The Painted Man. Peter Brett V.

a dangerous haggler, too,’ Ragen said, ‘and that you’d try to get me drunk first.’

      Rusco chuckled, and refilled the mug. ‘After the haggling, I’ll have no need to serve these on the house,’ he said, handing it to Ragen with a fresh head.

      â€˜You will if you want your mail to reach Miln,’ Ragen said with a grin, accepting the mug.

      â€˜I can see you’re going to be as tough as Graig ever was,’ Rusco grumbled, filling his own mug. ‘There,’ he said, when it foamed over, ‘we can both haggle drunk.’ They laughed, and clashed mugs again.

      â€˜What news of the Free Cities?’ Rusco asked. ‘The Krasians still determined to destroy themselves?’

      Ragen shrugged. ‘By all accounts. I stopped going to Krasia a few years ago, when I married. Too far, and too dangerous.’

      â€˜So the fact that they cover their women in blankets has nothing to do with it?’ Rusco asked.

      Ragen laughed. ‘Doesn’t help,’ he said, ‘but it’s mostly how they think all Northerners, even Messengers, are cowards for not spending our nights trying to get ourselves cored.’

      â€˜Maybe they’d be less inclined to fight if they looked at their women more,’ Rusco mused. ‘How about Angiers and Miln? The dukes still bickering?’

      â€˜As always,’ Ragen said. ‘Euchor needs Angiers’ wood to fuel his refineries, and grain to feed his people. Rhinebeck needs Miln’s metal and salt. They have to trade to survive, but instead of making it easy on themselves, they spend all their time trying to cheat each other, especially when a shipment is lost to corelings on the road. Last summer, demons hit a caravan of steel and salt. They killed the drivers, but left most of the cargo intact. Rhinebeck retrieved it, and refused to pay, claiming salvage rights.’

      â€˜Duke Euchor must have been furious,’ Rusco said.

      â€˜Livid,’ Ragen agreed. ‘I was the one that brought him the news. He went red in the face, and swore Angiers wouldn’t see another ounce of salt until Rhinebeck paid.’

      â€˜Did Rhinebeck pay?’ Rusco asked, leaning in eagerly.

      Ragen shook his head. ‘They did their best to starve each other for a few months, and then the Merchants’ guild paid, just to get their shipments out before the winter came and they rotted in storage. Rhinebeck is angry at them now, for giving in to Euchor, but his face was saved and the shipments were moving again, which is all that mattered to anyone other than those two dogs.’

      â€˜Wise to watch what you call the dukes,’ Rusco warned, ‘even this far out.’

      â€˜Who’s going to tell them?’ Ragen asked. ‘You? The boy?’ He gestured at Arlen. Both men laughed.

      â€˜And now I have to bring Euchor news of Riverbridge, which will make things worse,’ Ragen said.

      â€˜The town on the border of Miln,’ Rusco said, ‘barely a day out from Angiers. I have contacts there.’

      â€˜Not anymore, you don’t,’ Ragen said pointedly, and the men were quiet for a time.

      â€˜Enough bad news,’ Ragen said, hauling his satchel onto the bar. Rusco considered it dubiously.

      â€˜That doesn’t look like salt,’ he said, ‘and I doubt I have that much mail.’

      â€˜You have six letters, and an even dozen packages,’ Ragen said, handing Rusco a sheaf of folded paper. ‘It’s all listed here, along with all the other letters in the satchel and packages on the cart to be distributed. I gave Selia a copy of the list,’ he warned.

      â€˜What do I want with that list, or your mailbag?’ Rusco asked.

      â€˜The Speaker is occupied, and won’t be able to distribute the mail and read to those that can’t. She volunteered you.’

      â€˜And how am I to be compensated for spending my business hours reading to the townies?’ Rusco asked.

      â€˜The satisfaction of a good deed to your neighbours?’ Ragen asked.

      Rusco snorted. ‘I didn’t come to Tibbet’s Brook to make friends,’ he said. ‘I’m a businessman, and I do a lot for this town.’

      â€˜Do you?’ Ragen asked.

      â€˜Damn right,’ Rusco said. ‘Before I came to this town, all they did was barter.’ He made the word a curse, and spat on the floor. ‘They collected the fruits of their labour and gathered in the square every Seventhday, arguing over how many beans were worth an ear of corn, or how much rice you had to give the cooper to make you a barrel to put your rice in. And if you didn’t get what you needed on Seventhday, you had to wait until the next week, or go door to door. Now everyone can come here, any day, any time from sunup to sundown, and trade for credits to get whatever else they need.’

      â€˜The town saviour,’ Ragen said wryly. ‘And you asking nothing in return.’

      â€˜Nothing but a tidy profit,’ Rusco said with a grin.

      â€˜And how often do the villagers try to string you up for a cheat?’ Ragen asked.

      Rusco’s eyes narrowed. ‘Too often, considering half of them can’t count past their fingers, and the other half can only add their toes to that,’ he said.

      â€˜Selia said the next time it happens, you’re on your own,’ Ragen’s friendly voice had suddenly gone hard, ‘unless you do your part. There’s plenty on the far side of town suffering worse than having to read the mail.’

      Rusco frowned, but he took the list and carried the heavy bag into his storeroom.

      â€˜How bad is it, really?’ he asked when he returned.

      â€˜Bad,’ Ragen said. ‘Twenty-seven so far, and a few still unaccounted for.’

      â€˜Creator,’ Rusco swore, drawing a ward in the air in front of him. ‘I had thought a family, at worst.’

      â€˜If only,’ Ragen said.

      They were both silent for a moment, as was decent, then looked up at each other as one.

      â€˜You have this year’s salt?’ Rusco asked.

      â€˜You have the Duke’s rice?’ Ragen replied.

      â€˜Been holding it all winter, you being so late,’ Rusco said.

      Ragen’s eyes narrowed.

      â€˜Oh, it’s still good!’ Rusco said, his hands coming up suddenly, as if pleading. ‘I’ve kept it sealed and dry, and there are no vermin in my cellar!’

      â€˜I’ll need to be sure, you understand,’ Ragen said.

      â€˜Of course, of course,’ Rusco said. ‘Arlen, fetch that lamp!’ he ordered, pointing the boy towards the corner of the bar.

      Arlen scurried over to the lantern, picking up the striker. He lit the wick and lowered the glass reverently. He had never been trusted to hold glass before. It was colder than he imagined, but quickly grew warm as the flame licked it.

      â€˜Carry it down to the cellar for us,’ Rusco ordered. Arlen tried to contain his excitement. He had always wanted to see behind the bar. They said if everyone in the Brook put all their possessions in one pile, it would not rival the wonders of Hog’s