The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography (20 page)

The other players then said, “It is the last round. Use the hidden pin to stick old Capper for all he is worth.”

One of them whispered to me, saying, “Yes, throw all your money into the pot so you might win a great fortune off him.”

This plan suited me very well, therefore I asked Capper whether I might place a higher bet than before.

He said I might. (Naturally he said this, for he wished to rob me of all my money!) Thereupon, I poured the contents of my purse, together with all my winnings so far, into the bowl.

Capper cried out at this, and pretended he was horrified. He said, “What! When you asked if you might increase the stakes, I thought you to mean by just a few more crowns, not by this great fortune!”

But my fellow players said, “None of that, Capper! You agreed he might place the bet, and now you must face the consequences, for he has outwitted you with his cleverness and guile.”

Capper said then he would accept the wager, although he shook his head at it, and sighed terribly, as if he was very sorry he had been trapped in this way.

Well, Capper asked me which stick my wager was on, and I replied, “The leftmost stick. The pin is there, I am certain.”

Now, you will wonder how, when I knew I was playing amongst rascals who planned to use trickery against me, I could be so certain the pin would be where I said. After all, the final shuffle of the sticks was very much more deft and confusing than the shuffles that had preceded it, and old Capper had used all his skill in performing it.

Well, here I will confess I was using a little trick of my own against these would-be tricksters. You see, I did not do what most simple-minded folk would have done when watching the play of the game—following the movement of the pinned stick until it finally came to rest—for I knew this old rogue’s nimble fingers would be able to outwit even my keen eyes. No, I used a different strategy. I had noticed that the three sticks, although they were very similar, bore subtle differences each from the other. One, for example, had a slight bend to it. Another had a white mark on one side. The third had a little splinter sticking out of one end. By observing the key feature when the pin was first placed, I had only to find it again when the shuffling ceased and I would be certain of victory, no matter how much dexterity Capper’s hands might display.

When the pin had been placed on this final shuffle, I had noted that the splinter-tipped stick was the one which held the pin, and this was the stick which had ended up in the leftmost place. That stick, therefore, was my selection.

When he heard my choice, you may be sure Capper gave a terrible cry of woe. He said, “You have beaten me, my friend. I am certain your choice is the right one. See, I will show you.”

And he withdrew the stick, so I might take pleasure in viewing my victory. But then an astonishing thing happened:
the pin was not there!

Moreover, I could see Capper was as perplexed and astonished as I. Then, wide-eyed, he pulled out the centre stick, which was the one with the white mark, and not the one with the splinter, and what do you suppose? The pin was there, embedded up to the head. This sight brought further astonishment to him and to everyone else who looked on.

Well, of course, all my money was gone! I left that marketplace a pauper, and returned to the inn, where I lay in my bed and puzzled over the strange things which had come to pass.

At length, the explanation of the changing sticks came to me. I realized that, while I played the game, a miracle had occurred. God had interfered with the sticks, so I might not become corrupted by wealth. He wanted me instead to follow the mysterious path which He had laid out for me, and to follow such signs as He might send to me when He was good and ready.

I also saw now that the task of restoring the fortunes of the
Duke of Oaster, my old patron (who, I still believed, was exiled by the king) was not something to be completed within a few months as I had thought, but was, rather, a great task, of the sort a hero might take a lifetime to fulfil.

I therefore resolved to stay in Stanneck for a time, and enjoy the fruits of the place until a clear message was sent to me from God that I should move on. I was very tired, you see, of all the hurried travelling I had been doing lately.

I knew I would need money soon to pay for my food and lodging, so the next day, I decided I would set myself in business as a joiner and mender in the marketplace. I knew it was a profession using similar skills to my own, and its practitioners can make a solid wage without having to win the favour of a powerful patron. I am surprised that other stonemages have not thought to use their skills profitably this way from time to time, for it is much easier to stick together broken shoes and pots than to stick together broken buildings.

Of course, before I started I needed a bench and a table, and I had no money for these things. I remembered, though, I had seen benches and tables and all manner of wooden furniture at the shop of
Otter, who, you will remember, was that man to whom I gave a valuable cooking pot just a day before.

I thought, “Perhaps he will lend me a bench and a table so I might set myself up in business.” So I set out, looking for his shop once more.

The streets of Stanneck were still new to me, and I had not been paying close attention to which street I followed and which street I turned at when I had left Otter’s company, so I was tramping the streets for some time looking for his shop.

As I walked, I began to think, “What if Otter does not choose to lend me a bench and a table? What shall I do then, for he is under no compulsion to help me?”

Then I thought, “No, no. I must think well of this man, for he released me from the pot when I asked him to, and I owe him a great debt of gratitude.”

Well, I walked on, with this happy and naive attitude in my head for a time.

Yet I felt a nagging doubt, a worry that troubled me, for I felt I had not appraised the situation aright.

I thought through the situation again, about how Otter had helped me.

“Here is Otter, the fat carpenter,” I said to myself. “He is sitting outside his shop, lazing away the day, when along comes our good friend Yreth, in a beautiful and valuable pot. ‘Let me out,’ says Yreth. And so Otter lets him out. And, for the price of a few blows of a hammer, he gains himself this rare pot, whose worth is at least a full arran.”

Of course, it was true I had not asked any payment for the pot, but that is my carefree way. More importantly, though,
he had not offered any payment.

Suppose some stranger came to me and said, “The pin of this precious jewelled brooch is stuck through my skin,” and I removed it from the stranger out of charity. In such a situation, I would not think of keeping the precious brooch. Instead, I would give it back to the stranger, and, if the stranger would not have it, why then, I would pay him a fair price for it.

I said to myself, “By rights, that fellow Otter should have offered me a fair price for the pot. An arran, at the least.”

