Steven George & The Dragon
The Trader of Baghalonia
UNDER THE SPELL of Ibin Arriaga, Steven was soon running all manner of errands throughout the great house. After the fire was built and drink was served, there was food to prepare and a tub of water to bring for Ibin to soak his ankle in. Steven gathered a pillow from the master’s bedroom for Ibin’s back and a silver chalice from the cabinet in the eating room for Ibin to drink from. Steven marveled at the size of the house. It seemed most of his village could have lived in its many rooms.
“Now,” said Ibin, as he was settled comfortably in his chair, “how does a dragonslayer come to be in the great city of Byzatica? It seems far from where a dragon is likely to be found, and even given your skill with a bow you seem poorly equipped to do battle with a dragon.”
“Oh, I’m to see an armorer this morning and buy a sword and shield,” said Steven excitedly. “Perhaps I will even buy a horse so I can ride to battle. I’ve been with the knights of the king and I know how to care for chargers.”
“My!” said Ibin. “You must have a wealthy patron to supply you with such lavish armor.”
“I have earned gold coins to pay for armor,” said Steven. “I have learned much about commerce on my journey.”
“Gold coins, eh?” Ibin looked interested.
“Yes,” said Steven. “Only I don’t know where the armorer is now. It was two thousand three hundred seventy-two steps that way, but I don’t remember all the turnings. How do people tell directions in a city? There are so many twists and turns. The sun isn’t even invisible much of the time.”
“Well, now,” said Ibin, “I can help you with that. I can teach you exactly how to find your way in the city. I can even help you get the armor that you need. There is plenty of armor to be had in Byzatica, and I can get it for you wholesale.”
“What does that mean?” asked Steven.
“Cheap,” said Ibin. “You may not have to pay a thing.”
“How can that be?” asked Steven. “Do you mean I should trade something instead of using my gold coins?”
“Yes, exactly,” said Ibin. “Let me tell you a little story.” And so, without further prompting, the roofrunner began his tale.
ONCE UPON A TIME, in the childhood of those who remember, in the exotic city of Baghalonia, there was born a son to a very poor family. Though hard workers, the mother and father scarcely were able to put bread on the table for their family. In the course of time, there came a great plague to that city and the mother and father and brothers and sisters of the small boy all died, leaving the lad to fend for himself in the big cruel world.
Let me explain to you that the world is a cold and cruel place for a child with no family. Often the boy found himself hiding near the livestock pens to snatch a husk of corn or a scrap of grain from the animals. But if he was caught, he would be beaten within a breath of his life. For the wealthy do not count what they have as wealth, nor do they consider themselves to have enough to give to those who have nothing.
Now it happened that one day as the child foraged for food in the dump, he came upon a small vial. A wealthy person might have used this vial to store perfume or fine oil, but it was cracked and dirty. The child imagined what a beautiful piece of pottery it had once been and imagined great things about where it had lived. He polished the bottle until it shined and as he did so, he thought of an idea and the idea became a plan.
He went to the local baker, strode boldly into the shop and said “Please, kind sir, I would like a loaf of bread.” The baker looked at the waif and laughed. “Why would I give such as you a loaf of my fine bread? What have you to pay for it?” The baker made to shoo the boy out of his shop when the boy revealed the bottle. “I have this to trade,” said he.
Now the baker looked at the vial and again he laughed. “This is just an old vial with a crack in it. I have no use for this.”
“Oh,” said the boy. “This is not merely an old vial. It contains a jinni. If you open the vial, he will come out and grant you three wishes.” This intrigued the baker, but he was shrewd.
“If the jinni in the bottle will grant three wishes, why do you not let him out? You would have all the bread you want then.”
“Ah,” said the child. “I have had my three wishes. It is time for someone else to enjoy the bounty of the jinni.” The baker looked at the ragged child and was tempted to laugh again, but wisely decided to question the boy further.
“For what did you wish?”
