A New Fic for ningloreth: Silver, 1/3
A story for ningloreth, the best reader any writer could wish for. She's followed me from fandom to fandom and beyond, and read every single piece I've posted. She gets my jokes, spots all my references, and never fails to give thoughtful, supportive and honest feedback. All this, and she's not even a slash fan.
So, this one is based on ningloreth's prompt of 'Silver.' It's not quite what she's hoping for, I know, but it's heading in the right direction.
Thanks to elfscribe5 for the beta.
Smut free. This chapter could be original fiction if you haven't read my earlier stuff.
Silver, part 1
The market was hellishly busy. Half the city seemed to be out buying food, clothing and cooking pots, while the other half browsed around the stalls that sold trinkets and fancy goods. Scattered amongst them were a few boatloads of foreign visitors, instantly recognisable even from a distance by their inappropriate clothing and air of bewildered excitement. At closer range they could be heard haggling in over-loud voices, determined to bring down the price of an ornamental water pipe or woven woollen hanging to a mere five times the amount any self-respecting local would pay.
A cart full of tomatoes had overturned some time ago, on the corner by the entrance to the goldsmith's quarter. Naturally, nobody had waited for the wreckage to be cleared up. Impatient citizens and eager tourists had continued to go about their business, trampling their way through the carnage until the whole area was an unavoidable quagmire of pulverised fruit, littered with treacherous scraps of splintered wood. A group of small boys, scarlet from head to foot, were having the time of their lives - pelting each other with tomatoes and sliding around in the mess, giggling uncontrollably all the while.
The sandstorm of the previous night had subsided, leaving every surface that was neither moving nor painted with tomato flesh covered in a fine, grimy layer of dust. Although the sun was up to no more than half of its full height, the day was already fiercely hot, with a heavy humidity that made breathing difficult.
Kallim took in a lungful of scalding air, his nose wrinkling at the combined scents of spices and incense, animal dung and partially fermented tomato. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge the sweaty linen of his tunic from the skin of his back, and sighed.
It was good to be home.
Unpleasant as the prospect was, the tomato swamp would have to be negotiated if he was to reach his intended destination. He took a few moments to roll his loose dark trousers up to the knee, but his sandals could not be helped, since the alternative probably meant picking splinters out of his feet for the rest of the day. No matter; the shoes were old worn things of plaited rope and coarse skin anyway, and if a good scrubbing could not save them they would be no great loss. Only a fool would wear his best leather boots to the markets.
As he picked his way along the edge of the mess, Kallim kept an eye on the urchins playing there. When a scrawny brown arm raised itself, a handful of scarlet mush poised and ready to throw, he called out, "Don't even think about it, Yenni, or I'll see to it that your father gives you a thrashing you won't forget."
The boy's eyes widened at the mention of his name. He dropped his arm to his side and turned back to his friends, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Kallim grinned at his back and rounded the corner into the relative peace of Goldsmiths' Lane. There he paused for a second to roll his trousers down, inspecting his feet as he did so. The sandals might well be salvageable, if he could beg a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush from one of his acquaintances in the Quarter. He set off down the lane, wondering which of his friends was most likely to be around at this time of day.
He didn't get far before his thoughts were interrupted.
"Kallim Almajarram! As I live, is that really you? Get yourself over here, boy, so I can take a closer look at you."
"You're not mistaken, Melika mediyella, it really is me."
The old woman sat at the entrance to her tiny shop, her black robed bulk all but blocking its doorway. Kallim crossed the alleyway to greet her, and perched, as indicated by her impatient gesture, on the stool by her side. She raised her fleshy hands, bedecked in a dozen oversized rings, to pinch his cheek and run her fingers across his shoulders.
"How long has it been? Six months?"
"Little more than five. We have had business in the far north this year."
"And how is it going there? Are you looking after yourself? I hear the food in the north tastes of nothing, and everything is cooked in lard! Have you been eating properly?"
"I am in the best of health, as you can see. The sailor's life agrees with me."
