The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition Read online

  "I see no real problem here," Aaron told her. "I've been covering his account for several months. I can carry it longer." After all, he could well afford to carry it longer, especially after the five pounds of silver he had just finished bringing back from base the night before. "If Mister Kingsford wishes, he can pay a small part of his bill now, and I will wait on the rest."

  'Sir, I have been instructed to tell you that Mister Kingsford is a rich man, but his riches are presently in land, houses and cattle. He has asked me to inform you that he currently has very little available money. Since it will be several months before he makes a large sale he has instructed me to deliver a matched set of hunters to you. They are of the best blood, well trained, and will react to all the standard signals. They are intelligent as well as friendly. In the east they would sell for nine silver eight and three each. The Mister estimates his bill is near eight silver so he asks that you accept the hunters as payment in full.

  Aaron hated being railroaded. "His bill is currently eleven silvers two and change. We both know that horses sell for only a bit more than half of an eastern price in this area."

  "Yes sir, but if you do not mind my saying so, Mister Kingsford has only sold his horses in the east so he has no idea what the local prices are."

  "Damn it!"

  She stepped back in surprise.

  "I know he hasn't sold a thing back east in several years," Aaron snapped. "People have talked about it."

  Face pale, her lips pressed thin and trembled with repressed anger. "Sir, I am only the messenger."

  Aaron fought his blood pressure down, counted to five and drew in a deep breath. "I know. I know. Let it go. The thing is, I don't mind losing a little on people who have nothing--but to be skinned by a rich man and his stupid wives is too much. Okay, tell him I will accept his horses as payment in full but his credit has just come to a complete halt. There will be no more of it. You can also tell him that I have run his errands for the last time. In the future he can arrange to pick up his own goods and have his own people deliver them."

  "I will tell him, sir."

  Her tone told Aaron that she was very well not going to tell Mister Kingsford anything of the kind. He fought down a very real impulse to throw the woman out of his store, but he had already released a good deal of his anger, and she was correct. She was only the messenger. Besides, his language had been almost unforgivably rude. If he released any more venom he could very well start a social feud that he would lose. Still, he did hate being railroaded. On the other hand, he really had very little choice in the matter.

  Aaron showed Miss Hawks out of the store as politely as possible. Outside, Jorrin stood beside a pair of unsaddled horses rein-tied to the hitching rail. Holding the hoof of one black horse in his hand, he looked up when Aaron approached.

  "Looks like these shoes are worn. They need to be replaced soon or you're going to have some real problems."

  Aaron snorted. "It figures. Why don't you shoe them for me? I will pay." He was really getting tired of that phrase. It suddenly seemed that he always paid for everything.

  Jorrin looked puzzled. "Is something wrong?"

  "Ahhhh--I'm sorry," Aaron relented. "I'll tell you my secret for the secret you gave me. I know nothing about horses. They frighten me."

  Jorrin nodded. "Nothing to be ashamed of in that. Tell you what, since you're a big city person I'll see to these for you. After I shoe them I'll stick them in the stable, and you can figure out what you want to do with them. If you need any advice I'll be glad to help."

  "I'd really, really appreciate that."

  "No problem. The reason I came over was to tell you that I thought about your offer. Is it possible for you to send Miss Bayne over this evening? I'll be glad to pay for her time."

  His mood lightening, Aaron smiled. "Sure I will, as long as she is available. You'll have to arrange for payment with her, but I'm sure she'll not cost you too much."

  Jorrin set down the horse's hoof, stepped forward, and held out his hand. "It's a deal. A handshake to seal the bargain and honor between the two of us."

  "A deal." Aaron reluctantly accepted Jorrin's hand and felt calluses that were hard as the bronze Jorrin forged. The man's square fingers were fat with strength. There was no doubt in Aaron's mind that the man had the ability to crush Aaron's hand with his grip.

  Jorrin gave Aaron's hand a gentle, almost womanly squeeze. He looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Perhaps," he said finally, "I could call you a friend from this moment on."

