by Dan Abnett
‘Here,’ said Stine, ‘you may admire the hall’s marks, on this trinket.’ He held it up in front of a magnifying viewer for her to inspect. His hands were overly pale and well manicured, looming in the lens. The trinket had more pearls in it than some oceans. ‘The Stine mark.’
‘I see it repeated, in stylised form, upon your doublet coat,’ the emptor remarked.
Stine simpered, delighted that she should notice. He complimented her, extensively, on her eye and her intelligence.
+I think he wants to marry me.+
+Shush. Stick with it.+
Stine was very taken with this particular emptor: an elegant woman, well dressed, moneyed. Custom had been slack in the last few weeks, with few clients of note delivered by ferry ship to inspect the halls. This woman was something different. She had taste. She was beautiful, if you liked that kind of thing.
He was telling her a little more about the business, about the fact that he was not as accomplished in the lapidary work as his many brothers, which is why he was the factor. He left the skilled lapidary to his kin, who could ‘assay and value’, so he boasted, with their bare hands.
But he sensed she was becoming bored. That happened. She had stopped sipping the amasec he had fetched out on a lacquered tray, and she no longer picked at the candied ginger in the little finger bowl. A good factor noticed these details. A good factor knew when to up the tempo and move the courtship towards the consummation of purchase.
‘Are you looking for a particular piece?’ he asked, walking around the simple hardwood desk with its velvet panels. He took out his keys and opened the doors of the nearest plate glass displays. Recessed fans murmured in the invisible ceiling of the chamber of display. It was a comfortable twenty-two degrees, with the right amount of humidity and air-flow to keep emptors fresh and relaxed. Outside Berynth, it was a murderous sixty below.
‘I am,’ said the emptor, sitting back on one of the leather sofas and crossing her long legs. ‘Or rather, a particular piece for a particular purpose. A society wedding on Gudrun. I won’t use names–’
‘Of course not!’ the factor said with a bow.
The emptor smiled. ‘But the match involves some people of influence. Of blood.’
‘I understand.’
‘The son of a governor subsector.’
‘My word!’
+Oh, try to stay in the realms of reality, please!+
‘Shut up.’
‘Pardon?’ asked the factor with a slightly bewitched blink.
‘Nothing. I said, my niece... the bride... deserves something special.’
The factor bowed again. ‘I do understand. And, if I may make so bold, financially...?’
He let the deadly word hang.
She shrugged. ‘Nothing less than a quarter million,’ she said mildly.
For the third time, he bowed. ‘Oh, ma’am. I have a few trinkets that may well please your eye and your taste.’
+I think I just made him very happy.+
+Well, that’s all he’s getting. I’m not paying for a quarter million crowns’ worth of anything.+
+Except information?+
+Except that.+
She kept her grin fixed. Oblivious, the factor began to lift red satin trays out of the display cases. Several servitors appeared from the shadows, took each tray as he lifted them out, and brought them over to her, holding them so as to display them. The servitors were old and worn, but of great mechanical quality. She realised that the hall cultivated a slightly worn, slightly Spartan feel, so that the pieces would glow by comparison. It was all very clever, very judged.
‘A design for the throat is always appreciated. These on the first trays are allochromatic zalachite, with red gold. I have them in diamond too. Cabochon cut is usually preferred.’
‘They’re delicious.’
‘Or a jewel setting for the brow? Sapphire, with opal and signet. Black silver or chased adamite are very sought after.’
‘This one is nice,’ the emptor said.
The factor came over, lifting the piece from its tray with a midwife’s care. The jewels shone in the light. The lights above the desk were well placed to make jewels scintillate at that particular point in the chamber.
‘The chrysoberyl? Yes, a favourite of mine. Note the glorious asterism. Would you like...?’ he asked, holding it up.
‘Please.’
‘Glass!’ the factor called, and other servitors hurried forward, holding up looking glasses all around the client. The factor placed the necklace around the emptor’s throat and fastened it.
She admired herself.
‘Has she your colouring?’
‘I am somewhat paler than my niece,’ the emptor said.
‘Then something with cygate or quofire? Tourmaline, perhaps? I have a pendaloque-cut tourmaline with the most stunning dichroic properties.’
‘You know your business, sir.’
She tried on three or four more pieces. The servitors held the looking glasses perfectly still.
‘I worry,’ she said, at length, ‘this is a nuptial gift. It should be for the groom as much as the bride. He is my brother’s son, after all.’
The factor paused. ‘And the bride is your niece?’
‘Did I say that?’
+You said that.+
‘You said that, I’m sure.’
‘By marriage, I mean. You know how it is, in the dynastic melee that is court life.’
‘Court... life?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. +Did I get away with that?+
+He’s too awestruck to notice. Play up the court thing. He thinks you’re anonymous nobility.+
‘I really don’t like to talk about it,’ the emptor said.
‘Of course not. Well, perhaps I can show you some of our ornamental settings? Horologs, rosettes, Imperial aquilas. For aquilas, we favour gold and composites, and also organic gems. The oceans here on Utochre produce the most iridescent nacre effects.’
