The expressions that passed over the Traders' faces told Serilla that her situation had not improved. Shock and guilt were quickly masked with polite concern.
Only Trader Devouchet stared at her. 'Ronica Vestrit?' he asked incredulously. 'But I thought…' He turned to look at his companions but they had been swifter to compose themselves.
'Is there a problem here?' Trader Drur began but Conry overrode him with, 'I fear we have intruded on a private conversation. We can return later.'
'Not at all,' Ronica answered gravely, as if they had addressed her. 'Unless you think my survival is a problem to be solved by the Companion. The true problem here is one more fit to be resolved by the Traders' Council than by a Satrap's Companion. Gentlemen, as you obviously know, my family has been savagely attacked, and our reputation smeared to the point at which it endangers our lives. Trader Restart has been treacherously murdered, and so maligned after the fact that those who killed him claim they were justified. I am here to demand that the Council investigate this matter and render justice.'
Devouchet's eyes grew stony. 'Justice has already been done. Restart was a traitor. Everyone knows that.'
Ronica Vestrit's face was impassive. 'So I keep hearing. But no one has presented me with one shred of evidence.'
'Ronica, be reasonable,' Trader Drur rebuked her. 'Bingtown is a shambles. We are in the midst of a civil war. The Council has no time to convene on private matters, it must…'
'Murder is not a private matter! The Council must answer the complaints of any Bingtown Trader. That was why the Council was formed, to see that regardless of wealth or poor fortune, justice was available to every Trader. That is what I demand. I believe Davad was killed and my family attacked on the basis of a rumor. That is not justice, that is murder and assault. Furthermore, while you believe that the culprit has been punished, I believe the true traitors go free. I don't know what became of the Satrap. However, this woman seems to, by her own admission. I know he was taken by force that night. That scarcely seems to me that he 'went into hiding, entrusting his power to her.' It seems to me more likely that Bingtown has been dragged into a Jamaillian plot to unseat the Satrap, one that may smear all of us with blame. I have heard that she even wishes to treat with the Chalcedeans. What will she give them, gentlemen, to placate them? What does she have to give them, save what is Bingtown's? She benefits in power and wealth by the Satrap's absence. Have some Traders been tricked into kidnapping the Satrap, for this woman's own ends? If such is the case, she has led them into treason. Is not that a matter for the Council to judge, if it will not consider Davad Restart's murder? Or are all of those 'private matters'?'
Serilla's mouth had gone dry. The three men exchanged uncertain glances. They were being swayed by this madwoman's words. They would turn on her! Behind them, the serving boy lingered near the door, listening curiously. There was movement in the passage beyond him, and then Roed Caern and Krion Trentor entered the room. Tall and lean, Roed towered over his shorter, softer companion. Roed had bound his long black hair back in a tail as if he were a barbarian warrior. His dark eyes had always held a feral glint; now they shone with a predator's lust. He stared at Ronica. Despite the uneasiness the young Trader always roused in her, Serilla felt a sudden wash of relief at his appearance. He, at least, would side with her.
'I heard the name of Davad Restart,' Roed observed harshly. 'If anyone has a dispute with how he ended, they should speak to me.' His eyes challenged Ronica.
Ronica drew herself up and advanced on him fearlessly. She was scarcely as tall as his shoulder. She looked up to meet his eyes as she demanded, 'Trader's son, do you admit the blood of a Trader is on your hands?'
One of the older Traders gasped, and Roed looked startled for an instant. Krion licked his lips nervously. Then, 'Restart was a traitor!' Roed declared.
'Prove it to me!' Ronica exploded. 'Prove it to me, and I'll keep my peace, though I should not. Traitor or not, what was done to Davad was murder, not justice. But more importantly, gentlemen, I suggest you prove it to yourselves. Davad Restart is not the traitor who planned the abduction of a Satrap. He had no need to abduct a man who was guesting in his home! In believing that Davad was a traitor, and that you have destroyed a plot by killing him, you cripple yourself. Whoever is behind your plot, if there ever was a plot, is still alive and free to do mischief. Perhaps you were manipulated into doing exactly what you say you feared: kidnapping the Satrap, to bring the wrath of Jamaillia down on Bingtown?' She struggled, then forced calm into her voice. 'I know Davad was not a traitor. But he may have been a dupe. A sly man like Davad could become the victim of someone slyer still. I suggest you go through Davad's papers carefully, and ask yourself, who was using him? Ask yourself the question that underlies every Trader's actions. Who profited?'
