“You can’t blame them for everything. Let’s pack up for today and find a safe spot to park the transport overnight,” Amra suggested.
I nodded. “I’ll see if I can run down any good deals tomorrow morning.”
“And we’ll sell these spices like they’re grown from the Nether crystal itself,” Bhon said.
* * *
The next morning, back at the market, I sat with Amra, leafing through my notes on merchant contracts. Some dated back all the way to when Saart and I started the business together, many cycles ago. We could have been mercenaries, except the strange fellow we bought the transport from insisted any ordnance was gone, any stored energy dissipated. Saart’s pet turrets might have been useful yesterday. I wondered how much mercenaries made.
There had to be someone else on Sureri who wanted to take a transport full of spices.
Wearing a rich wrap the color of the crushed redcap, Amra presided over the trays of fragrant powders displayed like so much colored sand, but we had made only one sale so far.
I flung the sheets down. “There’s nothing here. All the smart merchants know to avoid Sureri. If I had listened to you the last time we made a big sale, we could be sitting in a little shop on Methiem right now, waiting for the customers to come to us.”
“You didn’t know the frost radish market was going to tank so soon. Besides, you like traveling in this old thing.” She patted a metallic wall companionably.
“But you don’t.”
“I love you, and that’s enough. I just—” She cut off and I sighed.
“I won’t subject a child to this life. There’s time for that when we’re settled.”
“You’re always set on children. What about time for an actual marriage, and a shop, and the money to keep it running? Kamuli and Bhon make a life together, even traveling with us.” She was warming up to the old argument.
I did want children, even if Amra wasn’t sure. And while I loved my transport, I didn’t want to raise a family in it. “We’ll get off this world,” I said, “and the next time we hit a good deal, we can sell the transport and open a shop on Methiem rather than sitting in a cold and dusty market stall on another homeworld.” I gestured to the deserted market, our only prospective customers a trio of Sureriaj beggars huddled in thin blankets. The two males had lost their mate somehow, but they sheltered a thin child beside them, trying to keep her warm.
Besides our stall, there was one run by two balding Etanela, both half again my height, and one with a lone Kirian woman, crest ruffled and wrinkled arms and legs bare even in the cold. Was she the same one the mob yelled at the day before? She must be even more desperate than us.
“And how long until that deal comes along, Prot?” Amra asked, pulling my attention back. “We’ve been together six cycles.”
I searched for an answer, but was fortunately distracted by a Sureri in a top hat walking purposefully our way, tailored leather coat and tails swishing around wool breeches. He didn’t even spare a glance for the other merchants. Bhon materialized from somewhere, hand on one of her holsters, and I caught a glimpse of Kamuli’s tall frame through the windscreen, taking in the newcomer’s clothes.
“I am thinking yer and yer crew are ready to depart our fine world soonish?” he said in a passable version of the Trader’s Tongue. Like all Sureriaj, his legs were longer than mine, his torso shorter, though he was of a height with me. Despite a smaller chest, his arms dangled longer than my own.
“After what happened yesterday? You bet we are.” Amra scowled at the well-dressed Sureri and I laid a hand on her leg beneath the table. My accountant was an excellent records keeper, and kept our enterprise afloat, but she had no sense for a good deal.
But he only bobbed his hairy bat-like head in her direction. His hat cast a shadow in the morning sun, enough to obscure his eyes. “Yer mate, I assume? I wish yer family great bounty. Eyah, yesterday’s events were...unfortunate-like. Some of our people are a little excitable with aliens forcin’ their way into our world, sellin’ foreign wares we donna need.” His accent became thicker, and his lip curled up for a moment. Then he smiled, and Amra sat back at the sight. Sureriaj were not pretty to begin with.
“Are you looking for spices?” I asked, directing his attention to our table. And off Amra.
The Sureri opened a hand, palm out. “Nay, but I do have an opportunity for yer.”
My eyes rose back to him. “I’m listening.”
