The Ambivalent Magician Read online

Jack's life had changed completely. A year earlier all he had to worry about was tending bar in his tavern and breaking up the occasional fight on Saturday night, when the brigands would come in to get all liquored up. And every now and then, some traveler would get out of line with one of Bloody Mary's girls and Jack would have to bust a head or two. Otherwise, life had been quiet, peaceful, relaxing, and uncomplicated. Now, everything had changed.

  He had found it necessary to hire three bartenders to work in the tavern, which was always full to capacity, even with the wall knocked down and the bar extended. He now had a hotel manager working for him, and a staff of over two dozen employees. He no longer even had the pleasure of breaking up the fights, because Hugh, Dugh, and Lugh were now on the payroll as bouncers, and they kept order with a brutal and direct efficiency. In the twilight of his life, Jack was still fit and strong, if a little creaky, and though he had lost most of his teeth and one eye, he still felt useful and productive. The only trouble was, now he had hardly anything to do. He had become, against all expectation, a wealthy man. And he was having a hard time getting used to the idea.

  Bloody Mary was getting on in years as well, but anyone could see that in her prime, she must have been a real heart-stopper. She was still beautiful, even though her face was lined with age and she had put on weight, and though it had been years since she had entertained male clients, what she didn't know about the art of love simply wasn't worth knowing. Ten years earlier, she had retired to the country and found her place in Brigand's Roost, where she had become partners with Jack and operated a small and friendly brothel on the upper floor of the tavern. In the last six months, however, she had found it necessary to hire a dozen additional girls and the upper floor of the tavern was no longer enough to handle all the business. Directly across the street, a new building was going up, three whole floors, and a sign in front of it said, "Future Home of Bloody Mary's Gaming and Pleasure Emporium."

  Mary wasn't sure about the gaming part, but Harlan had Insisted that it would be good for the growth of the town's economy to have gambling on the premises, and as he had bought into her business, he promised he would run the gambling concession and she wouldn't have to worry about anything other than managing her girls. And even there, she didn't have to do much. Saucy Cheryl had taken over most of the managing duties, and Mary had to admit that Cheryl had a real flair for it. She hired only the most beautiful girls and trained them all herself, and there was a list of recently arrived girls waiting to get hired on once the new building was completed.

  As they sat on the balcony of the tavern, Mary and Jack watched the constant parade of people going in and out of the offices of Harlan's Townlot Company and Holdings, Ltd., situated next door to the Future Home of Bloody Mary's Emporium. Within a remarkably short time, Harlan the Peddler had become Harlan the Entrepreneur, a force to be reckoned with in Brigand's Roost. There was even talk of running him for mayor. Brigand's Roost had never had a mayor before, but now they had a Town Council that met in the tavern every Tuesday night, and for the first time in anyone's memory, there were actually ordinances on the books. Before, there hadn't even been any books.

  No one had ever actually owned property in Brigand's Roost before. In the past, if someone had arrived in town and chosen for some unfathomable reason to stay, they would simply have homesteaded a little patch of ground and built a shack upon it. Harlan had changed all that. Real estate was now big business in Brigand's Roost. The hawk-faced little peddler had recruited some of the brigands to parcel out all the acreage around the town and survey it, and the ownership was equally divided among all the old-time residents of the town and the environs, which basically meant the brigands and a few of the locals who lived in and around the village. The Townlot Company administered the transfers of the deeds-for a percentage-and Harlan's offices were papered with platted maps indicating all the lots by number. And he had an interest in each and every one of them. When all of the available lots had been sold, they simply cleared more forest land around the town and parceled it out. New lots were sold as quickly as they were surveyed and made available. Suddenly everyone was making money hand over fist.

  As Mary and Jack sat on their balcony, they could see the entire main street of the town stretching out before them. It had more than tripled in length in the last few months and would soon quadruple. Where once Brigand's Roost had been nothing more than a curving, rutted dirt street with a few shacks on either side, now it was a full-scale town, with side streets and alleyways, and within a few years-if growth persisted at this rate-it would become a city.

