The gloom of the interior of the ship was only broken by intermediate shafts of thin, weak sunlight, creeping through cracks in the boards of the above deck and the two flickering candles that sat on either corner Bianor’s table. The old man sat a little bent in the straight back, uncomfortable wooden chair, his hound dog eyes red rimmed and narrowed. Lukos stood beside and just a little behind him, watching Bianor’s gnarled fingers counting out both coin and jewel from a small chest that Lukos had brought out of hiding.
The old man’s skinny, withered arms were stretched possessively across a vellum ledger book that held columns and numbers, ticks and checks, and a dizzying array of information that would have taken someone quite a long time to navigate. This was how the old scribe had always arranged things; partially because it was how he’d learned, and partially because it confused the casual onlooker. Because the captain could not read anything at just a glance, Bianor didn’t feel quite as exposed to leave the book open in Lukos’s presence. Though why he should have felt exposed at all was odd, since everything in the columns belonged to Lukos.
It showed the level of trust that Lukos had for the old man; Bianor had complete control over the gold and the finances in general, both for Lukos and for the other members of the crew. Perhaps he could have been shuffling more gold than strictly necessary into his own coin purse but he didn’t for two reasons. The first was that he had no real expenses. He lived on this ship, ate what was supplied to him, and had no family and so no reason to leave. The accumulation of wealth really was just a habit at this point, rather than a want. The second reason was that if Lukos ever found out, the kind of death and torture that would be directed the old man’s way was unimaginable and, therefore, not worth it.
“There,” Bianor finished counting out what Lukos had asked for and produced a bright blue purse made of dyed leather and pulled together with vivid yellow strings. “This should impress the Baron enough to part with those horses of his.”
“Do you ride, you old bag?” Lukos asked amiably as he tied the purse to his belt and folded his arms across his chest.
“Not since you were born,” Bianor snapped, finally standing. His old bones creaked and groaned, reminding Lukos of what walking in the forest and hearing snapping twigs sounded like. He wrinkled his nose a little and stepped back, letting Bianor move around him and lead the way towards the stairs. The pace was agonizingly slow, since the old man shuffled, rather than walked. Under normal circumstances, Lukos would have just nudged Bianor to the side and walked out first. Today, however, he needed the old man for the horse transaction and he wanted Bianor to be in a good mood, rather than a foul one. It was easier to deal with him.
By the time Bianor had crossed the whole of the ship’s interior and was at the foot of the stairs, though, Lukos’s patience was thin. “The horses will have grown old and died by the time we get there if you don’t pick up your feet, you wrinkled old goat.” It amused him to think up insulting nicknames for Bianor as the scribe took one step at a time, pausing needlessly long on each one before progressing upwards. Bianor, for his turn, was not mobilized in the least by this abuse and took his sweet, sweet time. It pleased the old man to have Lukose chomping at the bit by the time they were finally up the stairs, across the deck, down the gangway, and finally onto the docks.
The problem here was that they were surrounded by crowds of people. This did not help Bianor’s speed or Lukos’s tolerance of the scribe’s purposeful slowness. Thankfully for the pair of them, people did seem to recognize that the day was hot and that an elder like Bianor should not have to dodge them. Instead, they parted for him and for the captain as they made their way down the docks and into Vasiliadon itself.
The sun beat down and despite Bianor’s personal hatred of his captain, he eventually had to reach for the younger man’s arm, silently asking for assistance in walking. Without looking down, Lukos allowed Bianor’s thin hands to grasp his forearm as they walked toward the market. At least now Bianor was allowing them to walk at a healthier clip. Lukos navigated the two of them through the streets, his dark eyes casting this way and that for potential obstacles that might trip or slow up his scribe. To anyone looking, they seemed like father and son, Lukos being helpful by offering both his assistance and carrying the vellum book under his other arm.
At last they made it to market and met with the baron there. The negotiation about the horses was a heated one and ultimately Bianor made the mistake of stating that the horses would be sold in Athenia. This, the baron would not hear of. The horses were supposed to stay in Taengea. They were bred specifically for beauty and the trait was meant to be a boon to the aesthetic of Taengea, not Athenia. Lukos grit his teeth and was mentally strangling Bianor as the baron walked away. He’d never wanted to be rid of money so much as he did in that moment. For the price he’d have paid for those horses here, he could have made twice what they were worth in Athenia.
“Good riddance,” Bianor huffed and sat down on the rim of a fountain in the public square. Lukos glared at him.
“I’m going to suffocate you while you sleep,” he seethed.
Bianor was unruffled by this hollow threat. The captain had threatened to kill him for years and rarely acted on the impulse. “Let me see that purse,” he said, motioning to the vivid blue bag that Lukos had been re-tying to his belt. “I want to see if I put the correct ruby in there. I meant to put a smaller one but I didn’t have the scales.” At Lukos’s black stare, he added a little defensively, “It’s hard to see down in the hold! I’m not as young as I used to be!”
“I think it’s time to replace you,” Lukos snapped as he handed over the bag and dropped down next to Bianor. He’d moved on from the bitter disappointment of the horses though. It would have been a nightmare to ship them for weeks across the ocean. He scanned the market, attempting to find something comparable and sellable for the amount of money they’d brought with them. Twice he locked eyes with another man who seemed to be eyeing the coin purse but he wasn’t overly worried about being stolen from. Vasiiliadon was a famously safe city, thanks to the Order that patrolled its streets.
Bianor sifted through the pouch, heedless of being watched and laid out little jewels between him and Lukos. The jewels glinted wondrously in the sunlight, gorgeous and just begging to be owned. Lukos didn’t want to buy specialty slaves but he wasn’t seeing many other options. People were fairly easy to transport and slaves that were bought and resold were definitely moveable...but would they strike the right price...that was the gamble. If he broke even, that would defeat the whole purpose….