"I'm glad to hear it. Mezeth, look at the state of your feet! Those stupid bastards with the tomatoes, they couldn't drive a knife through a block of cheese. Nenna!"
She leaned back on her chair and shouted into the depths of the shop. A short while later, a small, pale girl appeared, carrying a tin bowl of water in both hands, and an ancient bristle brush under her arm. She kneeled to place the bowl at Kallim's feet, and would have washed them for him had he not insisted otherwise.
While he scrubbed and rinsed, Melika gave him a colourful summary of happenings in the Quarter since his last visit. Pregnancy and scandal, an unexplained death, thousands lost in an unwary gamble - it all sounded like business as usual. Kallim listened with half an ear, exclaiming and laughing at strategic moments, until his sandals were as near to clean as they were likely to get; then he straightened up to smile at Melika.
"And what about that man of yours," she said, fixing him with a piercing stare. "Is he treating you well?"
"I am happy," Kallim said simply. "Can't you tell?"
"I suppose you're not here to buy from me, then."
"Not this time, I'm afraid." Long past glamour herself, Melika traded exclusively in feminine jewellery: the heavy bangles, necklaces and rings given as gifts to a new bride, and the gaudier pieces favoured by dancers and other professional women.
"Well, you tell your aunt that I've some earrings coming in next week that'll be perfect for her. I'll keep a couple of pairs back, you make sure you bring her in to have a look at them."
"I'll do that," Kallim agreed. "Thank you for the water, Melika."
Released at last from her attentions, he made his way down the narrow street. The buildings loomed closely enough to block out the sun and the air was still and fetid. The Quarter was not as busy as the main market since the goldsmiths traditionally did most of their business at night, but there was a steady flow of people to dodge, and shouts of greeting and insult (for the most part friendly) to reply to as he passed by the wooden stalls and stone doorways. He waved, called out promises of a visit in the near future and answered jibe with jibe, until he reached the dog-leg bend in the alley and the wide recessed entrance to the Keshiri brothers' shop.
"Well, well. The wanderer returns," Hallem said archly, rising from his stool behind the counter. "Are you here to buy, or just to grace us with your presence for a while before the sea calls you away once more?"
"Greetings to you too, Hallem," Kallim grinned. "I'm here to buy, as it happens, but if you're offering me a glass of tea, I won't refuse it."
The older man raised an eyebrow, but reached under the counter to produce a large brass pot and a glass. "Fresh brewed only three minutes past," he said. "So what are you looking for? I don't need to ask if you're well, that much is obvious."
"I'm buying for myself today," Kallim told him, "So don't show me the cheap stuff. Only the best. Rings, arm bands, that sort of thing."
"For a man?"
"For a man."
Hallem smirked, and ran a hand over his oiled black hair. "Come through to the back with me, and I'll show you something worth looking at. Give you my best price, too."
"Come off it, Hallem. You know that line never worked with me," Kallim said, laughing.
"Yes, you want to be careful, brother," a new voice interjected from the rear of the room. "Keep away from our pretty little Kallim, or his big strong captain will be down here to give you a good lashing."
Hallem's tone had been good-humoured, but Jerel's words were full of simmering malice. He stood in the doorway to the workshop, gazing at Kallim with unconcealed scorn.
Kallim sighed. He had heard far worse, and would do so again. "It's you who should watch it, Jerel. I may comb my hair and take a bath occasionally - a habit you could undoubtedly learn from - but I assure you I can still fight my own battles. I have no quarrel with Hallem." And I'll take his harmless flirtation over your vicious tongue any day of the month, you bigoted fool, he added silently. He turned his back very deliberately, and studied a display of bangles glittering beneath the glass.
Hallem, whose first loyalty would always be to the prospect of a sale, wasted no time in shooing his brother back into the workshop and offering Kallim a chair at the counter. "Just ignore him, my friend," he said. "You know he spends far too much of his time in the back there. Here, have some tea."
Kallim raised his hands to show that no lasting offence had been taken, and accepted the tea gratefully. It was strong and sweet and lemony, just as Hallem had always liked it.
