The place I was looking for was technically on the thoroughfare, but only their stock gate opened onto it. The actual front door was on a street that extended out from the thoroughfare—I should probably find out what it was called, but honestly I was terrible at remembering street names—that had probably formed because the place had situated their entrance there.

Emborin and Sons was a heavily built wooden building two stories high but several paces deep an dozens of paces long. The wide, open windows were at least two paces off the ground on the first floor, and the bars over the windows were made of slim metal rather than thick wood, an understated display of wealth. Heavy wooden shutters that hinged above the windows were propped up by wooden arms, acting as shady awnings. The wide doors were thrown open, possibly to be inviting, or possibly in a futile attempt to keep the building cool in the hot sun. Regardless, it did a lot to counteract the impression of a prison the bars made. On either side of the open door were two men with sticks that had the distinct look of hired guards: bored, hot, and reminding themselves of how much they got paid to justify all this.

It all made me very nostalgic.

I walked through the front door with a confident step and a purposeful air, completely ignoring the two guards on either side, and thankfully they didn't stop me.

Inside, the place echoed with a mess of voices. To one side of the space, there were several tables spaced apart where people were talking. Sitting at the tables were Emborin and Sons factors, wearing plain shirts and near-identical brown-dyed trousers. Opposite them were people where had trousers dyed different colors, perhaps a spot of embroidery on their own shirts. Usually they'd have a hat on the table next to them, made from either felt or leather. There were no reed hats here.

No, wait… there was one reed hat over there, next to that woman, decorated with flowers that looked far too lively. To be fair, it was a much nicer hat than the one we used when on lookout duty.

On the wall just inside the door, there was a board set up, listing the rates they were buying and selling certain commodities. I glance over them. Seels and furs haven't really changed much since last time, but I was surprised that salt also remained the same. Huh. Does that meant that the salt the boats were collecting hadn't been significant enough to drive the price down?

On the other side of the door from the tables, set back slightly so that people rushing down wouldn't run into people entering, a relatively wide wooded staircase headed up to the second floor, where I could hear more people at work. At the top and bottom of the stairs were more guards with sticks, no doubt to keep unauthorized persons from just walking up. Messengers were running back and forth from the tables towards the back and upstairs, some carrying what looked like tokens made from bone—or possibly sea shells—in their hands on which things were written in blackened char. Other messengers lingered where they could watch the people entering through the door and tables, waiting to be called over.

Opposite the door we just entered through was another wide open door that led out the back to the rest of the enclosed compound. The parts that could be seen looked a lot like the lumberyard I used to work at: stacks of wood at various stages of greenness, and what looked like a long shed finished with sun-dried mud or clay, which was probably a curing shed. It even had someone who might have been a Whisperer sitting next to it under an inadequate little roof. Somewhere at the back, there were no doubt Deadspeakers putting together sheets and planks of wood from off-cuts and shavings, and maybe even sawdust.

I kept myself from looking around beyond a curious glance as I waited, and sure enough, one of the waiting messengers approach me. "Could you please inform Master Ravia we're here to see him about what we had discussed?" I said.

"Who should I say is here, master…?" the messenger said.

I gave him my name, saying it twice just to see if he'd get it right. As the messenger rushed upstairs, I stepped aside so that I wasn't blocking the way of other people passing through the front door.

When we'd come to Covehold a couple of seasons ago to sell our salt, skins and furs for supplies, I hadn't just taken the things to the first place that would take them off our hands for beads. While that would have been the quick and easy route… it wouldn't have been optimal. Especially since I later learned that many such places dealt with low volume sales, so they would have expected us to bring what we had to them. Given how much we'd had, us carrying anything from the Coldhold to such a buyer would have mostly likely resulted in us getting robbed in transit. If not the first time we made the trip over, then almost certainly when we were passing with the second batch.

It had taken lot of asking, following leads that I'd managed to wheedle out of people in seemingly casual conversation, then following up on those leads by talking to various merchants, and going around asking about their reputations in various places round Covehold. It had taken a lot of walking, but it hadn't been summer then, and I'd needed to do a lot of research anyway about what was considered a fair price for salt, furs... everything, really.

After a lot of work, during which I'd also scouted out the best places to buy the things we'd needed, I'd been able to narrow down my choices, one of which had been Emborin and Sons. The deciding factor had been the fact that they had been willing to send a cart to pick up the goods we'd been selling when I'd implied that the cart we'd used to bring it to the demesne had broken down.

That's the sort of thing that will get me to give you my business, and from the looks of it, it's not just me.

Thankfully, the wait wasn't long. Soon, a man who looked a few years older than me—maybe? I wasn't really very good at telling people's ages—was coming down the stairs, his gaze falling on me after sweeping over the trading hall. Slightly shorter than me, his skin tanned a little bit darker than I'd last seen him and orange hair darker than Karina's, Ravia was one of the 'sons' mentioned in the sign. The brief smile when we made eye contact was a good sign.

