The Cloudship Trader

by Kate Diamond

  “Who is Kela?” He had said that name before, but Miris hadn’t been in a mood to ask.

  It was a long moment before Belest answered, a moment in which they drifted over the river and towards towns where the lamps were just beginning to be lit for the evening.

  “Kela deb-Rilar. She was my wife.”

  For a moment, Miris didn’t understand. And then a suspicion bloomed. “And you left?” The rankless naming bead with the family mark scraped away… There was no doubt that Belest was no longer named fin-Rilar, and did not want to be.

  “I had to. She would… threaten me, and yell, and make me-” He stopped short. Miris did not need to know that. “I had to.” He watched nem as if he was expecting nem to argue.

  There was no need for him to say more. Miris nodded, mouth tight. “Then we won’t go to Haven’s Ford.”

  He glanced up for the first time, astonishment written across his face. “You’re not going to tell?” And then, muttered, “Terthe always said I must have done something to provoke her, and threaten to report me.”

  Miris’s eyes tightened in anger, and in disgust. “Ney was wrong. If she hurt you, you had the right to leave.” That much was law, at least in the north and west and most of the centerlands. It was different in the south, though, and Miris did not know the marriage laws of the eastern shore or the lands beyond.

  Belest winced. “That’s not the only thing. I needed money… and she managed all our accounts. I took a box of silver coins the night I left.” And then Terthe had demanded most of them in exchange for nir meager protection.

  That, on the other hand, was a crime. Miris sighed. “Then we’ll make certain nobody knows.” It would complicate things, but Miris could not refuse. Not for the first time, ney wondered if taking on Belest had been a good idea, and this time chided nemself for the sentiment. He needed help, and ney could provide it. That should be enough reason.

  They descended into the inn’s yard, and Seres set the Dragonfly down into an empty field behind the stables. If all went well, they would leave before they were in the way of the horses. Horses bred and trained by humans tended to fear Winds, and shied from them, but wild horses would chase and play with them, biting at the curling tails of breezes and rolling in the grass they set rippling.

  Miris and Belest were met at the door by a tall woman who had her springy dark hair bound up in a crown of dyed wooden beads. She ushered them into the dining room and went off in search of the innkeeper.

  Most of the light in this place came not through the warped windowpanes but from the warm glow of lamps and candles. Above, the beams of the roof were painted in bright colors and draped in braided ribbons (carefully pinned far out of the way of the lamps), giving the hall a perpetually festive air. Off to one side, a trio of children still too young to have taken Naming colors sat at a game of match-cards on the rug by the hearth, their high-voiced laughing and teasing rising here and there above the rest of the chatter. Beside them slept two large brindled hounds, stretched out to feel the warmth of the fire on their bellies, paws and ears flicking every so often in dreams.

  Miris and Belest settled themselves at a well-worn table in the corner of the lively hall and no sooner had they sat down than the innkeeper himself swept in and served them brimming mugs of cider, strong and refreshing. In contrast to the woman who had greeted them, the innkeeper was short, round, and pale, and talked so much and so rapidly that they could barely get a word in. The woman returned soon after with a brass key hung on a leather braid and handed it to Miris. The innkeeper said something to her and she gestured back - a signing language? - her hands flying through the motions nearly as quickly as he spoke. She nodded and went to stand against the wall by the low-burning hearth, watching the room.

  She was not the only one to watch, for Miris’s arrival had also drawn attention from the other guests. Most were too polite to stare for long and quickly returned to their meals and their conversations, but some curious eyes lingered, no doubt taking the chance to study a flier’s tattoos and dress. Nobody disturbed them, so Miris didn’t mind the attention. The assurance of respect was something ney relied on daily in nir travels. Though sometimes respect could become something else. More than once, after landing at busy inns like this, Miris had found a stranger at nir door late at night, someone enchanted by the mystique of a flier and hoping for an even closer look. Very rarely had ney taken them up on the offer. Ney did not expect such a visitor tonight, not when another already shared nir room. How long would ney be tied to Belest? At least until they reached the mountains, and then what? He knew how to work, at least. Surely some town or trader would take him.

