The Slime Farmer - 112 Persuade

The head clerk’s glare settled squarely on Defi. “Who are you?”

“Mestre, I am named Defi.” He did not equivocate, and produced the letter. “I have sought introduction from one of your guild officers. He was kind enough to oblige.”

Erel the head clerk ignored the letter in Defi’s hand. “You say you can remove the impairment for me? Are you an apothecary?”

“I am not. I merely have come across a few salves by chance.”

“Hah, everyone knows that’s what the fraud medicine seller says in all the stories.”

“So it is.” Defi thought fast. Those words were indeed the words of swindlers in the Ascharonian folktales. “Do you believe any swindler would say those words if everyone knows the stories?”

“Your slippery words only make you more suspicious. Do you know, the man that just left is one of the best apothecaries in Agamarl? Agamarl! And he’s failed miserably. Not even an apothecary? What do you know?”

For a man rumoured to place importance on formality, Erel was dressed casually, in only a shirt and with trousers haphazardly stuffed into polished boots. His beard and hair were dishevelled and limp, his eyes red at the edges, and his countenance tired.

In a man looking for a wife, these indicators…it appeared the head clerk’s efforts were not successful.

The man had an unhealthy complexion and physique, but indicators of laziness and non-care for the body were absent – he did not smell and his clothes were clean. He wore unflattering clothes, but they were good quality and sturdy make, slightly fraying but Defi could see through the doorway, a coat that had its sleeves competently mended.

Erel the guild officer in charge of the sable crab trade, was not a man who was overly fashionable; his garments said he preferred practicality and expedience. The coat was the same dark sober plum color as his trousers, his boots were a shiny black, with the shirt he wore the only light color and even that was a plain white.

The clothes were synchronized with what Defi heard and deduced about the man, a rigid rule-following person with moderate disposition and opinions as carefully ordered as a row of uniformed soldiers on parade.

His only intemperance was an obviously excessive passion for food, and Ascharonians were more inclined to think that a virtue.

And yet, in this fraction of an hour, Defi had heard him roar at another person and rudely turn them out, decline polite introduction, and show himself in a less than immaculate state.

Surely, every time such a man would fail at looking for a wife, this surprising break from his usual demeanor would not be the result? The clerk’s reaction implied this was common.

Defi felt it was too simple.

He pushed away the memories.

The point was, a man with the disposition of Erel would not fall to this state just because he’d failed to attract a woman. In that case…

Could it be that Erel was not ‘searching for a wife’ but was already in the stage of serious courting?

These suppositions ran through Defi’s mind in the expanse of a moment. He observed the man closer, widening his senses. There was a faint scent of flowers about the other. The hypothesis of courting was more plausible than ever. “As a guild trader, you know the importance of words placed down on paper. But is paper all there is to skill?”

He noticed the corner of the man’s lip turn down, though the glare lessened in intensity.

“You speak well, certainly. But why should I listen?”

Defi smiled. It was a question that providence sent.

His teachers said, even if they do not want to, as long as you make them hear your words, there is always a chance that something you say will win you a negotiation. And any negotiation will bring you close to persuasion.

Erel of the fishers’ guild was a man who liked rules and definite lines. Defi was taking a chance in challenging him. As a merchant, even if he stuck religiously to rules, the profession itself would not allow anyone to have illusions of black and white.

Defi only needed the slightest crack.

Not to mention, at the moment, the guild officer was unbalanced, in turmoil for love.

“Is there loss to be had for trying?”

There was a flicker in the man’s eyes.

“You have three days.” He held out his hand.

Defi kept his features neutral, even if he wanted to smile widely, as he gave the man the letter of introduction. “I will meet you tomorrow morning, mestre.”

“The guild opens its doors at dawn.” Erel stated re-entered his office.

That was a steep deadline, but Defi had an advantage.

He still remembered the way the extracted clear balm from Jar had helped heal the minor scratches on the skin of his hands.

