“Oh?”
“Used to be, merchants like you would come to ask all the time. You want to know how the church here fares, yes? Seems it's not| bringing people in the way it used to. Guess God needs more propaganda.”
There was a saying in business: “Look at the feet.” It meant looking at your opponent to understand not just his weaknesses, but his entire situation.
And on that count, who better to look at the feet than the beggars who spent their days lying in the street, looking at the feet of all who passed by?
Occasionally, such beggars would be expelled en masse from a town because those in power were afraid of how much knowledge the beggars had of their coffers.
“I’ve been to many towns in this area, but the church here is the best. They may not give out huge amounts of bread or beans, but the quality is always good. Although...”
“Although?” repeated Lawrence back to the man.
The man closed his mouth and scratched his cheek.
There was a hierarchy among beggars. Those closer to the church entrance, where it was easier to solicit, had more complete information.
Lawrence took two cheap copper coins out and handed them over to the beggar.
The beggar chuckled. “Although—the bishop scatters more money about the town than he does bread among the beggars.”
“How can you tell?”
"Oh, I can tell. When a splendid carriage that has its own escort to drive away beggars like me drives up, I can tell. And it’s plain as day what kind of dinner was served from the garbage they throw away. And looking at how many cocky men about town come to that dinner, I can tell how important the guest was. Impressive, is it not?”
People in power did not hold grand dinners without motivation to do so. Since they evidently had a business based on buying statues from Eve, then consecrating and selling them for far more money, such dinners had to be political in nature—nothing less than an investment.
So while it still wasn’t clear what the Church was trying to achieve, given this information, Lawrence now saw that it wielded power within the Council of Fifty.
And yet, thought Lawrence to himself as he regarded the beggar.
When a town was invaded in times of war, he could see why it was always the beggars who were first put to the spear.
Each and every one of them was like a spy.
"Could you not use your insight to raise your position in society?" asked Lawrence in spite of himself.
The man shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you, pal? God said, 'Blessed are the poor,’ didn’t he? Do you get a warm, happy feeling in your gut from just a piece of crusty black bread and two copper coins?” The man stared hard at Lawrence. “I know I do" Not all wise men wrapped themselves in leather coats. Lawrence had the feeling that this man was a better embodiment of God’s teachings than anybody within the church next to which he begged.
“Anyway, so I don’t know what it is you’re planning,” continued the beggar, “but if you try to deal with this church, they’ll just hang you out to dry. I only know one merchant who worked with them for a long time, and even he wound up screaming at them in that hoarse voice of his.”
Lawrence knew immediately who the beggar was talking about. “The statue dealer?” he asked.
“Statues? Ah yeah, I guess he did haul some of those. He a friend of yours?”
“Sort of. So...did he deal in anything else?” There hadn’t been any talk of side businesses, but merchants frequently packed smaller items in between their main cargo.
That was Lawrence’s thinking, but the beggar’s answer made his eyes widen in surprise.
“I thought for certain he was a salt merchant. Wasn’t he?"
If Lawrence had been asked to name three particularly heavy goods to haul, he would have been able to do it instantly—stones for masonry, alum for dying clothes, and salt as a food preservative.
All of them were ill suited to running as a small sideline. Excited, Lawrence pressed the man. “Why would you think that?”
“Whoa, easy there, friend. Is he some kind of rival? I don't want to get in trouble just because you asked me some questions," said the man, pulling away and looking at Lawrence dubiously.
“Sorry,” said Lawrence, returning to himself. “He’s not a rival. He’s someone I’m going into business with myself.”
"...Ah, so you’re looking for scraps from his background, eh? Well, you look like a good sort. I suppose you wouldn’t tell an out-and-out lie. Sure, I’ll tell you.”
Lawrence, like any merchant, wasn’t sure whether he was happy about being told he looked like a good person.
On one hand, it was good that people would let their guard down around him, but it might also keep them from taking him seriously.
The beggar cackled. “Oh, I only meant that there are plenty of merchants who try to use us, but most of them think they’re better than us. And even fewer spare me any admiration for my words.
That’s all I meant.”
Lawrence was so flustered by this that he almost told the beggar that flattery wouldn’t gain him any more coin.
“Ah, but anyway, it’s a simple thing,” said the beggar. “Sometimes when that merchant would visit the church, salt would fall from between the cracks of his cargo. I would have been able to tell from the smell if it had been salt used for packing fish or meat— it would’ve made a fine addition to some liquor. But as salt goes, it tasted poorly. That’s why I made him as a salt merchant.”
The farther inland one moved, the more precious salt became, Eve had said she brought statues in from a town that faced the western sea.
It would be an easy matter to pack sea salt in the same boxes that carried the statues.
Or she might have been smuggling it in.
If she had been trading with the church for a long time, they might have eased up their inspections of her cargo as a perk.
"So that’s how it is. Anything else you want to know?”
