Trader's Honour

by Patty Jansen

  "Oh." He seemed happy with that, too. Really, she should come up with better excuses next time.

  "Youz be staying with yer cousin, right?"

  Mikandra shrugged. "I don't know yet." Now she wished she hadn't brought up the cousin. Next thing he'd want to know where this cousin lived and she'd done little more than glance at a map of Barresh that she couldn't even tell him a street name.

  "Youz welcome t' stay with us. Th' mates are always staying in th' Market Street guesthouse. It's a dump of a place, but it's cheap 'n' everyone else is there, too. If youz know what I mean. Unlike th' other places, th' upmarket places. Of course, if I'd any money, I'd stay there, too."

  "Yeah." He was fishing for information, probably puzzled about her. A change of subject was badly needed. "At least it will be warm there."

  "Hot, hot, hot all th' time. It's like being in a bath house, 'xcept you can't get out. Then there's th' rain. It'll jus' come out of nowhere like pshhhhh." He flapped his hands up and down. "At leas' it's safe enough t' walk on th' street at night. They's meili, which aren't half as big as maramarang 'n they don' attack people. They jus' make a terrible racket in th' trees. Oh, and there's the ringit, too. Youz won' get t' see them, but they's hide in th' reeds 'n make this horrible noise that's jus' everywhere 'n' will hurt yer ears if youz unlucky t' get too close."

  "That—uhm—doesn't sound like a lot of fun. Why do you go to Barresh if the place is that terrible?"

  "Youz kidding? Where'd I say it was terrible?"

  "How long do you stay there for?"

  "What do youz mean? I live there. I jus' come t' Miran t' visit friends." He averted his eyes.

  He probably meant that he came to sign his army retention notice that guaranteed him pay.

  "How can you live in Barresh? Isn't the army banned from there?"

  "Th' army is, but not private people. Th' locals say they don' need us, but they do. They's pay some of my mates t' train their guards. They's pay others t' protect their stores."

  That was new to her. "But we're their enemies?"

  "Th' command likes t' think so, but really, when people have been there's long as we have, they's bound t' be some friends. I have friends there. They's not all Mirani either. Some mates have married local girls. Some set up businesses. As long as youz stay clear of th' council, because they hate us."

  "Is Barresh really as badly organised as they say?"

  He snorted. "Dunno's you call it bad. There's no rules, you know. Or none that anyone's worries about. We get along fine there."

  "But what about the two-day war?"

  "Bah, don' believe what th' guys up top say. They's saying what suits themselves, 'cause they ordered th' army t' do things that were really stupid. I mean, really, really stupid. They din' mind 'cause they din' have t' do it, but th' whole business with th' tails was vile. Not saying anything but I see why th' Pengali were angry."

  "Pengali?" Her knowledge was deserting her fast.

  "They's the ones that live in th' forest. They's got tails, and there used t' be some local law that said that they's not allowed to work in th' city with their tails on. Because apparently some time ago th' Pengali servants of some rich family used their tails to steal things, or some rubbish thing. And then all th' babies born in th' city who'd be working for the keihu people had their tails cut off at birth. But no one's worried much about it for a long time. But the upper command found out about this law and told th' army t' cut any off when they's caught them."

  What? Surely he was joking.

  "Don' look at me like that. That's what they's did. Some of them at least. Most of th' men jus' refused t' do it, but some of them did. It was vile 'n' stupid. Of course th' Pengali got angry."

  "Did you see any of this happening?" She shuddered inside, almost feeling pain in a tail she didn't have.

  "Not me. Happened before I came, but a mate told me he's seen it."

  She gave him a sideways glance. In the hospital, ex-soldiers picked off the streets often told sensationalist stories because they were bored or because they wanted to make themselves look good. Most of those stories were bunk. She didn't know whether to believe this. On one hand, she very much wanted not to believe it. On the other hand . . . what was she letting herself in for?

  "Is there anything to like about the place?"

