The Midnight Bargain

by C. L. Polk

  “My greetings to you, honored sir. How may I serve the Lavans today?”

  Ianthe paused for a moment. “Nestor Patan. This is Ysbeta Lavan’s manager of affairs, Miss Kalinda Damind. With her is her clerk, Paulina Fisher. Ysbeta wishes them to become acquainted with the warehouse operation in Meryton. You will see them conducting business here often from now on.”

  Beatrice bent her head, and then wrote “Nestor Patan” on the writing board.

  Ysbeta stood tall. “What is your position here, sir?”

  “Inventory control,” he replied, still looking at Ysbeta and Beatrice. “A woman manager? Did your honored father approve of this?”

  Ysbeta looked stormy, but she held her tongue.

  “She was the only woman applicant. Ysbeta liked her,” Ianthe said.

  Nestor examined her again. “A thornback, with a face like that? It’s a shame. The other’s a pretty one too. Why aren’t they settled?”

  Ysbeta clenched her fists. Beatrice wrote “obnoxious character” on her writing board.

  Ianthe tilted his head. “Both of them preferred making use of their educations.”

  “Ah, there’s the problem,” the controller said, nodding in agreement to his own statement. “Well, the damage is done. What did you want to tour?”

  “Specifically, the Pelican,” Ianthe said, as if he’d not blinked an eye at anything Nestor had said. “Miss Damind is to tour the ship, inspect his records, and listen to the recommendations of the acting captain . . . ah . . .”

  “Ranad Beleu,” Ysbeta said. “Miss told me the names of the officers.”

  “Good memory!” Nestor complimented, and Ysbeta’s smile stretched across her closed mouth. “The Pelican is in the second berth. He’s taking a cargo—Mrs. Lavan put in the order to send him out immediately— Shit!” The inkwell on Nestor’s desk toppled, spilling ink all over his papers. “My whole day’s work!”

  He turned away to mop up the mess, and Ianthe turned to wink at Beatrice. “Bad luck. We’ll see ourselves to the Pelican. Thank you for your directions.”

  Ianthe stepped through the doorway first, turning to the left. From inside came a crash, and a string of curses billowed out the door with the smell of petty revenge. Beatrice smiled. It was sweet.

  Ysbeta made a frustrated sound with her teeth. “Mother gave orders to load my ship? To send him out on a trading journey cargo I didn’t plan? She did it just to make sure I couldn’t—”

  “Shh. You are Kalinda right now. And Kalinda has a right to be annoyed, but not furious. We arrived here just in time.”

  “We did,” Ysbeta said. “That’s what matters. We will board the Pelican, and we will sail to Rhaktuun, where the Pelican will take on art and gemstones while we journey to Otahaan—”

  “What’s in Otahaan?” Ianthe asked. “Other than one of the oldest libraries in the world—oh. It’s in a book. Of course.”

  “What’s in a book?” Beatrice asked.

  “The means of keeping your unborn safe while they develop inside you,” Ysbeta said. “Hilviathras said the information is very old. Naturally the ancient library of Queen Ishana is where it wants to go—it’s only a week’s sailing and two weeks overland to reach the capital. And then from there—”

  “Shit,” Ianthe said. “Look down. It’s the cargomaster.”

  Ysbeta swiveled her head around, tracking Ianthe’s gaze. Beatrice watched a steel-haired Llanandari in a deep maroon coat recognize Ysbeta, his face shifting from restrained impatience to dismay. He pointed at the three of them, and all the dockworkers and sailors looked up as he shouted, “Stop that woman! That’s Ysbeta Lavan!”

  CHAPTER XXII

  They ran. Ianthe sprinted for the southwest end of the long wharf, and Ysbeta yelped as her pillar-heeled shoes rose in the air. Beatrice gripped Ianthe’s shoulder, letting Nadi keep his feet sure and steady as he ran all-out to reach the second berth. Beatrice spied a long, three-masted ship bobbing in the water, and her heart sank, for instead of being lashed snugly to the dock, it was at anchor, out of reach without rowing to its side.

  Sailors at a moored ship poured down the gangway and pursued them. Beatrice pointed and the first one tripped, tangling up the legs of a second, and the whole bunch had to stop and set themselves right. Ianthe swung one hand and a few feet away, a dockworker tumbled into the water with a yell.

