Chapter 224: The First Stall in the Snow

Rhythmic striking cut through the walls of the basement den. Elian woke to the noise of iron hitting wood. He lay on the mattress for a moment, tracking the acoustics through the floorboards. Dorvik usually worked near the staging area for the Blackroot bridge materials, but this sound echoed from the wrong side of the property. The impacts landed too close to the stable lane.

Elian threw his coat over his shoulders. He left the buttons undone and walked up the stairs into the cold morning air.

A merchant in a dark blue coat had erected a canvas shelter directly beside the thoroughfare. Four wooden poles held a sloped roof over a folding table. The man had arranged thick leather gloves, sealed clay jars of lamp oil, strings of dried fruit, and a wooden box of iron boot nails across the boards. Five travelers stood in a ragged line, exchanging copper coins for the goods.

Elian stepped off the porch. The damp air stung his bare neck.

"What are you doing?"

"Business."

Elian looked at the nearest wooden pole. The merchant had driven the sharpened timber straight down through the packed clay, piercing the shallow trench Elian had dug to route snowmelt away from the stable foundation. The disrupted earth would cause water to pool and freeze over the walkway by nightfall.

"On my drainage ditch."

The merchant adjusted his wool hat. He pointed toward the row of idle carts parked near the perimeter fence. The Blackroot bridge delay had trapped them here. Dozens of travelers needed repairs and supplies, and the merchants already possessed the inventory. Nobody wanted to drive their team forward just to turn around at the broken crossing.

Elian ran the logic through his head. He had posted rules about indoor trading and dry-hold access. He had never explicitly written a rule prohibiting commerce in the open mud.

Heda walked up beside him.

"Technically—"

"Do not."

Before Elian could order the canvas removed, a second trader lowered the tailgate of his wagon. He displayed stacks of waxed cloth and coil ropes. A third man dragged two empty barrels into the slush and laid a plank across them to sell cured fish. The yard was transforming into a market because the geography had created a bottleneck.

Bruna stepped out of the kitchen door. She held a damp rag, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the unauthorized construction. She watched a drover purchase a handful of boot nails from the first stall, then immediately turn and walk up the porch steps. The man tossed a silver coin onto her counter for a bowl of hot stew.

Bruna's glare dissolved into mild, calculating interest. She returned to the kitchen without issuing a single threat to the vendors.

Torra crossed the yard from the South Watch. She walked straight past the canvas stall, threw two copper pieces onto the table, and picked up a small pouch of dried peppers.

Elian stared at her.

"What?"

Elian looked at the peppers, the damaged drainage trench, and the line of paying customers filtering toward the tavern doors. Shutting down the trade would eliminate a new revenue stream and aggravate travelers who were already frustrated by the bridge closure.

He walked into the middle of the growing crowd.

"One-day trial," Elian announced. "No stalls in the traffic lanes. No ground stakes without direct approval. No open flame. No blocking the draft animals. No permanent structures of any kind. You pack everything away before dark."

He named a temporary fee. He kept the number low enough that the merchants would complain but ultimately pay it without packing up their goods.

Heda returned from the porch holding a stack of splintered pine scraps and a chunk of charcoal. She drew large numbers on the wood and began handing them out to the vendors. Stall One went to the canvas shelter. Stall Two went to the wagon tailgate.

She placed Stall Three against a wooden crate located ten yards from the stable wall.

Barnaby kicked the lower rail of his paddock. The wooden boards rattled loudly. The mule pinned his ears back and glared directly at the merchant setting up the crate.

Elian pointed at the vendor. "Move the crate ten feet to the left."

The merchant picked up his goods. "Why?"

"Zoning dispute."

Elian walked back to the porch. He stood near the top step and looked out over the yard. Six temporary stalls now operated in the frozen mud where yesterday there had been none.