The Merchant's Curse by Loyola Press

How to Read Historical Fiction

TheMerchant’sCurse isaworkofhistoricalfiction.Thistypeofbook differsfromnonfictionbecausethestoryisimaginedbytheauthor anddoesmorethansimplytellyou“whathappened.”Rather,thistype ofbookhelpsyou,thereader,understandwhathappenedinhistory whiledrawingyouinandentertainingyou.Thestoryinvitesyouto makeconnectionswithsituationsandcharactersandtodiscoverwhat staysthesameforpeopleofanyperiodandalsodeterminewhatmight have changed overtime.

Eventhoughthecharactersandeventsareimagined,anauthorof historicalfictiontriestobeaccuratewhenpresentingwhatitmight havebeenlikeforaspecificgroupofpeopletoliveandworkinaparticulartimeandplace.That’swhyanauthormightpresentscenesand dialogue that differ greatly from what we experiencetoday.

Thesedifferencesarealsowhysomeofwhatyoureadmightfeelforeignorevenshocking.Asyouread,rememberthatinsomecases,the charactersaren’tdoingsomething“wrong”;theyaresimplydoingwhat wasconsideredacceptableatthattime.Asthereader,it’simportantfor youtoreadcriticallythroughout.Ifyou’reinterestedinlearningmore aboutthehistoricalcontextof TheMerchant’sCurse,you’llfindmore information in the back of the book, in the Author’s HistoricalNote.

Here are some tips for making the most of The Merchant’s Curse.

Before Reading

DosomebriefInternetresearchaboutlifeintwelfth-centuryEngland andinatypicalcityofthattime.Watchavideo,viewillustrations,or read an article to gain some historicalcontext.

During Reading

Ask yourself questions such as thefollowing:

•In what ways are the actions and reactions of young characters like those of kids today? In what ways are theydifferent?

•God and religion played a significant role in the lives of people during the Middle Ages. What religious terms and ideas in The Merchant’s Curse seem strange to you, and why? What aspects of religion in the story are more familiar to you, andwhy?

•Xanandhisfriendsrelyonthecareandhonestyoftheadultsin theirlives.Howaretheseexpectationschallenged?Whatgoalsand dreamsinfluencedpeopleinthisstory?Doyouseeanythingsimilarhappeningtoday?Whyorwhynot?

After Reading

Ask yourself questions such as thefollowing:

•Inwhatwaysdopeoplenowthinkandactdifferentlyfrompeople inXan’stime?Doyouthinktoday’swaysarebetterornot?Why?

•People suspected the so-called witch because they feared her powers. Why do you think they believed in magic rather than a logical explanation? How do people view magic today? What are some similarities and differences in viewpoints between the Middle Ages andnow?

•Xan was trying to learn how to be wise as he solved multiple mysteries. What did he learn about wisdom from his experiences? Where do you look forwisdom?

1 Ruins

Xan stood alone amid the rubble of LincolnCathedral. Thesinkingredsuncastshadowsonthedirtfromthe jaggedstonesthatoncehadsoaredoverthecathedral’snave. Theterribleearthquakeof1185hadrippedapartthechurch,which hadlaininruinsformuchof1186.ThisverymonthofAugust,laborersfinallyhadcometosmashthecathedral’sshakywalls—exceptits solid western wall, which the quake hadspared.

Aloneskylarkchirpedapleasanttunefromitsperchuponthat westernwall.Thelittlebird’ssongrecalledatimewhenthecathedral hadtoweredwithmajesticpillarsandhighwindowsthatseemedto open to Heavenitself.

BrotherAndrew’sfinalbitofadvicebackatHarwoodAbbeyseemed doublytrueinallthiswreckage: Donottrustthevanitiesofthislife, Xan.Thosewhoseekthemarechasingafterwind.Theblack-robed monkhadspokenthosewordsmorethanninemonthsago,justbefore XanhadriddentoLincolntobecomeUncleWilliam’sapprenticeinhis merchantshop.

