Free The Coffee Trader by David Liss Page B

that they plan to buy large quantities of whale oil to sell in the Japans and Cathay, but these Company fellows have the patience to wait for the price to drop since they know production has been climbing steadily of late. Parido has been quietly collecting whale oil on other exchanges—just a little here and there, you understand—and hopes to flood the market slowly enough to lower the price without raising suspicion. Meanwhile, he and his combination are also buying calls, which will allow them to secure the current low prices.”
    Miguel let out a breath. “I am no friend of that man, but I am impressed. At some point the East India Company will decide the price is low enough to buy and stock their own warehouses, and when that happens the price goes up. Meanwhile, Parido’s combination has the calls, which allow them to buy at the artificially lowered price and then turn around and sell at the new inflated price.” Trading combinations manipulated the markets all the time, but this plan—buying on other exchanges, creating a market to tempt a buyer—was beyond anything Miguel had ever heard. “How did you learn all this?”
    Alferonda smoothed his beard. “Anything that is known can be learned. You hear rumors about whale oil, I ask some questions, and soon everything is revealed.”
    “When will this trade take place?”
    “Sometime next month, between this reckoning day and the next. I hardly need say anything to you, but as your friend I must warn you to proceed carefully. You may hitch a ride on Parido’s venture if you like. He’ll scowl that you should have profited from his work, and that’s nothing, but do him no harm that he can see or he’ll never forgive you.”
    “You must think me addled to lecture me about that,” Miguel said good-naturedly.
    “Not addled, but I would hate to see your eagerness undo your ambitions. Now, I’ve already bought whale oil at its low price, and I suggest you do so too as quickly as you can.”
    “It will have to wait until after this reckoning day. I hope to have a few coins to my name then.”
    A Turk placed two small bowls before them. They were smaller than any drinking vessels Miguel had ever seen and contained a liquid black and thick as mud.
    “What is this?” Miguel asked.
    “It’s coffee. Have you not tried it yet?”
    “I have,” Miguel said, as he picked up the bowl and held it closer to an oil lamp, “but it seemed a different thing than this altogether.”
    “This is how the Turks drink it. They boil it three times in a copper pot to darken and distill it. In their native land, they often serve it with great ceremony. But Amsterdammers have no time for the frivolity of ritual. Be careful. Let the powder rest at the bottom.”
    “When I drank it before,” Miguel said, eyeing the drink skeptically, “it was made with milk. Or sweet wine. I can’t recall.”
    “The Turks believe that combining milk and coffee causes leprosy.”
    Miguel laughed. “I hope not. You seem to know a great deal about coffee. What else can you tell me?”
    “I can tell you about Kaldi, the Abyssinian goatherd.”
    “I don’t know that I have any interest in goatherds.”
    “You’ll find this one interesting. He lived quite some time ago, tending his flock in the hills of Abyssinia. One afternoon he noticed that his goats were much more lively than usual, dancing about, raising up on their hind legs, bleating out their little goat songs. Kaldi spent several days watching them, and they grew increasingly more lively. They ran and played and hopped about when they should have been sleeping. They danced and sang instead of eating.
    “Kaldi was certain a demon had possessed the goats, but he summoned his courage and followed the beasts, hoping to catch a glimpse of this fiend. The next day, he saw that the goats had come upon a strange bush. After they ate the fruit of the bush, they once again began to leap about. Kaldi ate some of the berries himself, and soon