  "It's a fun place with lots of money, with all th' foreign folk coming in. There's lots of work. Good jobs, too. An' ye don' need many clothes either. Youz can sleep in th' streets and not freeze. Youz can party all night 'n' not have t' go inside. Youz can go down t' th' river 'n' there's no ice in th' water. An' th' trees—ye know what trees are?"

  Mikandra nodded. She had once been to Bendara, Miran's agricultural district, where there were lots of trees. There were none in Miran, though, save perhaps the ones in the noble's conservatories. But the leaves tended to burn under Miran's strong sunlight. The highlands were covered with a yellowish green mat of tough-leaved rock creepers and other vegetation that grew barely taller than knee-high. Higher up in the highlands, like Estevan, nothing much grew at all except shale-covered monotony of moss. And glaciers.

  For all she heard of Barresh recently, she had never given much thought of what the place looked like.

  "People say Barresh is unsafe?"

  "Bah. They'll tell youz anything jus' t' keep youz away from a good place. There's a few people making trouble. Th' street gangs. Youz jus' stay away from them. Hint: they mos'ly have tails."

  She felt stupid and scared. She had left on a whim and now there was no way back. What did she even know about Barresh?

  Fortunately, she wouldn't need to stay very long. She'd go up to the local Trading office and ask for the name of the woman Iztho Andrahar was going to marry. Then she would find her, and he was probably there, with the dress and the lute and then she would clear up the situation, ask him what had happened to the missing money, ask him to provide proof that he didn't smuggle, ask him what he wanted her to do, and to contact his family. Or whatever he wanted her to do.

  Chapter 14

  Because the shuttle was flying west, the day dragged on forever. People grew tired and tried to sleep in their seats, but Mikandra couldn't get comfortable. No one else seemed to have this problem. She was too pampered. The workers were so exhausted, they slept wherever and whenever there was time. Even the crew were nowhere to be seen.

  She kept glancing over the sleeping forms of Jocassa and the merchant at her reflection in the window and the vast masses of cloud beyond. Occasionally, the craft would turn and sunlight from one of both suns would spear through the window, increasingly often as the day wore on and the light turned golden.

  Once, the cloud cover broke and she spotted a landscape of rolling hills, small settlements and patchwork fields.

  Probably some farming community near Bendara. The next time there was a gap in the clouds the only thing she could see was solid forest. Not long after that, she thought that the craft was descending, and sure enough, they broke through the clouds and soon after, they crossed the famous escarpment that she had only ever seen in pictures: a solid wall of rock with thick forest at the top, and a rocky beach at the bottom, descending into marshland, as far as she could see. The sunlight was now so low that it hit the cliffs side-on in a bright display of gold.

  The city of Barresh itself was spread over two islands surrounded by marshland interspersed with copses of trees. Mikandra was surprised to see how many houses could fit in a small space. Not just walled yards, but huge blocks of apartments in pyramid-shape, especially on the first island.

  How many people lived here?

  "Th' closest island is Far Atok," Jocassa said next to her. She hadn't noticed that he had woken up. "That's where th' workers live."

  The craft described a circle around the second island, much less densely populated, with red-roofed houses surrounded by walls.

  She spotted the airport on the western side of the island and close to that, a complex of interlinked
domed buildings. The roof in one wing of the complex had fallen in. The exposed beams were black.

  "Is that damage from the war?"

  "Youz mean th' council building? Nah, it's been like that fer a long time. They's all fixing it up nicely now. There's work going on in all th' town. Lots of work fer us cartin' bricks 'n' things like that." He grinned. "Youz have sharp eyes."

  Sharp eyes was one of the good things about her. They said that the watchtower attendant had often been Endri in the past, because they tended to have better eyes. Even Father had always commented on her eyesight when they went hunting.

  The craft turned sharply and flew low over an expanse of water with patches of reeds and dammed fields of brilliant green leaves which seemed to be floating in the water. In one of the fields, a machine hovered over the surface using a downward jet mechanism to blow all the floating plants to one side. People were raking these plants into huge nets, which went onto canoes.

