Tanager's Fledglings (The Tanager Book 1)

by Cedar Sanderson

  Liam shook his head. “I cannot, I have a meetin’ but Misha?”

  She smiled at Jem. “I’d like that. We can talk about how you can maximize your garden. I won’t even charge you a consulting fee.”

  Jem found himself laughing. “I have to crate the puppy,” he said as he walked them out, “I’ll be right there.”

  Liam shook his hand warmly. “I’ll see you before you head out?”

  Jem nodded. “I will come to the shop. I think there are plants I’d like to add.”

  Liam beamed. “Send her home before dinner, eh?”

  “Yes, Da, I can hear you.” Misha rolled her eyes at her father. “Jem, there’s this great pho place…”

  Jem let her lead the way, walking a half step behind her at her right shoulder and listening to her talking about what she planned to do with the newly-acquired manure. She was cute, and smart, and funny. He was in trouble.

  Chapter 7: Trader’s Delight

  Jem had been to many markets, from the squalid gatherings on the world of his birth, to some that lay on no known trade routes. Walter had been a cautious man, but as he’d pointed out to Jem, the human mind gambled when it perceived a loss was possible. Best way to forestall that, which was a greater risk, was to keep growing and learning in a slow steady way. They had added a few stops to the route during Jem’s time with him, and removed some. Jem planned, after this shakedown cruise alone, to start doing that himself. If he was still on the Tanager… he tucked that traitorous thought away firmly. He was going to enjoy the day without thoughts of tomorrow intruding.

  Tassie was in some ways the marker he used to judge others against. Open, sprawling, friendly, and relatively crime-free; Jem could relax here. A bit. Having Misha show it to him as though it were his first time was fun, and he realized that he was enjoying this trip more than he’d expected. He didn’t expect to get his business done as planned, but another day in station didn’t seem bad.

  Misha matched strides with him, slowing and looking around. “I’ve never really been to a lot of markets. Da and the Uncles did most of the trading, I was too little. Then we came here, Da and I, so I’d have some stability. But really, I want to…” She threw her arms open in an encompassing gesture and Jem stepped sideways, smiling broadly, he didn’t mind if she hit him by accident, but it would embarrass her.

  “Oops. Sorry. I want to see everything, everywhere.” She subsided.

  “You didn’t hit me. And my job isn’t that exciting, you know.” Jem pointed to a booth. “Take that place, for instance. They are using bright colors to draw attention. They might be interested in my woolies, they might not.”

  “Not,” Misha said emphatically. “They buy those scarves and socks from Gran Donovan. Who you should meet.”

  Jem laughed. “How much is your brokering fee?”

  Misha looked surprised and stopped. “What?”

  “Brokering. You’re putting me together with a potential buyer. You should get a cut.” Jem had felt a momentary twinge of doubt, but the look of innocent surprise on her face reassured him. She was just trying to be helpful. He was conscious of more joy over this than…

  Misha broke into his train of thought. “I don’t want a cut, but thanks. I do think Gran will like the woolies. I think you’ll like her, too.”

  Her impish smile had Jem grinning down at her. This girl was dangerous, like a sweet he could overindulge in. He remembered Walter’s unspoken lesson when Jem had first come to a market, and had been allowed to spend on, and eat, all the candies he could hold. He’d been miserable for days afterward. Right now, she was candy, but romance would be the worst thing he could do until he’d fulfilled Walter’s last requests.

  His mind in a turmoil, he let her tow him quickly to another part of the market. She was telling him about the booths as they walked, but he wasn’t catching all of it. He let her ramble. Finally, she pointed. “Gran Donovan’s fibers, see?”

  He did see. The booth was simple, a three-sided affair with a table in the front, allowing the old woman to sit behind it as she spun wool on an anachronistic wheel. Jem felt his jaw drop a little as he took in the scene. “She’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

  “The fairy godmother, I always thought. I’m glad someone else sees it.” Misha waved, and the woman – Gran, Jem assumed, was short for grandmother – slowed her wheel and waved back.