Ifhewerehere,BrotherAndrew—actually,theycalledhim Father Andrewnowthathewasapriest—probablywouldraiseahandand pointtotheseruinsasproofoftheworld’svanity.He’dmarvelathow thisonce-proudcathedralsufferedhumiliationeachdayatthesweaty handsoftheworkersdiggingupitsbrokenstatues,rustedcandlesticks, and shards of coloredglass.

The lark’s song ended, replaced by a cry forhelp.

Surelythatwasn’toneoftheworkersshoutingout:they’dalreadyleft forthenightdownthesteeproadthatseparatedthecathedralfromthe thickwallsofLincolnCastle,whichhadsurvivedthequakeandstood firmly on itsground.

“Xan,help!”ThatwasSimon’svoice.Theboymusthavefollowed him to this place. Maybe Simon had been hurt in therubble.

“Coming!”Hehurdledanironpoleanddashedpastachunkofwall toward thecry.

Thiswasnoplaceforaten-year-oldboy;that’swhyhehadn’t broughtSimontobeginwith.Thereweretoomanyhiddenhazards, evenplaceswhereabanditcouldhide.Asheturnedthefinalcorner—abittoosharply—hisbrowntuniccaughtontheedgeofastone andtore.

There stoodSimon.

Sureenough,theboyhadstrayedintothedangerousareatheworkershadblockedoff.Thiswasthepartofthecathedralbuiltoverthe ancientcryptoftheSaxonchurchthathadstoodherelongbefore. Thatcrypthadheldmorethantombstonesbeforethequakehadtumbled the cathedral’s walls down intoit.

“Xan,I’mintrouble!”SweatyclopsofhairframedSimon’sgrimy face,andasoiledshirthungovertherippedblackpantscoveringhis gangly legs—proof of how much trouble he wasin.

“I seethat.”

Simonwasstrandedonajuttingislandinaseaofdestruction.He hadclimbedontooneofthepillarsthequakehadhurledintothe

crypt,whichmusthaveshiftedundertheboy’sweight,creatingavoid. One wrong step and he’d plunge headlong into thedebris-filledpit.

“Idon’tthinkIcangetdown.”ThegapbetweenSimon’sfrontteeth wasaswideaseverandfilledwithblood,asthoughhe’dbanged hismouth.

“I don’t know why you’d go up that pillar in the firstplace.”

Simon hung his head low. “Yes, youdo.”

“Right.”Ofcourseheknewwhy:Simonhadcometosearchforthe bandit Carlo’s treasure, probably still buried in thatcrypt.

“I thought I saw a way down there.” Simon’s voice wastrembling.

Xanpointed.“’Tisfilledwithstones,see?Noonewillevergetinto that cryptagain.”

Theworkerswhohadspentthedayfillingthecavernousholewith dirtandrocksdidn’tknowthatCarlohaduncoveredthecryptyears ago.Thosemenhadnoideathatthebandithadburiedhisjewelsand coinsinoneofthetombsbeforemeetingdeathinthedungeonsofLincolnCastle.

Thatsecretwasknowntoalmostnoone:onlyXan,Simon,anda fewothers.NoonehadactuallyseenthetreasureexceptXan...and sweetLucy,ofcourse.She’dbeenwithhimthenighttheysolvedthe mystery of the cathedral and found Carlo’sfortune.

“Doyouthinkthetreasureisstillthere?”Simonasked,stretching out his arms forbalance.

“I don’tknow.”

EitherCarlo’swealthwaslostforeverinthatcrypt,orthatscarred banditRummyhadstolenit.RummyhadtakenXanprisonerthe nightofthequakeandforcedhimtoleadtheevilbandittothetreasure.Thenthequakehadcome;Rummyhadcalledit God’sthunder. EvenasXanhadfledthecrypt—thewallsshakingtopiecesaround them—thatgreedyvillainhadstayeddownthere,stuffingabagwith jewels andcoins.