  There was now a farmer's market at the end of Main Street, and there were two stables, a blacksmith's shop, two saloons, a hotel, an apothecary shop, four tailors, a dry goods store, a milliner, a leather worker, two construction companies, a soothsayer, three bakeries, two butcher shops, a bank, a jeweler, and even a teahouse, serving a full selection of Calamity Jane's Celestial Steepings teas with homemade muffins and pies. At the edge of town, there was a profusion of market stalls set up-all of whose operators had to pay a trade tariff to the Town Council, of which Harlan was a founding member. A small tent city had sprung up on the edge of town, full of people waiting for housing to become available. And the steady stream of new arrivals showed no sign of letting up.

  "Where do you think they're all coming from?" asked One-Eyed Jack, scratching his heavily bearded chin.

  "Pittsburgh, mostly," Mary replied, putting her bare feet up on the balcony railing. " 'Tiswhat the girls say. They're having some trouble there and people are leaving in droves."

  "What sort of trouble?" Jack asked.

  Mary shrugged. "They say a revolution is brewing, and people want to get out before the fighting starts. There's already been some rioting, I hear."

  "How come?" asked Jack.

  Mary frowned. "I'm not quite sure. I keep hearing different stories. Some say that King Billy has become a tyrant. Others say he's gone mad and the sheriff is the tyrant and that he has his brother under his thumb. Some say he's even deposed the king and is ruling in his place, while King Billy serves only as a figurehead. But all agree that Pittsburgh has become a miserable place to live, what with all the new ordinances the sheriff has instituted in the king's name. They say a person can't even spit on the street anymore without being arrested. And those who are arrested are taken to the dungeons and never seen nor heard from again. Everyone says 'tis only a matter of time until the people rise up against the king."

  "Assuming there's any people left to do it, at the rate they're leaving," Jack replied. "What I don't understand is why they're all coming here."

  "Word has spread that there's a mighty sorcerer in Brigand's Roost and he's helping people make a better life for themselves here," said Mary. "Everyone who comes to town asks about him. It's that Harlan. He's the one who started it all. Every time a new wagonload of goods goes out to market, he has them take a stack of handbills telling all about the good life and all the opportunities in the booming town of Brigand's Roost. He calls it 'marketing.' "

  Jack grunted in assent. "I never saw a man with so much energy. He never stands still. Every time you turn around, he's got some new plan cooking. Things just haven't been the same in Brigand's Roost since he arrived. And I'm not sure all these changes are for the better."

  "What are you complaining of?" asked Mary. "You're getting rich."

  "True," said Jack. "But for the life of me, I can't reckon what a man's supposed to do when he gets rich."

  "Work on getting richer," Mary said with a shrug.

  "Doesn't seem like all that much work to me," Jack said, scratching his beard again. "Somehow, it just sort of happens by itself."

  "That's how 'tis when you have money," Mary said. "It just sort of multiplies. Harlan calls it 'economics.'"

  "If you ask me, none of this would've happened without Doc," said Jack, "but 'tis everybody else who's getting rich. What does Doc get out of it?"

  "Well now, he's got the old
keep, doesn't he?" said Mary. "And he never has to pay for anything in this town. There isn't a man, woman, or child in Brigand's Roost wouldn't give him the shirt off their back if he asked for it. And he gets a cut of all the export business."

  "He does?"

  "Sure enough he does. Harlan manages it for him. He's not about to bite the goose that gilds the eggs."

  "What?" said Jack, staring at Mary with confusion.

  "Well, something like that, anyway," said Mary, with a scowl. "I don't know, it made sense when Harlan said it."

  "But if Doc gets a cut of all the export business, why is it he never has any money?" Jack said.

  " 'Tis all in the bank," said Mary.

  "Oh," said Jack. He frowned. "You know, I still don't understand this newfangled bank idea."

  " 'Tis very simple," Mary said. "You wanted me to handle all our money, right, so you would not be bothered? Well, I took our money and put it all in the bank for safekeeping. In return for holding on to our money, the bank pays us a percentage called 'interest,' so by keeping our money in the bank, we're actually making more. The more money we keep there, the more money we make."

