“Always a pleasure dealing with Tellis. Always a pleasure.” Muneat smiled broadly. “And it is good to meet you, lad. Your name?”
“Cerryl, ser.”
“Cerryl. A good name. And a good day to you.” Muneat laughed again, a gentle sound, and turned to the seneschal.
Shallis stepped around his master and forward to open the door.
“Thank you, ser,” Cerryl said again.
“And a very good day to you and your master. Tell him I have another, perhaps in an eight-day or so.”
“Yes, ser.”
Cerryl stood on the granite paving stones before the fountain for a long moment, then slipped the pouch inside his shirt, and the silver into the slots on the inside of his belt—far safer for him than a wallet—though he’d never heard of a cutpurse in Fairhaven. But he didn’t wish to discover such existed the hard way.
Back on the avenue, Cerryl glanced back at the house—or palace—then down the avenue, past the half-dozen or more similar dwellings. He shook his head. He’d had no idea, no idea at all, of what wealth really was. Dylert he’d reckoned as a wealthy man. He shook his head once more before turning back up the avenue, thinking he could yet smell all the scents of flowers that had filled master Muneat’s home.
And the red gown—how many coins must one have to wear such gowns for no reason at all? He forced himself to walk briskly past the market square, past the jewelers, past the artisans’ square and up the street to Tellis’s, ignoring the silver in his belt. Silver he could always spend. Getting it was harder. He shook his head—except for those like master Muneat.
Back at the shop, Cerryl went straight through the showroom to the workroom. Tellis sat slumped at the worktable.
“Are you all right, ser?”
Tellis slowly straightened. “Was he in? Did you give it to him?”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl extended the pouch. “He gave me this. Said there were two golds and two silvers in it for you.”
Tellis’s eyes brightened as his trembling hands took the pouch and fumbled it open.
Coins spilled on the table.
“There are three silvers here, as well as the golds. Did you not count?”
“Ser . . . he handed me the pouch. That was what he said. I thought it better not to question his word.”
“Muneat plays his tricks, but he is generous, unlike some.” A ragged smile crossed Tellis’s lips. “He gave you something?”
“Yes, ser. He gave me a silver.”
“Good. Keep it safe.” The smile faded. “Do not be thinking that you’ll see its like again soon.”
“No, ser. I know that.” Cerryl paused. “Master Muneat said he would have another in an eight-day or so.”
“Did he open it while you were there?”
“No, ser.”
Tellis nodded slowly.
“Ser . . . what is it that . . . I mean . . . I sat in the foyer . . . polished marble . . .”
“He has more coins than most,” Tellis said dryly, massaging his forehead and not looking at Cerryl. “He is one of the largest grain factors in Candar. I believe he even has several ships that sail out of Lydiar.”
Cerryl glanced around the suddenly very cramped workroom, a room that would have fit even inside the front foyer of Muneat’s small palace.
“He is not alone in his riches in Fairhaven, Cerryl. Far from it.”
The apprentice wondered what the dwellings of the other rich folk looked like inside.
“Get me some of the yellow tea Beryal said she’d brew.”
“Yes, ser.” Cerryl turned and headed toward the kitchen.
“Yellow tea . . . yellow tea . . .” mumbled Tellis behind Cerryl. “Darkness . . . hate the stuff . . .”
Beryal looked up from the kitchen worktable, where she poured a hot liquid from the kettle into a mug. “You’re back so soon?”
“They didn’t make me wait. Tellis sent me for the tea.” His eyes traversed the common room, clean and plain—and very small. Very plain.
“He’s stubborn,” said Beryal, lifting one of the smaller mugs and extending it to Cerryl. “Wouldn’t stay in bed. No . . . has to get up and make the rest of us feel his pain.”
“He doesn’t look well.”
“Anyone who drank all that double mead at the Pillion last night should look like that. Benthann, she cannot lift her head.” Beryal frowned. “Take the master his yellow tea.”
Cerryl slipped back to the workroom and extended the mug.
Tellis took it wordlessly.
Cerryl sharpened the quill, then stirred the ink, and set The Science of Measurement and Reckoning on the copy stand, opening it to the bookmark. He could almost see the polished marble and the shimmering hangings, and the dark red dress . . . even the dark blue velvet and flawless silk worn by Muneat. Cerryl knew, from what he’d learned in talking with Pattera, that the silk shirt alone probably cost a gold. He’d never seen half that in his entire life.