by Patty Jansen
They were just that much more adept at hiding their troubles.
Heart thudding, she went back to work.
A recalcitrant brother, violent fights, a wayward accountant and addiction. What had she let herself in for?
She thought of her room and Liseyo. She thought of running back to the Trader Guild to say that she'd changed her mind. But that would just prove to Father the fact that girls were soft. This was stuff that went on in the world of the Traders. She would have to deal with it.
Courage. Maybe Iztho had wanted to involve her in the business because his brothers were on a path to destruction. Maybe he had appointed her because he thought they would be reluctant to misbehave in front of someone who was either a stranger to the family or female, or, as it was, both.
* * *
Mikandra worked, turning over pages and pages in the books. She found more irregularities and wrote them all down on a separate sheet of paper. With each amount she found, her feeling that the accountant had hidden the money intensified.
Taerzo was still asleep on the couch, but Rehan had finally sat down to help with the accounts, even though he kept getting up to walk around the room a few times before sitting down again. His restlessness drove her crazy, but she didn't say anything, because he couldn't help it much less do anything about it. She glanced at his hands, but didn't spot any of the characteristic tremors or clumsiness. Those were the symptoms that usually came before the restlessness, or rather, the restlessness was a result of the tremors. Either he hid the tremors well or he didn't have any.
When he did sit down to work, he was fast. Lightning fast, ripping through pages faster even than Braedon. She secretly checked one or two pages, but found no errors. So much for a reduced concentration. Did he perhaps have access to a medicine that masked the symptoms?
Eventually, Mikandra found herself staring at a page without seeing what was on it. Her eyes felt scratchy. She wondered what the time was, but surely it must be close to dawn.
She sighed and leaned her head in her hands.
"How are you going?" Braedon asked. "Are you tired?"
Exhausted, but she didn't want to admit that.
She spoke into the space under her arms. "It's all very strange. I mean, if the money that's reported here in these transactions actually existed, there would have to be some sort of record of it in these books. Could it be that there is an account book missing?"
"I've taken all I could find."
"Could it be somewhere else? You see these strange entries?" She pointed at the page of errors she had listed. "They're for things like proxy fees where we don't have information where the money came from. They're all income, where you said, Braedon, that a fee should be an expenditure. We have a whole page of them, and they're distributed over a handful of these vague terms, like proxy fees, account correction—"
Rehan said, "Account correction is when the exchange rate is more favourable than expected at the signing of the deal."
"But that amount is usually added up with the entry for the deal," Braedon said.
Rehan nodded. "True."
Mikandra continued, "The amounts are small enough not to attract attention, but there is no evidence that the money exists. I wonder if this is a cover for transfers to or from other accounts. Supposing that proxy fees is not an item but a code for an account, there might be a book for it somewhere, especially since none of these amounts can be found on the system."
Rehan looked at the list, frowning deeply. Then he met her eyes. Did she see a glimmer of respect in his expression?
Mikandra said, "For example, I've seen no data from the Trader account in Kedras."
"We don't hold an account in Kedras," Braedon said.
"Don't all Traders have one, regardless of whether they use it?" She read that in her course information.
"Yes, but—" He froze. He looked at her and a disturbed expression crossed his face. "Maybe there are some books left in his room."
"I'll have a look." Rehan strode to the door, stopped and flicked his eyebrows up.
"You want me to come?"
"You needed the books." In a don't be so stupid kind of tone.
Mikandra scrambled up from the table and left Braedon to his calculations.
Rehan walked ahead of her in the cold hall. The wind buffeted the front door and an icy draft came in through the cracks, making the flames on the oil lamps flicker.
Iztho's room was off the hall to the left of the front door, past the coat stand with a collection of furry cloaks, past the rack with the outdoor shoes. There were still wet puddles on the floor from her boots.
Rehan opened the door into the dark room. The faintest glimmer of light came in through the window, a grey-blue glow that indicated that daylight would not be far away. The glass sported an impressive array of ice flowers. A pitcher of water on a table just inside the window had frozen solid.
The hearth, opposite the door, was dark and empty, the bed neat. Two comfortable chairs stood on either side of a low table in front of the hearth.
Rehan made for the bookshelf on the far wall and started pulling books off the shelf and going through them. Mikandra looked at a different part of the bookshelf, reading the titles. She had no idea what she was looking for, and all the books in this section related to history, with titles such as Miran before the Invasion and The Highland Trek and other titles that related to Foundation and first settlement. There were so many of them. She didn't know Iztho was interested in history. All these books must be worth a fortune. However, she could see nothing that looked like an account book and she felt reluctant to start rummaging through her employer's personal belongings.
So instead, she sat on the couch, clamping her hands between her knees. It was so cold in this room, so empty, so tidy. Almost as if he'd planned to leave.
That thought made her shiver.
She thought back to the last time she'd seen him.