  A second server swept in not long after the innkeeper left in pursuit of another guest. This one placed on the table two steaming bowls of a stew thick with rice, vegetables, and pork, and a plate piled with strips of bubbly flatbread and dabs of a sharp, sour relish. Some of the ingredients were shared with the food at Summertooth, but the spices here were milder and greener. The little differences found across the land were worth noting - not only did they speak to a region’s character, but they told Miris what the people there might be interested in buying, or interesting in selling.

  They ate without speaking, but it was not a tense silence, not with the warmth of the guests’ chatter and laughter in the air. As soon as they finished, the empty bowls were swiftly replaced with plates of warm berry pie and mugs of sweetened herbal tea. The chefs at Haven’s Ford might have served something finer and more elegant than this, but Miris doubted it would have tasted any better. Whoever ran the kitchen here clearly had skill and experience enough to turn even rough ingredients into something to savor.

  When they at last headed up the worn but clean staircase to their room, it was full dark out, and as Miris glanced out the window and onto the field, ney fancied ney could see the faint glimmer of an incorporeal dragon coiled on the deck of the cloudship.

  The Inn at Northford

  The inn’s bathhouse was a small round building set off from the main hall by a grassy walkway marked in rope. It had clearly been built some time after the rest of the property, as the architecture was ever so slightly different and the wood less worn, but even so it was not out of place, nor was it lacking in the least for amenities.

  As Belest walked the path, he glanced towards the barely-visible outline of the cloudship in the field. Was the Wind watching him? Would he even know? He shook the thought from his head and stepped inside, and as he did so he was greeted by warmth and steam.

  Belest exchanged one of his precious remaining coins for a towel and soap, and left his clothes neatly folded in one of the small compartments just inside the entranceway before heading through the inner doors. He hoped that this was a trustworthy enough place that nobody would rifle through his clothes and find the hidden pocket where he kept what little remained of the money he had stolen.

  There were three people already in the public bath: a pair of men towards the back of the room, quietly talking and laughing together, and a third lounging alone against the edge of the tub, eyes closed and half-shaved mercenary’s hair draped over nir shoulders. Belest slipped in without a glance from any of them.

  Off to the side stood tremendous kettles of water, which were warmed over fires and then, with the assistance of a series of ropes and pulleys, poured into channels that ran down to the bath. The muscular woman minding the kettles gave Belest as little attention as she did the rest of the customers, and he was satisfied with that.

  Once, Belest would have washed alone in a wide stone bath in water heated by Flame-enhanced furnaces set into the tub, exotic soaps and salts waiting at his fingertips. But for someone who had spent the last several months dumping cold water over himself beside trader caravans and rundown waystations, this warm and clean space where he could soak his muscles and wash without shivering or hurrying was a nearly unimaginable luxury.

  Yet creeping into his comfort like a chill breeze was the thought that he did not
deserve this, that he was pushing his luck and Miris’s generosity too far. From a paltry day’s experience, ney seemed the sort of person to speak when ney was displeased, rather than hold nir discontent silent, but he could not be sure. Nor could he give nem reason to be displeased.

  Besides, his comfort did not matter. What mattered was that they found the source of Terthe’s captured Stars and put an end to it.

  Belest ducked his head under the water, came up and swiped uneven hair from his eyes. With the soap and a rough cloth, he scrubbed himself clean, only looking up when someone splashed into the water beside him.

  The lounging bather straightened with a faint groan, nir hair trailing lazily in the water. “Took you long enough,” ney said, cracking one eye open.

  “Wouldn’t have taken so long if you’d helped, Jarat,” the newcomer said, scrubbing what looked like ink or paint from her hands. “The merchandise was trying to escape.”

  Belest froze. And then forced himself to move again, lest he draw attention.

  “Harsa didn’t pay me to help you,” Jarat replied, adding a dismissive wave of nir hand.

  The woman flicked water at nem. “Didn’t pay you to flirt, neither,” she said. And scowled over Jarat’s responding laugh, “Something’s off. Those things nearly burned me.”

