Ten Thousand Gold

The next day, the market that had been in an uproar was bustling from the first light of morning. Word of the Sahara Merchant Group's outrageous sale had ridden rumor clear through Gerona and out into the cities round about. Buy one of their slaves and sell it on untouched, and you were guaranteed a profit of one or two gold — and when simply buying was enough to make money, people had no choice but to lose their minds.

Perhaps that was why customers had been pouring in since early morning and staking out their places. As opening time drew near, each merchant house brought out what it had prepared late into the night before.

The other houses had slashed their prices just as hard, hung the placards, and settled in to wait for the gates to open. People who had flocked in from every quarter went wide-eyed at the boards posted on stall after stall.

"Nine gold! They've lost their minds."

"Jonathan, run home and bring your mother. Tell her to bring every gold coin she's hidden away. Hurry! I'll hold our place in line. Go!"

"Well, I'll be damned. What is all this?"

"Is that price real? Nine gold? It wasn't even that cheap when I was a boy."

The murmuring crowd was thoroughly fired up by the steeply cut prices, and their eyes turned, as if drawn there, toward the stall of the Sahara Merchant Group — the house that had started this whole mess in the first place.

Little time remained before opening. Up on Sahara's stall, the sign was still draped in a baffling sheet of cloth, and the crowd was desperate to know how the house that had rocked the market yesterday at a shocking 9.9 gold would show its hand today.

A short while later, just as the hour of opening came upon them, I turned to Marco at my side.

"We can unveil it now, can't we?"

"Yes, Guildmaster. The time has come."

The moment I had his answer, I gave the order to Maximus, waiting at our backs.

"Pull the cloth, Maximus."

Maximus, who had been standing by, brought down the battleaxes raised in both hands as if he had been waiting for nothing else. The axes sheared through the ropes lashed around the stakes. Lines drawn bowstring-tight snapped, and in that instant the ropes on the far side hauled taut, ripping the cloth off the sign and sending it flying.

And at last the board beneath it showed itself.

The moment the sign was bared, not only the customers who read it but the merchants of the other houses went wide-eyed.

"7.9 gold?"

"Did they write that right?"

"They're really selling at that price?"

"What could the cost even be?"

"Is a price like that even possible?"

While the crowd muttered in bewilderment, the bell in the spire of the temple ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the heart of Gerona tolled across the distance. Ding— ding— ding— ding— Those who heard it changed in an instant. There was no one who held back. The waiting customers shoved and hauled at one another and packed the front of Sahara's stall in a heartbeat, a tide of bodies filling the space before the house almost at once.

"Move! I was here first!"

"I was first! Me first, I said!"

"Don't shove!"

"Hey! Wait your turn!"

"Get out of the way!"

"I said don't push, you bastards!"

The slaves Sahara had put up began to vanish faster than the eye could follow. The other houses, which had prepared for the day's trade with such ambition, could only stare blankly at the sight.

On the second day the stock ran out even faster. Taking Marco's counsel, we sold exactly one hundred and fifty head. The purpose of this trading run was not for me to make money. It was to keep the other houses from selling a single slave.

Just as Marco had said, once those hundred and fifty were gone we shut the stall. The crowd that had gathered raised a clamor, begging us to sell more.

"We will reopen at this hour tomorrow. Today's stock is exhausted, so anyone wishing to buy should patronize another house — or else return tomorrow morning and take a place in line."

We had announced that we were done, yet the people gathered there, sick with regret, could not easily turn their feet away. Still, if we would not sell, there was nothing else for it. Just as Marco had predicted, they sniffed around the other houses and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠went home empty-handed.

They had already seen the mad price of 7.9 gold, and nine gold no longer even entered their eyes. The merchants shouted themselves raw hawking their goods, but the look in every customer's eye was the same.

"Why is it so expensive?"

"Have they no conscience? How much are they trying to skim?"

"Rotten bastards. Who do they take us for, suckers?"

"Can't buy at that price. Tomorrow I'll be here from before dawn to get in line."

They would not so much as glance at the other houses' slaves — or else they threw fits at the men hawking them, demanding the goods for seven gold.

Seven gold was nearly cost. No — factor in transport, the expense of holding inventory, and the fixed costs of running a house, and selling at that price was no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠different from selling at a loss. Even I, letting them go at 7.9 gold a head, would have almost nothing left once cost and overhead were stripped away. Twenty or thirty silver, if that.

But profit was not the point of this run. On the trading floor, reputation weighs as much as profit. When this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was over, no one would dare take the Sahara Merchant Group lightly, or lay a finger on it.

We closed early and settled the books. Yesterday we had sold 427 slaves; today, 150. At this pace we could keep selling for about five days more, and even after those five days the situation would not ease. People who had grown used to the cheap price would not buy once it climbed again. In a satisfied mood, I enjoyed a leisurely meal for the first time in a long while.

Events ran just as expected. We sold slaves at a daily limit of one hundred and fifty, and all the while the other houses could not bring themselves to drop as far as seven gold. They sat at stalls where nothing but flies gathered, and sighed.

They no longer even bothered to hawk. By the fourth day they had grasped that it would do no good. A few houses swallowed their tears and sold at 7.9 gold — the ones that could not bear the burden of hauling unsold stock back to their home bases.

On the sixth day, business in Gerona finally came to a close. Sahara's trade was finished, but that was not the end of the matter. Five days of the peak season still remained, yet the mood of the market had already hardened into a common understanding: no one would buy a slave at a high price again.

The houses left behind would have to swallow the bitter pill and dump their slaves cheap to clear the stock, or else drag along the slaves they had brought and pin their hopes on another day. Either way, a heavy loss for those houses was a settled fact. And so, leaving the grim-faced merchants behind us, we packed the shop up completely.

When we returned to the encampment, the camp that had seethed with a little over twelve hundred souls felt stark and hollow. The trading run was finished, so we drew up the final account.

We had kept twenty-five female orcs to raise the orc children, and Marco had set the ten male slaves aside on his own. In scale and in headcount, the operation had long since outgrown what he could run alone. Living among them, he had weighed the basics — arithmetic, reading, and writing — along with the attitude they brought to their work, and drawn out ten. The plan was to place all of them under the head slave and use them as staff besides.

The three male orcs, last of all, were former orc warriors. I had half considered simply selling them, but I meant to assign them under Maximus as well and set them to the watch. As for the blonde we had bought at the very start, she would stay on with us, charged with looking after the slaves — their food, and the care of the sick.

And so the trading run in Gerona came to an end.

Marco came over and asked.

"What will you do now, Guildmaster?"

We had reached the sum I had set my sights on at last. It seemed time to move on to the next aim.

"Marco, we can't drift about like peddlers forever. A man has to put down roots."

"Ah. Then you mean to establish a home base?"

For a merchant, a place of one's own carries a weight all its own. And I was no ordinary guildmaster — I was a noble, and no mistaking it. That the master of the house was a lord who held a domain lent the company a steadiness in more ways than one, and it could not help but weigh on the house's credit. On Earth or in this other world, plant yourself on solid property that is not about to fail, and your standing rises of its own accord.

"Is there a place you have in mind for a domain?"

One place rose in my thoughts.

"There's a suitable spot."

It was about time I settled somewhere and stayed.