Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (71 page)

perhaps even a touch of magic. I would go see her, for if anyone has what

I seek, it would be she.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” said Roran. He looked at Mandel. “Accom-

pany Gertrude, help her with her purchases, and do your best to protect

her if you are attacked. Your nerve may be tested at times, but do noth-

ing to cause alarm, unless you would betray your friends and family.”

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Mandel touched his forelock and nodded his obedience. He and

Gertrude departed at right angles down a cross street, while Roran and

the rest resumed their hunt.

Roran had the patience of a stalking predator, but even he began to

thrum with restlessness when morning and afternoon slipped by and they

still had not found a ship to carry them to Surda. He learned that the

three-masted ship, the Dragon Wing, was newly built and about to be

launched on her maiden voyage; that they had no chance of hiring it from

the Blackmoor Shipping Company unless they could pay a roomful of the

dwarves’ red gold; and indeed, that the villagers lacked the coin to engage

even the meanest vessel. Nor would taking Clovis’s barges solve their

problems, because it still left unanswered the question of what they

would eat on their trek.

“It would be hard,” said Birgit, “very hard, to steal goods from this place,

what with all the soldiers and how close together the houses are and the

watchmen at the gate. If we tried to cart that much stuff out of Teirm,

they’d want to know what we were doing.”

Roran nodded. That too.

Roran had suggested to Horst that if the villagers were forced to flee

Teirm with naught but their remaining supplies, they could raid for their

food. However, Roran knew that such an act would mean they had be-

come as monstrous as those he hated. He had no stomach for it. It was

one thing to fight and kill those who served Galbatorix—or even to steal

Clovis’s barges, since Clovis had other means of supporting himself—but

it was quite another to take provisions from innocent farmers who strug-

gled to survive as much as the villagers had in Palancar Valley. That

would be murder.

Those hard facts weighed upon Roran like stones. Their venture had

always been tenuous at best, sustained in equal parts by fear, desperation,

optimism, and last-minute improvisation. Now he feared that he had

driven the villagers into the den of their enemies and bound them in

place with a chain forged of their own poverty. I could escape alone and

continue my search for Katrina, but what victory would that be if I left my

village to be enslaved by the Empire? Whatever our fate in Teirm, I will

stand firm with those who trusted me enough to forsake their homes upon my

word.

To relieve their hunger, they stopped at a bakery and bought a loaf of

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fresh rye bread, as well as a small pot of honey to slather it with. While

he paid for the items, Loring mentioned to the baker’s assistant that they

were in the market for ships, equipment, and food.

At a tap on his shoulder, Roran turned. A man with coarse black hair

and a thick slab of belly said, “Pardon me for overhearing your parley

with the young master, but if it’s ships and such you be after, and at a fair

price, then I should guess you’d want to attend the auction.”

“What auction is this?” asked Roran.

“Ah, it’s a sad story, it is, but all too common nowadays. One of our

merchants, Jeod—Jeod Longshanks, as we call him out of hearing—has

had the most abominable run of bad luck. In less than a year, he lost four

of his ships, an’ when he tried to send his goods over land, the caravan

was ambushed and destroyed by some thieving outlaws. His investors

forced him to declare bankruptcy, and now they’re going to sell his prop-

erty to recoup their losses. I don’t know ’bout food, but you’d be sure to

find most everything else you’re looking to buy at the auction.”

A faint ember of hope kindled in Roran’s breast. “When will the auc-

tion be held?”

“Why, it’s posted on every message board throughout the city. Day af-

ter tomorrow, to be sure.”

That explained to Roran why they had not learned of the auction be-

fore; they had done their best to avoid the message boards, on the off

chance that someone would recognize Roran from the portrait on his re-

ward poster.

“Thank you much,” he said to the man. “You may have saved us a great

deal of trouble.”

“My pleasure, so it is.”

Once Roran and his companions filed out of the shop, they huddled to-

gether on the edge of the street. He said, “Do you think we should look

into this?”

“It’s all we have to look into,” growled Loring.

“Birgit?”

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“You needn’t ask me; it’s obvious. We cannot wait until the day after

tomorrow, though.”

“No. I say we meet with this Jeod and see if we can strike a bargain

with him before the auction opens. Are we agreed?”

They were, and so they set out for Jeod’s house, armed with directions

from a passerby. The house—or rather, mansion—was set on the west

side of Teirm, close to the citadel, among scores of other opulent build-

ings embellished with fine scrollwork, wrought-iron gates, statues, and

gushing fountains. Roran could scarcely comprehend such riches; it

amazed him how different the lives of these people were from his own.

Roran knocked on the front door to Jeod’s mansion, which stood next

to an abandoned shop. After a moment, the door was pulled open by a

plump butler garnished with overly shiny teeth. He eyed the four strang-

ers upon his doorstep with disapproval, then flashed his glazed smile and

asked, “How may I help you, sirs and madam?”

“We would talk with Jeod, if he is free.”

“Have you an appointment?”

Roran thought the butler knew perfectly well that they did not. “Our

stay in Teirm is too brief for us to arrange a proper meeting.”

“Ah, well, then I regret to say that your time would have been better

spent elsewhere. My master has many matters to tend. He cannot devote

himself to every group of ragged tramps that bangs on his door, asking for

handouts,” said the butler. He exposed even more of his glassy teeth and

began to withdraw inside.

“Wait!” cried Roran. “It’s not handouts we want; we have a business

proposition for Jeod.”

The butler lifted one eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Aye, it is. Please ask him if he will hear us. We’ve traveled more

leagues than you’d care to know, and it’s imperative we see Jeod today.”

“May I inquire as to the nature of your proposition?”

“It’s confidential.”

