Book 2: Chapter 50: Calculated Loss

Book 2: Chapter 50: Calculated Loss

With the morning sun filtering down from above—and giggles flowing freely from my mouth—I ran for my life.

“I’m sorry! I was only joking!”

“Get him, Claws!” Maria yelled, her arms pumping as she sprinted after me.

Lightning sprouted from Claws’s body. She kicked off the tree’s trunk, extended her arms, soared toward me—and flopped onto her belly a mere meter from her launchpad. Lieutenant Colonel Lemony Thicket had absorbed the energy when Claws tried to kick off her trunk. Claws’s grin disappeared as she whirled on the tree, screeching an accusatory chirp at the traitorous spirit.

I laughed so hard at the scene that I missed a step, crashing down to the forest floor before skidding to a stop on all fours. I made to take off again, to escape with my life, but then Maria body-slammed me.

“Oof!”

Though I had an enhanced body, so did she, and it was like being tackled by a rugby forward.

“Mercy,” I croaked as she wrapped around me like a spider monkey.

“This ‘lowly witness’ demands satisfaction!”

“I yield! I was only joking!”

“All right. You’re forgiven...”

I breathed out a sigh of relief.

“For the insult,” she continued. “For that terrible name, however, your punishment will be more severe!”

Faster than I could react to, her tiny little fingers darted under my arms, and my torture began.

“M-mercy! Please!” I yelled, squirming as she tickled me.

Corporal Claws, seeing her chance at revenge, abandoned her squabble with Lemon. She was at my side in a moment, her paws shooting under my chin and jabbing into the tender spot where neck meets shoulder. I tried to escape, tried to twist from the clutches, but I was powerless before the onslaught. After what felt like an eternity, my feet caught purchase on the forest floor. I kicked off, flying for sanctuary. When I reached Lemon’s blue trunk, I latched on like a startled cat, breathing heavily. I glared down at Maria and Claws, who were both rolling on the floor with laughter.

“Not cool!”

Leroy stood, shaking his head as he stared up at me.

“Sometimes I think my life as a cultivator in the capital was more predictable...”

***

As Marcus, the leader of the merchant caravan, prepared his wares for the villagers of Tropica, he smiled to himself. The contents of the chest he held rivaled the wealth of every other product combined—using it, he would further his own goals.

When he’d visited the village a month ago, he was filled with curiosity about a strange man who had appeared on these distant shores. This Fischer had shown a cunning unworthy of a mere commoner, but that was the least intriguing of his qualities. More notable was his political sway—most anomalous of all was his wealth.

When Marcus had arrived back in the capital to unload his coin and collect more wares, he told his business partner of the man and all he’d learned of him. They both agreed; Fischer was likely of noble blood and was expanding his family’s influence and wealth with some kind of scheme that was too complex for them to identify.

In the month since Marcus was last here, he had lamented his lack of preparation. Though he indeed identified Fischer as an important person at the time, and had made plans to ingratiate himself with the hidden noble, he’d been too safe—too unambitious. His business partner had disagreed, even suggesting that his plan to further ingratiate himself with Fischer was going too far. Marcus hefted the chest in his hands, and as he lifted its lid, his smile turned to a broad grin.

The produce was a strictly controlled item to inflate their scarcity, meaning he could only buy ten per month—all of which were in the chest before him. This time, he was prepared. He was going to make his business partner eat her words.

***

“G’day, mate!” I said as I strode toward the largest of the wagons.

“Ah, hello, my friend!” Marcus called, his hands clasped before him as he bowed. “I was wondering when you would appear! Come, come! I have all the wares that you could possibly desire!”

I grinned at the keen sparkle in the merchant’s eyes.

“I’m not sure I need anything, mate—I’m mostly here to help my pals carry their purchases.” I gestured at the two hulking smiths beside me. “I’ll gladly have a little window shop, though.”

“Er—I regret to say that I do not have any windows for sale, friend Fischer.

“Just a figure of speech, mate. I don’t actually need any windows.”

“O-oh. Of course...” His sure smile returned, sweeping away the clear confusion. “Well, let me skip right to the point, then.”

He reached into the back of the wagon and pulled a chest from out of sight. He slid it toward me, and I leaned forward, peering down at the contents.

***

Preparing these goods for Fischer had been an expensive endeavor, and though Marcus wouldn’t recoup all of his losses by selling them at market rate, it was a calculated loss.

He had hired a specially insulted chest, one that was usually reserved for the wealthiest of Gormona’s residents when they embarked on long voyages or had one of their overpriced picnics. The chest had thick walls that were filled with a rare substance, and when food was placed inside, it would remain fresh for much, much longer than if it were kept at an ambient temperature.

As Fischer caught sight of the chest’s contents, his eyes went wide, and Marcus rubbed his hands together in delight.

