Mercantile Miscreance

Sedge Arum · 06-11-2011, 11:44 PM

Ah, to hear the familiar rolling and crunching of spoked wheels through stone-speckled soil and the age-cracked asphalt; to smell the fetid air from dusty human tomb-towers and the signature scents of a dozen new packs and new peoples...ah, what a rush to come into each new place and meet each new face...but that wasn't quite right, was it?

"It's been years, hasn't it?" the coyote said wistfully to himself as he held the reigns of his cart lightly in hand and his mule, Nettle, pulled it along at a steady pace. Gear was stacked high on the wooden wagon, goods from all over the world, or so he'd heard...in the merchant trade, it was anyone's guess where the embellishing stopped and the truth began. Or was it vice versa? Sometimes he had trouble deciding which one was more important: facts were such flexible things when it came right down to it, hardly worth bothering with beyond what they meant to a particular person in a particular place at a particular time of sale. No, facts were very malleable, in the end, subject only to the rigidity of the buyer's knowledge and the salesman's daring. That was the way he preferred truths to be. Fluid, shifting and adapting to the moment as any self-respecting coyote had need to do to make it in this dog-eat-dog world.

It had been years since he'd been here to hock his wares. Years since Sedge had tried a sales-pitch to the primitive wolves of the west...or the coyotes there for that matter. Or the dogs, really, or any other...yes, well, he hadn't done business here in a long time, was the fact of it. He looked back at his cargo and patted the tarp cast over it with the affection only merchants can have for property. Smiling contently as he heard Nettle snort at the meager grasses along the ruined roads, he pricked his ears suddenly. He detected the slightest of wobbles in his wagon's left wheel. Mere moments later, the wagon collapsed beneath him.

Barrett · 06-12-2011, 03:57 PM

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What was familiar to one wasn't always familiar to all. Most stalked through these desolate streets like wraiths, moving with hushed footfalls, as if anything other than perfect silence might disturb the ghosts of the city's past. Unsurprisingly then, the creak and groan of a wooden cart, the jostling of its cargo, and the regular plodding of hooves against broken pavement could rouse the interests of even the most apathetic wolf. Perhaps this was one of the merchant's ploys—without an audience, how could he peddle his wares? Whether the intention was there or not, Barrett bought it hook, line, and sinker.

The youth drew closer to the source of the ruckus like a moth to the flame, moving quickly down side streets and pausing every so often to listen and sniff the air. Whatever spectacle he was expecting, he was not to be disappointed. His head popped tentatively around the corner at a larger intersection, just as the little travelling bazaar moved past. A stout, ostentatious older gentleman was manning the reigns of his “horse” drawn carriage—and what a sight he was! Polished metallic chains dangled loosely about his neck; vibrant, finely stitched quilts were draped neatly over his shoulders. He did not straddle the horse's back as Ezekiel did, but instead perched on a proper seat.

Barrett could only imagine what lay concealed beneath that blasted tarp—he had to know what else this coyote was carrying. The mocha yearling opened his mouth to call out, but all at once the illusion of dignity shattered and chaos reared its ugly head. His jaws shut with a quick snap, his ears slicked back, and he winced as the cart seemed to implode in on itself. Little doodads scattered into the street and the older man yielded to gravity in a manner that was less than graceful. Barrett seriously considered bolting right then—but after a moment's hesitation, he jogged over to the scene of the crash. His eyes roved eagerly over the spilt knickknacks, as if their very existence was a coveted secret, but he then turned his attention to the fallen male. “Hey, buddy, you ok?”

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Sedge Arum · 06-12-2011, 04:46 PM

The indignity of it. That such an upstanding man as himself should be made to suffer at the hands of a common axle. A wolf came in at such a pace that he almost feared it for a brigand, but when he saw the awe in the yearling's eyes, he that he was safe. Even the coarsest barbarians could be swayed by a love of gold, of wealth, of wonder...and such wonder could be found on his cart, surely! Rising to his feet, the merchant wiped the dust from his fine garments, hands brushing the debris away from his now dirtied quilts which had spared him only the shame of soiled fur along his ample gut. Had he been swindled in his purchase of the cart? It had been a sly jackal that had sold it to him, most truly but...no, his eye was better than that, his nose for truths limiting even the second greatest of merchants--for surely he would never have to make a sale to himself--to the barest sliver of freedom in their embellishment. No, the cart had been fine. It was these broken roads and craggy ground which had done in his fine-timbered wagon. And poor Nettle to drag it across...his hooves were most certainly strong to have withstood where quality lumber could not: a masterful purchase of the past, come back now to benefit him! Certainly...for he would now need to carry his wares by mule alone, and abandon the shambles of his cart where they fell. There was still time to sell to this onlooker before that was common knowledge, though.