  The craft straightened and the view slid from sight. It was replaced with more fields and flat-bottomed boats in channels, and people standing in the prow with long sticks. All this went past at great speed because the craft was very low by now.

  The downward and braking jets came on in a roar that made the floor shudder.

  Then the fields and channels were gone, too, and the view outside the window only showed cracked and weed-infested pavement.

  Forward movement stopped and a moment later, the craft touched down.

  Some passengers jumped up immediately and formed a queue in the aisle. Mothers admonished impatient children. People bulging with bags squished other passengers to the side.

  Mikandra remained in her seat, looking disbelievingly at the expanse of cracked pavement, which was completely empty of any kind of aircraft. Was this the airport for the entire city? Where were all the shuttles and the Trader craft?

  When the doors to the craft opened, a waft of humid air drifted in. Within a short time, it got hot and uncomfortable and with every step Mikandra progressed towards the door, she expected fresh air to come in, but the heat only got worse. Sweat trickled down under her shirt. The strap of her bag dug into her shoulder. The woman behind her was pushing a huge bag into her back. She wished that she had packed more thin clothes. Even her hunting clothes were far too hot.

  At the craft's exit, the full force of the heat hit her. It was like a bath house or even worse with the biting force of the sunlight. The air felt like thick syrup. It stank of rotting plants and farts. She reeled and stood still at the top of the ramp until people behind her started muttering.

  "C'mon missy, we don' have all day."

  "Hey, I would like to meet my customers before evening."

  Mikandra forced herself to take a step down, and then another one. Her head pounded. Her hand was sweaty on the railing.

  She stumbled onto the cracked paving, where she had to stop or she would faint.

  The air shimmered with the heat that burned in her nose with each breath. The stream of passengers walked down the ramp, across the field. Weren't these people hot?

  One man patted her on the shoulder. "First time off th' mountain, huh?"

  Mikandra nodded. The movement made her head hurt.

  "Take it easy fer a few days. It gets better after that."

  He laughed and kept going with the line of passengers that streamed past her. Mikandra concentrated on her breathing. The air scorched in her lungs. Her arms glistened with sweat. How could people live in heat like this?

  Gradually, the roaring in her ears subsided. She raised her head and looked around, making an effort not to squint.

  The first of the passengers were now at the gate ahead, where a single guard in black uniform waved them through.

  Behind her, the shuttle was now being attended by airport employees. It was probably going back to Miran tonight for another load of passengers. No one waited to get on and no other shuttles had arrived.

  There were only a few passenger shuttles parked on the far right side of the field, near the fence which ran in front of a line of bushes. One of those was a small craft bearing the emblem of the Pilot's Guild, all its doors closed. Those short-range craft were used in Miran to take people to other cities, like Bendara or Estevan. She wondered where this one would go, since there were no other towns in this part of the coast.

  To the left, an open-sided shed seemed to be a poor excuse of a maintenance station.

  Three private craft sat in front of this shed, none of them of the familiar dark-coloured Mirani make. There was, however, a magnificent Hedron-made model with the characteristic purple sheen of Hedron steel. She stopped to look at it, taking in its elegant shape and curved wings. She had seen pictures of this craft before. Was she mistaken or was this really a Gazion? There were only about twenty or so of those made ever. What was it doing here sitting on this poor excuse for an airport all by itself without guards which usually accompanied the craft of important people?

  The low sunlight reflected off its side. The doors were closed and there were no family markings like there would be on Trader's craft. Who would own it?

  Most of the Gazions were in the hands of Coldi people, because of the way their society worked with loyalty networks, and the way wealth was channelled to the top of each loyalty pyramid. The Chief coordinator of Asto, Thania Lingui, had a Gazion. His immediate subordinates would have one. Most of the Coldi owners would be at Hedron because they made the things. The top of the Mining board at Hedron had them. And Ydana Ezmi, aunt Amandra's not-so-secret lover and leader of the Hedron chapter of the Trader Guild had one, although he had never used it to come to Miran. Chief Trader Maraiki Deni Evaros from Kedras had one.

