dimly aware of hurried footsteps behind her, the soft susurrus of fabric. She startled when her mother spoke right at her elbow. “Good evening. I am Keffria, of the Vestrit Trader family.”
“Jani of the Rain Wild's Khuprus gives you greeting,” the hooded woman replied.
“May I present my daughter, Malta Haven of the Vestrit family?”
“You may indeed.” The woman's voice was a cultured purr. Malta belatedly remembered to bow. The woman chuckled approvingly. When she spoke, it was to Malta's mother. “I do not believe I have seen her at a Gathering before. Has she just entered society?”
“In truth, this is her first Gathering. She has not been presented yet. Her grandmother and I believe she must learn the duties and responsibilities of a Trader woman before she is presented as one.” In contrast to Jani, her mother's voice was courteous and hasty, as if correcting a wrong impression.
“Ah. That does sound like Ronica Vestrit. And I do approve of such philosophy. I fear it is becoming rarer in Bingtown these days.” Her tone smooth and rich as cream now.
“Your flame jewels are beautiful,” Malta blurted out. “Are they very expensive?” Even as she said it, she heard how childish she sounded.
“Malta!” her mother rebuked her.
But the Rain Wild woman chuckled throatily. “Actually, the scarlets are the most common and the easiest to awaken. But I still love them best. Red is such a rich color. The greens and blues are rarer far, and much harder to stir. And so, of course, they are the ones we charge most dearly for. The flame jewels are the exclusive province of the Khuprus, of course.”
“Of course,” her mother replied. “It is quite thrilling to see this new addition to the Khuprus merchandise. The rumors of them have not done them justice.” Her mother glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, dear! We have delayed you, I fear. We should probably all go in lest they begin without us.”
“Oh, they will wait on me, I am certain,” Jani Khuprus observed heavily. “It is at my behest we are all gathered here. But you are right, there is no courtesy in keeping others waiting. Keffria, young Malta. A pleasure to speak with you both.”
“Our pleasure,” her mother demurred, and stepped aside deferentially to allow the hooded woman to precede her. As her mother took her arm, she gripped it just a fraction tighter than was comfortable. “Oh, Malta,” she sighed in rebuke, and then firmly escorted her in. Just within the doors of the Trader Concourse, Grandmother awaited them. Her lips were folded tightly. She curtsied deeply to Jani Khuprus as she passed, then turned wide eyes on Malta and her mother.
Her mother waited a few moments to be sure Jani Khuprus was out of earshot, then hissed, “She presented herself to her!”
“Oh, Malta,” her grandmother groaned. Sometimes Malta felt her name was a sort of club. Almost any time either of them said it, they expressed anger or disgust or impatience with the world. She hung her cloak on a peg, then turned with a shrug.
“I just wanted to see her flame jewels,” she tried to explain, but as usual, neither of them was listening to her. Instead they hurried her inside the hall. It was dimly lit with tall standing branches of tapers. A third of the space had been given over to an elevated stage. The floor that she had always seen cleared for dancing was now lined with rows of chairs. And it was as she had feared. They were late. The tables of food were picked over and folk were either seated already or seeking their seats. “Can I go and sit with Delo?” she asked hastily.
“Delo Trell is not here,” Grandmother pointed out acidly. “Her parents had the good sense to leave her at home. Which is where I wish you were, also.”
“I didn't ask to come,” Malta replied, even as her mother said, “Mother!” in rebuke. A few moments later, Malta found herself seated between them at the end of a long row of cushioned chairs. Davad Restart sat at the very end. There was an elderly couple in front of them, a pox-scarred man and his pregnant wife behind them, and on the other side of Mama were two heavy-jowled brothers. They weren't even interesting to look at. By sitting up tall and craning her head, she finally found Cerwin Trell. He was six rows in front of them, and almost at the opposite end of the row. There were empty seats behind the Trells. She was sure her mother had deliberately chosen to seat her so far away.
“Sit still and pay attention,” her grandmother hissed.
