Red Sky At Dawn Part 6

Puzzled, Roskin stared at the Marshwogg. He wasn't sure how that was an insult, and they sat for a moment in awkward silence.

"Let's find some clothes," the Marshwogg said at last.

The creature went to a trunk in the rear of the tower and sorted through several stacks. Finally, it produced a pair of pants and a shirt that looked close to Roskin's size. Then, it gathered its bathing supplies and led Roskin back outside. They walked a short distance into the woods, stopping when they reached a small structure next to a stream. The Marshwogg opened the door and motioned for Roskin to enter.

"Clean yourself here," it said. "Take as long as you need."

Slowly, Roskin entered the room. His intuition had not warned him of danger, but he was unarmed and suddenly felt vulnerable. Inside, a five by five pit had been dug into the ground about two feet deep. One pipe extended horizontally from the wall and allowed water to flow from the stream into the pit. A second pipe stood vertically from the bottom to the surface and when the water level reached its opening, the water drained back to the stream. In the far corner, a wood burning stove stood ready, but since the day was warm and pleasant, Roskin saw no need for a fire.

He took off the stained clothes and stepped into the pool. The water was chilly but, after the mountain stream, didn't feel unpleasant. He took a bar of strong smelling soap from the bathing supplies and lathered his body for the first time since leaving Kwarck's home nearly eight months before. The scars across his back felt strange and foreign even though he had carried them for two months. After covering his body in a thick layer of soap, he found a brush and dipped his hair into the water. At first, the bristles would not move through the tangled knots, but after several minutes of brushing, he was able to undo much of the mess. Then, he soaped his hair and repeated the process with his beard. For almost an hour, he stayed in the water and cleaned himself.

When he finally emerged from the bathhouse dressed in the fresh clothes, he felt like a different dwarf. His skin tingled from the scrubbing and was several shades lighter than when he had entered. The Marshwogg had waited for him outside, sitting on a stump and carving on a small bar of cedar. When it saw Roskin, it spread a wide smile across its thin face and stood from the stump.

"Now, let's return to the tower and discuss why you're here."

In his eagerness to eat and bathe, Roskin had forgotten about the freed slaves and his friends waiting for him in the mountains, and he was ashamed at letting his own pleasure come before them. They walked briskly back to the tower and went inside. The Marshwogg found two chairs and placed them where it could still see out the small window in the base. Roskin found it strange that the tower only had one guard and said as much after they both had sat down.

"If I sounded the alarm," the Marshwogg said. "The militia could be here in minutes. Besides, your army doesn't seem poised to attack us."

"My army?"

"You don't think that many people could march across the mountains without our scouts noticing them, do you?"

"I guess not, but you're right. We have no desire to attack you."

"Actually, we know about your battle with the orcs, too. One of our sentries saw their army leave the fortress and followed them to the field. She hid upstream in the river and watched the fight. Did you lead that battle?"

"No," Roskin said, unsure of how much to tell. This creature had kept him off guard from the moment they had met.

"I'd like to meet the one, then. Perhaps we can discuss strategy sometime."

"Well, I've come to ask your lord for refuge. There are many wounded and elderly who need help."

"We don't have a lord in this region."

"How far will I have to travel to find one?"

"Quite far, actually. We have none."

Roskin was baffled by the statement. All of the civilizations he had ever known followed some version of an aristocratic monarchy, even the ogre clans. He couldn't fathom how to maintain law and order without n.o.bility to guide the ma.s.ses.

"Who governs your people?"

"We govern ourselves."

The Marshwogg explained the foundation of their republic. Each region was divided into counties based on a combination of natural and economic boundaries, and each county was responsible for its own government through a council of elected officials that were barely compensated for their service. To counter corruption, they also had a county magistrate a" also scarcely paid a" who ensured that the council's decisions remained in the best interest of the Marshwoggs of that county. As another layer of protection, an independent system allowed citizens to defend themselves from laws and actions they believed unjust. These three layers shared governance, each with equal power, and in order for any law to remain intact, it had to remain in good standing with at least two of the three.