  "But what does the bank get out of it?"

  "The bank uses our money as an asset, lending it out at interest. There are business loans, and construction loans, and home mortgages, and personal loans, and the longer people take to repay these loans, the more it costs in interest."

  "Seems to me I could lend out my own money at interest," Jack said, "and cut out the middleman."

  "But then you'd have to handle all the details," Mary said. "This way, the bank takes care of all that for you."

  "What happens if people fail to make the payments on these loans?"

  "Then the bank takes their assets."

  "And then what?"

  "It sells them for a profit."

  "This was Harlan's idea, right?"

  "Actually, I think he got the idea from Doc," said Mary. "But he took to it right quickly."

  "I notice that he quickly takes to anything that involves making money," said Jack.

  "Well, he's sure enough making money for you," said Mary. "He's making us rich."

  "And making himself richer still," Jack replied with a scowl. "If you ask me, putting all that money in one place is just an invitation for somebody to steal it. Wouldn't it be smarter to have our money where we could keep an eye on it?"

  "It could be stolen from us, as well. But if we keep it in the bank, then 'tis insured."

  "Tis what?"

  "Insured. That means if someone steals it, the insurance company makes good the loss."

  "What's an insurance company?"

  "Oh, that's another new idea Harlan got from Doc. 'Tis a business that sells security. You buy an insurance policy that promises to pay you if you sustain a loss. You can buy different kinds of insurance. Fire insurance to protect against your home or business burning down, theft insurance to protect yourself from being robbed, life insurance-"

  "Life insurance?"

  "So if you die, your family gets money."

  Jack shook his head. "Sounds like a good reason for your family to murder you, if you ask me."

  "Harlan says 'tis protection for your family, in case anything should happen to you. You pay for it in small amounts called 'premiums' each month. And in return for these premiums, if you sustain a loss, the insurance company makes it good."

  "But where do they get the money?"

  "From the premiums."

  "So why not just save the money you'd pay in these premiums and have a nest egg to guard against misfortune? It makes no sense to me. Who runs this insurance company?"

  "Harlan," Mary said.

  "That figures," Jack replied dryly. "Does Shannon know about all this?"

  "Of course," said Mary. "Harlan knows better than to make money in Brigand's Roost without giving her a cut of all the profits. He says 'tis a part of economics called 'extortion.'"

  "I'm just too old to understand all this newfangled stuff," said Jack, shaking his head. "I prefer things the way they were."

  " 'Tis called 'progress,' Jack. You have to change with the times."

  "Why?"

  "Why?"

  "That's right, why?"

  Mary shrugged. "I don't know. You just do, that's all."

  "Is that what Harlan says?"

  "Right."

  "Somehow, I knew that," Jack said sourly.

  At that very moment the object of their deliberations was busy conducting a board meeting of The Rooster Corporation, the name they had recently settled on for their fledgling conglomerate. No sooner had Mick told Harlan about Doc's explanation of what a corporation was than Harlan insisted that they form one. They sat around a long table in the executive offices on the upper floor of the Townlot Company, which was now a subsidiary of The Rooster Corporation, along with The First Bank of Brigand's Roost, The Rooster Equity and Assurance Company, and Brigand Exports, Ltd. The corporation also had a strong financial interest in The Brigand's Roost Hotel, Bloody Mary's Gaming and Pleasure Emporium, and over half the other independent businesses in town, including the Farmers Market and the stall concessions in Tent City.

  "All right, so the deal with the dwarves went down?" said Harlan.

  "A complete and unqualified success," replied Mick. "The moment they saw the knives, they just had to have them. It was clever o' you to suggest giving a couple to their tribal leaders. Now all the others want them, too."

  "It was a worthwhile investment," Harlan said, nodding. "Never be afraid to spend money to make money. Especially if it hooks the customer and keeps him coming back for more. So now we've got a supplier for raw materials. That's good. That's very good. So long as Dork's people keep their mouths shut about dealing with us."

  "That was part of the agreement," Mick said. "In fact, they insisted on it."

