[center][color=yellow][h3]Gruyere Emmentaler Caerphilly Yarg[/h3][/color][/center]

Once the laborious process of hauling the work-in-progress cheeses to their shelves to dry and age finally concluded, Gru and his crews of rats could finally take a well-earned break. Despite the masterful engineering of the Chuck Wagon, designed to maintain a consistent internal climate however extreme the conditions outside might be, there was only so much that insulation and heat shielding could do to mitigate the cruel alliance of scorching hot day without and arresting humidity within. Though his darlings could be reasonably comfortable up in the dry darkness of their attic, Gru found himself utterly unable to relax even in the Chuck Wagon’s dry compartment, even after a change of clothes to try and freshen up. A number of rats tried to help by fanning him, which was lovely and earned them some extra pellets, but the biggest source of discomfort was his own mind.

After needing to spend his bottom dollar to kickstart his business, he could now do nothing but wait and trust in his craft, which all things considered made the man rather anxious. As much as the secure confines of his vehicle comforted the cheesemonger in the face of an unknown and potentially hazardous culture, he knew that he desperately needed a change of scene. Somewhere shady and cool, with a strong drink to perk him up, would work wonders. Appetite was beginning to gnaw at his stomach as well. Having worked through the whole morning, Gru realized that lunchtime must be nigh. With Gadri long gone, however, he lacked any sort of guide who could make a foray into Buraq’s Clanhold less intimidating. To make matters worse, a profuse singing now echoed through the vast citadel. What was a man to do?

So Gru sat there in his chair for a while, listening to the unknown song. Before long it concluded, replaced by more typical goings-on outside his wagon, but still he continued to sweat and psych himself up for an adventure. In the course of his hesitation, however, he received a surprise in the form of three loud squeaks from the sentry rat on lookout duty by the door. He’d seen somebody coming through his peephole and sounded the alarm; two squeaks meant ‘friend’, but three meant ‘stranger’. The cheesemonger jumped to his feet, surrounded by  scurrying rats. Gru scurried alongside them.  “Just a moment!” His darlings vanished into their holes to hide in the walls, closing the little hatches behind him. Some piled into drawers or climbed into chests, while others just hid behind books and things. With nowhere else to go, thirty-two of them threw on little capes of white or black and went for the empty chess set on Gru’s desk, where they hurriedly adopted poses appropriate for bishops, rooks, and pawns. Gru dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, adjusted his hat, and stepped toward the door. By the time he opened it, there were no traces of any rats at all.

“Good morning, noble visitors,” he greeted his visitors, bowing deferentially, perhaps excessively. Better to be safe than sorry. Three Dinnin-dwarves stood before him. They were squat, broad, clad in loose clothing of evident quality and rich coloration, and their voluminous beards featured styles that looked similarly audacious but braided and bejeweled by different conventions. Not soldiers, as one might expect given the proximity of the nearby military encampment, but decently well-to-do citizens, perhaps of a merchant caste. Though their manner seemed stiffly formal, much like Gru’s own, their guarded expressions still betrayed the curiosity in their eyes, and a little amusement. The cheesemonger’s unusual appearance and clear eccentricities tended to provoke such a reaction, making him difficult to forget or dismiss offhand. First impressions, after all, were everything. “What can I do for you?”

For the briefest moment the dwarf in the center looked past him, taking in the Chuck Wagon’s interior at a glance, but he found nothing more than the furnishings of a wealthy tradesman. Not wanting to be impolite, he did not allow his gaze to linger, and quickly fixed it on Gru himself. Of the three strangers, this one appeared to be the broadest, endowed with the more impressive turban and a double-decker mustache that inspired a sense of unflappable authority. Maybe he saw some kinship in Gru’s triple-decker mustache, despite its comparative thinness.

“Please forgive our intrusion,” he began. “Welcome to Clanhold Buraq, newcomer. I am Argun, and these are Dilar and Ufuk. We represent the Dawnlight Opportunities Firm. Our business is the discovery and promotion of worthy ventures that otherwise wouldn’t be able to penetrate the tight-knit Clanhold market. This morning, we happened to receive reports of a great many rats running rampant around this area, and you yourself featured in these reports invariably. Naturally such sightings invite worries of pestilence and whatnot. We merely wanted to meet you and make sure that all is well.”