An arran, did I say? Well, as I walked on, I thought upon this, and it occurred to me that, in all my travels, I had never seen a merchant selling so large a pot as the one which Otter had taken from me. Mind, I make no claims to be an expert on the price of pots, but I know they are often expensive items, especially the big ones, and most especially those made of iron, as this one was, for iron is a fine, strong metal. So, while I had seen pots priced at an arran, it struck me that those pots were not quite so large and tough as the pot I had given to Otter. That pot had a lid, too, which not every pot does.

After I had thought the matter through carefully, I decided two arrans would be a more appropriate token price for that magnificent pot, although three arrans would be fairer, and it would not be unreasonable to pay even as much as four arrans for such an unusually large, well crafted, attractive and solid cooking pot as that one was.

At length, I found the shop where Otter worked. He was sitting outside, with his myrmidon standing near, and, as I approached, he waved at me and said, “Ah, my good friend
Glissa. How goes, then?”

You will remember, I had given the name Glissa when I had talked with him before, so he believed it to be my true name.

I nodded politely in reply, and said, “Well enough. Well enough.” Then I walked on, looking casually into his shop as I passed.

There were good benches there, and fancy chairs too, as well as many tables. At the back of the shop, a long folding door was open, so you could see right through the shop into a garden at the back. In this garden, I saw the pot. It was lying in the grass and a child was playing in it.

I walked away then, saying nothing about the pot, for I had not quite settled my thoughts.

I continued through various streets, thinking over this matter of the pot. I felt angry and offended that this valuable item was being wasted, just left to rust in a garden while children used it as a plaything.

I said to myself, “No, this matter must be settled, for otherwise it will twitch at my stomach for nights to come! I must seek immediate and satisfactory redress.” Then I turned around and marched to Otter’s shop.

He waved once more, saying “Ah, it is Glissa again.”

I said, “It is none other.” I used a friendly tone, for I thought it would be best to resolve this matter in an amicable way, especially since Otter had a myrmidon guarding over him, whereas I had none.

He said, “Well then, how is Stanneck treating you?”

I said, “The place fills me with ambition. I intend to become a joiner and mender in the marketplace.”

He said, “Why then, you will need a bench and a table for that.” (As you can see, I had no sooner mentioned my new trade than he starting thinking of how it might benefit his own old one.)

I said, “Yes, and I know the very place where I will acquire these things, which is to say, here.”

He was delighted at this news, and told me what an excellent decision I had made, for his craftsmanship was the finest anywhere, and so on. Then he showed me all the tables he had for sale. I looked carefully over a number of them, but they were too large to carry, and besides, I did not need a large table for the work I planned to do. In the end, I decided upon a very fine little walnut table, with an intricate flower pattern around the edge.

As for a bench, Otter showed me a few, but none of them really suited me well, for they were very plain and ordinary. The fancy chairs, however, were another matter.

Otter laughed at my judgement, saying, “These are not for setting in a marketplace. These chairs are such as you might set at a dinner table in a fine house.”

I said, “Why is it necessary that a trader or merchant must sit at a plain bench when the same person might sit upon a fancy chair? There is no sense in it whatever.” Then, so Otter might see my good taste was nothing to be mocked, I picked myself a very pretty chair, with padded red cloth upon the seat and back, and carving upon the legs.

He said, “Well, you have chosen some good carpentry there. Now, shall we discuss the price?”

I said, “Without delay, for it will be a short discussion. As you will remember, when we first met, I made you a gift of a very fine pot. I have calculated its worth very carefully, which I estimate as four arrans.”

He said, “Do you think me so wealthy that I will pay you four arrans for an old pot. No! No indeed! Take it back, if it is so valuable to you! I have no need for it anyway.”

I replied, “The pot was a gift, and I asked no payment for it. In discussing its value I am merely pointing out what a generous gift it was. Moreover, I think it very rude of you to make light of my gift by trying to throw it back at me.”

He was shamefaced then and apologized for his rash words, saying he had mistaken the angle of my argument.

I said, “I do not insist on any payment for my pot, let me be clear on that point. And yet there are important customs and traditions at stake here. For example, where I come from it is customary, when you are given a gift, to offer a comparable gift in return. Does the same tradition hold here in Stanneck.”

Otter said, “Very often it does, yes.”

I said, “And it is a very fine tradition, too, for we are all brought closer by the spirit of generosity. In the church the priests use the terms “charity” and “love of neighbour” to describe this excellent state.”

He said, “Yes, but let us cut to the sap. If you are saying I should give you this beautiful chair and table as a gift, because you have given me that pot, which is, frankly, an old one, well then, it is simply not fair, for the value of one gift outweighs that of the other.”

I said, “Let us not quibble over silver, for such discussions are not part of the true spirit of gift-giving. If we are to measure every gift so scrupulously, we might as well be two merchants haggling over the price of a hen.”

Well, he thought about this, and then he laughed, saying, “Very well, take the chair and the table as my gift to you, and may your new business flourish. In fact, I am certain it will flourish, for I see you are a much cleverer man than I, and quick with your wits besides.”

I laughed at this, for it was so true, then I thanked him for his gift and we bade each other farewell.

I left his shop, with the chair under one arm and the little table under the other. I felt very sweet and charitable and in love with the world, for my good friend Otter had given me a fine gift.

But as I walked away from his shop, he ruined it all, for he shouted after me, for everyone in the street to hear, “Make me no more gifts, though, or I will be a pauper!” Well, his thoughtless comment instantly made my mood very sour, for it made it seem as if my gift had been no gift at all, whereas his was like alms to a beggar.

I said nothing in response, of course, and merely kept walking. Later, though, I came across the shop of another carpenter, so I went in, with my chair and table, and said to the old man there, “Here, what would you give me for the two of these?”

He said, with barely a glance at them, “Half an arran.”