Trader's Leap (Liaden Universe Book 23)

by Sharon Lee

  Light as laughter, she thought again, surprising and strong.

  She glanced ’round at the room that faded away into the friendly brume—and suddenly, she knew exactly what to do.

  She reached out, took up a handful of mist, and began, very softly, to polish her shields.

  * * *

  Lina considered Padi, frowning.

  Padi stood, waiting.

  “I was told,” Lina said finally, “that your shields had been damaged and required repair.”

  “They were—damaged,” Padi said. “But I repaired them.”

  She paused.

  “I’d appreciate your opinion of them, Lina.”

  The other woman threw her an amused glance.

  “Have you been my student thus long and not understood that you will receive my opinion of your work, whether you ask for it nicely or not?”

  “No,” Padi told her honestly. “I knew that you’d do a thorough examination. I only wished to let you know that I welcome your expertise and value your care.”

  “Worse and worse! Ah, but I know! The trade calls, and you are disallowed the markets until your repairs pass scrutiny. Please hold yourself at peace, and I will make an inspection.”

  Padi closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to think of nothing. She was not particularly successful in this, her thoughts kept wandering to her list of intended buys, the Festevalya collaboration she had discussed with Vanz, and the intriguing advertisement she had just seen in the Volmer Trade News . . .

  “Had you assistance in making these repairs?” Lina asked, interrupting all of these wayward schemings.

  “Yes—no . . . ” She sighed sharply.

  “I had—advice. Also a mirror was held for me so that I might See what damage had been done.”

  “What sort of advice?”

  “Aesthetics mostly and . . . support of my need to repair the damage quickly so that I might go about my proper business with as little delay as possible.”

  She thought for a moment.

  “Also, tea and biscuits.”

  “It sounds entirely convivial. May I know the identity of your aesthetic advisor?”

  “Tekelia.”

  “And it was on Tekelia’s advice that you preserved the scar?”

  “It was my idea. Tekelia merely offered approval.” She half-smiled. “If it was not impudent.”

  “As I see it was not. Well. And Tekelia’s other advice?”

  “Only a suggestion that I love my shields, and not resent them. They had, after all, preserved my life, when no one would have wondered, had they failed.”

  “Do I know Tekelia?” Lina asked.

  Padi frowned.

  “Perhaps you do. We met through Lady Selph. The stranger I told you about—recall?”

  “The intruder whom you pushed away.”

  “I’ve become more convenable,” Padi said, slightly shamefaced. “Lady Selph does not approve of bad manners.”

  “Certainly, she does not,” Lina said, and sighed.

  “I find no weakness in your shields, nor any failure in the repairs that have been made.”

  She stepped back, and bowed.

  “You are released to the markets, Trader. Fair fortune and profit to you this day.”

  Padi swallowed a cheer, covering her glee with a bow of respect for the instructor.

  “Thank you, Lina.”

  “Yes, yes, all you like. Thank me by avoiding any more terrible danger, eh? And come back with your shields intact.”

  “Yes!” Padi said. “Good-day.”

  A moment later, she was gone.

  Lina sighed, and went to find Priscilla.

  VII

  Trade Halls

  Vanz was waiting for her at the entrance to Trade Hall L. He grinned when he saw her and raised a hand, as if they were cousins in truth. Padi raised her hand in return, smiling as she met him.

  “Forgive my tardiness,” she said.

  “Are you tardy?” he asked.

  “Well, I must be, mustn’t I? You are before me!”

  “I’m early,” he told her. “The trader says, if you’re always early, you can never be late!”

  “That’s . . . difficult to argue with,” said Padi.

  “Isn’t it?”

  She half-laughed.

  “Well then, are you prepared to be bold?”

  “As much as I can be. Will you lead us?”

  “Oh, I intend to,” Padi told him seriously, and turned down the hallway. “Coming?”

  * * *

  They had discussed this tour yesterday—a tour of the luxury, artisan, and artist supply aisles with an eye toward the unusual, unique, and uniquely useful.