  “That’s the Pelican out there,” Ianthe said. “We’re sunk.”

  Ysbeta screamed in frustration and tore open the front of her jacket. Embroidered buttons flew everywhere as she struggled her shoulders free of the sleeves. She flung the jacket away and it cartwheeled through the air, landing in black water. She fumbled for her skirt laces and let the printed cotton fall to the tarred wooden boards, fumbling with the cord that held up her fulling cage.

  “You’re going to swim for it?” Beatrice shouted.

  “Ianthe has to protect you,” Ysbeta said. “I’m getting my ship.”

  The cage floundered to the boards, and Ysbeta reached into the pockets still tied to her waist, producing a small knife. “Don’t fret about the laces. Hurry.”

  Ianthe kept running, bearing the women behind him on a carriage of air. Beatrice popped laces, looking up as Ianthe stopped at the end of the berth. A knot of sailors advanced on them. Beatrice hissed as the blade nicked Ysbeta’s back and a spot of red bloomed on her shift.

  “She’ll never make it aboard,” the man in the lead called.

  Other sailors appeared on the water in rowboats, sculling toward the Pelican.

  “That ship is mine,” Ysbeta said. “Mine. And I will stand on his decks or die trying.”

  She ripped the stays away from her body and whirled for the edge of the dock, diving into the water neat as a knife. A rowboat crew gave a shout and headed toward her.

  Ianthe pointed. The nose of the boat rose high in the air, sending the crew tumbling into the water.

  Ysbeta could swim like a fish. She cut through the water, one arm after the other in endless circles, her kicking feet splashing, her white cotton shift billowing around her—but on the deck of the Pelican, sailors gathered amidships to watch her progress. A dark man in a red-plumed hat stood front and center, still as a statue as Ysbeta swam for the Pelican’s hull.

  A new rowboat sculled across the water. Beatrice and Nadidamarus beheld it, and the sailors dropped their oars to frantically bail the leaks sprung in the bottom.

  Ianthe pointed at the only man on the dock in a coat. “Cargomaster. Help her.”

  “We have orders—”

  “If you stand by and watch her drown trying to win her freedom, your orders won’t mean a thing,” Beatrice said.

  “All you will be are the people who watched Kalman Lavan’s daughter drown trying to get to her own ship,” Ianthe added.

  “Signal the acting captain to throw down a line,” Beatrice said. “She will die out there before she’ll allow herself to be captured. She will dive for the bottom and drown before she’ll let you take her.”

  “Why?” the cargomaster asked. “What’s going through her mind?”

  “We don’t have time to tell you that,” Ianthe said. “Signal the captain to take her aboard.”

  “Please,” Beatrice said.

  The cargomaster watched as Ysbeta called up to the crew, treading water next to the hull. He watched, his jaw working as he weighed what to do.

  “I will remember this,” Ianthe said. He turned toward the water and pointed.

  Ysbeta rose out of the water, her carefully styled hair now dripping wet, her cotton shift clinging to her skin. Someone behind them made an astonished yelp. Someone else rushed forward, reaching out to grab Ianthe. Beatrice pointed, and Nadi flexed its power. The dockworker rolled his ankle and went down with a cry.

  Beatrice moved so she blocked Ianthe’s body with her own. She bared her teeth at the crowd, and the cargomaster flinched as a seagull loosed its bowels, splattering his hat and coat.

  “Leave before I
hex every last one of you,” Beatrice said.

  A half-dozen workers cut and ran.

  Ianthe grunted with the effort. Near the Pelican, Ysbeta rose high above the rail of the ship, over the heads of the astonished crew. Ianthe gasped with exertion as he floated her gently to land on the deck of the ship she owned, the ship she ruled outright the moment her toes touched the boards.

  He bent over, trying to catch a breath. “It’s done. No thanks to you, Mr. Caldet, and I’ll be sure to inform my father of that. Give permission for the Pelican to dock. We’re going aboard.”

  The Pelican was a fine ship, a sturdy vessel meant to ship cargo and hold its own in a fight. He was a sterling example of the naval might of Llanandras, of the cleverness of their shipwrights and engineers, and Ysbeta had every right to be proud.