The inflammation of Erel’s face was more serious a problem than minor skin breaks, but Defi believed in the efficacy of slime extract in many things by now.

If anyone doubted, then Turq and his cohort will refute them all decisively.

There was fifty kilogar of savras grass still unused. If Defi added a greater concentration of savras to Zav’s feed then mixed the resulting extract with Jar’s lotion balm, he was certain the mixture would have a greater healing effect.

Jar’s balm would make certain the savras extract was viscous enough to work as a balsam. The savras extract by itself would not stick to skin long enough to ensure that the healing properties of the grass had time to affect the inflammation.

Defi made a mental note to send a sample of the mixture to Bluzand with his next letter to Vesia.

Erel paused in the act of shutting the door, frowning at the letter. “Who did you get the introduction from?”

“Mestre Toyne, of this same branch of the guild, was kind enough to write one for me.”

Erel’s eyes sparked viciously. “That newlywed?”

The clerk that had led Defi here took a long breath and continued inching away.

Defi forced a smile.

Truly, the thorny path of love created many pitfalls for random passers-by.

*

Defi left the fisher’s guild without falling into anymore pitfalls dug inadvertently but also without the supply agreement he wanted.

He stepped toward the dockyard. There were still people who were gathering starcherries for him, and Jerac likely had a stockpile he needed to haul to the homestead.

Most of the starcherry was for the vinegar extracts, so it was a good thing.

If the zaziphos still fruiting turned bitter before he could pick enough, he could pad the slime feed with starcherries.

“Defi!”

He looked toward the dockyard entrance, at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Barham! I was about to go looking for you.”

The farmer who was his neighbour grinned widely, jumping off the covered wagon and patting the boar-lizard that was harnessed at the front. “Sold all the firewood early. Ready to go back?”

With the edges of the river starting to ice over, it was dangerous for a scow to navigate the distance between the homestead and the town, so Defi had to consider other forms of transport.

The most expedient was to use the river road.

Unfortunately, after buying the first sable crab last month, he didn’t have the funds to acquire the cart and horse he needed.

Barham, who was a little concerned with the lack of earnings coming in after the harvest, was urged by his wife to use the proceeds they had from selling part of the shell-rhino to buy a wagon and sell firewood in town to supplement their income in order to support their son and their newly born baby.

Boar-lizards, due to their nature, were not good winter draft animals. But regarding speed and strength, they had no equal of all Ascharonian draft animals.

Defi took the chance to practice his glyphmaking and persuaded his neighbors to choose the best.

Barham let him use the wagon because Defi designed the Emblems that were embroidered into the caparison and leg-cloths that kept the boar-lizard from succumbing sluggishly to the cold weather.

“There’s a lot of starcherries today,” Jerac joined the conversation, coming out of one of the dock warehouses after hearing their voices.

Defi laughed. “I’ll make you both some starcherry sauce next week then.”

Jerac whipped around. “Really? ‘Cause there’s someone I know that likes sour sauces.”

What? Love again?

Was it because it was winter?

“Oh,” Defi nodded with a teasing smile. “Someone.”

Jerac’s eyes widened. “No one like that!”

Barham snorted at them as they bantered while loading the wagon. Obviously it was someone like that.

Defi jumped into the bench seat as Barham climbed up.

“You can’t tell anyone!” Jerac yelled at them as the wagon started up.

“Who would know? I don’t even have a name for this ‘someone’!” Defi shot back over the side of the wagon.

Jerac’s reply was lost in the distance.

The boar-lizard Barham had chosen was young and strong, its pace fast. It was not like the one Defi remembered from Stahlchausses which had discolored hide and worn down tusks.

He shook away the memories and asked Barham. “Do you know who it is Jerac has been courting?”

“You’re better off asking my wife,” the farmer laughed. “She’s the one that knows the talk in this town. She’ll likely tell you for another jar of your starcherry sauce.”

Defi laughed. “Why not?”