  “You said they were dormant.” Jarat sounded skeptical.

  The woman shrugged, and continued washing, flicking her blue Naming necklace aside to scrub her neck.

  “Harsa must have fumbled the freezing. I got them to behave again, but we’ll be out of ice before long.”

  “Well, we’ll be rid of them in a few days.” Jarat pulled nemself out of the bath and picked up a towel. “I’m sure you can handle them until then.”

  She snorted. “You know I can.”

  Jarat gave her one last grin, then folded the towel around nir waist and left. She splashed at nem as ney walked by, but ney leapt lightly out of the way, receiving a good-natured scowl as answer.

  As soon as the woman had settled herself in the water and seemed unlikely to note his departure as odd, Belest followed, chilled by what he had heard. Back in the room, he found Miris leaning over the side table, writing something by the light of a small lamp. Not a Flameforged one, but a sturdy construction of metal and glass and a wick in oil.

  Their room was, like the bathhouse, a fairly large space by a trader’s standards, though Belest knew it was nothing compared to the guest quarters they would have been offered if they had stopped at Haven’s Ford as planned. It was likely a suite for honored guests, a category to which a cloudship flier easily belonged. There was a thick pallet laid out across from the large bed, basins of clean water set on the washtable, a wall-hanging behind the bed depicting songbirds in red and blue and grey. Miris seemed satisfied with it, for which Belest was glad. As with the bathhouse, he had seen far grander arrangements in the Rilar household, but this was more than he could have dreamed in recent times. Terthe, in possession of two Flames and all the profit their work brought, might have allowed nemself a few more luxuries than the typical trader, but ney had given nir assistant little more than he needed to survive. And in nir defense, Belest had not asked for anything more, unwilling to risk his precarious place in the Flamesmith’s caravan.

  Miris glanced up; Belest told nem what he had heard, watching nir expression tighten with distaste and suspicion. Ney asked after details, and when he could give no more, ney abruptly stood and strode towards the door.

  “What-?” Were they leaving now? Did Miris plan to confront the strangers?

  “We need to learn more. If anyone knows, the innkeeper will. Come with me.”

  Belest obeyed. A few minutes later found them settled on threadbare but comfortable chairs in the innkeeper’s small private sitting room as their host flicked through his ledger book and his husband poured them glasses of wine. Their wife Serala, who turned out to be the silent server from the dining hall, came through the room and offered pastries with jam. Miris politely refused, clearly more interested in the ledger than the food. Belest, a little guiltily, did take one, and chewed it anxiously as the conversation continued.

  Miris hadn’t told them exactly why ney wanted the information, only implied that Jarat and those with nem were involved in something illegal. The respect due a cloudship flier would have ensured ney was listened to, even if nir purpose did not. But the innkeeper was very willing to help, even knowing as little as he did about the situation.

  “Here they are: Jarat nib-Farna, Bissa deb-Larit, and Ritel fin-Heraten. They arrived together shortly before you did,” the innkeeper said, once Belest had once again explained what he had seen. “I’d wager it was Bissa you saw in the bath. It was Jarat who struck me as odd, though. Haven’t seen a merc in here since…” He flipped back in the book. “Since right before the new year. And, oh, that’s interesting, Cadin fin-Farna. Sibs, I would say, or cousins, perhaps. That one was traveling with…” More names, none Belest recognized. The innkeeper shook his head. “No mention of a Harsa. But here’s something else: both parties said they came from around Dawning Crest.”

  Miris and Belest looked at each other. Dawning Crest, where Terthe had bought nir Stars. Were these people looking to craft more lamps, or trade the Stars onward to others? Or use them for other purposes?

  Something occurred to Belest. “Why would they tell the truth? Or give their real names?”

  The innkeeper shrugged. “Easier than trying to keep a lie straight. There’s plenty of legitimate trade coming from that direction, so it wouldn’t be too hard to blend in. And lying or not, they were all unusually secretive, I’ll tell you that,” he continued. “Didn’t want anyone digging in their business, even if it was just friendly talk.”

