by Patty Jansen
The upstairs hall buzzed with many voices. People lined up for the counter at the far end. A huge display listed available flights out of Miran and their status. Several, including this afternoon's flight to Barresh, had been marked full.
Well, drat, that was annoying. Now what was she going to do tonight? She'd hoped to sleep on the flight so that she didn't have to get an expensive room in one of the guesthouses with added risk that her father would find her there. Maybe she could pay for a priority seat and still leave tonight.
But the longer she stood in the shuffling line, the more she realised that the Exchange was unusually busy. People even lined up for the communication booths, where people who had no access to a private hub could send messages or talk to their friends or relatives, or business partners, in other towns or off-world.
The employees at the counter looked flustered and harassed. People argued.
Slowly, the line progressed until it was her turn.
"Lady, can I help you?"
"How much is a priority seat on this afternoon's shuttle to Barresh?"
"The shuttle?" His expression was one of surprise. Endri did not usually travel on the shuttles. "Sorry, all seats for today booked out, even the priority ones. Next available flight is tomorrow morning, but I only have regular seats available on that one."
"I'll take it." She'd just have to hang around somewhere tonight.
While he checked her pass and entered details, she said, "I've never seen it this busy here. Is there anything special going on?"
He gave her a strange look of the are-you-serious kind, and the merchants behind her, who had been talking loudly, fell quiet. In the uneasy silence, the clicking of the machine that issued the ticket sounded loud.
"No, nothing special," the man said. He handed her the ticket chip, which Mikandra put in her pocket.
"Have a nice trip, lady."
Mikandra traversed the hall back to the stairs while feeling the weight of a thousand gazes on her back. All those people in the hall were Nikala. Merchants mostly, but also other commoners in administrative positions. People from Miran's middle class.
Clearly, something had happened that made all these people want to leave, like an unfavourable law passed by the council. But no one was going to tell her because she was Endri, and the High Councillor's niece to boot, and considered to be part of the problem. Or something like that.
The burst of energy she had felt earlier in the morning was fading fast. And drat, the snow was getting worse. If this kept up, all flights would be cancelled and she wouldn't even be able to leave tomorrow morning. If that happened, with this many delayed passengers, who knew when she could finally leave? She had considered waiting overnight in the airport waiting hall, but didn't want to be stuck there for days.
She stopped under the building's porch staring at the white drift. Already the council buildings were barely visible. A couple of people ploughed through a snow mound in front of the Trader Guild headquarters.
The Trader Guild, of which she was now, officially, a member.
The Trader pledge went,
I dedicate my life to the Trader Guild.
I will recognise the Guild’s authority above all others.
I will respect and obey the Trader Laws at all times, and report on those who break them.
I will honour and respect my fellow Traders, regardless of their race or origin.
I will accept them and their families as my kinsfolk.
I pledge unswerving loyalty to the Trader Guild and in return, expect unswerving loyalty of the Guild to me.
The loyalty of Traders to each other above their loyalty to their nation of origin was always a sore point with the Mirani council. But, having accepted her position, she could now draw on that loyalty. She hated asking for help, but the only thing she wanted from the Mirani chapter of the Guild was a place to sleep for the night.
Chapter 11
The steady stream of people coming in and out of the Trader Guild building consisted mostly of Nikala merchant men from well-off families or their employees in uniforms that identified the family they worked for. The ground floor hall was full of talking and yelling merchants, and the poor Guild employees behind the counter were feverishly entering bids into the system, which then made it onto the large screen at the back of the room.
Mikandra went up the stairs to the Guild foyer. This time there was a queue of couriers and other people. Some of them were young men from Trading families, who were probably here to accept their offers. They were chatting and laughing, in that loud and entitled air that Trader's sons did so well. One or two cast strange looks at her. She was the only woman in the line.
The Guild employee who had served her yesterday still worked behind the counter, or more likely he had gone home and was now back. It was hard to tell. The office would adhere to Trader time, which was the same as Kedras time, and Kedras had a much shorter day than Ceren, all of which meant that she had no idea how long the shifts were.
Slowly, the queue grew shorter. A group of Trader sons went to the counter and came back with the same satchel she had been given. They sat on the seats in the hall, occasionally yelling something to other Trader sons behind Mikandra in the queue. The merchant in front of Mikandra went to pay for his purchases. He moved away and it was her turn.
The Guild employee raised his eyebrows. "Weren't you just here yesterday? I've sent your acceptance. You should hear from headquarters soon."
The young men waiting on the seats looked around and frowned at her. Mikandra wished they'd mind their own business.
Her cheeks burned. "I was wondering if you could help me." She spoke as softly as she could.
"I had . . . a disagreement with my father. He wants me to refuse the position and I'm not welcome home until I give up my position, but I'm not going to. Now I can't go home. Is there somewhere . . . I can stay for tonight?"
He chuckled. "Not impressed, is he?"
It had gone very quiet in the hall.
