Jaws of Darkness

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Ealstan added up a long column of figures. The young bookkeeper let out a sigh of relief when the answer turned out to be what he’d expected. Bearing the ledger into his employer’s private office, he told Pybba, “Those Algarvians are going to make us rich.”

“Good,” the pottery magnate rumbled. “We’ll give ‘em some of their silver back, too, and not the way they expect.” Pybba wasn’t only the biggest pottery maker in Eoforwic-and, for that matter, in all of Forthweg. He was also one of the leaders in the underground struggle against the Algarvian invaders who occupied his kingdom.

“Whatdo you suppose they want with fifty thousand Style Seventeen sugar bowls?” Ealstan asked. The question had bothered him ever since an Algarvian colonel marched in to place the order.

Pybba’s broad shoulders went up and down in a shrug. “Powers below eat the redheads, whatever it is.” His eyes flicked down to the bottom of the column. He nodded. “That’s not a bad pile of change, eh? Why don’t you go on home now? Your wife’ll be waiting for you, I expect.”

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