Dragon Stones (Book One in the Dragon Stone Saga), Page 4

  Chapter 3: Frogar, the Junk Merchant

  When Elias awoke the following morning, he shivered with cold. The fire had died down during the night, and the tiny cottage seemed darker than usual. He shuddered, got up, and fed another log to the fire. He peeked outside his tiny window and saw the ground covered in snow.

  “Blast! The snow will make it impossible to find any food in the forest,” he thought. His breath escaped in a cloud of warm vapor. Elias took a deep breath, snuck into the kitchen, and grabbed the dragon stone. He looked over at Carina and saw that she was still sleeping. He put the stone in a pouch and hung it around his neck.

  Elias donned his warmest cloak, a thick wool garment that had once been his grandfather’s. It was simple, but very well-made, and it kept him warm even on the coldest days. Carina had given it to him two years ago as a gift. He also had some leather boots and a hat that was lined with beaver fur. He hardly felt the cold as he stepped outside. The snow crunched under his feet as he walked towards the village square.

  Persil wasn’t a large settlement, but it bustled with activity. There were children running in the streets and farmers carting their winter harvest for sale. The village was defended by local militia, and men patrolled the village borders with simple weapons. Most of Persil’s revenue came from fur trading. The hunting had been poor this year, and many families were struggling.

  A farmer dragged a large selection of winter squash through the street. The squash came in different sizes and colors. Some gourds were the size of a child’s fist. Others were pumpkins; larger than a man’s head. A few women strolled up to the farmer, haggling with over price. One woman was holding an infant swaddled tightly in blankets, except for his mouth nursing at her breast.

  Last year the pumpkin farmer would not have garnered so much attention, but this year, food was scarce. A single large pumpkin could feed a family.

  “Eeee! Kemril, give us a good price on your pumpkins. I want two of these big ‘uns you’ve got here.” The housewife plucked two large pumpkins from his cart.

  “I can give you a good price. Them smaller squashes are sweeter and good for makin’ pastry.”

  “Ohhh, Kemril! Who has the money to make pastry these days? No, no, these pumpkins will cook in my soup pot with water and potatoes—they’ll stretch better that way. I have five mouths to feed. I don’t have any coppers, but I’ll trade you some butter; freshly churned this morning. All our goats are still giving milk, thank Baghra.”

  “Alright, I’ll take the butter. Come back with it and we’ll trade.”

  And so it went on like this for several minutes; the village housewives haggling back and forth. Few had any coins, but all of the women wanted to trade.

  Elias watched the lively exchange for a few minutes before continuing on his way. In the village square, the cottages were built closer together. The homes were all small, painted white, and made from rock or mud brick. In the heart of the village, there was a cluster of shops. The butcher, the candlemaker, and the local glazier all ran their businesses here. Elias kept walking briskly and reached the last two homes, which were backed up against the forest. Only two structures stood in a snow-covered meadow. One was the farrier’s place, and the other was Frogar’s house.

  Frogar was a scrap dealer. He bought all kinds of rubbish. The outside of his shop was filthy, the ground littered with garbage. The inside was even worse. Boxes stacked to the ceiling; every inch filled with empty jars, gadgets, and dusty knick-knacks. Frogar lived in squalor, but was actually quite wealthy.

  Elias walked into the shop, and a little bell rang on the doorjamb announcing his arrival. After a few minutes, Frogar shuffled to the counter.

  “What do you want, boy?” His body smelled sour, like old whiskey. Frogar’s cheek was stuffed with chewing tobacco, and he spat into a brass cup. Elias’ nose wrinkled, and he put his hand up instinctively to hold his nose, but caught himself in time. He didn’t want to put Frogar in a bad mood.

  “I have something to sell. A jewel.”

  “A jewel, eh? What kind of jewel?”

  “An emerald! And it’s as big as an egg!”

  “Bah! Sure it is!” Frogar frowned. “Do you think I’m a fool, boy? Blast you for waking me and wasting my time.” Frogar turned and started to walk away.

  “Wait! Don’t leave. It’s real!” Elias cried. He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the deerskin sachet.

  “I don’t buy river rocks,” said Frogar. But he waited.

  “I swear, it’s real.” Elias placed the little pouch on the counter, and it opened like a flower, revealing the emerald inside. “It’s a dragon stone. I found it in the forest.” Frogar’s eyes popped.

  Elias heard Frogar’s quick intake of breath. Frogar was a practiced negotiator, but even he could not hide his surprise. “Let me see it, boy.” His wrinkled hand reached out to grab it.

  “No!” Elias snatched it back. Frogar’s eyebrows went up.

  “Don’t touch it—I don’t trust you.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “I need to touch it—to make sure that’s it’s real. Otherwise, how can I offer you a fair price?” He leered, revealing yellowed teeth.

  “I might be a boy, but I’m not a fool. You know the stone is real. If you want it, offer me a fair price right now. Otherwise, I’ll travel to Jutland and sell the stone there. In Jutland, there are even greedier merchants than you!”

  Frogar scowled. “Why you… little snot-nosed bugger!”

  “I don’t want to argue! What is your price?” Elias was starting to feel nauseated. His throat was dry, choked by the dusty air.

  Frogar shook his head, and his face broke into a wicked sneer. “You’re nothing but a young fool! You have no idea what you have. I do not want your dragon stone, stupid boy.”

  Elias’ mouth dropped open. He hadn’t expected that response from the old man.

  “That stone is a curse. No one will buy it. Not here, not in Jutland—not anywhere. It will bring you nothing but misery. Now get out of my shop before I throw you out.” His voice rose to a shriek at the end, and tobacco-laced spittle flew from his mouth.

  “I-I don’t believe you. I’m going to sell it and make a nice profit, you’ll see!”

  Elias pocketed the stone and walked back outside into the snow. He looked back, and saw Frogar observing him through a filthy window. He was laughing—a cackling, unholy laugh, that echoed down the road. The hair on the back of Elias’ neck rose and his heart filled with fear.

  Elias ran all the way home.

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