Contrary to her expectations, he had asked her to come to his house. When the Andrahar housekeeper let Mikandra in, she had informed her that Iztho wanted to see her in his private room. The woman had not shown any discomfort over that order, but it would normally be considered highly inappropriate for a young unmarried woman to be alone with a much older unmarried man. The housekeeper's name was Gillay, Mikandra remembered. Where was she?
Once inside the room, Iztho told her to sit down on the couch near the hearth. He poured her tea from the teapot the housekeeper had brought. On the table stood a plate of cakes, but Mikandra felt too nervous to eat anything until he bade her to have one.
They were traditional Mirani cakes, sweet and sticky.
He had said, "You may find it strange that I've asked you to come here."
Away from the hubbub of the office, it struck her even more how deep his voice was.
"A bit," she said, wiping crumbs off her knees. His blue eyes were so penetrating. At least he wasn't looking at her body, which was very modestly hidden, thank you very much, but his gaze made her still nervous. Why was he interested in her?
A roaring fire burnt in the fireplace and the firebricks the family used must have been excellent, because there was no smell. A beautiful metal-plated and engraved lute hung above the mantelpiece, a magnificent instrument with a well-worn leather strap. The metal strings were shiny in the places where his fingers would touch them. There were whispers that he played and sang extremely well.
An maroon dress hung on the wardrobe door. Elaborate embroidery with beads made her think it was the family's wedding dress.
He said, "I want you to understand, away from the office and the glamour and money of our position, that Trading is a harsh business."
"I know," she said. She'd heard Aunt Amandra talk often enough.
He shook his head. "I don't think you really know. You look at your aunt and you think you know, but she is foremost a politician. Even with in the Guild, she has used her licence as a way to work herself into the Trader Court and doesn't do mu
ch business. She does not live the Trader life. Never has."
Mikandra had known that, but it still felt painful to hear it voiced so clearly and dismissively.
Iztho continued, "Yes, there are the long days, five Exchange jumps per day, the need to be alert at every place and with every customer. The competition, the battles with regulations and the people who think that you are rich and are trying to screw you, and the people who think you are rich and trying to screw them." He said that without flinching. "The things you hear about as non-Trader. There is also a darker side I want you to know about: the politics."
She nodded. She knew about that, too.
"Again, I don't think you really understand. Yes, the Mirani council is full of anti-Trader rhetoric, and has always been. You will see that if you read the accounts of council meetings hundreds of years ago. You should read them. They're very entertaining and worth reading. And before you say that it was a very different time back then, some of those debates look like exact repeats of the meetings as they were held a year ago."
Before the election, with the old council in place, before her aunt and Nemedor Satarin had replaced two old high-councillors and Nemedor Satarin, of the Nikala merchant class, had himself brought a group of merchants into the council.
"With the new council, something fundamental has changed. On the surface, the same conflicts are at play, but because the council now has a group element of protectionists, their laws get passed. Nemedor Satarin doesn't want us to bring in products from outside. According to him and his mates, that would be unfair to local growers. It would corrupt Mirani culture and give foreign elements a foothold in the country. Nemedor Satarin holds the majority vote in the council. His people are very loyal. They will try to obstruct any law that is backed by Traders. Your aunt is a single voice of moderation. She ran with Nemedor Satarin because she believed he could get Mirani industry going again. They did get industry going, but when the boycotts came in, no one was buying, because no one in Miran has any money anymore, so the projects are idle and bleeding money. Not so long ago, the head of a factory vanished. His family said he was being blamed for the lack of sales. Some of those in industry are so desperate that they ask us to carry the goods illegally. Miran can't keep going like this. We either relax our import laws or we slide into anarchy. The council is stubborn and sticks to its ideals.
"Your aunt has stopped commenting about it when I meet her. I'm not sure where she stands anymore, or whether she will be in a position to help the Mirani Traders when the time comes and the situation implodes. We don't talk about it for fear that she will be accused of betrayal and risk her safety. Or ours. That's how things are in Miran."
Mikandra looked up, realising that she'd drifted off into daydreams. Looked at the empty hearth and the empty hook on the wall above it. The doors of the wardrobe, also empty.
The lute was gone. And so was the wedding dress.
Was that significant? She turned around, but Rehan was no longer in the room. He'd left a pile of books on the table.
Chapter 8
Mikandra went into the semidarkness of the hallway. Rehan stood at the hub, his back to her. He leaned with his head against the wall above the unit and thumped both his white-knuckled fists against the wall.
Mikandra thought he might have heard her, but he didn't react, and continued bumping his fists into the wall.
"Uhm—excuse me?"
He turned around. His eyes met hers. The wild-eyed stare reminded her even more of Leitho, who also went wild when in withdrawal. She held her breath, waiting to be told that evil people were after her and that the end of Miran was near. He would collapse and she would have to treat him and call Eydrina to the house. At the very least, he would be exhausted. And angry with her for revealing his secret.
She stood as frozen, waiting for all that to happen.
He breathed out heavily.
The expression in his eyes cleared.
The madness seeped from him. He shook his head and frowned at her. "Did you want to say something? Sorry I—didn't hear."
