The Glass Customer and the Order

Once upon a time, there lived a merchant in an ancient village on the coast near an ocean. The Merchant’s name was Torvalds.
Torvalds was a man of many talents. He sold many things. Sometimes, he would sell extravagant garments, with which the wealthy and aspiring wealthy would adorn themselves, always making sure to pay Torvalds for his discerning taste, business acumen, and access to the finest fashions.
At other times, Torvalds would sell implements or tools, which were used in building everything from outhouses and stools to large palaces. These were tools of the highest quality and the utmost durability. They also sold at an enticing price: not so high as to be unappetizing and not so low as to cheapen the derelict among them.
Torvalds was good at what he did, and he enjoyed his work. Not only was business satisfactory, but the satisfaction he would receive from producing the objects of his customers’ delight was enough to send him to the end of his days with a feeling of contentment that could not be overshadowed, overstated, or eliminated.
“I love being a merchant,” said Torvalds. “One who’s limits are not of the seas, or the skies, but of the pleasures.”
That was not the limit of Torvalds’s commercial prowess. He was also involved in the buying and selling of rare jewels. Of course, not all of Torvalds’s jewelry was priceless, or even valuable. Many of his customers preferred tinted glass or “worthless gold.” For them, it wasn’t the value of the merchandise that mattered, but the presentation and the color.
Torvalds sold rings with glass jewels and rare diamonds, both, to various customers. Many said that his glass items reduced the value of his real jewels. Others said that his “glass customers” were getting too big for their chamber pots.
There was one such glass customer on the morning of the fifth month, and on the seventeenth day. She had been a customer for years, buying many “glass menageries” and planning much of her wardrobe, and even her social life, around the acquisition of these glass pieces of wonderment which Torvalds was selling.
Being a wealthy socialite and not wanting her other socialite friends to know that she traded in glass, she shopped under a pseudonym. To Torvalds, her name was simply Mrs. Glass. Torvalds knew who she really was – the wealthy socialite heiress of an earl – but that didn’t change the fact that she was an honored customer, one of his best. Whenever his new glass merchandise came in, he’d be sure that she would find it.
He did not know how or who tipped her off, but she would be there, right as rain, as soon as the new merchandise came in.
One day, as Torvalds was tending one of his many shops around town, Mrs. Glass showed up. She was masked, as usual, and she spoke in a very strange voice. Torvalds would have thought that this was strange, but then again, he knew Mrs. Glass. Or so he thought.
That day, she was there to buy some real jewelry that had just come in, but she didn’t have enough money on her person.
“Do you have anything that could be used as payment?” said Torvalds, always eager to please. “I’m flexible.”
“Oh, I do have this,” said Mrs. Glass.
Mrs. Glass then proceeded to reach into her purse and pull out an old book. It was a rather small, worn book, with an intricate, ornate, and woven cover. It looked like the “Book of the Dead,” only not frightening.
Torvalds examined it carefully and then accepted it, along with the money she had, as payment for services rendered.
After that brief exchange, their relationship returned to the way it was before. Mrs. Glass would come by the market to buy some wares. It wasn’t always jewelry. Sometimes it was clothing as well or implements. Torvalds was happy to serve and prepared to help in any way that he could.
A few weeks after that day, Mrs. Glass stopped coming. She simply did not show her face at any of Torvalds’s shops. This was extremely distressing to Torvalds as she was one of his best customers, a store favorite. Always a ray of sunshine. A pleasure to be around.
At first, Torvalds didn’t think much of it. He thought she maybe had her fill. Or maybe she had found another merchant, one with expensive “diamonds” that sold for the price of glass.
One day, while working at his shop, a man came and began to look around.
“Hello there, fine merchant. How may you be of service to me today?” said the man.
Torvalds was worried because the man looked dangerous. His hair was disheveled, and he carried two swords, both on the right side of his belt. His skin was leathery and covered with bruises. At one point, the man saw the book on the shelf, the one that had been given to Torvalds by Mrs. Glass, and he exploded in anger.
“What is this? By the gods, a thievery, one of the most pressing in nature! I cannot believe that this is happening! The affrontery! Thief!”
“That is my book. You may look at it, but it’s not for sale.”
The man was incensed. He stomped away, furious. What had he seen in that book? Was it a family heirloom? Why was he so angry with Torvalds?
A week later, the man came back with his posse.
“That man has taken the seal of the great Trimavera Empire. This affrontery is not to be trifled. There is only one punishment for thievery of this kind.”
“What?” said Torvalds.
“Death!”
“Nonsense,” said Torvalds. “You can look, but by order of the king of this great land, you may not steal. And it’s not for sale.”
The argument grew, until the warrior’s clan declared ware on Torvalds’s village. Torvalds was not a soldier, so was not allowed to join in the fighting. The war was bloody. Many died on both sides. Eventually, the king of Torvalds’s village was summoned from battle. His village was losing the war. They had been cut off from their resources, and from food, and were slowly starving.
The enemy had one request. Sacrifice Torvalds for his sacrilege. The King got his secret army together and scoured the village.
“Find that man and bring him to me,” said the king.
When Torvalds was found, he was brought before a tribunal, where he was sentenced to death. By beheading. In a public square, the sentence was carried out. He died singing.