The Legend of Telmar (The Telmar Trilogy Vol. 1)

Chapter 7--To Market, To Market

The morning dawned warm and crisp. Britta made fresh apple turnovers for breakfast. After everyone had eaten the morning meal, Taurin headed out to begin his chores, and Marven loaded the wagon with an assortment of produce and helped Melanie into the bench at the front. With a sharp whistle and a snap of the reins, they began the long trek to the marketplace.

Along the way, Melanie took note of the cottages, farms, and people she saw. There was a vegetable farm, with the beanstalks climbing up their trellises and the corn swaying gently in the summer breeze. A child romped on the lawn wearing last year's clothes and playing with the dog as his father—a potter—threw beautifully shaped vases and jars on his wheel. Once, they passed by a weaver's house so close, Melanie could see the chapped redness of her fingers as she spun the rough wool.

When they arrived at the market, however, Melanie saw little of these wares. Immediately, she was belabored with sights, smells, colors, and accents from the lands surrounding Telmar.

Archenlanders extolled the virtues of their produce, the sturdiness of their wood, and the soundness of their metal. Calormene merchants cried aloud with their praises for the many spices and jewels and fabrics. A richly dressed man contracted some business deal with a shady character in a dark corner.

Melanie watched as the produce so carefully tended by Marven and other farmers like him were submitted to the money-changers for a handful of metal tokens only half their worth. Five yards of the thick, close-knit woolen cloth suitable for the cold Nastian winter changed hands for only three yards of thin, gaudy material assured as "the latest fashion." The potter could not clothe his child, and small wonder! His carefully crafted, practical pots had not the aesthetic appeal of the brightly colored, overly ornamented vases of imitation plaster.

Marven paid most of his tokens for his new scythe-blade. Melanie followed him as he took the remainder to a small office marked Land Shares.

A wizened, crafty, oily-skinned man who smelt heavily sat at a desk in the dark room. He peered at Marven and adjusted his velvet cap before reaching across the desk for the monies Marven laid before him. The long sleeves of his ornate robe flared about his scrawny wrists as he first counted out the money and then opened a small box full of receipts. He pulled one out and looked long at it, his red tongue snaking out to lick his lips as he glanced from Marven, to the money, to the paper, and back to Marven. Finally, he set down the paper and made a few marks,

"Very well, farmer," he said in a soft, greedy voice, "your debt is nearly paid. Perhaps by next market-day you will have enough to make the last payment."

Marven first paled, then flushed as his beard bristled, a sure sign he was angry. "Now see here, Shiloq!" he struggled to keep his voice even, "I have been paying this debt all the six years since you first loaned me the money to purchase it! Surely by now I've paid what I owe three times over!"

Shiloq smiled wickedly. "Oh, but I have the amount written here." He tapped the paper, knowing full well that it was not possible for Marven to understand the writing. Melanie, however, read the figures between the greedy man's fingers.

PAID TO FARMER FOR ONE ACRE GOOD LAND—§300

Paid - §60

Paid - §130

Paid - §78

Paid - §56

Paid - §106

Paid - §40

Paid - §50

Paid - §60

Paid - §50

She made the calculations in her head. Before she realized it, she spoke aloud, "According to your records, sir, this farmer has paid more than twice what he owes."

Shiloq's mouth twisted and his eyes bulged. "An impertinent chit you have there, farmer!" he spat.

WHAM!

Marven's hand slammed on the desk as he reclaimed the money he no longer owed from the swindler. "Aye!" he shot back, "but she's smart as well, so I'll not reprimand her!" He left with his money.

Without a word he dragged Melanie through the crowd until they reached the bookseller's wagon. "Pick one," he told her. Remembering Taurin's school, Melanie selected a simple primer. Marven did not ask the price but paid the bookseller every coin in his hand.

He said nothing all during the long ride back to the farm. Melanie tried to discern his thoughts through his face, but it was frozen into a hard, indecipherable mask.

He may have forgotten her during the ride, but he did not forget his manners, stepping off the empty wagon and turning immediately to assist Melanie. Once she had alighted safely, he turned and gave a sharp whistle in the direction of the barn. "Taurin!" he barked.

The young man came running, for he expected the worst. Marven took the book from Melanie and thrust it at his son. "There! Read that and after the harvest is safely in you can have your school! I'm blasted if I don't aim to get the better of those skinflint merchants and thanks to your new friend here I see that's by reading!"

Taurin was so shocked he could only stare at the book in his hands. "Truly father?" he gasped.

"Get on with you!" Marven growled to cover the excitement he felt welling up inside him. He hid the grin playing with the corners of his mouth under a ferocious scowl. "I see I spoke to soon. Go to your woods for the rest of the day, for you'll be of no use to me now. Go!" He waved a hand at the pair, and Taurin grabbed Melanie's hand as the two took off running into the trees.

Taurin felt lighter than a feather as he ran. He was going to teach! His wildest dream was coming true! He turned to Melanie, who was running and laughing beside him. He wanted to fly like a bird, to swing like a monkey, to sing and caper among the trees he loved so much.

In time, the farmers will read, Melanie thought, and the evil merchants will no longer have a stranglehold on Nastian commerce. In time, Nastians will be able to write their own bills, and catch the swindlers at their own game!

She romped among the trees with Taurin. He ran off among the ferns until she could no longer see him. "Taurin! Wait!" she called. Melanie dove among the ferns in the direction she last saw him. "Taurin!"

"How much longer now?" 

Melanie heard the question and froze; the voice did not belong to Taurin, but it was close by.

Another voice replied, "Should be soon."

Stealthily, she crept toward the voice until she pulled back a fern and saw the backs of two men waiting in the foliage.

One of them turned his head, and Melanie choked back a cry. It was the dark man from the corner, the one who had made some deal with the rich man! Melanie wondered if this was the "deal" the dark man had made. She crept backwards silently. A hand clapped over her mouth, and she jerked around to face Taurin. He had seen the men, too.

"Whom are they waiting for?" Melanie whispered.

In answer, hoof-beats clattered on the road through the woods. Taurin pointed as a rich carriage pulled into view. "Lord Fausberg!" he breathed.

Quite suddenly, Melanie knew exactly what she must do. She slithered precisely through the ferns. She heard Taurin whisper, "Melanie! Where are you going?" She did not heed him. She kept low until she reached the first horse pulling the carriage. One slight tug of its bridle stopped it long enough for Melanie to open the carriage door. A small, thin man with kind eyes and short grey hair and whiskers blinked at her.

"Please, Milord, there are men lying in wait to—"

"Hiyaa!" The assailants leapt out of hiding, but stopped short as Taurin stood from among the ferns and yelled, "Stop!" The foot soldiers leapt from their perches on the carriage and prepared to defend their master. In the confusion, one of them stumbled against the door of the carriage, knocking Melanie off-balance. With a cry, she tumbled backwards off the edge of the road and into the pool below.