It wasn’t just that the beggar had given him useful information; his prone, dirty form had a strange dignity to it.
But Lawrence had heard everything he needed to hear. “You’ve given me the secret to living a happy life. That’s more than enough.”
It seemed there really were gold nuggets to be found by the roadside.
It appeared that Eve had indeed conducted deals with the Church.
And Lawrence now knew that the bishop was throwing money around the town in order to accomplish some kind of political goal.
If that was the case, it was hardly strange that she would be prepared to risk some blame and make some money. After the statues were cheaply bought and blessed, it was the selling of them so dear that had charm, no doubt.
But if that was so, something was strange.
The statue transactions were a stable source of income –would they be ruined with but a single stumble? Did the Church simply not take Eve seriously, or had they created a distribution system that let them procure the statues themselves?
Eve had simply decided to leave the town for good, but she seemed to not have fully abandoned the possibility that the deal could be restarted the following year, which struck Lawrence as awfully gracious indeed.
According to the beggar, Eve had quarreled with the church so fiercely that her shouting voice could be heard outside the building. Yet none of this was of enough importance to justify parting with such anger. Sometimes doing business meant winding up with worthless stock or having business partners turn their backs on you. It was hardly rare.
Naturally such things were upsetting, and the deeper your trust, the stronger the feeling of betrayal. But Eve had not struck Lawrence as so young a merchant that she would think shouting would change the situation.
Did the Church know that Eve was nobility, albeit fallen nobility?
She had said that there was a trading firm in the town that knew about her noble background.
The Church had information-gathering prow
ess that would put any trading firm to shame—it had to know.
It was incomprehensible that the same bishop who invited moneyed nobility from all over to lavish dinners would discard Eve, who was herself nobility. She could be useful for any number of things.
Or had her usefulness disappeared?
Was that why she offered to bring Lawrence, a merchant she had I just happened to meet, in on a deal worth thousands of silver pieces?
Was it out of desperation? Or was she trying to recover? It couldn’t have been just a passing tip. The amount was far too high.
Was he over thinking things to wonder if she had a motive beyond simple profit?
But even if she was trying to lure Lawrence into a trap, there were only a few choices.
She could run off with the goods once Lawrence had fronted the money or kill Lawrence midway through the export or possibly make a secret deal with the trade firm to sell Holo off, then pretend nothing had happened.
Yet none of these seemed likely.
The deal Eve had proposed was entirely legal (save for her passing off Holo as a relative of her noble house), so the contents of it would be declared before a public witness and Lawrence would have a copy. If he was to send this to a trading firm in some other own, his opponent would be unable to make any careless moves. As long as a third party had a careful record of all of Lawrence’s actions, none of these plans would be easy for her to put into action.
Moreover, Lawrence didn’t expect that Eve took him so lightly as to think such simple schemes would work against him.
Perhaps she really wasn’t planning anything.
All deals lay somewhere in the gap between trust and suspicion.
He was far from trusting her, but he would only be able to investigate for so long before the deal became impossible.
He would have to decide.
Lawrence mulled it over as he made for the Beast and Fish Tail.
If the Council of Fifty had reached a decision, which seemed to be an open secret now, he expected there would be new information circulating.
When he reached the tavern, it was completely empty; not a single person was to be found inside. Walking down the alley that ran to the rear of the building, he found the barmaid washing a large basin that looked as though it was used to hold wine.
“Goodness, you’re here early,” she said.
“I must assume it’s the cold wash water making you pull such a face.”
“Oh, aye, and it’s on that account I may be a bit cold myself," she said with a smile, putting down the balled-up length of hempen cloth she was using to wash the basin. “How many merchant do you suppose have come to speak with me?”
All of them desperate for profit, no doubt.
Lawrence didn’t know how many merchants within the town were trying to stake a claim in the fur trade, but Eve seemed to believe that she and Lawrence could make a profit. He wondered if that was really true. It was another thing that worried him.
“Can you not imagine that your beauty was their aim?" asked Lawrence.
The barmaid giggled. “Smiles are gold, words silver. How many boorish louts do you suppose offered copper coins?”
It couldn’t have been too many yet more than a few, no doubt.
“I’ll admit I’ve come to ask some rather boorish things myself.”
“I’ve no doubt of that. Owe a merchant a favor, and he’ll always come to collect. So, what is it you want to know?” Apparently she had put down the cloth not to talk to Lawrence, but rather to empty the basin of its water. She tilted the basin, which was big enough for Holo to curl up inside when lain flat, and poured its contents onto the ground.
“It’s about the Council of Fifty,” said Lawrence plainly. If he’d delivered a pick-up line so flatly, he could have gotten his tail kicked and had no call to complain.
But the barmaid only shrugged and smiled. “I hear they’ve come to a conclusion. They say they’re going to allow fur sales but not on credit.”
It was exactly what Eve had said.
