Harbend noted how Arthur hardly gave the shining streets a look before climbing their coach, and realized Arthur had once again sunken into the peculiar apathy he displayed from time to time.
Sighing, Harbend shrugged. Now he might become a lucky merchant. He'd managed to get over two parts of a hundredth more in commission than most did, and Arthur's cargo represented a substantially greater gross value than anything Harbend had seen an outworlder bring in earlier. Arthur might be a strange one, but if he was worth half again as much as any other trader, why bother?
He joined Arthur and they were on their way.
In early daylight one strange aspect of Verd became almost painfully clear, literally so. All streets as well as the foundations of most buildings shone as if an army of cleaners had gone over them with water and brushes the previous night. Still he knew nothing of the kind had happened, and he'd grown accustomed to the powerful, yet muted magic making this impossibility of a city work.
All the dirt and offal produced by far more than half a million people living here vanished nightly and reappeared on fields almost a day's ride from the city. It was the same with water. It just arrived, and the city cisterns were always full with clean water. By now he also accepted that the outworlders took most of it for granted, but at least the shining streets usually caught their attention.
They crossed a large square and he nudged Arthur to attention. Here was a sight worth seeing.
***
Arthur shook himself from his thoughts when he felt several tugs on his sleeve and looked up.
What now? Oh, oh.
A huge, open space crowded with birds, humans and wagons all on their separate business.
Now there's an opening shot. By God, what is that?
A dreamlike castle, not as overbearing as the hotel, but far, far larger. Rising, never ending, climbing on itself into heaven. Soaring as if alive.
A skyscraper, but beautiful. How the hell did they build that thing? It should fall in on itself.
Walls like silver and gold, supporting spires so thin they were balancing like a tightrope walker. Two great wings stretched sideways trying to embrace the square, and sunlight playing on their roofs, each reflection depicting a scene from myth or legend.
Give me a fly cam to the left and one right above us. Holo scanners need bloody fliers to ring it! Damn if I'm sure the scanners could take it all. It's so big, and it's changing. One episode, or two if I stretch it.
"What is that?" Arthur asked awestruck.
"That is Ming Hjil de Verd, loosely the emperor's Verd in your language."
Arthur nodded.
"Once it served as the imperial castle but today it serves the Council of Twelve."
"Your local administration?" Arthur asked without turning his attention from the view.
"Well, not mine," Harbend answered with a chuckle, "but yes, I guess you could call it that. In the left wing you will find the library, the largest in the known world containing almost half a million volumes of all kinds. It is the pride of Keen. Even those who work in other fields of fine art admit that."
Arthur sighed.
So beautiful. I didn't know a building could be alive like that.
The coach crossed the square, passing by peddlers and farmers selling their wares from carts; each salesman loudly announcing the excellence of what he or she had to offer, and some of them caring for the occasional customer. And there were children, hordes of children, walking, running, playing or being carried by parents.
He turned his attention to the castle again. The roofs covering the magnificent building weren't tiled but rather a continuation of the walls curving to cover the interior. As they neared the end of the square the wonder changed again, gold turning to glimmering red and all silver transforming into an ocean of blue. Then a cloud of flying pigeons obscured his sight and they were once again riding down a wide street.
"That was, that was beautiful!"
"There is some great magic in this place," Harbend agreed. "We are soon at our destination. I shall introduce you as my client. A chair is waiting for you. Please stay seated until I call you."
Arthur nodded.
"Each trader shall display a sample of their wares, one at a time and apart from the local merchants you saw when you first arrived there shall be others," Harbend continued, and Arthur nodded understanding again. "You, however should act as if you have brought all of your wares here as you have nothing stored elsewhere. Most of the local merchants present shall be agents representing houses who did not get a permit to represent one of you directly."
"Permit?" Arthur asked.
"Yes, you arrive sixteen at a time once every three eightdays and there are more merchants who want to represent one of you directly than that number."
"Uh um," Arthur said when Harbend fell silent and only the rumbling of the wheels disturbed the peace. "I'm familiar with your week being eight days long."
"Good," Harbend said approvingly. "One eightday before a group of your kind arrive there is a lottery held in the trade hall and sixteen names are drawn. Exceptions are made whenever one of you requests to be represented by someone special."
It made sense. Arthur knew only a couple of hundred traders made the journey here each year, and from what he had learned almost all participants involved in the business parted ways very satisfied with what they had gained.
