Trader's Leap (Liaden Universe Book 23)

by Sharon Lee

  He paused, and cast a droll look.

  “She has many friends, our Disian.”

  “It pleases me to hear that so many find happiness in the judgment—and especially that Disian is optimistic,” Shan said sincerely. “I believe Bechimo and his captain share her happiness and her optimism. There are those among Bechimo’s crew, however, who are of a more . . . conservative nature.”

  “So, they are not without counsel. Good. That is good.”

  Another smile.

  “And Scout Commander yos’Phelium—what a work he has made! What repercussions he produces, up and down the universe! It is his Envidaria, is it not? All is changed, in an instant. It is only left to do the work.”

  Surprised, Shan laughed.

  “Yes, exactly! And who could complain? What are we here for, Trader, but for the work?”

  “Precisely. And, as we find ourselves yet again of one mind, let us sit and consider the work. I have information for you, Master Trader.”

  “I had hoped so,” Shan said. He unsealed his jacket and pulled out a pouch made of space leather. This, he put in the center of the table.

  Trader Denobli took his jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair before he sat down. Shan followed suit. When he was seated, he put his hand flat on the pouch.

  “I brought these,” he murmured. “I was uncertain of custom, and thought it best to be prepared. If you have your own, or they are deemed not needed . . . ”

  He opened the pouch and allowed a few to spill out—glancing up when he heard the other man’s sharp intake of breath.

  “The aequitas?” Denobli whispered. “May I see them?”

  “Certainly.” Shan handed the pouch across the table.

  The trader poured the polished rounds out with soft reverence, fingered them, weighed them, then gently returned them to the pouch.

  “They are rare and beautiful. We have nothing like. I thank you for your generosity in allowing me to see them.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “As for custom—we teach them, and rarely we use them in trade. But for this—I think we have each the measure of the other, you and I, and very much to discuss. The coins might only slow us.”

  Shan inclined his head. “I agree,” he said. “Though I propose they may perform one traditional service, if you agree. Shall we draw to find who speaks first?”

  Denobli smiled, and sat forward.

  “Yes, it is a good thought. We will draw.”

  “Have you a specific quarter of the markets you wish to visit, Trader Denobli?” Padi asked as they came out onto the public way. Their passage together through the Trade Bar had generated an expanding circle of silence. She wasn’t certain yet what to think of that, but she was glad of Karna’s solid, professional presence just behind them.

  “I would ask you to lead, Trader,” the Denobli said, with a bow that was rather less precise than the one he had offered Father. “And I would also ask, Trader, if it is not an impertinence, that you allow yourself Vanz, or perhaps Trader Vanz more properly strikes the note. We are partners in this scheme of our elders, after all.”

  Padi turned to face him, seeing an honest, open, and earnest lad—an effect that a trader soon to achieve the garnet would find no challenge to produce.

  On the other hand, this was a mission of goodwill, as she had understood from the master trader, and certainly the tenor of the meeting between the two elders had approached, if not achieved, frank playfulness.

  “I may allow Vanz,” she said slowly, “but only if you may allow Padi, Trader. It is a question of Balance, you see.”

  Something flickered across his face, arriving as a smile.

  “I do see, yes. I have no impropriety. Padi, I allow myself.”

  “Splendid, Vanz. We ought to move, I think, before those people in the window chairs fall over from the strain of pretending not to look at us.”

  “Lead us please, Padi,” Vanz said, sweeping his hand out in a gesture that recalled the elder Trader Denobli.

  “I to the textiles then,” she said, turning in that direction.

  “We’ll see more interest as we move around the markets,” Vanz said, somewhat gloomily, as they mounted the slideway. “It’s what they wanted, I guess.”

  Padi slanted a glance at his face.

  “Is it,” she asked, “what they wanted?”

  “It would have been easy enough to keep us apart—you to your trading and me to mine. It was a brainstorm on the trader’s part; I’ve been with him long enough to know the signs. And your master picked right up on it. They want Tree-and-Dragon and Denobli seen walking together; trading together. It’ll serve . . . something. Maybe the trader will know by the time I ask him.”

