His daughter was distraught; that much was obvious. Laying the sack with the plucked goose he had brought with him for the weekend dinner down on the dining table, Terchin walked into the parlor beyond, from whence the sound of Peledra yelling had been emanating until just a moment ago. There he saw his daughter and her husband, the merchant Anniock. He was a man still young and handsome, though in a way that suggested he was aware of it and carefully presented himself as such. Anniock was sitting on a carved mahogany stool, his body hunched over with elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Peledra stood over him, her body language expressing outrage. No wonder the cook and maid were nowhere to be seen.

  He looked up at Terchin suddenly, noticing at last that someone else was in the room. Terchin realized that Peledra must have heard him enter the house, which was doubtless why the shouting had ceased. Always aware of her surroundings, just like her father, he thought. Well, the sooner they got whatever this was sorted out, the sooner they could have dinner.

  “Looks like I walked in on something serious,” he said mildly, in an attempt to somewhat de-escalate the palpable tension between the couple. “I don’t want to intrude on your affairs, but is there anything I can do to help?”

  Anniock opened his mouth to speak, but Peledra cut him off – not a good sign. “No,” she quickly retorted, “this is a hole I think my husband is going to have to climb up out of himself!”

  Terchin silently assessed the situation. His daughter, a slender woman of just 19 years, had flushed cheeks, but otherwise looked normal – no bruises, neither clothes nor hair mussed. No signs of physical abuse – that was a relief. Anything else he could forgive and work with. Probably. He pulled up a stool of his own and made a show of seating himself gingerly as if his feet had been giving him pain. Playing the role of the elderly father past his prime. He ventured a guess to test the waters.

  “Anniock, so is business giving you any trouble?” He immediately knew he had hit the mark. Anniock sighed heavily, then began to speak.

  “There was a caravan heading out to the northwest province. I knew it was going to travel through the Ebonwood. There’s a lot of bandits there that have been attacking people, and trade from the city along that route has almost been cut off.”

  “Yes, I had heard about that. Quite the risk to run. So you were one of the ones fronting that caravan?”

  “Well, I... actually I had a short sale against it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I held a position in the futures market on that caravan whereby, for a nominal fee, I borrowed futures contracts with the promise to return them in kind to the original owners within six weeks. So after I borrowed them I immediately sold them and placed an order to purchase the same amount in six weeks’ time – when I was sure they could be had for a much lower price. Then I would return them and pocket the difference as profit. It’s… kind of the opposite of what traders usually do.” The tones Anniock employed as he related this were a curious mixture, sheepish but didactic as if it was simultaneously an admission of failure and yet a somewhat condescending display of a superior intellect.

  Terchin frowned as he considered the implications. “So wait…you were counting on the caravan to fail?” That seemed almost ghoulish to him, as bad as profiteering during wartime. This must be one of those investing “innovations” he had heard mentioned occasionally in his dealings over the last year.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Yes, but it didn’t. I just found out it arrived intact at its destination, with no losses whatsoever. I can’t understand it!” Anniock mechanically shook his head from side to side in small convulsive jerks, obviously still grappling with this unexpected twist of fate.

  “That sounds an awful lot like a wager to me. Business always has some risk, but outright speculating…”

  “Shorting is the most reliable way to make a large profit in little time!” his son-in-law insisted. He might as well have said, keep up with the times, old man!

  “Sounds to me like it’s a good way to take a large loss instead,” Terchin sharply replied.

  Anniock did not respond but pursed his lips as his face flushed.

  “But you couldn’t stop at that, could you?” Peledra demanded rhetorically, “Like some sick, frenzied gambler you staked everything – and lost!”

  Terchin attempted to placate his daughter’s wrath. “All right, so you lost on some caravan shares. It happens. I have had a few misadventures myself, and yes, it does sting the pride as well as the purse.”

  Peledra’s eyes blazed. “No – you don’t understand, you don’t know the full extent of it! Tell him, Anniock, tell him.”

  Anniock gulped and hesitated. But then in a flat, monotone voice he said, “I didn’t buy some of the caravan shares. I bought all of them.”

  “What? That’s quite a bit of money.” Terchin’s eyes widened. “Wow, that must have wiped you out. I can understand the black mood here. But not to worry, I can help you get back on your feet.”

  “No. See, in order to purchase all the shares, I borrowed heavily…as much as I was able to, in fact. It’s called ‘leverage’. It’s done all the time these days!” Anniock was still clinging to the last shreds of his dignity, vociferously claiming that what he had done was completely within the bounds of customary business practice, as if that sufficed to preserve his conception of himself.

  Peledra seemed ready to explode. Her pent-up anger could no longer be leashed.

  “We’re ruined!” Peledra cried. “All the capital we had built up – all squandered and then some! The business, the house – my dowry – collateral to be given away at bargain prices! And all because you – you the great financial wizard, the shrewd operator, you became too big for your britches, and got greedy!” She sneered at him. Terchin was a bit taken aback at her fury.

  For several moments silence reigned in that parlor, replete with strife.

  But to Terchin there still were a few gaps that needed to be filled. “And who did you borrow the money from?”

  “Argel. Who even had given me a grace period of one month before the debt began accruing interest! It was like getting free money! I thought I couldn’t lose!”

  Terchin felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It would be him, wouldn’t it? Argel was a nouveau riche moneylender and trader known for being very lucky – or more accurately, doing business with people who suddenly became very unlucky.

  Nonetheless, he took his daughter’s hand into his own and squeezed it.

  “Don’t give up hope, Pel. And please don’t do anything rash, the two of you. Just sit tight. Let me look into it.” Terchin said, in a reassuring tone he didn’t entirely feel himself.

  “But father, what can you do?” Peledra asked, clearly wanting to put her trust in him but too levelheaded to believe that everything would work out. She seemed about to burst into tears, exhausted by the depths and immensity of the reversal of their fortunes.

  “You may be surprised. Besides, what do you have to lose?” He almost winced as the words came out of his mouth, and then decided, as was his wont, to just keep going, “you’ve already lost everything!” And he even barked a brief laugh in defiance of the gloom that had settled over the household that was not received particularly well. Whatever. “Don’t let that goose sit out too long,” he advised. “I’ll be going now but will be in touch. There’s work to be done.”

  At least, he thought as he strode out the door back into the streets with their lengthening shadows, he had a purpose now.