own
another creature. You belong to yourselves and no one else.”
One of the males yawned loudly and broke wind at the same time. Many of those around him fell over on their backs laughing
and giggling, pointing at the miscreant, who grinnedproudly. Barat Krol had lost their attention; no one was even looking at him now. The youngster, the most promising among
them, was crossing his eyes and straining in an attempt to imitate his elder.
Barat Krol sighed deeply, wondering whether he should continue to try. What was wrong with these Madrelli? Was it possible
that they had not advanced as far as his own tribe? He was deeply depressed and discouraged as he watched their juvenile antics
and he wondered whether there was any point in continuing. If he were caught attempting to turn the Madrelli against the Scandis,
he knew that he could expect no mercy. But they were his people. How could he do otherwise?
Septua should not have been hard to locate. He lived on the lowest level of the inner concourse amid the crowded stalls of
the marketplace. He should not have been hard to find, for how many bald dwarves could there be in Asgard? But he was. It
was the third day that Brion had conducted his search, and to be honest, he had begun to lose hope of ever finding the cursed
little thief. But knowing how much depended on the finding of the dwarf, Brion had set forth once again, determined to bring
him in.
Brion threaded his way through the sleepy shop owners as they rolled up awnings and placed their offerings out for the perusal
of the haggling throngs who would fill the narrow corridors in the hours to come.
With nothing native to the planet, it was necessary to import everything from off world, with the single exception of produce,
fowl, and grazing animals, which could be raised in small protected holdings at great expense. How and where the merchandise
was obtained was never asked and it was taken for granted that most, if not all, of the items offered for sale had a cloudy
pedigree.
Unlike old earth, where a vendor and his family might havespecialized in one specific item such as plumbing supplies or garden tools, in Asgard to specialize was to die of starvation.
Available merchandise was constantly changing, and to survive one had to be able to adapt to change, to sell anything, whether
it was a laser pistol or a bushel of dried fruit. As no one could be expected to be an expert on so many different items,
correct information was often impossible to come by. But because a sale might hinge on such information and the ability of
the seller to convince the buyer that he did indeed know what he was speaking about, the vendors were, of necessity, skilled
prevaricators—or, in a word… liars.
When one bought something, anything, caveat emptor was true in Asgard as in no other place in the universe: Let the buyer
beware.
But if the inhabitants of Asgard wished to supplement the rigid and boring and unvaried diet of grain, powdered energy drink,
protein sticks, and stringy, tasteless, reconstituted fruits, it was necessary to buy, sell, and trade in the marketplace.
It was at all times the most crowded place in Asgard, with all segments of the populace mingled together as nowhere else.
While in the marketplace, there was a curious abeyance of the law; most rules concerning position and status were laid aside,
for the vendors enjoyed as important a position as the most mighty Thane. The vendors did not fail to exploit the situation,
often speaking rudely and insulting the would-be buyers and playing one against the other for the highest possible dollar
as they bid for the precious items, knowing that once an item was gone, there might never, ever be another. It was indeed
a seller’s market.
But while Septua was well known by all, finding him was not an easy matter, for the vendors protected their own and asking
after the dwarf earned Brion nothing but blank looks and
another creature. You belong to yourselves and no one else.”
One of the males yawned loudly and broke wind at the same time. Many of those around him fell over on their backs laughing
and giggling, pointing at the miscreant, who grinnedproudly. Barat Krol had lost their attention; no one was even looking at him now. The youngster, the most promising among
them, was crossing his eyes and straining in an attempt to imitate his elder.
Barat Krol sighed deeply, wondering whether he should continue to try. What was wrong with these Madrelli? Was it possible
that they had not advanced as far as his own tribe? He was deeply depressed and discouraged as he watched their juvenile antics
and he wondered whether there was any point in continuing. If he were caught attempting to turn the Madrelli against the Scandis,
he knew that he could expect no mercy. But they were his people. How could he do otherwise?
Septua should not have been hard to locate. He lived on the lowest level of the inner concourse amid the crowded stalls of
the marketplace. He should not have been hard to find, for how many bald dwarves could there be in Asgard? But he was. It
was the third day that Brion had conducted his search, and to be honest, he had begun to lose hope of ever finding the cursed
little thief. But knowing how much depended on the finding of the dwarf, Brion had set forth once again, determined to bring
him in.
Brion threaded his way through the sleepy shop owners as they rolled up awnings and placed their offerings out for the perusal
of the haggling throngs who would fill the narrow corridors in the hours to come.
With nothing native to the planet, it was necessary to import everything from off world, with the single exception of produce,
fowl, and grazing animals, which could be raised in small protected holdings at great expense. How and where the merchandise
was obtained was never asked and it was taken for granted that most, if not all, of the items offered for sale had a cloudy
pedigree.
Unlike old earth, where a vendor and his family might havespecialized in one specific item such as plumbing supplies or garden tools, in Asgard to specialize was to die of starvation.
Available merchandise was constantly changing, and to survive one had to be able to adapt to change, to sell anything, whether
it was a laser pistol or a bushel of dried fruit. As no one could be expected to be an expert on so many different items,
correct information was often impossible to come by. But because a sale might hinge on such information and the ability of
the seller to convince the buyer that he did indeed know what he was speaking about, the vendors were, of necessity, skilled
prevaricators—or, in a word… liars.
When one bought something, anything, caveat emptor was true in Asgard as in no other place in the universe: Let the buyer
beware.
But if the inhabitants of Asgard wished to supplement the rigid and boring and unvaried diet of grain, powdered energy drink,
protein sticks, and stringy, tasteless, reconstituted fruits, it was necessary to buy, sell, and trade in the marketplace.
It was at all times the most crowded place in Asgard, with all segments of the populace mingled together as nowhere else.
While in the marketplace, there was a curious abeyance of the law; most rules concerning position and status were laid aside,
for the vendors enjoyed as important a position as the most mighty Thane. The vendors did not fail to exploit the situation,
often speaking rudely and insulting the would-be buyers and playing one against the other for the highest possible dollar
as they bid for the precious items, knowing that once an item was gone, there might never, ever be another. It was indeed
a seller’s market.
But while Septua was well known by all, finding him was not an easy matter, for the vendors protected their own and asking
after the dwarf earned Brion nothing but blank looks and
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