A Bad Night In Bridgetown

Why Tabarnas Had To Rehome An Owl

If you enjoy this serial and would like to see more please consider visiting patreon.com/leostableford. Subcriptions start from $1 a month. There are many advantages to being a subscriber such as exclusive content and membership of a growing community.

"So that's it, is it?" Rachel asked, her tone was harsh. "You're just going to make her produce rainbow grease for you, like a slave?"

Tabarnas jumped. He had been wondering how on earth he was going to find Rachel. It was job enough to locate stock that didn't move in the stacks. How one was supposed to find a lost and frightened little girl was a problem he had not even begun to consider the answer to.

"Oh, young lady," Tabarnas said. "You mustn't sneak up on old people like that, I might have had a heart attack or something."

"Would have served you right if you had you mean old slave driver," Rachel replied. "I thought you were nice."

"I don't know where you got that idea from," Tabarnas said. "I'm a goblin merchant, as a breed we're not noted for our bon homie."

"Your what?"

"Er, sorry, foreign words trip from my tongue. I speak business in every language, you see... Because I'm a merchant, not a slave driver, a merchant."

"So you're going to let the mermaid go?" Rachel asked.

"I'm not going to 'let' her do anything, she's her own fish person, she is mistress of her own destiny."

"Well, good," Rachel said. "I knew you wouldn't be a big old meanie about it. So how are we going to help her?"

"Help her?" Tabarnas asked, a puzzled look upon his face. "We? Young lady-"

"Rachel," Rachel interrupted him.

"Rachel," Tabarnas said. "You seem to be the victim of a misunderstanding. Firstly, 'we' are not, uh, 'we'. There is you and there is me. That is how things work in the market. Secondly, and for the very same reason, I am not helping anyone. I will render services in exchange for remuneration, of course. But if I went around doing things out of some fuzzy headed do-gooder notion that wouldn't make me a good merchant now, would it?"

"You told me a story, that was nice," Rachel pointed out.

"You didn't enjoy it much, as I recall," Tabarnas replied.

"It was a nicer thing to do than standing around here being a nasty old grumpy guts like you're being now," Rachel said.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are impossible?" Tabarnas asked her.

"Only James and..." Rachel ran to a stop. "Oh! James! Did you rescue James?"

"Ah, now, there was a small problem..." Tabarnas began but it was too late, Rachel had begun to cry.

"Oh no," she said. "James, you lost James. This is all your fault!"

"Now I think that's a little unfair-"

"No, you're right..." Rachel said.

"Well, I'm glad-"

"It's all my fault, me and my stupid wish!" Rachel sat on Tabarnas's step stool and dissolved into floods of tears.

Tabarnas didn't know what to do or how to feel. He had been a goblin merchant his entire long life, over half a millennium at this moment. He bought, he sold, he bartered, he did stock taking, accounts ledgers and paid his dues to the Merchant's Guild. The only thing that Tabarnas did that was not the action of a goblin merchant was collect as many amusing stories as he could. He packed them into the corners of his brain that were not occupied with matters of trade.