“My first wish was for untold wealth,” said the boy. “It was instantly granted and I had all that I wanted. I lived in a great palace with servants and food and wine. But I was not happy. With great wealth comes great responsibility. My worries increased and food would not sit in my stomach. I grew pale and wan. So next I asked the jinni for health. The jinni moved me to a desert island where I recovered my health and was free of the stress of my great wealth. But though my needs were all fulfilled, I was not yet happy, for I was all alone. Finally, I asked the jinni if he could not give me happiness. Instantly, he whisked me away from my desert island and left me with nothing but the clothes on my back and friends who call my name and visit me. And now I am satisfied. I no longer need great wealth, nor do I need better health. I do not need this bottle with its jinni. Therefore, I offer it to you for the simple favor of a loaf of bread, of which you have many.”
Now the baker was a greedy man at heart and the story the boy had told him moved him. He was certain that he could manage the jinni more effectively than the child had and would be able to have wealth, health, and happiness for the price of a loaf of bread. So, he agreed to the trade and the boy left with his food.
The next day, the boy found a broken mirror in the dump. He polished the mirror took it to the butcher. “Please, kind sir, I would like a fine sausage.” Like the baker before him, the butcher laughed at the boy and when the boy showed him the mirror, he saw no use for the trinket. But the boy continued with his story.
“This mirror is inhabited by a sprite,” the boy said. “A magician captured it and sealed it in the mirror where it could be commanded to show the bearer the future. I have no use for such a treasure, for my future is much the same as my past. But you, sir, may have a bright future awaiting you.” Now the butcher had recently been courting a maiden in the city and was planning to ask for her hand in marriage. This mirror, he thought, could tell him in advance whether his proposal would be accepted, all for the price of a sausage. So, he traded a sausage for the mirror and the boy left with food. Now it occurred to the boy that these items had no real value other than the foolish desires of those to whom he traded them. And so, he continued to search for odd tidbits in the dump, clean them up while thinking of a story of what they might be, and then trade them for what he needed.
He wearied of telling the stories, so he began to make stories and make the exchanges without actually telling the benefactor. At a pie shop, he left a bit of his bread and sausage for a fine steaming pie and was gone before the baker realized it was missing. He left a thin slice of the pie for a kettle of soup at a soup kitchen while the cook was serving another customer. He left a tin of cold soup in exchange for clothing he took from a washing line. And before long, he had become known as the Trader of Baghalonia. He prospered and did so well that he took on an apprentice in his generosity, teaching the boy how to trade in the city.
Of course, not everyone was happy with what they received in trade and once when he was caught trading three rusty spoons for a pair of silver candlesticks, the idiot apprentice had called out his name and he was forced to flee Baghalonia. The child, now a man, had traded what people dream of for what he needed in life and as he traveled from city to city. He did quite well for himself, but he is ever watchful for the apprentice who betrayed him so that he might be repaid.
“THE TRADER OF BAGHALONIA’S name is Ibin Arriaga, and I am he,” said Ibin.
“You have done well for yourself, indeed!” exclaimed Steven. “You live in a house as big as my village, yet you are alone here. Surely such a trader would have friends and family with him.”
“Ah!” laughed the thief. “Did I say I lived here? No, my friend. I have merely shared in the bounty of this great man’s home for the evening, and I have seen you in need and brought out to share. Speaking of which, we should be about our day’s business and away from here before the servants arrive to prepare the house for the return of its master. Now, tell me, what have you in your pouch?” Steven said he had herbs from the village wise woman. “You see,” said Ibin, “a perfect thing to trade for the food we have enjoyed. Get a small dish and put some of your herbs in it and tonight the servants will serve the master of the house a meal fit for a king.” Steven did as he was told.
Ibin stuffed a silver goblet into his bag and stood to leave. He suddenly seemed to remember his bad ankle and called out for Steven to support him as they left the rich man’s house and returned to the streets in the early morning light.
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