"Why, it takes more than a mere spill to discomfit the famous and incomparable Sedge Arum, master merchant, head haggler of a hundred hubs and premiere peddler of the ocean ports! I am at your service, good sir, and would ask how I could be of service?" He righted himself and put on his most endearing smile, holding his arms out in welcome to his newest (and so far only) customer. Why, it had been so long since he'd had the pleasure of guiding the tribal peoples of the west of the fine art of haggling, he could hardly remember why he had gone away for so long! There might have been some affair with a wolf, large and angry at the evident decrease in value of some items which Sedge had convinced him to buy, but that was all so long ago...hardly worth remembering, provided he didn't smell anyone here who matched the scent. He was confident that he would not.

"I am an expert negotiator, and through sheer genius of mercantile prowess I have attained a hundred treasures arrayed right here before you. Dried herb of the Madagascan Shore, fine South African drought, chilled ice-wine of the European northlands, sculptures wrought of the finest marble and keenest skill, almost all of which are sure to be in pristine condition even after such a terrific collapse!" He licked his lips and strode over to the tarp, drawing it off and away to reveal the now off-kilter contents within. Now unveiled, a dozen figurines secured in wooden boxes filled with hey (almost all remained uncracked) and several jars similarly secured with legendary beasts stared morbidly out at the youth. What was more, other jars still were filled with glowing and chittering creatures, a stack of parchment with pressed exotic plants stayed lay in plain view beside them, bags and satchels and other oddities all packed tightly behind bulged near their tied-off tops with the promise of unseen wonders as the ungainly coyote bent over with unusual grace--born of practice--to gesture at all that he possessed.

"All this, and one broken wagon, I have to offer. And to you, for your concern, reduced prices! Do you see anything of interest, my friend? Anything at all?" The more this gentle barbarian did not buy, the more net loss the unfortunate merchant would suffer when he had to choose what Nettle would carry.

Barrett · 06-12-2011, 08:29 PM

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Barrett watched curiously as the portly fellow collected himself and climbed to his feet. It seemed the coyote was no worse for the wear, even if the same could not be said for the cart. He wavered uncertainly before taking a few steps closer, his attention shifting rapidly between the splintered axle, the squat “horse,” and the strewn trinkets before he was reeled back in by that grandiose introduction. “Famous?” the boy repeated, clearly intrigued. His resume certainly sounded impressive—a hundred hubs! Imagine that.

If he should have been wary of Sedge's silver tongue—that rapid, yet eloquent manner of speech—he'd missed the memo. Not immune to flattery, the teen found his head swollen at the notion of a man so clearly his elder addressing him as “sir,” and he mimicked that captivating smile unthinkingly. He listened with rapt attention as the merchant detailed his extensive and exotic selection; Barrett was rarely so engaged in the words of others, but this man seemed to be pushing all the right buttons. He laughed in good nature at the quip about the damaged coach—“Well, I could probably help you out there,” he offered.

When the wagon's fantastic contents—treasures, the coyote had said—were revealed, Barrett looked downright ravenous. His pale yellow eyes veered from one object to the next, not necessarily desiring of any particular thing and yet everything, all at once. His riffling was somewhat frenzied, as if the smarmy salesman might revoke the privilege of inspecting his wares at any given moment, although he was careful to handle each item delicately and return it to its proper place when he was done.

He lingered longer on the pressed plant specimens; these reminded him of another coyote he'd met recently, a coyote whose personality was a complete 180 from this guy's. He stared blankly at the inked in names, dried flowers, and leaves, mesmerised not because they held any personal significance, but simply because he understood them to be rare and unique. Soon after, a scent caught his attention and he set the parchments aside in favour of a small mason jar filled with... poppy seeds!

If he'd looked interested before, now he looked ready to explode. Even a fifth of these could guarantee a bountiful harvest by the season's end. The youth was just about to say something when a flash of light, neon green and very pale in the mid-afternoon sun, caught his attention. “Woah, what was that?” he breathed, depositing the seeds alongside the parchments and gingerly plucking a much larger jar from its nest amongst the hay.