  Suddenly feeling the seriousness of this moment, Aaron looked very long at the older man.

  "You may," he said after a long enough pause to show that he had given the matter considerable thought.

  "Then, Aaron, may I see to the care of your horses?"

  "Yes, Jorrin, you may."

  And then the two of them stood there in the street, staring at each other and grinning like they were idiots. Aaron was not too sure the description was inaccurate in his case.

  * * *

  Flo came around and said she was ready to try on that thing he had talked about. Aaron tried to work his way around the matter as delicately as he could, but in the end he could do nothing but haul out half a dozen bras and tell her to try them on for fit. Unfortunately, he then had to demonstrate how they were supposed to be worn. He had some trouble with that one since he had never actually seen a bra while it was on someone. By the time they finished he could still make the same claim because Cathy and Flo used him as the model. They worked the mechanics of the matter out between them, and then they chased Aaron out of the store while Cathy tried a few of the bras on Flo. When Flo finally left she did not look as if her back felt any better. However, after studying the situation for a few moments, Aaron did have to admit that she did certainly look--uplifted. Unfortunately, Cathy caught the direction of his gaze and spent the next several minutes laughing at Aaron' red face.

  At six that evening Aaron put his closed sign on the door and watched Cathy leave to visit Jorrin, with books in her arms, obviously feeling important with the responsibility given her. Less than half an hour later, shortly after Aaron finished his nightly sweeping of the boardwalk, she came back with Missy and Doyle in tow and carrying two filled buckets that smelled strongly of bleach.

  "He wants some time to look them over," Cathy said. "And we want to wash this filthy floor."

  Aaron looked at the floor and saw stains. Music played down the street, telling him that the dance had begun.

  "You don't have to," he said. "There's a dance going on. Besides, having you wash the floor is a bit much."

  Stamping her small foot, Missy stared into his eyes. "Well, we have to do something. You pay us more than we're worth so I don't think it's wrong if we decide to do a little more than you ask."

  "No," Aaron smiled, "it isn't. It isn't wrong of me to want to help either." He walked to the shelf where the scrub brushes were kept and grabbed one.

  "Your clothes," Cathy protested. "You'll get them all wet and dirty, and you have the dance to go to tonight."

  "Ummm--no--not going. Never learned to dance, and I refuse to look like an idiot."

  "You don't know how to dance! How can you not know?" Missy sounded offended.

  "I never had the chance to learn," Aaron admitted. "I never learned to scrub a floor before either."

  "I can tell," Cathy said wryly. "This floor hasn't seen a cleaning since you've been here. Just get the brush wet and start making circles, but you better change first. Those are nice clothes."

  "I can get more."

  The floor really was a disaster. They scrubbed on it for over two hours, rinsed it down, and scrubbed it again. A final rinse did not occur until hours after dark. From down the street, strains of music drifted through the open window when they finally put their cleaning tools away. The cling and clang of a hammer meeting metal still sounded from Jorrin's forge. He, too, had duties to perform that night. Earlier that day he had told Aaron that his orders w
ere too far behind, and he had little time to fill them. Aaron knew Jorrin was feeling the burden of having graduated his apprentice to journeyman, but he also suspected Jorrin used work as an excuse to leave the dance early.

  Before she left, Missy bemoaned the ruin of his clothes one last time. Grinning impishly, Doyle took the peppermint stick Aaron handed him and left with Missy. Cathy stopped on her way out, one hand on the door, looking back over her shoulder. Aaron thought she wanted to say something, but she only shook her head and left, closing the door gently behind her.

  It was late, and he was hungry, so he quickly put together a snack and ate it. A reel of some kind came through the window, followed by a moody tune that brought images of couples slowly dancing, their bodies entangled.

  Shaking his head to clear it of inappropriate thoughts, Aaron cleaned up his dishes, disposed of his scraps and was about to blow out the lantern when a hesitant knock sounded.

