The jeweler's face became bleak with disappointment. "I'm sorry, too. I had hoped you wouldn't confirm the bad news that just reached me—but you have. I've lost a great deal on this trading of notes if nothing comes through."
Kris leaned back in his chair and eyed the little jeweler with what he hoped was an expression of deep sympathy. "It's a nasty situation. But save your notes, Venk peDor. When I speak to the Council again, I may be able to convince them that they should go against the Earthmen's wishes. If so—and I see no reason why I should fail—you may redeem your notes with me."
"I see," said the merchant, making an ineffectual attempt to conceal his astonishment. "Very well, then." He bowed politely and left.
Kris chuckled warmly when the jeweler departed. A big lie, he thought happily, is always worth a dozen little ones. If it's implausible enough, they'll always swallow it.
Four more merchants swallowed it before Kris was finished for the day. Again, word began to travel through the city. Gradually, people were getting the idea Kris wanted to impart—that he was a powerful man who could swing the currents of currency virtually at a whim.
By nightfall, he was ready. If everything had worked out right, Dran peDran should have started his riot by now.
Chapter VII
The warehouse of Nibro peDom Lokness, owner of the Tammulcor Baker's Merchandisery and leader of the Baker's Guild, was an imposing building at the upriver end of town. As Kris peKym rounded the corner that led to the warehouse, he saw there already was a mob of rioters on the scene. Flickering torches cast a red gleam over the building's walls, and angry shouts arose.
"Where's Nibro peDom? We want bread!"
"We want bread!" "Bread!"
Kris slipped into the shadows and watched as the rioters hurled stones and imprecations at the massive Warehouse. The sides of the building were beginning to blacken with smoke. Tension was accumulating in the hungry mob.
He nodded to himself. Tension. That was the key: set men in conflict, draw the net of tension around them, tighten. They react blindly. They can be led. They can be manipulated. Coolly, levelly, Kris peKym calculated the dynamics of the mob before him, and wondered if Nibro peDom would make his appearance before the anger of the mob surged over and caused the destruction of the warehouse. He hoped so.
Nibro peDom did not disappoint him. He appeared suddenly at the door of the beleaguered warehouse, with three Peacemen standing at his side.
"What's the trouble here?" the bread merchant demanded, in an angry voice. Nibro peDom was wealthy-looking, sleek and well-fed, and he did not seem to be afraid of the mob.
"Give us bread!" someone shouted.
"Bread?" Nibro peDom asked. "You want bread?" He shrugged. "Bread costs money to produce, my friends. Give me money, and I will give you bread."
"All we have is Dimay money!"
"Worthless," Nibro peDom replied. "Mere paper. Eat that, if you like."
"But you took Dimay money last week," roared a burly man in the front who had appointed himself spokesman.
"That was last week," the merchant said evenly. "Last week, the stranger Kris peKym Yorgen was redeeming Dimay money. This week he refuses. Dimay money is worthless!"
"If you won't give us bread, we'll take it!" yelled a high-pitched voice. "Let's break in!"
The crowd began to surge forward uncertainly. Kris waited just a moment, until they had a reasonable chance to approach Nibro peDom, and then leaped out of hiding and stepped between the merchant and the mob.
They kept coming. The big man who had been spokesman barreled into him, and Kris hurled him back against a mass of shadowy bodies. Someone's fist struck him heavily; he grunted and returned the blow. The Peacemen behind him waded into the mob as well. Kris ducked under them and jumped up on the steps of the warehouse, next to Nibro peDom.
"Hold everything!" he roared, in a voice that could be heard blocks away. "Stop fighting!"
"It's Kris peKym," someone's astonished voice said.
"Yes! It's Kris peKym." He held up his hand for quiet, and gradually the threshing mob settled into an uneasy calm.
"What's the trouble here?" Kris asked, turning to the bread merchant.
"These people want bread," Nibro peDom said. "And they offer Dimay money for it."
"So? What's wrong with Dimay money?"
"Nothing backs it," Nibro peDom said.
Kris laughed and turned to face the mob again. "This breadman says he won't take your money. All right; there are other bread merchants. Go somewhere else. But tomorrow, when you come to my office— I'll redeem your Dimay money again!"
An audible gasp swept through the mob. Kris glanced at Nibro peDom again. The merchant suddenly looked terribly flustered and confused. He stepped close to Kris, and whispered a few words in his ear.
Kris turned to the mob once again. "All right, Nibro peDom says he'll sell you bread—tonight!"
A roar of enthusiastic approval went up from the crowd. Kris smiled in satisfaction and whispered to Nibro peDom, "You can exchange your money tomorrow at my place —if you want to."
As he had assumed, only a few people showed up the next day, and none of them were there to ask for money. They were merchants. Among them was the baker, Nibro peDom Lokness.
There were eight of them, ringing themselves in a little semicircle around Kris' desk. They tried to look grim, although their faces betrayed more puzzlement and consternation than anything else.
Nibro peDom stepped forward to act as spokesman. He maintained a stern expression as he spoke, but there was respect in his voice, and he used the proper form of address to a superior.
"Old One, we have come to ask what is being done about the state of the moneys of Dimay. We have asked our priests, and they tell us nothing. You seem to know, so we come to you."
"Sit down, my friends," Kris said smoothly. "Care for some beer?"
The businessmen arranged themselves uneasily in the chairs against the wall while Kris brought each of them a foaming mug of brew.
When they had each taken a thirst-whetting sip, Kris leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. "Can I trust you gentlemen?"
They glanced at each other, and then all eyes focused on Nibro peDom. The baker said; "You can trust us."
Kris opened a drawer of his desk and took from it two books—the Scripture and the Law. They were bound together, as was customary, by a cooper band.
"I must ask each of you to give his word, bound by a promise to the Great Light, that you will not reveal to anyone else what I tell you today."
Make it impressive, he thought. The more impressive it is, the deeper it'll sink in.
He held out the book. After a moment's hesitation, Nibro the Baker took the double volume and held it to his forehead.
"May the Great Light witness that I, Nibro peDom of the Clan Lokness, give my word that whatever is told me in this room will never pass my lips unless I am released from my oath by him who tells me."
Solemnly, each of the others went through the same rite.
When they had finished, Kris said: "The truth is this: The Earthmen have brought destruction upon Nidor. It is they who control our destiny—and the Council of Elders is powerless. If we are to return to the Way of our Ancestors, we must thrust out the Earthmen."
Nibro peDom slapped his hand to his leg. "That's exactly what I've thought all along! I've ... I've been afraid to voice it openly, but—"
One of the other merchants rose. "I'll wager the Council wants to replace the stolen money, but the Earthmen won't let them!"