They settled down to the serious business of sifting through trays of gold: heavy, masculine rings, some set with single stones, others decorated with carefully wrought patterns; wide armbands and cuffs; cloak pins and buckles; solid chains that lay in the hand with a satisfying weight. The quality of the work was excellent, and the designs both eye-catching and tasteful, but nothing struck Kallim as being exactly what he was looking for. Reaching to put his empty tea glass back on the tray, he looked up at the workshop doorway and caught a glimpse of Jerel walking past with his leather apron over his shoulder. In that instant he realised that he had been searching in the wrong place.
Black leather and gold were not a good combination.
"These are nice work," he told Hallem, handing back the tray of decorative cloak pins. "I'll take at least two dozen when we sail; they'll sell fast in the north. I don't think I'm buying anything today, though."
"You always were a tease," Hallem grumbled, slotting the tray back into its place on the shelf. "How long do you plan to be in town?"
"Three weeks, if all goes well. I'll be back to see you soon."
"I hope so."
Kallim took his leave as promptly as good manners would allow, and headed off down the street with new purpose, certain that his quarry was now in view. He took a sharp left turn behind the old temple, paused to allow a boy leading a donkey laden with folded blankets to pass through the ancient stone arch, then hurried through into Silver Street. The old man's workshop was the third on the right. Kallim pushed the door open and went inside.
Old Ranek had been trading on his reputation as the legendary blind silversmith for decades. The fact that Kallim knew every one of his talented and sharp-eyed assistants by name, and had downed a jug of ale with a couple of them on more than one occasion, did not detract from the quality of the pieces he sold. It might be worth looking around for the best deal when shopping for gold, but for silver there was nowhere else.
"Young Master Kallim, is that you?" Ranek raised his head, his sightless eyes seeming to focus somewhere slightly behind Kallim's left shoulder. Whether he recognised the individual step of each of his customers, or whether the dull-witted nephew stationed at the door to prevent theft saw them coming and warned him of their approach, Kallim could never be sure.
"Greetings, Ranek. I trust that life is treating you well?" He crossed the gloomy room and took the old man's outstretched hand.
"Well enough, my son, well enough. Sit you down and tell me what you have been doing all these months."
Two glasses of lemon tea and a pipe of sweet honey tobacco later, Kallim finally explained what he was looking for.
"Ah," Ranek said. "I believe I may have just the thing." He ran his fingers across the old wooden cabinet behind his desk, reading the raised markings on the drawers, before pulling out a shallow tray containing eight thick chains of medium length.
Kallim had not really been considering a neck chain, but as soon as he saw this one, he knew it was right. The links formed three interlocking strands that twisted around each other, giving the impression of rope - a suitably nautical touch. The workmanship was so fine, however, that the chain ran through his fingers more like silk than rough hemp. It was a lovely thing, solid and understated; and in short, perfect for Gedrinel.
"This is the one," he told Ranek.
"Yes," the old man replied, his fingers recognising the piece at once. "This is exceptional craftsmanship, very detailed..."
"I know what it's worth," Kallim said quickly, "and I'll give you a fair price, don't worry."
"Of course. You know, it was designed to be worn with one of these." Ranek dug around in one of the lower drawers and produced a long belt, based on the same rope design but with the strands interwoven to give a flattened plaited effect, about two fingers in width.
"I have no use for a belt," Kallim said, frowning. Such an ostentatiously heavy piece must surely be difficult to sell, which might be to his advantage. "As a wristband, though, it would work very well. Could you do that for me? The rest of it would make several more the same, or a shorter belt, I suppose."
"For you?" Ranek said, measuring Kallim's wrist with the loop of his forefinger and thumb.
"No, his arm is maybe two tenths more around."
"It'll cost you."
"Naturally. But you'll do it?"
"For you, Master Kallim, only for you."
"Make a good job of it, and I'll take another forty of the engraved goblets from you when we sail at the end of the month."
The old man laughed, showing gaps between brown-stained teeth. "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, my son. I'll have it ready by sundown."
It did not take long to complete the details of their transaction. Kallim soon found himself back out on the street, more than satisfied with his purchase and filled with enthusiasm for the remainder of the day's activities.