  His husband snorted. “You’re too forgiving, Garet,” he said. “They were plain rude, nothing more than that.”

  Serala, standing by the bookshelf at the side of the room so that she could watch them all, signed something that made him laugh.

  “Not as bad as my sister, you’re right about that. But not my ideal guests.”

  The innkeeper sighed, but there was fondness in his eyes. “If we only took people you found acceptable, Tern, we’d be out of business within a season,” he said. “Serala can more than handle any troublemakers.”

  Serala mimed wrestling an invisible opponent, and this time both men laughed.

  Miris drank the last of nir wine and set the glass aside on a spindly wooden table. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  The innkeeper shook his head, shutting the heavy book. “Nothing more than I’ve already said, I’m afraid. I hope you put it to rights, though. I wish I could be of more help.”

  “You’ve given us enough to go on,” Miris assured him, by way of thanks.

  “What are you going to do about them?” Tern asked. “If they’re carrying something dangerous, we need to do something about it. We can detain them here, or have them intercepted on the other side of the river…”

  “Hmm.” The innkeeper frowned. “Usually I don’t like interfering, but I’ll trust a flier. If you’re saying it’s a problem, I’ll help you.”

  Serala started saying something; Tern interpreted. “It’s too late to summon the magistrate, but if we send a rider to Haven’s Ford they’ll be back within an hour.” And then, in response, “I agree. Hannen or Lyriam could set this to rights in no time.”

  Miris nodded; Belest said nothing, could say nothing, for this was by far the most sensible option, and he did not want to protest it, even as a heavy feeling of dread unfolded itself in his chest. After the lengths he had gone to to avoid discovery, the trouble he had put Miris to, and he would be found here and imprisoned, or worse, sent home.

  Garet stood. “Right. I’ll send someone. Best to keep this as quiet as possible until they arrive. I’m expecting these fellows to put up a fight.”

  Miris smiled. “I know Lyriam. A few cowards like this? She’ll know what to do. So would Hannen.”
/>
  “We’ll fetch you when they arrive,” Tern said.

  And with that, they left, and did not speak again until they were alone in their room.

  “I saw mercenaries at Dawning Crest,” Belest said once the door was closed. “Only a glimpse of them, behind the caravan where we bought the crystals.”

  “Dormant Stars,” Miris corrected. “You said Bissa mentioned freezing. Some spirits have a dormant form if placed under certain conditions, like Seeds that turn to stone when buried too deep. Harsa must have discovered a way to do this to Stars.”

  “How…” Belest shook his head. The freed Stars bursting from the broken lamps had been so wild, so burning, that to link that form with the softly glowing ice-blue crystals Terthe had placed in the glass was almost inconceivable.

  “We will learn. And then we will stop them.”

  There was no reply Belest could give to that, except to hope it would be proven true. And if he was to help Miris achieve that goal, he had to face Lyriam deb-Anset. After all he had done, however unwittingly, to trade in captured Stars, freeing these was the only thing he could do.

  ◆◆◆

  Belest had said nothing about the imminent arrival of the Anset family, and Miris could not decide if that was good or bad. Something had to be said, though, and after waiting long enough that the silence in the large room became uncomfortable, Miris decided it had fallen to nem.

  “You should stay here,” ney said. “I’ll talk to Lyriam.”

  Belest, startled, protested, “No, I’ll come,” but Miris wasn’t in the mood to hear any disagreement, or to complicate the situation any further. Ney had enough trouble on nir hands already; ney did not need Lyriam protesting nir choice of travelling companion. Or at least, that was what Miris told nemself.

  “You will stay here,” ney insisted. And to nir relief, Belest did not argue further.

  Downstairs, the main hall was still lively with chatter and drinking, so Miris’s reappearance went unnoticed. Serala and two other servers were darting from table to table with a smooth elegance more suited to a dance than a dining room. At the bar, Tern poured cider and beer from great kegs, chatting cheerfully with the guests as he did so. Miris took a seat, intending to wait for Lyriam.