Rummy’srottingcorpsewasprobablystillthere,buriedforeternity with his vainriches.

Thelarkrekindleditshappytunejustasthegrindingrocksshifted underSimon’sfeetagain,causinghimtoyelpandfalltohisknees.He stared into the pit. “What do I do,Xan?”

Carlo’s treasure suddenly seemedunimportant. Xaninchedtotheedgeofthepit.Thesolutionwasobvious:Simon mustleapoverthevoid—aboutthreefeet—tosolidground.“Youneed to jump. Right here.” He pointed to thespot.

ButSimonstoodfrozenlikeastatue.“I-Ican’t.I’llfall.I’llbreak myneck!”

Thatwasapossibility,butagreeingwithSimonwouldonlyparalyze the boyfurther.

“Letmethinkamoment,”Xansaidinstead.He’dkeptupthelessons thatFatherAndrewhadbegunwithhimatHarwoodAbbey:reading, writing,Latin,andstudyingtheScriptures,especiallythesayingsof wisemensuchasKingSolomon,whohadpleasedGodbyaskingfor the gift of wisdom instead ofwealth.

WheneverSolomonhadaproblem,he’dcomeupwiththewisest solution,evenifitseemedbizarre.Onceapairofwomencametohim, bothclaimingtobethemotherofthesamebaby.Solomondecreed thatthechildshouldbechoppedintwowithasword,andhalfofthe babygiventoeachwoman.Inthatway,hediscoveredthetruemother’s identity:shewastheonewhobeggedSolomontogivethebabytothe other woman instead of cutting the child inhalf.

Simonneededawiseplanlikethatrightnow.Solomonhadgiven themotheragrimchoicethathadforcedhertoacttruly.Whatchoice didSimonneedsothathewouldmaketheleapwithoutthefearof death freezing him on that rock until it was toolate?

“I know what to do,” Xan said, after amoment.

“W-w-what?” Simon peered into the pitagain.

“I’llgotoyoursisterandletherknowwhatyou’vegotyourselfinto. She’ll helpus.”

“Nay,notmysister!”Simon’sfacegrewpale,asthoughhissister scared him more than the black crypt before him. “NotChrissy!”

Christinadidn’tlookscaryatall,withheremeraldeyesandauburn hair that flowed over her shoulders. But she could beterrifying.

“Chrissy will murder me if she finds out I climbed uphere.”

“Sorry.”Heshookhishead.“Theonlywaytoavoidtellingyoursisterwouldbeifyoujumped,butyousaidyoucan’tdothat,soI’llgo fetchher.”

HeturnedhisbackonSimonandwalkedtowardthepaththat wouldbringhimtotheroadleadingtoChristina’shome. One,two, three... It wouldn’t take much longernow.

“Wait,”Simonshouted.“Watch!”Theboyleaptoverthepitwithout a hint of fear, landing on the dirt mere inches from thevoid.

“You didit!”

Xan rushed over to congratulatehim.

Butthecrypthadn’tfinishedwithSimonyet.Thedirtgaveway beneathhistoes.Helosthisbalance,thenslidtohisknees,thenfellto his stomach, his legs disappearing into thevoid.

“Help!”

XandovetothegroundandgrabbedSimon’soutstretchedhandas the rocks shifted again, rumbling down into the heart of thecrypt.

“Gotyou!”Heheldtighttotheboy’swristandsteadiedhimself. “Easydoesit,now.”Heleanedbackonhisheelsandlettheweightof his own body pull Simon from thepit.

Theboygaspedforbreathonhisstomach,histhinfingersclutching theground.

“Thanks.”

Intheendhisplanhadworked,hadn’tit?KingSolomonwouldhave beenproud.BeingwiselikeSolomon(evenwiser,maybe)surelywould leadapersontohappiness.EvenFatherAndrewwouldhavetoagree that wisdom was a goal worth chasing in thisworld.