  Padi swallowed her laugh.

  “Is Trader Denobli your father?”

  “No, worse! He’s my mother’s double-brother—from Carresens and Denobli! Great deeds are expected of me daily, if not by the hour.”

  He shook his head, and looked to her.

  “The master trader—is he your father?”

  “He is, indeed, and I am his heir. You understand, great deeds are not expected from me, for it is no great thing to achieve the amethyst, when so many others have done so.”

  Trader Vanz did not withhold his laugh.

  “This other matter . . . of crew jackets on the port. The traders are here to negotiate, certainly. Possibly they wish a collaboration. But to send us out together before they even sit to talk? What if negotiation fails?”

  “That’s where the trader and his brainstorms play in,” Vanz told her. “I have never known him to be wrong in a brainstorm.”

  “So, they not only both wish for the deal, they wish to make a . . . sensation . . . of the deal.”

  “My mother says that gossip makes the market.”

  Padi looked at him with interest.

  “Does she? Our recent experience would be the opposite.”

  “Every coin has two sides,” said Trader Vanz, who apparently had his quotations by heart.

  Padi gave him an agreeable nod. “So we say, as well. Here is our ramp, I think.”

  The draw had favored Trader Denobli, who appeared momentarily overcome by his good fortune. He sat, head bent, as if lost in admiration of the old token.

  “Water?” Shan murmured, glancing to the tray.

  “Of your kindness,” Denobli replied, sounding nearly absent.

  Shan poured and placed a goblet with ice chips gaily swimming by the trader’s right hand, and another for himself.

  Denobli looked up with a faint smile, reached to his glass and raised it.

  “To a frank and profitable discussion,” he said, which set the tone nicely.

  Shan raised his own glass.

  “To alliances,” he answered.

  Denobli smiled subtly—very nearly a Liaden smile—and nodded.

  “Our thoughts run yet together. Good. That is good.”

  When they had sipped water and replaced their glasses, he leaned back in his chair and sighed.

  “There are several points of discussion,” he said. “In keeping with our shared thoughts and hopes, I bring you Hugglelans Galactica, Master Trader. You are aware?”

  “I am aware that they have decided now is the time for a bold move of expansion,” Shan said. “They see opportunity for themselves in the misfortune of others.” He moved his shoulders. “It is a fact of trade that there is often profit to be found in the misfortune of others.”

  “These . . . ” Denobli nodded at the pouch, “they would make a line between the risks of the trade, and manipulation of misfortune, would you say?”

  “The aequitas are exacting,” Shan admitted. “Perhaps the masters ought to make a push for their revival.”

  Denobli laughed.

  “If you wish to go a-grailing, Master Trader, I am not the one to stop you.”

  “Should it come to that, I will welcome your support. For this moment, your point is good. There is a difference between seiz
ing an opportunity created by market conditions, and manufacturing misfortune with an eye to profit.

  “What I have heard from our agents is that Hugglelans walks a line. They have observed a third party being destructive, and have also placed a coin on that square. They have not, so far as I am made aware, initiated a wager.”

  “We,” said Denobli slowly, “have seen otherwise, with sadness. With great sadness, I do not hide it. Myself, I have done business with Grandfather. We, the Family, have done business with certain others as well. Hugglelans was solid; we honored them. Occasionally, we made partnerships. Not often, for our routes cross rarely, but there was no question, when those crossings occurred.

  “Now—a sadness, as I have said. The children—they do not honor their training. Or only they honor profit before their training, which Grandfather—I, a full trader, seated before you now, I tell you frankly that I tremble here in my chair, to even think what Grandfather would say to such things as we have observed.”

  He had recourse to his goblet, briefly looking as chastened as he had claimed. Shan waited, enjoying the skill of the storyteller, if not the story he told.

