by Patty Jansen
All these people filed past her into a street on the opposite side of the square oblivious to her standing to the side. Even the suspicious guard at the airport gate had gone. For the first time in her life, no one watched over her. No one waited for her, and no one expected her to do anything.
The feeling was strange and unusual, a bit scary, too. But exciting. Being a Trader would be a bit like this.
So, what next?
She dug her notes from her pocket and squinted at the paper against the glare from the sunlight. It was true that the light was different here. In Miran, the shadows from both suns were very crisp, blue-edged on one side, gold-edged on the other. Here, the air was so muggy that shadows from both suns almost blended into one, even in this time of the cycle when the suns were furthest apart.
Her note said, Check the airport. She had already seen that it was empty. There were no Mirani craft, and few other craft apart from that damn Gazion, which she really should find out who it belonged to. So—where were all the private craft? There might be another airport, maybe on the other island, because she couldn't believe that no locals would own aircraft. On the other hand—where would they go? Barresh was very small and surrounded by Miran on three sides. The ocean was on the other side, and there were only some small islands, also owned by Miran. The only place people could go was off-world, and if off-world travel was extremely expensive for the people of Miran, it would be even more so for these people. So maybe there were no private aircraft. She still found that hard to believe.
Next on her list was Trader Office.
If she wanted the Trader Office, it was best to ask at the Exchange rather than trying to find it on her own. The Exchange was right here so she would start with that.
With a bit of luck, she would find what she needed today and she could book the return flight, and maybe enjoy this place a bit. The concept of "trees" and an ocean and rivers warm enough to bathe intrigued her. She had never seen hot springs, or any flowers that were not the size of her little fingernail and attached to little plantlets that confined themselves to a fingerwidth off the ground.
She walked across the square trying to remain positive, but the heat sapped her energy. Her head was pounding. The paving was so hot that she could feel it through the soles of her boots. The air was almost too hot to breathe. A small breeze ruffled her hair but brought no freshness. Wafts of a bad smell drifted past. Her shirt felt wet against her back.
It was hot even when she got to the shade of the trees outside the building. There was more construction activity going on than she had seen at first, with building materials and ladders and tools stacked up against tree trunks and over the ground uneven with knobbly roots.
Two men pushed a cart with bags to a place under a huge tree where a couple of people were mixing something that could be plaster in a giant vat.
These workers were female, small and wiry, and had rough striped skin glistening with sweat. Their brown eyes were much larger than normal people's eyes. One of the workers had a tail, which she waved and curled at knee level as she worked. It looked like a giant banded worm. Fascinating. Mikandra found it hard not to stare.
The entrance hall of the building was two storeys high. The stairs to the top floor went around the outside wall. The ceiling dome contained a circular coloured-glass window depicting a five-pointed star set against a blue background with stars. Light fell through in shafts of brightly-coloured brilliance.
In a corner of the hall stood a bank of fold-out tables with plans and drawings spread out over the top. A tall Damarcian in a tunic with the Masterbuilder Guild logo was speaking in Coldi to a chubby keihu man, pointing at sections of the plan with his Damarcian hands, with his index and middle finger much longer than the other fingers.
The far wall was hidden behind scaffolding, and a team of workers were painting the wall. Two of them were Mirani men, speaking what she presumed was the local language to others, a mixture of local keihu and dark Indrahui workers. One of them was Coldi even, hauling a big bag up the stairs with arms corded with muscle. He made a remark to two Kedrasi women who were sticking down mosaic tiles in the downstairs hall. The women laughed and repeated the joke to their helpers, a couple of Pengali.
Mikandra had never seen such a riot of cultures and languages.
She followed a stream of people up the stairs, but found her way barred by a very modern-looking sliding door with no signs of door handles. She stood there for a while, stupidly looking at it. A guard in black stood in the corner, his hands behind his back. He was Coldi, twice as wide as her with arms bulging with muscles. He turned his head slightly and looked at her from the corners of his eyes. His shirt, too, had the silver five-pointed star on the chest.
Actually, she couldn't be sure this mountain of muscle was a he. Apparently, the Coldi guards at Hedron were all women and they were the toughest and most-feared in all of the settled worlds.
He or she had to be laughing at this Mirani bumpkin who had no idea how to open the door.
As she was about to give up and go back down the stairs, the door slid aside, spilling a waft of cool air onto the upstairs landing.
A local keihu man came out. He was short but less rotund than most of the local men she had seen. His hair was curly and short. Grey hair edged his temples. He wore a khaki tunic with a five-pointed star embroidered on the chest in silver thread.
"Lady, can I help you?" he asked in passable Mirani.
Mikandra tried not to worry about the lady tag and hoped that it was a sign of respect rather than the way it was used in Miran: only for Endri women.
"Yes, I'm looking for the Trading Office."
"The Trading Office? The Imports register is upstairs. The market is outside. You will most likely find a Trader in the guesthouses, and the Merchanting Cooperative has an office in the commercial district on the other side of the markets. Which do you want?" Actually, his Mirani was more than passable. She worried even more about his lady tag. She stood out even in a place as strange as this.
"I want the Trading Office."