Gru barely heard the dwarves’ concerns about rats. Naturally, his rather unique entourage tended to spark such trepidations everywhere he went, and by now he possessed a wealth of experience when it came to defusing such situations. While most everyone harbored prejudices against his darlings, he never tired of extolling their virtues, and the cheesemonger could convince the average rodent-fearing skeptic in his sleep. What interested him more was these dwarves’ trade. [i]Marketers,[/i] he realized immediately. That could be just what he needed to get his business off the ground in this market. Of course, there was no such thing as a free lunch, and his pessimism told him to expect a steep cut. That might just be the price of doing business, though. Realistically speaking, Gru knew he ought to be grateful that he got a visit from marketers instead of soldiers, here to arrest him for operating without some sort of license. He needed to act fast, get the preamble over with, and start forging this connection.

The cheesemonger clasped his hands and put on his most disarming smile. That wasn’t to say he wielded the good looks to inspire a sense of trustworthiness through the halo effect, but with a smile like this he could inspire a sense of pity through the implication that this inquiry was just the latest chapter of a long-suffering epic. “I see, of course. Please, allow me to reassure you. You’re hardly the first to bring such understandable concerns to my doorstep. In a sense, the reports you received were true. But the magnificent creatures your eyewitnesses beheld were no mere rats. They are not just my pets, but my employees and associates, bred of the finest stock imaginable and surpassingly intelligent. They can pour your tea, butter your bread, and perform tricks of such stupendous caliber that you’ll scarcely believe they’re not magic. And they’re not just brainy, but also unfailingly hygienic, and wonderfully affectionate.” Gru stepped aside from the doorway, sweeping a hand toward his wagon’s interior. “Perhaps you’d like a demonstration?”

The dwarves seemed impressed with the craft and speed of his speech. “You’re clearly no stranger to such inquiries,” Argun said, laughing through his nose. He clearly knew a sales pitch when he heard it, but if these rats were workers rather than commodities, he couldn’t help but wonder about their trade. He climbed the stairs somewhat ponderously and stepped inside. It might be warm in here, but at least it was out of the sun. His associates followed him, and by the time Ufuk closed the door behind them, Gru had already poured them tea. He kept his tea set in a padded chest just for occasions like this, never using it himself. Bought at a high price from maritime traders over a year ago, its soapstone featured an intriguing texture and gray-rust coloration.

“I must apologize for my meager accommodations,” Gru told his visitors. “My humble mobile home is woefully unsuited for entertaining guests.”

For the moment, Argun seemed more interested in the aromatic new cheeses on the shelves. He had no idea how many tiny, beady eyes were watching him at any given moment. “Not at all. In fact, this is quite exquisite for a mere wagon. Is this your product, here?”

Gru nodded enthusiastically, sweeping over to shower his cheeses with gesticulation and showmanship. “Correct, sir. Made fresh this morning, these high-quality cheeses must age before they can be eaten, but very soon they will be ready for consumption. Though the wealth of the Clanhold is vast indeed, I daresay that its venerable people have never tasted the like.”

Dilar nodded sagaciously, clearly interested. “I’ve never smelled anything like it myself.”

“And that is but a shadow of what is to come, once time had worked its magic,” Gru smiled. “And I do believe we may be able to make some magic happen together. As you might expect, I’m rather new here, and though I’m confident that my cheeses’ quality speaks for itself, that means little if nobody’s around to hear it. But before we talk business, I believe a demonstration is in order. Not just of my product, but of its producers.” He brought his guests over to his table, where he pulled out a chair before seating himself in the other. On the table lay his chess board, each piece already set up for a game. “I’m sure you know how to play?”

Argun plopped down, bushy brow raised at the suggestion that he might not. “Of course.” His eyes lay on the curious pieces, clearly not yet sure what he was looking at.

“Ah, but my house rules are slightly different. Observe.” Gru tapped the head of the white-cloaked pawn in front of his king, then tapped the square two spaces ahead. To his guests’ surprise, the pawn seemed to come to life, marching to the designated spot to stand with unflinching stillness, her tail coiled around her little feet. “See what I mean?”

Though taken aback for a moment by the realization that he’d been invited to play chess with live rats, Argun’s surprise turned to amusement. “Surpassingly intelligent, hmm? You weren’t joking, hohoho!” With an almost childlike eagerness he reached out, gently tapping one of the black-cloaked rats between his ears. Once directed, he marched forward to face Gru’s pawn, where they stared one another down with mock fierceness. “Clever. Well then, mister…?”

“Yarg,” Gru supplied.

“Mr. Yarg. You should know that even though this is not a Dinnin game, I have yet to be defeated. Rats or no rats, I have no intention of losing.”

The cheesemonger tipped his head in respect. “I expect nothing less. I’ll try not to make this too easy for you.”

Argun chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “Then let us begin.”