Yn Faire Morporkia Where We Lae Our Syne

"What a disaster that would be," you deadpan. "Imagine how long it would take me to add up the profits!"

 

"See! I'm looking out for you!"

 

"Does your benevolent oversight extend to helping carry the milk? I see you've got a hand free." Your have a feeling your life with your new flatmate will involve a lot of dairy.

 

The closer you get to the dairy market, the harder it is to set aside how terribly hungry you are. The smell of big, warm animals is everywhere, fresh cream, spilled sour milk, scrapes and cuts on humans and dwarves and animals, shit all over the street, someone's got a roasted rat stall open— why?— and is busily skinning and spitting whole bucket of them. You drift to a halt and stare longingly at the mess.

 

Not sure if you're being insensitive or just practical, you ask him, "Do you want to stop by the butcher for a jar of blood?"

 

"I don't have any money yet," you say distantly. The dwarf with the rats is now skinning them while glaring at you.

 

"Oh, that's fine, you can pay me back when you fill out your client list a bit. It's not expensive. You don't want rat, though, it's too gamy for a human palate." You take his arm and gently steer him toward a butcher's stall with fresh sides of beef hanging.

"Morning," you greet the butcher. "I'd like five pounds of marrow bone, a pint of blood, and something about yea big for slow-roasting -- what's nice today?"

 

"We've got some excellent lamb in fresh today," the butcher says, peering around Mr Makwaa at you. "Blood's a bit dear, though. Lot of demand for black pudding, blood sausage, what have you. I can do you a dollar a pint, special."

That's just about the same price you've heard quoted all over. Your shoulders slump a little.

"Skip the blood, then," you say. "I can't borrow that much from you."

 

You hold up a hand to forestall him, not taking your narrowing eyes off the butcher. "It's eight in the morning, there's no way you've had a run on blood already. Are you trying to sell me yesterday's blood? At a markup?"

Your slightly folksy accent has mysteriously vanished in favor of one you picked up from your peers at school.

 

The butcher puffs up. "Are you calling me a liar? It's good, fresh blood, I'm just keepin' an eye on market forces. You can ask anyone in town, even your clammy little friend there, that's a fine price on a pint of blood. Hell, go to a hospital and ask how much they buy blood for."

"Thirty dollars for fresh and healthy," one of the other men says, scratching his chin with the tip of a huge cleaver. "Think it was. You got thirty dollars, Uberwald?"

You edge nervously away, bats starting break loose and escape in your eagerness to avoid this horrible confrontation.

 

"Go to a hospital and offer them food-grade beef blood, see how far that gets you," you return. Turning away, leaving the bones and lamb on the counter, you take Aspera's arm and continue loudly, "I think I'll shop elsewhere for my meats from now on. Price gouging is so ugly. A dollar a pint for yesterday's beef blood, honestly. Do I raise my wool prices in the winter? Does Mr. Abernathy charge double for cake flour when he knows it's your birthday? I'm ashamed I ever shopped there. Really."

 

"Oh, keep your hair on, I'll go half a dollar," the butcher says, projecting wounded exasperation. "Some special treatment for a valued customer, eh?"

 

"It was twenty cents last week," you point out, half turning back to raise an eyebrow expectantly.

 

"Market forces," the butcher repeats stubbornly. "I can do you forty cents just because I like you, and that's the very best bargain you'll find anywhere around. Practically pouring it down the drain at that price."

"Practically drinking it ourselves," the man with the big cleaver says, and sniggers.

 

You think about it. "No," you decide, "I reckon I'll exert some market forces of my own." You gently capture a flustered bat that's gotten stuck on the awning, and steer your anxious flatmate out onto the street. "You'll be fine with yogurt today, won't you?" you ask him quietly. "I see I'm going to have to do a bit of a project before my next shopping trip."

 

You're so hungry, and it's like being offered a cardboard salad after the doors of a feasting hall slammed shut on you. But you nod gamely. You'll get another job somewhere, and then you can buy your own blood, and it'll be alright.

 

"I'm sorry. It's not that I wouldn't front you forty cents, or a dollar for that matter. But if I let him get away with that once, he'll charge it every time, and you'll be paying more for food than rent. Don't look so down! We'll figure it out!" You pat his back encouragingly. "I wonder what Miss Hestia would have to say about it? Do you think they gouge her too?"

Fortunately, your customary dairy supplier is as cheery and practical as ever, and doesn't bat an eyelash at Aspera, even though he's still slightly bats. You get milk, yogurt, some aged cheese for pasta sauce (since you're not having lamb, a fact about which you will be sore as hell when Aspera can't see you sulking and feel guilty), and a lovely pint of raspberry kefir, which you hand to Aspera right away. "Get that down your neck, my friend, it will cheer you right up."

 

You take a cautious sip, then grimace apologetically. It's too strange to manage. "I'm sorry, can I trade it for the plain—?"

With a plain carton of yogurt and a cheap spoon in your hands, it's a lot easier to follow Mr Makwaa around as he finishes the rest of his shopping. It's still cardboard salad, but it's at least a nice cardboard salad.

 

It's pretty clear he's upset over not getting any blood, but he's much too polite to make a fuss. You are more resolved than ever to find a decent supplier.

For now, though, you have to get back and open the shop. While you unlock the door, you ask him, "Mind taking these up to the kitchen? Except the kefir, I'll keep it down here for a snack." Your thoughts are already on the sweater kit you promised Hestia, trying to remember whether you have the right yarns in storage or whether you'll have to take from the display shelves. Lucky thing you just did an inventory!