  Who did she forget? A powerful and shady Indrahui warlord? More specifically, who of that very rich and select group of people would visit Barresh?

  She could come to only one conclusion: no one whose presence here wouldn't be bad news for Miran.

  The single guard at the gate was looking at her while paying cursory attention to the passengers streaming through the gate.

  Mikandra's heart jumped. So much for the craft not being guarded. She sped up to re-join the queue.

  The guard was a curious fellow, quite short with a solid build, with olive skin, dark curly hair adorned with thin plaits of various lengths and cut in curious step-wise fashion. This had to be one of the local keihu people. He asked for Mikandra's ID in passable Mirani—she deeply regretted stopping to look at the Gazion, since he had not asked anyone else for their ID—slotted it into his machine and looked at the screen. His face showed no emotion. He took the card out and handed it back to her.

  Phew. So much for not drawing attention to herself.

  Mikandra followed the other passengers through the gate and came onto another expanse of cracked and uneven paving. The air shimmered above the paved surface.

  The building she had seen from the air was on the other side of the open space. It was a two-storey construction, surrounded by a solid stone wall. Some time in the past—but it must have been a very long time ago—the walls had been painted white, but now only fragments of paint still adhered to the rough stone, much of it chipped and cracked. An opening in the wall, not deserving the word gate, provided access to the entrance, a tall door under an arched porch, and a domed hall or staircase. Jocassa had said this complex belonged to the council, but Mikandra had seen this building entrance in pictures. This building was the infamous Barresh Exchange. Illegal until recently, unreliable and therefore dangerous. As recent as last year, there had been a scandal with it accidentally transferring a craft that didn't even have an Exchange-enabled transmitter. The place should have been shut down over that, but no, they'd somehow managed to wriggle their way out of the mess.

  It looked like they were even fixing up the building. There was a stack of bricks, a pile of sand and various stacks of beams and wood placed in the shade of the trees that hung over the wall. A man shovelled sand into a wheelbarrow. A couple of other
s were building a structure outside the dome that looked like scaffolding.

  The pictures that accompanied bad stories about the Barresh Exchange had never showed the rest of the building, the invading trees in the small space between the walls and the building, the exposed roof beams in the left-hand wing of the building and the missing windows. Was she dreaming or was the left-hand wing burned-out? And were those gauges in the stone marks from explosives?

  "Where are youz going?" a voice asked behind her.

  She wheeled around. Jocassa. Damn, she had hoped that he'd gone his own way.

  "I'm on my way to my cousin."

  "Where does yer cousin live?"

  "That way." She flapped her hand non-committally at the other side of the square, where most of the passengers seemed to be going.

  "Oh, he works for one of th' rich ones, huh?"

  "Uhm—yeah." No one struck her as particularly rich in this town.

  "What's th' family?"

  "I—uhm—can't quite remember. The names are all so strange." Go away. She didn't want to lie any more.

  "Youz know th' way? Youz want me t' come?"

  "No. I'll be fine. Bye."

  "Nice talking t' youz. Feel free t' come past if youz need help."

  "Sure. Thank you."

  Chapter 15

  Mikandra waited while Jocassa walked off in the direction of a group of huge trees to the right. In the shadow of the trees, there was a market, judging by the colourful canvas stalls. She probably wouldn't see him anymore.

  A couple of groups of passengers walked past her and she caught snatches of conversation.

  A man said, ". . . You said they'd keep the room until today?"

  And a woman in the next group, ". . . they had only a pile of bricks up at the entrance when I left."

  Her companion said, "I don't understand why they don't just pull the entire thing down. It's such a dump."

  "They're attached to their heritage . . ."

  The next group of people spoke in strong Bendaran dialect and she had trouble understanding them.