The Slime Farmer - 127 Farm-wagon Negotiator

Defi observed that Farbar had taken the road out of the town silently and restrained the smirk that wanted to break out on his face. The siblings hadn’t noticed yet.

Sigreine, on the driver’s bench, was seated in a manner that faced the inside of the wagon and was studying Defi intensely as Haral protested and Adtra gave a cross-examination worthy of a lecturer.

Because of the five year old snoozing on Sigrene’s lap, alleviating his older sister’s intensity, Defi could mostly ignore how her stare was nearly suffocating him.

“I don’t think you see how beneficial this is for me,” he interrupted Haral’s protests.

He could feel how Sigrene’s gaze sharpened on the side of his face. Adtra fell silent, curbing the question on her tongue, politely waiting.

“I have a quarter hecte of zaziphos trees that must be planted before the harvest feast. I have to build winter covers for all of them before first frost. After the feast, there’s ten or so hecte of suirberries to be harvested at a friend’s farm. After that, some twenty or so hecte of another farm’s zaziphos trees that need to be trimmed. I hear that in the month of Icewerth it is too cold to leave the house? Yes?” He grimaced at their confirmation. “In that case the trimming will end near or on the month of First Spring.”

He leaned over to glance at Sarel, who acknowledged with a brief nod.

“I have also vinegar to make, slimes to care for, and studies to do this winter.” He ended his spiel. “A few extra hands would not go amiss. I was looking for a tenant anyway. Taking the house out of my consideration is just one thing not to think about anymore.”

Haral was still frowning. But Adtra looked thoughtful, carding her fingers through the hair of the youngest sister who was resting against her lap. The youngest girl was earlier introduced as Sefiel, with the nickname of Fee.

The second youngest sister was leaning against Haral, watching and wide-eyed at the forceful discussion. Her name was Erkrea, with the nickname Eri.

“You want us to lease a house from you, as tenant workers?” That was Sigrene.

Defi paused. Tenant workers on Ontrea were slaves or freed slaves, and generally owned by the estate. They were not paid in coin, but a portion of the harvest was theirs. Did the term mean the same in Ascharon? He hadn’t gotten to that part of the local laws in his reading yet.

“No,” he said carefully. “The lease of the house won’t be in the same contract as the work.”

She looked less sharp than before. “You are the one that saved Amary?”

“He also saved Haral from death by freezing.” Adtra cut in.

Haral looked embarrassed, and protested. “I saw Amary’s chair floating in the river; how could I stay calm?”

“How did that happen, by the way?” Sigrene appeared to be slowly calming down.

“Ah, that…” Haral clenched his fingers into fists, before forcibly relaxing them. “Aunt said some things…”

“Uncle never should have married her,” Sigrene muttered under her breath.

Adtra shook her head. “They are well-matched. If not her, then someone like her. Uncle has a preference.”

Sigrene met her eyes, and something wordless passed between them.

Defi watched discreetly, fascinated. With Renne, Markar, and Bree as well, this kind of sibling bond only put a slight but enduring regret into his heart.

Adtra leaned back against the wagon wall, relaxing. Sigrene turned her eyes to him. “Shall we talk about this lease?”

Defi glanced around. Seven people huddled in between a pile of sacks, wooden trunks, and baskets of fruit, on a swaying wagon. It was definitely one of the strangest places he’d ever attended negotiations in.

“Should we wait until we had something to write on?” He’d negotiated trade on horseback before, but there had been scribes taking down the words.

“It’s a simple lease. There shouldn’t be that many clauses. But if you insist.” Sigrene looked at her younger sister. “Eri, could you hand me the small chest near you? The one with the brass clasps and the engraved quill on the cover.”

Eri pushed herself to her knees to get the chest, having huddled herself between a basket and Haral, arms around her knees.

Adtra gently pushed the youngest sister to a more upright position, and took the chest from the other. “I’ll do it.”

She snapped open the clasps, and Defi caught a glimpse of glyphwork before the lid was opened and the eldest of the siblings moved several pieces to slot into place.

Before Adtra was now a portable writing desk, complete with several quills and inkpots, a sheaf of paper neatly folded into its own receptacle.

Ingenious.

It looked like they were going to negotiate a contract, several contracts actually, in the back of a moving farm cart drawn by a mystical beast.

Defi couldn’t help a smile, and he sat up straighter. True, like Sigrene said, renting the house and a work agreement, those were simple contracts. But a negotiation in these circumstances was something he’d never done before; it sounded more fun than the usual formal discussions in rarified and carefully chosen premises.

The old family stories said that an ancient Rimet ancestor once negotiated a treaty while smoking urvisweed pipes with his greatest enemy under the stars and only the Creator as their witness. A more recent story mentioned that a Rimet aunt prevented an incursion into the lands by a roving tribe when she inadvertently shared a bath at a small pool in an oasis on the border of Rimet lands with said tribe’s most beloved daughter.

The occasional letters that came into his aunt’s hands even now, fine vellum brushed with deeply colored inks in dark blue and shining gold, were an open family secret.

This was not in the calibre of those negotiations, but he felt enthusiastic just the same.

Adtra prepared paper and ink.

“Where are we?” They all looked at Eri, who was looking in surprise out the back of the wagon, still kneeling upright.

Farbar snickered in the sudden silence, as the siblings saw they weren’t in town anymore. “Wondered when you all would catch on.”

Haral moved to the back of the wagon. He froze. “Master Farbar, could you stop the wagon for some moments? I have…this is near where I hid Amary’s chair.”

Defi got up and went to help. The inside of the wagon was nearly full. They might have to lash said chair to the back.

Sigrene turned around, looked chagrined.

“There would be no-one to let you rooms in town, even for a night.” Sarel pointed out. “And your sister is already near where we’re going anyway.”

Sigrene sighed, nodded. Then said, slightly reluctant. “Thank you.”

“You are in need, for the moment. There is no shame in accepting help.” The hermit chef added quietly. “Your father and mother, they were good people.”

That was the last that Defi heard before he and Haral entered the woodland at the side of the road.

The river road was bracketed by riverbank and woodland, with riverfront farms few and far between. The autumn’s gold and red on the trees and the rich scent of the earth made the road a delight to pass through. It had rained briefly earlier, making the scents fresh and strong.

Defi helped Haral pull a wheeled chair from behind a thick screen of bushes.

“Thank you,” Haral said quietly. “For the offer, even if we’re only going to stay the night at your place.”

“I really do need workers. And is your sister that difficult to come to an agreement with?”

“She is studying law,” Haral smirked briefly. “And very protective. She feels guilty, I think, because Ad had to stop her schooling when mother died while she was encouraged to continue.”

Defi caught sight of a woven basket in the trees and reached to pull it out.

“Ah, that…” Haral tried to stop him, but Defi had already seen the remains of starcherries it contained.

Defi was stunned, didn’t know what to feel. The reason a child nearly died was because she wanted to take advantage of the starcherry collecting venture he’d embarked on.

“This…why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was no fault of yours.” Haral studied his expression carefully. “The woman that uncle married is…she speaks softly and well, and her words are hidden and influencing at times. Amary…most people see no use in a child who can’t walk.”

Defi nodded, still numb. “Her hands are strong, yes? They have to be, to work that chair. She can at least weave.”

The greatest weaver in the last century was a cripple. Of course, she might have gotten more attention and education than the average disabled person because her family had means. Ontrea’s mind on disabled people appeared to be generally the same as Ascharon’s.

He shook his head. “Your sister said she embroiders very well, so I doubt she’s useless.”

Haral smiled at him. “No, she isn’t.”

Defi abruptly felt as if he passed a test he hadn’t known he was taking.