Part Two - Alliance
Onwat is sorting scraps of tin from aluminum for re-smelting when Tikri knocks three times on the door to her stall and offers the customary greeting.
“Hello Trader Onwat.”
“Come in Digger Tikri” she responds, sliding the trays under her counter, her shoulders relaxing with the knowledge her next customer is a friend. Tikri places his small bag of scraps on the countertop and looks intently at Onwat.
“I have something I would like to tell you, but no one else can know.”
“My word is my promise. What is going on?”
“I found a place from Before. A hole opened up when I was digging. I almost fell in. I couldn’t see much. It looked big. A floor way down, black and white squares like a chess board.”
“Are you sure?”
“What should we do Onwat?”
“For now you and I are enough people to know. Maybe once we know more we share more. Are you sure it was from Before?”
“My word is my promise,” says Tikri, invoking the Guarantee. The first of the Market Rules. The phrase that brought peace out of anarchy, order to violence and chaos. So old now, no one knew its exact beginning. It’s promise of honesty and fair dealing a relic of Before, origins lost in the End.
“Do you think you can find it again?” asks Onwat.
“Of course.”
“We go one hour before the gates open in the morning. I will bring a rope. Tell no one Tikri. And don’t get your hopes up. Things from Before don’t always turn out to be what they seem. There are poisons down there and places you cannot escape.”
Tikri nods and pushes his bag of scraps across the counter.
“I will take food credits for these.”
A smile plays in his eyes. He whispers to Onwat.
“Is it a mall Onwat? I saw something like that once -- on TV Time.”
Onwat’s face betrays no emotion as she weighs the detritus. She looks at him for a moment, then a moment more. Finally, her face cracks into a grin as she slides 3 credit chips back.
“Oh Tikri, children’s stories and fairy tales! Exactly the sort of thing I am talking about. You will be disappointed when your hole is full of nothing but dust.”
A knock at the door. “Hello Trader Onwat!” comes a voice from outside the stall.
Onwat and Tikri exchange a knowing look.
“Come in Digger Doblo,” she says.
The wizened old Digger pushes the door open with a bulging sack. They grunt as they throw the bag onto the counter, dirty white plastic bags spilling out. Doblo turns to Tikri with a beaming grin.
“What a day, What a day! Plastic in the South. Winds last night blew in tumblebags as far as the eye could see. It’s an egg for dinner for Doblo tonight!”
Doblo motions toward Tikri’s three credits on the counter and laughs.
Where did you dig today Tikri? Not in the South I think!”
Egg. Tikri’s mouth waters at the very word. His three credits will buy a bowl of rice, some carrot and onion. But tomorrow. The mall. It has to be the mall. Maybe a taste of real meat one day. Not rat or mealworm.
He looks at Onwat as Doblo starts counting credits. She tilts her head.
“East Doblo. I went East. Nothing for miles.”
“Thanks for the tip Tikri,” Doblo laughs. “Here you go, I feel generous tonight.”
Doblo takes a credit from their growing pile and adds it to the younger Digger’s trio of plastic chips.
“Have an apple slice for dessert my friend. I don’t mind sharing a little bit for those who don’t know where to dig.”
Tikri bristles, catches a stone-faced Onwat looking at him from the corner of her eye. He smiles at the ancient Digger.
“Tomorrow I will look south Doblo, Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“Too late tomorrow. Tomorrow I go where the wind takes me. Keep following those tumblebags.”
Doblo turns to Onwat.
“Tell me Trader, how much did I get?”
Onwat tallies the credit chips.
“48 chips Doblo. You can take a day off.”
“A day! Maybe a Trader can take a day off!” Doblo laughs again. “I will take twelve credits now Onwat and bank the rest.”
Onwat counts out 12 chips for Doblo and slides the rest back under the counter. She makes a note in her ledger and hands it to Doblo for their initials, making sure Tikri cannot see the total. They may be friends but Market Rules are clear. How many credits you bank is strictly between you and your Trader.
“Enjoy your egg Doblo, and thank you again for the credit!”
Tikri steps out the door and into Tradetown’s end-of-day rituals. As he walks, the food stall hawkers chanting their specials and prices slowly grow louder. The rare smell of a roasting goat reaches his nose. He remembers. A marriage between the Traders and the Minders tonight. The strongest families of all the guilds will be invited to the Feast Hall. Not Tikri. An orphan since five and raised in the communal bunks. He didn’t remember his parents. Died after a flood, victims of some kind of plague. At least Tradetown took care of its children. Market Rules made sure no children went hungry before they saw 14 years of age, or thereabouts, if nobody knew when you were born. But it was mostly potatoes or bread, a little mealworm. Tikri vowed he would give the communal children a feast for the ages, if he found the mall. It wasn’t a Market Rule, but Tikri liked how just the idea of it made him feel better inside. Like the thought of an apple slice at dinner. His stomach growls. A familiar feeling.
Read Part One
Go to Part Three