The Dragon Keeper

fairness was owed to any of them. He gestured toward the door of his small stateroom, certain that this well- garbed merchant would be appalled at his tiny quarters.

“And while we talk, I will have my workers ferry the grain to your barge.”

“Before we have set a price?” Leftrin was surprised. It gave him too much of an advantage. If he delayed the bargaining until most of the cargo was on board his vessel, and then refused to meet the merchant’s demands, the Chalcedean would have to have his crew unload the entire barge again.

“I am very certain that we shall agree upon a price we both find fair,” the man said quietly.

So be it, Leftrin thought to himself. Never turn down an advantage in bargaining. Over his shoulder, he called to the mate, “Hennesey! You and Grigsby watch the grain sacks as they bring them. Keep a count of each. Don’t be shy about checking any that look light or water-stained or rat-gnawed. Tap on my door when we’ve got a load.”

When they had entered and seated themselves, Leftrin on his bunk and the merchant on the room’s sole chair at the small table, the man lost none of his aplomb. He looked about the humble room and then again made his formal nod and said, “I wish you to know my name. I am Sinad of the Arich heritage. The sons of my family have been traders for longer than Bingtown has existed. We have not favoured the wars that have put our countries at odds with one another and restricted our traffic and our profits. So, now that the hostilities have subsided, we hasten to make contact directly with the traders of the Rain Wild River. We wish to establish custom that will eventually, we hope, be very profitable to both of us. In fact, exclusive custom with a small circle of reputable traders would make us rejoice.”

Despite his reservations about all Chalcedeans, the man’s directness impressed Leftrin favourably. He brought out the bottle of rum and the two small glasses he kept in his room for trading negotiations. The glasses were ancient, heavy and a very dark blue. As he poured the rum, silver stars suddenly sparkled in a band around the rim of each glass. The display had the desired effect on the merchant. He gave a small gasp of amazement and then leaned forward avariciously. He took up his glass without being invited to do so, and held it up to the cabin’s small window. Leftrin spoke while he was still admiring the priceless article.

“I’m Leftrin, captain and owner of the river barge Tarman. And I don’t know what my family did for a living before we left Jamaillia, and I expect it doesn’t much matter. What I do now is run this barge. I trade. If you’re an honest man with clean goods, we’ll strike a bargain, and the next time I see you, I’ll be even more prone to bargain. But I don’t trade exclusively with anyone. The man who gets my coins is the man with the best bargain. So. Let’s settle to our task. How much per sack for the wheat, and how much for the barley?”

The Chalcedean lowered his glass back to the table. He had not tasted it. “What are you offering? For goods such as these,” and he tapped the glass before him with the back of his forefinger’s nail, “I’d be willing to give you an excellent exchange.”

“I’m offering only coin, this trip. Coins of silver and gold, by weight value rather than minting. Nothing else.” The glasses were of Elderling make. He had a few treasures of that nature. A woman’s shawl that seemed to generate warmth. A strong box that emitted chimes and a bright light whenever the lid was opened. There were other items as well, mostly things his grandfather had bought for his grandmother many years ago. He kept them all beneath a secret hatch under his bunk. It pleased him to use glasses worth a fortune to serve a Chalcedean merchant rum in the confines of his seemingly humble stateroom.

Sinad Arich leaned back on the small chair. It creaked as it took his weight. He lifted his wide shoulders and then let them fall. “Coin is good, for grain. I can use coin, of any minting. With coin, a man can traffic in any goods he chooses. Grain on this trip, for example. But on my last journey I visited Bingtown, with coin of my own. And there what I bought for my coin was information.”

Chill uncertainty rose in Leftrin. The man had not made a threatening move but his earlier comment about his “efficient barge” now took on an ominous meaning. Leftrin continued to lean back in his chair and to smile. But the smile didn’t reach his pale eyes. “Let’s set a price for the grain and be done. I’d like to be heading back up the river by the turn of the tide.”

“As would I,” Sinad concurred.

