Perhaps this was why the baskets of the Mettai woman caught his eye. Torgan knew quality when he saw it. He also knew a skilled trader when he watched one at work. And however well Y'Farl thought he had done in buying the woman's remaining wares-and from the smug look on the Y'Qatt's face as he watched the woman leave the marketplace, it seemed clear that he thought he had done very well indeed-Torgan knew better.
He liked the clarity of the marketplace, the simplicity of the game. Everyone there was interested in the same thing: gaining the most from the exchange of goods and gold. Whether buying or selling, a person wanted to feel that they had done well. A buyer wanted to get the best product for the least amount of money; the seller wanted to turn the greatest profit possible. So simple. And yet, there were so many ways to achieve those ends. That was what fascinated him, what made the marketplace more than just his place of business. It was also his source of entertainment. He had been known to spend an entire day just watching others buy and sell. For Torgan it was much like watching a battle tournament, a contest between combatants of various skill levels. Actually it was better than a battle tournament, since he found watching swordplay dreadfully boring.
Y'Farl had always struck him as a competent merchant. Not the best by any means, but skilled enough to have made a living at it for several years. On this day, however, he'd met his match, and then some, in the old woman. Whatever terms they had come to had pleased Y'Farl. That much was clear. Yet, the woman had been delighted as well. Torgan was sure of it. He'd watched too many merchants and peddlers at work for too many years to be mistaken about such a thing. She'd gotten what she wanted and had managed to convince Y'Farl that he had done well. Only a skilled trader could do that. Yet, with all the different places he had visited in the Southlands, he couldn't recall ever seeing this woman before. Nor had he seen baskets of this quality, at least not for many years. It was all too curious for him to ignore.
He sauntered over to Y'Farl's table. The Y'Qatt was moving his new baskets around, trying to arrange them to best effect. Hearing Torgan's approach, he looked up. His expression darkened.
"Torgan Plye."
"Good day, Y'Farl. Feeling pleased with yourself?"
"If you must know, I am." He gestured at the baskets. "I got all these for twelve sovereigns-I'll sell them for at least twice that much."
"You seem quite sure of yourself."
"Look at them. Finest baskets I've seen here in the Neck. Ever. Even you'd be proud to sell them."
Torgan picked one up and turned it over in his hands. He'd looked at them earlier, during the morning, when so many had pressed around her blankets, eager for a look at the wares of this newcomer to the C'Bijor's Neck marketplace. He'd been struck then by how fine they were- the coloring was even and vivid, but clearly done with dyes rather than magic. The weaving was meticulous and neat, the osiers and grasses strong and free from any fraying. But now that he knew how little the woman had gotten for them he wanted to see them again. Perhaps he'd missed something before.
Even on second examination, though, they looked to be as finely made as any baskets he'd found in this part of the Southlands. The Qirsi of B'Qahr were excellent weavers as well, and their work might have been somewhat better than this. But not much.
"Well?" Y'Farl asked, sounding just a bit too smug.
Torgan returned the basket to the Y'Qatt's table. "You're right. She makes lovely baskets."
"Perhaps you'd like to buy them."
"Perhaps I would."
"Thirty sovereigns."
Torgan laughed. "Thirty? Just a moment ago you were talking about doubling your money. Now you want to nearly triple it."
"That's not nearly triple."
"It's too much."
Y'Farl sniffed. "I don't think so."
"She sold them for two each."
"She didn't know what she was doing."
Again Torgan laughed. "She knew better than you did."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Never mind, Y'Farl." He started to walk away. "Good luck selling your baskets."
"Wait a moment, Torgan," the Y'Qatt said, hurrying after him and grabbing his arm. "I want to know what you meant."
Torgan looked down at the man's hand and then at his face.
Y'Farl colored and let go of him. Torgan was a big man. At this point in his life some might have called him fat, though not to his face. And they might have been right. But he was broad as well, and still strong. Strong enough, certainly, to take on a Qirsi, particularly one who didn't use magic.
"Please," the Y'Qatt added, rather meekly. "You seem to think that she got the better of me. I'd like to know how. You see these baskets. You know their worth, and what I paid. How can she have bested me?"
"To be honest, Y'Farl, I don't know. I'm wondering that myself. Maybe she was more foolish than I believed, and didn't know what her baskets were worth. Maybe she's mad-an old woman like that, anything is possible. But she walked away from here feeling pleased with herself, every bit as pleased as you were."
"How can you know that?"
He opened his hands and smiled. "It's my business to know. It's why I've done so well over the years."
"Then she must have been mad. I know quality when I see it, and those baskets are worth every sovereign I paid for them, and then some."
Torgan said nothing. He didn't have to. Y'Farl was doing his work for him. Worth every sovereign I paid for them… A moment before he'd been asking for thirty. Now he was trying to justify the twelve he'd spent.
The Y'Qatt wandered back to his table and picked up one of the baskets, no doubt seeking reassurance.
"Look at this weaving," he said. "Look at these colors. Of course she was "You're probably right," Torgan said with an easy smile. He returned to his cart and began to neaten his piles of cloth, and straighten the rows of M'Saaren wood planes and Naqbae leather.
Y'Farl managed to wait at least a few minutes before strolling over. He tried to look unconcerned as he stood there glancing at the cloth, but Torgan wasn't fooled.
"So, are you interested?" the man finally asked.
"In what?" Torgan asked. He knew he was being cruel, but he couldn't help himself.
"In the baskets, of course!"
"Oh, right." He frowned and shook his head. "Not really. Not at thirty."
"I was kidding about that. They're not worth thirty."
Torgan eyed him. "Oh? What are they worth?"
Y'Farl's face fell. Clearly, he knew that he had placed himself in a weak position. Now he had to name a price that was high enough to leave some room for negotiation. But he'd already admitted that thirty was too high.
"I… I don't know," he said. "What do you think they're worth?" "You paid twelve."
The Y'Qatt scowled at him. "You can't expect me to let them go for the same price. I'll do far better than that selling them here."
"You're still sure of that."
"Yes, of course. Twenty-five. They're worth twenty-five." "Fifteen."
"You want them for twenty," Y'Farl said.
"I want them for fifteen."
"Yes, yes. That's what you say. But you want me to split the difference. I won't. Twenty-two. That's final."
Torgan shrugged. "That's too high." He turned his back, pulled a few more bolts of cloth from the back of his cart, and laid them out for display. Y'Farl hadn't moved. "Was there something else you wanted?"
Y'Farl blinked. "Aren't you going to make another offer?"
"I offered fifteen."
"But surely that's not-"
"You think they're worth twenty-two, Y'Farl. At least you do now. But the woman couldn't sell them at two apiece, though she tried for the entire morning. I think that's why she was so pleased. Because she knew she couldn't sell any more of them here, but you didn't. Now you're stuck with ten of them. You want me to save you from your own misjudgment, but I won't do it. You bought them. You sell them." He walked around to the other side of the cart, ostensibly to check on his horse. Mostly, he wanted Y'Farl to think that he was done with their bargaining.