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Majel ziaGorn stepped out of the ’fresher, hair damp and disorderly. He was barefoot, and had pulled on soft pants and a comfortable old shirt.
He was, he realized, hungry, which was unfortunate in its way, as it brought back thoughts of the Skywise Provianto, and, more particularly, Bell erVinton.
Not much hope in that direction, my friend, he told himself kindly, as he moved to the comm. The erVintons and the jakValins had been port-folk since before Colemeno had properly had a port. The chances of them marrying into the city were slim at best.
“Principal ziaGorn,” Erbet’s deep voice came out of the comm, “what can we be pleased to serve you, sir?”
“A hearty nuncheon, if you will. I wonder—is there bean stew today?”
“And fresh-baked rolls, still warm,” Erbet’s voice dropped, as if he were sharing a secret. “I’ll send that up ahead, shall I?”
Majel’s stomach rumbled, and he smiled.
“I think you’d best do that. And a bottle of ale, please.”
“Done. A moment only.”
Indeed, Majel had scarcely reached the kitchen when the food lift’s bell rang. He opened the door, and slid out the tray, carrying it to the table.
He broke open the roll, inhaling the aroma of new bread, and sampled the stew with a sigh of satisfaction.
The bowl was half-empty when the comm chimed. He paused, and glanced at the countertop monitor. The code wasn’t familiar. It might be a constituent, though most called his office at the Sakuriji. The comm chimed again. He had another spoonful of stew and decided that he would call back.
Another chime, another spoonful of stew. A click.
“Councilor ziaGorn, this is Shan yos’Galan. I find myself in your debt twice over.”
Majel leapt up and darted into his office, touching the comm’s receive button.
“Master Trader, how may I serve you?” he asked, only slightly breathless.
“By accepting my gratitude for your timely assistance to my heir this morning,” the master trader said. “Also, it comes to me that I was rather abrupt last evening, and failed to thank you for your assistance to me and mine.”
“There is no debt, sir; I was pleased to serve,” Majel said, and caught himself with a half-laugh. “No, that failed of being what I meant to say. In truth, when Trader yos’Galan called me last night, I had no idea what I might do, except stand in support. That I was able to materially assist you and yours was . . . gratifying. This morning—it was fortunate that I came by. Once I had understood what had happened, then of course I did what I might.”
“Of course,” the master trader repeated softly. “Councilor, you must forgive us. I think that we did not mention to you that we’re rather trouble-prone, as a kin-group.”
“Korval precipitates unlooked-for events,” Majel said, recalling ivenAlyatta.
The master trader laughed. “An excellent summation. I ought to be more adept, but local custom trips us all, so I will ask: In your estimation, are we in Balance?”
Liaden Balance was a fearsome thing, from what he had learned from reading history. Best not to be caught in those calculations.
“In my estimation,” he said firmly, “yes, Master Trader, we are in Balance.”
“I accept your estimation; no debt lies between us,” the master trader said, his voice formal, as if he were delivering a ritual phrase. There followed a silence not quite long enough for Majel to wonder what he ought to say next, before the master trader spoke again.
“We come now to my second reason for calling,” he said, sounding his usual affable self. “Trader yos’Galan tells me that you had particularly come to see the master trader. She is quite put out that she forgot to ask what your business was.”
Majel sighed.
“Indeed, sir, I had hoped to speak of this in person.”
There was a very small pause.
“Shall I come to you, then?”
“I would not put you to so much inconvenience. I had only wondered, sir, if you have considered that your actions, which you spoke of last night, mean that you have done Colemeno and all her people an immeasurable service. If you will speak of debt, it is we who are in yours.”
Silence.
You should have waited until you were with him again, Majel told himself, and drew a deep breath.
“I do not mean to say that we were without protectors—the Haosa and the strong Talents would surely have vanquished those Reavers who had come to us, but at what cost? And, if, as seems likely to me, the first wave of Reavers were followed by a second, forewarned—lives would have been lost, innocent and Reaver alike. Indeed, I see no solution to the emergency that would not also have produced dead innocents. It may be, sir, that yours was the kindest of all possible solutions. People died, but far more survived.”
More silence.
Majel closed his eyes.
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice slightly unsteady, “if I have been too bold.”
There came a slight sound, as if the master trader had imperfectly stifled a laugh, or a sneeze.
“Boldness counts, to dragons,” he said. “As it happens, I have received similar counsel from another source. I note that it has long been known that self-Healing is the most difficult.”
“Yes,” Majel said, relieved. “One always holds oneself to a higher standard than any other person.”
“We understand each other. Was that the whole of your mission to me this morning?”
“It was, yes.”
“Then I will leave you in peace, Councilor. Thank you for your care.”
“Sir,” Majel said—but the master trader was gone.
Slowly, he went back to the kitchen to find the last of the bean stew cold.
The light over the food lift was on, which meant that the rest of his luncheon had arrived.
He had scarcely taken two steps in that direction when the comm chimed again. A glance at the monitor showed the number of the Citizens Coalition’s office.
“Duty calls, Councilor,” he said aloud, and went back to his office to answer the comm.