“That’s right, my friend. I know how much you enjoyed the lemons I brought with me last time. They were old, not as fresh as they could have been...” He spread his hands over the open crate, drawing even more attention to the contraption. “This time, I have ensured their quality. I will take a loss on these ten fruits, my friend, but for you?” He shrugged and gave Fischer his best smile. “It is a worthy sacrifice.”

***

I tried not to roll my eyes at Marcus’s sales pitch; there was no way a merchant as successful as Marcus would take a loss on, well... anything. My eyes were drawn back down to the chest again, and I shook my head, unbelieving of what I saw.

“Where did you get so much...?”

“For me, friend, no product is out of reach.” Marcus shot me a wink. “That is why I have so many acquaintances in these distant lands, you see? If a client of mine requires fresh lemons, I will supply them.”

“Oh, not the lemons, my man—I mean the ice.” I pointed down at the four slabs of ice lining each wall. “How did you get so much? I’ve been looking for a cooling solution, but haven’t found a good one...”

“Do not mention it! Just think of Marcus when you next need to procure something from the capital, yes? No item is too much trouble.”

“Will do, my man!”

“Was there anything else you needed today?”

We all shook our heads.

“Very well!” He rubbed his hands together, smiling at me and Fergus. “If you follow me to another wagon, friends, I’ll take you to this month’s shipment of metal!”

***

As Fischer and the smiths carried away their bundles of metal on a cart, Marcus let out a contented sigh.

They had bought every bit of metal he had, which alone would have been a cause for celebration. He had incurred a loss, sure, but what was a little coin compared to the business relationship he was working toward? The amount of metal that Fischer had requested was also the confirmation he was looking for: the man was working toward something here. If he needed metal, he’d need other supplies, too.

While he had a feeling that Fischer was a benevolent noble after his last visit to Tropica, part of him had been prepared for it to be a front, for Fischer to be just pretending to be a good person as part of his machinations in this seaside village. Why? Because that was what nobles did. They were shrewd, elitist, and, above all else, ruthless. Now, though? Marcus had measured the man, and was certain that Fischer truly wanted the best for those around him.

He shook his head. Fischer, a noble, wanted the best for commoners! It was baffling, yet a breath of fresh air.

His business partner was going to be livid that he’d gone against her wishes and spent so much of their coffers on lemons, but Marcus grinned at the thought. The gamble had paid off, and even his finicky partner couldn’t be upset with the result.

Well, not too upset, he admitted to himself, his grin turning fond as he pictured the cute way her eyebrow twitched when she was mad at him.

***

The moment we rounded a field of sugarcane and disappeared from view of the merchant caravan, we spotted Duncan. He smiled up at us from his seat on the ground, then got to his feet, brushing off his pants.

“Lemons!” he said, shaking his head. “Gods above, if only he knew.” His eyes shot to the pile of yellow within the cart, and an eyebrow shot up. “Wait, you actually bought some...? Why?”

“For Sue and the others!” I replied, shooting him a wink. “They can’t exactly eat the lemons that Lieutenant Colonel Lemony Thicket grows.”

“... what did you just say?”

“The lemons,” I reiterated. “The ones we have access to would make people become cultivators.” I pointed down at the ten in the cart. “These won’t.”

Both smiths gave me a flat look.

“Yeah, no, I got that,” Duncan said slowly, as if talking to a toddler. “What did you call her?”

“Call who, mate?”

“The tree spirit...”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so? Her name is Lieutenant Colonel Lemony Thicket—Lemon for short, though.”

“... I think he’s finally lost it, boss.”

I beamed a grin at Fergus, who just shook his head at me, a look of genuine concern on his face that only made my joy grow.

***

The smell of burning coal rushed out toward me as the furnace heated. I breathed deep of the earthy scent before exhaling slowly.

“Is it weird that I love the smell of your smithy?”

“Well, that depends,” Fergus answered. “Define love.”

I barked a laugh.

“Yeah, maybe I could have phrased that better. I thoroughly enjoy it—how’s that?”

“Better.”

“Nah,” Duncan said, leaning toward the glowing coals and breathing in as loud as he could. “I love it too.”

He shot me a wink, and from beside me, Maria rolled her eyes playfully.

“Few men would take pride in being as weird as Fischer.”

Duncan grinned.

“I blame the repeated heat exposure—what’s your excuse, Fischer?”

“Don’t have one. I’m just a weirdo.”

Maria pouted.

“It’s no fun when you go with it—you’re supposed to be all, ‘you dare speak back to me, foul wench?’”

I raised an eyebrow at the nasal voice she used to imitate me.

“Please tell me I don’t sound like that...”

“Oh, honey...” she patted me on the shoulder. “I would never lie to you like that.” She spun to Fergus, completely ignoring the flat stare I was giving her. “Let’s get these cages started!”