  Cathy waited outside. Stepping into the store without asking permission, she slipped past him, brushing him a little as she slid by. Wearing a nervous smile, Cathy quickly walked to the largest open space the store held, a small area seven feet by four in front of the counter. Turning to face him, she stood, patiently waiting. With a small shake of her head, she held out her hand and gestured for him to come forward. Cathy took his hand and placed it on her hip.

  "Put your right hand there. Now take your left hand and hold my right hand with it. No," she laughed. "You have to stand in front of me. Now watch my feet. Follow along when I step out. Leading is something you can learn later. This is called the 'Walkers Dance in the Mist'. It goes like this. And one and two."

  Chapter 7

  As a rule, he did not open the store on Sundays. Instead, he usually cleaned, straightened and took inventory, all of which had already been done earlier in the week by a certain young lady. So after church he found that he had an entire day to kill and absolutely nothing to kill it with.

  After kicking around for a while he ended up at the Traveler's Rest with his hands wrapped around Murder at the Manor. It turned out that the murderess was not the gardener or the maid or anyone else he had previously suspected. The murderess was the narrator herself, which, in Aaron's view, was a total cheat. Disgusted, Aaron decided not to buy that particular author again. Besides, the woman he had been falling in love with, Miss Anita Harris, turned out to be a man dressed as a woman. Now that was a plot change Aaron did not need to know about.

  Closing the book carefully, he gave it to Flo, stood, and left the inn. The rest of his day was slower than it had begun. By the time he went to bed Sunday night he was close to stir crazy.

  After forcibly opening his crusty eyes the next morning, Aaron woke in a bad humor, hoping Monday would be a relief after the long slow Sunday. Pulling a new book out of his loft, he headed over to the Inn for breakfast and a chance to improve his outlook.

  Flo greeted him distractedly, obviously flustered by the demands of four people who had stayed the night. Nothing was clean enough, cheap enough, or fresh enough. Why, in N'Ark they could get…

  Within just a few minutes Aaron had to agree with the complaints. The pancakes were tough, and he had never been a fan of bacon that was burned so badly that it tasted of char. The mystery of the substandard food was resolved when Dan Thecker came hurrying through the door, more than an hour late. As Dan opened the door into the kitchen Aaron spied twelve year-old Ann Flinders at the stove, loose long brown hair flying out in all directions when she tossed Mister Thacker an aggrieved look. Holding a spatula in each hand, she appeared to be trying to do three things at once while thick black smoke rose from the stove. The near side of Ann's green smock was darkly stained by wet grease. The eyes she turned towards Aaron just before the door swung shut were desperate.

  He ate the food and refused to complain.

  When he returned to the store he found that Cathy had arrived earlier than usual. This turned out to be a good thing because three women wanted one of the same things Mistress Halfax now wore, and there was no way Aaron would get involved with that again. Fortunately for his peace of mind, Cathy did wonderfully after he passed them off to her. Best of all, she did not laugh at his red face when she caught him looking at one woman's particular sag. Grinning, Cathy sold a bra to each of the three women, making sure that everyone had a good time with this unusual exercise. She was going to work out fine as his full time clerk.

  Which was just as well since Sarah Townsend pulled him out of the store for one more lesson on sword work. Aaron was almost at the level of a basic beginner, she said. It was time to expand matters a little. Apparently, expansion entailed him cutting himself on the wooden sword, after which she spent too much time laughing at his ineptitude to do a good job of teaching. When she regained her breath she admitted what he had known all along. Aaron had no Talent, no skill and no hope of ever mastering this weapon. They talked it over and decided the sword had best go to a young fellow she knew who had more than a little bulk and could even boast a bit of speed.

  Aaron was more than willing to sell the sword to the town and rid himself of it. Sarah argued the price, but Aaron insisted he would take no more than two coppers for the dratted thing. No amount of arguing convinced her to just take it. Apparently, there was some type of moral issue involved, so two coppers it was.

