“ … need an outland partner there …”
“ … dry winter in Hydlen they say.”
“ … spring looks dry, and grain’ll be getting scarce.”
Lorn’s eyes flicker from the three before him to the others in blue nearing the Plaza-mostly men, the majority bearded and arriving at the Plaza in groups of two or three.
“Enumerator! You’re late!” Ryalth’s voice snaps at him like a whip.
Lorn winces, and turns, bowing to Ryalth from where she emerges from the morning shadows cast by the pillared entrance to the Plaza. “I am most sorry, Lady Merchanter. Most sorry.”
“Sorry does not matter. Once more, and you’ll be working in Jera … or bilge crew on a Hamorian scow.”
At the scorn in her voice and the snickers from the merchanters before and behind him, Lorn flushes. “Yes, Lady.” He bows again.
Ryalth ignores him, turning and striding toward the harbor.
Lorn scrambles after her, another set of snickers in his wake.
“ … voice’ll peel lead from a fireship’s hull …”
“See why you don’t cross her ….”
Obviously, Ryalth has a certain reputation.
For a time, he walks a half-pace behind her, to her right. She turns down the First Harbor Way East, and he follows, finally drawing up beside her once they are well out of sightof those who might have witnessed her scolding of him.
“You were late,” she murmurs, not slacking her pace, as she turns onto the walkway beside the east seawall of the harbor.
“I was. I supposed I deserved that.” He grins. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Actually, I did.” A faint smile crosses her face. “I don’t get to order the upper classes around much.” The smile vanishes. “Eileyt is up in the office. This will have to be quick.”
“Why did you want me to come with you?”
“You have a good sense about people, and there’s something about L’Igek that bothers me.” She frowns.
“Your senses are as good as mine.”
“Better in some ways, but not in this case.”
The two turn and take the outermost of the white stone piers toward the oiled wooden hull of the three-masted and square-rigged ship tied at the seaward end. As they near the vessel, Lorn makes out the name carved into the stern-Redwind Courser. The inset letters are painted a brilliant light green that stands out against the wood. A Brystan jack hangs limply from the stern staff.
Two armed guards, with iron-studded leather vests worn over gray shirts, stand at the foot of the gangway. Each wears a heavy leather belt from which hang both a truncheon and a slightly curved scimitar. Their heavy boots are iron-toed.
Ryalth stops a good three cubits from the pair. “Merchanter Ryalth and her enumerator, of Ryalor House,” she announces.
“Let them aboard,” calls a voice from the main deck.
Lorn glances past the guards to the pale-faced and fullbearded man in a green tunic and a short golden vest, then follows Ryalth up the gangway onto the polished wooden deck of the Redwind Courser.
“Lady Merchanter.” The thin trader, a head taller than either Lorn or Ryalth, bows moderately. “We are most glad to see you.”
“And we, you.” Ryalth’s voice is cool, assured, as she returns the bow.
Lorn follows her lead and bows as well, but his senses are already scanning the vessel, trying to discover what it is that had previously concerned Ryalth.
“Master L’Igek!” calls another younger man in green, also wearing a short gold vest, but a simpler one.
The Brystan bows to Ryalth. “If you will excuse me for a moment …”
“Not at all. Would you mind if I showed the enumerator around-just the open decks? His experience has been more in the grasslands than here.”
“Be our guest.” L’Igek smiles politely before turning.
“This way,” Ryalth says coolly, her voice harder than when she had spoken to L’Igek. Lorn follows as she climbs the ladder-steps to the higher rear deck. They pass a raised platform that holds the ship’s wheel and a rack designed, presumably, to hold navigation gear when at sea.
Lorn can understand Ryalth’s feelings about the ship. While the people hold the normal ranges of order and chaos within their bodies, the ship itself is less than whole. He lets his senses range down the rudder that dominates the stem, but the wood is solid.
They parallel the taffrail and then head forward, descending the ladder on the seaward side of the Courser. Lorn stiffens, then murmurs to Ryalth, “Bracing … the keel itself is cracking … a weakness in the wood … something like that.”
Ryalth nods politely, and murmurs. “Say no more. Not now.” She adds more loudly. “That’s the main hold cover there. Don’t ask stupid questions.”
Lorn bows his head and answers obsequiously, “Yes, Lady Merchanter. As you wish.”
Ryalth’s eyes harden. “Remember that.”
L’Igek, turning from the junior officer or mate, smothers a smile as he nears them. “I have the agreements in my cabin.” He gestures, then leads Ryalth through the open passageway on the main deck into the rear deckhouse.
Lorn follows.
“This enumerator is more … muscular than the last,” says the Brystan in a low voice to Ryalth.
“They have differing talents,” Ryalth replies off-handedly.
L’Igek laughs. “I like you, Lady Ryalth. Like a dagger, you reach the point quickly.” He stops in the narrow passageway, steps past the doorway, and allows both Ryalth and Lorn to enter.
The master’s cabin is cramped, with a narrow bunk flush against the rear bulkhead. Forward of the bunk is a circular table, bolted to the deck, with four low-backed chairs around it. Several scrolls and a pile of what appear to be bills of lading are stacked on one side, a closed ledger beside them.
The Brystan seats himself by the papers and waits for Ryalth to sit.
“You have a tenth of the oilseeds, and a twentieth part of the dried fruit. Do you wish a tenth of the gingerwood?”
“I would greatly like that,” Ryalth admits, “but the House accounts will not cover that at present.”
L’Igek nods as if he had expected the response.
“And how much do you wish to take of the return spice cargo?” asks the Brystan. “You had mentioned an interest there.”
“As little as you will grant me the favor of,” Ryalth says almost pleadingly. “We are but a small house, as well you know, and … you did hear of what befell the Western Hare?”
The pale-skinned Brystan nods. “I was not aware ….”
“Enough,” Ryalth replies. “More than enough. We have shares in others, but I cannot promise what has not ported.” She shrugs apologetically. “You will set out before we see those coins, yet I would not lose your favor.”
“Fifty golds … I cannot accept less, not for the best in Hamorian peppercorns and cumin.”
Ryalth winces. “For you, for your friendship, it will be fifty.” She pauses. “But the usual arrangement.”
“Of course. That will not change.”
Ryalth extracts a wallet from somewhere and carefully counts out twenty-five golds, then eases them onto the polishedwood of the table before L’Igek. In turn, the Brystan counts them. Only after that does he lift the pen and write out the exchange bill.
Once he has finished it, he extends the parchment to her. She reads slowly and carefully. Then she nods. L’Igek slides the inkstand across to her, and extends a quill pen. She signs, her cursive clear and precise: Ryalth for Ryalor House.
Then L’Igek signs and returns the parchment to her. “Always a pleasure doing business with Ryalor House, Lady Merchanter.” L’Igek pauses, then grins. “Will we ever see a true man in your House?”
Ryalth returns the grin with a smile. “I am most certain you will. Perhaps sooner than you think.”
“You have said such before.” L’Igek rises.
“And I will again,” replies Ryalth as she stands.
Lorn follows their lead, and trails them out onto the main deck.
“We sail with the evening wind,” L’Igek announces.