  “For one person’s luxury is another’s necessity,” Padi said. “I doubt that either of us will grow rich offering uniquities and pretties among our more usual items. However, I can say that a solid twelve percent of my profit comes from art and luxury sales. Nor is it a percentage that I could make up in another line, if I were to drop those items from my offerings. Some number of persons want, or need, a whimsy, and nothing will do until and unless they have one.

  “Ideally, any such items you take on ought to be easily stored, easily shown, and amenable to long storage. Like slide whistles.”

  Vanz tipped his head.

  “Slide whistles?” he repeated.

  Padi smiled at him.

  “One of my first independent buys was a case lot of slide whistles. I made the mistake, at first, of offering them in lots of themselves—they didn’t sell. Eventually, I learned that they went best as a single item, or as part of a mixed lot of small practicalities. More often than not, it was the whistle decided the sale, if the customer was unsure.”

  “It sounds worth a small investment,” Vanz said, as they walked together down the aisles, considering the items on offer.

  Not infrequently, Padi would see speculative eyes on them, or hear whispers nearby.

  “We’re still creating a sensation, are we?” Vanz murmured.

  “So it would seem. I hope the elders wanted this much attention on their business.”

  “The elders are up to something, mark me!” Vanz said, moving forward to scrutinize the dance of a bulky spool down a bit of string no more substantial than a thread of spider’s silk, that was suspended between two frighteningly flexible posts only slightly longer than Padi’s hand.

  He took a quiescent toy from the merchant, listening seriously to the pitch even as he studied the construction, and pulled on the posts to make the spool spin.

  “Unpowered?” he murmured, and got an affirmative, along with the information that the posts were made from recycled plastics, and the string likewise. The spool was carved from scrap wood.

  Vanz gave the sample back, struck a deal for one hundred forty-four of the toys to be delivered to his storage pod, and stepped back to Padi’s side, tucking the receipt into his belt.

  “The master trader promises me several contracts for light reading, once the last details have been set in and the signatures affixed,” Padi said, as they resumed their tour.

  “My trader has made a similar promise,” Vanz said. “He hints great things are afoot, that will change the very nature of trade.”

  Padi blinked, recalling Master Trader yos’Galan’s casual, almost bored introduction of new contracts about to arrive in her life.

  “You have to understand that misdirection is one of the trader’s greatest pleasures,” Vanz said, reading her face with alarming accuracy. “When it finally comes to the contract, it will be something on the order of supplying ice toast to the commissary at Hacienda Estrella.”

  “That may be so,” Padi said carefully. “However, the master trader takes a similar delight in understatement.”

  Vanz stopped and looked at her.

  “That’s . . . unsettling,” he said.

  “Yes. Isn’t it?”

  They stood another heartbeat or two, gazing into each other’s eyes—then Padi shook
herself.

  “It is very nearly impossible to predict either of them, acting alone. Together—together they form a new force entirely.”

  “Even more unsettling,” Vanz said, and blew out his breath. “Well, nothing for it. We’ll have to accept the moment and the lesson that rides it.”

  His lips quirked.

  “As my trader often tells me.”

  Padi swallowed her laugh.

  “Trader Denobli, you have my heartfelt sympathy.”

  “I hardly notice it, anymore,” he assured her earnestly.

  “It does me good to hear you say so. Now! May I suggest that the market lies before us, offering promise, profit, and momentary surcease from the trials placed upon us by our elders.”

  “Business,” said Vanz, “must go forth. Shall we, together, or meet at the end of the hall?”

  “Oh, why not together?” Padi said. “We did well, yesterday.”

  A shadow crossed Vanz’s face, replaced almost immediately by a smile.

  “We did, didn’t we? Together, then.”

  Padi nodded, and swept her hand out.

  “Lead on, Trader.”