Just as Lawrence considered how to value this information, the girl swept the grape-tailings into a corner with her foot and continued. “Customers were asking me about it all last night. Honestly, one or two of them could’ve at least brought me a love letter.” Lawrence considered this new datum while skillfully replying, "A contract is a merchant’s only love letter.”
"Ah, ’tis true that loving and being loved is not enough to fill one's belly,” said the barmaid. “Hmm,” she added uncertainly, then smiled grandly, as if to add, “Though for a woman, that’s not really true.
Lawrence smiled ruefully, but he knew that if he was to go along with her game, he would be no better than her drunken patrons. “Though for my part all I need is but a glance, and I’m satisfied. I feel as though I should thank you for the meal!”
The barmaid was stunned for a moment, then smacked
Lawrence playfully with her hand, which was red from her kitchen chores. “Sir, you are unfair! That was what I was going to say!”
Lawrence laughed, but his mind was keen and focused.
It struck him as strange that since last night so many merchants had come here to confirm their information with this girl. Assuming the information had leaked to them via a colleague, there shouldn’t be any need to go talk to some tavern’s barmaid to confirm the story.
And from whose mouth was she hearing the latest news anyway?
Perhaps most of her knowledge could be inferred from the information that merchants inadvertently let slip as they asked her questions.
“Were most of the people that came to ask you questions frequent customers?”
“Huh? Frequent?” The girl wrung water out of the washcloth. Lawrence wondered if her hands hurt, given the cold water and chilly weather. She frowned and exhaled, her breath visible. "I guess I’d say it’s been about half regulars and half not. Only..."
"...Only?”
The girl looked around furtively, then lowered her voice and continued. “Only a lot of the new customers have been rather careless. You’re the only one among them who’s asked proper questions.”
“Oh, come now,” replied Lawrence with his merchant’s smile.
“I won’t tell them a thing when they’re like that. Foreign merchants may have sharp ears, but they’ve also loose tongues. They'll come in and just blurt out, ‘So I hear fur buying is going to be cash only, is that true?’ It’s absurd!”
“They’re failures as merchants,” Lawrence said with a chuckle, but internally he was far from calm.
If all merchants were so foolish, business would be easier than it was.
And it certainly wasn’t the case that only foreign merchants made such mistakes. Of course, the citizens of a town tended to believe that the people who called it home were the smartest and best, but that was nothing more than a widely held illusion.
So what was their goal?
Perhaps the foreign merchants were talking so freely of the council’s decision as a signal to show that they had that information in an effort to disturb and intimidate the local merchants. Or perhaps it was a tactic on the part of moneylenders and changers to temporarily drive the value of currency up in anticipation of cash-only fur transactions.
But the foreign merchants had nothing to gain from spreading fake information, so whatever their goal, the meeting result that Eve had spoken of was probably true.
If the group of merchants outside the town were all acting out of their own personal self-interests, then they might be trying to create confusion in order to lure other parties away from the truth. In that case, though, Lawrence would expect there to be more than one story about the council’s decision circulating.
Likewise, the town insiders and those close to them would know the truth firsthand, so it seemed unlikely that the foreign merchants were trying to create a disturbance within the town.
Eve had said she’d heard the news from sources within the Church.
W
hether or not that was true, Lawrence might learn something here that would help him divine something from it.
"By the way,” he started.
"Yes?”
"I’d like to ask about the church here—" said Lawrence.
"Uh, please lower your voice,” interrupted the girl, her face suddenly stiff, grabbing his arm and pushing him through the barely opened back door of the tavern.
She then peered through the cracked door to make sure no one had seen them.
Just as Lawrence was wondering what was going on, she turned to face him. “If you’re asking about the church, you must have heard at least a bit already.”
“Well, I suppose..”
“Take my advice, you shouldn’t get involved.”
The barmaid’s expression was so serious there in the cramped back hall of the empty bar that he felt the mask of his coolheaded merchant’s face slipping, but Lawrence quickly recovered and and responded.
“So there is a power struggle, isn’t there?”
If the girl hadn’t had acting ability to rival Holo’s, Lawrence would have known for sure he’d been dead-on.
“We serve uncommon dishes here, so we’re one of the places that cater the church’s dinners.”
This corroborated the beggar’s tale, and this was one of the few shops from which the church could order any meat dish they wished.
The girl scratched her head, sighing uncomfortably. "I don't know all the details, but it seems they’re inviting powerful figures from all over. Once we were up for two nights straight cooking for some Church bigwig who’d come from far away.”
A distant Church dignitary.
If this was a power struggle, Lawrence knew all too well what it pointed to.
The conversation was taking a strange turn.
“So they’re solidifying their power base,” said Lawrence.
“Yes. And they’ve been very careful about their reputation, like it’s clay that hasn’t dried yet. They give generously to the poor, but whence comes their money, no one knows. So there’s no telling what might happen to whoever says anything. Everyone whispers to each other about how if the Church’s eye falls upon them, they won’t be able to stay in the city.”