  As they walked toward her, Jem took in the details of the booth. Hanging from the walls were puffs of color, like candy floss. He was fairly sure you weren’t supposed to eat it, though. On the table were piled skeins of fiber in many colors, some were even multi-colored. She was right, this might be someone who could use his woolies.

  “Hi, Gran!” Misha darted around the table to hug the older woman.

  “Dear girl.” Gran didn’t get up, reaching up to wrap her free hand around the girl’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. She was very old, Jem realized, her skin crumpled like paper that had been balled up and someone had tried to smooth it out again. Her hair haloed her head, as fluffy as her fiber but pure white.

  “Gran, this is Jem.” Misha held out a hand to Jem and he let her pull him around the table and into the booth.

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He offered a smile and his hand to the woman, who smiled back and took his hand briefly.

  “He has the most amazing sheep… woolies, he calls them.” Misha went on.

  “They aren’t, quite, sheep. But they do make wool.” Jem explained when Gran looked puzzled.

  “Not quite sheep?” She said, then laughed. “So why amazing?” The question was directed at Misha, not Jem. Jem let his eager helper talk.

  “They come in all colors, naturally. One is even tie-dyed, like you taught me how to do. Can you imagine spinning that?”

  The woman looked shrewdly at Jem. “Gen-engineered? What stock? And how many microns?”

  Jem chuckled. She might be old, but she knew what she was doing. “Yes, Old Earth Merino and genes to express color plus genes for strength, so it triples the Newtons of most wools to breakage. Less than twenty microns, guaranteed, with variations in individuals all the way down to eighteen microns. Maybe lower, I have some young ones that haven’t been tested.”

  “Genes for strength? How many legs do these beasties have?”

  Now Jem laughed out loud. “Yes, it’s like spider silk, but only four legs and no fangs, I promise. Also, they are fertile.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “You know that’s dangerous.”

  “And spider sheep wouldn’t be?” Jem shook his head. “I know that they are designed to be incapable of reproduction with sheep and goats, so sterile extra-species. But I also know that there are never guarantees about these things – life finds a way. I can only sell them to someone who is aware and will take steps to be responsible with them.”

  She shrugged. “And when I die?” She didn’t let him answer that. “I’ll have to see them, of course. But for fiber finer than cashmere, I am willing to make special arrangements. You have samples?”

  Jem shook his head. “Misha didn’t warn me.”

  Misha stuck her tongue out at him. “Next time, I’ll…”

  Gran laughed. “Children, behave. Misha, girl, take him to see the sights. I shall expect you back at closing to escort me to these spider sheep.”

  Jem opened his mouth, thought better of it, and simply said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Misha giggled. “We’ll be back later.”

  Jem shot a mock glare at her once they were around the corner. “They are not spider-sheep!”

  “Of course not. Spider goats, if they make cashmere.” She kept her voice demure, but he could see the dimple. She was adorable.

  “So, what else is there?” He changed the subject.

  “What else do you have to move, Trader?”

  He blinked. “Why?”

  “Because this is really fun. So whatcha got?” She was bouncing on the tips of her toes.

  “T
he pup,” he started to say. Misha lost her smile. “What?”

  “You want to sell the puppy?” Her tone said it all.

  “No?” He hesitated. “I’m supposed to, but no, I really don’t want to sell him.”

  “Good.” The smile came back and Jem felt suitably rewarded.

  “I’ve got the beeves, but they won’t go here, you can get beef off the planet. I’ve got…” He pulled out his tablet and pulled up the list. “Here.”

  She scanned the list. “What’s this? Lessons?”

  “I sort of, um,” Jem felt himself blush. “I trade in knowledge. That sounds pretentious. But I collect data, cubes, books…”

  “You’re like a librarian.” She looked happy again.

  “Not really. More like… used data, cheap.”

  “You have real books?” She cocked her head a little, looking thoughtful.

  “Some. They aren’t always easy to find. Most people prefer cubes.”

  “I still think books are so… ancient. And it’s like…” She fluttered her fingers. “You see the old pics of libraries full of books. It’s more impressive than a tablet with a cube or a data chip.”

