part 2


Tab pocketed the coin and sent one of the bottle boys off to set the best room to rights; a man who has one outland coin, in his pocket, likely has three in his satch, he figured, and one of those could well be his own, if Gimphor was treated proper.
Tab pulled a full bottle of Tatershine from under the topboard and Gimphor's eyes went wide at the site of “ Morton's Castellar” scribed on a small tag which hung from the cork. “Oi!, I'll not have me coin going all in one night, pour me a bit of Snapper, and I'll be foine.”, the words rushed from Gimphor's mouth, high pitched, trying to get out before he changed his mind and spent himself into bed under a hay mow outside the village.

“Gimphor” Tab said as he unwrapped the tag from the cork and handed it to Gimphor, with the care a Chanter bestows upon a holy relic, “you can drink the finest of “Morton's Castellar until you sprout 12 eyes”, a reference to a potatoes many eyes, “ and still have a big enough chunk of that coin left to buy a horse.”
Gimphor's caressed the tag slowly, never had he held one, from a bottle which would soon be chalked with his name, in his life. “12 eyes then” he whispered.
“Aye” replied Tab, “12 eyes and a horse.”
“Name it “Gimphor”, Gimphor breathed, “ pull that cork, and grab your self a glass, keep, I think we are getting drunk”.
Gimphor leaned back, and banged smack into a wall of carters and caravaners, all looking intently at the bottle which Tab gripped in his skinny hand, working the cork out with the other, twisting a cork hook back and forth gently so no corking would foul the Castellar. The bottle, fine translucent green glass, was just light enough for all eyes to see the large stick of castellar which bobbed about in the tatershine.
“Hoick”, a man behind Gimphor exclaimed, “tain't never seen a stick of castel that thick in me loif, gonna spread that bottle about a bit are ya, Gimp, ahh, Gimphor, carter's way and all?”
Gimphor swung around best he could against the press of bodies, “Not loikely, I'm no a VANNER anymore”, Gimphor reached up and pulled the dark brimless cloth cap from his head and threw it on the floor at his feet, “No Cap, No Vanner, I thinks I be a,,” Gimphor paused and search about his Tatershined brain for a thing to be, “I think I be a guest of Tab, the top keep, in the Threeways Inn.” Gimphor's refusal to follow carter's way, and his pitching of the vanner's cap, a sign of pride to many, onto the rushed floor, brought forth a volley of angered voices. Tab clucked his tongue, once, and his three large sons stepped from the shadows behind the topboard and stood behind their father, thick stone cudgels resting lightly in their muscled hands. The crowd went quiet.
“Now, Gimphor, as you have so kindly offered to share a glass with me, and just one mind you, I've a topboard to mind” said Tab, as if nothing were amiss, “I will ask you to join me for a piping in the leaf room, I have a good bit of Wessel just in that I have not yet unwrapped, and a glass of Morton's finest deserves a pipe of Monkton's smoothest”. The cork came free of the green glass bottle with a loud pop, and the scent of Ansie and Rasp berry filled the room.
“Hoick,” a voice from the back corner of the common room whispered, “I can smell it from here!”

Tab's largest son cleared a path through the sullen crowd, from the topboard to the leaf room. The sound of the stone cudgel thumping in his huge palm deterring even the drunkest sopp from wheedling up to Gimphor.
“Well now, Gimphor, my guest,” Tab began as they both settled into comfortable chairs of woven willow and large soft cushions. “ I have sold just three bottles of Morton's in my lifetime, and never, not once, has the man who bought it invited me to drink it with him, so I thank you, sincerely. In truth I have never more than licked the cork, to make sure it had not gone off, so this is a pleasure most unexpected. A whole glass, and a small one I assure you, a good piping of Wessel, and then I must be back to the topboard.”
“Nay, Tab” Gimphor objected as he watched the smoky black and red liquid swirl into his glass as Tab poured. “Stay and drink until we each have four eyes, and perhaps a goat, I beg you. Surely your sons can mind the topboard!”
“Well enough, they can, I guess” murmured Tab, the heady scent of the Morton's whittling his resolve to return to his spot behind to board, away, slowly. “Moike, the eldest, who stands outside the door now, if I know him well, has a fine head on his shoulders, handles the tallies for me now, as my eyes are getting dim.”
Tab handed Gimphor his glass, “Spin it like this, Gimphor” he said as he twisted the glass slowly about before his face, “mixes the flavors from the castellar stick well and good.”
Gimphor followed Tabs directions and twisted his glass, the liquid spun slowly, black and red, Ansie and Rasp berry, merging as he watched.
“Now a sip, Gimphor, before it separates out again.” said Tab as he raised the glass to his lips and took the lightest of sips, a look of pure bliss growing on his face.
Gimphor touch his lips to his own glass and sipped slowly, a bit more than Tab, he was sure, and savored the flavors that crept across his tongue. “Holy Heret's Shadow ,” Gimphor sighed, “ I ain't never tasted the loike, why, it's got more flavors than a brood cats got nipples.”
Tab laughed out loud at this, “I would have to agree, Gimphor. Licking the cork, which I thought bliss before, is a guttering candle to this.” Tab sat his glass down on the table. “Well now, I think I owe you more than a piping of Wessel after that, so lets set to a good smoke, I am sure Moike and me boys have the room in hand out there, and then we shall work on that good and drunk you spoke of.”
“That's more loike it, Tab, but I've got no pipe, on of me fellows snicked it ages ago, and I've not bought another.”
“Hmmm,” said Tab, “ no pipe in a leaf room, now thats not proper, good thing the room you've let, until you sprout 12 eyes and buy a horse, comes with a whole case of them, right there on the table aside you.”

