Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (6 page)

Raf made himself exhale slowly as his pounding heart started to calm down in his chest. There was a rush of wind behind him and suddenly his mother was standing there.

“I understand you’ve bought some vinehoney from us, Mr. Tunrhak?” she said brightly.  “This is splendid news. Do make sure you strap them on carefully; they’re not the most stable containers as we discovered.”

“Mom…” muttered Raf.
She was going to ruin everything!

“
I’m just saying, it’s very easy to knock one of these silly jars over. Not that that poor trader minded too much.”

Wesp’s lifted his head up from packing. “What?”

“A trader was here a few weeks back and my husband -” she tilted her head back towards Tarvil who tried to subtly shake his head at her, “- managed to knock a jar all over him.” She gave a half-hearted chuckle. “I told you, these jars aren’t the b-“

“He bought vinehoney?” interrupted Wesp.

“Well… yes.”

“He was from Miern?”

“Yes, like most traders who visit. He was very complimentary about the vinehoney, actually. He wanted some for his trip back to the city. He said it was for a party, I think. Or a banquet, maybe.”

Wesp hit the side of the wagon with a fist and growled furiously.

Leiana tried to placate him, saying, “That’s right, yes, a banquet. Nothing to do with trade, W-”

“- the
Gerent’s
banquet! The same banquet I bought the honey for!”

“No need to get so worked up, y-“

“I’ve bought it for nothing! This other trader will be there before me! You said -” His eyes suddenly narrowed and
he raised a finger to point it at Raf and then Tarvil. “You knew! You knew all along.” His eyes stared around. “I’ve been tricked… Give me back my money, forester!”

Tarvil shook his head. “The deal is made and we are bound to it. Isn’t that how you said it, Mr. Tunrhak?”

“No!” hissed Wesp. “I must have that money back. I have items here to sell, rare and beautiful objects. Tools from the famous smithies of north Almia, books and medicines.” He rummaged desperately through his chests as the villagers watched him.

“I’m afraid the trading for today has come to an end,” said the Foreman. “Come, Council, let us depart and discu-”

“No! I have more! Things you have never dreamt of. Weapons of Miernan steel, -”

“We have no need of weapons here.”

“Maps? Dyes?” Wesp was frantically throwing things out of trunks onto the wagon floor. “Wait! I have something you will most certainly be interested in. It’s an instrument made of a rare, fine wood, a piece of art of such intricate beauty you will hardly believe it real…” He whipped his hand up in the air, holding the instrument. Madam Ottery, who was standing at the rear, murmured in appreciation.

“Orfea!”

Every set of eyes swiveled to rest on Raf who covered his mouth as soon as the word left it.

“Raf?” asked his mother.

“Uh… nothing, sorry,” replied Raf, blushing furiously.

“Who’s this Orfea?”

“Her name… I mean, it’s the name of the instrument.”

“Really?” puzzled Tarvil. He turned to Madame Ottery. “Have you heard of one of those before, Resma?” She shook her head.

“Yes, that’s right! An
orfea!”
said Wesp.

“How do you know that, Raf? Where have you seen one before?” asked Tarvil.

“Well… I... I think I made it,” stuttered Raf, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Ha!
Made
this?
You?
This beautiful piece of artwork?” Wesp sneered.

Tarvil approached him, frowning. “None of your pranks now, Raf.”

“I’m not lying, Dad, I did make it. I lost it a few days ago on the northern path. The trader must’ve found it.”

“Can you prove it’s yours?” asked the Foreman. ”Have you carved your name on it or anything like that? Do you have another one like it? Anything that would stand as proof? I want to believe you, but I must be fair.”

Raf looked down nervously. “No. I mean, I could… maybe play it for you?”

“That might do,” said the Foreman with a nod.

Wesp snorted and held the instrument out, sneering at Raf with a withering look. Raf took Orfea and held her in his hands, smiling faintly.

“Well?” came the harsh voice of Wesp. “What are you smiling about, boy? Called your bluff now, have I? This is no simple forester pipe; this takes a master musician to play.”

Raf shook his head as he covered the holes with his fingers, drew a breath and lifted it to his mouth. A soft, sweet, mellow note flew out of Orfea, followed by more as he trilled a fluid reprise of the
farwelayre
.

“Well, I think that’s settled,” said the Foreman, giving Raf a quick approving look.

“What do you mean settled?” said Wesp. “That proves nothing.”

“I believe him.”

“I
don’t care what you believe, I want that pipe back!”

“As Foreman of Eirdale, I’ll gladly look into the matter further but it will take some time.” He looked up at the branches above them, his fingers moving as he counted under his breath. “My estimate, bearing
in mind that the Festival is just around the corner, is that it will probably take a month or so to come to a satisfactory conclusion.“

“A month?” chirped the young boy from the wagon top. “Mr. Wesp, can we stay?”

“Shut up!” Wesp leaned up and smacked the boy’s dangling foot hard so that it crashed into the wagon rail. The boy scrambled backwards, cowering against the back railing rubbing his bruised leg. Wesp growled and turned back to the Foreman.
“You’re nothing but thieves, forester. The first thing I’m going to do when I get back to Miern is report this!”

“I understand your frustration, trader, but my decision is made.”

“How dare you!” sneered Wesp, drawing himself up. “I am Wesp Tunrhak, personal friend to the Gerent!”

Tarvil smiled faintly and then, cupping his chin with his thumb and forefinger, said, “Yes, quite so.” He turned to the young boy.
“Perhaps we should hear what this young lad has to say about it? I imagine he would have been there when you first obtained the instrument. Were you, boy?”

