Once Upon a Silver Platter...

The summer solstice festival was tonight. Dreamchant strode purposefully through the area around the base of the First Tree amongst all the preparations in progress. A breeze blew; elves happily lifted their faces to receive it. It was warm enough these days that no one had had cause to remember the heating system in the Mother Tree, only a season old, least of all 'Chant, who had only one thing on her mind at present. She spotted Sweetwind engaged in an animated conference with a small group of elves, and impatiently waited for them to finish. The group broke up and Sweetwind headed back towards the tree. Dreamchant fell into step beside her and used her "chieftess" voice: "We have to talk."

When they had reached an isolated area, 'Chant continued. "Have you heard that the trolls have a name for you now?"

"No..." Sweetwind had never given the trolls her tribe-name, except for Anvil, the amiable Forgemaster. She would never go to the caverns, so she only bartered when King Brighthammer sent a trading party to the Holt. Some of those trolls had offered their own names but ugly appellations such as "Stinkpit" and "Mushbutt" didn't seem an even trade for her own.

"They call you 'Magpie', because you seem to be collecting shiny things," the chieftess stated. "I don't like it. There have been several raids in the past, attempts to steal furs and the like. Trolls treasure precious metals above their own children. If word gets out that there's a hoard here, we'll have no peace." She looked Sweetwind in the eye with a fixed gaze, and crossed her arms across her chest. "Explain!"

Sweetwind hesitated, unsure where to start. She cast her mind all the way back to the beginning of the matter...

The cook hummed to herself as she stood at her chopping board mincing vegetables. Soon she would mix them with the meat she had ground, and make bite-sized portions wrapped in grape leaves. Some fresh fruit and seed cakes already lay on her serving board. I'll wager they don't serve anything like this down in the troll caverns, she thought.

Yes, for the first time Sweetwind was preparing wholesome food which would be eaten by a troll. The Forgemaster Anvil had been working with members of the Holt all morning on the central heating system for the Mother Tree. Nightfire, One Eagle, and Dreampeace were still in discussion with the troll now, squatting around Anvil's wax tablet scrawled with diagrams. Sweetwind had excused herself to prepare a noon meal for them all, without the relief she expected to feel. It wasn't so bad at all, dealing with this one. He wasn't rude and full of himself like every other troll she'd ever met. When she had left the group, the Forgemaster and One Eagle had their heads bent over the cryptic diagrams in the tablet and were speaking to each other so rapidly that Sweetwind could only catch one word in three. It was easy to imagine that the two were members of a common race of metal-workers, unified by their craft with an affinity so strong that mere differences in the body meant nothing. At any rate, Sweetwind felt no loathing of this troll, here in the center of the Holt.

When the stuffed grape leaves were done cooking, she piled her wooden serving board high and carried it awkwardly into the main chamber. Not knowing how much a troll would eat, she'd made enough for two eights of elves. It wouldn't go to waste, that's for sure: already the enticing smell had attracted Wind and Whistle, who had provided the meat. Icefire joined them as they sat down and passed a wineskin around.

"Icefire! Don't get our guest drunk, we need his wits this afternoon!" One Eagle admonished. "Save the wine for tonight."

"Just a little wine makes a meal more cheerful," said Anvil, taking a gulp and passing the skin along. "Let's take a break from talk of heating. Someone give us a story!"

Icefire quickly obliged. It was the most pleasant meal possible, as the whole group joined in the storytelling. Anvil himself told a very amusing story of an overeager troll lad who had tried to get Diamond's attention. Tried a little too successfully for Brighthammer's liking, as it turned out. When Brighthammer found out, he was enraged. Anvil had an unexpected gift for storytelling, and the elves were rapt as he described the lengthy search through the tunnels for the frightened lad. "Finally," the Forgemaster concluded with a flourish, "the guards trapped him in a dead end, and Brighthammer himself shaved the lad's beard off with a dull knife, and let him go. The next day the poor mump was the laughingstock of the tunnels, and Brighthammer had the beard served to Diamond upon a silver platter. The other trolls will think twice in the future before giving Diamond gifts of jewelry."

When everyone was done eating, the heating team began to ready themselves for the afternoon's work. "Anvil," Sweetwind asked as they returned to the work chamber, "what's a platter?"

"Why, it's the dish you serve food on. I believe I heard you call yours a serving board. We make ours of metal, of course, and our king's platters must be made of gold or silver."

One Eagle, still fired with her role as metalwork developer, joined in. "A metal tray has the advantage of durability, and weight as well, since it can be beaten very thin, unlike a board of wood or stone."

