by Andre Norton
"Good fortune with it, Deke," she said sincerely, "though I think you'll be sorry to see it go. I know I would be."
"So I shall," he admitted. "It won't be for a while, at least. This won't move until I planet on Hedon again. I'm not letting it go for less than it's worth."
Van Rycke's brow raised. "There're credits enough right here. Any of the major industrialists could take that bolt."
"They could, but they won't, not that lot. — You've never been on Canuche before?"
"No. The Queen's pretty much new to this Sector apart from the Trewsworld-Riginni mail run."
"Well, the veeps here aren't old money or flying on school prestige and secondhand knowledge. Nearly every one of them came up through the ranks in his particular industry or via the prospector's route. They're capable, tough, and, since they've earned them the hard way, they appreciate the value of their credits. They may like luxury and its brag value as much as the next one, but reason rules, and it'd just about take a supernova on their office desks to get them to step beyond its bounds for an extravagant toy like this."
Rael's fingers caressed the silk. She glanced over her shoulder. The market had grown more crowded in the short time they had been at the stand, but many of the same people she had noticed earlier were still studying it. Most were laborers or the owners or representatives of small businesses looking for a length of material or a few lengths at most, but several had that air of importance every Trader comes to recognize, be it in a tribal chieftain, government official, military officer, or industrial tycoon or manager. Those individuals had the power and means to buy and buy big. "Deke," she asked softly, "will you trust me with this?"
"Aye," he responded, surprised.
"Let me play with it a while."
"Have at it."
"How long is it?"
"Three yards."
"Perfect." The size of a major veil. Her plan would work if she knew anything at all of human nature.
The Medic straightened. Her rib cage arched slowly, with infinite precision, as each muscle of her body obeyed the command of her will. The motion was subtle, seemingly almost nonexistent and certainly indefinable to anyone trying to classify or describe its individual components, but the close-fitting uniform shimmered sensuously even as her bones appeared to dissolve in a rippling swaying, as if in response to the light motion of the air.
As her body followed the strange rhythm directing its movements, her fingers closed on either end of the silk panel, and in that instant, it swept, wafted, into the air.
Up it swirled, glistening in the glory of Hallo's light, held a breath's space on high, and swooped down again to envelop the woman as she slowly turned with it.
Again, the Thornen veil swept out. It seemed no independent thing but rather part of she who controlled it, even as together they appeared to be an exquisite extension of the light and air in which they flowed.
Mfceal Jellico tore his eyes away from the apparition to study those around them. Van Rycke, too, had recalled himself to the world of the market, but the others were fully ensorcelled. Rael's performance was so unexpected in a place like this and so perfectly executed, the material so marvelous in itself, that nearly every eye in the vicinity was riveted on her as if by the command of some irresistible compulsion.
Three times and again a fourth, the veil rose to fill the air, then with a sigh and a lowering of the head as precise and perfect as the vision preceding them, Rael closed it in upon itself and returned it to its owner.
In so doing, she released her captives. Tatarcoff recovered nearly as quickly as the Queen's senior officers and claimed it from her with a proprietary pride. His eyes were on the several individuals making purposefully for his stand.
"I knew you'd approve, Rael," he remarked for his potential customers' benefit.
"It's wonderful. I envy the one with the spirit and credits to buy it," she responded, her voice seemingly low but in actuality pitched to reach those who were approaching.
"Fly well, Deke. I hope we'll run into each other again before we lift."
The Solar Queen party went some distance before Jellico gave a sharp glance at his temporary hand.
She was laughing softly but stopped and looked up at
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him when she felt his gaze. "I love doing that," she ex-
plained, "and I so rarely get the chance. Teague doesn't approve."
"Of Ibis dancing?"
She was not surprised the Trader Captain had recognized what she had done. "Of using it or similar techniques to enhance one's goods. He doesn't think it's quite the most respectable way of doing business."
"It was effective," he said, "and you made no false claims. Thornen silk is beautiful. You merely . . ." He
paused a moment. "You merely spun it into a dream."
"It's up to Tatarcoffto sell that dream," the Cargo-Master interjected, "though he'd have to have a crater instead of a brain not to do it now. Everyone back there wants it."
"Deke's good," she assured them. "He'll move the silk and probably most or all the rest with it."
"You moved it for him," Dane said, forcing himself to speak naturally. He was embarrassed by the spell Cofort's performance had cast on him. A Trader, particularly part of the Cargo department, had to be able to keep his wits on his
surroundings and business.
If the others said anything, now or later, so be it, he thought. He deserved no more after that lapse. In the meantime, walking around as dumb as a lump of inert matter would do no one, especially himself, any good. He was curious about the magic Rael Cofort had wrought—and magic it had been, Trader magic rather than the kind that so intrigued Tau. Van Rycke was one of the best, and he had not seen even him use anything the like of this . . .
"No," the Medic responded slowly. "Thomen silk itself requires no selling. Better simply doesn't exist. That bolt is
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such a patent extravagance here, though, quintessential luxury beyond anything required for any conceivable occasion on a planet like Canuche of Halio, no matter how formal. It was bound to be admired, but to lift the idea of actually purchasing it out of the realm of insanity, I had to waken the hunger for beauty, the ideal of beauty, that lies buried in every normal human soul."
