The Merchant

 Underneath a clear blue sky, over twenty people labored at the outskirts of Belan.

“STEADY! PULL!” Rucio called out.

“PULL!” A dozen men responded from the right.

“PULL!” A dozen men responded from the left.

Using a makeshift crane two ropes were pulled to raise a stone pillar, one among the quartet that would serve as the silo’s support. Connecting the four was a skeleton of timber, makeshift in both its origin and design, yet all the durable for it.

Not every piece of timber is made equal, especially so in a small village like Belan, wherein their building materials consisted of uneven logs and thick branches. They technically could bring in shipments from carpenters, but the price coupled with the need for a professional architect meant the cost would simply be too high for Belan to pay.

Which meant their chief builder was…

“I think we should put another support over there on the lowest floor.” Hugo said, pointing at the crude construction plan he drew up. His father raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Why? You said we don’t need a support on the opposite side.” Rucio questioned, not yelling at the top of his lungs for once. His father was nothing if diligent when it came to work.

Hugo had no true answer to give, so he shrugged instead. “I dunno, just feels right.”

The older man scratched the back of his head, clearly confused. He opened his mouth for a moment as though he wanted to object before also shrugging.

“Welp, nothing you’ve built has collapsed yet! Let’s get to it men!” Tired groans could be heard as two dozen farmers slowly rose to their feet, strength sapped by the summer sun. The only ones to still have some pep in their step being Rucio who was an unending well of energy, and Hugo who had mostly kept to planning.

“This won’t do…” Rucio frowned as he whispered to himself, unheard by anyone except Hugo.

A quick glance showed what he meant, most of the men were wobbling on their feet while a few had already sat down again. No work would get done like this. Hugo leaned up slightly to whisper in his father’s ear.

“I think a break would be for the best, it’s probably fine to leave the support as is for a few hours.” The older man nodded before shouting in his usual overdramatised voice.

“It seems as though a great wave of heat has befallen this land! Let us scurry to the currents for sanctuary! To one day return and reclaim our honor!” Most would’ve been confused by his words, though one had to get used to his father’s antics eventually. The men all cheered before running off towards the river in the distance, leaving just the two of them.

Hugo couldn’t blame them, the summer weather truly was unbearable with heatwaves still in full swing. The fall harvest was still a ways away with wheat and rye just starting to turn into a familiar yellow as it ripened with the approaching end of July.

Though of course, most of the crops that surrounded Belan were oat and grass, meant to feed animals rather than people. They were a livestock village first and foremost, proven by the herds of cattle, sheep, horse and goat that grazed the lands nearby.

They even had a camel, bought off an exotic merchant from the deserts down south for no particular reason other than fascination.

A waterskin was thrown at his face, Hugo groaned in both annoyance and relief, the cold object serving to cool his head.

“You could’ve just handed it to me.” Were his muffled words, the waterskin held tight to his face.

“And you could’ve caught it were you not so distracted. I pity the man who has such a lax squire. Poor me, to be forced to suffer such indignation.” Hugo deemed it unnecessary to entertain his father any further, instead opening the water skin to take a long drink before pouring the rest over his head.

“You’re not going to join them?” Suddenly asked Rucio, his voice uncharacteristically somber in tone in spite of the small smile that remained.

“No need, I’ve gotten enough water.” Hugo shook his drenched head free of water before lying on a field of grass in between the silo and the road that passed through the village. His father sat next to him a moment later.

“I’m talking about the boys over at the pastures.” Rucio said. Even from here, the two of them could see the silhouettes in the distance, a group of kids his age loudly singing as they led a herd of sheep away from the village.

“Why would I? I have little to say to them, just as they have nothing to say to me.” He gestured in the direction of the silo.

“Besides, you need me here. Anything you’ve conceived will be held together by bravado and dreams.” It appeared as though his father wished to refute his words, though the rolling of wheels and the clapping of hooves caught their attention instead, interrupting their conversation.

It was a merchant caravan, four wagons filled to the brim with goods accompanied by a squad of mounted men guarding the perimeter. Likely someone from the east considering the presence of an armed escort, no western or central merchant would bother with such a thing.

A black haired man sitting frontmost gestured for the rest to stop before descending from his wagon. Considering his quality jacket dyed in green and the small golden ring that decorated his joint, likely the owner of the caravan.

Hugo watched with some curiosity as his father approached the merchant, the two of them exchanging greetings and pointless pleasantries. Only after it became clear the guards held no hostility did he finally decide to approach.

“—that’s quite the patchwork silo you’re building there, I hope it wasn’t designed by an architect. You’ve been scammed if it was.” In spite of the somewhat insulting words, Rucio laughed good naturedly.

“Of course not, sir Orin. Our village found the cost of hiring one to be a bit too high for our blood.” The merchant nodded with a relieved expression.

“Then there’s no shame to be found. In fact, dare I say it is more worthy of respect than an architect’s design, there is beauty to be found in improvisation.” Rucio appeared to have noticed him listening in on the conversation.

“Ah! Here’s our chief builder!” His father placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice brimming with exaggerated pride. The merchant’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Oho? You’re the one who designed this silo?” Orin asked. Hugo nodded, suddenly feeling awkward as over a dozen eyes turned towards him in interest.

“Quite impressive for your age. What’s your name?” The man approached the silo, placing a hand upon the structure for a moment before glancing at the crude design he drew up on a piece of parchment.

“Hugo.” The man hummed in interest.

“Did someone teach you the trade?” He shook his head.

“Have you worked at a quarry?” Orin continued to ask. Hugo’s entire body went still.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He shook his head after several seconds. It was technically the truth, yet it still felt forced.

“Well, please excuse my assumption then. The way it's designed simply reminded me of the supports used to hold up mines and quarries you see.”

He was made to crawl through a tiny hole in the cavern wall, a piece of timber in his hands and a nail between his lips. Dangerous as it was, they had to prevent a cave in if they wished to reach the vein of ore found a few meters down.

In his momentary lapse of mind, the conversation appeared to have moved on.

“I heard you hold a herd of cashmere goats here, I’m interested in buying up the wool by the beginning of August. All of it.”

“Truly? You do realize the duke’s taxes make luxury wools highly unprofitable.”

“Perhaps so, but there have been sweeping reforms thanks to the new aristocracy movement. I'm expecting the luxury clothes market to begin booming in a few month’s time—”

And on and on it went, Orin and Rucio speaking of the latest economic and political climate. Hugo found himself paying attention in spite of his lack of interest, simply to get his mind away from the old memories.

The conversation finally came to a close several minutes later, with a strange request from the merchant.

“Hugo, what do you say about accompanying me?”