Marmocha of Stahlchausses Village

Defi stifled a twitch as another scantily-clad woman walked past, a wink openly sent at him.

For the last hour, Garun's face had been stoic as he played the merchant retainer to the hilt, standing behind Defi's chair. Samti, who was seated at Defi's table, was smiling faintly, hiding her amusement in the care of her child.

This was what Garun meant by 'they will not speak of foreigners there'?

This was what the guardsman meant by 'personal visit'?

This was a village of impropriety, gambling halls and ….and ....brothels, for lack of a better word. They were on the surface entertainment halls and often inns, but they also offered various...private entertainments.

Alright, he would be laughing at himself too, were he not in this particular situation.

He was not a prudish pedant, but the clothes here were too well made and the propositions too lacking in subtlety.

Ontrea was too humid for his people to completely cover themselves.

In the spring, when the sun was only just warming the lands and its scorching splendor not yet at its peak, the fashion in Ontrea was to dress in the briefest manner, to cover properly using the least amount of cloth. Certainly the styles that the clothiers came up with were varied and memorably creative.

One surely must be impressed with the dressmaker of the noble strutting around in less than a pound-weight of clothing with nary an improper show of skin.

The difference was that, even if certain people in this Ascharonian village exposed less skin than the nobles of Ontrea, their clothing was cut in styles unabashedly intended to make a priest faint. It suggested and enticed, designed to draw the eyes toward certain places and to emphasize certain attributes.

It was nothing like Defi was familiar with.

And that was not even the main problem! He was trained to resist women and men, of course he was. Such aggressive pursuit was a novelty.

But the ogling. The deliberate, unashamed, unending ogling over his and Garun and Samti's bare skin.

Creator, where was the propriety?!

Defi, as one who had hoped to walk the warrior's path, was of course very fit. The other two, who were used to labor, were even more fit than he.

He had to let everyone see some of his discomfort and reactions to various propositions, so that Garun would stop glaring everyone to a fear-induced death for daring to look at his wife and Samti might not slaughter everyone in the vicinity with only her fingernails because they openly coveted her husband.

It was better that his companions laugh at him than walk that path. They had no need of the notoriety that would arise from massacre.

Even if he was impressed that the people were so open with their desires, it was still uncomfortable.

"Why did we come here again?" he sipped his wine, hoping the taste would get better.

The wine here was too diluted, its flavor diminished and the harshness pronounced. It grated unpleasantly on his tongue. It was called, by one of the servers, an aperitif to stimulate the appetite.

He drank it doubtfully.

"They would question it less if we acquired the clothes of this world here, young one," murmured Samti. "And the assayer we need is here."

There were tailors and metal-smiths and assayers here as well. How curious. A village in Ontrea would have neither market nor shops. Only in towns were there such structures.

Was there truly a difference between worlds or was it that his translation was faulty? Or possibly it was a function of this particular village. Stahlchausses was not an endorsed village, he knew. It only grew due to miners seeking conveniences that the town did not - a black market that became a village.

Changing Rimet gold in Stahlchausses instead of the properly sanctioned counting house of the mining town was illegal, as most black market buyers melted the gold down. But according to Garun, more illegal was the team of winged goats blatantly sunning themselves outside one of the wine-houses, water from the trough dripping from elegant manes tinged in regal red by the setting sun.

Winged goats! Defi studied them with hidden interest. He might be able to travel on air in this world. How wonderful!

Winged land-mammals were prohibited for use in trade – one of Ascharon's absolute laws.

Judging by the packed wagon nearby, festooned in colorful streamers and painted vividly, the owner of the goats was certainly a flagrant rebel.

His study of the street outside was interrupted by the scrape of a chair. A man plopped himself down opposite Defi and made a dramatic gesture with his arm. "Good morrow, young man! Are you the person who requested my services?"

Garun stepped closer, eyes sharp.

"Are you the assayer called Marmon Chacort?" Defi asked in his native language, affecting the slightly bored attentiveness of the average young worthy from the grand nation of Ontrea. His knowledge of the Ascharon trade language was something to keep in reserve. "If not, we have nothing to do with you."

Garun translated, in a manner more polite.

"Indeed I am!" caroled the man, with a grin. He leaned forward. "Are we doing business or no?"

The man, Marmon Chacort, then leaned away from the table and waved to a server. "Ahoy there, a spread for my guests, eh?"

"We have already ordered food brought," Defi told him, via Garun. "We were merely taking the time to rest."

The custom, according to Garun, was to have a number of dishes ready to be served before the other party arrived. The smoothness of the negotiation depended on how the second party liked the dishes that the first chose.

A very odd custom, but Defi imagined it was also to gauge how much both parties knew of each other, in the same way that Ontrean nobles negotiated by insinuated insults and secrets and casual blackmail using fine words and carefully chosen phrases. That concept, he understood very well.