"You succeeded," Jellico said, an obvious understatement in the face of the number of determined people who had pushed in around Tatarcoffs stand even as his party had left it.
She gave him a sharp look. "There are no objections, I hope?"
"None. We're not competing, not on this run anyway, and if the locals buy from one Free Trader, they'll be more inclined to patronize the rest of us as well." His eyes rested pensively on her. "You were selling more than Deke Tatarcoffs silk back there."
"That's part of the purpose of this excursion, isn't it?" she countered evenly. "I'm supposed to be displaying my skill in handling the various aspects of Trade, am I not?"
"You are. You've shown some strange talents, Rael Cofort. I'm curious to test the extent of them."
"Test away. Captain Jellico," she responded lightly. "I think you won't find me wanting, nor, perhaps, the scope of my abilities so readily fathomed as you seem to imagine, either."
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The off-worlders paused to examine several more displays but were not tempted to make a purchase until they were nearly ready to quit that part of the market. A metallic glitter on the foremost table of one of the large booths caught Van Rycke's eye. Even from a distance of several feet, he could see that it was a synthetic cloth of silver netting, exquisitely complex and extraordinarily fine.
He touched Dane's arm. "Give that a look over. If it seems worth it, make an offer."
The Cargo-apprentice nodded and stepped briskly toward the booth, taking care to conceal from both the Canu- chean merchant and his own companions the considerable trepidation with which he viewed the assignment. True,
his chief had been giving him an ever-increasing amount of respo
nsibility, but the transactions he had thus far initiated had been small and straightforward, all of them concerned with minor outfitting of the starship. This was much larger in scope and was for Trade itself. It would also involve real bargaining, or it would if he did not blow it the first time he opened his mouth.
The Canuchean displayed the examination length of the silver netting with a grand flourish, all the while extolling its beauty and virtues as enthusiastically as if it were the genuine article straight out of Siren's far-famed mills.
Once his litany of praise ended, however, he eyed Thor- son's brown uniform as if in askance. "We deal chiefly in credits on Canuche," he said doubtfully.
Dane declared that the SoJar Queen intended to pay by that means. He saw the flash of greed glint in the other's eyes and set himself for battle. Specie or specie credit was always the preferred method of payment on any Federation planet, and the merchant was going to attempt to secure as much as he could.
It was the apprentice's job, on the other hand, to minimize what the Queen had to lay out. Straight credits, being more desirable than an exchange of goods or services, were
also more valuable. They generally bought more as a result, and Thorson was determined that those entrusted to him should do so. He held to his role as a prospective purchaser interested but by no means overwhelmed by the proffered goods and most assuredly in no desperate need of them. In the end, after much discussion, he succeeded in shaving off an 8 percent discount for the Queen and then heaped
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another 2 percent on top of it as a bulk order bonus for taking all twelve bolts available.
"Not bad at all," Van Rycke gloated when they were out of sight and earshot of the booth. "The youngster's beginning to show a little promise. I don't know if I'd have had the nuggets to demand a bulk discount for a dozen bolts of cloth."
"A nice move," the Captain agreed, "but do we need twelve bolts?"
"It'll sell," Jan assured him. "Some primitive society will go for it, and it's absolutely stellar quality. If that cloth was real silver, we could take it anywhere in the inner systems."
"We still can," Dane interjected. "Those planets tend to enjoy greater wealth and luxury than the outer and rim worlds, but there are plenty of very ordinary people working away on all of them. They can't afford clothes spun out of precious metals, but those conscious of fashion will grab a good synthetic. If we aren't planning a trip in there ourselves in the near future, we'll be encountering ships like the Black Hole that are. Any one of them'd be glad to pick up some of this in exchange for goods we'll find more immediately useful."
"I agree," Rael said, "but I don't think you'll have to trade any of it off. You'll sell, and you won't have to leave the outer systems to do it. A dozen bolts wouldn't be anything to a large manufacturer. It could go even faster in individual sales in a fairly big town, much less in a city. Aphrodite comes to mind at once. So does Sultana, which might actually be your best bet if you can swing in that far.
The teachers there'd jump at this for use in training, al-
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though, of course, they won't bring anything fake into the temples."
"Hera's even closer," Dane suggested. "According to
Mara's notes, the priestesses there love glitter. They sew and paste mirrors and all sorts of beads and pieces of metal and strips of lace on their robes. They should go for this
like a drowning man for oxygen."
"True enough, and as you so sagely point out, Hera's close by."
Thorson's head lifted in gratification at his chiefs ready
acceptance of the viability of his suggestion. He did not see the look of pride that accompanied it. That was an extremely obscure bit of information, a one-line margin note jotted down as a reminder on an old reorder list. Van Rycke had not recalled it himself, although he doubtless would have done so before long, and he was pleased that his fledgling, who had obviously been studying the files, had
beaten him to it.
