"How can you know that?"

He opened his hands and smiled. "It's my business to know. It's why I've done so well over the years."

"Then she must have been mad. I know quality when I see it, and those baskets are worth every sovereign I paid for them, and then some."

Torgan said nothing. He didn't have to. Y'Farl was doing his work for him. Worth every sovereign I paid for them… A moment before he'd been asking for thirty. Now he was trying to justify the twelve he'd spent.

The Y'Qatt wandered back to his table and picked up one of the baskets, no doubt seeking reassurance.

"Look at this weaving," he said. "Look at these colors. Of course she was "You're probably right," Torgan said with an easy smile. He returned to his cart and began to neaten his piles of cloth, and straighten the rows of M'Saaren wood planes and Naqbae leather.

Y'Farl managed to wait at least a few minutes before strolling over. He tried to look unconcerned as he stood there glancing at the cloth, but Torgan wasn't fooled.

"So, are you interested?" the man finally asked.

"In what?" Torgan asked. He knew he was being cruel, but he couldn't help himself.

"In the baskets, of course!"

"Oh, right." He frowned and shook his head. "Not really. Not at thirty."

"I was kidding about that. They're not worth thirty."

Torgan eyed him. "Oh? What are they worth?"

Y'Farl's face fell. Clearly, he knew that he had placed himself in a weak position. Now he had to name a price that was high enough to leave some room for negotiation. But he'd already admitted that thirty was too high.

"I… I don't know," he said. "What do you think they're worth?" "You paid twelve."

The Y'Qatt scowled at him. "You can't expect me to let them go for the same price. I'll do far better than that selling them here."

"You're still sure of that."

"Yes, of course. Twenty-five. They're worth twenty-five." "Fifteen."

"You want them for twenty," Y'Farl said.

"I want them for fifteen."

"Yes, yes. That's what you say. But you want me to split the difference. I won't. Twenty-two. That's final."

Torgan shrugged. "That's too high." He turned his back, pulled a few more bolts of cloth from the back of his cart, and laid them out for display. Y'Farl hadn't moved. "Was there something else you wanted?"

Y'Farl blinked. "Aren't you going to make another offer?"

"I offered fifteen."

"But surely that's not-"

"You think they're worth twenty-two, Y'Farl. At least you do now. But the woman couldn't sell them at two apiece, though she tried for the entire morning. I think that's why she was so pleased. Because she knew she couldn't sell any more of them here, but you didn't. Now you're stuck with ten of them. You want me to save you from your own misjudgment, but I won't do it. You bought them. You sell them." He walked around to the other side of the cart, ostensibly to check on his horse. Mostly, he wanted Y'Farl to think that he was done with their bargaining.

It worked.

"All right, twenty then," the Y'Qatt said, coming around from the other side.

"I thought twenty-two was your final offer."

Y'Farl opened his mouth, closed it again.

Torgan laughed and shook his head. "You're not very good at this, are you, Y'Farl?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"This. Trading. I never thought you were great at it, but I always assumed you were better than this."

"I've been doing this for more than half my life!"

"Well, all that experience hasn't imparted any real wisdom, has it? You were right about one thing-I'll give you credit for that. I did want them for twenty. But now I want them for eighteen. And I know I'll get them for that, because I know now how weak you are."

"You arrogant son of a bitch! What if I won't sell them for eighteen?"

"But you will. Because you're no longer certain that you can get rid of them. You're starting to wonder if maybe you'll be stuck with these baskets for a turn or two. Maybe longer. But mostly you'll let me have them for eighteen because you're just not brave enough not to. You don't have the stones for it."

There was hatred in the man's pale eyes. But there was frustration as well, and a certain amount of resignation. Because he knew Torgan was right.

At that moment, a woman, another Y'Qatt, stopped in front of Y'Farl's table and picked up one of the baskets.

"Those are fine baskets, madame," the peddler called to her, eyeing Torgan as he did. "I just found those today, and they won't last long. Only two sovereigns."

She smiled at him and nodded. But a moment later she put the basket back down and wandered off.

"Fine then, you bastard," Y'Farl said. "Eighteen. Take them and get away from me."

"There's no need to be nasty about it, Y'Farl. You've turned a profit today, and I've got baskets to sell in other towns, places that haven't seen the old woman's work yet. We've both done well."

"Then why do I feel like I've just come through an encounter with road brigands?"

Torgan smiled. "I really couldn't say."

"This is why no one likes you, Torgan. This is why you have no friends."

"Perhaps. But this is also why every peddler in this marketplace- including you, Y'Farl-would gladly trade places with me."

Torgan pulled out eighteen sovereigns and gave them to the man, and together they returned to Y'Farl's table to gather the baskets. It took Torgan two trips to get all of them to his cart, and the Y'Qatt refused to help him.

As he started away with his second load, he noticed that Y'Farl's cheeks had turned red.

"You look a bit flushed, my friend," Torgan said. "Are you all right?" Y'Farl barely even looked at him. "I'm well enough. At least I will be once you've gone."

"You may be right. It's a fair distance between here and the nearest settlement. Maybe I should set out now."

"Good riddance, then. I hope this is the last I see of you."

Torgan grinned. "Come now, Y'Farl. You're taking this far too hard."

Y'Farl glared at him. "Am I? You call me weak and a coward, and then you pretend to be my friend, as if I should just forget all that."

"We're merchants. This is what we do. We both wanted the same thing. I just happened to win this time around."

"Well, it may all be a game to you," the Y'Qatt said, smiling thinly, his cheeks ruddy, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, "but it's my livelihood. Now go. And next time you're in the Neck, stay away from me."

Torgan eyed him a moment longer, then shrugged and walked away. He thought the man was overreacting, but he also thought it best simply to pack up these baskets and be on his way. That was something else he'd learned over his many years of travel and trade: Part of being a successful merchant was knowing when to move on.

Chapter 14

Torgan saw it as a measure of his success and comfort that he no longer raced across the land from town to town as he once had, as other merchants still did. He could afford to move at a more leisurely pace, to enjoy the journey as well as each arrival. So though he set out from C'Bijor's Neck not long after midday, he was barely two leagues west of the city by the time he stopped for the night.

The skies had begun to clear near dusk, after so many days of rain and cloud, and as he sat near his small fire, eating a modest meal of salted meat, fruit, and nuts, and sipping Qosantian wine, he could even see a few stars overhead. He was surprised, then, to see flickers of lightning to the east, back toward the Neck. Even earlier in the day, it hadn't rained on him; it certainly hadn't stormed. He heard no thunder in response to the flashes, and at last he walked a short distance from his blaze and peered into the darkness, trying to see if something else might be causing the night sky to glimmer so.