"You are aware that Barresh doesn't have any local Traders?"
She'd known that, of course, but somehow had not expected that to lead to the absence of a Trading office. How else would Traders do business? Where would they meet and do their work? She forced a smile and glanced at the stone-faced Coldi guard who was no longer looking at her. "Well, wherever Traders register their imports."
"That'd be the customs office downstairs."
No, that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted the Trading Office, the home of the Trader Guild. Maybe he didn't understand. "I want to find a Trader's place of business."
"Just one particular Trader? If you can be a bit more specific, maybe I can help you."
"I'm looking for a Trader called Iztho Andrahar."
His brown eyes widened. Did she imagine it or did he do a double-take? He shook his head. "I don't know him. A Mirani Trader, yes? He is supposed to be in Barresh?"
"He told me to meet him here." Time for her own little lie. "But he wasn't at the place where I was supposed to meet him. I'm trying to find out where he is staying or where he works."
A female worker came past, dressed in similar uniform to the man she was speaking to. She gave Mikandra a strange look before holding her hand up to the door, which activated the sliding mechanism.
Cool air wafted past. Mikandra was melting in this heat. "Please, I'm trying to find his place of business or wherever he is staying."
"His main business would be in Miran as I'm sure you'd know."
"Yes, I know, but he is here in Barresh. He told me to meet him." She was clutching at straws. She wanted so very desperately to be admitted into that cool room. The smell of paint made her head pound. She felt like she was going to be sick.
The man shook his head, oblivious to her discomfort. "Sorry, I can't help you. Maybe try the markets."
"Oh, all right. Thank you." She had to get out of here.
"If there's anything else I can help you with . . ."
"I'll be fine, thanks."
He nodded and crossed the landing, where a solid metal door slid aside to let him through. His khaki tunic was the last she saw before the door closed again. There were a couple of signs on that door, one in Mirani, which said Authorised personnel only. Please use protective gear.
The Exchange core had to be somewhere in that section of building.
Mikandra descended back into the building site, thinking about that hesitant pause in his speech. He knew Mirani too well for any language problems to have caused him to pause. Her only conclusion was that he'd lied about knowing Iztho. Of course he knew who Iztho was. In Miran, she didn't know many foreign Traders, but someone who worked at the Exchange would remember all the regulars. If a high-profile foreign Trader was in town, they would know. Everyone knew when Ydana Ezmi was in town, which was why he had stopped coming long before his current fall-out with her aunt.
Mikandra went back out through the chaotic hall and the courtyard, where a couple of tailed locals were using a high-pitched whining saw to cut a metal beam. The one with the apparatus wore a mask and apron against the flying sparks.
Mikandra went back onto the hot and desolate square with its smell of humid earth, damp stone and farts. The strap of her bag cut into her shoulder. Her eyes were heavy. She hadn't slept all night, and it would now be night in Miran.
Miran. Snow. Cool crisp mountain air.
Damn it. She was not going to behave like a homesick child. She was going to show Rehan Andrahar that she was not a "pamby".
First, she needed a place to stay. Finding Iztho was going to take some time. Come to think of it, Iztho might well be staying in a guesthouse, although the fact that there were no Mirani aircraft at the airport didn't fill her with confidence.
If he'd eloped, he'd be trying to hide. Since a Trader's aircraft was a dead give-away for his presence, he might have asked someone to fly it elsewhere. Maybe . . . She had images of herself inside the cabin of the Gazion. And then a cascade of thoughts about where the missing money had gone and—no, that was ridiculous.
Iztho would not take all that money and spend it on an aircraft he didn't need. Also, supposing he wanted to buy another aircraft, he would only get a Miran-made model.
That machine out there belonged to someone else.
But who?
She could see a glimpse of it between the bushes that surrounded the airport. It was probably stupid to worry about it and the least of her problems, but the craft's presence bugged her.
She walked past the wall surrounding the Exchange complex and turned into wide and tree-lined street that led away from the square. This had to be the Market Street Jocassa had mentioned.
There was a large building on the corner, with a moss-covered façade, unkempt garden and cracked steps leading up to the arched entrance. Windows on the top floor had no glass. Sheets and other bedding hung over windowsills. A young Mirani man—a Nikala with longer hair than would be allowed in the army—leaned out one of the windows, yelling at another group of young Mirani men stumbling up the steps to the entrance. When one of them tripped and fell to his knees, his friends squealed with laughter. They were drunk already and it wasn't even dark.
This had to be the guesthouse where Jocassa was staying. What a dump. The place even smelled like a sewer.
Past the guesthouse were shops displaying their wares under multi-hued cloth awnings. One sold clothing, and at the back of the shop Mikandra spotted many rolls of fabric, the next shop was an eating house, where two Pengali girls were sweeping leaves from between the tables and an old man attended potted plants that surrounded the outdoor eating area. Smells of food wafted through the street. More spicy than she was used to, but the smell still made her hungry.
Once she had gone past the shops, she found a much smaller guesthouse, also built from old stone with an arched entryway, but it had a well-maintained yard with neatly-clipped bushes on both sides of the entrance. Travellers of all types went up and down the steps. It was getting late and two lights on either side of the entrance spread a cool greenish glow that was typical of the charged pearl lighting that Barresh used.