Mikandra shook her head and looked down. This was the most embarrassing thing she'd ever done. Asking for help was not the way she liked to live. She saw her father's stern face before her, and heard the words he often repeated. We Endri provide for the common people. That has been our task as written into the Foundation treaty. She hadn't earned the privilege of Trader Guild protection. Asking for help one day after acceptance was distasteful.
Someone in the room was muttering something about the Andrahar brothers.
"Isn't it your sponsor's task to look after you?" the man asked.
"He's not here. The family has a lot of problems."
"You can say that again."
Another heavy silence. Maybe he expected her to gossip.
"Please? I've been accepted. The pledge says all Traders. Don't people say your bond with the Guild will be stronger than that with your immediate family."
He blew out a breath. "For a little while then."
"Only for one night."
"Sure, but if your family remains unaccommodating, you will have to call on the other Andrahar brothers to support you. Come."
He opened the door behind him, the one with the sign that said Traders only beyond this point and let her into that inner sanctum. This was not how she had expected to enter this place for the first time.
Mikandra had only ever seen pictures of the room beyond: high-ceilinged, with arches and elaborate carved stone flowers. Bookshelves lined the outer walls, stacked from top to bottom with heavy tomes. The floor was filled with an assortment of varying chairs and couches surrounding antique tables. Wooden tables, too. Only the rich could afford to have wooden furniture imported from Bendara. The carpet was soft underfoot. A row of three lead glass windows looked out over the central square, where people battled across the open space against the snow drift in a landscape of whites and greys.
Three Traders sat talking around a table by the blazing fire. They fell quiet, frowning at her.
One of t
he men was Andro Tussamar, the head of the Mirani chapter of the Guild. He sat with his back to the window, his enormous body jammed in an armchair and spilling over the armrests. As she passed, his watery eyes met hers. He would know what she was doing here. She had no doubt that, as traditionalist, he'd have something to say about it, too.
With him were the identical Bisumar twins who, despite their family name, were only marginally related to her. She remembered the boys being at her school when she first came. Arrogant, bullying boys who confirmed every bad thing people always said about Trading families. They'd left when Mikandra went to her second year and Antho Tussamar was probably their mentor. Which probably pegged them as conservative as well.
Their gazes were questioning. One of them signalled to the employee who had led Mikandra into the room, and the man responded with a hand gesture. Mikandra didn't know the Trader sign language well enough to make out what was being communicated. She didn't like the way one of the twins looked at her.
The employee led her through the room into a corridor with similar soft carpet and traditional oil lights on elaborate sconces on the wall. They passed a small kitchen where the cook stood at a central table mixing something in a bowl. A mouth-watering smell of fresh bread spread out from the kitchen.
The rest of the corridor had doors at regular intervals, each with a number on a neat sign affixed on the wall next to the door, and underneath a narrow but deep recess in the wall that, at a couple of the rooms, held a message satchel. One of the doors stood open, revealing a small room with a couch and a desk and two chairs. A few bags lay on the floor.
The man opened a door to the left into a similar room, this one neat and unused. "You can stay in here, just until you have something else sorted out."
"Thank you." Mikandra didn't dare to ask about any time limits or cost. She also realised that she might have her apprentice uniform, but if she wanted to go to Barresh inobtrusively, it was probably not a good idea to wear it. Nor would it be a good idea to draw so much attention to herself on the shuttle. She had no spare regular clothes and no money. Those things were all in her room at home.
He continued, "These rooms are for visiting Traders. We don't have a great number of those at the moment." The statement was heavy with meaning. "Visitors use these rooms for overnight stays. They're not really for living in long term."
"I understand."
"The cupboard door folds out into a bed. There are sheets and blankets on the top shelf. The bathroom is at the end of the hall. You'll find towels and soap there. Make sure that you lock the door to the change cubicle. We do not have separate sections for women. You'll have to get used to that. Everything at Kedras is mixed-gender."
"I know. Thank you. Could I arrange for a messenger to go and pick up some things for me? It's not far—only in the city."
"Sure, I'll send one of the boys along."
"Can I also order anything to eat?" The smell of cooking made her feel dizzy.
"I'll put your order through to the cook." He took out a reader and tapped with his index finger. "I'll take your licence number for the courier and the food—"
"I'd like to pay for it, if I can."
"No, sorry, charge only. Everything you use here is charged to your account at the end of each month."
She could do nothing except watch him punch 1101. "Leave your message and the address in the slot outside the door. Someone will come and pick it up. The food will be served in the common room."
Drat. So here was Rehan, giving up his precious aircraft so the family could pay bills and she wasn't even allowed to pay for her food? What sort of impression would that make?
The image of his haunted face as he dropped the keys on the table would not leave her alone. If she was Taerzo, she would now be deeply ashamed of herself.
Mikandra dumped her cloak on the couch in the room. In the drawer of the desk, she found a folder with sheets of thick paper and there were pens in a stand which consisted of a block of polished marble with holes that fitted the pens.
Everything in this place breathed old-fashioned quality.
