Rise of a Merchant Prince by Raymond E. Feist

all manner of things, and the only source of repair for those without sufficient funds to pay the local smiths and carpenters. If a poor farmer had a scythe that needed to last one more harvest, he brought it to Gaston, not the forge where Erik used to apprentice to old Tyndal and then Nathan. Roo had heard Erik comment that Gaston might not be a fine smith, but he was solid on the basics. And Roo’s father had always taken his wagons to Gaston for repair.
    They moved to a low fence, composed mostly from scraps of wood Gaston had found here and there, and Gaston opened the rickety gate. It swung open on stiff, loud hinges, and Roo entered the yard where Gaston stowed most of his property. Roo halted a moment and shook his head. He had been in the yard countless times; nevertheless he was amazed whenever he saw the colossal collection of refuse Gaston lay claim to: scraps of metal, a shed full of cloth, and a huge covered stack of wood, all organized in a fashion known only to Gaston, but one which Roo knew was flawless. If Gaston had what you needed, he knew where it lay, and could put his hands on it in moments.
    â€œSaw your papa.”
    â€œWhere’s he now?” asked Roo, not entirely interested.
    â€œSleepin’ off a drunk. He came back from a run down to Salador. Six or seven wagons, I don’t remember, but they got there in good order and were paid a bonus, then he picked up a cargo and came back full, so he blew off a bit last night.”
    Gaston hiked his thumb over his shoulder to a bundle of rags under one of two wagons nestled against the lee side of the barn. Roo went over and found the bundle was snoring. He recognized one of the two wagons as his father’s. It was as familiar to Roo as his own pallet had been at home. And truth to tell, he had slept in it about as often. When his father got into one of his drunken rages, Roo had often hidden under the canvas tie-down and slept the night there, rather than risk a pointless beating.
    â€œToo drunk to walk three streets home?” said Roo, kneeling and pulling back the topmost rag. The stench that struck him as he did made him wish he hadn’t. Not only hadn’t his father bathed in some time, his breath hit Roo full on as he snored in obvious stupor.
    â€œGak!” Roo moved back a couple of steps.
    Gaston scratched his chin and said, “We had a few, truth to tell. Tom was buying, so I weren’t going to leave him lying there in the street. I bring him over here; I wasn’t going to take him all the way home, by damn.”
    Roo shook his head. “Not likely.” He regarded the snoring face of his father. The old man seemed smaller somehow. Roo wondered at that, but knew that he would seem large enough if he was awakened before he bestirred himself.
    Then Roo laughed. He wasn’t a boy any longer and his father hadn’t towered over him in years. Roo wondered, if his father tried to strike him again, would he cower as a child would before an enraged parent, or would he act without thought and break his father’s jaw?
    Not willing to put that to the test, he said, “We’ll let him sleep. He probably didn’t miss me when I was gone, so I doubt he’ll be glad to see me now.”
    Gaston said, “You shouldn’t go saying that, Roo. He was right enough upset you were going to be hung. Said it more than once. Thought thirty years’ hard labor was fair, he said.”
    Roo shook his head and changed the subject. “The wagon?”
    â€œShe be over there,” said Gaston, pointing to the one that sat next to Roo’s father’s. It was a serviceable wagon, though in need of some repair and a lot of paint.
    Roo quickly inspected it, ensuring the axles and wheels were sound. He said, “We need to replace some of the fittings on the tongue, but it’ll do. How much?”
    Gaston and Roo began haggling and after a minute a deal was struck. It was slightly more