“Comeon,now,”hesaid,grabbingSimon’sarmandpullinghimto hisfeet.“Nexttimekeepawayfromthemarked-offarea.You’renot going to find any treasure downthere.”

Theyheadeddownthepath,itsflatstonesunevenundertheir leathershoes.

“And stop following me around in secret,Simon.” “Well,thenstopgoingoffbyyourselfallthetime.Don’tyouwant any friends,Xan?”

Friends. Attheabbeyhe’dhadfriends:dearLucyandJoshuaand FatherAndrewandSisterRegina,evenDavidandJohn.He’dleftthem allforUncleWilliamandthepromiseofanewlifeinLincoln.That had seemed to be God’s will, but maybe it was another uselessvanity.

AsFatherAndrewhadsaid,allthatthislifeofferswillpassaway. MotherandFatherweregoneinmomentsafterthebanditssetfireto HardonburyManor.AndHarwoodAbbeywasgone,too,nowthathe’d come to Lincoln as Uncle’sapprentice.

Apprentice? Hewasmorethanamereapprentice:hewouldinherit Uncle’swealthoneday,thoughhewasonlythirteenyearsold.The futurelookedbright;heshouldbemuchhappierthanthis—much more certain about deciding not to become amonk.

Backattheabbey,thewise,dyingabbothadtoldhimnevertofear thedecisionsofhislife.Theoldmonkhadsaidtoembracethosedecisionswithafullheart,onestepatatime.“Then,andonlythen,will God light the next step in your path,” the abbot hadpredicted.

“Xan?” Simon was apparently waiting for some kind ofanswer.

“Right, Simon. Friends are important. Of course you’reright.”

Except things weren’t quiteright.

Lifeasanapprentice—withUncle,withChristina—noneofithad turnedoutthewayitshould.Godstillhadn’tlithisnextstepon thepath.MaybeithadbeenamistakecomingtoLincoln.Maybehe should have stayed at the abbey, afterall.

Theywalkedawhiletogetherinsilenceamongthecathedral’slonely stones.

Whenthey’dalmostreachedtheendoftheruins,Simonstuckout hisarmandbreathedinsharply.“Let’snotgothisway.See—thatwitch iscoming!”

Ahead,awomaninacloakhobbledontheroadtowardtheruins, herfaceinvisibleinthetwilight.SimonandChristinahadfirstseen thestrangewomaninLincolnlastweek,but,forsomereason,they’d already convinced themselves that she waswicked.

“Come on, Xan.” Simon veered from the path. “Hurry!” But they were too late. Simon’s witch was already uponthem.

2 Partners

Xangrippedthemetalbladethathungbehindthecounterin UncleWilliam’smerchantshop.Heslidafingeroverits edge—probablytoodulleventoscarethathobblingwoman they’dpassedlastnight,whileSimonhadheldhisbreathtoavoidevil spells.Still,thebladewassturdyenoughtoprythelidoffthiscrate. He’d better be careful not to splinter thewood.

“What’s in this crate, anyway,Uncle?”

UncleWilliamsteppedtothetableandscratchedathischinthe samewayFatherusedtodobeforesolvingaproblem.“Idonotrightly know, Stephen—I mean Xan.”

Unclestillslippedupsometimesandcalledhim Stephen (hisbirth name)insteadof Xan,thenamehe’dtakenattheabbeywhenhe’dlost hismemoryforawhile.Likesomanyotherthingsthathadpassed away, Stephen wasanamehe’dleftbehindinHardonbury,alongwith thegravesofFatherandMother.AtleastUnclewasnowcorrecting himself when he made thatmistake.

UncleWilliamtuggedontheedgeofthefinegreentunicthathung overhisblackpants.Heturnedtowardthenarrowhallwaybetween

theshop’sopensellingareaanditsstorageroom.“Hoy,Godric!Have you any idea about thiscrate?”