Sweetwind nodded agreement - she had spoken with One Eagle about this subject before. Dreamstar had shaped both her chopping board and her serving board of the sturdiest hardwood. Unfortunately, the serving board had to be nearly as thick as the chopping board to be durable. Sweetwind found it heavy and awkward, but the thinner ones 'Star shaped all broke within days of use. She'd asked Dreamstealer about making a stone serving tray, but he'd laughed at the idea-- a stone tray of sufficient durability would be heavier than her wooden one (he had neglected to add that such a project was beyond his small power). One Eagle had been more help. When Sweetwind approached her about a metal serving tray, she served Sweetwind slices of fresh fruit in a small metal bowl she'd made. Sweetwind got the point: a metallic taste tainted tart or acidic foods which were touched the metal for much longer than the amount of time it took her cutting knife to slice it. It was the same off-flavor that permeated an overcooked stew, which was why Sweetwind preferred to cook things very quickly in her troll-forged pots. Most of Sweetwind's lavish spreads included generous amounts of sliced berries, fruits, and vegetables, whose flavor would be ruined by a metal tray. She was just about to voice this disadvantage when Anvil said, "Aye, and a metal platter adds a fine flavor to food."

The two elves exchanged looks behind Anvil's back.

Anvil continued, "That's one luxury denied to our king. Silver and gold are kings among metals, but they can't give food a tang like good old graymetal or brightmetal."

One Eagle and Sweetwind exchanged glances again, interest bright in their eyes.

Exhausted from the long day's deliberations, Sweetwind lay back on her sleepfurs and stared wide-eyed at nothing. For a long time she was unaware of her surroundings, completely lost in thought. Gradually her attention became focussed on the chamber itself. It was one of the smallest hollows in the Mother Tree, and she shared it only with her bond cheetah Stifler. There was barely enough floor area for the sleepfurs and the firepit (which would soon be merely a bowl for heated rocks, if the central heating plan went well). Her bow and other tools hung from pegs shaped from the walls. Several baskets hung from the ceiling directly over the sleepfurs: Dreamchant had had a fit last moon when Sweetwind put them up. The chieftess had given strict orders that nothing should be hung over sleeping places, in case a shaker caught the occupant off guard. Sweetwind was able to convince 'Chant that the baskets were harmless. Nighteyes, a new arrival to the Holt, had made them from the softest plant fibers and they contained only leathers and cloths waiting to be made into garments. The smallest basket did contain some other miscellaneous items, and now she stood and reached for it, unhooking it carefully. She sat cross-legged on her furs and placed the basket on her lap. At the top was a tangle of bowstring, which she set aside. The largest objects in the basket were balls of wound thread and leather thong. These she also set aside. Now Sweetwind began sorting through the miscellaneous small items in the basket: buttons, buckles, grommets; beads of stone, metal, wood, and antler; needles and awls (Sweetwind was lucky 'Chant hadn't looked inside this particular basket), and a set of six-sided stones. Presently, Sweetwind held in her hand four small matching beads and half a trollish belt buckle. These were the only items she had which were silver.

The half-a-belt-buckle had been the inspiration, really. Dreamsinger had contracted with the trolls for a buckle of a simple geometrical design. But the troll silversmith couldn't resist making it ornate. It had also been far too large. Rather than send it back, 'Singer had asked One Eagle to rework it for him, and the unused portion had ended up here.

Earlier today when Sweetwind had broached the idea of contracting for a silver platter, the troll Anvil had thought she was joking. He said that the price of the material alone was worth eight times all the goods she'd traded to the trolls since trade relations began. That had stunned her silent, and the day's work continued. At the end of the day, she was too exhausted to join the wine drinking. Her head buzzed enough with the volume of the goods she'd traded to the trolls over the past turn and a season. Armloads of cloth, herbal dyes and spices had been exchanged for salt and mushrooms, brightmetal needles and graymetal pots. She didn't like the trolls who visited the Holt to trade, so she never haggled very hard-- she just tried to get what she wanted and leave. Sweetwind supposed she had paid more than she needed because of that. Funny thing, she thought, until today I would have said I just didn't want to deal with trolls. But today I met one who's not bad. If the ones who come to trade with us are pond scum, that's not my problem.

Staring at the silver bits in her hand, she knew that One Eagle would make the platter for her if she only had enough of the rare metal. A turn and a season, times eight, made eight-and-two turns: that was a lot of trading. Sweetwind became resolved. No matter how many turns it took, piece by piece she would acquire enough raw material to make the best serving tray ever.

As a concrete reminder of her plan, she quickly stitched together a small pouch of gray leather. She put the four silver beads on the drawstring as guards, and placed the half-buckle inside. The bag looked as empty as one of Icefire's wineskins would be after tonight's revelry. When the bag was full, she would have her platter.

"... so since then, I've been trading for whatever small silver items the trolls bring, mainly plain rings and beads. I haven't told them why; even Anvil didn't think I was serious about the platter. I haven't told anyone in the Holt either, except One Eagle, 'till now."

Dreamchant was silent for a few moments, her face still a stern mask. Then she declared, "I won't stop you. But you will limit your trading to the usual items for two bargaining sessions out of three. If you can get someone else to barter for silver in your place some of those one-in-three times, that would be even better. You must lose the nickname, and the trolls must not suspect that a goodly amount of silver is accumulating in one place. Understood?"

"Yes, chieftess." Sweetwind had been in the Holt long enough to recognize when Dreamchant meant business. And she was never more deadly serious than when protecting the safety of the Holt.

"One more thing," Dreamchant added. With a mock annoyed tone and half a grin, she said, "You drive a poor bargain, archer. Get Wolf Blade to give you some haggling lessons."