He considered also that, to be the one who chose the dishes was a way to show off and intimidate, a way to gain the upper hand.

The local way of negotiation was infinitely more fun than the Ontrean way, even if his instincts said he should treat it as delicately as he treated Ontrean word games.

Sure enough, the man brightened. "You are certainly more knowledgeable than the average Rimet merchant, eh? Bring on the food!"

It was only that Garun's skin was burned as bronze as the average Ontrean, that people here did not suspect him to be of Ascharon. Defi had an idea that were it to be common knowledge that Ontrea took slaves from here, the people of these lands would be less welcoming of trade with his nation.

"I had good teachers," he said simply. "I have only had an afternoon in this village, and perhaps will not even have the whole morning tomorrow. Our business must be quick, and precluded seeking you out later. The food they bring are those with some similarity to what is usually served at home."

The man hummed thoughtfully. "It would be interesting to learn which dishes to match the Ontrean palate. Some of your merchants I have met before, they stray not too far from what they know, eh?"

"I have heard that Ascharonian cuisine is the cuisine of a hundred lands." Defi nodded. There were many and varied tastes in Ontrea, but it was also true that most kept to familiar foods – with the many spices that they were able to cultivate, Ontrean cuisine was about the myriad ways to flavor the same type of dishes. "I am interested in knowing more. Perhaps the good assayer would care to recommend a few dishes?"

If the man's countenance grew any brighter, Defi would have to hold him up to the sky and let him shine with the Ascharon sun. Maybe that would be enough to chase away the damnable chill of this world; the climate on these mountains was really nearly too cool for comfort.

But he had no thought to spare to weather. He was only relieved that his gamble had worked.

There had been too little time to seek out what the assayer's tastes were, and this exchange of food-related information was one way to attend to local custom if somewhat backward from the standard. Defi hoped to show Marmon Chacort that he had some willingness to trust.

As he anticipated, the man was more indulgent of a young foreigner who at least made the attempt to learn more of the local traditions.

Garun, when Defi had asked, drilled him mercilessly on the subject. He'd been a traveling merchant, before he was betrayed and sold to an Ontrean trade caravan thirty years ago.

"Of course, of course!" The man then stood to pull together a few tables. Garun rushed to help him. Defi and Samti rearranged the chairs. "Tonight, let it be a feast!"

The ten or so dishes that they ordered were suddenly more than doubled in number.

"Ontrea is a land partly of deep forest and partly of sun-baked wasteland and wide plains. Rimet has the distinction of having the largest grassland in the country. They say we are a land of ten thousand spices," Defi started as they ate and smiled as the assayer listened with interest. "It is only an exaggeration of course. We hardly have a tenth of that."

Marmon deflated when he said the number was an exaggeration, then perked up again at the next sentence. It was so much like a puppy watching someone eat meat that Defi nearly laughed out loud.

In Ascharon, it is said that people took food so seriously that even the poorest of the poor do not eat their gruel plain.

It is said in Ontrea that there are eight thousand spices in the world and the Ontreans aim to cultivate every last one.

It appeared, on the surface, that trade between these two nations was as fated as The Song and The Dance.

Defi was near certain that both peoples would clash abominably.

Ontrea's intolerance would grate on Ascharonic values, and Ascharon's food-related hedonism would be reviled in Ontrea. It seemed the good relations between the nations were because so far only the merchants, the most tolerant of the social classes, had made contact with each other.

He amused himself to think of his father meeting Marmon Chacort, and the subsequent fainting from rage on both sides.

He smiled slightly at the assayer exhorting Samti to try some tentacled sea creature, not dissuaded by her stoic refusals in accented Ascharonian and her suspicious looks at the dish. He found her suspicions understandable. They were in the mountains. From where would one acquire a sea creature?

Garun discreetly gobbled a dish of fish paste and vegetables, trying not to bawl at what Defi presumed was the fulfillment of a long-missed craving, while he sent conflicted glares at the rotund man who had ordered the dish in the first place and yet was cheerfully carrying on as if he and Garun's wife had been friends for years.

Defi took care to taste all the dishes that Marmon Chacort recommended, and the other did the same with the food Defi selected. There were many exhortations of deliciousness and many explanations on taste from both sides.

Samti had prevailed over Marmon Chacort, judging by his turning to Defi. Then the man perked up, seeing something behind the youth. He waved enthusiastically. "Young merchant, you must try this. I had it brought specially for you."

"I am humbled." He saw the bottles the server was bringing. "A wine?"

"Vital water." The assayer wriggled in anticipation as the server put the bottles down. The bottles were glass, clearer than the opaque green and brown bottles for wine, but the same bulbous onion-like shape. "It is from a mystic spring. You do know there is sorcery in Ascharon?"

"I do." He'd only recently realized that Ascharonians thought there to be no sorcery in Ontrea. Understandable. Current adepts do not go through the Gate and merchants knew better than to give away Ontrean secrets freely. "I am eager to know more."