He had found the perfect gift for Gedrinel. Now it was time to make him some serious money.
So, this one is based on ningloreth's prompt of 'Silver.' It's not quite what she's hoping for, I know, but it's heading in the right direction.
Thanks to elfscribe5 for the beta.
Smut free. This chapter could be original fiction if you haven't read my earlier stuff.
Silver, part 1
The market was hellishly busy. Half the city seemed to be out buying food, clothing and cooking pots, while the other half browsed around the stalls that sold trinkets and fancy goods. Scattered amongst them were a few boatloads of foreign visitors, instantly recognisable even from a distance by their inappropriate clothing and air of bewildered excitement. At closer range they could be heard haggling in over-loud voices, determined to bring down the price of an ornamental water pipe or woven woollen hanging to a mere five times the amount any self-respecting local would pay.
A cart full of tomatoes had overturned some time ago, on the corner by the entrance to the goldsmith's quarter. Naturally, nobody had waited for the wreckage to be cleared up. Impatient citizens and eager tourists had continued to go about their business, trampling their way through the carnage until the whole area was an unavoidable quagmire of pulverised fruit, littered with treacherous scraps of splintered wood. A group of small boys, scarlet from head to foot, were having the time of their lives - pelting each other with tomatoes and sliding around in the mess, giggling uncontrollably all the while.
The sandstorm of the previous night had subsided, leaving every surface that was neither moving nor painted with tomato flesh covered in a fine, grimy layer of dust. Although the sun was up to no more than half of its full height, the day was already fiercely hot, with a heavy humidity that made breathing difficult.
Kallim took in a lungful of scalding air, his nose wrinkling at the combined scents of spices and incense, animal dung and partially fermented tomato. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge the sweaty linen of his tunic from the skin of his back, and sighed.
It was good to be home.
Unpleasant as the prospect was, the tomato swamp would have to be negotiated if he was to reach his intended destination. He took a few moments to roll his loose dark trousers up to the knee, but his sandals could not be helped, since the alternative probably meant picking splinters out of his feet for the rest of the day. No matter; the shoes were old worn things of plaited rope and coarse skin anyway, and if a good scrubbing could not save them they would be no great loss. Only a fool would wear his best leather boots to the markets.
As he picked his way along the edge of the mess, Kallim kept an eye on the urchins playing there. When a scrawny brown arm raised itself, a handful of scarlet mush poised and ready to throw, he called out, "Don't even think about it, Yenni, or I'll see to it that your father gives you a thrashing you won't forget."
The boy's eyes widened at the mention of his name. He dropped his arm to his side and turned back to his friends, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Kallim grinned at his back and rounded the corner into the relative peace of Goldsmiths' Lane. There he paused for a second to roll his trousers down, inspecting his feet as he did so. The sandals might well be salvageable, if he could beg a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush from one of his acquaintances in the Quarter. He set off down the lane, wondering which of his friends was most likely to be around at this time of day.
He didn't get far before his thoughts were interrupted.
"Kallim Almajarram! As I live, is that really you? Get yourself over here, boy, so I can take a closer look at you."
"You're not mistaken, Melika mediyella, it really is me."
The old woman sat at the entrance to her tiny shop, her black robed bulk all but blocking its doorway. Kallim crossed the alleyway to greet her, and perched, as indicated by her impatient gesture, on the stool by her side. She raised her fleshy hands, bedecked in a dozen oversized rings, to pinch his cheek and run her fingers across his shoulders.
"How long has it been? Six months?"
"Little more than five. We have had business in the far north this year."
"And how is it going there? Are you looking after yourself? I hear the food in the north tastes of nothing, and everything is cooked in lard! Have you been eating properly?"
"I am in the best of health, as you can see. The sailor's life agrees with me."
"I'm glad to hear it. Mezeth, look at the state of your feet! Those stupid bastards with the tomatoes, they couldn't drive a knife through a block of cheese. Nenna!"
