is not publicly noised about, but anyone in Bingtown who cares about such things knows that the Paragon is up for sale. And that bids from New Traders are being considered.'
Althea was silent for a time. Amber put on a cloak and drew a hood well up over her pale hair. When Althea spoke, her voice was low. 'If the Ludluck family is forced to sell Paragon, they will sell him to other Old Traders. Not a newcomer like you.'
'I wondered if you would point that out,' Amber replied in a conversationally even voice. She lifted the bar on the back door and opened it. 'Coming?'
'I don't know.' Althea preceded her out the door, then stood in the dark alley as Amber locked up. The last few minutes of conversation with Amber had taken a decidedly uncomfortable turn. Most unsettling was the feeling she had that Amber had deliberately engineered this small confrontation. Was she trying to test their friendship? Or was there some larger agenda behind her needling? She chose her words carefully.
'I don't think you are less, or not as good as I am, simply because I am Trader born and you are not. Some things are the sole province of the Bingtown Traders, and we guard those things jealously. Our liveships are very special. We feel the need to protect them. It would be hard to make an outsider understand all that our liveships are to us.'
'It is always difficult to explain that which you don't understand yourself,' Amber retorted quietly. 'Althea, this idea has to break through, not just to you but to all the Bingtown Traders. To survive, you will have to change. You will have to decide what things are most important to you, and preserve those things. You must accept the allies who share those values, and not be so suspicious of them. Above all, you must relinquish your claims to things that don't belong to you. Things that don't belong even to the Rain Wild Traders, but are the rightful heritage of all.'
'What do you know about the Rain Wild Traders?' Althea demanded. She peered at Amber in the dimness of the alley.
'Precious little. Your close-mouthed Bingtown traditions have seen to that. I suspect they plunder the cities of the Elderlings of their treasures, and claim that ancient magic as their own. Bingtown and the Bingtown Traders act as a shield to conceal a people unknown to the rest of the world. Those people delve deep into secrets they cannot grasp. They dismantle the hard-won knowledge of another folk and time, and market it as amusing trinkets. I suspect they destroy as much as they pilfer. Come on.'
Althea took a deep breath to reply, then clamped her jaws firmly. She followed Amber.
A brief silence fell. Then Amber laughed. 'You see. You will not even tell me if my deductions are correct.'
'Those things are Bingtown Trader business. One doesn't discuss it with outsiders.' Althea heard the coldness in her own voice but could not repent it.
For a time, they walked in false companionship. The revelry of the Night Market reached them as distantly as a memory of better times. The wind off the water was cold. In these hours before dawn, spring was forgotten. The world returned to the dark and chill of winter. Althea touched the bottom of despair. She had not realized how much she had valued her friendship with Amber until it was threatened.
Amber took her arm suddenly. The contact made the intensity of her voice more compelling. 'Bingtown cannot stand alone,' she said. 'Jamaillia is corrupted. The Satrap will cede you to Chalced, or sell you to New Traders without even a moment of consideration. He doesn't care, Althea. Not about his honor, or his ancestor's pledge or the people of Bingtown. He doesn't even care about the citizens of Jamaillia. He is so engrossed in himself, he cannot perceive anything except as it relates to him.' Amber shook her head, and Althea thought she sensed a deep sadness. 'He comes to power too young, and unschooled. He had great promise and much talent. His father took joy in his potential, and he charmed his teachers. No one wished to daunt that inquisitive spirit; he was allowed complete freedom in his explorations. No discipline was imposed on him. For a time, it was like watching an extravagant blossom unfold.'
Amber paused as if remembering a better time. She went on with a sigh, 'But nothing thrives without limits. At first, the court was amused when he discovered the pleasures of the flesh and indulged in them. Characteristically, he set out to explore them all. Everyone supposed it was but a stage of his growth. It wasn't. It was the end of his growth. Mired in pleasure, lost in all but the titillation of his own senses, he became ever more self-centered. Ambitious people saw it as a path to the future Satrap's favor; they began to supply his desire. The unscrupulous saw it as a pathway to power. They taught him exotic new pleasures, ones they alone could supply. When his father died abruptly and he was catapulted into power, the strings of the puppet were already fixed. Since then, they have only become more confining.' Amber gave a mirthless laugh. 'It is bitter. The young man who was never restricted by the walls of discipline is now choking on the leashes of his addictions. His enemies will rob his folk and enslave his lands, and he will smile as the dream herbs smolder in his chambers.'
'You seem well versed in this history.'
'I am.'
The brusqueness of her answer cut off Althea's next question. She found a different one. 'Why are you telling me all this?' she asked in a low voice.
'To wake you up. Appeals to the Satrap's honor, and reminders of ancient promises, will not produce results. The diseases of power have eaten too deeply into the Satrap and the influential families of Jamaillia. They are too busy saving themselves and gathering what scraps of power they can to be interested in Bingtown's plight. If Bingtown wishes to continue as it has, then it must find its own allies. Not just those of the newcomers who share Bingtown's ideals, but the slaves brought here against their will, and… any others who share Bingtown's enemies. The Rain Wild Traders must also step out from the shadows, not only to assert their rights but also to take responsibility for what they do.'
Althea halted suddenly in the street. Amber took another step, then stopped and looked back at her.
'I need to go home, to my family,' Althea said quietly. 'All of what you say speaks to me, not only of Bingtown, but of my family's predicament.'
Amber released her arm. 'If I have made you see that those two things are connected, I have not wasted my time this evening. Another time, you will come to Paragon with me. And you will help me convince him that he must support my efforts to buy him.'
'First I will have to convince myself of that,' Althea cautioned her. She took satisfaction in knowing that Paragon had had the good sense to resist Amber's efforts. As much as she liked her, there had to be a better buyer for the Paragon than she. Althea added that to her list of concerns. She would discuss it with Grag and his father when next she saw them.
'You will be convinced, if you open your ears and eyes. Go carefully, Althea, and reach home safely. Visit me when you can. Until then, be aware. Consider all that troubles Bingtown. Notice all that seems wrong to you, even that which does not seem to involve you. You will reach the same conclusions I have.'
Althea nodded at her. She didn't speak. It saved her from having to say she would reach her own conclusions. What was best for her family would come first.
'ARE WE GOING TO SIT UP ALL NIGHT?' MALTA FINALLY ASKED.
Keffria's reply was surprisingly mild. 'I'm going to stay up until Althea gets home. I know you must be tired, dear. It's been quite a week for you. You can go to bed if you wish.'
'I thought you told me that Grandmother would start treating me more like an adult if I acted like one.' She kept an eye on her grandmother as she said this, and saw the small flicker of her eyes that said her barb had struck. It was time the old woman realized that she and her mother did talk together about such things. 'I think if you are both going to stay up and talk to Aunt Althea when she gets home, I should, too.'
'As you wish,' her mother said wearily. She picked up the needlework she had set aside and looked at it.
Malta leaned back in her chair. She had curled her legs up and tucked her feet under her. Her back ached and her head pounded. She still smiled. It had been quite a week for her. She reached up and began to take her hair down. As she plucked the pins out and it cascaded darkly about her shoulders, she wondered what Reyn would think if he could see her like this. She imagined him sitting across from her, watching her hair slowly come down. He would tilt his head and his veil would move slightly when he sighed. He would toy with the fingertips of his gloves. He had confided to her that he found them more annoying than the veil. 'To touch something, skin to surface, can tell one so much. A shared touch, skin to skin, can speak the words our mouths are not free to say.' He had held his hand out, as if inviting her to touch his gloved fingers, but she had not moved. 'You could remove your gloves,' she