"Ascharon has seven types of sorcery, and in combination, they form the eighth. The power that makes this possible, the power of life, the power of the Seven-Colored Deity, we call 'vitality'. All life has vitality and all life can support it. We have found that in some plants and animals, vitality is condensed – these are called mystic plants and mystic animals. These mystics, when prepared properly for consumption, can allow a person to increase the vitality of their bodies. Faster, stronger, more intelligent, more resilient; the vital cooking of Ascharon is famous throughout the world! We are not the only nation to have vital cooking, but we are certainly the most advanced!" Marmon Chacort waved at the food on the tables. "These are all common ingredients, for I'm afraid a vital dish would bankrupt me! I would eat and not stop until every last inch of me was saturated."

He drooled for a moment, his thoughts evidently turning inward.

Garun, still translating, was looking at the bottle Marmon Chacort had passed him with a complicated look on his face. Samti was eyeing him in concern.

"Vital water?" reminded Defi. He was contemplative. This Vitality did sound somewhat similar to the Current.

"This is recommended for those who are newcomers to Ascharon vital cooking or new in general. You might say, ingesting ingredients full of vitality...eh, for the average body, it is an acquired taste. Drinking vital water will help your body adjust to Ascharon."

Garun thumbed the cork off and started glugging the water down. Marmon Chacort blinked, then his eyes widened. "Please do not drink it that fast! Your body--!"

Defi popped the cork on his and took a sip. It was ordinary refreshing water, chilled and delicious, but nothing special. He sipped more.

Then, slowly, a warmth grew in the vicinity of his navel and spread to his limbs. The Current within him roiled in lazy movements. He breathed deeply, feeling as if a scouring brush had been passed across his insides. It was not unpleasant, the feeling almost refreshing.

"Is this safe for children?"

The assayer glanced at the child in Samti's arms. "Certainly! But as your child is so young, perhaps dilute it with milk. I think at least by half."

Defi wanted to sigh. He'd been mistaken for a father again. "Thank you. This is a handsome introduction to Ascharon."

The man laughed, with a heartiness that was becoming familiar to Defi. "Well, of course! I am---I said drink slowly!"

Samti had given Garun half her bottle of vital water, evidently not liking the effect. The precious vitality was washing down Garun's throat like cheap wine.

Defi's lips quirked upward.

It was certainly a lively dinner.

*

The night had fallen, the lamps had been lit, and many of the dishes taken away when finally they sat back in their chairs, stuffed.

Samti stood to pour the last bottle of wine. It was chilled and light, a sweet end to the parade of dishes.

"Shall we to business?" Marmon Chacort sighed happily.

Defi glanced at Garun.

"You are said to be very discreet."

"Ah, reputation, a thing worth more than my weight in djamants!" He slapped his rotund stomach, encased by a rather flowery sky-blue shirt, in emphasis. "I am happy to say this is truth. But of course I understand if you do not believe, for you are new in the world, yes? You will ask the people you know, and they will tell you that the reputation of Marmocha himself is solid!"

His fist thudded solidly onto the table at the all-but-bellowed last word. The remaining dishes rattled.

Defi laughed lightly. Samti and the child, newly woken, stared at the man with subtle expressions of disbelief.

The Current provided some small ability to discern the intentions of people and of course to shield against said ability. There was a reason control and composure were taught early in the learning halls. Then, of course, the environment of the children's court in Rimet provided many opportunities to learn and refine people skills.

During the dinner and his whole speech, Marmon Chacort had only a sincere deviousness to him that was perhaps common to merchants. Garun had much of the same air. Defi had noticed that despite the boisterous manner, the man's words did not carry past their table.

Some sort of sorcery added to a natural ability for public speaking, perhaps. He still had to ask Garun more about the eight-sided sorcery these lands had. It might be interesting to learn, as the advanced paths of the Current were now closed to him.

"What do you say, Delos of Rimet?"

Defi's mood dimmed a bit at the need to give a false name. It seemed less than sincere. He was beginning to get used to the openness of this world's people. He liked it.

"We will do business then. I will trust in your reputation, and you will trust in my gold. This is good enough for perhaps a first transaction, isn't it?"

Marmon Chacort laughed heartily when Garun translated.

"I have heard good things about Rimet gold," he said, still smiling as his eyes gained some sharpness. "It would be a very sad thing, I think, if that reputation were sullied."

Defi could only smile wryly. "I agree."

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Chapter End

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Notes:

The children's court – a name for the gatherings and social networks of noble scions not yet presented to the court of lords.

Djamant – a crystal-based currency in Ascharon, in the shape of a triangular prism, worth 1000 gold solstices.

The Song and The Dance – an Ontrean romantic epic, usually sung in a duet with instrumental accompaniment

vitality - the energy in mystic plants and animals, the power of life and the Seven-Colored Deity

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