With the business of the cloth's potential saleability settled, the Cargo-Master felt at liberty to address another matter whetting his curiosity. His blue eyes flickered in Cofort's direction. "Speaking of Sultana, Doctor, I'm wondering how you've managed to pick up her most cherished
art form."
She smiled. "I first saw her Ibis dancers when I was eight
years old. It was love at first sight. I'd always detested sports, and even then I thought formal exercise a galactic- class bore, necessary to maintain health and muscle tone, perhaps, but a waste of time, plentiful as that is in space. This beautiful, complex dance was different. I wanted it, and I was determined to learn how to perform it.
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"1 bought every tape and book my credits would allow and pestered my father for more, then I secretly worked with them, deciphering and copying the moves as best I could. I'd made such progress by the time he finally caught me at it that he sought to arrange for lessons for me the next time we planeted on Sultana, which was a regular port on our trade route. I was good enough that his request was
granted."
"He was damned lucky you didn't disappear," Miceal
told her bluntly. "Those people worship beauty. You must
have had that even then, and you were a dancer, besides."
She shook her head. "To them, I was the ultimate tragedy. I had the talent to dance, but it was stillborn. I had come to it far too late. Sultanites literally begin preliminary training when they're six months old. Their parents start giving them coordination exercises af that age. They encouraged me to continue all the same because they, their teachers, recognized that my love for their art is genuine.
"I'm fully aware of my limitations. I'd never be allowed on any temple floor, much less on an altar, but I don't expect that. I dance for my own pleasure and well-being."
"You can perform for us some day," Van Rycke promised.
Rael flushed scarlet. "You're not a tamed audience! And
I know you all . . ."
Jellico laughed, but he draped a surprisingly comforting arm around her shoulders. "Power down, Doctor. Our good Cargo-Master's only running you over the jets. Ibis dancing's potentially too potent a force for disruption to be loosed in the confines of a starship. Rest assured that you'll
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be allowed to continue exercising to your heart's content in complete privacy."
The four spacers moved into that part of the huge market where the gems and jewelry were sold.
Here the difference between the Solar Queen and the Roving Star, the chasm between the credits each starship had at her disposal, between the routes they flew, were made clearly apparent. The really good pieces, finished or unset, coming for sale on Canuche of Halio were offered in the major enclosed facilities, not in this open field, yet they could not give the top line of even what was on display of the mounted stones more than a passing
glance.
Miceal's expression darkened as he continued to watch the Medic. Inevitably, her eyes went to the best pieces, lingered on the really good ones. She knew they were beyond the means of her party and said nothing, but the way she looked at them was sufficient. It was not hard to imagine her disappointment. Teague Cofort would have gone for those choices. Space, Deke Tatarcoff probably could have picked up a couple or three of them. So could the Queen, he thought bitterly. Of course, then they would have nothing left with which to lay in a Trade
store ...
He stopped himself with a mental oath. What was he doing? Was this accursed woman driving him to feel ashamed of his own starship?
Jellico's mood improved again once they left the high- priced jewelry behind and found themselves surrounded by stalls stocking goods within their range.
He had no time for brooding then. The Solar Queen had
almost no jewelry left, and these mid-line goods, particularly the numerous beads, were of intense interest to her
Captain.
>
Now that she was free to act, Rael Cofort shone. She unerringly seized upon the beautifully marked agates, the oddly colored sodalite strand whose dark lavender shade might be a fault but was also strikingly attractive. She found the three unpitted strings in a bundle of otherwise poor garnets, and she spotted uniquely shaped beads and strange clasps to add distinction to the Queen's growing collection of interesting if relatively uncostly trade mate-
rial.
Van Rycke glowed with satisfaction. Cofort was performing exactly as he had seen her do in that other market but with the grand difference that on this occasion she was working for the Solar Queen, not against her.
He permitted her to do only the choosing. Although each individual piece cost little, the total of their gem and mineral purchases would be significant. This was Queen business, and he was not about to turn the crucial bargaining over to any temporary hand.
Dane watched him with the awe of a knowledgeable beginner for a superb master in his craft, and with pleasure. Someday, he would have a similar post and would perform, he hoped, with skill equal to that of his chief.
Jellico and Cofort's impressions might be less precisely tuned, but they were no less powerful. Both were veterans
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in Trade and recognized an ability so well honed that it transcended the professional to move into the realm of art.
Once the Cargo-Master was satisfied that they had secured everything they needed or wanted that the Queen could afford, he indicated that they should return to the freighter with their treasures. All four of them were burdened with a number of fairly substantial packages by that time. The cloth, of course, would be delivered to the ship, but when one purchased gems and minerals, he took care to carry them away with him.
"Could we at least go by the loose stones?" the Medic
asked wistfully.
"If you like," Jellico replied. "I thought you agreed with Van that we wouldn't take any."
"Aye. This is for me. I just want to look."
"The Roving Star deals heavily in them," Van Rycke recalled.
She nodded. "We do our own setting, you see. Our Steward's a master jeweler. — He's taken prizes from some of the biggest guilds in the ultrasystem. — He mounts what
