In the early morning of November 17th, Dawn's Flying Fish arrived at Hidden Gold Bay.
The weather remained poor. Hidden Gold Bay, usually bustling with ships coming and going, was nearly deserted. Apart from a few cargo vessels hurrying out to sea and fishermen venturing out in small trawlers to earn a living, the waters were empty.
The bay's various docks were a forest of masts, with countless ships of all sizes moored along the shore. The pilots cursed the weather impatiently, but after receiving a large silver coin tip from Schwarde, their faces broke into smiles and they eagerly guided Dawn's Flying Fish toward its berth.
An awkward situation then arose. By hull length, Dawn's Flying Fish at thirty-odd meters was a medium-sized vessel, though it was nearly half as narrow as other ships of its class. The problem was the three-meter keel extension underneath — the medium berths, typically designed for drafts of five to six meters, simply couldn't accommodate it. At low tide, for instance, the Flying Fish would run aground. The only option was to dock at the large ocean-going berths, which offered ten meters or more of depth.
But the civilian large-vessel docks were already packed. In weather like this, few ship owners were willing to put to sea. Even if there were an opening to squeeze the Flying Fish into, it would be dangerous. Two large ocean-going ships of similar size bumping into each other was hardly a concern, but the Flying Fish was so much narrower — wedged between two massive vessels, no one could guarantee there wouldn't be an accident.
Schwarde tugged at Lorist's sleeve. Lorist snapped back to attention. "What is it?"
"My lord, look over there." Schwarde gestured toward the distance.
Before them lay a deep-water dock with several large ships moored, plenty of empty space available, and most importantly, the flags flying above bore a wheel emblem.
"We'll moor right there…" Lorist was overjoyed.
"That won't do — that's the Peterson Commerce Guild's private dock," the pilot said, his face souring.
"No matter, we're friends and partners of the Peterson Commerce Guild," Lorist said. "Schwarde, show him the guild token President Peterson gave us."
This Peterson Commerce Guild token belonged to
Presumably, using this token to secure a berth at the Peterson Commerce Guild's private dock should be a trivial matter. Sure enough, the pilot fell silent the moment he saw the token, even going so far as to chide Lorist for not showing it sooner — had he done so, they would have sailed the Flying Fish straight to the Peterson Commerce Guild's private dock instead of fretting here for so long.
After presenting the token to the person in charge of the Peterson Commerce Guild's private dock, the Dawn's Flying Fish was assigned a mooring spot. Lorist rewarded the pilot with a gold forde, leaving the man grinning from ear to ear.
Lorist declined the dock manager's proposal and decided to head to the Red Crow Tavern first. He would visit President Peterson that afternoon. When the time came, he would return to the dock to collect the magical beast pelts and other samples stored aboard and bring them to the guild to fetch a fair price.
The dock had two Peterson Commerce Guild carriages for receiving and seeing off guests, but that was not enough. The dock manager also arranged two hired carriages. Lorist, accompanied by Schwarde, Josk, Earl, Doleres, and ten guards, had two large crates packed full of gold fordes carried down from the ship and loaded onto the carriages before heading off to the Red Crow Tavern.
As for Captain Wilson, he took Old Jack, the sailors, and five steel crossbow marksmen from the Chariot Battalion to stay at the sailors' inn near the dock. They still needed to arrange watch shifts aboard the Dawn's Flying Fish.
The arrival of Lorist and his party at the Red Crow Tavern was a tremendous surprise to the tavern's owner, Garrilando, and his wife, Louise.
Garrilando grabbed a ladle and rapped it on top of Earl's head. "So you've learned to run away from home, have you? You left all your brothers and sisters behind with nothing but a letter — is that any way for the eldest to behave? Seven years without so much as a word, and you've only gotten more high-handed. Do you have any idea how worried everyone was that you'd died in some forgotten corner or been killed on some battlefield..."
Earl ducked and scurried away, but Garrilando was quickly pulled back by Louise, the tavern's proprietress. After seven years apart, Louise had grown even more plump and buxom. Only then did Lorist learn that Big Sister Louise had already borne Garrilando two sons, and he immediately offered his loud congratulations. Garrilando beamed with pride, looking every bit the old man whose body was still going strong.
The gifts Lorist had brought for Garrilando and Big Sister Louise were three magic wolf pelts, four pelts of magic deer and antelope, and one blood-red fox pelt — all genuine specialties of the Northland. The blood fox in particular had been personally hunted by Earl, who said he wanted to give the pelt to Uncle Garrilando for a scarf. Big Sister Louise was delighted with the gifts, while the old man huffed and pretended not to care, even as he clutched the fox pelt and refused to let go.