Heavyfootstepsapproached,andGodricstruttedin,duckinghis headofcurlythickhairtoavoidhittingthetopofthedoorpost.His wideshouldersandbulkyarmsalwaysseemedasthoughtheymight burst through his blue shirt and scrape along the walls of thepassage.

Godricslappedthetopofthecrateandlaughed—thesamejovial laughheusedwhentellingajokeorgreetingaladyatmarket.“’Tis thatloadoffineclothfromFlandersIspokeoflastmonth.Itarrived on the ship last night. Surely you did not forget, my goodpartner.”

GodricoftencalledUnclehis goodpartner,butwhydidUncleneed abusinesspartnerwhenhehadanapprenticenow?Xanhaddone morethananypartnerevercould.He’devengivenUncletheprecious emeraldhe’dreceivedasrestitutionfromCarlobeforethebandit’s death.Withthatemerald,Unclehadpaidoffhiscrushingdebtto theMaster,thatruthlessusurerwho’dchargedanexcessiveamountof interest on the loan and had threatened to take Uncle’slife.

TheemeraldhadsavedUncle’sbusinessfromruin,yetstillhe’d joinedupwithGodric.XanhadgonebacktoHarwoodAbbeyforonly afewmonths.IfUnclehadwantedhelpduringthattime,hecould havereliedonChristina,whomhepaidtocleanaroundhishome, straightenuphisshop,andmakedeliveriesdownatthedock.There was no need for a businesspartner.

True,GodricwasanexperiencedmerchantwithfriendsinFlanders, Sicily,andevenNorthAfrica.Alsotrue,themanhadgreatwealth, whichhespentfreelyontheirbusiness—andalsoonwineandthe prettywomenwhoflockedtohim.ForGodric,everynightseemedto endwithdininganddrinkingandmerrymaking.Still,partnerscame withcomplications.

“Ofcourse!Iremember,”Unclesaid,pattingGodric’sshoulder. “Open it, dearnephew.” Xan set the blade to the edge of thecrate.

Beforehe’dpriedthetopoff,Christina’smelodicvoicefloatedin fromthestreet.Shewaslaughingwithsomeone:probablyGodric’s nephew,Nigel.“Ohcomenow,you’reteasingagain!Surelyyou’ve never rode upon the swans in thatpool.”

“ButI did,”Nigelsaid,stridingthroughtheoakendoor.“Theyare very stronganimals.”

ThemanboreallthefeaturesofayoungerversionofGodric.When thetwoofthemdalliedabouttowntogether—especiallyaroundthe womeninthesquare—theywereoftenmistakenasbrothers.Godric’s headhadgrayedalittle,andhisbellywasrounder,buttheybothhad similar stacks of hair and wide muscles and disarminglaughs.

NigelheldthedooropenandbowedasChristinaglidedintothe shopinherprettiestgreenfrock.Hercheeksseemedrosierthanusual, andwithherentrancecameasweetscentoflilies,asthoughshehad taken a bath inperfume.

“Let’saskaneutralparty,”shesaid,seeingXanandgrinning.“What do you say,Alexander?Canagrownmanrideuponthebackofaswan like ahorse?”

Godric’snephewgavehimaconspiratorialwink.“Goonthen,Xan. Declare yourverdict.”

Xanshrugged.“WhatdoIknowofsuchthings?I’malwayshere working.”

Nigel tsk-tsked athim.“Whysosour,Xan?Youneedtogetout moreoften.”

AsbadasitwasthatUnclehadtakenonabusinesspartner,even worsewasthattheman’snephewwouldstrutabouttheshop,playing sillygameswithChristina.Buttherewasnothingtobedoneforit; theywerestuckwithNigel.Godrichadannouncedlastmonththat hewouldleaveallhisfortunetoNigeloneday,includinghissharein Uncle William’sbusiness.