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Sedge Arum · 06-12-2011, 09:06 PM

Sedge watched the boy intently as he was drawn in to all of his wares, perusing each one with youthfully exuberant curiosity and fascination, both perfectly fitting in one so young. The young were always the easiest to sell to, though the problem of wealth to pay often became an issue with those fresh out of puphood. Still, what was that he'd said? Fix the wagon? Why! That would be stupendous, marvelous, miraculous, the good fortune to crown all good fortunes: he would not need to sacrifice his wares at all if he were able to repair his wagon. Nettle snorted, anxious at being harnessed to the broken-down cart; his master only scowled, but his severity was gone by the next time his mark...no, guest...turned to face him.

"A service in payment for a treasure? Why of course...what else do two people trade in but services, good sir? You the service of keen carpentry and mine the fervent finding of fortunes. What you have there, my friend, is the greatest mystery of Singapore, and of all the mysteries of Singapore that's saying quite a lot!...the fabled glow-worm of the south-east, the flashing fodder for the fire-eating birds of the far orient, the only glowing snails to exist on the entirety of the earth, and if I'm lying strike me dead: you have there in your hand a jar of Dyakia striata. An enigmatic name for an enigmatic creature, given in the language of power in the days of human oppression before our kind inherited the world. You'll not find anything like them on this side of the world, my friend, and some of these can be yours for nothing more than your aid in fixing this wagon." He saw the boy's fascination...he knew he hardly had to try to sell the things at this point. Squinting his eyes shrewdly as he rubbed his chin, the thought came to him to improve the deal. A real boon in this...doesn't pay to be cheap and queer the deal.

"For your work, my good man, five of my precious Dyakia, sure to make for a breeding population of your very own! And those seeds: I see you're a wolf who knows their worth...half the jar, in gratitude if my wagon is moving again when you're finished. What do you say?" He was nervous. If the boy understood that he would need to leave half of his wares here simply by the act of withholding assistance, he might well get what he wanted for free. His smile remained though: hopeful and genuine after years of deceit in the name of business. If the boy didn't put it together, he certainly wasn't going to tell him.

Barrett · 06-13-2011, 12:24 AM

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Barrett peered at the little creatures, none of which were more than a meagre two inches in length. Exposed to the light of day, the snails seemed ordinary and unexceptional: their bodies were varying shades of brown; their shells were coloured burnt sienna, mostly solid but some more variegated, with others light near the centre and darkening radially; invariably, both their shells and bodies were lighter underneath. He cupped his dark paws around the jar as Sedge explained their mystical origins, eyes widening as he confirmed that they were, in fact, the source of the glow he'd seen earlier.

The tiniest of them shone continuously while the larger specimens pulsated and flashed on occasion. Somewhere in his mind he drew a connection between this light and the intermittent spark of a firefly, but having a sensible explanation for the phenomenon made it no less marvellous. Enraptured as he was, the snails did not seem nearly so impressed. One waggled its eye stalk at him and he laughed as if it were the most delightful thing in the world. He clutched the jar wantonly as Sedge finished his spiel, licking his lips in thoughtful consideration even though his mind was already made up. He had to have these snails and the poppy seeds were an irresistible bonus.

“Get it moving again? I'll fix'er up better than she was before—I'd say you got yourself a deal!” he said, already mulling over the best way to execute the project. He had a few ideas, but he would need tools and supplies. Barrett tested the weight of the loaded cart; it wasn't unmanageable and he decided it would be easier to bring it to his workshop than vice versa. “My place is only a ten minute walk from here, if you lead your horse I can support the weight in the back,” he explained. “And uhyah, name's Barrett, by the way,” he said as he offered his hand for a shake, both as a means of formal introduction and to symbolically seal the deal.

Ironically, Barrett thought he was the one making out in this transaction. He was too preoccupied with thoughts a lush field of poppies lit up like a rave scene by his army of mutant snails to even consider that Sedge might be unable to repair the cart on his own.

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Sedge Arum · 06-13-2011, 10:34 AM

"Ah, Nettle, do you hear that? You're a horse today!" He took the boy's hand without explanation, flashing the grin which had convinced hundreds before that they had not been swindled, though the boy would get what we wanted and--in the end--how could one be swindled if they got what they wanted out of the transaction? Some would argue that there was a line between a fair deal and a scam, but Sedge knew that that fact--as well as all others--was negotiable.