  “True. But not as easy to find bits of data.” He pointed out. “And you wouldn’t have room on a ship or a station for many books. Not like the pictures show.”

  She nodded. “I think there’s someone who might like to trade with you. But it’s not here in the market, and I have to ping Da before I go there.”

  “It’s far?” Jem watched her texting.

  “It’s… not in the good part of the station. I’m not allowed to go by myself, but you’ll protect me.” She didn’t even look up.

  The assurance in her tone rocked him a little. “You barely know me,” he protested. “Are you armed?”

  “Of course, are you?” She slipped her tablet back into the cargo pocket.

  He looked down into her eyes. “Yes. But you still don’t know me that well.”

  “I trust you. C’mon.”

  Jem followed her again. He kept his eyes open as they left the market, and mentally reset his mind from ‘having fun’ to watchful awareness. In this part of the station, there were many people, families, children laughing… nothing he needed to worry about. He wondered what she considered ‘not a good part’ of the station. Misha didn’t seem like she had seen what he had, in life. She was bright, merry, innocent. He felt his frown and was glad she wasn’t looking at him right then. He forced his face back into a smile.

  “How far is it?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Not far, poky.”

  This was not, he decided, the actual bad part of the station. Simply the midway to the bad part. If there was a bad part – and there might not be, on Tas – she wouldn’t have any idea of it. Her father and uncles kept her well-insulated. The corridors showed wear and the lights weren’t as bright, but nothing lurked in the shadows. Jem rolled his shoulders to loosen some of the kinks. He wasn’t going to relax, but he didn’t need to wind himself into knots, either.

  She stopped at a closed door and pressed a button in the center of it. It emitted a buzz. A moment later, there was the click of locks disengaging, and she pushed the door open. Jem followed her in.

  He could smell the books before he could see them. They were walking down a short hallway, illuminated by warm light spilling into it from the direction of ‘in’ and behind them it was pitch dark once the door sealed again. Jem took his cue from Misha’s happy bounce and didn’t think dark thoughts about locking doors and captivity.

  Then he managed to forget that entirely, because he was standing in a real library. He’d been in one once before. Walter had made a point of taking him to the planetary library on Carnegie, a planet named for the man who was considered the father of the public library. Jem had been overwhelmed by it, by the vastness of the library space and by all the books. He could remember gripping his holoreader tightly, looking from it to the shelves around him and wondering how it could possibly hold as much as they did.

  Now, he was older but the books still affected him. He inhaled, tasting the old paper and dust, staring up at stacks that reached over his head. A dry chuckle broke his reverie.

  “Piotr!” Misha greeted the gnome that had just materialized from behind a shelf. Jem blinked, and realized that there was a very short man with a red hat atop his voluminous white hair. The hair flowed naturally down into a long beard, and the whole apparition was no higher than Misha’s shoulder.

  “You brought a guest?” Piotr, Jem guessed, was the man who owned this treasure trove.

  Misha nodded, her curls bouncing. “This is Jem. He’s a Trader.”

  “Ah.” Piotr took Jem’s outstretched hand briefly. His hand was as papery as the books around them. Jem had a fleeting thought that he and Gran Donovan must be contemporaries.

  “Misha told me you might be interested in my wares, but,” Jem looked around again. “I suspect I am more likely to be the buyer.”

  Piotr chuckled again. “Possibly an exchange. I trade in information. What ship?”

  Jem was caught off balance by the sudden non-sequiter, and answered automatically before the implication of what Piotr had really said sank in.

  “Scarlet Tanager.”

  Piotr stroked his beard. “You’ll be Walter Rasnick’s get, then.”

  Jem was not surprised this man had known Walter. He was a bit surprised that Walter had never brought him here. All these books?

  “I was his heir, yes.” Jem kept his voice even. He wondered how long it would take to be able to mention Walter’s passing even so obliquely and not have it hurt.

  “Heir.” Piotr didn’t ask anything else. Under the red cap, his eyes were very bright and fixed on Jem’s face. Misha had wandered off to peer at book titles.

