Sam Smite - Bunting was being strung across the streets in anticipation of the festival of Làn-Mara. Festival for me was always good for business. I didn’t much care if we were celebrating high tide, or any of the other excuses for a holy day. I attended services for both Acionna and Dulari, it didn’t hurt to cover ones bases. In my experience, it was a more sound proposition to pay the proper protections to more terrestrial gods that ruled Widdowborn.
“Sam.” Said a familiar voice. I looked up from my cart to see Mrs. Volker trudging down Hawthorn Street toward the docks. Mother Volker, as she was known, was one of the terrestrials here on Hawthorn Street. She was an unpleasant woman; and that was if she liked you. Crossing her was as good as a curse, or at worst, a death sentence. It wasn’t her so much as it was who she knew. Making nice with her was not optional. Not if you wanted to last long here.
“I expect you’ll be on time with your rent this week?” She said in a tone that turned the question into a statement.
“Indeed I will!” I said, mustering my best sales mask.
She trundled to a halt before me and my heart started to beat irregularly. She never stopped to talk unless there was about to be trouble. She glared at me with her pearlescent cataracts. Her fat wrinkled face drawing up like a laced coin purse.
“Rents going up next month, consider this fair warning.” She chewed through the words like it was tough piece of gristle.
“Going up?” I protested involuntarily, immediately regretting my outburst.
She raised a laced paw and extended her liver-spotted finger at me like a pistol.
“You’ll move this wagon by nightfall to the far and of the street and yield this plot to someone who appreciates its value.” She hissed. “Care to offer up any more protests?” She said as I searched her face for any signs of humanity. My mind raced as I realized I was going to lose my prized spot a week before festival.
“Would the Lady accept a pouch of my finest as an apology?” I proffered. “It’s my last pouch of Hannover Leaf.” I waited expectantly with the pouch extended in my hand. She lifted the paper-wrapped aged cut-leaf from my hand.
“Mind your manners Boy. You can keep you spot for now, but I’ll expect the higher rent starting next week!” She said eyeing the package.
“Much obliged Mrs. Volker.” I said apologetically.
“Bugger off!” She said as she resumed her gate. “Save your treacle.”
Her fading footsteps were a welcome relief. My rent wasn’t due for another week, but that didn’t keep her from reminding me under whose good graces I was conducting business here.
The encounter with Mother Volker had me flushed and sweaty. I prided myself on composure and was working hard to regain it when I heard a voice call out to me.
“Good day Sir.”
I looked up to see young master Sig. He was a good customer and starting to become a regular in these parts. He and his companions had earned a reputation on Hawthorn that exempted them from the all-to-common pick-pocketing that goes on here. They had risked life and limb to put out the Dyer’s fire a month back. Something that could have changed the neighborhood for months or even years. The terrestrial’s thought to extend them the courtesy of spending their coins how they saw fit, without aid of the pickpockets that were thick here.
“Its always nice to see you master Sig.” I said eagerly. “I have recently received a shipment of Hannover Leaf. I kept a few packets hoping you would stop by.”
“We were just over at Blackrose’s place.” He said as he inspected my inventory. “Any idea when he opens for business?” He asked.
“He keeps his own hours, but he is generally open by noon.” I said, fixing a pleasant smile on my face. “I wouldn’t get too cozy with Dieter Blackrose, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.” I said cautiously. I wasn’t sure of Sig’s reputation for business either and I didn't want to risk losing a good customer to unwelcome advice.
I opened the special drawer I kept locked with my more valuable wares and took out the parchment wrapped leaf that my client had grown a taste for.
A new face was with him today. A dumpy looking mercenary type with an old facial scar. Locked on his arm was Thelda Wendelin, the self-proclaimed ambassador of Hawthorn Street. Thelda had been selling her goods here going on fifteen years. She was never long on looks, but her sales-craft spanned the gap. She was trussed up in her multi-colored gown and painted to the envy of theater actors. Her blond curls worked to soften her careworn features. I could tell by The mercenary’s posture had succumbed to her charms, but was not yet convinced of her value. I decided to interject on his behalf.
“Don’t you have better prospects than this guy?” I said to Calico leveling my distaste.
“Mind your own shop.” She said as she cozied up to the mercenary.
He withered slightly, attempting to slip the noose of her attentions.
“Care for some Hannover Leaf?” I said, placing the pouch between them.
“Not interested.” He said.
I huffed loud enough to announce my displeasure at my spurned interjection. Fine. I thought. I’ll leave you to untangle yourself from her.
I turned to my good customer and completed a profitable transaction. If I could secure more of the latter and avoid more of the former, I may yet have a profitable festival.