  "Why?" asked Robie. "I mean, why should they keep quiet about it?"

  "Because they're under exclusive contract to the Sorcerers and Adepts Guild, that's why," Harlan said. "They're not supposed to be supplying anybody else. So long as we're getting the bauxite and alchemite directly from them, it saves us having to mine it for ourselves. What was it Doc called the alchemite?"

  "Cryolite," said Mick. "That's what they call it in the Land of Ing, where he hails from."

  "Well, from now on, I think we should call it cryolite, as well," said Harlan.

  "Why?" asked Robie, yet again.

  "Because nobody knows what the hell cryolite is, you putz," Harlan said. (Narrator's Note: He didn't actually say "putz," because no one spoke "Yiddish in this universe. There were no Jews in the twenty-seven kingdoms, but there was a tribe known as the Hazerai, which roughly translates as "People Who Survive the Guilt," and the Hazerai expression Harlan used was a rough equivalent of "putz.") "If we start talking about using alchemite, word will get around that we've got a source. You want the Sorcerers and Adepts Guild finding out we're buying alchemite out from under them?"

  "Uh ... no," said Robie.

  "So what do we call it?"

  "Cryolite."

  "Good boy. You see, you're learning."

  "Oh, and there's one more thing," Mick said. "Doc and I had a drink with the dwarves to conclude the deal, and they just went wild for the Mickey Finn. They want to arrange steady shipments."

  "Great. You didn't tell them what it was, did you?" Harlan asked.

  "No, naturally not," Mick replied.

  "Why shouldn't he have told them what it was?" asked Robie, with a puzzled frown.

  Harlan sighed. "Okay, kid, let's try this by the numbers. Mickey Finn is our trade name for what?"

  "Peregrine wine," said Robie.

  "And peregrine wine is made from what?" said Harlan.

  "Peregrine bushes," Robie replied.

  "And where can you find peregrine bushes?"

  "Well . . . just about anywhere. Especially when they migrate. They're all over the damn place."

  "Right. And
if the dwarves know what Mickey Finn is made from, then they can do what?" asked Harlan.

  Robie concentrated. "Try to duplicate the recipe for themselves?"

  "Brilliant," Harlan said. "I think he's really coming along, don't you?"

  Mick nodded and McMurphy looked very pleased with himself. He had become an unabashed admirer of Harlan and paid very close attention to everything he did. Harlan had a gift, and Robie was anxious to learn as much from him as possible.

  "Of course, the dwarves don't have a still," said Harlan. "But we can't expect to keep the knowledge of how to make a still to ourselves. The more the demand for Mickey Finn increases, the more workers we have to hire for the brewery, and sooner or later, one of the brighter ones will figure out how to make a plan for the still and sell it to the highest bidder. We can't control that. What we can control is the recipe, by making sure only the trusted brewmasters have it. Always remember that half the secret of success is staying ahead of the competition. And if you can't stay ahead of them, buy them out."

  "Right," said Robie.

  "Okay, next item on the agenda," Harlan said. "What are the current distribution figures on the teas?"

  Pikestaff Pat went over to the chart he had made up and placed on the easel. His wife Jane was in charge of all the manufacturing, which meant gathering the raw materials and creating the different blends of Celestial Steepings teas, but he kept track of the business end of things. A year ago, he couldn't read or write, but now he had learned how to keep accounts and make flow charts that allowed him to keep track of the inventory and the distribution. He picked up a pointer and stood by the easel proudly.

  "We've got three more stores handling our product in Franktown," he said. "Last month they took a shipment of Dragon's Breath Brew and Fairy Mist, and they did so well for them that now they've placed an order for our entire line."

  "Excellent," said Harlan. "Go on."

  "So far, about half the marketing force has returned for resupply," said Pat. "We've made inroads with our products in eight of the twenty-seven kingdoms, and as soon as the wagons get back from the more distant ones, we should have added at least five or six more. And the earlier complaints from the peddlers about being under exclusive contract to us and handling only our trade goods have all disappeared once they've seen how well our products move. They're all anxious to get out on the road again."