The Cloudship Trader

by Kate Diamond

  She studied Belest over a wide muzzle. “Well, are you going to work, or are you going to stare?”

  Belest flushed and stammered an apology. Not even a minute and he’d already offended her…

  Rubie snorted, but it was not an angry sound. “Don’t bother. That’s not what I’m here for.” She flicked her tail. “Let me guess, you’ve never seen one of me before?”

  Samil grinned at him and headed back down the hall, leaving him to whatever Rubie wanted of him.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “No, ma’am.”

  She snorted again. “Heh. Ma’am. My people say you’re not a woman till you’ve had eggs, and that’s some ways off for me.”

  “I’m sorry. Should I say something else?” Such a fool he was…

  Rubie shrugged. “Naw, it’s as close as you’re going to get.”

  She continued watching him, unblinking. Testing him, Belest thought, and stood straighter. She smiled, showing fangs.

  “Good. You need some courage in your bones if you’re going to get anywhere here. I won’t accept any cowardice or laziness from my assistants.”

  Before Belest could reply, she vanished back into the room and returned with a pile of sheets and towels which she promptly dropped into his arms.

  “Take these to the laundry. Niro can show you where things are, but don’t you think he’s going to do your work for you.”

  Fortunately, he didn’t have to go far to find Niro. A slight man with black hair cut to bristles came around the corner, summoned either by Rubie or by Samil, or possibly by sheer chance. He wore a trainee’s badge but not Iltari colors, and cheerfully took Belest down a side hallway to a large room, air damp with steam, where workers with long paddles turned laundry in massive tubs.

  “Don’t let her scare you,” Niro told him as they returned. “She likes to show her fangs to all the new assistants. Ensures they listen.”

  Not for the first time, Belest wished he hadn’t been separated from Arden. “I’m- I’m only passing through. Does she know I’m not going to be here tomorrow?”

  Niro shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and she wants the best from you. Try to keep up, ask me anything you need, and try not to worry too much.”

  Rubie had a long list of orders waiting for them both, a list that grew and changed as assistants brought new patients to her room. There was the girl who broke her ankle attempting some unwise wall-climbing stunts, the travelling Kejan storyteller who’d been badly stung by insects while protecting nir child from a swarm, as well as any number of minor coughs and burns and cuts.

  Many of Belest’s assignments took him in the opposite direction from Niro, but the other trainees and novices proved willing to direct him when needed. He rather suspected the tasks he was set were of the sort that any dimwit could complete without too much difficulty, mostly fetching things too large for the message system to carry, but at least Rubie found in him little reason for complaint, other than to urge him to be faster when he lost his way. For all Niro had said of her temper, her scolding was nothing next to Terthe’s. Or Kela’s. This, Belest could bear easily.

  He returned to the room after one such errand to find Rubie struggling to calm a frantic woman holding a coughing, whining child. Rubie said something in first one language and then another, and then a third, but the woman reacted uncomprehending to all of them. Rubie grumbled a curse and reached for a message paper.

  “I’m calling your flier,” she told Belest. “He might know what in the hells she’s saying.” She scrawled something on the sheet and clipped it to the line.

  The woman stepped forward, repeating her complaint, even more frightened now that Rubie had seemed to turn away. Belest recognized the language; it was a northern tongue he had heard often in the valley settlement where he was born. He stepped forward.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  The woman swore in relief and launched into an explanation, almost too fast for Belest to follow. Rubie put a hand on his shoulder. “Good. But don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m still the healer here. Help me speak to her.”

  It was the first word of praise he’d gotten all day, and it warmed him. Slowly, for he had to circle around words he didn’t know, and with poorer grammar than he would have liked, Belest translated Rubie’s questions and her patient’s answers. By the time Arden arrived, most of the story had been laid bare.