“If yer will come with me a shortish way, and speak with me grand-dame, I think we can benefit each other greatly.”
My eyebrows shot up, despite myself. A grand-dame? It was rare to see Suereri women, given they were outnumbered by the males two to one, though they ran most of the businesses behind closed doors.
“I’ll be happy to accompany you,” I said. I very carefully didn’t leap over the table before he changed his mind. “Let me get one of my guards and we’ll be—”
“Just yer self, I am afraid,” the gentleman Sureri said, with another of his frightening grins.
I paused, taking into account Bhon, Kamuli, and Amra. Saart was tinkering somewhere. Amra was staring at the alien in disbelief, and I could tell she was about to protest.
“That will be…acceptable,” I said quickly, and held Amra’s eyes with mine until she closed her mouth, frowning. “My crew will continue to sell our wares here.” I crooked a finger for Kamuli to come sit with Amra. The tall woman was the second best negotiator, next to myself.
“Be careful. I don’t like this man,” Amra whispered. She got up as I did, making for the pouch holding small change. “But I can at least make myself useful and give those beggars some money. Their child looks half frozen.”
* * *
The Sureri gentleman led me out of the foreign market and around the first corner. They must have rented out one of the unused buildings.
Though the outside was gray like the rest of the town, once through the front door, the décor changed dramatically. There were fine carpets and tapestries from Festuour, sculptures and paintings from Kiria and Etan, and an immense chandelier, which unless I missed my guess, was studded with precious gems mined on Loba.
Lighted by the fixture was an ancient female Sureri, with several males and a few females surrounding her—certainly all children, nieces, and nephews. She was clothed in a voluminous orange silk dress, overflowing the padded chair she sat in. Her thin white hair had been teased and piled into an enormous pouf larger than her head, hung with feathers and a silky net. Unfortunately, her attire did nothing to reduce the ghastliness of her face. The female Sureriaj were just as ugly as the males.
“Sit down, Prot,” the grand-dame said. She had done her homework. She pointed with a gloved hand to a small chair on her right and I obediently sat, followed by the gentleman Sureri. This was no small scion sub-family, but surely very close to the main family line—whichever family that was.
“I have heard yer crew is one of the best around to carry cargo in a quick-like fashion.” Her accent was light.
“It is that, ma’am,” I replied. I tried to judge their lineage from the selection of aliens in the room. They all had similar features, delicate, with pale hair, though I couldn’t tell how much was cosmetics and how much was natural. Sureriaj were funny about giving out their names, especially to offworlders, and it was considered rude to ask. They of course knew their own families by sight.
“That is good. Eyah, we know yer must be wantin’ to leave our fair homeworld. We have an urgent delivery for Methiem. Would yer be willing to take it?”
I tried to make my expression accommodating, but firm. “If the price is right.”
The grand-dame named a sum.
“Ahh…that would…do nicely,” I said, trying to keep my jaw from the floor. I wasn’t going to get another chance like this, not in twenty cycles of trading. “May I ask what the cargo is, and where it will be received?”
“Nothing illegal,
or harmful, if that is what yer imaginin’. Have yer not heard of the epidemic o’ the Shudders invading yer own homeworld?” the grand-dame asked. I shook my head. “Eyah, the Methiemum government pays us well for medicine for those sufferin’. It is quite desperately needed. Within the next twenty hours.” She made a small gesture and the gentleman stepped forward, giving me a paper with a set of directions.
“This is the location of our warehouse here, as well as the one yer will take the medicine to on Methiem, near Kashidur City.” The gentleman handed me a contract, which I scanned. Standard boilerplate, the party of the first part and so on. I read it to the end. The Frente family. I tried to remember my history lessons. They were a fairly liberal family, if I remembered correctly, which may have been why they were helping us escape the recent protests. They couldn’t have been happy with the interference in offworld trading.