Lost in thought, Lukos leaned back on his hands, with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles; the picture of at ease in his surroundings, with Bianor steadily counting out loud, quietly beside him.
The old man’s skinny, withered arms were stretched possessively across a vellum ledger book that held columns and numbers, ticks and checks, and a dizzying array of information that would have taken someone quite a long time to navigate. This was how the old scribe had always arranged things; partially because it was how he’d learned, and partially because it confused the casual onlooker. Because the captain could not read anything at just a glance, Bianor didn’t feel quite as exposed to leave the book open in Lukos’s presence. Though why he should have felt exposed at all was odd, since everything in the columns belonged to Lukos.
It showed the level of trust that Lukos had for the old man; Bianor had complete control over the gold and the finances in general, both for Lukos and for the other members of the crew. Perhaps he could have been shuffling more gold than strictly necessary into his own coin purse but he didn’t for two reasons. The first was that he had no real expenses. He lived on this ship, ate what was supplied to him, and had no family and so no reason to leave. The accumulation of wealth really was just a habit at this point, rather than a want. The second reason was that if Lukos ever found out, the kind of death and torture that would be directed the old man’s way was unimaginable and, therefore, not worth it.
“There,” Bianor finished counting out what Lukos had asked for and produced a bright blue purse made of dyed leather and pulled together with vivid yellow strings. “This should impress the Baron enough to part with those horses of his.”
“Do you ride, you old bag?” Lukos asked amiably as he tied the purse to his belt and folded his arms across his chest.
“Not since you were born,” Bianor snapped, finally standing. His old bones creaked and groaned, reminding Lukos of what walking in the forest and hearing snapping twigs sounded like. He wrinkled his nose a little and stepped back, letting Bianor move around him and lead the way towards the stairs. The pace was agonizingly slow, since the old man shuffled, rather than walked. Under normal circumstances, Lukos would have just nudged Bianor to the side and walked out first. Today, however, he needed the old man for the horse transaction and he wanted Bianor to be in a good mood, rather than a foul one. It was easier to deal with him.
By the time Bianor had crossed the whole of the ship’s interior and was at the foot of the stairs, though, Lukos’s patience was thin. “The horses will have grown old and died by the time we get there if you don’t pick up your feet, you wrinkled old goat.” It amused him to think up insulting nicknames for Bianor as the scribe took one step at a time, pausing needlessly long on each one before progressing upwards. Bianor, for his turn, was not mobilized in the least by this abuse and took his sweet, sweet time. It pleased the old man to have Lukose chomping at the bit by the time they were finally up the stairs, across the deck, down the gangway, and finally onto the docks.
The problem here was that they were surrounded by crowds of people. This did not help Bianor’s speed or Lukos’s tolerance of the scribe’s purposeful slowness. Thankfully for the pair of them, people did seem to recognize that the day was hot and that an elder like Bianor should not have to dodge them. Instead, they parted for him and for the captain as they made their way down the docks and into Vasiliadon itself.
The sun beat down and despite Bianor’s personal hatred of his captain, he eventually had to reach for the younger man’s arm, silently asking for assistance in walking. Without looking down, Lukos allowed Bianor’s thin hands to grasp his forearm as they walked toward the market. At least now Bianor was allowing them to walk at a healthier clip. Lukos navigated the two of them through the streets, his dark eyes casting this way and that for potential obstacles that might trip or slow up his scribe. To anyone looking, they seemed like father and son, Lukos being helpful by offering both his assistance and carrying the vellum book under his other arm.
At last they made it to market and met with the baron there. The negotiation about the horses was a heated one and ultimately Bianor made the mistake of stating that the horses would be sold in Athenia. This, the baron would not hear of. The horses were supposed to stay in Taengea. They were bred specifically for beauty and the trait was meant to be a boon to the aesthetic of Taengea, not Athenia. Lukos grit his teeth and was mentally strangling Bianor as the baron walked away. He’d never wanted to be rid of money so much as he did in that moment. For the price he’d have paid for those horses here, he could have made twice what they were worth in Athenia.
“Good riddance,” Bianor huffed and sat down on the rim of a fountain in the public square. Lukos glared at him.
“I’m going to suffocate you while you sleep,” he seethed.
Bianor was unruffled by this hollow threat. The captain had threatened to kill him for years and rarely acted on the impulse. “Let me see that purse,” he said, motioning to the vivid blue bag that Lukos had been re-tying to his belt. “I want to see if I put the correct ruby in there. I meant to put a smaller one but I didn’t have the scales.” At Lukos’s black stare, he added a little defensively, “It’s hard to see down in the hold! I’m not as young as I used to be!”
“I think it’s time to replace you,” Lukos snapped as he handed over the bag and dropped down next to Bianor. He’d moved on from the bitter disappointment of the horses though. It would have been a nightmare to ship them for weeks across the ocean. He scanned the market, attempting to find something comparable and sellable for the amount of money they’d brought with them. Twice he locked eyes with another man who seemed to be eyeing the coin purse but he wasn’t overly worried about being stolen from. Vasiiliadon was a famously safe city, thanks to the Order that patrolled its streets.
Bianor sifted through the pouch, heedless of being watched and laid out little jewels between him and Lukos. The jewels glinted wondrously in the sunlight, gorgeous and just begging to be owned. Lukos didn’t want to buy specialty slaves but he wasn’t seeing many other options. People were fairly easy to transport and slaves that were bought and resold were definitely moveable...but would they strike the right price...that was the gamble. If he broke even, that would defeat the whole purpose….
Lost in thought, Lukos leaned back on his hands, with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles; the picture of at ease in his surroundings, with Bianor steadily counting out loud, quietly beside him.