"Allen, James - Unicorn Trade, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allen James)

Zulio decided Arvel was honest. He really had no idea of the curious property of fairy gold. His impatience might be due to something as trivial as a love affair gone awry.
Yes, probe that. "No farewells, no sweetheart?" Zulio asked slyly.
Arvel whitened, flushed, and whitened. "She never wants to see me again—What's that to you, you fat toad? Break my coin and take your commission, or I'll find me another banker."
"I fear—" Zulio began, and stopped.
"What?" Arvel demanded.
Zulio had changed his mind. He did not need to explain the situation. He would be extravagantly foolish to do so.
"I fear," he said, ignoring the insult, "that I shall have to charge you more than the usual brokerage fee. As you yourself realize, a coin so valuable, and alien to boot, is not easily exchanged. It will take time. It will require paperwork, to stave off the royal revenue collectors. Meanwhile the money I give you is earn-
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ing no interest for me, and I must purchase additional precautions against theft—"
Arvel proved to be even less versed in finance and bargaining than Zulio had hoped. The banker got the elven piece for three hundred and fifty aureates, paid over in gold and silver of ordinary denominations while the watchman witnessed the proceedings.
"Help the gentleman carry these bags back to his lodgings, Darron," Zulio ordered courteously. "As for you, Master Tarabine, let me wish you every success and happiness in your New Lands. Should you find you have banking needs, the house of Pandric is at your service."
"Thank you," Arvel snapped. "Goodnight. Goodbye." Somehow, the immense adventure before him had not brought joy into his eyes. He lifted his part of the money easily enough, but walked out as if he were under a heavy burden.
Scarcely were the two men gone when Zulio stuffed the coin into a satchel and waddled forth to Crystal Street by himself. He could realize a large profit this night, but only this night. If he waited until dawn, his loss would be vast.
He did not think that Natan Sandana the jeweler, whose family and associates had been city-bred for generations, had heard anything about fairy gold. Quite probably Sandana did not believe the Halfworld was more than a nursery tale. Zulio came of backwoods peasant stock, and had dabbled in magic—without result, save that he acquired much arcane lore. Panting,
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The Unicorn Trade
sweating, he elbowed onward through crowds, amidst their babble and the plangencies of beggar musicians, underneath walls and galleries and lamp-flare, until he reached the home he wanted.
Natan was at his fireside, reading aloud from an old book—the verses of wayward Cappen Varra, which this prudent, wizened modern man loved—to his wife and younger children. He did not like or trust Zulio Pandric, and received his guest with an ill grace. Nevertheless, manners demanded that he take the banker into a private room as requested, and have the maidservant bring mulled wine.
Candles in antique silver holders threw mild light over bookshelves and paintings. The leather of his chair creaked beneath Natan as he leaned back, bridged his fingertips, and inquired the visitor's wishes.
"This is an irregular hour, yes," Zulio admitted. "I'd not ordinarily trouble you now. But the circumstances tonight are special. You are a man of discretion, Master Sandana; you will understand if I spaVe you long and tedious explanations. Suffice it that I have urgent need of gemstones, and do not wish to risk it becoming a subject of gossip."
Natan grinned. Zulio knew, annoyed, that he was thinking of the courtesan Vardrai. Well, what did his sniggers count for? He'd assuredly forget them in the morning. "I have therefore taken a rare coin, a virtual ingot, from my vaults and brought it hither," Zulio said. "Observe. Let us talk."
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Discussion occupied an hour. Natan Sandana was not so rude to a prominent man of affairs that he tested the gold himself .. . then. He did ask for, and get, a certification of value. In return, Zulio accepted a receipt for payment in full. "Have a care," he warned, as he put four hundred aureates' worth of the finest diamonds into his satchel—or better, because the jeweler had been still more anxious to deal than the slack market warranted. "Some evilly gifted thieves have been at work of late, I hear. Rumor goes that they employ actual witchcraft. That is why my attestation explicitly disavows responsibility for any effects of sorcery, as well as mundane malfeasance. You could open your strongbox and find nothing but a pile of rubbish, left as a jeer at you."
"I thank you, but I doubt it will happen, and not just because I equate the supernatural with superstition," the other man replied. A feverish intensity had come upon him. Zulio wondered why.
No matter. He had his profit, a clear fifty aureates above what he had paid out to Arvel Tarabine, in the form of gems negotiable piecemeal. Puffing, chuckling, jiggling, Zulio Pandric hastened back to his ledger and his sweetmeats.
"I must go out, dear," Natan Sandana told his wife. "Don't wait up for me."
"What has happened?" she asked.
"An unbelievable stroke of luck, I hope," he said, and kissed her fondly. "I'll tell you later, if all goes well."
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As he stepped forth, the coin in his pouch dragged at his belt. He felt as if every passing glance lingered on the bulge, and pulled his cloak around it. Should he have waited for morning, when he could engage a guard? But that would have been to make conspicuous a transaction best kept secret. Tax collectors were as rapacious as any unofficial robber.
Besides, who would think that a drably clad little gray man carried a fortune on his person? Especially nowadays, when that fortune had been languishing for years in stock he could not sell.
Natan took Serpentine Street, the best-lit and safest way through Docktown, to the Longline. There he must pass a number of empty berths before he reached Sea Mule.
Fore and aft, the castles of the Norrener car-rack loomed darkling. Between them, her guns glimmered dully by the light of wharf lamps and lanterns of the watch on board; her three masts stood gaunt athwart a lately risen moon. Its glade trembled on the river, which murmured with currents and tide. Rigging creaked as hemp contracted in the night's damp chill.
"Oh-hoa!" Natan called. "Lower the gangplank. I've business with your captain."
The pikemen obliged, which relieved him. Haako Grayfellsson might have been ashore carousing. Instead, the big man slumped in his cabin, amidst the malodor of bear-tallow candles, and swigged from a bottle of rum.
"Well met, Master Sandana," he said in accented Caronnean and a tone which all but added, "I suppose."
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"I'm happy to find you here," Natan said.
Haako stroked his red, barbaric beard. "You wouldn't have, if I'd not blown over-much money on a vixen I'd heard praised—Enough. What would you of me?"
Natan laid palms on the table and leaned across it. "No need to pussyfoot," he said. "About our conversation the day before yesterday. I am prepared to buy your pearls at the price we mentioned."
An oath blasted from Haako's lips, but it was a sound of utter delight. Briefly, Natan recalled Vardrai. Poor woman; in a way it was a shame how she had missed her chance at this investment. Well, so much the more for those whom he held dear.
"Why, welcome again," the courtesan purred. She undulated into a position where light shone through her shift and outlined every curve against a nighted window.
This time her pleasure and seductiveness were sincere. The Norrener seaman was a little uncouth, true, but he possessed a vigor which he used with some skill. She had been sorry when he told her that he could not afford a second visit.
He stood awkwardly in the scented room, twisting between his fingers a fur pouch that contained something round. Through the window-pane drifted a vibrancy of violin and flute. Vardrai made it worth those beggar musicians' while to keep station below this wall.
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The Unicom Trade