The Hazards of Free Trade, Chapter One: Complications
No one knew who the woman in the portrait had been, if indeed she had ever existed outside the artist’s imagination. The painting had been purchased from an estate sale some years before because it matched the colors of the room and was the right size to fill a small alcove that would otherwise have been bare. Netha loved it. She had wiled away many a lazy summer afternoon stretched out on the rug across from the alcove and studying the painting. She knew every line, every color, from the shimmering green of the woman’s gown to the rich auburn of her perfect curls to the tiny glint of a sapphire set into the silver ring adorning her hand. The woman’s face was not fully visible, she sat facing a window, looking out across the woods towards a sloping hill, past which you could see the sea. Netha had always imagined that it was her lover she was watching for, away on some long journey, soon to return.
The lover was not in the picture but Netha knew what he looked like anyway, could picture every line of his face, how he would move, and smell and smile. Then, as if summoned by the thought, he came strolling into the greatroom bringing the world in with him as he always seemed to do.
Jessian. Dressed today in his traveling clothes; thick, sturdy boots, long cloak, light leather vest over his usual silk tunic. His dark hair was bound back so that it moved as he did, swinging with his swaggering gait as he crossed the room. Netha sat up, little heart fluttering, eyes only for him but he did not see her, his attention captured by the beauty lounging across the couch. Liirian lowered her book as he approached and smiled up at him as he bent to give her a kiss. Netha turned away, looked at the painting again and thought, for a moment, that she saw a touch of sadness in the lady’s eyes. After all, in her frozen world on the canvas, she would never feel her lover’s kiss either.
“Netha?” His voice brought her back around, sent her pulse racing as he strode toward her, one hand hidden behind his back and a grin on his lips. She rose to greet him, eyes wide with expectation. That smile usually meant a gift. And even the smallest gift from Jessian was a treasure, not only because he could afford more lavish indulgences than her parents had ever managed but simply because it was from him and he was, she was certain, the only man she would ever love.
His hidden hand swung around, open and empty. It took her a moment to realize that this was because the gift was curled around his wrist and forearm, a tiny serpentine body with dazzling red and gold wings and bright, inquisitive eyes.
Netha bit back the urge to squeal and clap, forcing her body still as she reached out a hand to allow the hatchling a disinterested little sniff. “Is he for me?” She knew the answer already, but it would be impolite to assume.
“His name…” Jessian smiled as he uncoiled the little dragonhawk and transferred its warm weight to her arm. “..is Tyrinix.”
*****
Tyrinix rustled his wings, tilting a bit to one side to let the cold wind dance across them with a low rasping purr of contentment. Jelleneth permitted him the indulgence of a few lazy circles around the city because she honestly was not looking forward to the landing either. Tyr would merely be cooped up in the stables for a few hours. She would have to spend those hours in conference with Torian. The hawk went into a dive, flying just below a gryphon with a rather dour looking dwarf on its back. Tyrinix kept pace with them, strafing right and left as the gryphon did to remain directly below it. Just as the gryphon was approaching the landing the hawk shot upwards, beak aimed at the creature’s underbelly. The gryphon shrieked and rolled to one side, nearly unseating it’s rider as Tyrinix coiled away, his rise becoming a graceful spin, flashing the underside of his wings at the lesser beast before fluttering down to allow his mistress to dismount on the elegant tiles of Krasus Landing.
Mindful of her brother’s insistence on propriety, Jelleneth had donned her dress armor. Torian, however, was wearing a robe of the same fashion he favored in his Temple days. Clearly he only meant to fight political battles today. Jelleneth had been on the costly side of his maneuvering often enough to take no comfort in that. His eyes narrowed slightly in irritation at her attire but otherwise he remained utterly poised and indifferent. This was, after all, not a social call.
“I note,” he began, removing a single sheet of paper from the small pile on the table before him and examining it. “that you have refused a request to transport a small squad back from the front. I should have thought you would be eager to see all the troops safely home.”
“It wasn’t a refusal.” Jelleneth could feel her jaw tightening. The Captain’s mask was always difficult to maintain around Torian. He seemed to know exactly what to say to make her lose her temper. “If you will check the wording it is cannot comply. Not will not. There is a difference.”
