Colemenoport
Offices of the
Isfelm Trade Union
It was the ’counts that had her attention this particular morning, that having been in the packet come down from Ember on the overnight.
Let it be known that the ’counts had never been Chudith Isfelm’s favorite side of trade. On the other hand, if she wanted to be lead trader—and she did—the going-over and understanding of the ’counts fairly fell to her.
She carried a mug of ale to the desk, and tapped open the file. Took a sip, and bent to it.
Last half-year profits were strong. That was good, as the current half-year was going to show the effect of Ember sitting at Colemenoport, close enough to idle, for as long as it took Tree-and-Dragon to sort out their necessities.
She leaned back in her chair, and had a sip of ale, taking counsel of her favorite corner of the ceiling. If the master trader agreed to let Trader Padi step up to Ember sooner rather than later, and she brought along a pod full of goodies from the wide universe, that would draw some interest from those previously disinterested in the Isfelm Trade Union.
Or, she thought, fair-mindedly, it might make no difference at all, habit and tradition being what they were, even—especially—’mong those who rode a Loop.
And that right there was the biggest problem with the routes—all the routes. Calcified, that’s what they were, like the Dust had gotten into the deep workings of society and commerce, and froze it all up. By stars, they needed Tree-and-Dragon—didn’t they just?—to shake everything up, including rigid Looper brains.
She half-laughed.
“It’ll be a fine thing indeed to see the Evrits sit down with the Mikancy, and both rise up unmurdered, Chudi Isfelm, but none o’that’s getting your ’counts done.”
So—inventory. Not much there, she having dropped most of what Ember’d been carrying for Brother Jaimy to share out with the rest of the union ships. ’Course, she’d refill from their Colemenoport warehouse before Trader Padi and the Tree-and-Dragon qe’andra set off on the master trader’s route audit.
And wasn’t that a fair undertaking? She’d sat up half the night with her screen split in threes like she’d been busted back to ’prentice, reviewing the proper section in the Trade Guild archives the master trader had given her.
Still a lot of study wanted on that front, and she truly hoped that Trader Padi was as bright as she gleamed—and lucky, as well. Though, according to the master trader, that came with.
Well, so. She looked back to the screen.
Accounts owed—only the usual there—and accounts owing, too.
That was the whole thing, then, and done in less than an hour. She reached to sign off—and stopped, frowning at the note at the very bottom of the accounts-owing page.
Passage paid.
Passage paid, right enough—three passengers and light luggage—and they’d never come, had they? The woman had been in a fair frenzy for passage, and canny Trader Isfelm had seen desperation and determination both. Hadn’t been anything to do with her, but she’d taken the money, hadn’t she, breaking her own rules about passengers and cash?
Trader Isfelm would’ve been satisfied with half upfront, but the passenger wouldn’t have it. Paid everything on the nose, and swore she’d be on time.
Only, she missed the time. Ember had waited, long enough to make the portmaster testy. There being a strict time limit on that game, eventually Ember had lifted.
Chudi’d been in a right swivet about that at the time, turning the thing over and over in her mind. She might’ve suspected a scam, but she couldn’t see how it worked out to a profit.
It wasn’t until they’d hit mid-Loop that it occurred to Chudi Isfelm that the passage fee to Ember had been misdirection, and that the ship might’ve dodged bad trouble. That had been enough to cool her jets, and she’d pushed the matter aside, to think of other things, which was the trader’s privilege.
Bookkeeping, though. Bookkeeping never forgets. Done right, the way they did it themselves, bookkeeping didn’t lie.
And the fact was that they were carrying someone else’s money, and they hadn’t delivered what they’d been paid for.
She frowned. It was a sizable amount of money—passage money, not goods. Passage money, with no passenger arriving, nor a formal cancellation sent? Nobody’d look askance, if she declared the whole sum forfeit, and set it against operating funds.
Only . . . it didn’t sit easy with her.
In fact, now that it was at the front of her mind again, she didn’t feel easy about any of it.
That woman—Dust take it, what had her name been? She tapped the note on the screen and opened the detail. Right, xinRood. Zatorvia xinRood. Thin and sharp, and so desperate Chudi’s own jaw had ached in sympathy.
Below the name, there in the details, was an address in Haven City, and, more to the point—a comm code.
Trader Isfelm reached for the comm.
* * *
“kezlBlythe residence,” a man’s languid voice came out of the comm.
Trader Isfelm frowned, and glanced at the code on the screen.
“Your pardon, Luzant,” she said, “I was calling Luzant xinRood about some business we have between us. I must have fumbled it.”
Botching a code wasn’t a thing she did often—or ever—but she must have done—
“Luzant xinRood is dead,” the man informed her, and not as if it was any loss of his.
Chudith Isfelm took a quiet breath.
“I offer sympathy to her family,” she said formally.
“Yes,” the voice said briskly. “What sort of business?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Pardon?”
“You said you were calling Zatorvia on a matter of business. I’m her cousin Jorey. Any business she left behind falls to kezlBlythe.” There was a pause, before he added, with a malicious edge to his voice, “Did she owe you money?”
“Boot’s on the other foot,” she said, feeling sharp herself, “I owe her money.”
“That’s fortunate,” the man said. “You can make the transfer to our account. The code—”
“She paid in cash,” she heard herself say. “And I’m bound to return cash.”
There came a spot of silence, as if he were properly astonished, she thought, and who could blame him?
“Then bring it here,” he said finally, and with distinct bad temper. “We’re in the directory.”
She took another breath, deep and quiet.
“Luzant, thank you for your time and advice,” she said, and cut the connection.