  Jem hesitated. This man dealt in information, and Walter had never introduced them. He decided to leave it and ask a question of his own.

  “I see you have paper books; do you also deal in data gems?”

  Jem was anticipating his visit to Flint, and the miners. He did wonder why this man didn’t tap into that market himself. The Gaelic he expected to get interest, but lighter entertainment would go faster.

  “Some. Obscure stuff. No point stocking sensies, everyone pirates those.”

  Jem sighed at the assumption. “I don’t want sensies. Not my trade. I want educational.”

  Piotr brightened. “Ah, then. Might have.” But instead of offering details, he turned and called “Misha, girl.”

  Misha looked up from the book she was holding carefully. Piotr headed in her direction rather than yell again, Jem trailing slowly behind him, distracted by the shelves of books. It wasn’t that paper was somehow better than data gems, it was just more… physical. He supposed that was it, pausing to lay a reverent fingertip on a leather-bound tome.

  “How is your da, then?” Piotr was asking Misha. Jem listened with half an ear, carefully sliding the book off the shelf to cradle it in one arm and open it gently. They seemed to be catching up on family news, and he was entranced by what he’d just found. It was handwritten. The ink was incredibly old-looking, faded in places to sand-on-cream. Jem lost track of the conversation for a few minutes as he tried to puzzle out the script.

  He tuned back into Misha’s chatter just in time to hear her say “and he has a puppy!”

  Jem closed the book and started to shelve it again reluctantly. He couldn’t quite release the buttery leather, though, so he pulled it back out. He joined the other two. Piotr turned to him, “Dogs aren’t unheard of down planet, but on a ship?”

  Jem shrugged. “Some ships have cats. Why not a dog?” He didn’t want to mention that he’d originally planned to sell the pup. While Piotr might know of a market, it would cost, and Misha wouldn’t like it.

  “Good company.” Piotr looked at him shrewdly. “’Specially if you’re alone. Takes a lot to run a ship with only one man onboard.”

  Jem just shrugged. Misha, lo
oking stung, spoke up loyally. “He does a very good job even if he is all alone. His ship is tidy – no dust!”

  Piotr repeated his dry chuckle and changed the subject, taking Misha’s arm, “I have a book here you may like…”

  Jem, feeling that he’d been deftly removed from the conversation, watched them take a turn into a different area of shelves. He wasn’t quite happy but he couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him. Misha meant well, it was Piotr that worried him. Why hadn’t Walter brought him here? Or, if it was a bad place, warned him off of it? It was an enigma, deepened by Liam’s insistence that his daughter not come here alone.

  Jem cradled the ancient book in the crook of his arm and pulled his tablet out. He wanted to record some of the titles so he could look them up. He was leaning against the end of a shelf, balancing his tablet on the book, awkwardly, to make notes when they reappeared. Misha was holding a slim book. “Look! This lays out how to do hugelkulture.”

  Jem had no idea what she was talking about. “Sir, I have a book I would like to purchase. Would you make it a package with the book for the young lady?”

  “I can buy my own.” Misha pointed out. Piotr chuckled and shook his head.

  “I’d like to give you something, for helping me earlier.” Jem didn’t want to elaborate on the details of her brokerage for him. Piotr was listening far too closely.

  “Of course I can.” Piotr made a show of peering at the book Jem was still cradling. He stroked his beard, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps… a hundred credits?”

  Jem juggled his tablet. “For both.”

  Piotr looked back and forth between them and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Aye. And you’ll come back for more.”

  Jem wasn’t so sure of that. Something about the man made him wary, and wish that Misha didn’t seem so free and easy with him. She was awfully sheltered, and far too used to being pampered and protected.

  It wasn’t until they were taking their leave that Piotr did something else to rouse Jem’s suspicion. Piotr had bowed over Misha’s hand, making her blush and laugh. The old man turned his gnome-like head to Jem and winked, as he straightened from the bow. Jem flushed at the implication that he was up to no good with the girl.