“We’ve got word of a Free Cities trader docking at noon. I’ve been looking for you for hours to tell you.”
Roo’s eyes widened and he said, “Then come with me!” He hurried to the docks on font, breaking out into a trot when traffic opened, and Dash kept up with him. As they reached the docks, Roo said, “Where’s the ship?”
Dash said, “Out at anchor. There.” He pointed.
Roo said, “The master must be at customs. Come on.”
They hurried to the customs shed and found a busy clerk going over documents, while two very impatient men waited nearby. Roo said over the counter, “Has the master of the Free Cities ship been in?”
The clerk looked up and said, “What?”
One of the two waiting men said, “Aye, he has, and he’s still waiting for that stone-headed clerk to sign off on his paperwork so he can turn his cargo over to his buyer,” and he pointed to the man next to him.
Roo said, “I have cargo for the Free Cities, if you’re unbooked.”
The Captain said, “Sorry, lad, but I am booked. I have letters of credit and authorizations to secure cargo. My employer was most emphatic about this.” He lowered his voice.
“If it’s a tiny bit of cargo, I might be able to squeeze it in, but otherwise I’m instructed to fill my ship with grain and hurry back as fast as possible.”
Roo grinned. “Grain?”
“Aye, lad. Wheat. I’m to purchase high-quality wheat at a fair market price, then leave as quickly as possible.” He glowered at the clerk. “Which is why I’d like this business done as soon as possible so I can let my lads go ashore. They’ve been at sea three weeks, and we’ll be here but a day or two.”
“Who have you contacted for your wheat?” asked Roo.
“No one yet, though I fail to see how that is any business of yours.”
Rupert stood and said, “Captain, I forgot my manners. I am very sorry. May I be allowed to introduce myself and my companion.” He turned to Dash and said, “This is my associate, Dashel Jameson, grandson to the Duke of Krondor.” He put his hand on his chest as the Captain and his buyer both rose at the mention of the Duke. “And I am Rupert Avery, of the Krondor Grain Traders Association.” Almost unable to contain himself, he said, “How much grain do you need?”
“Enough to fill a ship, Mr. Avery.”
Roo turned to Dash. “Is what arrived today enough to fill his ship?”
Dash said, “I think so.”
Roo said, “Good. To price: what do you offer?”
The Captain said, “You have the wheat here, in Krondor?”
“Yes, I can have it at the docks at first light.”
The Captain got a calculating look on his face. Roo knew what he was thinking: if he could grab the wheat before word got around about the shortage, he might make enough of a profit for the ship’s owner to make it worth having his crew forgo any shore leave. At last he said, “I’m prepared to offer two silver pieces of common weight”—the agreed-upon size of the coins used to trade between the Free Cities—“for three bushels of wheat at dockside tomorrow.”
Roo said, “I’ll take a silver per bushel.”
“Three silvers per four bushels,” said the Captain.
Roo said, “I’ll take a silver and a copper per bushel.”
“Wait a minute!” exploded the Captain. “You just set a price of a silver per. Now you raise it?”
“Yes,” said Roo, “and in a minute it will be a silver and two coppers.” Then he leaned forward and said very quietly, “Locusts.”
The Captain’s face flushed and he looked as if someone had just lit a fire in his trousers, but after glaring at Roo a long moment, he stuck out his hand and said, “Done! A silver and copper per bushel at dockside at first light.”
Roo turned and put his hand on Dash’s shoulder and steered him out of the customs house. “It’s going to work,” he said when they had cleared the street.
The next morning the wagons paraded to the docks, unloading the grain onto barges that carried it out to the ship. The Captain and Roo both stood by comparing tallies, while stevedores hauled the large sacks of grain off the wagons and carried them down the gangplanks to the barges.
By midday the tally was done and the two men compared figures. Roo knew the Captain was intentionally counting light and showed six less bushels than Roo. For slightly more than a half-piece in gold, Roo thought he’d let the Captain have his little triumph. “I’ll accept your figure, Captain.”
The Captain motioned to his mate, who produced a chest, out of which the Captain counted sacks of gold. He let Roo inspect the contents of each bag, and when the transaction was done, Roo handed the contents to Duncan, who stood nearby with a chest that would be taken to the countinghouse where Roo now had his accounts established.
As they led the now empty wagons from the dock, Roo rode next to Duncan on the lead wagon. He felt an elation unlike anything he had known in his life. “It’s going to work,” he said to no one.