The Exotic Enchanter by L. Sprague de Camp, Lyon Sprague de Camp, Christopher Stasheff Page B
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then had come close to him and sniffed.
"No, you are sober," he'd said. "Eh, well, with you in charge it might work. But how will we get them drunk?"
That was the difficult part. They needed thirty or forty wagonloads of wine and mead, more if all they could find was ale and kvass. They also needed an excuse for the Polovtsi to all be drinking at a particular spot. Finally, Shea needed to spare Seversk's treasury, or the plan would never go anywhere.
Remembering tales of moonshiners in both the old and new worlds of his own universe, Shea suggested that a rumor be circulated that the prince was planning to raise the liquor tax in kind, and that his agents would be starting their collections in the west very soon. He hoped that would put liquor merchants on the roads east, trying to dispose of their stocks before the tax collectors caught up with them.
The rumor succeeded far better than Shea, or Igor, could have believed. It was compounded by an even less pleasant one, that Seversk would face more frequent Polovets raids shortly. It was possible that some of the merchants were trying to turn goods into more easily hidden coin. Most of them, though, were probably just trying to evade their taxes.
The vintners and brewers were soon joined by all kinds of other vendors. Not the purveyors of luxury goods: silk, fine glass, gold and silverware, anything whose primary market was in the city itself was not put at risk on the roads. But woodwork, cheap iron and tinware, woolens, rough-cured hides—everything that could be taxed in kind found a market on the roads and added to the sights (and smells) of the cavalcade.
The merchants were being delicately herded to a spot on the border of the principality of Seversk. The area was hardly settled at all, thanks to Polovtsi raids as much as anything, and the actual border was somewhat disputed. Shea's plan required, however, that Igor claim the spot in question.
It was the logistics of getting the merchants there and no further, protecting them from raids along the way, and pretending all the time to have no connection with the prince, that was making Shea and the other men Igor had sent curse, sweat, and ache. The strain of holding back the "in the prince's name" they were accustomed to use soon had the soldiers beginning every sentence with an obscenity.
A few of the merchants, too poor to afford horses or mules, tried to make do with oxen. They held everyone back so much that Mikhail Sergeivich finally ordered them to the rear, to keep up as best they could, for the caravan could not be held to their pace. The merchants howled, they offered bribes, they threatened to protest to the prince.
Mikhail Sergeivich and Shea ignored them.
They couldn't ignore one peddler who'd been too poor even to buy an ox for his cartload of hides. He'd stolen two, and the owner came after them.
The guards couldn't formally arrest him, but Shea gave him a persuasive lecture about mercenaries needing to stay on terms with Igor much more than they did with thieving peddlers. Igor's arm was long and his justice swift and stern. The thief already owed fine of a grivna apiece for stealing the oxen. What else was he prepared to risk?
The oxen were returned, leaving the peddler sitting disconsolately on top of his cart in the middle of the steppe.
Then there were the merchants with expensive horses who needed cut fodder and few scruples about where they cut it when their bagged supply ran out. There were the merchants who didn't hobble their ponies and mules properly when they turned them loose to graze, so that Mikhail Sergeivich had to send out search parties for the strays, risking warhorses breaking legs in rabbit holes and lurking bandits picking off the riders. There was the cart that broke down so that it blocked the only strip of dry ground for half the caravan; it eventually ended in the bog.
There was enough trouble so that Shea was actually glad Reed Chalmers was not with him. The older
"No, you are sober," he'd said. "Eh, well, with you in charge it might work. But how will we get them drunk?"
That was the difficult part. They needed thirty or forty wagonloads of wine and mead, more if all they could find was ale and kvass. They also needed an excuse for the Polovtsi to all be drinking at a particular spot. Finally, Shea needed to spare Seversk's treasury, or the plan would never go anywhere.
Remembering tales of moonshiners in both the old and new worlds of his own universe, Shea suggested that a rumor be circulated that the prince was planning to raise the liquor tax in kind, and that his agents would be starting their collections in the west very soon. He hoped that would put liquor merchants on the roads east, trying to dispose of their stocks before the tax collectors caught up with them.
The rumor succeeded far better than Shea, or Igor, could have believed. It was compounded by an even less pleasant one, that Seversk would face more frequent Polovets raids shortly. It was possible that some of the merchants were trying to turn goods into more easily hidden coin. Most of them, though, were probably just trying to evade their taxes.
The vintners and brewers were soon joined by all kinds of other vendors. Not the purveyors of luxury goods: silk, fine glass, gold and silverware, anything whose primary market was in the city itself was not put at risk on the roads. But woodwork, cheap iron and tinware, woolens, rough-cured hides—everything that could be taxed in kind found a market on the roads and added to the sights (and smells) of the cavalcade.
The merchants were being delicately herded to a spot on the border of the principality of Seversk. The area was hardly settled at all, thanks to Polovtsi raids as much as anything, and the actual border was somewhat disputed. Shea's plan required, however, that Igor claim the spot in question.
It was the logistics of getting the merchants there and no further, protecting them from raids along the way, and pretending all the time to have no connection with the prince, that was making Shea and the other men Igor had sent curse, sweat, and ache. The strain of holding back the "in the prince's name" they were accustomed to use soon had the soldiers beginning every sentence with an obscenity.
A few of the merchants, too poor to afford horses or mules, tried to make do with oxen. They held everyone back so much that Mikhail Sergeivich finally ordered them to the rear, to keep up as best they could, for the caravan could not be held to their pace. The merchants howled, they offered bribes, they threatened to protest to the prince.
Mikhail Sergeivich and Shea ignored them.
They couldn't ignore one peddler who'd been too poor even to buy an ox for his cartload of hides. He'd stolen two, and the owner came after them.
The guards couldn't formally arrest him, but Shea gave him a persuasive lecture about mercenaries needing to stay on terms with Igor much more than they did with thieving peddlers. Igor's arm was long and his justice swift and stern. The thief already owed fine of a grivna apiece for stealing the oxen. What else was he prepared to risk?
The oxen were returned, leaving the peddler sitting disconsolately on top of his cart in the middle of the steppe.
Then there were the merchants with expensive horses who needed cut fodder and few scruples about where they cut it when their bagged supply ran out. There were the merchants who didn't hobble their ponies and mules properly when they turned them loose to graze, so that Mikhail Sergeivich had to send out search parties for the strays, risking warhorses breaking legs in rabbit holes and lurking bandits picking off the riders. There was the cart that broke down so that it blocked the only strip of dry ground for half the caravan; it eventually ended in the bog.
There was enough trouble so that Shea was actually glad Reed Chalmers was not with him. The older
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