“And why can you not?” his tone remained incredulous and put Jelleneth instantly in mind of a dozen childhood incidents where he had used just that tone and just these tactics to wheedle the truth from her.
“The waters are too icy. Treacherous. Vor’rik tinkered us a device to let us pass through them safely but it overloaded and needed repairs. As soon as the repairs are done we’ll be able to head north again. Not till then.” All of this was in the report she had sent him but he was going to force her to say it all aloud, listen and watch for traces of deceit in her voice, on her face, in her manner. She hated this game.
Torian sat, studying her for just long enough a span for the silence to become uncomfortable, then he looked back down at the page again. “Yes. And you sent this device out for these repairs. You employ three crewmen with skills in machinery do you not? One of whom, in fact, created the device in question. It seems an irresponsible use of time and resources to send it elsewhere. I also note that you did not include the name of the shop to which you sent it.”
“The name is irrelevant. He’s not charging me for the repair. I only have to pay for the parts, which I’d have been doing anyway. And I think he can also rig us up a failsafe so that the device doesn’t overload again.”
“Also at no charge?” Torian quirked a brow at her and pulled up another sheet. “I note that you recently paid a substantial sum for a small amount of cargo that moved off the ship again with no change in the fiscal log. Was this perhaps attached to this lack of charge? Or are you paying this man in some other way?”
“He’s a friend.” She stated flatly, pointedly ignoring the implications in his tone. “And he enjoys tinkering. Thus, no charge.”
“A handy fellow to have around then. What did you say his name was?”
“I said his name was irrelevant.” No. She would not be subjecting Chryseth to her brother. For many reasons.
Their eyes locked. A silent battle of wills that Jelleneth, for once, won. Torian’s eyes narrowed again as the silence drew on. “I expect all such charges to be properly annotated in the future. I have noticed several discrepancies in the logs. I cannot attribute all of them to your lack of skill with numbers. If you are unwilling to disclose the uses to which your vessel is being put then we may be forced to assume that your activities are illegal, perhaps even treasonous. Better documentation in the future. Understood?”
She clamped her mouth around an angry retort and simply nodded. Torian, stung by his small defeat, would not let it go at that however and sat staring at her until she managed to master her voice enough to calmly state. “Understood.”
“Good.” He swept the papers up and placed them off to the side before rising and crossing the room to her, arms outstretched. “Now we can be family again.”
Jelleneth glared at him before stepping to the side, his silent request for an embrace ignored. His arms lowered again and he turned to her with a tired sigh. “I would think that as a ship’s captain you would understand that some things are not personal. This was merely business.”
“I note,” she copied his previous curt and professional tone with just an edge of mockery. “that you take a rather more active interest in my business than mere duty should dictate.”
“I worry for you. That is a brother’s function. And we have not all forgotten our familial duties.”
She stiffened, fighting the urge to hit him. In a tight little voice she said. “The business portion of the meeting being finished I believe I will take my leave. If there is nothing else?”
Torian ignored the tone and, apparently, the words as well. “I dine in an hour. I trust you’ll have found something suitable to wear by then. And do try to summon some wit. There will be some important people at the table, we musn’t make a bad first impression.”
“No.” The single word was firm, angry. Torian, again, paid no mind to it.
“I will meet you here within the hour then. I don’t suppose there will be time to do anything about your hair?”
“I am not coming to dinner, Torian. I have other appointments, and a thousand ways I would rather be spending my time than trying to be gracious whilst you parade me in front of a pack of noblemen like a strider brood hen in hopes that one of them will inquire after my price. I will never belong to that world. I am not Liirian.” The last few words were all but shouted and left a ringing silence behind them into which Torian spoke four cold words.
“No. You are not.”
As she stalked back to the stables Jelleneth could feel the tears beginning to rise and bit them back furiously. There was no time for such things. She had a job to do, a shipment of thistle owed to her contact in Booty Bay that she now, clearly, could not use ship funds to acquire. For not the first time she considered how much simpler pure piracy would be as she dug out the coins for the stablemaster.