  * * *

  They finished their tour of the hall in high good spirits, each having added several hopeful items to their personal inventories, and at last sat themselves down together at the Trade Feed for a quiet lunch.

  The trade feed from which the eatery took its name ran down the center of the table—the newest prime offerings, auction listings, private sales, and service ads.

  Having sent their orders in to the kitchen, Vanz stretched back in his chair.

  “That was fun!” he said, giving her a grin. “Thank you, Trader, for an enjoyable morning.”

  “And you, as well,” Padi said. “May we both find profit in the wake of today’s pleasure.”

  “What are your plans for the rest of the day, if I’m not impertinent?”

  “I am entirely free to tend my own business,” Padi said. “I’ll be touring the other side of the market with our upcoming port in mind. I have some few notions that I would like to test—and given that it is Volmer, they ought not come too dear.

  “Have you plans?”

  “My instructions from the trader were to do well for the ship, and not to skimp on my inventory. I have the offer of an extra half-pod, if it’s needed.”

  “That’s generous.”

  “It is—and not at all how he generally approaches Volmer. I think your master has stirred him up.”

  “He has that effect on people,” Padi said as their lunch arrived, via autobot.

  She had finished her slice of cheese-and-egg pie, and was reaching for her salad, when a line running under the table surface caught her eye.

  AUCTION: HIGHEST BID TAKES ALL. YARD LOT POD ADAPTERS 1240 SERIES TO 1530 ALL SIZES BETWEEN FORWARD AND BACKWARD COMPATIBLE. ON DISPLAY VIA LIVE FEED AUCTION CHANNEL BIG LOTS. HIGHEST BID TAKES ALL. BIDDING CLOSES STATION DAY 132, 1400 HOURS.

  “What a peculiar thing,” she said, dragging the ad into Vanz’s half of the table. “Surely, there can’t be so many running the twelve-forties any longer? And yet it looks as if this vendor had deliberately stockpiled adapter kits.”

  “Hm?” Vanz frowned, squinting, and put his finger on the ad to stop it.

  “Oh. Well, I guess it is a little odd, here at Volmer,” he said. “We—that is, the syndicate—keep some adapter kits at Hacienda Estrella, though mostly for when a ship coming out of the Dust wants a retrofit. The adapters are for those who’ll go back—”

  He stopped, raised his eyes and met Padi’s gaze. She saw him realize what he had just said.

  “We’re taking charts and the latest edition of the ven’Tura Tables, world books, and guild updates with us to The Redlands,” she said slowly. “Those will be wanted, with our market having just emerged.”

  “Yes,” Vanz said. “The trader intends to push the Dust himself, once business here is done.”

  “And it is not impossible,” Padi said, “that a ship that has been trading in the Dust, having achieved new charts, might raise Volmer, in search of markets.”

  “Yes, and if they wish to continue—to bring their markets with them, Dust-bound as they might be, they’ll need to keep the old pod mounts, and make certain they can accept the new pods.”

  Vanz pushed his chair back, and looked gravely at Padi.

  “Trader, it is your find. Will you—?”

  “I think we both must,” Padi said calmly. “Not only have we both understood what this may be, there is the matter of capital. I do not have unlimited funds, though you might.”

  “Hah.”

  He eyed her speculatively.

  “You’re proposing a collaborative buy—between us.”

  “Yes,” Padi said with a smile. “Between us. Why not?”

  “I can’t think of one reason,” Vanz said, and outright grinned.

  “What?” asked Padi.

  “I think your master trader isn’t the only one who stirs things up!”

  * * *

  It was fortunate, Padi thought, that both the Carresens Syndicate and Tree-and-Dragon had business offices on Volmer. It was also fortunate that there had been knowledgeable juniors in each office able to assist, as it seemed that the senior traders were occupying the senior managers.

  So! She and Vanz had created between them Out of the Dust Limited Trade Partnership, which had bid upon and purchased at much less than Padi had feared, the yard lot of pod adapters. The inventory was split three ways—each of the partners receiving their investment in pods, the larger portion to be available for sale through Volmer channels. The partnership had appointed the two juniors who had assisted in the transaction as caretakers of the Volmer portion of the business, for a percentage of the profit.