Each region had a similar system on a larger scale, but as a whole, the republic had no centralized government to impose national laws. Instead, each region was left to govern itself as the citizens saw fit, and disputes between regions were settled through discourse and mediators from distant regions. In times of national crisis, such as an invasion from the orcs, each region would send a militia to help expel the invaders and protect the common good.

Of course, there were examples of corruption and inefficiency in certain counties and regions, but history had shown the Marshwoggs that the people of those places were the best ones to overcome those problems. Interference in local matters by outsiders was absolutely forbidden in their tradition, and violators faced severe punishments for meddling in other people's affairs. As such, their system had existed and evolved for hundreds of years, and as a race, the Marshwoggs knew very little poverty or despair within their borders.

"I'm fascinated," Roskin said. "I could talk about this for days, but right now, my friends need help. Some of them are desperate for medicine, so who do I need to talk to?"

"As this county's magistrate, I've been given authority to grant you entrance to our lands, as long as you agree to obey our laws."

"Of course," Roskin said.

The Marshwogg rose from his seat and went outside, where he rang the smaller of two bells. In a couple of minutes, a younger Marshwogg appeared, bobbing up and down as it hurried to the tower. The two spoke briefly, and once they finished, the younger one took off in the direction of the freed slaves. Then, the magistrate returned to Roskin.

"He'll bring your friends down here. If you'd like to wait with me, feel free. I have another hour on my watch. Otherwise, you can travel into town and make yourself at home."

Roskin thought about it for a moment and decided to go to town to get his bearings. He was fascinated by these strange people and wanted to learn more about their customs, and in his mind, the best way to do that was to immerse himself in their culture. He rose from his seat and shook hands with the magistrate.

"Thank you for your kindness. I am Roskin, son of Kraganere."

"I am Rewokog, Magistrate of West Hills County."

Rewokog gave Roskin directions into town and handed him a few coins. The dwarf tried to refuse the money, but the Marshwogg insisted. They said good bye, and Roskin took the path Rewokog had indicated. As the trail wound towards town, small houses began to appear, and despite their modest size, each home was well-maintained with clean, neat lawns. To most Tredjards and Kiredurks a" dwarves who lived underground in buildings of stone a" homes of wood were cheap and temporary, but the carpentry of these houses was of such a masterful quality that Roskin admired them. Other than with Kwarck and at Murkdolm, he had not felt very comfortable outside his kingdom, but the Marshwogg houses were warm and inviting, making him feel at home.

The town itself was also well-built and inviting. The streets were broad and smooth, with simple signposts marking each road and providing brief directions to various sections and specific locations within the town. The buildings displayed the same excellent craftsmanship as the houses, and each business was indicated by a reserved, elegant sign. None of the structures showed signs of disrepair, and there was no trash on the ground. Other than a few of the townships in his kingdom, Roskin had never been so impressed by the austere beauty of a settlement.

All around town, Marshwoggs went about their daily business, but despite their obvious industriousness, they were polite and civil to the dwarf as he wandered through the streets. In fact, they were the most gracious and orderly people he had ever met. Once he had walked around much of the business section and had familiarized himself with the layout, he chose a tavern for his meal. Inside, he found a table in a back corner and took a seat. He was greeted promptly by a server who brought him a tankard of cool water and a small basket of unsh.e.l.led nuts.

"Welcome to our town," she said in the common language. Unlike the magistrate, she didn't bother trying her native tongue with strangers. "What may I bring you?"

"I only have this much money," Roskin said, laying the coins on the table.

"For this much," the server said, picking up one coin. "I can bring you a plate of food and one tankard of ale, if that suits you."

"I haven't tasted a good ale in several months. That'll suit me just fine.

She returned in a few minutes with the ale and a plate of freshwater trout cleaned and baked in fresh herbs. After thanking him for his business, she excused herself and went back to the kitchen. Forgetting all manners, Roskin tore the fish into large hunks with the table-knife and gobbled them down as quickly as he could cut them. If his step-mother had seen him, she would have scolded his uncivil behavior. The fish had been prepared perfectly and tasted better than anything he could remember eating. When he finished the meal, he turned up the tankard and took a long drink, and it tasted almost as good as the fish. He leaned back in his seat and finished it in just a few more pulls.

"How was it?" the server asked, clearing the table after he was done.

"How much for another ale?"

