beans. The tolls alone would make that unprofitable." He paused again, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "Three sacks for a silver instead."
The clerk frowned, the corners of his mouth tightening. "Three for one? That's barely above cost!"
The merchant remained motionless, his expression neutral. "Exactly," he said quietly. "No waste, no spoilage. And you get your silver now."
The clerk hesitated, glancing back at the sacks of beans stacked neatly against the wall. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Fine. Three for one."
The merchant inclined his head, offering no visible sign of triumph. Within the hour, fifteen sacks of beans were loaded onto his caravan. Yet his task was not finished. "Anything else you'd sell at a fair price? Even if I don't buy your entire stock?" he asked.
The question caught the clerk off guard. After a moment's thought, he said, "All my prices are fair. But... if you're heading to Lord Cartlian's territory, you might consider grain. My brother lives there—he says grain prices are sky-high. Every time he visits, he hauls back as much as he can, even with the taxes."
The merchant's interest piqued. "How high are we talking?"
The clerk shrugged. "High enough to make a full cart worth the trip."
The merchant's mind raced. A gold mine waiting to be uncovered. He straightened. "I'll take all your grain," he said decisively. "And perhaps a rope or two."
The negotiation that followed was harder fought, the clerk pushing back with an intensity that matched the merchant's resolve. But in the end, the merchant left with a caravan that could make any thief's heart race—a mixture of beans, grain, and supplies enough to promise a lucrative venture.
As the merchant strolled along the line of carts, oxen, and horses, he inspected his caravan with a critical eye. Some carts would need repairs once they reached Roness, the capital of Lord Cartlian's territory, but for now, they would suffice. Satisfied, he approached the guards gathered near the lead cart.
Each guard was a study in contrasts—some clad in threadbare rags, others in chainmail or plated armor. One, a hulking figure with unkempt hair and a grizzled beard, caught the merchant's eye. He wore a cotton half-sleeve, battered trousers, and scuffed leather shoes that looked a size too small. Despite his unassuming appearance, the merchant knew his value. "Henry," he called, tossing a noisy leather bag.
Henry caught it deftly, inspecting the contents. His expression darkened. "Why's there more than usual?" he asked, his voice low and suspicious.
The merchant's gaze didn't waver. "Because I expect a bigger haul—and with it, more danger," he replied.
Henry's eyes swept over his fellow guards, who nodded one by one. Only when the last had given their assent did Henry nod solemnly.
The merchant clapped him on the back. "Glad to have you with us, Captain," he said, his voice steady, devoid of any telltale smile.