  The woman’s name was Brena, and she was from the village of Welsarn, in the foothills of the northern mountains. She and Kit had come to Tilsa with a southbound caravan making a pilgrimage to the sacred island of Miren. They had stopped at Tilsa for a few days to resupply, and Kit, glad of the chance to run after weeks in cramped wagons, had spent much of that time in the city’s gardens, playing amongst the flowers - and, when their mother wasn’t looking, eating them.

  “What did the flower look like?” Rubie asked through Belest.

  “I don’t know. There were many,” Brena said. “Some were small and red, and some were pink, with long petals and twisted leaves…”

  “Latish sunblossom,” Arden supplied. “That’s good news. It’s not the worst thing out there, but also not something I’d recommend having for dinner. Some people are sensitive to it, and it can irritate the skin.”

  Belest relayed this to Brena, and Rubie took over from there, sending for a medicine to ease the child’s throat and speed recovery. A bottle and cup arrived promptly on the message-strings, and Rubie provided an extra hand as Brena guided the dose into the child’s mouth. She didn’t, though, allow Belest to stand idle for long, and sent him off on another set of errands as soon as the urgent need for an interpreter was past. By the time he returned to the room, Kit looked much happier, and had started to wriggle and squirm on Brena’s hip. She set them down gently on the floor, where they toddled off to explore.

  Rubie reached down to shepherd Kit away from the shelves of supplies they were intent on investigating. Arden watched this with a smile, and knelt down on the floor to better get Kit’s attention. He gently pulled a bottle of pills from the child’s searching hands and replaced it with a much safer chest-listening cone. Fortunately, Kit seemed pleased with the exchange, and set to playing with intense focus, banging the double-sided metal cone against the floor and peering through the hole in its middle.

  “I expect everything will be back in order when you’re done?” Rubie asked, dryly.

  “Of course, of course,” Arden said, without looking away from the game.

  “Hmph. I hope so,” Rubie grumbled, but there was more amusement to it than annoyance. She had just opened her mouth again to set Belest another task when Brena reached into her tunic and pulled a necklace over her head, saying, “Please, take this as payment, with my gratitude.”

  Arden glanced up. “There’s no need,” he said, having read her intention if not her words. “We don’t accept…”

  He trailed off when Brena opened her hand. On the end of the braided cord hung a tiny sphere of glass that glowed with an unearthly light.

  The Winged Artist

  Miris brought with nem a basket of items from the Dragonfly: perfumes and jewelry and things from the mountains and islands that would be difficult to find even in the wide-ranging markets of Tilsa. Those markets would be in full swing at this time. While the people of the southern mountains preferred to shop and sell in the mornings, Tilsans favored the afternoon and evening, especially in the warmer months. In summer, night markets sprang up in courtyards and underpasses, lit by strings of lanterns and visited by the wealthy and common alike.

  The southern district’s daily market wrapped around the base of a wide tower that housed a school of calligraphy. An amusing irony, Miris thought, for the students within were unlikely to be able to afford many of the luxuries sold on their doorstep. Ney caught glimpses of them inside at their desks as ney paced the market searching the displays of goods for a flicker of light, for a glass lamp or glowing jewel or the Gods-e
yes Arden had described. The market brimmed with bright things: jewelry and silk robes, fruits and berries, paper dyed in countless pretty colors, but none spoke of Stars in their making. Nir breath caught at the sight of a Flamesmith selling lamps, but closer inspection proved they were only of the ordinary sort, holding no cruel secrets within. But perhaps the smith could still help them.

  Ney showed him the sketch of the glyph Belest had found. “Can you tell me what this Flamescript is for? I saw it on a criminal’s wares.”

  The smith studied the paper and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’ve never seen that before. It looks a little like some I saw a Forish Flamesmith use, but I can’t guess at what it means.”

  Ney nodded and tucked the paper away. Ney would have continued on, but remembered that the Dragonfly still needed new lamps. That mundane concern had been utterly pushed out of sight by everything else that had happened at Summertooth. Best to take care of that now, rather than find nemself in darkness far from a market or a Flamesmith’s forge. The smith was a bright and friendly sort, all too pleased to assist, and he would have pushed an extra lamp on Miris if ney had not refused the gift. Ney tucked the lamps away in their sleeves of dark cloth and continued searching the market.

