Colemenoport
Offices of the
Tree-and-Dragon Trade Mission
Jes’s hope in Mar Tyn had not been misplaced. He had returned to the office while Padi was with Saru, bearing not six, but eight letters of interest from port accountants.
“Which is precisely what we want,” Jes told Padi. “Depend upon it, some one or two will wash out of tomorrow’s workshop. If we can retain six—or even four—we may proceed with confidence.”
The proposed vendor memo, which arrived on Padi’s screen mere moments after that discussion, was a lesson in clarity and precision. She sent it on to Saru, as arranged, to be distributed via the official network to all of Colemenoport.
That done, and the mail queue being momentarily clear, Padi rose, intending to make herself a cup of tea.
A tone sounded, and the light over the doorway flashed twice.
Padi sighed. She had no appointments scheduled. On the other hand, the whole port knew where the Tree-and-Dragon Trade Mission had its offices; she and the master trader had labored to make that so.
She opened the door.
“Good day to you, Trader Padi,” Trader Isfelm said cordially. “I hope I’m not too late to do business.”
The trader was looking somewhat less buoyant than usual, and she was carrying a case under one arm.
“It is, so my master taught me, never too late to do business. Though I do warn you that if you must have the master trader, he is not to hand.”
“Wanted on the ship for a day or two,” Trader Isfelm said wisely. “Sent me a note to say so.”
“In that case, please do come in. I was just about to make some tea. May I offer you a cup? Or perhaps—”
“You know, tea would be a treat,” Trader Isfelm said, stepping into the office. Once over the threshold, she paused, and sighed.
“Are you well, Trader?” Padi asked, for this was not at all in her usual style.
“Well enough. Well enough. Only I’ve been dealing with city folk the last while, which I make it my bidness never to do, and it’s put me out of temper.” She offered Padi a one-sided smile. “Nothing to do with you, Trader.”
Padi closed the door, and waved her hand at the conference table.
“Please sit and rest, Trader. The tea will be a moment or two.”
* * *
When she returned to the office, bearing the tray, Trader Isfelm had put herself at the center of the table, case open before her.
Padi paused, seeing what appeared to be the edge of a flat chart. Such things were old, and rare, and by rights ought to be resting in a carefully maintained archive, while copies were made available to those with an interest.
She put the tray down at the end of the table, poured two scant cups, but did not put them out, and opened the cake tin.
Trader Isfelm watched these arrangements with grave approval.
“The master trader had an interest in some charts I’d seen back before I learned how to pack a pod. Ghost routes, the space at Tinsori, and suchlike. I said I’d look ’em out for him. Found the old files in deep backups, right about where I figured they’d be, given when I saw ’em first.
“Then I remembered we had the flats—family story is that Can Ith bought ’em—had some idea of trading out toward Tinsori. Not much sense to that notion, given the space and the station. Anydays, took a bit to figure what Brother Jaimy might’ve thought to be appropriate storage. Just put my hand on it this morning.
“Now.”
She reached into a jacket pocket and produced a data-key.
“That’s a fresh copy of the files,” she said. “The master trader can have it with my goodwill. Like I told him, these are old, old charts, not safe for navigation. You understand me, Trader Padi?”
Padi bowed slightly.
“I understand you, Trader Isfelm,” she murmured. “The master trader is a pilot; as I am.”
“Just making sure. Dragons aren’t so common in my life that I want to put any at risk.”
“Thank you for your care,” Padi said solemnly.
Trader Isfelm laughed.
“That’s right. Now. If the master trader might be interested in antiquities, there’s this, right here . . . ”
She stood to remove the carefully folded plas-sheet and set it to one side while she shifted the case to her chair.
Then, slowly, and with great care, she began to unfold the flat.
“Take hold here, if you would, Trader,” Trader Isfelm said. “It saw some use before it came to us, and sitting in a box all this time’s only made it more fragile.”
Padi held the edge indicated while the trader finished unfolding. She took a step back, so the sheet had no wrinkles.
“Let’s put ’er down now, Trader, nice and slow . . . ”
The chart settled gently to the tabletop. Trader Isfelm crossed to the control panel and brought the overhead lights up. Padi leaned over the chart, finding the legend and the key, rendered in Old Trade. A particular phrase caught her eye, and she leaned closer.
“Rim’s Edge Route,” she read slowly—and blinked.
“That’s the one caught me, too, back when.” Trader Isfelm was at her side, leaning over the chart, tracing the route with one finger not quite touching—
“Right. Didn’t think I’d made that up. Not an imaginative child.” She angled her finger toward a particular point on the chart, still not touching it.
“Jump point fixed by Riley’s Tavern. Riley’s Tavern’s sun went out of sequence ’bout the time this chart was drawn.”
“Which doesn’t mean the Jump-point collapsed,” Padi murmured, more to herself than to Trader Isfelm. She was thinking, recalling Vanz’s letter—my aunt Chasiel, Captain Most Senior, asked what I thought of the Rimedge Loop.
“Surely not,” she said.
“Hit a resonance, Trader?”
“More likely just a coincidence,” Padi said, straightening. She moved down to the tea tray, Trader Isfelm with her. They each took up a cup.
“I cannot say that the master trader will want the flat chart. I will ask him, when we speak next. In the meanwhile, please hold—”
Trader Isfelm raised her hand.
“I’d rather you hold it, Trader. Had deuce’s own time finding it; almost like it was hiding from me.”
Padi considered. Her experience of Trader Isfelm did not encourage her to believe that this was a setup for under-dealing. Best to treat it as fair business, then.
She inclined her head.
“I will keep it in the safe here, if you wish,” she said. “Understand that I cannot promise the master trader will—”
“Understood, understood. Might not be in the market for old flats. No deposit necessary, Trader. In fact, it’s me should be giving you a coin, for taking up storage. Let’s have some cake. After, we’ll both see it put into your safe, I’ll give you a coin, you’ll give me a receipt and that’ll all be done proper.”
“That sounds to be a reasonable approach,” Padi said, and picked up the pot to warm their cups.