“Then let us see,” the Councilors said.
Arcolin climbed into first wagon. “If you come close, you can smell the meat,” he said. They came, sniffed, and nodded. “As I told you, I gave some of the food to the village where this was found.”
“How can you be sure they won’t just give it to the brigands?”
“They were hungry themselves,” Arcolin said, without mentioning the tax collector. “I expect they ate it all that night, or most of it. Send someone up and I will show them the latch to the false floor.”
“Let the merchant show it,” the Councilor said, sending a dour look to the merchant, who complied. Sacks of grain … sides of salt pork … piles of salted dried fish …
“This was not on your book,” the Guildmaster said, scowling at the merchant. “You know the Guild’s rules.”
“Yes … but my family …”
“We are not here to hear excuses; we are here to determine the truth. You know it is forbidden to carry wares you have not recorded.”
“And false-bottomed wagons?” Arcolin murmured.
“Oh, no,” the Guildmaster said, aside. “That’s not a problem. A merchant may be carrying treasure that must be concealed under another load, even as that load is delivered and another picked up. But it must be recorded and available to any Guildmaster along the way.”
The mercenaries’ share of the food came out remarkably evenly—five of eight bags of grain, ten of sixteen packets of dried fish, five of the eight remaining hams. Arcolin smiled to himself; he had gifted the villagers with an amount that made division later easier. The next wagon, packed with bundles of the curved swords, was another matter.
“Five-eighths,” the Guildmaster said. And to the servants, “Unwrap those and start tallying.”
“No,” Arcolin said. The servants paused, confused. “By contract, all captured weapons belong to the Duke’s Company.”
“But you already have weapons.”
“Yes,” Arcolin said. “But by contract, those weapons, in that wagon, belong to me. And so do two of the mules and half one wagon, but I’m willing to trade that for four mules.” The Councilors sputtered. Arcolin waited a precise moment and said, “Or their value, as of today, in the horse market. We can take them down and sell them, if you like.”
“But—but—”
“It’s in the contract,” Arcolin said, sticking his thumbs through his belt and leaning back, the very picture of confidence. He had learned that pose from Kieri Phelan, and suspected Kieri had learned it from Aliam.
“You are as bad as Kieri Phelan,” the senior Councilor said.
“I take that as a compliment,” Arcolin said.
“And you have a copy of the contract and we have already certified that it is correct. Do you want half a wagon or the two extra mules?”
“Mules,” Arcolin said. “We must get off the roads to catch these brigands—and that means pack animals.”
“You killed twenty-three of them—how many do you think there are?”
“One for every one of those swords,” Arcolin said. “And your merchant said he came through twice a year, not always with the same cargo. He avoided Andressat, took what he calls the war road. You might want to consider a permanent guardpost on these lesser roads.”
“That will cost a lot,” the Councilor said. “We could hire you for that, I suppose …”
“Not all year, and that’s what you need. You can’t stop a trickle of individuals coming in—not with the forest land you’ve got—but you could stop serious supply, by blocking the roads. That will force them to come to the villages for food, and when they do that, it’ll be easier to catch them.”
“What are you going to do with all those swords? They’re not the style your people use.”
“Depends on the cost to remake them to our pattern. If that’s too expensive, I’ll sell or trade them to one of the mercenary companies that uses a similar design, or have our armorer beat the steel into lumps and sell that. The steel’s good enough; it’s not the best, but serviceable for blades or tools. What I won’t do is let them get into the hands of the brigands.”
“Our troops couldn’t use them?”
“Your troops use polearms. Their blades are daggers—daggers could be cut from these swords, I suppose, but the cost, unless you were credited with the value of the metal removed, would be high. As well, for close formation fighters—as your militia is, and as we are—the curved style of blade is not as effective. For brigands, it’s ideal, if the quality’s good enough.”
“I’m sure any of our smiths would be pleased to work with you,” the Councilor said.
“And if we have metal to sell, or need their assistance, I will certainly come here and not somewhere else,” Arcolin said, answering the unspoken intent.
Burek rode into the Merchants’ Guild court. “There you are, sir! I’m sorry to intrude, but I need your authorization—”
“If you’ll excuse me—” Arcolin bowed to the Councilor, who nodded.
“Stammel said you’d need me,” Burek said. “But I do have something for you. A packet all the way from the north.” He pulled out a leather purse and handed it over.
Arcolin untied the cord that held it closed, broke the seal and unfolded it. Inside was Kieri Phelan’s familiar handwriting. Arcolin scanned the first paragraphs, realized the letter was so densely packed with information he could not absorb it hurriedly. He glanced at the Councilors, who were obviously watching for something they could interpret, folded the letter back into its leather case, and nodded to Burek.
“You did right to bring me this. I will deal with it later; the immediate need is to secure our share of the goods seized. We have four pack mules; we will need a couple of carts just for the rest of the day.”
“Right away, sir,” Burek said. He looked at the mules, still harnessed to the wagons. “Which mules are ours?”
“The team hitched to the second wagon,” Arcolin said. He had noticed that this team worked better together than the other and seemed less skittish. They were not matched in color—two were dark, one an odd pale cream color, and the last a flea-bitten gray—but their stride length was the same. The other team, matched seal browns, were not as efficient. To the Councilors, he said, “Those four—all right?” They nodded.
Burek turned to his escort. “Those mules—we’ll be taking them.”
“But not the harness,” the Councilor said. “The animals only.”
“All accouterments attached to their bodies,” Arcolin said. “That includes harness.”
“Sir! You—” began one Councilor.
Arcolin shook his head and the man stopped. “Be glad I don’t consider the wagons accouterments attached to their bodies. The clause was written for just this situation: an animal without its saddle or harness is merely another expense.”
The senior Councilor gave a harsh bark of laughter. “He has us there—I was thinking it meant halter and lead, but the way it’s written, he’s right.”
“Go ahead,” Arcolin said to the men who had paused, watching this exchange.
“Very good sir.” The men began unhitching the mules.
“I’ll go find us carts,” Burek said.
“The far end of the market,” Arcolin said, pointing. “When I was here before, I saw a row of carters down there.”
“We use our own mules?”
“Yes. Pay the full rate, but explain we want to try out new teams. And if you find a couple of extra pack saddles at a good price, pick those up too.”
In the time it took Burek to return with word that he’d arranged carts and pack saddles, the Guildmaster had called upon two other Guild merchants to form a jury to pass judgment on the guilty merchant. They had agreed with the Guildmaster—Arcolin wondered if they ever disagreed—that the merchant had broken the code in more than one way, and deserved to be stripped of his membership. They brought out a fat book—a list of Guild members—and literally cut his name out, with a small sharp knife. Then they ripped the badge off his robe.