Someone produced a quill and ink from somewhere, but I hesitated. “I hate to be a bother,” I started, but the grand-dame smiled slightly, motioning for me to continue. “I still have a transport full of spices to sell, and I will need something up front to pay for an expedited portal to Methiem.”
“Eyah, we happen to have a family feast day comin’ up soon. The spices will be perfect like,” the grand-dame said. “Yer may sell them at the following location.” She nodded to the gentleman, who took my set of directions back and scribbled words barely legible at the bottom. “As to yer fee, yer may negotiate with me relatives at the warehouse. I’m sure they will accommodate yer.” The grand-dame folded gloved hands and sat back lightly. It was obvious my chance for questions was at an end.
I looked down. If I didn’t sign this contract now, another group would get it within the hour, and this was a sure way to get off this planet. Normally the entire crew made the decision on what to trade. Normally Amra was with me, writing in her ledger and figuring out the plusses and minuses. But this was a good deal—a great bargain, really. One of a kind.
I signed the paper.
* * *
Amra’s eyes narrowed, one hand tightening on her ledger. “I’m sure you didn’t seal the contract without the approval of the rest of the crew, did you?” The other three crewmembers stood in a circle around us.
“There was no time,” I told her, trying to keep my voice level. “By the time I got your nod it would have been gone. And we’ve got to pick up the new cargo and take it to Methiem in a standard Sureri day.”
“Impossible. Scheduling the portal off-world will take longer than that. The one contract can’t pay for everything.” Amra raised an eyebrow at me.
I showed her the contract, and both eyes went wide. Bhon craned her neck to see.
I could see Amra calculating. “With the profit from this, we could start saving enough to look at places near Kashidur City—”
“Later,” I said, though she was probably right. “For now we need to get moving.”
“And what about all these spices?” Saart asked. He pushed his glasses farther up his snout. The older Festuour hated wasting anything that might be used in food or repairs. Privately, I agreed with him, but the Sureriaj were not known for their patience, especially with aliens.
“We’ll have to sell them at-cost, most likely.”
There was a collective groan. Kamuli showed her teeth in something that definitely wasn’t a smile.
“I already have a buyer. We’ll just have to—” I swallowed, “—let Kamuli sell these off while I negotiate at the pickup site.” I didn’t look at Amra. If I had let my love run our little shop-on-wheels, we wouldn’t have sold enough to get off Methiem in the first place, let alone travel through the ten homeworlds. She would have ended up giving half our profits to needy families. I wasn’t uncharitable, but I wanted to support myself before I supported others.
“Can we all agree to follow through with this? We have to move fast, and don’t have time for bickering.”
Now I did watch Amra. Her eyes were down, focused on her ledger. Reluctantly, she nodded. I looked at the others. Saart had folded his furry arms, tapping his wrench on his shoulder. He shrugged. Bhon rolled her blue eyes, bouncing one of her handcannons off the other paw. She didn’t care where we went, as long as she got to shoot something every once in a while. Kamuli looked dubious, but then turned to regard the marketplace. I saw her glance to the merchants not of this homeworld. She wasn’t even able to walk hand in hand with her mate. Conservatives like the Sureriaj still frowned on cross-species attachments. She looked back at me, her eyes hard.
I stood, and picked up my stool. “It’s settled.” As if I hadn’t already signed a contract in front of several well-dressed, possibly royal, Sureriaj. “Let’s get this place packed up. We have to be at the warehouse as soon as possible.”
Packing consisted of breaking down the table, stowing the chairs, and repacking the spices. Saart began stoking the coal furnace that powered the transport, and Kamuli and Bhon shuttered the windows and removed the wheel chocks.
We would have to split the transport for this endeavor, with Kamuli and Bhon driving the living section, which had its own small turbine, towing the cargo section. Saart, Amra, and I would travel in the pilot and engine sections, negotiate the contract, then wait for the empty cargo section at the warehouse.