  He arrived back at the store just in time to choke on road dust as the freighter, Mister Bronson, pulled into town with a string of seven wagons pulled by twenty-eight sweating mules. Raising his hand high, Bronson gestured for his drivers to stop when the lead wagon drew even with Aaron's store. Once halted, the drivers leaped into action. Within moments bundles of goods thudded onto the boardwalk before Aaron.

  After inspecting his goods, Aaron took care to see that Jorrin's new order made it into Mister Bronson's hands along with his own. Smiling, Bronson accepted two hundred pens, known locally as magic writers, and forty-five disposable lighters, which Bronson simply called fire shooters. After fishing for a moment in his apron, Aaron also handed over eight cheap jackknives, more illicit supplies Hill and Gore had provided for him on his last trip. In exchange, Bronson gave Aaron one hundred and six silvers, six and a quarter gold, seven, profit from the last load of goods Aaron had shipped out a month earlier. Taking the money, Aaron thanked Bronson, reflecting that he had more money in his hands right then than most in the town earned in many years of labor. For his part, Bronson made more money from the commissions Aaron gave him for selling goods brought over from the other side than he made with the entire rest of his business.

  As a favor, and because he did not know what to do with the thing, he gave the freighter a solar powered flashlight and told him to keep whatever price it brought.

  Aaron skipped lunch. After working three hours he still had not found places for all the new supplies. His back room was full, with narrow aisles barely wide enough for Aaron to walk through. The main floor was cluttered, and he still had half a wagonload of goods to offload.

  Mistress Banks came to his rescue.

  "Problems, Mister Turner?" Wearing a new floral print dress, with a pink bonnet topped by two scented silk roses on her head, Mistress Banks stood in the door of her shop, eyeing his piled goods.

  Grinning sheepishly, Aaron shook his head. "Mistress Banks, it seems I have a more ready hand for ordering merchandise than I have places to store it. I've run out of room."

  Well, there was the cellar off the ice room, but he would be damned if he was going to carry all this stuff to that inconvenient location.

  "It seems we both have troubles Mister Turner, because I find myself running a business that has no customers. Perhaps we can reach some sort of understanding."

  "Of what type?"

  "Financial," she firmly answered. "How about if I sell you my building and its completed candles? You can use my rooms for storage and expansion, and I will sell you candles at your need that I make at home."

  Since she seemed to have solved both their p
roblems nicely, Aaron gave her one silver six gold, and she walked out the door with a cheery wave and a promise to have Mister Doland change over the title at the bank.

  After she was gone Aaron stepped out of his store. Five quick steps along the boardwalk took him to the doorway of his new property. Squaring his shoulders, Aaron walked inside, took a look around, and saw a bunch of bare cedar plank walls and a small number of candles. A few wax drippings decorated the floor, and the scent of fresh wax intermingled with cut cedar filled his nostrils. Mistress Banks had obviously planned on leaving for some time. After completing a slow survey, he figured that he now owned a store with two extra rooms and approximately one hundred and fifty candles that were laid out on the shelves. There was nothing else. As far as he could see, this place did not even have an opening that gave access to the old mine beneath the building. Aaron supposed this was a good thing since he had converted that space for his own uses. In actuality, his oversized underground domain probably encroached on several other people's property.

  Half an hour saw the storage of his goods in one of the back rooms of the new building. Then, since his store was still cluttered, he moved some of its excess goods back into storage also, leaving room in the store for some of the candles.

  When they finished, he and Cathy were exhausted, and Missy and Doyle's clothes were covered in dust and small dots of wax, but Aaron had a building with a half empty back room and totally empty shelves. On a whim, he climbed into the loft and dropped his books down. The loft was crowded and the books would look good on the shelves, lonely, but good.

  Cathy immediately borrowed one of the books and left, taking the children with her.

  The place still looked mostly empty so he made a mental note to have some furniture made. It would be nice to have a sitting room to read in at night. Perhaps a few chairs could be bought too, in case he had company. The carpenter could seal the outside door of the new building for him and cut a hole in the adjoining wall between it and the main store.