This place looked more to her taste.
She pushed open the gate and walked up the steps. Inside the arched entry stood a desk where a woman sat behind a huge book. The opening on the other side of the entryway looked out onto a leafy courtyard where there were sounds of water splashing and people talking in muted relaxed voices.
The matron at the desk looked her over. "How can we help you?" She spoke heavily accented Mirani. Her face had that typical coarse look of keihu people, with a large grooved-tipped nose and pore-riddled skin. She wore her hair on top of her head like the enormous fluffy nests that the mountain rats built from tiyuk hair. Her eyes were small, brown and beady. Disapproving.
"I'm supposed to meeting one of your guests, but I forgot which room he's staying in."
The matron's eyebrows rose. "And who might this be?"
Too late, Mikandra thought of the implication of a young woman looking for a man's hotel room.
"Iztho Andrahar."
Again, a small pause. She leafed through her huge book, and shook her head. "Not here."
"But he has been here? Is this where he normally stays?"
"Maybe. I don't remember the names of all my guests. I don't give out names." She gave Mikandra a penetrating look that said, and I'm not going to snoop on your customers.
Mikandra shrugged. Tears were too close to the surface. She felt so incredibly hot and filthy and tired and that pool where people were talking and splashing sounded so welcoming.
"All right then. I'll need somewhere to stay for the night. Do you have a room?"
"Yes, sure. How many nights?" Her expression returned to one of business. She turned a page in the big book and ran her finger down a column of numbers. Her nails were long and painted purple.
"Uhm—two."
"Sure. A single room for one night will be sixty-five credits, and bookings of further nights will get a fifteen per cent discount if booked and paid for now. There is breakfast in the main courtyard for ten credits extra—"
"Sorry, did you say sixty-five?"
A frosty look came over the matron's face. "I did say that. If you're one of the army, ex-army or any of their girlfriends, I suggest you go to the place at the beginning of Market Street. You'll find all the other ex-soldiers staying there. We run a class establishment."
Mikandra's face glowed. "I'm sorry, I . . ." Tears pricked in her eyes. There was no way she could afford that much per night. Her money needed to cover a flight to Kedras later. "I guess I better go there then . . ." She backed away.
"Just turn left when you go out the gate . . . Pity, because you look like a nice girl."
Mikandra scurried down the stairs and out the gate. She was so embarrassed, she would prefer to sink into the ground and disappear. She was sweaty. It was so incredibly hot. She felt horrible. She was hungry.
This city was a lot bigger than she's envisaged. It was a lot more expensive than she'd envisaged. People knew Iztho but pretended they didn't.
She trudged back past the shops and eating houses. If she went into the large guesthouse, Jocassa would laugh at her, and no doubt he would have large groups of friends. She knew the type. They jeered even at their sick and injured mates she treated in the hospital. Imagine what he would say to her. We's not yer type, huh? And they'd all laugh and offer money for certain services.
That would be insufferable.
Maybe there were other less expensive places where she could stay away from the rowdy guesthouses. A bed in a workers' dorm would do, nothing fancy. But she would have to hurry, because the light was turning golden and between these tall trees it was already quite dark. And who knew what nasty and sharp-toothed scavengers lived in those trees?
She wandered through the streets near the market and square. On the far side of the mark
ets there were only warehouses. There was an alley that ran behind the Exchange building which connected to the next street. The whole block behind the Exchange was taken up by official-looking buildings that were in varying states of disrepair. There was a large domed building and a number of blocky ones, set back from the street behind a rusty and overgrown fence. On the other side of the alley were low buildings that looked too big to be private residences. But no other guesthouses.
She turned the corner into the street parallel to Market Street.
On this street she found two smaller guesthouses, both of them less appealing than the big place in Market Street. The first one was a badly-maintained building where noise and an awful smell spilled out the windows. A couple of Damarcians sat in the porch drinking, measuring her up with their leery gazes. They eyes with their black-rimmed yellow irises gave her the creeps.
In the second guesthouse, a couple of women, two local and one Kedrasi, stood in the front porch leaning against the support pillars, eying every man who passed. A group of young men and women were walking up the steps laughing, one Mirani man with his arm around the waist of a local woman. She greeted the ones on the porch.
Urgh. Whores.
Mikandra could not bring herself to go inside. Maybe she'd walk around the block once more to see if there was a place she overlooked.
Like Miran, Barresh was almost on the equator and night fell quickly. In the shadows of the huge trees it was almost dark. The friendly shade of the trees from the daytime had changed to a spooky silence punctuated by shrills and shrieks that sounded too much like maramarang for her not to be worried. Things rustled in the branches. Animals chattered and squeaked.
Trees freaked her out. At least in Miran, you could see what was coming. Here, anything could fall on you without notice.
She clamped her arms around herself. This street behind the Exchange complex was too quiet. No one lived here. There were no shops.
Maybe she should go to the other guesthouse and pay the sixty-five credits and go back to Miran tomorrow. She could stay in the Guild headquarters. Or go to Kedras and stay there.