‘You have a charter to produce authentic aquilas?’
‘We are Imperial jewellers, of course. By appointment.‘
‘Show on,’ she said.
He displayed several more complex objects to her. Some were so valuable he had to silently lock the suspension shields around the desk while she admired them.
‘This is really stunning work,’ she murmured, turning a piece over in her hands. She held it up to the light. ‘What do you call this property?’
‘Birefringence, or double refraction,’ Stine replied.
‘Oh, I can’t decide.’
The factor smiled warmly.
‘I just can’t decide. I feel... incoherent.’
The factor’s smile froze and became cold.
‘What?’
‘I feel incoherent. Can you help me with that?’
The factor took the piece out of her hands and put it back on its satin tray.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ the emptor asked, slightly taken aback.
+Yes, I think you did. He’s not happy. Make your apologies and get out.+
‘We don’t cater for that sort of thing here,’ Stine said sniffily. ‘You’ve been wasting my time. Perhaps you’d like to leave.’ The factor was angry with himself. It wasn’t often he misread an emptor so completely.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, rising. ‘I didn’t mean offence.’
‘Please leave,’ Stine spat. He took a control wand from his belt and waved it briskly. All the servitors retreated obediently back into the shadows.
+Get out.+
‘I meant no offence,’ she repeated. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Your kind are always sorry,’ said Stine. ‘I should report you.’
‘Report me to whom?’ she asked.
+Get out, Patience. Now. We can’t afford an incident.+
Stine turned to look at her. His face was hard, poisonous. ‘You come in here, into this distinguished hall, looking for access to that ungodly place! Stine and Stine does not do that sort of thing
!’
‘I have apologised. I have apologised sincerely, sir.’
+Patience...+
‘I should call the magistrates,’ Stine blustered. He waved the control wand he had taken from his belt again, reaching into the air for a hive-hub connection. She heard the buzz of a handshake.
‘Berynth Magistratum, I have you,’ the speakers on the desk warbled.
‘This is Stine at Stine and Stine. I have a–’
There was a click as the link disconnected.
‘Hello? Hello?’ Stine said.
+I’ve blocked his comm. Now, Patience, please walk out of there.+
Stine, of Stine and Stine, tried his wand again. When he looked around, the woman had gone.
She stormed out of the hall’s reception chamber onto the iron-railed promenade. The hanging thimble lamps shone overhead with a feeble, pearly light. Instinctively, she allowed the stream of pedestrian traffic to swallow her up and carry her along. All around her were the rich and privileged of a double-dozen worlds, strolling along, some body-guarded, some carried in ornate litters, some sporting parasols or long trains.
+Sorry,+ she sent. +I fumbled that.+
+It doesn’t matter.+
+It does. It took me by surprise. His reaction. He was so... angry.+
+Proud, that’s all. We aimed a little too high, trying an Imperial jeweller. We can learn from this.+
She threaded through the crowd and headed down a flight of iron steps onto a lower stack. It was quieter there. She stopped and leaned on the guard rail, gazing down into the deep interstack drop and the street levels below. She got her breath.
+I’m off my game, Gideon.+
+You’re not. You’re fine.+
+I can tell when you don’t mean it. I’m off my game.+
+Maybe you are, Patience. Would you like to talk about why?+
+I’m off my game because I can’t stand this. I hate what we’re being forced to do.+
+That’s only reasonable. So do I.+
She sighed, let go of the guard rail, and started walking again.
+How are the others getting on?+
+Much like you. They’re not getting anywhere. Although they’re not quite as combative as you.+
+I said I was sorry, Gideon. What happened back there? The last few places I tried just got a bit cagey when the subject came up, but that... he was so venomous. As if I was a criminal.+
+As I said, I think we aimed too high. Stine and Stine is about as illustrious a hall as there is on Utochre. The man felt insulted. His hall was insulted. The inference hurt him. Put it behind you.+
+I think you should switch me out for Kara. Kara would do this better.+
+Put it behind you.+
She had walked to the far end of the stack level, into the gloomy architectural cleft where the armoured curve of the roof dome met the stack ends. There was a small and dingy dining house there, built into the eaves of the giant outer roof. It clearly catered for under staff and the utility personnel who worked menial jobs in the halls. The staff frowned and whispered at the sight of her fine, expensive clothes. She ignored them and sat down at a vacant table. Around her, household staffers, gig drivers and stack-gutters hunched over and murmured to one another.
‘Mamzel?’ asked a maid in an apron, coming over. ‘There is a good place a level up where you might be more comfortable.’
‘I’m comfortable here, thanks,’ said Kys. ‘A caffeine. Black, sweet, and an amasec, if you have it. Cooking will do.’
‘Yes, mamzel.’
Waiting for her order to arrive, she rose again and approached the heavy shield plate that formed the north wall of the dining house. She touched the control stud, and the shield slid up. She looked out on the world outside through the thick glass. The blackened, fat bellied slopes of Berynth hive shelving away below, the ice beyond, under a broiling sky. The savage gales beat at the glass and bombarded it with ice crystals.