I raised a hand, waving at him casually once I was sure he'd seen me. "Hello, Ravia," I greeted once he was close enough. "Sorry I haven't been by a while, I've had to accrue some stock for you."

"Master Rian," he replied with a professional smile. It was a good smile. Not eager, and just the right amount of welcoming without making me feel we were close enough for favors, while making me feel he was genuinely glad to see me. I met his smile with my own, though I liked to think I was being more sincere. "It's good to see you again, though I wish you'd sent word you'd be coming."

"Well, I didn't have anyone to send except myself and the men here, and given how the streets can be…" I shrugged. "So… this is word that I'm coming? However, if you're busy, we can come back tomorrow."

"No, no, it's fine, Master Rian," Ravia said. "I can accommodate you right now. If you'd follow me?" The merchant began to walk towards the tables, and I followed after him, Multaw and Cyuw falling into step with me. "I take it you came back on your unusual boat?

"Yes, though we had to leave it at sea. I see people haven't decided to follow our example, and chose to be boring by making theirs out of wood. Well, at least their suppliers are probably happy."

"Oh, you were quite influential," Ravia said as they passed by other occupied tables. "All winter we had fools trying to float blocks of ice down the river and into the sea."

"Well, there's the problem right there," I said, nodding knowingly. "They should have made boats made of ice, not just blocks. Amateur mistake."

"I suppose you would know." Ravia sat down at a table near the end of the hall. "So, what do you have for me, Master Rian?"

I felt the belt pouch under my shirt pressing against my side. "Salt, beast skins and seel furs, mostly," I said. "How much are those going for these days again?"

––––––––––––––––––

Despite the listed prices, there was always a little room for margins to be negotiated. The fact we had far more salt than most people coming to trade, and definitely far cleaner than what those harvesting from the shore could offer, allowed me to nudge up the price per sengrain of salt a little.

"I will need to examine a sample of the salt to make sure it's as clean as you say," Ravia said. "We get a lot of sand from people trying to add weight to their salt."

"Of course, that's perfectly fair," I said with a smile. "Though, we might need you to bring an advance for the salt when you come to pick it up so we can pay for the berthing fee for our ship. Getting all the salt out is going to be time-consuming, after all, and I'm sure the harbormaster is going to be annoyed if we don't pay." I made a show of tilting my head. "Actually, would we still be allowed to dock there? I notice that there's a new wooden dock across the bay."

"You'll be allowed as long as you can pay the fee," Ravia assured me. "The Rickets are there to lure the new boaters on their way back home from their demesne with dinner and quick beads for their salt. I wouldn't recommend berthing there. I'm informed gangs have claimed that part of the bay."

Of course they have. Why wouldn't they?

"We'll stay away. Thank you for the warning." I wondered which of the trading houses had taken over the area, with the alleged gangs as their enforcers? After all, Lori wasn't the only one who liked the thought of having a monopoly, small as it was.

As a concession for the favorable salt rate that we'd agreed to, I left the prices of the skins and furs alone, letting Ravia have his own margins. Besides, it wasn't like we had any means of arguing how much better it was compared to someone else's.

We'd be back with more salt anyway, so getting a good rate on that during our stay here was a better investment in the long run.

Even with the added margin to the salt, I was probably only getting as much as I would have gotten at some other merchant house. That wasn't the point. The point was that part of the agreement was that Ravia was willing to send wagons to pick up the goods from us on the Coldhold, rather than requiring us to bring the goods to their trading house ourselves. Not having to worry about the security of the goods as soon as it was off the boat was worth the potential risks.

Without the heavy haggling happening at the other tables, Ravia and I finished out business quickly. Two copies of a preliminary contract was drafted, written out in black ink on paper, and it had been so long since I'd seen someone write on something besides a stone tablet. I checked both copies, making sure they both said the same thing, before nodding and writing my name on both copies of the agreed upon terms.

"Well, it's been a pleasure dealing with you again, Ravia," I said cheerfully as I waited for the ink to dry fully before I folded it up to slip into my belt pouch. "We'll see you tomorrow at the docks, then."

"I'll be there, Rian," Ravia said, his smile slightly more genuine now that we'd come to an agreement we were both satisfied with. I don't see why people strive for compromises were both parties were equally miserable. Compromises where both were equally happy were much better. "I must say, I look forward to seeing your ship again. Are you sure you're still not willing to take a charter?"

I shook my head. "I'm afraid not. We have other plans for our stay."

"A pity." Ravia looked towards the windows, checking the shadows. "Well, if there is nothing else, I must see to making arrangements for tomorrow." He made to stand.

"Actually," I said, and Ravia paused, sitting back down. "I could use some advice. Do you happen to know if there's anyone nearby with a bound tool who can do fine woodwork?"