  Groups of wealthy friends and sibs passed by under their parasols, examining the stalls with cheerful scrutiny as they talked and laughed. The fashionable of Tilsa wore lacy jewelry alongside their Naming beads, and the family crests on those beads often featured leaf and flower motifs. The city’s delicate filigree and bright robes would sell well across the strait in Tansira, far to the south of here, and in many other lands besides, but Miris pulled nir thoughts from matters of trade. It would not do to be distracted in nir search, no matter what fine things Tilsa had to offer. Ney wished ney had Seres beside nem to watch nir back and assist in seeking out Stars, but the Wind disliked Tilsa’s tight spaces and stone walls, and preferred to stay with the Dragonfly. Miris would not ask Seres to do more, but still, ney missed the Wind’s presence.

  Another half-turn around the tower brought Miris to a table of figures carved in dark wood: spirits dancing, animals fighting, their eyes set with glittering stones. Resisting the need to reach out and touch it, ney studied the shape of a river fish, its polished scales glimmering as if water flowed past them, fins paper-thin yet not at all delicate, jeweled eyes asking a question ney could not read.

  “Have you seen such work before, Windsworn?” a voice asked from behind the table. Miris, startled, looked up into the beaked face of a Ruenwin. The winged people of the southern forests were rarely seen outside of their homeland, not only because of their habit of seclusion but also because there were so few of them in all the world. The face that regarded Miris was edged with feathers in all shades of gold and green, shading to blues at the chest and down the wing-arms. He - for among the Ruenwin, only males bore such colors - wore no clothes, having no need of them, but had a multitude of leather pouches of various sizes strapped to his chest and legs, and the tips of his leading feathers were painted a brilliant silver. A status marker of some sort, Miris remembered. A child still more fluff than feathers sat in a too-large chair beside him, playing with a cloth doll as their elder expertly worked the shape of a fox from a block with a small knife.

  The woodcarver watched nem, waiting. Miris managed the one greeting ney knew in the Ruenwin language, hoping ney remembered it correctly.

  The great beak opened in an avian grin. “So you have met one of my kind before. An old man, by the sound of it. There is no need to be so formal, Windsworn,” he teased.

  “Then you should call me Miris,” ney said.

  He bowed. “I am Kirental, and my dear nestling is Amayla.”

  The child looked up, waving a clawed hand in greeting before returning to their imaginings. Kirental laughed gently and ruffled their neck-feathers. When the child was busy at play once again, he set down his knife and lifted his carving to his eye to examine it. He turned it this way and that, and, apparently satisfied, put it aside.

  “This one needs time to decide what sort of creature it wants to be,” he told Miris. “A playful fox, a wise one, a tricksy one? But this one-” he reached into a basket at his side and pulled out a carving of a bear in a wood so dark it was almost black. “This one knows. She is a mother, fierce and strong.”

  To Miris’s surprise, he did not reach for the knife again, but set the tips of his talons to the wood and pulled fine threads from its surface. In fluid, expert motions, he covered the bear’s pelt with a dance of gentle whorls and fierce jagged lines, and as the pattern emerged so did a personality, the sense of life that had first caught Miris’s eye.

  “I would very much like one of those,” ney said, reaching for nir basket.

  Kirental looked up, blinked, and leaned forward to peer into Miris’s face. Ney stood frozen under those studying eyes for several moments, and then Kirental clicked his beak.

  “No, I am sorry, but I will not sell to a trader, who hopes to pass it on for a profit and leave the story behind.”

  The words cut, and Miris opened nir mouth to protest, but thought better of it, and merely nodded.

  Kirental held up a hand. “It is not an insult, my friend. Only my choice for these creations. Stay and watch, if you wish.” He reached into his basket again and drew out a small wooden box, unlocked by a tiny key from a pocket by his shoulder. From this he took two glinting pearlescent gems, rare and beautiful. But Miris’s attention caught not on the stones but on the case they came from - a case carved with an intricate and familiar border of winding knots.