Metal was scarcer here than in Terran space, or at least less available, but precious stones more plentiful. Simple things as clothes, weapons and art the traders brought back to Earth and sold for outrageous prices constituted another source for profit, yet another way to keep up the charade of adventuring gold diggers. In reality most of the Terran traders had to be spies waiting for the day Otherworld was ready for business on a scale the inhabitants here probably were unable to grasp.
The price Harbend indicated concerning the gold, silver and platinum came as a great surprise though. To Arthur that was proof the traders he paid for information were less than honest about how much extra they made from trading precious metals in addition to the more mundane metals that were the base for the trade. More than a little extra lining their pockets, he guessed, and why not. How else to convince anyone to accept the sometimes year long round trip time over and over again.
Memories of a different kind stirred in his mind. "You, know, on our way here I saw something that got me worried."
"Yes?"
I know you lack a lot we take for granted, but I didn't think you starved."
Harbend turned. "Starve? No that was a very long time ago. At least here. The midlands, Chach and Wherdin most often, is where you may see famine."
"Strange, I saw several people, mostly..." Arthur frowned. "No, all women with swollen stomachs."
Harbend laughed back. "All you first comers say the same thing. Pregnancy. You are familiar with the concept? Giving birth."
"But, but... oh," Arthur nodded to himself. Then the full horror struck him. "But that's..."
"Barbaric, yes I know you think so," Harbend filled in. "We do it the way the gods meant. Please accept that your way is foreign to us, foreign and awful. We grow vegetables the way you grow children."
Arthur shook his head. He should have known. Otherworld lacked the knowledge to save women from the atrocity of childbearing. Probably lacked the means to regenerate limbs lost to accidents as well. Arthur thought of other horrors anyone living here had to accept. Uninvited plans for several seasons worth of Otherworld Disclosed came to him, but that was another life, one he had given up.
Their coach stopped, and the doors opened. This time Arthur had time to see the back of the man bringing the wooden block of stairs. Arthur climbed out relieved one small mystery was explained. He stood still to make way for two middle-aged women occupied in agitated conversation before examining the building they'd arrived at. The wall and stairs facing him belonged to a construction far older than the hotel where he lived. It seemed to be taken care of with great love and the entire whitewashed facade was spotlessly clean. Just like the streets.
They entered and arrived in a great hall sparsely lit and somewhat gloomy. Windows much narrower than in his suite. Two chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and several lamps fastened to the walls added some light to the hall. The walls weren't painted. Age had worn them to a dark, brown tan as it had with the two rows of benches lining the walls on each side of him.
At the end of the hall Arthur saw several chairs of a much more recent date. He counted. Sixteen, of course.
The floor was separated into two sections with the one closest to the entrance a gray stone and the other wood so old it was worn to an almost papery white. Above the benches symbols wrought from metal covered the walls from the level of his height and almost all the way to the ceiling some six meters up.
The very air smelled of ancient history and he could almost taste the endless years of gatherings here. He wondered what it had been used for before space ships had disturbed their world.
Trade, understanding slowly told him. We're merely new trading partners to them. They must have conducted business here when slaves were brought to Rome in chains.
Almost reluctantly he was filled with respect for an ancient culture with its own splendor, the second reminder in just one morning.
"I guess we're early," he said when he found his voice again.
Harbend didn't answer. He just pointed at one of the chairs and chose a place on the right hand bench for himself.
Having nothing better to do Arthur went to the appointed chair hearing the sound of his steps change as he left stone behind him and entered wood. He sat down facing the entrance, and watched how in ones, twos and threes people entered the hall, a few coming for the chairs but most taking a seat on one of the two rows of benches.
As the hall filled, the noise of people talking to each other became louder, bouncing between the walls and making it all but impossible to pick out any single conversation. Only the traders from Earth were eerily silent, as if too busy taking in what was happening around them or too aware of being part of an exhibition, sitting as if on display like pieces in a museum. Now that's an amusing comparison.
When all sixteen chairs were taken, and with only a few places left on the benches, the noise subsided, and the men and women on the benches turning their faces to the entrance as if waiting for someone to enter. Eventually it turned out it wasn't someone but rather a group of four. All wore plain black robes, but with them standing there, light from the entrance in their backs he couldn't make out any more details.
Slowly striding further into the hall they became individuals with distinguishable features rather than dark silhouettes. To the leftmost a stocky, middle aged woman with streaks of gray in her hair, yellow jacket and white skirt hidden under her robes. Next an old man, still tall and unbent, almost bald with a long, white beard and yellow silk showing from time to time as his robes moved. Then two more women, twins Arthur guessed. They would have been in their early hundreds on Earth but he guessed they were at least fifty years younger with the level of medical knowledge available here.
