[Fic] "The Common Woman's Gold" -- Chronicles of Narnia
Summary: In which Aravis encounters an unexpected complication on her way to set up a moderately illegal coffee import contract. (1,110 words)
Note: Written for
musesfool, in response to the prompt: Aravis & Lasaraleen: A Member of the Underclass! (undercover in the marketplace? sneaking out to have adventures?) It is also a fill for the
ladiesbingo square: a member of the underclass.
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The Common Woman's Gold
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Coffee is the common man's gold. --Sheik Abd-al-Kadir
-----
"For the ninth time, Lasaraleen," Aravis said very sweetly through clenched teeth as she and her childhood friend sat atop a pile of planks next to a half-built ship, the cries of gulls and shipwrights neatly obscuring their conversation from any potential eavesdroppers, "you cannot be here."
"Darling, I know," Lasaraleen said, "which is why I'm not here at all. Neither are you!" She swept a hand grandly down her grubby, salt-stained dress and trousers, perfectly suitable for a Handmaid of Zardeenah but unthinkable for a Tarkheena, and beamed at Aravis. "Aleena of Firoz, second Handmaid of the Alabaster Lamp, is exploring Armouth in the company of a gracious and charitable expatriate countrywoman who couldn't possibly be a noble companion of the long-lost Archen prince -- not in those tatty stablehand's clothes."
Aravis pinched the bridge of her nose and reminded herself that Lasaraleen was not, despite appearances, stupid. Her thoughts simply flowed at right angles to Aravis's own. There was a way to translate.
"Fine. You're here in disguise, no matter that you could be killed by two countries if your true name were discovered, and you somehow stumbled over me--"
"There was no stumbling involved. I planned this very carefully!" Lasaraleen interrupted. "Possibly not the splinters -- nobody in her right mind would plan for splinters -- but I suppose the state of my hands makes the disguise more solid."
"That's worse. Do you understand that that makes it worse? That means your trip was intentional instead of an impulse, and you have spies in Archenland."
Lasaraleen rolled her eyes. "Darling, everyone has spies. They're called traders. And right now everyone who's anyone in the coffee business is aware that you are looking for a reliable way to import coffee without paying through the nose to satisfy Archenland's absurd import tariffs. You might recall that my father's lands are almost entirely coffee groves, not to mention at least two-thirds of the commoners who look to him are also coffee farmers."
Aravis sighed in the heaviest, most melodramatic fashion she could. "Fine. Fine! Yes, I came to Armouth in disguise to set up a moderately illegal coffee import contract. Yes, you can help me and ensure the Calormene end of the contract benefits your father. But you absolutely cannot tell anyone at the Tisroc's court--"
"--may he live forever--" Lasaraleen interjected.
"--may he choke on a sweetmeat."
"Aravis! You mustn't say such things."
"You know what he's like as well as I do. You were right next to me, behind that sofa."
"Yes, but you still shouldn't say it. Especially not when you're in disguise. What's to stop anyone from taking offense?"
"Nobody does in Archenland. But I suppose it wouldn't be wise when talking to Calormene merchants," Aravis conceded. Then she returned to her point. "All that aside, I insist you tell me why you're really here, because not even you are ridiculous enough to travel to a hostile country, in disguise, to arrange a trifling business deal."
Lasaraleen crossed her legs and imitated Aravis's dramatic sigh. "You wound me with these suspicions. I wouldn't tell those court bores anything anyway -- did you know, they become quite tiresome after one gets to know them properly? -- and honestly, my reasons are obvious. I came to see you, darling! It's been two years and not a single letter, which is downright unfriendly when I know you know perfectly well how to send a private message."
"Forgive me if I'm no longer willing to threaten a slave with mutilation or death," Aravis hissed.
"There are better ways to ensure discretion," Lasaraleen said. "Which I learned on my own, thank you very much, so you can stop holding your Northern virtues over me. Now, let's go see about that coffee. I'm certain we can come to an agreement satisfactory to all parties, after which I expect you to treat me to a proper afternoon coffee, fruit and pastries included. It's the least you can do, darling, after such a long silence."
She hooked her arm neatly around Aravis's elbow and began tugging her down off the planks and toward the Alabaster Lamp's mooring.
Aravis grabbed hold of a plank and set her heels against the uneven cobbles of the quayside. "Lasara-- Aleena, what are you doing? I can't face the merchants directly! What if they come to Anvard and recognize me?"
"Firstly, nobody on a ship this insignificant could possibly be invited to a royal court--" Lasaraleen began.
"Not in Calormen, but the North is different!"