The coyote merchant positioned the heavy wheel on top of his least fragile goods, heedless of the additional weight supported by the young wolf's frame. Amazing, what these brutes could lift...best to put it to use for optimal traveling speed. Bright and cheery, Sedge took Nettle's reins and led the beast as the boy directed, for the ten minute trip to the garage (their journey was somewhat longer, carrying the heavy wooden cart was a burden even for a spry young wolf lad). There he stretched, driving his hands into the small of his back until he heard a satisfying pop, and sighed with relief as the wolf put his side of the wagon down as gently as a tired young adult could after grueling minutes of carrying the load. The coyote winked in friendly manner and lifted the seeds and snails out of the cart, separating them from the rest of loot and stashing them in his coat, counting carefully just which snails he would part with before snapping his jaws shut and shaking his head sagely. Best to let the boy pick, lest he feel less generous of his handiwork. Instead, Sedge turned his gaze to the jar of poppy seeds and began to measure out exactly how much half the jaw really was with his eyes. If he tilted it just so...yes, he could part with only three-sevenths and call it half. After all, once it was out, there would be no direct measure. Yes, he would keep this tilted for a time. Nodding happily, he spread his arms at the cart and stood back.

"I look forward to a display of your skill, Master Barret. Carpenters of my land guard their secrets jealously. If it is your wish, I can turn away, but it would have been one of the very first times to observe for me." He tilted his head as he smiled, cajoling the young wolf to let him watch as the silver and gold jangled ever so slightly around his neck. Best to ensure that the new axle wasn't rigged to break...he had come from many lands as far as he was concerned, and few of them had carpenters who hid their trade. He trusted his discerning eyes to note any sort of deception, in case there was some sort of tell he had missed.

Barrett · 06-13-2011, 11:47 PM

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So long as his mind was free to wander, Barrett did not mind a good workout. While labour kept his body fit and youthful, strenuous mental tasks exhausted him; institutionalised learning and focused thinking were far more tedious than doing. Thus, even as he panted lightly from exertion, he was ready for more as soon as they pulled in the driveway. Enthusiasm and anticipation (of the reward) made for powerful motivators.

“I, uh, really?” he said, finding the very notion of withholding knowledge absurd. How could society get anywhere at more than a snail's pace—no offence to his future little buddies intended—if the flow of information and ideas was restricted? His thinking was perhaps idealistic, naive—he didn't consider that a man's livelihood might depend on the exclusivity of his mastery over a given trade. In his mind, basic needs like food, water, and shelter were decoupled from this kind of work; he didn't realise that overseas, specialists were more common and it was impossible to keep up with the proverbial Joneses without some kind of exceptional skill and a steady workload.

As it stood, Barrett was a generalist. If there weren't any repairs to be done, he just moved on to the next thing. He didn't see carpentry—or even the dealership—as crucial to his happiness or survival. If another dealer popped up over night, he'd welcome the opportunity to exchange products and horticultural tips. The yearling was too unambitious to be competitive. Even now, his motivations for keeping Anselm's empire operational had more to do with convenience and steady access to the drugs than the vast fortune he could hypothetically amass through their trade.

“Nah, I don't mind,” he concluded in any case, “knock yourself out. I need to grab some stuff out of the garage, though; back in a jif.” With that, he trotted around to the side of the garage and let himself in through the door. A series of clangs could be heard as he tossed a measuring tape, a hacksaw, a mallet, a pry bar, a hammer, some nails, and several planks of wood into the wheel barrow. Things quieted briefly; a moment later he hoisted one of the large bay doors open and wheeled everything outside. Barrett turned and went back in again; this time he emerged with a table to prop up the wagon while he worked.

After setting everything up, he took the tape measure and noted the diameter of the broken axle and its original length. “Hmm, I need to find some copper next door or something,” he explained as he fished for the mallet and hack saw. “Shouldn't be too long.” With that he skipped away to one of the adjacent buildings he knew to be both accessible and relatively stable. It was debatable whether the structure would be as sound by the time Barrett was through with it, supposing either the loud boom, boom, boom! (as he pummelled the drywall) or subsequent rattles (as he hacked through a selected length of pipe) were reliable indicators.