  Beatrice sat at the table bolted to the top deck, enjoying a meal from the galley. She waved as Ysbeta appeared from belowdecks. She had found breeches, a shirt, a fine weskit, and the former captain’s deep red coat and red-plumed hat. She marched across the deck barefoot, just like many of the Pelican’s crew.

  “I’ll never wear a skirt again,” she declared, raising a bottle of Kandish wine by the neck. A crew member brought them globe-blown goblets for their first toast.

  “To freedom, happiness, and getting everything you want,” declared Ysbeta, and they called hurrah and drank.

  Beatrice breathed in, startled by a bouquet that made her think of summer-blooming roses among fresh, ripe plums—and the first mouthful flooded her tongue with delicate, shimmering flavors. Berries and a rounded, mellow tannin slowly unfolded, hinting at spices and minerals at the finish.

  “Oh, it’s marvelous,” Ianthe said.

  “Three weeks to the solution, and then I’ll begin my travels,” Ysbeta said. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? You could manage the Pelican and expand the fleet.”

  “I go where Beatrice goes,” Ianthe said. “Beatrice?”

  Beatrice thought. “We’ll go to Otahaan with you. We’ll gain the secret of protecting sorceresses’ unborn children. But we have to share it. Every sorceress has to know how to protect their children without the marriage collar.”

  “So you will return to the world. They won’t thank you for it. I hope you realize that.”

  “Oh, I expect I’ll turn the world upside down,” Beatrice said. “But think how many women have hidden their resistance. I think I’ll gain allies faster than you expect.”

  “You’re going to go along with this, then?” Ysbeta pointed her wineglass at Ianthe, who nodded.

  “I fight what she fights. Too many gentlemen believe that sorceresses are happy to deny their full potential. There must be other men who support freedom.”

  “But it would be so simple,” Ysbeta said. “Beatrice, I dub thee Joseph Ezra Carrier. Write coded grimoires. We’ll put them in bookshops.”

  “I don’t think that will work,” Ianthe said. “The men need to be told, not just the women.”

  Ysbeta poured more wine. “I have spoken with Hilviathras, and it confirms that we have to go to Otahaan for the details, but you don’t know how the men will react. They have the power, and most of them won’t accept anything that upsets that power. You’d have to convince the chapterhouse mages—”

  Ysbeta stopped speaking as the beat of many footsteps echoed off the wooden dock. Men strode toward the ship, and Beatrice’s pulse jumped. Father and Danton Maisonette walked behind Bard Sheldon and Ianthe and Ysbeta’s parents, and together they halted before the ship.

  Father moved to step on the gangplank, but Mr. Lavan stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Captain, I ask for permission to board the Pelican.”

  “Permission denied,” Ysbeta said.

  “Ysbeta Mirelda Lavan.” Her mother walked right to the plank, but Mr. Lavan caught her elbow to stop her from setting foot. “You will stop this childish nonsense immediately.”

  “Mother, I will not,” Ysbeta said. “I told you. I told you a dozen times that I didn’t want to marry—I begged you, and all you could see was profits instead of a daughter.”

  “How dare you! The impertinence! You will obey your mother—”

  “And now I can’t, Mother. My bond spirit is Hilviathras, greater spirit of knowledge.”

  Mrs. Lavan stared at Ysbeta in open-mouthed horror. “What have you done?”

  “It’s too late,” Ysbeta said. “Mama, it’s too late for that now. I told you I couldn’t. I told you.”

  Mrs. Lavan stared at her daughter, speechless.

  “You were happy to be married,” Ysbeta said. “You love Father. You told me so many times when I was little that you knew it was love from the start. You had everything. You had Father. You had the trade you loved. And when we were old enough, you took on magic again. But you don’t see me. I’m a person, not a trade agreement.”

  “This union will reap so much plenty—”

  “Plenty for him!” Ysbeta pointed at Ianthe. “Plenty we don’t need! Mother, look at me! I never wanted what you wanted for me. Ianthe is content with what we have. We don’t need more.”

  “You are a child. You don’t know what you want.”

  “I’m only a child when I want what you don’t want, Mother. But please. This is what I want. I want to be a master magician. I want to be a scholar. I don’t want anything else. Please—”

  “No more,” Mrs. Lavan said. “I have worked so hard. I have sacrificed so much. And you— Come down from there.”