Atonlytwenty-fouryearsofage,Nigelhadbecomethekindofman Christinahadoncepredictedshewouldmarry:wealthy,witty,and handsome. Plus, he was ten years older than shewas.

“William,”Nigelsaidwithalaugh.“Youareworkingyournephew toohard.Lettheboyplayonceinawhile.”Hereachedintotheleather pouchonhisbelt,retrievedabrownlinen,andunwrappedamoist sliceofcake.“Ibringyoucheer,Godric.Iboughtthisfromthebaker foryou.”

Godric’sfaceglintedasheswipedthecakeoffthelinenanddowned it in a single gulp. “You are too good to me, Nigel. Toogood.”

Christina’s eyes flashed. “You brought cheer for only one ofus?”

LucywouldneverflirtwithNigelasChristinadid.Tobefair, though,Lucy was inthenunneryatHarwoodAbbey,preparingtotake religious vows. Christina had no suchambitions.

Nigelchuckledandreachedintothesturdypouchagain,pullingout awhitelinenwithseveralmoreslicesofcake.“Ofcoursenot,mydear. There’s enough cheer foreveryone.”

“You’reforgiventhen,”shesaid,takingaslice.Shepoppedthecake between her lips and licked the tips of her palefingers.

“Iamgladyouareback,Christina,”UncleWilliamsaid.“Where have you been allmorn?”

“Donotbeharshwithher,”Nigelsaid.“Ifoundthissweetgirlinthe market,wipingupachild’smess.Icannotfathomhowsuchatinybaby can produce such a largestench.”

Christinasmiled.“William,youknowIhelpthewidowAgnescare forherchildrenonTuesdaymornings,soshecangotomarketwith two freehands.”

AgnesattendedthesameparishasChristina’sfamily.Threemonths ago,afterAgnes’shusbanddiedinanaccident,Christinahadbeenso movedbythewoman’smisfortunethatshe’dshownupatthepoor widow’s house one day to offer herassistance.

“Ofcourse,”Unclesaid.“Iforgot.’Tisakindactofcharityindeed. ButnowIneedyoutounloadsomefineclothfromFlandersandplace it on the storage shelves inback.”

“Iwouldbegladto,”shesaid,hergazescanningtheroom.“Where isit?”

ThewarmthofhereyesrestedonXanashepriedthefinalcorner ofthecrateandrevealedthesoftfabricswithin:green,red,white,and purple.“Ah!”Shesteppedclosetohimandcaressedthefabrics.“PerhapswecanfashionXananewtunicofpurple,William.Hisbrown oneisalreadytorn,Isee.Andthatcolor’sabittoodullforamerchant’s apprentice, don’t youthink?”

“’Tistrue,”Unclesaid,eyeingNigel,whosefineredshirtsuffered not even awrinkle.

“PerhapsXanneedsacap,too,”Nigelsaidwithasmirk.“Seehow hisheadissobigandround,withhispointyearsstickingupthrough hishair.”

Christinafoldedherarmsandpretendedafrown.“Stopteasing poorAlexander.Besides,hehasthemostpreciousbrowneyesI’ve everseen.”

UncleputhishandsonXan’sshouldersandsmiled.“Godric,once wegetXananewtunic,thesetwowillmakequitethesplendidpairof nephews, will theynot?”

“Quitethepair,”Godricsaid.“WhenNigelarrivedfrommybrother onlytwoyearsago,Ibarelyknewhim.Yethehasshownhimselfastrue a nephew as your own,William.”

ExceptthatbeingapairwithNigelwasabsurd.Apairofnephews couldn’tworkthesamesaleofgoods,orunloadthesamecrateof imports,ormarrythesamegirl.AndNigelwasolder,taller,andmore agreeable. That meant Nigel would always be the better of thepair.