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“Very well, sir,” said the butler. “I will convey your offer, but I warn

you that Jeod is occupied at the moment, and I doubt he will wish to

bother himself. By what name shall I announce you, sir?”

“You may call me Stronghammer.” The butler’s mouth twitched as if

amused by the name, then slipped behind the door and closed it.

“If his head were any larger, ’e couldn’t fit in the privy,” muttered Lor-

ing out the side of his mouth. Nolfavrell uttered a bark of laughter at the

insult.

Birgit said, “Let’s hope the servant doesn’t imitate the master.”

A minute later, the door reopened and the butler announced, with a

rather brittle expression, “Jeod has agreed to meet you in the study.” He

moved to the side and gestured with one arm for them to proceed. “This

way.” After they trooped into the sumptuous entryway, the butler swept

past them and down a polished wood hallway to one door among many,

which he opened and ushered them through.

457

JEOD LONGSHANKS

If Roran had known how to read, he might have been more impressed

by the treasure trove of books that lined the study walls. As it was, he

reserved his attention for the tall man with graying hair who stood be-

hind an oval writing desk. The man—who Roran assumed was Jeod—

looked about as tired as Roran felt. His face was lined, careworn, and sad,

and when he turned toward them, a nasty scar gleamed white from his

scalp to his left temple. To Roran, it bespoke steel in the man. Long and

buried, perhaps, but steel nevertheless.

“Do sit,” said Jeod. “I won’t stand on ceremony in my own house.” He

watched them with curious eyes as they settled in the soft leather arm-

chairs. “May I offer you pastries and a glass of apricot brandy? I cannot

talk for long, but I see you’ve been on the road for many a week, and I

well remember how dusty my throat was after such journeys.”

Loring grinned. “Aye. A touch of brandy would be welcome indeed.

You’re most generous, sir.”

“Only a glass of milk for my boy,” said Birgit.

“Of course, madam.” Jeod rang for the butler, delivered his instructions,

then leaned back in his chair. “I am at a disadvantage. I believe you have

my name, but I don’t have yours.”

“Stronghammer, at your service,” said Roran.

“Mardra, at your service,” said Birgit.

“Kell, at your service,” said Nolfavrell.

“And I’d be Wally, at your service,” finished Loring.

“And I at yours,” responded Jeod. “Now, Rolf mentioned that you

wished to do business with me. It’s only fair that you know I’m in no po-

sition to buy or sell goods, nor have I gold for investing, nor proud ships

to carry wool and food, gems and spices across the restless sea. What,

then, can I do for you?”

Roran rested his elbows on his knees, then knitted his fingers together

and stared between them as he marshaled his thoughts. A slip of the

tongue could kill us here, he reminded himself. “To put it simply, sir, we

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represent a certain group of people who—for various reasons—must

purchase a large amount of supplies with very little money. We know

that your belongings will be auctioned off day after tomorrow to repay

your debts, and we would like to offer a bid now on those items we

need. We would have waited until the auction, but circumstances press

us and we cannot tarry another two days. If we are to strike a bargain, it

must be tonight or tomorrow, no later.”

“What manner of supplies do you need?” asked Jeod.

“Food and whatever else is required to outfit a ship or other vessel for a

long voyage at sea.”

A spark of interest gleamed in Jeod’s weary face. “Do you have a certain

ship in mind? For I know every craft that’s plied these waters in the last

twenty years.”

“We’ve yet to decide.”

Jeod accepted that without question. “I understand now why you

thought to come to me, but I fear you labor under a misapprehension.”

He spread his gray hands, indicating the room. “Everything you see here

no longer belongs to me, but to my creditors. I have no authority to sell

my possessions, and if I did so without permission, I would likely be im-

prisoned for cheating my creditors out of the money I owe them.”

He paused as Rolf backed into the study, carrying a large silver tray

dotted with pastries, cut-crystal goblets, a glass of milk, and a decanter of

brandy. The butler placed the tray on a padded footstool and then pro-

ceeded to serve the refreshments. Roran took his goblet and sipped the

mellow brandy, wondering how soon courtesy would allow the four of

them to excuse themselves and resume their quest.

When Rolf left the room, Jeod drained his goblet with a single draught,

then said, “I may be of no use to you, but I do know a number of people

in my profession who might. .might.. be able to help. If you can give me a

bit more detail about what you want to buy, then I’d have a better idea

of who to recommend.”

Roran saw no harm in that, so he began to recite a list of items the vil-

lagers had to have, things they might need, and things they wanted but

would never be able to afford unless fortune smiled greatly upon them.

Now and then Birgit or Loring mentioned something Roran had forgot-

ten—like lamp oil—and Jeod would glance at them for a moment before

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returning his hooded gaze to Roran, where it remained with growing in-

tensity. Jeod’s interest concerned Roran; it was as if the merchant knew,

or suspected, what he was hiding.

“It seems to me,” said Jeod at the completion of Roran’s inventory, “that

this would be enough provisions to transport several hundred people to

Feinster or Aroughs. . or beyond. Admittedly, I’ve been rather occupied

for the past few weeks, but I’ve heard of no such host in this area, nor

can I imagine where one might have come from.”

His face blank, Roran met Jeod’s stare and said nothing. On the inside,

he seethed with self-contempt for allowing Jeod to amass enough infor-

mation to reach that conclusion.

Jeod shrugged. “Well, be as it may, that’s your own concern. I’d suggest

that you see Galton on Market Street about your food and old Hamill by

the docks for all else. They’re both honest men and will treat you true

and fair.” Reaching over, he plucked a pastry from the tray, took a bite,

and then, when he finished chewing, asked Nolfavrell, “So, young Kell,

have you enjoyed your stay in Teirm?”

“Yes, sir,” said Nolfavrell, and grinned. “I’ve never seen anything quite so