  Ysbeta took a step back. “No.”

  Bard moved closer to the gangplank. “Ysbeta.”

  Ysbeta’s voice was thickened by unshed tears. “Miss Lavan.”

  Bard bit his lip but nodded at the correction. “Miss Lavan. Is this because of Chasland law? I know there was a disagreement about your property . . . if we married in Llanandras, would that satisfy you?”

  “No.”

  Bard stood up a little straighter. “Is it because of our customs? I know Llanandari women do not have as many babies as Chaslander women do—”

  “No,” Ysbeta said, her voice weary.

  “I know I have been presumptuous. I didn’t woo you as I should have. I know I have been inconsiderate. I didn’t treat you with respect. I assumed you were mine when you never were any such thing. But I can change—”

  “No, Mr. Sheldon,” Ysbeta said. “You could have been the most handsome, the most romantic, the most considerate man on the globe. It wouldn’t matter.”

  “Then what does?”

  “My work,” Ysbeta said. “I mean to record the magic the chapterhouse ignores. I mean to uncover lost traditions and find the truth of sorcery and spirits. I want to learn something new every day and teach another something that could have been lost. I will find cities lost to legend and preserve wisdom from dying traditions. But first I mean to learn the magic that will make my brother and my new sister safe from birthing a spiritborn child.”

  Bard watched Ysbeta, excitement stirring in his eyes. “I would go with you.”

  “No.”

  “But what an adventure it would be!” Bard swept his arms wide. “You and I, across the whole world, seeking knowledge and lost secrets, forever—it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Hang the Ministry. We’ll have the sea—”

  “No!” Ysbeta shouted. “Bard, you cannot come with me.”

  “But I love you!”

  “But I don’t love you,” Ysbeta said. “And I’m sorry, Mr. Sheldon, but I don’t think you love me either.”

  “I do,” Bard said. “Don’t you see that? I would give up everything for your happiness.”

  “And if that doesn’t make me happy?” Ysbeta asked. “What then? I don’t want you to give up everything, Mr. Sheldon. I don’t want your sacrifice. I don’t want to marry you.”

  Bard went silent and pale. He watched Ysbeta, his eyes wide, entreating, but the light in them dimmed as he heard her at last.

  “I don’t want to marry you,” Ysbe
ta said. “Mr. Sheldon, I am so sorry. But it’s the truth.”

  “I know.” Bard bent his head. He sighed, and pain stole across his countenance as he looked at Mr. Lavan. “I withdraw my claim. The agreement is null.”

  He turned back to Ysbeta, swept off his hat, held it over his heart, and bowed. “Farewell, Ysbeta Lavan. May the Skyborn bless you.”

  He turned and walked down the dock, settling his hat back into place.

  “What nonsense,” Danton said. “Beatrice, come down from that boat immediately.”

  Ysbeta put her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. “Beatrice Clayborn has the right of hospitality on my ship. She cannot be compelled to leave it, under law.”

  “That law also requires that she be in service to the vessel,” Mr. Lavan said, in the entirely reasonable tone one uses to mollify precocious daughters. “What position does she hold?”

  “She’s the ship’s mage,” Ysbeta said. “Her bond spirit is Nadidamarus, greater spirit of fortune—”

  “Absurd,” Danton Maisonette snorted in derision. “Women do not bind greater spirits.”

  “This woman has, Mr. Maisonette,” Beatrice said. “I decline your offer of marriage, and I charge you with misuse of sorcery to inflict harm and attempted murder. Give up your claim to my hand and I won’t put you in court.”

  Danton sniffed. “With whose money for the suit?”

  “Mine,” Ysbeta and Ianthe said in unison.

  “Yours? But you can’t marry her, not after what she’s done—”

  “You tried to kill her, Maisonette,” Ianthe said. “I am happy to explain to the courts and the broadsheets exactly why you did. Will you do that to your sister?”

  Danton took a step back. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I have already contacted a lawyer,” Ianthe said. “I invite you to try me.”

  “Think of your sister, Beatrice,” Father said. “How could you do this to Harriet?”

  It twisted in her chest. Harriet didn’t deserve to suffer. She didn’t. But neither did Beatrice. “I tried, Father. I tried to make my ambition small. I tried to honor my talent and my family. I would have been content to be your assistant.”