Marco

  Marco is a merchant. Simple, like his father before him, and his father before him. Three generations, upon which great wealth was built unto the Giovani estate. His sisters had long been married off to powerful men, Morana to the steward of a distant count and Luisa to the captain of Polis’s guard.

  “The Giovani family is on the rise;” Marco would joke to his friend. “The Patricians better watch out before they’re relegated to footnotes in my family's history.”

  “Marco, you're drunk, sit down before you insult some old banker with more silver than mercy.” At that, booming laughter filled the tavern hall. It was so loud that it drew pointed looks from the patrons of the establishment. After standing up to give forth a sincere apology, Marco sat comfortably in his wooden chair before leaning over the table.

  “My friend” he imposed in hushed tones “there is no such thing as a merchant willing to part with coin over such a petty joke.” To be angered by small jest was the job of nobles and warlords, to them status was what money was to the Patricians. Power.

  “Now” Marco leaned back tipping his chair back on its hind legs, “I haven't dragged you out for no reason, no no no see you and I have got an opportunity to make a lot of coin here. We’re talking of a fortune, now the only question is whether or not you’re interested in this little venture?” Marco continued, “you are the first person I've come to with this lucrative offer of mine.”

  Marco could see the gears turning on Lorenzos face. Frankly speaking, Lorenzo was a horrible merchant. His wealth came from his late father who did not see to it that the heir to his estate would be well educated in the mercantile arts. In a city such as Polis, the affliction of incompetency would be a death sentence for any man’s coffers, and it was true that Lorenzo had lost a sizable portion of his father's wealth since his passing 4 months ago. Yet the young man still held most of it, through sheer luck and some solid advice from Marco.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  “Don’t get me wrong Marco, you've helped me out many times before. It would be no stretch to say that you are the reason I haven't been left destitute on the streets so far, but it seems that whatever this lucrative deal is going to be string are certainly going to come attached.”

  “The Caliph is dead.”

  “WHAT!” Lorenzo stood abruptly, slamming his hands on the table, he accidentally pushed over the mug of ale he had been sipping moments earlier. This earned them another round of the old sailor stink eye from the patrons.

  “Quiet you fool!” Marco grabbed Lorenzos arms and yanked him down, while a young servant girl came by with a mop to clean up the mess he had caused, with a nasty glare directed at Lorenzo she began to mop. While she worked Marco fiddled with the silver brooch that kept his cloak in place. He ran his index around the rim where the silver met the red jasper stone embedded in the ornament until the serving girl finished and strode away to continue serving patrons.

  After a moment, Lorenzo leaned in. “The Caliph is dead? But how could such a thing be possible?”

  “Apparently some barbarian army from the steppe has been pushing deep into the Caliphate, some wretch must have snuffed him out with an arrow or something.” He shrugged. “Without an heir the Caliphs brothers will rip the land asunder, and with the barbarian army closing in from the east the Caliphate is left weakened and ripe for pillaging. That aside, all this information comes from a little bird I've managed to roost within the Patricians, it also sings of how the senate is preparing an invasion fleet of grand proportions to go on and raid Misri.”

  At that Lorenzo stood straight, even as incompetent as he was. There wasn’t a man alive who did not know that wealth of Misri, the rich black soil of its river deltas fed commoner and noble alike as far as Norland. Misri also sat between the city of Polis and the east, it was like the serene republic, a center of trade and the breadbasket of the Caliphate.

  “So” Marco continued his voice a faint whisper, “I say we join them, the sooner the better. Before the whole city finds out and decides it wants a share of the pie. If we can buy up enough seats on the fleet, and enough cargo room. The proper mercenaries as well. We ca-”

  “Make enough gold to buy Patrician titles!” Lorenzo finished in hushed excitement. At that Marco smiled, he had him! Alone the Giovany estate could not field the required cost for such a massive venture. Nor would it be worth the risk of giving away his entire fortune for such a risky plan. Yet with Lorenzo, as well as a few others who could be enticed to give smaller yet still crucial investments to their cause, Marco could catapult his family into the highest strata of the republic. Something he dreamed of, like his father before him, and his father before him.

  “You my friend, have gotten my support!” Lorenzo held a hand out towards Marco. The latter clasped it with his own giving it a firm shake. “Great! For now, keep quiet about this. I still must go and convince a few others of the prospects. We can hash out the details when I’m done.”

  “To a fruitful partnership.”

  “To Polis.”