Dragonsinger

She nearly piled into Piemur when he came to a sudden complete stop in the space between two booths. He glanced warningly over his shoulder, and Menolly noticed that he had the instruments behind his back as he composed his face into an expression of wistful ingenuousness. A ta

“See, it is Pergamol,” Piemur said out of the side of his mouth. “Now you lot go on, across there to the knife stand until I’m finished. Men don’t like a lot of hangers about when they’re agreeing the mark. No, Menolly, you can stay!” Piemur snatched her back by the jerkin as she obediently started to follow the others.

Although Menolly could see Pergamol’s lips moving, she heard nothing of his speech and only an occasional murmur from the bargaining journeyman. The Smithcraft marksman continually stroked the finely ta

“Probably dyed to order,” Piemur whispered to her. “Selling it direct neither has to pay turnover fee. With us, once Jerint has stamped the instrument, the marksman doesn’t have to say it was apprentice-made. So we get a better price not selling at the Harper booth, where they have to say who made it.”

Now Menolly could appreciate Piemur’s strategy.

The bargain was handsealed, and marks slipped across the counter. The blue hide was carefully folded and put away in a travel bag. Piemur waited until the man had chatted, as courtesy required, and then he skipped to the front of the stall before anyone else could intervene.

“Back so soon, young rascal. Well, let’s have a look at what you’ve brought. Hmm…stamped as you said…” Pergamol examined more than the stamp on the tambourine, Menolly noticed, and the Smithcrafter’s eyes slid to hers as he pinged the stretched hide of the tambourine with his finger, and raised his eyebrows at the sweet-sounding tinkle of the tiny cymbals under the rim. “So how much were you looking to receive for it?”

“Four marks!” said Piemur with the attitude that he was being eminently reasonable.

“Four marks?” Pergamol feigned astonishment, and the interchange of bargaining began in earnest.

Menolly was delighted, and more than a little impressed by Piemur’s shrewdness when the final figure of three and a half marks was handclasped. Piemur had pointed out that for a journeyman-made tambourine, four marks was not unreasonable: Pergamol did not have to say who made it, and he saved a thirty-second on turn-over. Pergamol replied that he had the carriage of the tambourine. Piemur discounted that since Pergamol might very well sell the item here at the gather, since he could price it under the Harpercraft stall. Pergamol replied that he had to make more than a few splinters profit for his journey, his effort and the rent of the stall from the Lord Holder. Piemur suggested that he consider the fine polish on the wood, listen again to the sweet jingle of the best quality metal, thinly hammered, just the sort of instrument for a lady to use…and a hide ta

“Told you I could get a fair deal out of Pergamol!”

“You did?” Menolly was confused.

“Sure did. Three and a half for the tambourine? And three for the pipe? That’s top mark!” The boys crowded round him, and Piemur recounted his success with many winks and chuckles. For his efforts, he got a quarter of a mark from each of the boys, telling Menolly that that was an improvement, for them, on the full half-mark the Harpercraft charged for selling.

“C’mon, Menolly, let’s gad about,” Piemur said, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her back into the stream of slowly moving people. “I can smell the pies from here,” he said when he had eluded the others. All we have to do is follow our noses…”

“Pies?” Master Robinton had mentioned bubbling pies.

“I don’t mind treating you, since today is your first gather…here…” he added hastily, looking to see if he’d offended her, “but I’m not buying for those bottomless pits.”

“We just finished di

“Bargaining’s hungry work.” He licked his lips in anticipation. And I feel like something sweet, bubbling hot with berry juice. Just you wait. We’ll duck through here.”

He maneuvered her through the crowd, going across the moving traffic in an oblique line until they reached a wide break in the square. There they could see down to the river and the meadow where the traders’ beasts were grazing, hobbled. People were moving up all the roads, arriving from the outlying plain and mountain holds. Their dress tunics and shirts made bright accents to the fresh green of the spring fields. The sun shone brilliantly over all. It was a glorious day, thought Menolly, a marvelous day for a gather. Piemur grabbed her hand, pulling her faster.

“They can’t have sold all the pies,” she said, laughing.

“No, but they’ll get cold, and I like ’em hot, bubbling!”

And so the confections were, carried from an oven in the baker’s hold on a thick, long-handled tray: the berry juices spilling darkly over the sides of the delicately browned crusts that glistened with crystallized sweet.

“Ho, you’re out early, are you, Piemur? Let me see your marks first.” Piemur, with a show of great reluctance, dragged out a thirty-second bit and showed it to the skeptic.

“That’ll buy you six pies.”

“Six? Is that all?” Piemur’s face reflected utter despair. “This is all me and my dorm mates could raise.” His voice went up in a piteous note.

“Don’t give me that old wheeze, Piemur,” said the baker with a derisive snort. “You know you eat ’em all yourself. You wouldn’t treat your mates to as much as a sniff.”

“Master Palim…”

“Master me nothing, Piemur. You know my rank same as I know yours. It’s six pies for the thirty-second or stop wasting my time.” The journeyman, for that was the badge on his tunic, was slipping six pies off the tray as he spoke. “Who’s your long friend here? That dorm mate you’re always talking about?”

“She’s Menolly…”

“Menolly?” the baker looked up in surprise. “The girl who wrote the song about the fire lizards?” A seventh pie was set beside the others.

Menolly fumbled in her pocket for her two-mark piece, “Have a pie for welcome, Menolly, and any time you have a spare egg that needs a warm home…” He let the sentence peter out and gave her a broad wink, and a broader smile so she’d know he was joking.

“Menolly!” Piemur grabbed her wrist, staring at the two-marker, his eyes round with surprise. “Where’d you get that?”

“Master Robinton gave it to me this morning. He said I’m to buy a belt and some bubbly pies. So please, Journeyman, I’d like to pay for them.”

“No way!” Piemur was flatly indignant, knocking her extended hand away. “I said it was my treat ’cause this is your first gather. And I know that’s the first mark piece you’ve ever had. Don’t you go wasting it on me.” He had half turned from the baker and was giving Menolly a one-eyed wink.