  In all, an amazing and fulfilling day’s work.

  She smiled as they walked into the Trade Bar.

  “So, Trader,” she said to Vanz, “you will need that extra half-pod.”

  “A good thing it was offered, too!” he retorted. “If it hadn’t, I’d be lashing adapter kits to the outside of the Run . . . ”

  She laughed.

  “We ought,” said Vanz then, “to seal the deal.”

  Padi frowned at him.

  “The paperwork . . . ” she began, and paused when he moved his hand.

  “No, I mean—there’s a custom. When a successful deal’s been made, or a partnership formed, the partners drink together.”

  “Ah, of course! I had forgotten!” Padi shook her head at her own lack of manners. “Forgive me. I will stand the wine, if you will rent the booth—”

  She stopped once more at the slight shake of Vanz’s head.

  “May we follow the custom of my family?”

  Padi did not hesitate. She had come to know Vanz well, not to mention having seen the state and condition of his whole self in Healspace. She not only liked him, but she trusted him; their dealings this afternoon in the business offices had only reinforced those feelings.

  “I would be pleased to follow the custom of your family,” she said.

  “Excellent! For this we will sit at the bar.”

  “In full sight of everyone,” Padi noted. “The elders will be pleased.”

  “Do you think so?” asked Vanz, guiding her to two empty stools near the center of the main bar.

  “Service, Traders?” asked the ’tender.

  “Yes,” said Vanz. “We have just concluded a lucrative deal—the first of many, so we fondly hope—and to that we will drink!”

  “And what will we drink?” Padi asked breathlessly, in order to honor the dramatic moment.

  Vanz’s smile was brilliant.

  “What else but a Trader’s Leap!”

  “Two Trader’s Leaps on the way!” the bartender called out, loudly enough to be heard by the entire bar. A gong sounded as she moved down to the mixing station. Padi dared a glance at the wider room—to find all eyes on them.

  The drinks arrived
as she turned back—tall and frozen and sporting at least a dozen small charms. She lifted her glass. Vanz lifted his.

  “To our mutual profit!” she said, projecting her voice as if she were an auctioneer. “yos’Galan and Denobli!”

  “To our mutual profit!” Vanz repeated, every bit as loudly. “Denobli and yos’Galan!”

  VIII

  Trade Bar

  The last meeting of the day was with Master Trader Til Den ven’Deelin, at a private booth in the Trade Bar. Shan arrived with a spring in his step. He was tired, it was true, but he was also exhilarated. Really, this stop had been fruitful beyond even his most optimistic flights. He had parted with Denobli only an hour ago, at the business center, where they had signed the contracts detailing the several agreements they had come to over these few short days.

  They had promised each other to keep in touch and—more audacious yet!—had planned three face-to-face meetings across the coming Standard.

  So now, the last meeting of the day: in fact, his final meeting on Volmer. The Passage had already filed for departure, in—he glanced at the time board as he entered the Trade Bar—eight local hours.

  He did not expect his meeting with Master Trader ven’Deelin to last nearly so long.

  Indeed, he expected he would be with the trader no longer than it took to hear a pretty speech of gratitude for the return of the trader’s sibling, and to drink a glass of wine to their mutual good health.

  Shan spared a small sigh for Mar Tyn pai’Fortana as he crossed the main floor toward the private booths. It was not to be supposed that he had long been allowed to linger with his Dyoli. He should perhaps find what had been done for the lad, and make it his business to do somewhat more. Lady Selph had quite liked him. Shan might have offered passage to Surebleak in exchange for general crew work, had Mar Tyn embraced any other small talent. A Luck—a Luck on a Korval ship. It was beyond risky. Really, it was wonderful that nothing even remotely untoward had happened between Pommier and Volmer.