Ronica Vestrit met the eyes of each man in turn. 'Recall all you knew of Davad. Did he ever strike a bargain in which his profit was not certain? Did he ever place himself in physical danger? He was a social blunderer, a man close to being a pariah to both Old Traders and New. Is that the man with the charisma and expertise to engineer a plot against the most powerful man in the world?' She jerked her head disdainfully in Serilla's direction. 'Ask the Companion who fed her the information that led to her assumptions. Match those names against those bargaining through Davad, and you may have a starting place for your suspicions. When you have answers, you can find me at my home. Unless, of course, Trader Caern's son thinks murdering me as well would be the tidiest way to resolve this.' Ronica turned abruptly. Sword-straight and unsmiling, she faced Roed.
Handsome, swarthy Roed Caern looked suddenly pale and ill. 'Davad Restart was thrown clear of the coach. No one intended him to die there!'
Ronica met his angry look with ice. 'Your intentions made small difference. You did not care either way, about any of us. Malta heard what you said the night you left her to die. She saw you, she heard you, and she lived. Small thanks to any of you. Traders, Traders' sons, I believe you have much to think on this evening. Good night to you.'
This aging woman in the worn clothing still managed to sweep regally from the room. The relief Serilla felt as Ronica left the room was momentary. As she sat back in her chair, she became uncomfortably aware of the faces of the men around her. As she recalled her first words when the Old Traders entered the room, she cringed, and then decided she must defend them. 'That woman is not in her right mind,' she declared in a lowered voice. 'I truly believe she would have done me harm if you had not arrived when you did.' Quietly she added, 'It might be best if she were contained somehow… for her own safety.'
'I can't believe the rest of her family also survived,' Krion began in a nervous voice, but 'Shut up!' Roed Caern ordered him. He scowled about the room. 'I agree with the Companion. Ronica Vestrit is crazy. She talks of petitioning the Council and murder trials and judgments! How can she think that such rules apply during war? In these days, strong men must act. If we had waited for the Council to meet on the night of the fires, Bingtown would now be in Chalcedean hands. The Satrap would be dead, and the blame put on our heads. Individual Traders had to act, and each did. We saved Bingtown! I regret that Restart and the Vestrit women were entangled in the capture of the Satrap but they made the decision to get into the coach with him. When they chose such a companion, they chose their fate.'
'Capture?' Trader Drur raised an eyebrow at him. 'I was told we had intervened to prevent the New Traders from kidnapping him.'
Roed Caern did not blanch. 'You know what I mean,' he growled, and turned aside. He paced to a window and stared out over the darkened grounds as if trying to see Ronica's departing form.
Drur shook his head. The grizzled Trader looked older than his years. 'I know what we intended, but somehow…' He let his words trail away. Then he lifted his eyes and looked slowly around at all the folk in the room. 'It was why we came here tonight, Companion Serilla. My friends and I fear that in trying to save Bingtown, we have placed it on the path to destruction of its very heart.'
Roed's face went dark with anger. 'And I come to say that those of us young enough to be the beating of that heart know that we have not gone far enough. You long to treat with the New Traders, don't you, Drur? Even though they have already spat upon a truce offer. You would bargain away my birthright for the sake of a comfortable old age for yourself. Well, your daughter may sit home and tat while men are dying in the streets of Bingtown. She may allow you to crawl cravenly to those upstart newcomers and dicker away our rights for the sake of peace, but we shall not. What would come next? Would you give her to the Chalcedeans to buy peace with them?'
Trader Drur's face had gone red as a turkey's wattle. His fists knotted at his sides.
'Gentlemen. Please.' Serilla spoke softly. Tension thrummed in the room. Serilla sat at the center of it like