Of the old batch of maids, Molly had been the last to leave and marry. Old Hope, the stingy shoemaker who was a regular at the tavern, had died. Two winters ago he'd gotten drunk and, to save a small silver coin on carriage fare, chose to walk home instead. Halfway there he collapsed in the snow and fell asleep. People didn't find him until the next morning, by which time Old Hope had frozen solid.
Then there was Old Mike, the red-nosed bard. Three years ago he'd gotten drunk, slept it off, and upon waking suddenly announced that he missed home. Everyone thought he was joking and poured him two more drinks. But starting the next day, no one ever saw him again. They figured he'd gone back to his hometown, but nobody knew where that was, and there had been no word from him since.
The most unfortunate was Old Tom, the retired postal official, who had jumped into the sea and drowned. Old Tom had been living a perfectly carefree and leisurely life on his retirement pension. But his three children brought him nothing but trouble. His eldest son, after losing money in business, turned to crime — he kidnapped his business partner and demanded a ransom, then killed the hostage anyway. He was eventually caught and sentenced to hanging, while his wife and children were enslaved.
Old Tom scraped together the money to buy their freedom, but then his second son racked up gambling debts with loan sharks, bankrupted the family, and fled. His beloved youngest daughter was caught having an affair by her husband. The furious cuckold went straight to the magistrate, demanded a divorce, and threw his unfaithful wife out of the house. Not a single copper of her dowry — nearly a thousand gold fordes — could be recovered.
One blow after another overwhelmed Old Tom. One day he dressed himself up smartly, came to the tavern, had a single mug of ale, and politely took his leave. That evening word came: Old Tom had tied a large stone around himself and jumped into the sea. By the time people nearby spotted him and rushed to pull him out, he was already gone...
As for the Three Black Bear Brothers, they'd once gotten lucky on a job and picked up a big chunk of rusted scrap iron. It later turned out to be a fragment of a magic boiler from some ruin of the magical civilization era, and they sold it for over a thousand gold fordes. The three brothers used the money to buy a farmstead in the countryside, married some wives, and retired from mercenary work.
Eating the delicious dishes lovingly prepared by Chef Fatty Mai and listening to Big Sister Louise chatter on about the small details of daily life, Lorist sighed along with her, lamenting how people and things had changed. But at that moment, his body and mind felt remarkably at ease, as if he had returned to the leisurely days seven years ago when he was still an instructor at
Lorist rented out eight guest rooms on the third floor of the Red Crow Tavern. After enjoying a sumptuous meal, he went upstairs, took a bath, changed into fresh clothes, and then headed out with Shward and Doles to pay a visit to Chairman Peterson. Josk and four guards stayed behind in the room to watch over the two large chests containing one hundred thousand gold fordes. As for El, he wanted to go back to his old guild to see his brothers and sisters.
They went to the docks first, where they unloaded several large bundles of tightly packed furs from Dawn's Flying Fish, along with wrapped packages of magical beast jerky and several big jars of whale meat. Only then did Lorist hire a carriage and set off for the Peterson Trading Company.
As one of the seven magnates of the Forde Commercial Alliance, the Peterson Trading Company's headquarters was located in the inner city of
After exchanging a mountain of pleasantries, Chairman Peterson invited Lorist into the reception room to talk. Once tea had been served, Lorist got straight to the point and explained his purposes. First, he wanted to make a deal with the trading company — his family's fief was in the Northland, and they had obtained a great many magical beast furs, and he wondered whether they could fetch a good price. Second, he hoped to purchase or commission some large ocean-going cargo ships through the company's shipyards in Morant City. Third, he wanted the trading company to procure a large quantity of grain on his behalf.
The Peterson Trading Company had originally built its reputation on fur trading and long-distance carriage services. After having several experienced old craftsmen examine the magical beast furs Lorist had brought, they all rated them as superior grade. Chairman Peterson was delighted and asked Lorist how much stock he had — he would take it all.
Lorist held up five fingers.
Chairman Peterson agreed immediately. "Fifty thousand hides? A small matter — we'll take the lot."
Lorist gave a wry smile. "Chairman, if it were only fifty thousand magical beast hides, I wouldn't have troubled you. In fact, it's a total of five hundred thousand magical beast hides, the majority of which are preserved hides of magical oxen…"
There was a clatter — Chairman Peterson had been about to take a sip of tea when his hand trembled and the silver cup slipped from his fingers, clanking onto the table. "You — what did you say? Five hundred thousand magical beast hides?"