When the quartet reached the center of the hall they halted, backs to each other so every person seated would face at least one of them.
The old man slowly spoke in the local tongue, so slowly and clearly Arthur picked up a word now and then. The merchants on the benches murmured in response and Arthur could hear from the cadence that it was a well rehearsed ceremony. It came to an end with four boys carrying chairs which they placed within a hands grasp of the group in the center of the hall, and each of them grabbed a chair and sat down, still facing in the same direction as before.
One of the twins bowed, clearly indicating one seated merchant, and Arthur saw a young man in red and blue rising to return the greeting. The man stood straight and started to speak: "William Anderson, you are called to display your wares," he said in broken English.
Arthur rose to let the lanky Martian pass while listening to the words being translated.
William wore a fluorescent, marine blue business suit with more than a touch of pink, always the pink of Mars.
Part of the wooden floor before them detracted and a system of elevators brought boxes to their sight.
William awkwardly entered the platform, heels loudly clicking against the floor, halted just before the boxes and bowed facing those sitting on the benches, ripples of blue slowly running over his suit like waves crashing on a pink beach never seen on the surface of Mars.
"What you see are samples of what I have. The warehouse of house de Khalinan contains the rest," he said.
Young de Khalinan nodded in response and translated. The old man in the center of the hall awarded him a question, and again the tone told Arthur it was all ceremony.
"What do the samples represent, and what quantities have you brought?" de Khalinan asked, still standing erect as if on parade.
William bowed and answered, "All measurements in standard Terran units. Tin, three tons. Iron, twenty tons. Copper, six tons. Beryllium, five hundred kilograms. Lead, two tons. Silver, seventy five kilograms. Gold, forty kilograms."
It was translated, a question added and immediately translated before anyone could answer.
"Does anyone want to start trading for these wares now?" the young, native merchant asked.
No one answered. A statement with a translation followed, "Then we of house de Khalinan welcome any of you during the eightday to follow."
De Khalinan sat down and Arthur once again had to make room as William returned to his seat.
And so it droned on for most of the morning. Arthur noticed that the more experienced traders were called first and realized he would probably be last.
He caught his breath and looked up. His right foot hurt. From his right William Anderson grinned. "Your call, rise," he whispered.
Arthur stood, toes aching where William had put down his heel. Arthur realized he must have fallen asleep halfway through the procedure. He saw his four crates and two boxes he didn't recognize on the platform and went there. He cleared his throat and met Harbend's amused stare. Harbend wasn't the only one. William's wakeup call hadn't passed unnoticed.
Damn if I'll be the show without running it! Arthur thought. Let's give them a taste. Back straight, an inkling of a bow and then my trademark, ironic gaze. Ah, they just had to meet it. Got them now. So apprehensive, just waiting for my message. That, dear Harbend, is how you grab the attention of your audience.
"What you see is what I have brought," Arthur said remembering there were no more wares waiting in a warehouse.
Harbend translated and a slow murmur of surprise spread along the benches. They must have expected the normal display of samples. Arthur used the time to open his crates and both boxes.
Ah, clever bastard, he thought after discovering the contents of them. He should have thought of bringing some of the precious metals himself, but luckily Harbend had done the thinking instead. Arthur counted the bars. Over half of it here.
"What wares have you brought, and what quantities?" Harbend asked from across the hall.
"All measurements in standard Terran units," Arthur said remembering how his fellow traders had answered. "Silver, two hundred kilograms. Gold, two hundred kilograms. Platinum fifty kilograms."
Harbend translated and some brows were raised before Arthur could continue. "Oxford Press, Oxford Dictionary Terran English, fifty volumes, current edition. Harlington Press, Terran English Grammar and Spelling, fifty volumes, current edition..." Surprised outcries drowned him, and Arthur was unable to hear himself and waited silently for the bedlam to abate.
It was obviously a breach of convention, but there had to be a first to everything, Arthur thought. Silence finally fell, and he was able to continue, this time until he finished declaring his goods, all in all some two thousand volumes.
Harbend winked at Arthur who finally grasped what was coming.
Oh hell, no! You bastard! he thought, but there was nothing he could do.
"Does anyone want to start trading for these wares now?" Harbend asked, voice breaking more than a little, apparently barely able to constrain himself from bursting out in guffaws.
All hell broke lose.