  “Briefly, I will tell it briefly, sad as it is,” Denobli said, pushing his glass aside. “Hugglelans Galactica has three times attempted to undercut us with Family. You understand that we, the Carresens-Denoblis, we have our yards and our suppliers—as does Tree-and-Dragon and—yes!—Hugglelans. Does our Syndicate approach the Hugglelans supply master and suggest that she will profit more by selling to us first, even before family—at a rate so slightly higher than Hugglelans insider rate? We do not! These support arrangements are in place—have been in place, for a long time, for reasons made by long-heads . . . and those reasons are still valid.

  “Did we find only one Hugglelans supply master willing to accept our deal, and to subvert the chain for reason of short profit, the Hugglelans system trembles, a small route—not so important—crumbles. And what then, I ask you?”

  “Once destabilized, the system continues to tremble and small routes continue to fail,” Shan said, as if this were not a rhetorical question. “I have observed that it is far easier to destroy than it is to build.”

  “Yes, you understand it! Of course, you do. And do you know, I wager Hugglelans understands it, too.”

  “Yes,” Shan said quietly, “I’m certain that they do.”

  “I grieve, I can tell you. Especially I grieve for Grandfather. These circumstances must distress her. Her honor is intact, but she will not see it so, I think.”

  Denobli sighed and shook his head, his gaze resting briefly on the pouch where the aequitas slept. He lifted his head and met Shan’s eyes.

  “You and I, we are traders,” he said. “We may be sad, and grieve for lost honor, but we must not let sadness blind us to opportunity.”

  “Certainly not,” Shan said.

  “Our thoughts continue together, so I hear,” said Denobli. “That is encouraging. If the aequitas allow, I would hear the master trader’s voice.”

  Shan inclined his head.

  “I, too, have several topics in my pocket,” he said, and produced a wry smile. “I believe you are correct, Trader.”

  “Of course I am correct. In what way, this time?”

  “We ought to have met sooner.”

  “Hah. Well, but we are now met. We may rectify.”

  “Do you say so? I wonder that we dare continue.”

  “Now you are playing with me, eh?”

  “Never,” Shan said, and raised a hand as if a sudden thought had occurred.

  “A question, if I may, regarding your Disian.”

  That earned him a sharp glance before the trader folded his hands on the table.

  “Ask,” he said.

  “Merely a matter of connections. You say that your Disian has many friends. This must make her very happy. I only wonder if one of her friends might be Tinsori Light.”

  Black eyebrows lifted.

  “That one? It is a sad thing I must tell you, Master Trader. Nobody, so I hear it, is friends with Tinsori Light. It is perhaps happiness of a kind, as I also hear that he wishes no friends. Even our happy Disian might be made sad by Tinsori Light.”

  “Then I have good news for you, and for Disian. I am informed by my delm that Tinsori Light is now a Tree-and-Dragon station. The former unhappy person has ceded his position to Korval’s daughter Tocohl Lorlin, who I believe to be someone of serious but generally pleasant disposition. It may be that your Disian will value her, to our Tocohl’s benefit. She does have some friends to support her, but I feel certain that she would rejoice in more. She is quite new, to the universe as well as to her duties.”

  Denobli actually blinked.

  “So, so. I will send word. Our Disian would be delighted, I think, to make the acquaintance of a station; and to one newly born, she can offer much helpful advice. Also, there is the matter of her other friends, who might also wish to befriend a station. I will exactly send word, Master Trader. And now that you have brought to me this, I wonder—”

  “Yes?” Shan murmured.

  “There was not only the difficulty of Tinsori Light being so unhappy a person. He was also, as I recall it, situated in a very strange place. Sometimes, he could not be found at all, though not many, understand me, sought him out. There were papers written, and piloting warnings issued, regarding the space around Tinsori Light. It was not, I think, the Dust—or not only the Dust—that made it chancy . . . ”

  “An anomaly in the fabric of the universe,” Shan murmured. “I am informed that the condition has been repaired.”

