The Miser and The Demon

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Benor was walking down Slip Pike Lane at a steady pace. Anybody watching him might have noted that his stride was precise, each step exactly the same length as the last. Somebody particularly observant might have noticed that every ten paces, Benor made a mark on a piece of paper with an indelible pencil. At this point they might have realised that they were witnessing a cartographer at work.
Slip Pike Lane is one of the streets that run parallel to Ropewalk. The
original houses were all quite large and now virtually all of them have been divided into apartments. Benor quite liked the area, the houses were solid, everything looked reasonably well maintained and the people put on a brave face and made the best of a very modest prosperity. One house had caught Benor’s eye. Perhaps alone of all the houses on the street it appeared to be derelict. There was no glass in the windows, there were slates missing off the roof and the door hung open. When he’d looked inside previously, it appeared utterly deserted, there wasn’t even any evidence of it being squatted in.
As he passed it this time he noticed two men come out. One could have been a clerk of some sort but the other Benor thought he recognised. It was Gumption Silvernant. Tallis had pointed the man out to him and described him as the meanest miser in Port Naain. He was currently engaged in conversation with the other man.
As Benor overheard the conversation he decided the other man was a clerk of works or similar. Benor heard him say, “You’ll need new roof timbers!” The miser glared at him. “A house nobody will live in and you want me to buy new timbers! So they can just rot unmourned like the ones my father put in?” “Well if you don’t do something soon, the whole lot will be down about your ears.”
Both men had stopped and were looking back at the neglected house. Benor also stopped and commented casually, “If you use decent second hand you could get the roof weather-proof. With a reasonable roof you’ve a chance of getting a tenant.” Silvernant turned to his builder and pointed to Benor. “If a passing stranger can spot something so obvious, how is it you cannot?”
The miser turned back to Benor, “And you are?” “Benor Dorfinngil, Cartographer, at your service.” Silvernant peered closely at him, “You a friend of that Tallis Steelyard individual?” “I am.”“A rogue and a wastrel!” Silvernant paused briefly, “But doubtless an honest
enough friend. Now you were saying about decent second hand timber?” “They’re stripping a lot of timber from the sheds by the Graving Dock. Some of it looked decent.” The miser looked at his clerk of works. The other man shrugged. “I can go and look; we will always have a job for it. But it’s still money wasted if nobody will live in the house.” With that he left.
Benor would have moved on, but Silvernant had rested a gaunt hand on the young cartographer’s shoulder. “Look around lad, how many houses to I own in this street?” Benor shrugged. Silvernant continued, “A nice round dozen. Aye and they’re every bit as well maintained as the others. He turned to glare at Benor. “I’ve got good tenants; they’re all up-to-date with their rent, so I want to keep them happy. A happy tenant is a profitable tenant.” He prodded the young man in the chest. “Never save brass and waste silver.”
Benor was too dumbstruck to reply. He wasn’t sure whether Tallis would entirely believe him if he were repeat this lecture to the poet.
The miser continued. “They say I’m mean, but I’m no fool.” He sighed. “So what am I going to do with this damned house!” Hesitantly Benor said, “Well if you get a roof on….” Heavily the older man said, “More damned expense. What I need is a tenant.” He paused, deep in thought, his hand still firmly clasping Benor’s shoulder in a claw-like grip. “I’ll do a deal with you lad. I suspect you like a wager?”
Benor ignored everything but the deal. “What’s the deal?” “It’s like this. I’ve bits and pieces of land and property all over the city. It wouldn’t hurt to have them surveyed. Probably take a smart lad a
couple of weeks. I suspect a decent plan would show where I’ve space to build. What’s your rate?”“Five alars a week, which covers me and an apprentice.” Silvernant sucked in sharply through clenched teeth. “Only a young chap and he still knows how to charge! Well this is the deal. I’ll book you to do the work. I’ll also book you to get me tenants in this house. If you get me the tenants who stay at least a month, I’ll pay you for three weeks’ work, even if it takes a week. If you don’t get me the tenants I’ll pay you for a week’s work, even if it takes three.”
Benor considered the wager. It wasn’t as if he had a lot of work on. “Tricky getting a tenant for a house with no roof.” Silvernant looked back at the house as if surprised by the revelation. “Tell you what; if this tenant of yours sleeps for a week in the house, I’ll get a roof on sharpish, even if I have to use new timber!” Benor tried to read the old man. There had to be a catch. But as far as he could tell, the catch was working for a poor rate. But there again, it was still better pay than the casual work he’d been picking up and he could work on his ‘Guide to Port Naain’ whilst he was working for the miser. He held out his hand. “You’re on!” The miser grasped his hand firmly. “I’ll get a week’s money to you by nightfall. I don’t carry a lot of cash on my person.”
Benor arrived back to the barge to find Tallis staring mesmerised at a pile of silver coins on the table. Benor looked enquiringly at Shena who just sighed. “Somebody came from Gumption Silvernant saying this was the money the old miser owed you.” Mutt rolled out from under the table. “Well you got all your limbs. Tallis reckoned you’d sold your soul; I reckoned it weren’t worth that much.” “I’m doing some work for him.” Tallis looked up, “Who do you have to kill?”
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