SPARX Incarnation: Mark of the Green Dragon (SPARX Series I Book 1) by K.B. Sprague Page A
Authors: K.B. Sprague
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briefed and empowered by our own lord mayor and council, and I have all the necessary paperwork to prove it.”
“Very good.” Otis motioned to one of his daughters. Paplov looked to me. I fumbled through his carrying bag, eventually producing the relevant documents. The mayor’s daughter came over and I handed them to her.
Now I hadn’t expected official business to be conducted over dinner, but with those words, the dealing began. Paplov and Otis filled and refilled their cups as they spoke of economy and risk, of present and future value, of obligations, balance, taxes, who had devoted what forces to the security of the Triland area, the upkeep of the trail, and the dibbing up of the many concomitant roles and responsibilities that went along with the simple leasing of a parcel of land.
I kept an ear to the conversation, but also made small talk with the misses and her three chatty daughters. The youngest acted very strangely. Giggling, saying weird things and making weird faces. The middle one wasn’t much different. Both were pretty, but I tried to avoid topics that led to input from those two, which mostly resulted in some kind of teasing. Instead, I focused on sensible conversation with the eldest and the misses.
Eventually, the spirit of a deal was hammered out and the two diplomats stood up, wobbled, and shook hands. Otis steadied himself with his other hand on the back of Paplov’s chair.
After a half-pint of ale and a generous serving of desert, I retreated to the mayor’s study with Paplov and Otis where they worked out the finer details of the deal. I was responsible for recording and witnessing the agreed upon arrangements. The mayor’s assistant performed the same duty. She happened to be his eldest daughter, several years my senior, and was the one who had sat across from me at dinner. All I had to do was listen, write, retrieve forms from Paplov’s carrying bag, and quickly draft up any understandings settled upon, organizing their wine-soaked notions into coherent and well meaning sentences.
As negotiations drew to a close and we took to packing away our things, Otis’ daughter – the assistant – made her way over to me, smiling pleasantly.
“Will you be joining us later tonight in the market square for the dancing and entertainment?”
That was unexpected. Apparently, not everyone was afraid to be out at night.
I wondered how I might avoid stepping on her delicate toes.
Oda was friendly, and she was not bearded.
Chapter XI
Good company
T he journey home was cold, wet, and tiresome. I had been up all night feasting and dancing with Oda and her sisters. Paplov, too stubborn to call for a wagon, would never have made it all the way to the Handlers’ Post without falling over. I carried everything.
Otis had warmed up to Paplov considerably after dinner, behaving like his new best friend before the night was through. They shared stories about all the deal making and underhandedness on the political scene lately, then raided the wine cellar and sang songs until daybreak.
Wyatt looked like a drowned rat by the time he dropped us off at home, past nightfall. Paplov and I were equally drenched. The lizard handler had met us nearly halfway to Proudfoot after we didn’t show up at the post on time. He’d heard the same rumors that the innkeeper had passed on to us, and was worried we might present a tempting target for would-be thieves. Paplov tipped him generously and thanked him profusely.
I slept dead to the world that night and Paplov left me undisturbed. Mid-morning, when I began to wake, my feet and legs ached from the long hike and the soaked-in chill of the rain. When I tried to move, my neck felt cramped from the way I had slept, my head pounded, and my shoulders were terribly sore and chaffed from all the backpacking. I wasted an hour or more just debating whether or not it was worth getting up to eat. Finally, I could no longer ignore the rumbling in my stomach. I rolled out
“Very good.” Otis motioned to one of his daughters. Paplov looked to me. I fumbled through his carrying bag, eventually producing the relevant documents. The mayor’s daughter came over and I handed them to her.
Now I hadn’t expected official business to be conducted over dinner, but with those words, the dealing began. Paplov and Otis filled and refilled their cups as they spoke of economy and risk, of present and future value, of obligations, balance, taxes, who had devoted what forces to the security of the Triland area, the upkeep of the trail, and the dibbing up of the many concomitant roles and responsibilities that went along with the simple leasing of a parcel of land.
I kept an ear to the conversation, but also made small talk with the misses and her three chatty daughters. The youngest acted very strangely. Giggling, saying weird things and making weird faces. The middle one wasn’t much different. Both were pretty, but I tried to avoid topics that led to input from those two, which mostly resulted in some kind of teasing. Instead, I focused on sensible conversation with the eldest and the misses.
Eventually, the spirit of a deal was hammered out and the two diplomats stood up, wobbled, and shook hands. Otis steadied himself with his other hand on the back of Paplov’s chair.
After a half-pint of ale and a generous serving of desert, I retreated to the mayor’s study with Paplov and Otis where they worked out the finer details of the deal. I was responsible for recording and witnessing the agreed upon arrangements. The mayor’s assistant performed the same duty. She happened to be his eldest daughter, several years my senior, and was the one who had sat across from me at dinner. All I had to do was listen, write, retrieve forms from Paplov’s carrying bag, and quickly draft up any understandings settled upon, organizing their wine-soaked notions into coherent and well meaning sentences.
As negotiations drew to a close and we took to packing away our things, Otis’ daughter – the assistant – made her way over to me, smiling pleasantly.
“Will you be joining us later tonight in the market square for the dancing and entertainment?”
That was unexpected. Apparently, not everyone was afraid to be out at night.
I wondered how I might avoid stepping on her delicate toes.
Oda was friendly, and she was not bearded.
Chapter XI
Good company
T he journey home was cold, wet, and tiresome. I had been up all night feasting and dancing with Oda and her sisters. Paplov, too stubborn to call for a wagon, would never have made it all the way to the Handlers’ Post without falling over. I carried everything.
Otis had warmed up to Paplov considerably after dinner, behaving like his new best friend before the night was through. They shared stories about all the deal making and underhandedness on the political scene lately, then raided the wine cellar and sang songs until daybreak.
Wyatt looked like a drowned rat by the time he dropped us off at home, past nightfall. Paplov and I were equally drenched. The lizard handler had met us nearly halfway to Proudfoot after we didn’t show up at the post on time. He’d heard the same rumors that the innkeeper had passed on to us, and was worried we might present a tempting target for would-be thieves. Paplov tipped him generously and thanked him profusely.
I slept dead to the world that night and Paplov left me undisturbed. Mid-morning, when I began to wake, my feet and legs ached from the long hike and the soaked-in chill of the rain. When I tried to move, my neck felt cramped from the way I had slept, my head pounded, and my shoulders were terribly sore and chaffed from all the backpacking. I wasted an hour or more just debating whether or not it was worth getting up to eat. Finally, I could no longer ignore the rumbling in my stomach. I rolled out
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