He reappeared a short time later with a triumphant grin, shaking to dislodge the white flecks of spackle and plaster that had settled on his dark coat during demolition. (Was this even work?) From here things were relatively straightforward: he gently loosened the remaining wheel, set it aside, removed the old wooden axle, and made sure to salvage any hardware used to secure the wheels. Thanks to his careful measuring, the replacement axle slipped smoothly into place and the wheels reattached without a hiccup. When he was done, he used the spare pieces of wood to reinforce a corner of the wagon that had been lightly damaged during the fall.

At long last, he brushed his hands together to signify a job well done. He took a step back to admire his handiwork—it may not have been the prettiest, but it would hold up in an earthquake. His ears perked forward and he looked to Sedge expectantly.

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Sedge Arum · 06-14-2011, 02:45 PM

Sedge watched the entire process closely. The use of iron, pipes, the salvaging of a perfectly--well, he didn't actually know anything about architecture, so he was clueless as to how stable or usable the neighboring structure had been which Barrett had apparently looted--anyway, the merchant didn't understand everything that was going on, only that this young wolf seemed better versed in the creation of axles than the jackal or whoever had actually constructed this wagon had been. Sedge smirked victoriously as he watched as the carpenter improved on his previous purchase, and for only a pittance of his wares. Truly, today was a fortuitous day. But what was to be expected of a master of making his own good fortune?

When Barrett had finished, and turned toward back his way, Sedge applauded aristocratically, one gaudy ring flashing in the sunlight as he laughed magnanimously at the sight of the repairs rendered. From somewhere within his quilts he produced a small satchel and scoop, with which he quickly and precisely measured out exactly one half of the poppy-seeds, somehow managing to work all three with just his two hands, feigning difficulty with the tools which perforce required that he hold the seed jar at a tilt--just so that four-sevenths appeared as only half a jar--and placed the seeds in the satchel with such fluidity of motion that the original jar lid was clamped down and stowed away within a single heartbeat, and the satchel held out to the expectant carpenter.

"For services dutifully and masterfully performed, Master Barrett. And! Lest I forget, not four but five of my legendary Dyakia, entrusted to your keeping from here on until such time as you should pass them onto another." He took a step closer, making as if to study his workmanship, but even his own discerning eye could see no flaw with the work, nor truly knew what to look for in scrutinizing the newly positioned axle. Nodding his satisfaction (for he had even divulged his relative inexperience with wood-working), he smiled widely, and patted Nettle's mane, before hitching him up again and readying to be off.

"By the way, sir, you wouldn't happen to know of any place nearby where a man with my wares could find business, do you? A population center, perhaps? A packland or village anywhere nearby who might benefit through the purchase of my treasures from beyond the sea?" It couldn't hurt to ask for directions while he was interacting with one of the locals.

Barrett · 06-15-2011, 09:17 PM

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Any sleight of hand was well missed by the boy, who was presently preoccupied with the selection of his new pets. For a good minute, he squinted thoughtfully at the tiny creatures as if there was some way to discern which were “best.” The perpetual glow and frequent pulsations of the juveniles seemed quite novel, but the sporadic, protracted flashes of the adults were exciting, too, as they could not be readily anticipated. Ultimately, he decided that an assortment was ideal and chose two of each. While he could not simply take another set, being allowed only five, the last snail was easiest to pick: it was one with a more distinct shell pattern than the rest, perhaps a mutation, and one that seemed relatively responsive (as snails went)—the one that had jiggled its eye stalk at him earlier.

He scooped them out gently with a claw and let them rest on one palm while collecting the satchel of seeds with his other hand. “Thanks again!” he chirped merrily, pleased not only with the loot but the merchant's satisfaction, too. Barrett couldn't help but be somewhat proud as the coyote took his seat and steered Nettle just outside the driveway, the wagon rolling along behind as if in factory condition. Already he began planning his next move: there were a number of unused mason jars around the garage. Perhaps he would keep one of the snails on hand for observation—the bi-coloured one with the spiral—while releasing the rest in the greenhouse where they'd keep nice and warm (and, thanks to his rain barrel irrigation system, sufficiently moist).

Before he could get too carried away, Sedge brought him back to the present with a final query. Barrett blinked; would any of the pack wolves here be keen on a trade? “Can't really say for the folks around here, but I'd bet almost anything my mum and her family would be interested in something. They're further inland... western New Brunswick, just a bit over the border from Maine, you can follow Route 2 all the way in once you're off the peninsula,” he explained. “Happy trails either way!” he bade as a final farewell, waving briefly with the seed pouch dangling between his fingers.

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