Wesp lunged to the wagon, pointing a finger at the boy. “Do you remember what I said about that hole?” The boy’s face went white and he shrunk against the wagon side. “If you say another word…”

The Foreman frowned and said, “That really is enough now, trader. Go easy on the kid, will you? You may stay overnight, but I think it would be best if you left at first light.”

He gave the young boy in the wagon an uneasy glance and then walked away, gesturing to the other villagers to follow suit.

T
he village was painted with the muted half-light of evening as the lanterns’ orange glow filled the commons. The stream of birdsong that accompanied daylight had diminished now to be replaced by the soft calls of nightingales and larks, and behind it all, the incessant vibrating rasp of cicadas.

Raf waited by the trunk of the sequoia
Ancient
that served as the Council chambers as his parents and the Foreman followed the other Council members inside, and then he tried to surreptitiously nip around the corner.

“I don’t think so, young Gency. We have one or two things to clear up first,” said the Foreman wryly, indicating for Raf to enter.

“Yes, sir,” said Raf.

The Foreman pulled the oaken door closed behind him and then strode to the back of the room where he sat down, arms crossed, and swung his boots up to rest on the table top.

“So, what did you think of that trader then, Raf?”

“I… I’m not sure, sir,” muttered Raf, feeling a flush rise again on his face under the stare of the Council. “But it
is
my pipe sir, I promise!”

“And how is it that you’ve hidden this ability to craft what is an incredibly intricate instrument? And with no training?” asked Madame Ottery. “I know you haven’t been trained because I am the only person within miles who knows anything about the craft and even I couldn’t make a perfect flarehorn like that.”  She stared at him.

“I don’t know,” said Raf shrugging. “I honestly don’t know how I did it, exactly. But I did.”

“Let’s leave that for now,” said the Foreman. “What game were you two playing there, Tarvil?”

“Well,” said Tarvil, “Raf overheard the trader speaking about wanting vinehoney. He brought the information to me and -”

“- and you didn’t think to share it with us?” said Leiana.

“-
and
, bearing in mind our current financial difficulties, it seemed wise to maximize the situation. It’s unfortunate that he found us out, though.”

The Foreman grunted. “A fine line to tread, Tarvil. As much as we need the money to fund the Festival, we also need to build ties with Miern. I’m sure he was mostly full of wind, but bad news travels twice as fast as good news, and it could be grim for us if he follows through with his threats.” There was a general mumbling of agreement. “Still,” he added, “it seems that against the odds, we now have the money to get the Festival back on track. Which is something to celebrate.”

Raf was making his way for the door when the Foreman called out, “Well done today, master Gency. I don’t imagine things would’ve turned out quite so well for us if it wasn’t for you.”

The other Council members added their appreciation with a few pats on the back. His mother sat, looking slightly bemused, and then broke into a reluctant grin.

Then the Foreman stood and walked to hold open the door. “When you return from your sojourn, perhaps there might be reason to create a junior Councilman role? A third Gency?” The Foreman winked at him, and as Raf stepped out into the night, the last thing he saw before the door swung shut was his mother’s glowing face.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Junior Councilman? Not likely,
fumed Raf.
I’d rather spend every day doing theory with Ottery than sitting in Council meetings. No, thank you.
 

He wound his way back through the school area, deep in thought as the cicadas buzzed around him. The usual evening hubbub had died down to a calm silence throughout Eirdale, and most homes were pitched in darkness with only the occasional voice that drifted through the fragrant air.

What a day..
.

He walked around for what felt like hours and did an entire loop of the center of the village as he pieced together all that had happened during the day. When he got back to the commons, he stopped for a while as he ran through the ridiculous situation that had arisen with the trader.

Again and again his thoughts went back to what the Foreman had said. What if the trader
did
spread the word that Eirdale was a bad place to go? It would probably result in even less traders than usual visiting which would be devastating. What if he ruined it for all the future Festivals, too? It was the biggest – and sometimes only - opportunity for the villages in the Forest to do trade. Not to mention somewhere to stay, food to eat, and entertainment for the thousands of people who journeyed here. They’d buy cartloads of local goods and in return, the villages would get essentials that they depended on like medicine, clothing, books and other things - especially metal. Raf himself was the proud owner of an excellent knife that his grandfather had given to him years ago: a foot-long, slim, sharp blade made of high quality steel. It was his most treasured possession and one of only about twenty in the entire village.

As the canopy platform they lived on was high above the actual Forest floor, mining was physically impossible and metal was scarce. Some types of wood that they used here were very hard, like ironwood, which was a pretty good substitute for metal, but there were some things that you simply couldn’t do without metal for – like carving the ironwood itself. If trade were to stop, it would cause massive problems in every part of their daily lives.

He stopped walking. The idea that he might be responsible for that sort of problem was awful.

Maybe I can convince Wesp that it was my fault, or something.
I have to try. If he follows through with his threats, it’ll ruin everything.

He picked up his pace and, shooing away another cluster of peacocks with Orfea, moved swiftly towards the guest quarters. Once he had made it through the last small tract of coffee bushes that bordered the school rooms, he crept up to the back of the guest quarters where Wesp was staying, keeping a wary eye on any movement from the paths in front.

Working his way around the base of the oak tree, he peered up towards where the trader’s wagon was kept. He panned his eyes around the small commons in front and suddenly spotted a light. A small fire! And three men sitting around it. It was Wesp and two foresters. They seemed to be having a good time, and were very drunk from the sound of it. He moved to lean against the trunk’s wall, lifting his elbow up to rest it on the ledge of the window.