Lorist nodded and explained. "Our family's fief borders the Barbarian Plains. Every winter, the magical beasts from the plains come to our territory to forage. Over the past few years, our family's armed forces have been hunting them, which is how we accumulated so many hides. It's only this year that we finally found access to the sea, so I thought it was time to sell these hides and raise the funds to purchase ships and grain…"
Chairman Peterson was relieved at this explanation. "Tell you what — if all those magical ox hides you've stockpiled are the same quality as the samples you've brought this time, I'll buy them at three gold Forde each, up from the current market price of two gold Forde and twelve large silver coins. You can go ask around; nobody will offer more than me. What I'm mainly after is the quality and sheer quantity of your magical ox hides — they're perfect for mass-producing the same style of leather armor and leather goods. Of course, I'll also buy other magical beast hides at twenty percent above market price. What do you say?"
"Fine, Chairman, the deal is yours. Consider it settled." Lorist was equally decisive.
As for sea vessels, I can help inquire whether any large ocean-going merchant ships are for sale. After all, the Peterson Trading Company only has six ships of our own — two large ocean-going merchant ships and four medium-sized armed merchant vessels. Their main purpose was transporting goods, not operating sea trade routes.
If it weren't for your Family Knight, Shrade, brokering our cooperation with Viscount Terboli's territory and giving us access to his docks so we could sell and purchase goods in the Kingdom of Redelis, the Peterson family wouldn't have its first sea trade route. The profits aren't huge, but compared to long-distance transport by horse cart, it's far more convenient and cost-effective."
Lorist raised his teacup and toasted Chairman Peterson, using tea in place of wine. "Then I'll be relying on you for everything, Chairman."
Since Terboli's territory had come up, Lorist also asked for Mr. Tim's address in Morant City, planning to visit when he had time. Chairman Peterson sighed at Mr. Tim's good fortune, saying it was truly a blessing to have crossed paths with Lorist's northbound caravan. Ever since cooperating with Viscount Terboli's territory, Mr. Tim had borrowed the Peterson Trading Company's clout like a fox borrowing the tiger's majesty, and through the First Prince, he had officially obtained the territorial lord's patent and his noble title. He had now become a proper landed noble.
Chairman Peterson shared two funny stories about Mr. Tim's early days as a noble. Mid-conversation, he suddenly let out a long sigh, his spirits visibly flagging. When Lorist asked what was troubling him, Chairman Peterson answered with a bitter smile — it was his precious son, causing him nothing but worry and grief. He was truly disappointed.
Lorist assumed Chairman Peterson's son had gotten fat again. But Chairman Peterson shook his head — no, that precious son had become a training fanatic, exercising diligently every single day, and had even advanced his
Lorist was stunned, but he still congratulated Chairman Peterson — having so many grandchildren was a good thing, wasn't it? Far better than having an only son with no siblings. As for daughters-in-law, the Peterson family was wealthy enough; they could afford to support not just seventeen wives but seventy more without breaking a sweat.
Chairman Peterson said that wasn't what troubled him at all. What grieved him was that his precious son had zero interest in inheriting the family business and was utterly impatient with commerce. It filled Chairman Peterson with anxiety — after he was gone, who would he entrust this empire to? Watching Mr. Tim rise from an illegitimate child to a proper landed noble only made Chairman Peterson angrier at his own son's lack of ambition.
Lorist smiled and assured Chairman Peterson that this was a case of being too close to the problem to see it clearly. So the son didn't like doing business — weren't there plenty of grandchildren? As a Gold-rank swordsman who took proper care of his health, reaching a hundred would be no trouble at all. The chairman could easily live another forty or fifty years, and that was more than enough time to groom a grandson capable of shouldering the alliance's responsibilities. Why keep fixating on having the son inherit?
Chairman Peterson's worry instantly gave way to delight. That's right — he could train a grandson! With that burden lifted, he was in high spirits and eagerly insisted that Lorist stay for dinner. Lorist tried to decline but couldn't refuse the man's warmth, so he stayed. He had barely finished two cups of wine when a servant came scrambling in and threw himself to his knees before Chairman Peterson: "Master, terrible news! The third young master of the Chickered family is causing a ruckus at our docks. He's demanding that we hand over the ship this lord has moored at our berth..."
…(To be continued.)