She leaned back on her chair and shouted into the depths of the shop. A short while later, a small, pale girl appeared, carrying a tin bowl of water in both hands, and an ancient bristle brush under her arm. She kneeled to place the bowl at Kallim's feet, and would have washed them for him had he not insisted otherwise.
While he scrubbed and rinsed, Melika gave him a colourful summary of happenings in the Quarter since his last visit. Pregnancy and scandal, an unexplained death, thousands lost in an unwary gamble - it all sounded like business as usual. Kallim listened with half an ear, exclaiming and laughing at strategic moments, until his sandals were as near to clean as they were likely to get; then he straightened up to smile at Melika.
"And what about that man of yours," she said, fixing him with a piercing stare. "Is he treating you well?"
"I am happy," Kallim said simply. "Can't you tell?"
"I suppose you're not here to buy from me, then."
"Not this time, I'm afraid." Long past glamour herself, Melika traded exclusively in feminine jewellery: the heavy bangles, necklaces and rings given as gifts to a new bride, and the gaudier pieces favoured by dancers and other professional women.
"Well, you tell your aunt that I've some earrings coming in next week that'll be perfect for her. I'll keep a couple of pairs back, you make sure you bring her in to have a look at them."
"I'll do that," Kallim agreed. "Thank you for the water, Melika."
Released at last from her attentions, he made his way down the narrow street. The buildings loomed closely enough to block out the sun and the air was still and fetid. The Quarter was not as busy as the main market since the goldsmiths traditionally did most of their business at night, but there was a steady flow of people to dodge, and shouts of greeting and insult (for the most part friendly) to reply to as he passed by the wooden stalls and stone doorways. He waved, called out promises of a visit in the near future and answered jibe with jibe, until he reached the dog-leg bend in the alley and the wide recessed entrance to the Keshiri brothers' shop.
"Well, well. The wanderer returns," Hallem said archly, rising from his stool behind the counter. "Are you here to buy, or just to grace us with your presence for a while before the sea calls you away once more?"
"Greetings to you too, Hallem," Kallim grinned. "I'm here to buy, as it happens, but if you're offering me a glass of tea, I won't refuse it."
The older man raised an eyebrow, but reached under the counter to produce a large brass pot and a glass. "Fresh brewed only three minutes past," he said. "So what are you looking for? I don't need to ask if you're well, that much is obvious."
"I'm buying for myself today," Kallim told him, "So don't show me the cheap stuff. Only the best. Rings, arm bands, that sort of thing."
"For a man?"
"For a man."
Hallem smirked, and ran a hand over his oiled black hair. "Come through to the back with me, and I'll show you something worth looking at. Give you my best price, too."
"Come off it, Hallem. You know that line never worked with me," Kallim said, laughing.
"Yes, you want to be careful, brother," a new voice interjected from the rear of the room. "Keep away from our pretty little Kallim, or his big strong captain will be down here to give you a good lashing."
Hallem's tone had been good-humoured, but Jerel's words were full of simmering malice. He stood in the doorway to the workshop, gazing at Kallim with unconcealed scorn.
Kallim sighed. He had heard far worse, and would do so again. "It's you who should watch it, Jerel. I may comb my hair and take a bath occasionally - a habit you could undoubtedly learn from - but I assure you I can still fight my own battles. I have no quarrel with Hallem." And I'll take his harmless flirtation over your vicious tongue any day of the month, you bigoted fool, he added silently. He turned his back very deliberately, and studied a display of bangles glittering beneath the glass.
Hallem, whose first loyalty would always be to the prospect of a sale, wasted no time in shooing his brother back into the workshop and offering Kallim a chair at the counter. "Just ignore him, my friend," he said. "You know he spends far too much of his time in the back there. Here, have some tea."
Kallim raised his hands to show that no lasting offence had been taken, and accepted the tea gratefully. It was strong and sweet and lemony, just as Hallem had always liked it.
