“Lady captain makes stories.” The first speaker took over again as the leader replaced its veil and sat back. “Repu-ta-tion.” It spoke the last word for itself, and the translator sputtered it back to the room in the alien language.
Talis wouldn’t have recognized the word, as the alien struggled with the softer consonants and the vowels disappeared almost entirely. Except she held that particular word dear. Her reputation had gotten her good deals in the past. Big contracts. Because she’d get the work done, whatever it took.
Curse my reputation now, she thought, to all five hells and what’s left to flotsam.
But they’d appealed to the right element of her personality. And Zeela must have known what Talis knew: She could take them to talk to The Five. Or one of them, anyway.
So then. She was going to do it, wasn’t she?
“It will be very expensive to escort your ship on a venture like that.”
The alien gestured, and the other two rose, moved behind the bolsters on their side of the room, and lifted a crate between them. They carefully stepped back over the cushions and placed it before Talis. One of them flitted its hand across the alien latch, and it popped open just slightly. Then the pair stepped back, pulling the lid open on silent metal tracks as they retreated.
Somewhere far away, Talis heard herself make a tiny sound. The room spun, sparkling with silver, gold, and a rainbow of twinkling gemstones. Her mind took several heartbeats longer than the communication pad to process the alien’s next words.
“For second request we make first payment of five hundred thousand coin equivalent. Second same payment after.”
Chapter 14
Talis left Zeela’s House of Antiquities by the front door.
The wooden porches and suspension bridges of the Platform District were kept freshly sanded by sighted custodians paid for from the coffers of the district’s shopkeeper co-op. No paint marks made along the walls here would remain for more than a few hours. The golden boards reflected the tawny warmth of delicate lights strung along railings and overhead. Around each glass bulb, duskfey flew in spheroid circuits, their luminescence competing with that of the electric and gas street lights. The cheer of the setting belied the chill of the cold winds below Rosa’s dark mass, and the danger of the undercity.
In the Platform District, where the Vein who came to live in Subrosa kept their shops and offices, wind chimes replaced the painted signs and graffiti that visually cluttered the rest of the black markets. The shopkeepers’ delicate hangings—tinkling metal, glass, and ceramics—competed for attention with the gangs’ makeshift cups, pins, and thin metal takeout trays as they danced in the open spaces just past the archway that led from the Tined Spoon District.
Talis’s hands trembled like those chimes. All the adrenaline that flooded her system during the meeting had abandoned her in its aftermath. She paused to lean against the railing of one open bridge. Her head spun as she stared into the skies beneath her. She was lightheaded, chilled. She hugged herself for warmth.
Gods. Dealings with the aliens now? How am I going to tell the crew?
The multi-octave sounds of the chimes announced a gust of wind before it reached her, and she braced her legs as best she could on the swaybacked bridge that would take her back to the docks.
Show them the money. Worked on you, didn’t it?
The trunk and its glittering contents would soon be on its own way to Wind Sabre, repacked into a cargo crate bearing customs forms for tea and herbs. Lighter, of course, by Zeela’s eighteen percent. Talis didn’t begrudge her the generous amount. She would have given Zeela an even bigger commission. The woman had saved her. Saved Wind Sabre. But for Talis, haggling was like breathing, and Talis talked her down because the initial amount Zeela requested would have been higher than she’d hoped for. If Zeela had pressed, Talis would have given up ground. She’d still come out well ahead thanks to the antiquarian and her clients.
Paranoid that the aliens might exit Zeela’s shop and catch her alone on the bridge, she pushed off, heading back to the docks. She still felt odd for not having haggled with the aliens, but what they’d offered was beyond her ability to properly appreciate. The mind stopped understanding numbers above a certain count.
Her feet bounced on the wooden planks strung between platforms, and her spirits bounced higher with each step. It was done. The troublesome ring was out of her hands and the money was forthcoming. Barely an hour after her dark moment in the alley outside The Docked Tail, the engine repair was a non-issue. Bills could be paid, overdue shares balanced for her crew, and luxuries still afforded beyond that. And all before they accepted the second payment at the other end of this. Her mind turned fanciful and the numbers turned to vapor. The math still made sense, but only in terms of abstracts. Everyone aboard Wind Sabre could afford their own ship after the shares were distributed.
A knot formed in her stomach at that thought, and she slowed her pace.
But why shouldn’t they all go on with their own careers? Or retire, buy an island? Hells, an inner island! Plague the aristocracy with their presence.
Gods, woman, don’t get ahead of yourself.
The money wasn’t aboard the ship yet. She could be anxious over that at the right time, which wasn’t now.
What Zeela gained in the bargain went beyond wealth. Beyond eighteen percent of one million seventy-five thousand presscoins. She could now declare herself the official trade representative to the aliens. Wouldn’t that be something to put on her shop sign? ‘Herbal Remedies, Antiques, Alien Trade.’ The Yu’Nyun had provided her