  “I’ve seen something like that before,” ney said, cautious. “Larger, but with the same patterns. It was used-” Could ney trust this stranger, and tell him of the trade in kidnapped Stars? Instinct told nem to keep the secret close, but then ney thought bitterly of what Arden had reported, and knew the Stars would not be a secret for long. Kirental waited, watching nem with that curious tilt to his head. “It was used by smugglers, to manipulate spirits,” ney finished.

  More moments of silent thought passed before Kirental spoke, quiet and stern, a tension that not even the sounds of the market could interrupt. “And you believe these designs to be related.” Kirental set the box and the figure of the bear aside. “Windsworn Miris, I learned this pattern and others like it years ago from my mother, who brought it to our Aerie from her journeys among the Kejan of the northern mountains. The designs interested many, and have become quite popular. In all that time we have never witnessed any such effects from them. Though of course we have not attempted to use them to interfere with spirits. We of the Aerie do not expect to use spirits as others do.”

  Miris winced, and fought back anger. Was this what he thought of nir bond with Seres?

  “I don’t force spirits into anything,” ney snapped, before ney could think better of it. Amayla was watching now, startled by this angry stranger, and that shamed Miris. Whatever Kirental assumed of nem, this was a chance ney could not ignore.

  A breath, and a search for words. “I’m sorry. I’m not accusing you.” And then, “I need help. I don’t know how they’ve managed what they’re doing, or how far it’s spread. But I need to stop it, and this carving is all I know so far.”

  Kirental nodded, seemingly unperturbed. “So mysterious you are!” he exclaimed, cheerful again as if the previous exchange had never happened. “But if you are seeking aid, I shall provide what I can. My mother and her students know far more about the mountain arts than I do. Amayla and I take to the winds tomorrow morning; home is two days’ flight dawnward. Northeast, you would say. Will you join us?”

  Northeast would bring them closer to Dawning Crest. And the thought of visiting a Ruenwin Aerie was more than tempting. How many fliers could say they had seen the home of this elusive race? “I will. And I thank you for the invitation,” Miris replied.

  Kirental smiled. “You can find us at the East Gate. The Aerie welcomes visitors to its feast tables.”

 
; It was a lead, and a stronger one than Miris had hoped to find. So why had asking for it proved such a challenge? It didn’t matter. Miris continued searching the market, the stalls selling so many pretty things, the people milling through the streets, the entertainers playing for coins. But there was nothing of the Stars to be found here, not in any of the stalls around the tower and not down any of the side-streets that hoped to share in the market’s traffic, and all the while the sun crept across the sky. Kirental’s offer had put an end to the question of whether they would leave Tilsa before nightfall, and so ney did not want to return to Arden and Belest with nothing else to show for the day’s work.

  Something crashed to the ground somewhere nearby, followed by outraged yelling. Miris followed the sound down a side-street to where a trio of city guards had a pottery seller cornered against a wall, fragments of bowls littering the ground around the guards’ feet as if he had thrown them. One of the guards held the merchant firmly in place as the others searched his wares. Tilsa, as a respected trading city, took the quality and authenticity of goods very seriously indeed. Here was an unscrupulous merchant, certainly, but not the sort Miris had hoped to find.

  “Counterfeits,” a guard said, turning the bowl dismissively in his hands. He snorted. “Poor quality clay, and brittle as last year’s hay. That pigment is going to come off in patches too, and nobody likes eating blue rice.”

  “How’d you figure that?” the other guard asked, rubbing her thumb against the brim of a cup, ignoring the forger’s furious complaints. She was a muscled woman who wore her pale hair tied back in a tail.

  “My sib blends pigments, ney taught me some,” the first guard said, a lanky young man with dark hair. “That color, it’s rabbitstone. Anything colored with rabbitstone needs an extra coat of glaze, or it’ll bleed and fade. But it looks like our swindler was too cheap for that.”