WhyhadhebotheredtoleavetheabbeyifUnclehadsomeonelike Nigel around tohelp?

“Wewon’tbeapairifIsailtoParisandjoinDukeGeoffreyatcourt,” Nigelsaid.

Godric’snephewoftenactedasthoughtheDukehadinvitedhimto bereceivedatcourtashisroyalmerchant.ButwhywouldoneofKing Henry’s sons take an interest in Nigel atall?

“You wouldn’t leave us like that,” Christina said. “Surelynot.”

Xanshookhishead.“’Tisnotlikely.HebarelymettheDukeonly that onetime.”

NigelhadsoldDukeGeoffreyasinglepieceofjewelrywhenthe DukehadpassedthroughLincolnlastyear.Nowheactedasthoughhe and the Duke were huntingcompanions.

“Ifyoumustknow,Xan,”Nigelsaid.“Iexchangedaletterwiththe Duke’spersonalservantinFebruary.TheDukeseeksthetwintothat brooch I sold him, and I have half a mind to bring it to Parismyself.”

Christinaputherhandsonherhips.“Don’tyougogettingNigel upset,Alexander.You’llchasehimawayacrossthechannelereyou’re done, if you keep thisup.”

If only being rid of Nigel were thateasy.

“Stopallthisbickering,”Unclesaid,laughing.“Wehaveworktodo.” Unpackingcratesandspeakingtocustomerswasn’t true work, though.ReallaborwasharvestingthecropsintheEastFieldback atHardonbury,orworkingtheabbey’sgrangeswiththelaybrothers, ortranslatingLatinfromoneofFatherAndrew’sparchmentsinthe abbey’slibrary.Butthosedaysweregonenow,likesomanyothervanities in thisworld.

“Comeon,Xan.”Nigelslappedhimonthebackabittoohard. “WhileChristinaunpackstheselinens,whynotjoinmeatthedocks toseeifanothershipmenthascome?Icanteachyoutoridethewhite swans in thepool.”

AsXanopenedhismouthtosay no,UncleWilliamburstintothe conversation.“Abrilliantidea,Nigel!”Unclepulledoutachangepurse andhandedittoXan.“Youtwogo.Eveniftheshipmenthasnotyet come, be sure to stop at the blacksmith and pick up ourorder.”

“Aye,Uncle.”

NigeltuggedthesleeveofGodric’sshirt.“Whynotjoinus,Godric? Perhapswecanstopatthewine-seller’sandfindusabottleofredfor thisevening’smerrymaking.DoesitnotsaysomewhereintheScriptures that we should eat, drink, and beglad?”

“Ayeitdoes,”Godricsaid.“AndIgladlywilljoinyou.Walkingwith thissplendidpairofnephewsmayprovetomakeforanamusing journey.”

ThelasttimeGodricandNigelhadgonetobuywine,they’dgotten inafistfightwithseveraldaylaborerswho’dcomeinfromtheoutlying fields. Godric had called that amusingtoo.

ChristinapattedXan’sarminpretendsympathy.“Besuretokeep those two out oftrouble.”

Nigelgavehimawink.“Youmightwanttotakethatblade,Xan,in case we get ambushed by those ruffiansagain.”

Unfortunately,anambushwasarealpossibilitywiththosetwo mischief-makers.

n this thrilling installment of the award-winning series, The Harwood Mysteries, Xan is living in Lincoln as a merchant’s apprentice to his uncle. But all is not well.

Uncle William’s business partner has become deathly ill after he angered a mysterious, scarred woman in the marketplace.

Nigel, the reckless nephew of William’s business partner, has put them in danger by befriending an enemy of the King.

Why is there a band of brutes lurking near Uncle William’s shop?

Does the disfigured woman in the marketplace really have power over life and death?

Will Nigel stop his dealings with a known traitor?

ISBN: 978-0-8294-5427-7 $19.99 U.S.

The Merchant's Curse

Antony Barone Kolenc