Leftrin took a swig from his glass. The rum went down warm but the glass seemed unusually cold against his fingers. “Surely you mean that by the turn of the tide, you hope to be back to sea.”

Sinad took a gentlemanly sip from his own glass. “Oh, no. I am most careful to say exactly what I mean, especially when I am speaking in a tongue once foreign to me. I am hoping that by the time the tide turns, my grain and my personal effects will be loaded on your barge. I expect that we will have settled a price for my grain and for your services, and that you will then take me up your river.”

“I can’t. You must know our rules and laws in this matter. You are not only a foreigner, you are a Chalcedean. To visit the Rain Wilds, you must have a permit from the Bingtown Traders’ Council. To trade with us, you must have the proper licences from the Rain Wild Council. You cannot even travel up the river without the proper travel papers.”

“Which, as I am not a fool, I have. Stamped, sealed, and signed in purple ink. I also carry letters of recommendation from several Bingtown Traders, attesting that I am a most honest and honourable trader. Even if I am a Chalcedean.”

A drop of sweat had begun to trickle down Leftrin’s spine. If the man actually possessed the paperwork he claimed to have, then he was either a miracle worker or a most adept blackmailer. Leftrin could not recall a time in his life when he had seen a Chalcedean visiting the Rain Wilds legally. They had come as raiders, as warriors and occasionally as spies, but not as legitimate traders. He doubted that a Chalcedean would know how to be a legitimate trader. No. This man was trouble and danger. And he had deliberately chosen to approach Leftrin and the Tarman. Not good.

Sinad set his glass carefully back on the small table. It remained half full. He smiled at it and then observed blandly, “This vessel of yours fascinates me. For instance, it interests me that propelling it once demanded a dozen oarsmen. Now, it is said, you crew it with only six men, counting yourself. For a barge of this size, I find that startling. Almost as surprising that your tillerman can hold his place here at the river’s mouth with apparent ease.” He lifted the glass again and held it to the light as if admiring the small stars.

“I redesigned the hull to make the barge more efficient.” A second drop of sweat joined the first in its journey down his back. Who had talked? Genrod, of course. He’d heard, a few years ago, that the man had moved from Trehaug to Bingtown. At the time Leftrin had suspected that the money he had paid him for his work on Tarman had financed the man’s move. Genrod was an amazing artisan, a master in the working of wood, even wizardwood, and four years ago Leftrin had paid him well, very well indeed, for both his skill and his silence. The results of his efforts had far surpassed Leftrin’s wildest hopes, and he recalled now, with a sinking heart, that more than once Genrod had mourned that his ‘greatest work must remain secret and submerged forever’. Not money, but Genrod’s egotistical need to brag was what had betrayed Leftrin’s trust. If he ever saw the skinny little wretch again, he’d tie a knot in him.

The Chalcedean was regarding him closely. “Surely I am not the only one who has noticed this? I imagine that many of your fellow Traders envy your new-found efficiency, and doubtless they have importuned you to know the secret of your new hull design. For if you have modified a ship as old as yours, one that, I am told, is among the oldest of the Trading vessels built from the marvellous dragon wood, then surely they will wish to do the same with theirs.”

Leftrin hoped he had not gone pale. He abruptly doubted that Genrod was the source of all this information. The carver might have bragged of working on Tarman, but Genrod was Trader through and through. He would not have spoken openly of Tarman’s pedigree as the eldest liveship. This trader had more than one source of gossip. He tried to bait a name out of him. “Traders respect one another’s secrets,” was all he said.

“Do they? Then they are like no other traders I have ever known. Every trader I know is always eager to discover whatever advantage his fellow has. Gold is sometimes offered for such secrets. And when gold does not buy the desired item, well, I have heard tales of violence done.”

“Neither gold nor violence will buy what you seek from me.” Sinad shook his head. “You mistake me. I will not go into whether it was gold or violence, but I will tell you that the exchange has already been made, and all that I need to know about you and your ship, I know. Let us speak plainly. The High Duke of Chalced is not a young man. With every year, nay, with almost every week, that passes some new ailment frets him. Some of the most