  “Has it? That is welcome news, indeed. And, as our topic was opportunity . . . ”

  “Exactly,” said Shan with a smile. “The station of course falls within my honor as Korval’s master trader. My experience of administering stations is small, and I will need to sit with my charts, being unfamiliar with that section of space, and where we might look for custom.

  “I wonder if one of the senior administrators from Tradedesk might be able to meet with me in consultation, at Tinsori Light.”

  “We might arrange; it is not impossible. But first, as you say, the charts.”

  “It is not an immediate project. My delm bids me attend to it at my earliest convenience.”

  “Do they say so? Well, then you have time to study and become fully informed.”

  “Exactly,” said Shan, and frowned slightly, there was something, just there . . .

  “Master Trader?”

  “A moment,” he murmured. “We are speaking of opportunity . . . ”

  “We were; I recall it.”

  “Yes, and it seems to me, Trader, that there is a flaw built into how we accomplish trade. While there is benefit in Loops, and in being expected—known ports and known goods—our predictability lays us open to the very mischief you were just discussing regarding the Hugglelans. Certainly, we have found it to be so.”

  He paused, allowing the thought to come to the fore. No snatching, no pushing, just—there.

  “I wonder,” he said slowly, teasing the idea into words. “I wonder if there isn’t room for some collaboration between established traders. How, for instance, if a Carresens ship were to run part of a Tree-and-Dragon route, bearing its usual cargo, armed with the names of contacts in port, while a Tree-and-Dragon ship does turnabout with Carresens cargo . . . ”

  “Hah!” shouted Denobli, striking the table with his fist. “Who then will they file mischief against! I follow you. This is . . . unusual—exciting. Master Trader—let us explore this notion of yours more closely!”

  “Delivery to Dutiful Passage, Canister Six-Nine-Oh-Two-South-Axis, name Trader Padi yos’Galan. That’s paid in full. Here’s your chit, Trader. Thank you for your business.”

  “Thank you,” Padi answered, taking the chit and tucking it into her belt.

  She turned to find that Vanz had already concluded his business with the vendor across the aisle and was awaiting her at the edg
e of the booth.

  “Good trading?” she asked, as she and Karna joined him.

  “It’s possible that even my uncle will allow it to have been tolerable trading,” he told her, with the wry grin she had come to understand was his irony indicator. Someone had done well for himself.

  “Where now?” he asked.

  “I am of a mind to visit this specialty shop the entire market has been talking about,” she said.

  “Madame Zoe’s Whimsies?”

  “Yes, exactly. She is said to stock unusual textiles.”

  “She is also said to be a very small vendor,” Vanz pointed out.

  “True. But that is, I think, in line with an artisan. We do well with art, and artisan, goods.”

  “Do you? We find art . . . difficult—except at the Festevalya. It would seem people buy art when they are festive, or the occasion is already special in some way.”

  “Well,” Padi said, “we are hoping that our arrival at the next port will be a special time, so perhaps art fabric will do well.”

  “As you say, and as the trader often asks—though not expecting an answer, you know: How can we succeed, if we do not strive?”

  Padi smiled.

  “This is amusing?”

  “It is—evocative,” she said. “We say, Who will dare for me, if I do not dare for myself?”

  He grinned.

  “I hear it! Nearly alike, and not for the first time. Could Tree-and-Dragon and Carresens-Denobli be Dust-cousins?”

  “Dust-cousins?”

  “Kin separated by the movement of Dust, who rediscover each other when the Dust turns aside.”

  “Is that a . . . common occurrence?”

  “In fiction, eh? And in plays. In real life—well. I guess it must have happened at least once, so everyone saw what a grand story it made.”

  Padi shook her head. “Tree-and-Dragon keeps close track of our bloodlines,” she said. “Perhaps we are traders, and the trade has taught us similar lessons.”

  “That is more likely,” Vanz agreed, producing a sigh. “But how unromantic!”

  “I fear I may not be very romantic,” Padi said. “It is entirely a failing of my own character.”