+We are criminals now, aren’t we?’+
+Patience...+
+Oh, stop it. We are. I know it. Rogue.+
+It’s the only way we have left.+
+I hate it, Gideon, and I hate the idea that he’s still out there. I hadn’t realised before, but when you told me he was dead, it felt like a weight lifting off me.+
+I’m sorry. It felt that way to me too, if that’s any consolation.+
Kys put her hand against the glass and stared out at the nocturnal blizzard.
+However... Patience, we need to retain control. We can’t afford to be seen, and I think you were about to pin that Stine fellow to his chair by his scrotum+
She smiled. +At the very least. I am so sorry. I’m finding this hard. So... how are the others doing?+
+Maud and Carl have covered five halls between them. Nothing. Harlon has managed to secure us an underboat. Now Carl is off buying rings down in the brash quarters.+
+Doesn’t he have enough rings?+
+I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to such things. Can one have enough rings?+
+Not if you’re Carl, apparently.’
The maid returned with the order. Kys went back to her table, drank the amasec in one and sipped her caffeine. It was too hot, and the amasec had been rough. Cooking, definitely. She dropped a generous number of coins on the table and stood up. +What’s next?+
+Can you handle another?+
+Yes. Of course.+
+Only when you’re ready. Exit and head up a stack. Then along to your right. Corlos and Saquettar, Lapidary.+
Patience sighed. +How do I look?+
+Beautiful.+
+Then let’s go.+
+Wait. Wait, Patience. Sit back down. Drink your caffeine. I believe Carl has found something.+
Two
‘Incoherent? Well, that’s a different thing altogether.’
‘Oh? How so?’ asked Carl Thonius sweetly.
Down in the brash quarters, in the low hive, things were more basic. The stack-depths were cluttered with dirty stalls and tented stands of soiled canvas, selling knock-off and bad-cut gems, trinkets, keepsakes, totems and charms. The air was smoggy from the oil drum fires and stank of liquor and refuse. Bagpipes keened and drums beat. There were fire dancers, shucksters, lhofers, and the constant, shabby bustle of the hab classes and the migrant workers, washing aimlessly back and forth in the low hive like rank water in a bilge.
The stall holder glanced around to see if anyone was listening. He had one sunken eye, from years of using a stubby jeweller’s loupe.
‘Seeing as how you’ve bought so many rings from me, my friend, let me tell you. Coherence comes at a price. You have to be introduced, for a start.’
‘You do?’
‘Have yourself an introduction. The halls expect that.’
‘Can you provide such a service?’
The stall holder laughed a phlegmy laugh. ‘Mercy, no!’ He gestured around at his modest stall. ‘I’m brash, born and bred. I don’t move in those kind of circles.’
‘But you know the system?’
He nodded.
‘What’s your name?’ Thonius asked.
‘I am Lenec Yanvil, sir,’ the man replied. He was small and pot-bellied, with nimble hands. He smelled of pitch and polishing amalgams.
‘Well, Lenec Yanvil, if I was to, say, purchase that gorgeous lapis signet I wavered over, would you confide in me?’
‘I’d be delighted to,’ said Yanvil.
Thonius produced some more large denomination coins and counted them out onto the stall’s stained baize cover. Yanvil picked up the signet ring, and carefully wrapped it in a small piece of felt.
‘It’s all about reward, you see,’ he said quietly. ‘Palms greasing palms. The halls have an arrangement with the House. They have had for centuries. Some will admit it, quietly, others deny it, but they all benefit.’
‘How so?’
‘Every single hall in Berynth pays a retainer to the House in return for coherent information about new seams, stone beds
and metal deposits. The jewellery business here is what Berynth is famous for, but it’s just a by-product of Berynth’s heavy industry. The first halls to set up here in the old days made their profits from the spoil of the intensive ore mining, but no one these days is going to sustain a business on accidental finds. Neither do the halls have the financial resources to maintain comprehensive mining operations of their own. So they pay to know where to look, and then hire out the mining complexes to do spot excavations. Everyone profits.’
‘It sounds very companionable.’
Yanvil shrugged. ‘The halls are very proprietorial about who gets access to the House. They vet. It’s an exclusive service. But then, Throne knows, you have to be pretty exclusive to come all this way to go jewellery shopping.’
‘How do they vet?’
‘You need to find an agent. They’re very exclusive too. They don’t advertise. A client hooks up with an agent, the agent takes them to an appropriate hall and makes an introduction. Then the client has to make a purchase, something pricy. Horologs are good, I hear. The purchase price is the hall’s fee. The client then gives the item to the agent as a gift. Later, the agent sells the item back to the hall for a cut of the fee. The item goes back in the hall’s display, and the hall’s made a tidy profit.’
‘Very neat.’
‘Palms are greased, backs are mutually scratched. Everyone smiles.’
‘So, to find an agent…?’
‘Well, I might know something.’
‘Palms are greased and backs are mutually scratched, eh?’ said Thonius. ‘That gold thumb ring there...’
‘So Stine knew all about it?’ asked Patience.
‘According to my source, they all do,’ said Carl. ‘They just don’t like to talk about it.’
