The Endless Solvent

While everyone spoke standard Gaian, the Alkkians had a distinctive accent that distinguished them from visitors to the city state. Ral was assured several times that any Alkkian merchant could pretend to speak standard as well as noble borns who live in the Heart, but he has yet to find someone who can easily drop and pick up accents as well as Kentor.

“I’m supposed to believe that you took a stroll down in the Yscian savage lands?” the burly stable master named Ivron asked bluntly. “I’m sorry if I ain’t buying your bullshit, merchant, you don’t look like you can fight a damp burlap bag if you tried.”

“I said I was kidnapped by them,” Kentor said, annoyed, words tinged with an Alkkian twang. “I haven’t fought off armies of Yscians. My friend here usually does the fighting.” He patted Ral on the arm who was doing his usual by trying to look intimidating.

Ivron snorted. “That’s nice. None of that tells me what you have to say is worth the two thousand gold pieces which is exactly what each of these horses cost.” He crossed his arms and glared at Kentor. “If you don’t have the gold, then piss off.”

“Most unfortunate we couldn’t come to an agreement,” Kentor said. He looked like he was going to say something else but Ral strategically walked between them and herded the merchant away from the manure scented stables. Ivron looked like he was ready to smack both of them ‘round the head.

To the merchant’s credit he waited until they were out of earshot before badmouthing Ivron.

“Two thousand gold? His horses better be able to talk,” Kentor muttered. “Talk, dance, and maybe even do my laundry for that Parts-damn amount.”

“Is there someone else here that sells horses?” Ral asked.

“You mean besides the ones that sell them illegally just outside the Alkkes walls? No. That infuriating man took great pains to hold a monopoly over the horse market down here, which is why he can sell a horse for that ridiculous amount of gold.” Kentor was now speaking in his regular voice, having dropped the fake Alkkian lilt he used to speak with Ivron. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief - the climate in Alkkes wasn’t much cooler than the Issvak desert and Kentor insisted on wearing both the tunic and pants all bundled up and layered. Ral admitted it gave the rotund man an air of formality . Even when they were starving in the desert, Kentor still looked like a merchant who could sell you something. Ral suspected it was how they were let in through the gates in the first place.

“Perhaps we can make do without horses?” Ral said, scratching his beard. “The journey north wouldn’t be as bad since we’re no longer in Issvak.”

“Without a horse -,” Kentor spluttered. “Sir, listen to me. We have at least a cart full of products that we must turn a profit on, we need a horse to pull it at least three cities over. That’s impossible without at least one horse. And I’ll be damned if I have to walk for more than half a day’s time. Civilized people sit on carts.”

“Then you have a plan to get gold?”

“Ahh, sir you think too much in a straight line!” Kentor chuckled. “Ivron expects us to grovel away and pinch coppers to bring to him. Merchants don’t think that way, at least not this one. No, we will find another way to get two horses.”

Ral frowned at him. “I hope you’re not asking me to steal the horses.”

“What? No, stealing is illegal,” Kentor quickly said. “I would prefer not to be put into Alkkes prison, thank you. I’ve had enough adventure. Do you know about the Alkkes prisons? They’re tiny little cells down in an unused part of the deep mines. Just pitch darkness with rough rock all around you. Like being buried alive. No thank you.”

“Okay, then what do you propose we do?”

“Sir, every man in Alkkes wants something. It’s why they travel all the way from the Heart or Kuvan to sit in the miserable heat. Ivron is no different. We just need to find out what he wants.” Kentor gave a discontented snort. “Evidently, information on the Yscians isn’t it. It usually works.”

“You really should stop calling me ‘sir’,” Ral said. He had tried to get the merchant to stop several times already - inappropriate since Kentor was older and Ral isn’t any kind of nobleman on paper. Truthfully, he was uncomfortable with Kentor’s extremely accurate hypothesis that he was the heir to Caelis. The man may have saved his life but it wasn’t the kind of information people should know.

“Of course, of course, I just use it for the sake of simplicity,” Kentor said innocently. “Nothing wrong with being polite, right? Anyway, you will help me with our predicament, no?”

“Of course I will.”

“Thank you, sir. We’re going to find our fortune yet,” Kentor cheerfully patted his arm. Ral sighed and decided it wasn’t worth the fight. He depended on the merchant in this city full of strangers and because of that, Kentor could call him whatever he wanted to.

They went to work immediately. Ral expected more work on hauling bags of pulverized minerals or finding work at one of the processing factories near the mines but Kentor quickly dismissed those and simply asked him to watch.

“What am I watching?” Ral asked, confused.

“Mostly Ivron,” Kentor said. “The people he talks to. Look at the places he visits besides that shit shack he calls a stable. Tell me if anyone hates him.”

They were in their room which they had turned into a sort of meeting room. Kentor started a record book that inventoried all their belongings and gold. It was strange how naturally he started all of it. As merchants and trade wasn’t really part of the Somas’s repertoire, it was all numbers and scribbles to Ral - but he knew it worked. The gold that Kentor accumulated from nothing was distributed between the two of them and squirreled away in the room and several other secret spots for safekeeping. The amount only grew.

Of course, it didn’t come close to the two thousand gold needed for a horse.

“So instead of stealing, we’re blackmailing,” Ral said, amused. “Is that illegal?”

“It’s not blackmailing,” Kentor said indignantly. “We are merely getting to know our mutual friend better. How could we possibly know what he wants if we don’t know the man himself?”

“Fine, I’ll do what I can,” Ral finally sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“I will see if Ivron has really gotten rid of all his competition,” Kentor said thoughtfully. “Or if there’s someone out there who’s a horse selling underdog. Or would that be ‘under-horse’? Ha!”

Kentor slapped his knee and laughed as if he heard the funniest joke ever. Ral rolled his eyes - he suspected Kentor’s perpetually sunny disposition had a lot to do with his ability to laugh at his own jokes. Humor notwithstanding, Ral had a debt to pay to this man.

So if Kentor needed horses, Ral was going to get them for him.