Friday Fiction: Of Merchant and Magic part 2


Master Tycho has settled in to his rooms in the merchants’ quarter in Guill. Now, time has come for business…

Chapter 2: To Market


Bread soaked in milk with wine, smallbeer, and a piece of fried meat with the sharp local mustard filled Tycho’s stomach just enough the next morning. The market would not begin for another day, but he wanted to look around, and to see where his booth would be.

His first surprise came when he reached the main warehouse to speak with the market master. “Ah, good that you are here, Meester Tycho Rhonarida,” one of the mages on duty said. “Here is your receipt from Lord Valrep. His transport mage removed the lord’s share last night.” The shaggy-haired man frowned, murmuring “waste of magic,” under his breath.

Tycho neither blinked nor raised his eyebrows when he saw the tally. He wanted to wince, but that might not be wise, either. “Very well.” Three of the fine-tanned hides and two of the fleece-tanned hides, plus the two largest rough tanned skins. He should not have tempted the gods by assuming that nobles did not bother leather merchants. Continue reading


Twelve Gates to the City…

Edited to Add: Howdy and welcome, Instapunderati! Thanks for stopping by.

Old-World cities had walls. That was part of what defined a city – it could defend itself. Its residents had a duty to defend it as part of their being citizens. (And I’ll note that this applied to women as well, at least in some of the Imperial Free Cities. Women who had the right to do business on their own also had duties for defense.) A city without walls wasn’t a real city, it was just a place where a lot of people lived at the mercy of any group of armed men who happened to be passing by.

Wismar and its walls during the Hanse years.

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Boats! (And Ships, and Engines, and Fish-in-a-Jar, and Letters, and Art, and…)

Edited to Add: Welcome, Instapundit Readers! Thanks for stopping by. And the diorama question has been answered in the comments.

Not everything in northern Germany is creepy. Honest. The Maritime Museum in Hamburg is fascinating, spectacular, and enormous. I had two and a half hours there, and could have spent all day. I ended up skipping two whole floors, more or less*. I also managed to see it backwards, which seems to have become a habit on this trip. You are not supposed to take the elevator to the top floor and walk down. You can, but if you don’t know maritime history, you may be a little lost. Anyway…

Five bonus points to the first person to identify what this diorama shows.

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The Varusschlacht – A Dark and Bloody Ground

Some people believe that places where events of great emotional or spiritual power occurred are forever marked by those events. I’m not certain that I entirely believe all the claims, because I’ve crossed paths with a few too many New Age wanna-be psychic nuts and flakes over the years. However, go walk the battlefield at Kalkreise on a dark, rainy day. There’s something creepy there.

The red dot.

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The Old Grey Widow-Maker

Into the teeth of a rising storm on the North Sea, standing on a sea dike near Husum, Germany.

Kipling’s “Harp Song of the Dane Women” was right. The North Sea is not to be trusted. The day before had been sunny, light winds from the sea, and the seal-spotting boats had been going out, taking tourists to see “Seelöwe.” Not this morning. The wind pushed me so hard I almost lost my footing, and the wind was not kind. Continue reading

Sunday Snippet: “Brothers”

As soon as this bubbled up during breakfast one morning, I realized that I now have to go and read that biography of Don Juan of Austria that I’ve been ignoring.

The green and ripening-gold land stretched as far as the end of the world. Haglun imagined that he could see farther, to the two great port cities that brought so much wealth and had given him most of the sprinkling of gray in his brown hair. Wind rushed up the slope, blowing his cloak back like a wing. He smiled at the old wish. If he could fly, he’d not have to spend so long on the road. But people would probably say things about the king’s winged half-brother, even more than about the king himself.  That the king looked exactly like his great-grandfather’s portrait in the temple, even down to the width of the stripe in his hair, seemed to pass unnoticed. The watcher snorted a little to himself as he studied the land. Continue reading