Chapter 4
Smooth and Loam
A messenger came to say that Lord Porthos would negotiate the loan in person. Waimbrill’s only response, his voice wavering and weak, was, “My terms of repayment have been stated. Lord Porthos can accept them or forgive the debt, as he wishes.”
On the appointed day, Waimbrill sent Terredor to gather mushrooms. The lake-dwelling Delver lad had little experience with them, so he gathered all that he could find, and Waimbrill planned to separate them into toxic and tasty later. His cleaved were restless that morning, and his appetite vanished in a sudden rush of grief. He meditated, recalling images of pebbles worn ever-smaller by the cleansing flow of his fortitude and faith. His anxiety remained, however, no matter his attempts at self-calming
Porthos arrived around noon with a retinue of attendants and armored knights. He dismounted in front of the cottage. Waimbrill came to the doorway. One of the guards stepped forward and nervously cleared his throat.
“Mortiss Waimbrill,” said the guard, his voice muffled behind a shining helm, “Lord Porthos is here to see you.”
Waimbrill said, “Captain Herwiliger, it is good to see your face again. I trust you told your lord that you and your men assisted me yesterday when my duties beckoned more forcefully than my muscles had spirit.”
“That’s wonderful,” Porthos said through gritted teeth. He had a long, thin mustache that stretched to his bushy sideburns, and his harsh features quivered with anger as he peered into the humble cottage. He turned his nose up at the dusty furniture and cobwebbed corners, then stayed in the threshold.
“Mortiss Waimbrill,” Porthos said, “I have been told you are assuming the debt of Jaxoll Delver.”
Waimbrill nodded, squeezed past Lord Porthos and walked out of the cottage to the other guards, who stood by their horses.
“There’s a stream out back,” Waimbrill told them, “The water is cool and clean.”
“Stay your posts,” Lord Porthos said, “Mortiss Waimbrill, I am a busy man. We must discuss the terms of this loan.”
“Captain Omeos,” he said, facing one of the knights, “A few days ago, your manservant Solledin suffered a great loss-“
“Silence, Mortiss!” shouted Porthos, “Come here. It is time for your first payment.”
Waimbrill said, “There is a hen out back, my lord. She shall be your first payment.”
Porthos sneered. “A hen? A hen is not worth my time to appraise.”
“A hen,” Waimbrill said, “Produces life, every day without fail if you treat her right. How much would you pay to live another day, Lord Porthos? A hen is worth that, each day of each month, and so every morn she shall give you another day of life, to use for yourself, or one in your household, or one of your subjects or prisoners, as you see fit. You are a wise lord, and I trust you will give that day of life to he who would cherish it the most. It is well-worth a slab of gold to a starving man, each day, and there are many starving men on your lands. Feed them eggs, and their joy shall be worth more than anything Jaxoll Delver would have paid you in a thousand lifetimes.”