"I can't serve you another."

She explained to him that in the business sections drinks were limited to one per meal. If he wanted to drink to excess, he would have to go to one of the taverns in the indulgent section of town, where he could find gambling, alcohol, and a wide variety of physical pleasures. The Marshwoggs believed that those habits were a necessary part of life for relieving tension, but that the individuals wishing not to partake should not be enc.u.mbered by the ones who did. Therefore, most Marshwogg towns relegated one area for indulgence and mandated that other areas adhere to moderation and restraint.

"In that case," he said, standing and gathering his other coins. "Thank you for the wonderful meal."

"No, thank you. Come back for supper. We hope your friends come by as well."

"My friends," Roskin asked, surprised that a server in a tavern knew about them.

"From the mountains. We've been expecting you."

"Really?" he said.

"We're glad to have you here."

Bewildered, he excused himself from the restaurant and went outside. For a few minutes, he stood in its walkway and wondered about what she had said. His intuition gave him no feelings of ill towards them, but something about these creatures made him uneasy. Finally, he returned to the street and walked through the business sections, admiring the variety of goods and services available in such a small town.

In his own kingdom, a town of this size would only have at most two tailors, blacksmiths, bakers, and butchers, each offering basically the same products of the same quality, but this town had several of each one. The individual tailors offered different styles and grades of clothing. Likewise, the different bakers provided different styles of bread and pastries. Every other business was like that, as well, and Roskin stopped into a cobbler's shop to buy a new pair of boots, if he could afford them with what he had left.

Inside the shop, the smell of leather and polish was pungent, but otherwise the place was clean and well-organized. The front of the store had several racks of various boots and shoes, and for a moment, Roskin was overwhelmed with so much choice. He hadn't been in the shop for more than a few heartbeats when a Marshwogg appeared from the back and offered to a.s.sist him. Roskin marveled that so many of them spoke the common language. He explained that he needed a good pair of boots that could withstand extremely long marches but also offer good footing in battle.

The Marshwogg measured the dwarf's foot and went to the back to retrieve a couple of different styles. He returned with a pair in each hand and motioned for Roskin to sit. The dwarf obeyed, and the Marshwogg removed the tattered, blood-stained leather strips he had been wearing for two months. The first pair of boots were uncomfortable, but the second wrapped around his foot and ankle like a warm pillow. He stood and tested them, and not only were they comfortable, they gripped the wooden floor and provided excellent footing, as well.

"How much?" he asked, holding out his coins.

"I'm afraid you'll need about five more of those."

Roskin stared ahead, his mouth agape. For the first time in his life, he couldn't afford to purchase something he wanted, and the feeling was maddening. He began to remove the boots, but the Marshwogg stopped him.

"Let me make you this offer," he said. "I have some materials around back that need to be hauled to the end of this street. I'll pay you the five coins if you'll do that labor for me."

Remembering how much he had enjoyed working on Kwarck's farm, Roskin agreed to the deal and followed the Marshwogg out back. Sc.r.a.ps of leather and other materials were stacked in a dozen barrels, and the cobbler directed Roskin to empty them into the bins on the back of a large wagon at the end of the street but not to throw away the barrels. Roskin went to work, hoisting each barrel in a bear-hug and muscling it to the bins. Within an hour, his clothes were soaked with sweat, but the job was finished, so he returned to the cobbler to make sure they were settled.

"Fine work," the cobbler said, patting the dwarf on the back. "I'm glad we could make the trade."

"Me, too," Roskin replied. "I'm just curious, though. What will the owner think of it? Won't this mess up tax collection?"

"Well, I'm one of the owners, and since the others didn't want to haul all that sc.r.a.p themselves, I'm sure they won't mind."

"There's more than one owner? Do all of you work in the shop like common laborers?"

"Of course!" the Marshwogg gasped as if Roskin had said something bizarre. "Why wouldn't we?"

"In my culture, there's the ruling cla.s.s who govern, the management cla.s.s who own and oversee businesses, and the working cla.s.s who perform the manual labor."

The Marshwogg stared in disbelief.

"Why does that seem so strange?" Roskin said. "That's what I've seen pretty much everywhere else I've been, too."

