"By Krin, you really are a walking invitation to have your face smashed, aren't you?"
"All the same, he's got a point," the corporal said. "Why give us better than standard measure?"
"My littermate's a silversmith. A bit over standard is still better than he has to pay for bar silver."
"Done," the corporal said. "I'd rather have it in coin, anyway."
"Where'd you come up with all this?" the barkeep asked, serving out mugs as he weighed and changed the contents of their pouches. The bulk silver was in irregularly shaped thumb-sized nuggets that looked like shiny knucklebones.
"Them Boman was rolling in it," Prit said. "We just got our pay from that last fight."
"Thought so," the barkeep said. "You Diaspra guys are the only silver we've seen in a while. Surprised to see infantry with cash, is all."
"It's why I came in with these twerps," the private told him. "I'm for some more loot, loot, loot! These Boman took Sindi, they're going to be shitting gold."
"You'll be shitting yourself when you finally see them, you gutless infantry bastard," a Northern cavalryman said, looming out of the darkness. "Give me some more channy leaf, you K'Vaernian thief."
"You'll be keeping a civil tongue in your head, or you'll be chewing with one side," the bartender snapped. "Five silver."
"It was two before," the cavalryman snarled.
"The price goes up with the aggravation," was the reply. "Make that seven."
"Why you pissant thief!" The cavalryman's hand dropped to his sword.
"Let's not get carried away here," Fain said, looking to see if there were any cavalry NCOs in the joint.
"Fuck off, you infantry maggot," the cavalryman slurred, spinning on the slightly smaller junior NCO. "It wasn't for you fucking Southerners, we wouldn't be in this mess."
"Hey, forker, we're all soldiers together," the corporal said with a grunt of laughter. "Let me stake you to a round of beer."
"I don't need any of your damned silver, either!" The Northerner slapped the corporal's hand and sent the freshly counted coins, more than an infantryman's pay for a month, spinning into the gloom. "Short leg bastards. Do nothing but slow us up."
"Corp," Pol said slowly. "He knocked . . ."
"I know, Erkum," the corporal said calmly. "Look, fellow, that was uncalled for. Now, I know you've got problems—"
"I don't have any problems," the cavalryman growled, picking the junior noncom up by his harness. "You do!"
The corporal hit the low table sideways, spilling beer and less mentionable products of the local economy across the revelers. He rolled away from the group as it surged to its feet and tried to come back upright himself, only to run into another set of backs instead.
"DIASPRA!" Prit yelled, and plowed into the cavalryman, all four arms windmilling.
Fain took a kick to the ribs and flipped the kicker onto his back, then came vertical with a twist and a heave, but by the time he regained his feet, the bar had turned into a giant free-for-all. A club hit him in the side of the face, and he felt a hand pulling at his pouch.
"God bedamned minstrels!" he snarled, and grabbed the itinerant singer by the horns and spun the thieving bastard off into the melee. He ducked another swinging club, catching it on his own horns, and kicked the club swinger in the balls. His assailant went down . . . and he suddenly found himself faced by the Northerner and three of his larger friends.
"It's time to clean up this bar," the original troublemaker snarled.
"Let's be sensible about this, folks," the infantry corporal said, although sense seemed to be in short supply. "Nobody wants to get hurt."
"And nobody's gonna get hurt," another of the cavalrymen said. "Except you."
"Leave my friend alone." Erkum Pol's voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible through the tavern's bedlam, but the order was accompanied by a whistling sound.
"Why?" the original cavalryman scoffed, never looking away from Fain while he raised a large chunk of wood purposefully overhead.
If there was a verbal answer from the simpleminded soldier, it wasn't audible over the sodden thump and the crunch of bones as the hard-driven plank crashed into the foursome.
Fain stepped back as the cavalrymen hit the ground, then grabbed the tabletop before the improvised battering ram could be drawn back for another swing.
"Good job, Erkum. Now, eet's time to pocking leaf."
"But I never got a beer," the private complained.
"Take one," the proprietor said from behind his pile of kegs. "Take a keg. Just get out of here before the Guard arrives."
* * *
"They destroy our taverns and inns, carousing day and night," Dersal Quan complained. The Council member twisted his rings in frustrated exasperation. "And the stench!"
"Yes, and that's another thing. What with the shortages and all, we don't need all these soldiers waving their money around. It's just driving up prices and leaving the penniless . . ."
Sual Dal, the representative for the cloth merchant's guild, paused, trying to find the word he wanted.
"Pennilesser?" Wes Til suggested. "Yes, yes. It's a terrible thing. People having money to spend is quite awful. Fortunately, that's not much of a problem in a city like K'Vaern's Cove just now."
"Don't take this so damned lightly, Til!" the guildsman snapped. "I don't see any of these folks buying sails or any of their silver lining the pockets of my guild. It's all going for beer and channy leaf."
"And fish," Til countered. "And whatever other consumables can be found in the city. For that matter, there was a large purchase of fine woven materials lately, wasn't there?"
"It was all material bound for Sindi," the guildsman said with a gesture of resignation. "We practically took a loss."
"Practically and actually are two different things," Til replied. "The problem isn't the soldiers from Diaspra. Nor is it the Northerners. Or even the refugees. The problem is the Boman, and until we get rid of them, we're all going to be taking a loss."
"That's all well and good to say, Til, but it's not so easy to do," Quan said, twisting his rings again.
"No," Til agreed. "It won't be easy, and it won't be cheap, but until it's done, we're all going to do nothing but lose money. Sooner or later, it's going to catch up with us. I'm set pretty well, but I understand that you, Quan, had already paid for a large shipment of copper ore coming out of Sindi. Yes?"
"Yes," the businessman growled.
"And are you ever going to get that shipment?"
"No."
"And how are the rest of your investments doing? Well?" He paused, but there was no answer. "Thought not. As for sails, I don't see any ships being built, do you, Sual?"
"No," the guildmaster admitted.
"On the other hand, the humans are planning at least six very large ships with a brand-new design of sail. A very special kind of sail whose new shape and size will, I'm sure, require only the best of weavers and sailmakers."
"Ah?" the guildmaster grunted. "Really? That's . . . interesting news."
"But to build those ships, they need materials—lots of materials. They were going to just buy some of the ships that had been laid up and take them apart, but if we could retake D'Sley and get the materials from there, it would be much better for them. And, of course, that would mean that they wouldn't be cutting up the already available sails from the ships they'd purchase to make their new, special sails."
"Ah."
"And as for you, Quan, they're discussing a radical new version of arquebus and a new-style bombard. All of them will have to be made somewhere, and if I recall correctly, your foundries aren't doing a lot of business just this minute, are they?"