Malta sighed and slumped back in her seat. Up front, Trader Trentor was midway through a long invocation to Sa. It seemed to be a long list of everything that had ever gone wrong for any of the Trader families. Instead of being angry that Sa had let such things befall them, he groveled along about how Sa always came to their aid.
If it had been Krion instead of his uncle, perhaps it would have been interesting. In the seats reserved for the Rain Wild Traders, several cowled heads were bent forward. She wondered if they were already dozing.
After the invocation, there was the speech of welcome by Trader Drur. It repeated the same tired litany. All were kin, all were Traders, ancient oaths and bonds, loyalty and unity, blood and kin. Malta found a flaw in the weave of her new robe. It was right at the edge of her knee. When she tried to point it out to her mother, she looked annoyed and made a shushing motion with her hand. When Drur finally resumed his seat and Jani Khuprus came forward, Malta sat up and leaned forward.
The Rain Wild Trader had taken off her heavy outer cloak and hood but her features were still obscured. She wore a lighter mantle of ivory, also hooded, and the lace veil that covered her face was actually a part of that garment. The flame jewels still shone as brilliantly and had lost none of their effect in the dimly lit room. As she spoke, her veiled face often turned to different corners of the room. Whenever she turned her head, the veil moved, and the flame gems flared up more brightly. There were fifteen of them, all as glistening red as pomegranate kernels, but about the size of shelled almonds. She couldn't wait to tell Delo that she had seen them up close and even spoken to Jani Khuprus about them.
The matriarchal woman suddenly lifted both hands and voice, and Malta focused on what she was saying. “We can no longer wait and hope. None of us can afford to do so. For if we do, our secrets shall be secrets no longer. Had not the river protected us, eating their ship to splinters as they fled, we would have been forced to kill them all ourselves. Bingtown Traders! How could this have happened to us? What has become of your vows? Tonight you listen to Jani Khuprus, but be assured I speak for all the Rain Wild Traders. This was more than a threat we faced.”
She paused. A long silence filled the Concourse. Then a mutter of voices rose. Malta assumed she was finished. She leaned over to her mother, and whispered, “I'm going to go get something to drink.”
“Sit still and be silent!” her grandmother hissed at both of them. There were deep lines of tension in her brow and around her mouth. Her mother didn't say a word. Malta sat back with a sigh.
One of the jowly brothers to their left rose abruptly. “Trader Khuprus!” he called out. When all heads turned to him, he asked simply, “What do you expect us to do?”
“Keep your promises!” Jani Khuprus snapped. Then, in a slightly milder tone, as if her own reply had surprised her, she added, “We must remain united. We must send representatives to the Satrap. For obvious reasons, they cannot come from Rain Wild families. But we would stand united with you in the message.”
“And that message would be?” someone queried from another part of the hall.
“I'm really thirsty,” Malta whispered. Her mother frowned at her.
“We must demand the Satrap honor our original covenant. We must demand he call back these so called New Traders, and cede back to us any lands he has deeded them.”
“And if he refuses?” This from a Trader woman in the back of the hall.
Jani Khuprus shifted uneasily. She did not want to answer the question. “Let us first ask him to honor the word of his forebears. We have never even asked him. We have complained and grumbled amongst ourselves, we have disputed individual claims. But not once have we stood up as a people and said, ‘Honor your word if you expect us to honor ours.’ “
“And if he refuses?” the woman repeated steadily.
Jani Khuprus lifted her gloved hands and then let them fall back to her sides. “Then he is without honor,” she said in a quiet voice that still carried to every part of the hall. “What have the Traders to do with those who are without honor? If he fails in his word, then we should withdraw ours. Stop sending him tribute. Market our goods wherever we please, rather than funneling the best of them through Jamaillia.” In an even quieter voice, she said, “Drive out the New Traders. Rule ourselves.”
A cacophony of voices broke out, some raised in outrage, others shrill with fear, and still others roaring their approval. At the end of the row, Davad Restart stood suddenly. “Hear me!” he shouted, and when no one paid