"These ruling and management cla.s.ses, what do they do for income?" the Marshwogg asked, still staring.

"They make sure things run properly."

"But how do they know to run things if they don't work?"

"That is their work. Some people are good at labor, while others are good at organizing."

The Marshwogg described for Roskin how all businesses within the republic were owned and managed by the people who worked in that business. Wages were determined by the quality and quant.i.ty of work performed in making a product or providing a service, so each person within the business had an incentive to grow, improve, and progress the venture. In order to have leadership and vision, most businesses would elect their most talented individuals as managers to guide the others. As long as the manager performed well, that person would stay in charge until a change was needed. Of course, some businesses failed because of poor leadership, ineffective labor, or bad craftsmanship, but the consumers within a community determined that by choosing whether or not to do business there.

"As far as taxes, we'll pay our 10% just as if you had paid the full amount."

"The business pays 10%, so how much of your income do you then have to pay, as well?"

"I don't."

"Come on!" Roskin exclaimed. "You can't just pay 10%."

"Why? How does it work in your kingdom?"

"Each business pays 15 to 25%, based on sales, and then each laborer pays the same from their wages."

"So you tax both the transaction and the worker? How does anybody own anything in your kingdom?"

"Well, the king maintains all the mines and cities and pa.s.sages. Then, there are the schools and the military, and of course the granaries."

"That sounds painfully inefficient."

"My kingdom is very efficient," Roskin almost shouted, his temper flaring. "We work hard to keep it as lean as possible. We are a very successful nation."

"I meant no disrespect. We have our way that works for us, and you have your way."

Roskin took a deep breath and let his temper dissipate. He didn't want to argue with someone who had been so friendly. Besides, despite his uneasiness, he was intrigued by the way these strange people operated. He had grown up studying the economic history and evolution of his kingdom, and he could see some advantages to this system. His kingdom hindered compet.i.tion and innovation and, as such, could not evolve beyond its current form without major changes. From this epiphany, he wanted more than ever to return home and share what he had learned with his father.

"Thank you for the boots," he said. "I'm grateful for your kindness."

"You're welcome, my friend. I'm grateful for your a.s.sistance. I hate emptying the barrels."

"When I see my friends, I'll send them here for their own boots. I'm sure they'll need them."

"Thank you. Come back and visit me anytime. My partners will be here later, too. We expect a lot of business, so we're all going to work the next few days."

Roskin said goodbye and returned to the street. After marching for so long in the crude strips of leather, he had almost forgotten how good it felt to walk in comfortable boots. The more he moved in them, the better they fit his feet. His personal cobbler, who had fitted him for footwear his entire life and made what Roskin had thought were good shoes and boots, had never made anything as exquisite as this pair.

As he walked around, he saw that the first of the freed slaves were entering town, so he moved towards them to find his friends and show them around. As he walked among the dwarves and elves, he quickly realized that the only ones in town were the wounded and elderly. He was bothered that - other than a few who carried the seriously wounded, including Vishghu - none of the healthy were in town, so he headed back towards the guard tower to find out why. As he walked, a flood of terrible thoughts went through his head, and he feared that something unspeakable had happened to them. He couldn't explain why, but he felt that he had been suckered into some trap, and his friends were paying the price for his clumsiness. By the time he reached the tower, the magistrate was already long gone, and the new guard offered little on the situation. The fear morphing into anger, Roskin got directions for finding the magistrate and stormed back to town.

He found the house easily, and it was the same as most of the others he had seen, modest and pragmatic, warm and inviting. He pounded on the door and waited for a response. After a couple of minutes, he could hear someone stirring inside, so he knocked again, in case they hadn't heard him. In a few heartbeats, the magistrate opened the door, smiling at the Kiredurk.

"Where are my friends?" Roskin asked, a hint of threat in his voice.

"They're all over town," Rewokog returned, the smile fading from his thin face. "I led them here myself."

"There's only the ones needing medicine. Where are the others?"

"Son of Kraganere, watch your tone on my doorstep."

On the street, a handful of pa.s.sersby gathered to watch the scene.

"Just tell me where my friends are. Why are they not in town?"

"I have only shown you respect and courtesy, young dwarf. Don't insult me at my home."