Soon the leaf room was redolent with the scent of Wessel and Castellar, Tab and Gimphor well passed relaxed, and still a half glass each sat before them from the first pouring.
“Gimphor” spoke Tab, his voice mellow and melodic.
“Yes, Tab” replied Gimphor shortly.
“Who is, or was this “Old Man Keel you spoke of earlier, in the common.”
“Ahh,” came Gimphor's voice, drawling those three letters out a good bit further than he meant. “Keel were our vans Tallier, for as long as I can remember. Sat up on his little perch afore the gates to the marshaling yard. A right stickle for counts he was.” Gimphor raised his glass and twirled it slowly. “He climbed up there well afore any vanner entered the yard and stayed til well after the van had rounded the first corner on the road out. His right hand held up high above his head, bobbing up and down as his left ticked off carters and vanners names . It were always the same, no matter the weather, him up there counting and us down below trudging in or out the gate. Paying him no never mind really, didn't even have to look up at him, as he knew who was who by the number and sign stitched on the top of our vanner's cap, and what you carried, from the list afore him.” Gimphor inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with the heady Wessel.
“One day, we marched out just as it done begin to snow, and the wind were dreadfully biting. Mind you, most of us wanted to turn tail and hike right back out of the marshaling yard for our digs, but we had already put our name to what we carried, and so were bound to deliver it or pay out of our wages, or bond, for its worth, and not it's worth tallied were we was at, but for its worth totaled where we were humping it too on or backs , or more!.”
Gimphor rapped his pipe, a fine bone and silver piece, gently against his palm and then drew a deeper draft of Wessel.
“ A few hundred vanners,” He began again. “ and a hand of carters, all headed out at once, trying to beat the storm before it really set to. Course we weren't all going to the same place, but being that there was only one Tallier, Keel, we had to all leave by the same gate and pick our course from there.”
“Loike I said, I think,,,,it were bitterly cold, and it took a good half a day for alls to get clear of the gate and Keel do his counting.”
Tab slid the packet of fresh Wessel across the the table to Gimphor, as his pipe seemed to need a fresh tamp.
“ Put our heads down and slog we did, all the way to where we was bound, delivered our goods, had our numbers ticked on a tally sheet for a load to hump on the leg back, and tumped on back. Me, I was a full month out of the yard and away from my digs, afore I crossed below Keel again, setting up on his perch with his raised hand a bobbing. Didn't pay him no mind, just made sure me cap was right ways 'bout so he could take my number and send my count off to the owners.”
“See, my boss, he be smarter than most, he figures a good way to make sure every vanner humps the trail, and carter drives the teams, as quick as he can, is he pays a bit of a bonus for the number of loads a man carries each season, handed over after the last van. For days on the trail is days he waits for coin to hit his coffer ”
“Some bosses pay by the worth of the load you hump, but, you see, our disburser, the one who assigns us a load, divvies them up so each man carries about the same worth of goods if they be bound the same route, lose one man and his load and you don't lose the purse, so to speak. You may get lucky and carry your pack with just a small sack of coin in it, or you may be damned and carry your weight in pelly seed. Best to stay on the disburser's good side it is.”
continued