Lasaraleen stopped pulling Aravis's arm and absently brushed down her salt-stained dress. "Ah. Yes. Truly, the barbarians are a strange folk. Even so, they haven't discovered me, and why should you imagine yourself so much more memorable? No one looks twice at a servant!" She gestured at herself and Aravis, then waved her hand toward the shipwrights and the throng of merchants, fishers, sailors, and harbor workers -- none of whom were paying any attention to a squabble between two Calormene girls in faded clothes and tatty shoes. "You see? We might as well be furniture."
"That's mostly because Archens like to pretend they don't depend on trade with the south. Paying attention to Calormenes would make them lose face."
"I don't believe they'd pay one jot more attention if our skin were as sickly pale as salt," Lasaraleen said, tossing her windblown hair. "And as for anyone who meets you at court, I've learned that precious few people look past my clothes and jewels to mark my expression, let alone the shape of my face. Wear something bright to catch the eye and a strong perfume to delight the nose! That will take care of the distraction, so long as you don't fidget and act like you have a secret."
"Northerners think strong perfume is vulgar," Aravis said in a tone even she knew was sulky and defeated.
"Pish to what Northerners think! If you cared so much, you wouldn't be sneaking out to buy moderately illegal coffee."
Aravis sighed. "Fine. But you must remember to call me Yasruyya. We're second cousins, I came to the North three years ago when times were hard in Firoz, and I work in the Lady Mayor's stables."
"And you know the Tarkheena Aravis because...?"
"Because she likes to care for her own horses, and we both miss proper coffee," Aravis said. "The stablemaster will vouch for me -- not that anyone should ask. His mother is Calormene, and she also dislikes the tariff rate on coffee."
"Excellent!" Lasaraleen declared, rubbing her hands together. "The more customers we can bring into this venture, the better. Now, Yasruyya my darling, let's go make a deal."
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End of Fic
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For the curious, the "Handmaid of Zardeenah" thing is a bit of headcanon I just made up this year for my Narnia Fic Exchange fill. In summary, Calormene sailors consider it Very Important to have at least one girl to young-ish woman on every ship to act as a stand-in for the goddess Zardeenah and perform propitiating rites for Sokda, the god of the sea and storms.
*dusts hands* Okay, on to the next prompt!
(I may tweak this one a little before crossposting it to AO3. I think the end is a little thematically weak, but I can't quite pin down why. Let me know if you have any advice!) If you want to comment on this post, you can do so over here on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
Note: Written for
musesfool, in response to the prompt: Aravis & Lasaraleen: A Member of the Underclass! (undercover in the marketplace? sneaking out to have adventures?) It is also a fill for the
ladiesbingo square: a member of the underclass.
---------------------------------------------
The Common Woman's Gold
---------------------------------------------
Coffee is the common man's gold. --Sheik Abd-al-Kadir
-----
"For the ninth time, Lasaraleen," Aravis said very sweetly through clenched teeth as she and her childhood friend sat atop a pile of planks next to a half-built ship, the cries of gulls and shipwrights neatly obscuring their conversation from any potential eavesdroppers, "you cannot be here."
"Darling, I know," Lasaraleen said, "which is why I'm not here at all. Neither are you!" She swept a hand grandly down her grubby, salt-stained dress and trousers, perfectly suitable for a Handmaid of Zardeenah but unthinkable for a Tarkheena, and beamed at Aravis. "Aleena of Firoz, second Handmaid of the Alabaster Lamp, is exploring Armouth in the company of a gracious and charitable expatriate countrywoman who couldn't possibly be a noble companion of the long-lost Archen prince -- not in those tatty stablehand's clothes."
Aravis pinched the bridge of her nose and reminded herself that Lasaraleen was not, despite appearances, stupid. Her thoughts simply flowed at right angles to Aravis's own. There was a way to translate.
"Fine. You're here in disguise, no matter that you could be killed by two countries if your true name were discovered, and you somehow stumbled over me--"
"There was no stumbling involved. I planned this very carefully!" Lasaraleen interrupted. "Possibly not the splinters -- nobody in her right mind would plan for splinters -- but I suppose the state of my hands makes the disguise more solid."
"That's worse. Do you understand that that makes it worse? That means your trip was intentional instead of an impulse, and you have spies in Archenland."
Lasaraleen rolled her eyes. "Darling, everyone has spies. They're called traders. And right now everyone who's anyone in the coffee business is aware that you are looking for a reliable way to import coffee without paying through the nose to satisfy Archenland's absurd import tariffs. You might recall that my father's lands are almost entirely coffee groves, not to mention at least two-thirds of the commoners who look to him are also coffee farmers."