She sat down and wrote a couple of notes. One for Rosep, instructing him to go into her room and send by return courier her hunting clothes, spare underwear and a few other things, including her account codes of her private savings.
One to her parents, explaining that she held them no ill will, but that she had made her decision.
The one to Liseyo was hardest to write. What could she say to the sister she loved dearly, who she didn't want to leave alone, and who she wanted to protect? Everything sounded horribly trite, including the last sentence I'll be back to look after you and to take you on adventures.
Finally, she folded all her notes, put her family name on them and stuck them in the slot next to the door.
Then she made her way back through the corridor. The cook glanced sideways as she passed, and nodded a polite greeting. "Are you ready for your meal now?"
"Yes, thank you."
"I'll bring it out soon."
She entered the common room, where Antho Tussamar still sat with the twins. The men fell silent while she sat down in at a table in the corner furthest from the hearth.
After a while of sitting in silence, one of the twins rose. "Anyway, better go back to work for a bit."
His brother muttered agreement and the two left the room one after the other.
They met the cook at the door, coming the other way with a tray which he carried over to Mikandra's table. "Here you are, lady."
"Thank you."
He bowed and left.
Mikandra lifted the lid off the tray. There was a bowl of soup underneath, bread and steamed fish, beans and herb sauce. The smell was heavenly.
The tray's lid was dripping condensed water all over the table so she put it on the ground, leaning against the empty chair next to her.
When she looked up again, Antho Tussamar had twisted in his seat. She met his droopy and watering eyes.
"I heard you'd turned up." He grunted while pushing his enormous body out of his seat.
Mikandra ripped a piece of bread off a roll and put it in her mouth. She was starving.
He shuffled to her table, pulled out the seat opposite her and settled into it while waving his hand at her. "Keep eating, keep eating, you're much too skinny." His voice was breathy as if the action of shifting seats exerted him.
She picked up her spoon and started on the soup. It might have been because she was so hungry, but it was the best soup she had ever tasted. It would have tasted even better had this man not been at the table with her.
"Good, huh?" he said.
She nodded.
"The cook is the best in Miran." He folded his hands over his stomach and watched with a bemused look on his face while she ate. The soup was very hot, and a few times she burned herself, but she was so hungry that it was gone very quickly.
Antho Tussamar launched into a monologue about the food, about the fish which was caught locally, the beans, which came from the fields outside the city, the herbs which he said the cook went to pick himself on the mountain slopes.
Mikandra was glad that she had the food to keep herself busy, because otherwise she would have no idea what to say to this man. He was the head of the Mirani chapter of the Guild, and, according to Rehan, likely to be the one who had leaked the details of the court case to the council.
"Anyway, I'm glad to see a protege of mine entering the Guild."
Of his? "I signed with Iztho Andrahar." And she was pretty sure that the Andrahar family and the Tussamar Traders were on opposite sides of the import disagreement.
"Oh, I know, but I was talking to him perhaps a year back, and I said to him, 'Why don't you take an apprentice who is different from the others?' Since he doesn't have a son, you know."
She knew that. What a strange conversation. Was he always such a talker of empty nonsense?
She pushed her empty bowl aside and started on the fish. It was white-fle
shed, aromatic and cooked to perfection.
The door to the foyer opened, and a young man in apprentice uniform came in, saw Antho Tussamar at the table and sat in the corner. Probably one of his nephews. Mikandra felt like asking him Is he always this full of shit? She finished her fish and pushed her tray aside.
Antho waved the young man over. "This is my nephew, Thaeron." The young man nodded. "Thaeron, this is Mikandra Bisumar. She'll be going into the next intake for the Andrahar Traders."
"Oh?" The young man looked at her with a surprised expression.
"Thaeron will be graduating this year. If you have a problem with your gadgetry, my nephew here will fix it."
"Nice to meet you." The young man could not have looked less like an expert in anything had he tried.
Mikandra glanced at the tray with empty plates. Eating was an excellent way of not having to say anything when you didn't know what to say.
"Have you entered the draw for your rooming arrangements yet?" Thaeron asked.
"Uhm—no." Was she supposed to have filled out something else? "I haven't seen any forms for that. I presumed the accommodation would be allocated by the Guild."
"Oh yes, it is, but you can request that you get placed with other people, if you're early enough."
"Oh. I thought part of the idea of housing all the students in the Guild building was to give them the opportunity to meet with people from other entities."
Antho Tussamar laughed, an action which made his belly shake. "And how welcoming do you think the Asto section is going to be to us? They all room together, and I'll tell you, you do not want to be mixed up with them. Or can you imagine being roomed with the Hedron section?"
"Oh, all right." She wasn't sure that she saw the problem. Aunt Amandra's lover Ydana Ezmi came from Hedron. But she was happy to play along. "Where do I apply to do that?"
"Ask the clerk on the desk. Thaeron can help you if you want."
"I'll think about it."
"No, young lady, I very strongly suggest that you do it. The academy is not a friendly place, especially not for a pretty young woman."