They settled down to the serious business of sifting through trays of gold: heavy, masculine rings, some set with single stones, others decorated with carefully wrought patterns; wide armbands and cuffs; cloak pins and buckles; solid chains that lay in the hand with a satisfying weight. The quality of the work was excellent, and the designs both eye-catching and tasteful, but nothing struck Kallim as being exactly what he was looking for. Reaching to put his empty tea glass back on the tray, he looked up at the workshop doorway and caught a glimpse of Jerel walking past with his leather apron over his shoulder. In that instant he realised that he had been searching in the wrong place.
Black leather and gold were not a good combination.
"These are nice work," he told Hallem, handing back the tray of decorative cloak pins. "I'll take at least two dozen when we sail; they'll sell fast in the north. I don't think I'm buying anything today, though."
"You always were a tease," Hallem grumbled, slotting the tray back into its place on the shelf. "How long do you plan to be in town?"
"Three weeks, if all goes well. I'll be back to see you soon."
"I hope so."
Kallim took his leave as promptly as good manners would allow, and headed off down the street with new purpose, certain that his quarry was now in view. He took a sharp left turn behind the old temple, paused to allow a boy leading a donkey laden with folded blankets to pass through the ancient stone arch, then hurried through into Silver Street. The old man's workshop was the third on the right. Kallim pushed the door open and went inside.
Old Ranek had been trading on his reputation as the legendary blind silversmith for decades. The fact that Kallim knew every one of his talented and sharp-eyed assistants by name, and had downed a jug of ale with a couple of them on more than one occasion, did not detract from the quality of the pieces he sold. It might be worth looking around for the best deal when shopping for gold, but for silver there was nowhere else.
"Young Master Kallim, is that you?" Ranek raised his head, his sightless eyes seeming to focus somewhere slightly behind Kallim's left shoulder. Whether he recognised the individual step of each of his customers, or whether the dull-witted nephew stationed at the door to prevent theft saw them coming and warned him of their approach, Kallim could never be sure.
"Greetings, Ranek. I trust that life is treating you well?" He crossed the gloomy room and took the old man's outstretched hand.
"Well enough, my son, well enough. Sit you down and tell me what you have been doing all these months."
Two glasses of lemon tea and a pipe of sweet honey tobacco later, Kallim finally explained what he was looking for.
"Ah," Ranek said. "I believe I may have just the thing." He ran his fingers across the old wooden cabinet behind his desk, reading the raised markings on the drawers, before pulling out a shallow tray containing eight thick chains of medium length.
Kallim had not really been considering a neck chain, but as soon as he saw this one, he knew it was right. The links formed three interlocking strands that twisted around each other, giving the impression of rope - a suitably nautical touch. The workmanship was so fine, however, that the chain ran through his fingers more like silk than rough hemp. It was a lovely thing, solid and understated; and in short, perfect for Gedrinel.
"This is the one," he told Ranek.
"Yes," the old man replied, his fingers recognising the piece at once. "This is exceptional craftsmanship, very detailed..."
"I know what it's worth," Kallim said quickly, "and I'll give you a fair price, don't worry."
"Of course. You know, it was designed to be worn with one of these." Ranek dug around in one of the lower drawers and produced a long belt, based on the same rope design but with the strands interwoven to give a flattened plaited effect, about two fingers in width.
"I have no use for a belt," Kallim said, frowning. Such an ostentatiously heavy piece must surely be difficult to sell, which might be to his advantage. "As a wristband, though, it would work very well. Could you do that for me? The rest of it would make several more the same, or a shorter belt, I suppose."
"For you?" Ranek said, measuring Kallim's wrist with the loop of his forefinger and thumb.
"No, his arm is maybe two tenths more around."
"It'll cost you."
"Naturally. But you'll do it?"
"For you, Master Kallim, only for you."
"Make a good job of it, and I'll take another forty of the engraved goblets from you when we sail at the end of the month."
The old man laughed, showing gaps between brown-stained teeth. "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, my son. I'll have it ready by sundown."
It did not take long to complete the details of their transaction. Kallim soon found himself back out on the street, more than satisfied with his purchase and filled with enthusiasm for the remainder of the day's activities.
He had found the perfect gift for Gedrinel. Now it was time to make him some serious money.