I passed Amra in the hallway, doing the little dance we all adopted to move around each other in the long, narrow transport sections. She still looked pained, and I knew what she wanted. She was a fabulous accountant, but a lousy negotiator. On the other hand, I had a good sense of market values, but when they were written down, they always got the best of me. That was why we made a good team.
“I could try…” she began as we moved around each other, my hands on her hips, hers on my arms. Her red wrap swirled around my feet.
“No.” I wasn’t going to be swayed again.
“Come on,” she wheedled, “you never let me sell anything off the transport. I can bring in revenue on the spices, no matter how small.”
“That’s because you don’t turn a profit,” I told her. “I love you dearly, but you can sell water to a dying man and lose on the deal.”
Her mouth turned down in a pretty pout. We were blocking the hallway, but the others were busy. “Let me try, once more,” she pleaded. “There’s a captive audience. I can sell the spices.” Her tone was reaching that certain harmonic that made my eye twitch. Amra could be very stubborn when she wanted.
“Come on, boss, let the gal do it.” The voice floated through the metal siding of the transport. Bhon could hear us through the wall. “You can sell quickly, can’t you Amra?” she said.
I hesitated, and Amra moved in for the kill.
“Please?” She smiled at me in a way that hinted at brain-melting rewards in the future if I let her have her way.
Mentally noting how my future self owed me, I threw up my hands. “Fine. We’re going to lose on them one way or the other. Take the cargo section, but sell the spices as fast as you can. Kamuli can ride with me while I drive the rest of the transport to the meeting place.” I gave her the directions the gentleman Sureri had written down.
“I’ll find you soon,” Amra promised, scooting past me.
“Take Bhon with you,” I called after her. “She can at least threaten to shoot someone if they won’t buy anything.”
* * *
In the pilot’s seat, I rumbled along the too-narrow alleys of the market port of Naiyul Montufal Desretre. It probably wasn’t the real name, just what the Sureriaj told aliens. Saart was busy keeping the steam engines running smoothly in the next section, and Kamuli stood behind me, watching the bland and windblasted buildings flow by.
Amra headed off with Bhon some minutes before we started out. Both halves of the transport were traveling to the section of the city belonging to the Frente family. The Naiyul ruled the trading town, the only commercial entrance to their planet. Within the city of the disgraced, all but the most conservative of the upright
families owned sections, acting like trading embassies.
Kamuli must have wandered down the same line of thought. “Remind me,” she said slowly, her words even more precise than usual, “why we decided to travel to the most xenophobic of the ten homeworlds? Who thought this would be a good deal?”
“You know full well who thought it was a good deal,” I answered. “This is the only place we could get enough from those spices to buy a portal to the next homeworld.”
“The ones we are dumping for whatever Amra thinks is a good price.”
I ground my teeth, ratcheting back one of the steering levers. The transport skidded on its wheels to the right, narrowly missing a Sureri mounted on lizardback, trailing a cart filled with red leafy vegetables. He yelled something at us and I waved back cheerily, purposely misinterpreting his intent. Amra had the cargo and living sections, so I had to be careful not to oversteer and ram the engine into any more buildings. There were not many people out today, likely because of yesterday’s disturbance. I could move faster through the streets than normal.
“I had not heard of this epidemic,” Kamuli said, gripping a handle to keep her balance. “We have been absent from Methiem too long, especially if it is so bad the authorities must import medicine from Sureri.” Kamuli kept tabs on local medical news, but since we had arrived here from an isolated community on Loba, her information was dated.
“The Sureri have good medicine,” I said. “And the contract insisted the cargo is expected on Methiem by tomorrow morning. It must be an emergency.” I swerved again, taking a hard left. I was pretty sure this was the correct turn. The buildings here all looked the same.
A tinny voice emerged from the speaking tube next to my chair. The words were obviously shouted, but came out muffled. “We have an official following us, riding one of those tall beasts!”
Merchants and Maji: Two Tales of the Dissolutionverse (Dissolution Cycle) Page 2