Aravis sighed in the heaviest, most melodramatic fashion she could. "Fine. Fine! Yes, I came to Armouth in disguise to set up a moderately illegal coffee import contract. Yes, you can help me and ensure the Calormene end of the contract benefits your father. But you absolutely cannot tell anyone at the Tisroc's court--"
"--may he live forever--" Lasaraleen interjected.
"--may he choke on a sweetmeat."
"Aravis! You mustn't say such things."
"You know what he's like as well as I do. You were right next to me, behind that sofa."
"Yes, but you still shouldn't say it. Especially not when you're in disguise. What's to stop anyone from taking offense?"
"Nobody does in Archenland. But I suppose it wouldn't be wise when talking to Calormene merchants," Aravis conceded. Then she returned to her point. "All that aside, I insist you tell me why you're really here, because not even you are ridiculous enough to travel to a hostile country, in disguise, to arrange a trifling business deal."
Lasaraleen crossed her legs and imitated Aravis's dramatic sigh. "You wound me with these suspicions. I wouldn't tell those court bores anything anyway -- did you know, they become quite tiresome after one gets to know them properly? -- and honestly, my reasons are obvious. I came to see you, darling! It's been two years and not a single letter, which is downright unfriendly when I know you know perfectly well how to send a private message."
"Forgive me if I'm no longer willing to threaten a slave with mutilation or death," Aravis hissed.
"There are better ways to ensure discretion," Lasaraleen said. "Which I learned on my own, thank you very much, so you can stop holding your Northern virtues over me. Now, let's go see about that coffee. I'm certain we can come to an agreement satisfactory to all parties, after which I expect you to treat me to a proper afternoon coffee, fruit and pastries included. It's the least you can do, darling, after such a long silence."
She hooked her arm neatly around Aravis's elbow and began tugging her down off the planks and toward the Alabaster Lamp's mooring.
Aravis grabbed hold of a plank and set her heels against the uneven cobbles of the quayside. "Lasara-- Aleena, what are you doing? I can't face the merchants directly! What if they come to Anvard and recognize me?"
"Firstly, nobody on a ship this insignificant could possibly be invited to a royal court--" Lasaraleen began.
"Not in Calormen, but the North is different!"
Lasaraleen stopped pulling Aravis's arm and absently brushed down her salt-stained dress. "Ah. Yes. Truly, the barbarians are a strange folk. Even so, they haven't discovered me, and why should you imagine yourself so much more memorable? No one looks twice at a servant!" She gestured at herself and Aravis, then waved her hand toward the shipwrights and the throng of merchants, fishers, sailors, and harbor workers -- none of whom were paying any attention to a squabble between two Calormene girls in faded clothes and tatty shoes. "You see? We might as well be furniture."
"That's mostly because Archens like to pretend they don't depend on trade with the south. Paying attention to Calormenes would make them lose face."
"I don't believe they'd pay one jot more attention if our skin were as sickly pale as salt," Lasaraleen said, tossing her windblown hair. "And as for anyone who meets you at court, I've learned that precious few people look past my clothes and jewels to mark my expression, let alone the shape of my face. Wear something bright to catch the eye and a strong perfume to delight the nose! That will take care of the distraction, so long as you don't fidget and act like you have a secret."
"Northerners think strong perfume is vulgar," Aravis said in a tone even she knew was sulky and defeated.
"Pish to what Northerners think! If you cared so much, you wouldn't be sneaking out to buy moderately illegal coffee."
Aravis sighed. "Fine. But you must remember to call me Yasruyya. We're second cousins, I came to the North three years ago when times were hard in Firoz, and I work in the Lady Mayor's stables."
"And you know the Tarkheena Aravis because...?"
"Because she likes to care for her own horses, and we both miss proper coffee," Aravis said. "The stablemaster will vouch for me -- not that anyone should ask. His mother is Calormene, and she also dislikes the tariff rate on coffee."
"Excellent!" Lasaraleen declared, rubbing her hands together. "The more customers we can bring into this venture, the better. Now, Yasruyya my darling, let's go make a deal."
---------------------------------------------
End of Fic
---------------------------------------------
For the curious, the "Handmaid of Zardeenah" thing is a bit of headcanon I just made up this year for my Narnia Fic Exchange fill. In summary, Calormene sailors consider it Very Important to have at least one girl to young-ish woman on every ship to act as a stand-in for the goddess Zardeenah and perform propitiating rites for Sokda, the god of the sea and storms.
*dusts hands* Okay, on to the next prompt!
(I may tweak this one a little before crossposting it to AO3. I think the end is a little thematically weak, but I can't quite pin down why. Let me know if you have any advice!) If you want to comment on this post, you can do so over here on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)