Mikandra wanted to say Look if you have a problem with a certain substance, there is something you can use . . . but there was no way she could say that to this very powerful and high-strung man. She couldn't believe how he'd just breathed away his trance. How did he do that? His body would be full of poisons. There was no way he could just ignore the effects and go on as if nothing had happened. Become normal again with a mere snap of his fingers.
Still puzzled, she said, "I think . . . I think I may have discovered something that could be relevant."
"You have?" She sensed the relief. "What?"
"The dress gone," she said.
"What dress?" In a what are you wasting my time for tone.
"The wedding dress."
He gave her a stupid look.
She went to the door of the room and pointed. "When I came in here last, it was hanging over there." The door of the wardrobe that was now empty.
"Iztho doesn't have any use for dresses. You probably mistook some other garment for a dress."
"It was the family wedding dress." She was pretty sure of that.
"How do you know what it looks like? The family wedding dress hasn't been out of Mother's wardrobe since she got married."
"It's dark red and has small beads embroidered on in flower patterns. There are lines of rose-coloured beads down the sleeves in a net-like pattern."
He frowned and glanced at the wardrobe again.
Mikandra continued, "Earlier on today, I went to see Iztho in your office in town, but it was closed. I thought—when Merchant Ranuddin said there was some big thing going on—that you'd given everyone a day off because Iztho had announced officially that he was getting married."
"Merchant Ranuddin is a gossiping fuckwit who would do well to keep his mouth shut."
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, he met her eyes in a dare challenge me for saying that way. His expression softened. "He knows that we say that about him. It's a standing joke." Another silence. "But it's true. He loves spreading 'news' stories that have no base except in his imagination."
"Iztho told me that he was getting married." She wasn't going to back down either.
"Take it from me: Iztho isn't getting married. We all wished he did, but none of the candidates Mother brings up pleases him. He isn't getting any younger, and the family needs to think of succession. He needs to marry so we can all have families as well."
It was customary for Trader men to marry very late, after they had established their business, but Iztho was well past that stage. On top of that, most families had long since done away with the order of marriage—where the elder child had to be married before the younger one could. She didn't even know that some families still adhered to that. What was more, it never ceased to amaze her how the Andrahar family could both acknowledge and ignore Calliandra Azthunar and her twin sons, and the fact that Taerzo spent more time at her house than in his legitimate home. The parentage of those twins had to be Miran's worst-kept secret. And here they were pretending to stick to traditional customs and doing the we-have-no-heirs dance?
She bit down on the temptation to say something about it. "Iztho said the lady was someone from outside Miran."
Rehan's frown deepened. He strode to the wardrobe. "Take it from me: if Iztho had any plans whatsoever to get married, we'd know about it."
"Like you know for certain that he didn't smuggle menisha fungus into Barresh."
"Don't try to be smart with me."
"You said yourself that you aren't sure what he is doing half the time."
"I said the fuck don't be smart with me." But his brow remained furrowed. He opened the wardrobe's door. Inside hung a couple of uniforms and a spare cloak. He opened the other door and found shelves with shirts and underwear. "You're dreaming. Our family's wedding dress will be in Mother's wardrobe, where it has been all the time."
"Ask her."
He gave her a vicio
us glare. "I will, when she's up. And she'll tell you that you're dreaming."
"The lute is also gone." She wasn't going to be intimidated by him.
Rehan opened another door in the wardrobe. Trousers and boots. "He never travels without it. Last we heard from him was on a run to Kedras. He would have it with him. He takes it everywhere."
He rummaged amongst towels and shirts. "Nothing here." His voice sounded almost gleeful.
Then he turned to the desk and opened the top drawer. Shut it again with a too-enthusiastic thunk. Slid open the next drawer. He froze.
Frowning, he took out a rectangular flat box, set it on the table and opened the lid. The bed of satin inside was empty.
Neither of them needed explanation. This type of case was only used for wedding arm bands.
"What the fuck . . ." He met Mikandra's eyes. The glow of her triumph was sweet.
The box would have held two arm bands made of silverwork. She could almost see them on the satin. They were about as wide as her wrist, and each had an overlaid pattern of flowers and swirls in fine filigreed silver. A fine chain linked the two.
Mikandra had never seen these arm bands in their unused state, only on her mother and father's wrist. On a couple's wedding day, the celebrant would take both arm bands and snap each shut around the couple's arms. The lock was designed to never open again. Then he would detach the chain that still linked the two and hang it around the woman's neck, to be given to the couple's oldest son. Mother still wore hers under her clothes.
Rehan pushed the satin aside looking in the corners for clues. But he found nothing and put the box on the desk. Scratched his head.
Braedon poked his head into the room. "Found anything in here?"
Rehan gestured at the box. Braedon picked it up and frowned.
"She seems to think Iztho told her he was getting married," Rehan said, with emphasis on the seems to think part.
"He told me. Big difference." She glared at Rehan. What was it with this man that he so casually dismissed her all the time?
