Ship of Magic

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 attention, he climbed up on top of his chair, where he balanced ponderously. “HEAR ME!” he roared out, a surprising sound from such an ineffectual man. All eyes turned to him and the babble died down.

“This is madness,” he announced. “Think what will happen next. He won't let Bingtown go that easily. The Satrap will send ship-loads of soldiers. He will confiscate our holdings. He will deed them over to the New Traders, and make slaves of our families. No. We must work with the New Traders. Give them, not all, but enough to make them content. Make them a part of us, as we did with the Three-Ships Immigrants. I'm not saying we should teach them all we know, or that they should be allowed to trade with Rain Wild Traders, but . . .”

“Then what are you saying, Restart?” someone demanded angrily from the back of the hall. “As long as you're speaking for your New Trader friends, just how much do they want of us?”

Someone else chimed in, “If the Satrap were interested in sending ships up the Inside Passage, he'd have cleaned out the pirates long ago. They say the old patrol galleys are rotting at their quays, for lack of taxes to man them or repair them. All the money goes for the Satrap to entertain himself. He cares nothing about the serpents and pirates that devour our trade. All he cares is that he be amused. The Satrap is no threat to us. Why should we bother with demands. Let's just run these New Traders off ourselves. We don't need Jamaillia!”

“Then where would we sell our goods? All the richest trade is to the south, unless you want to deal with the northern barbarians.”

“That's another thing. The pirates. The old covenant said the Satrap would protect us from sea marauders. If we're making demands, we should tell him that-”

“We do need Jamaillia! What are we without Jamaillia? Jamaillia is poetry and art and music, Jamaillia is our mother culture. You can't cut off trade there and still-”

“And the serpents! The damn slavers draw the serpents, we should demand that slavers be outlawed from the Inside Passage-”

“We are an honorable folk. Even if the Satrap cannot recall how to keep his word, we are still bound by-”

“-will take our homes and lands and make slaves of us all. We'll be right back where our forebears were, exiles and criminals, with no hope of reprieve.”

“We should set up our own patrol ships, to start with. Not just to keep New Traders away from the mouth of the Rain Wild, but to hunt serpents and pirates as well. Yes, and to make clear to Chalced once and for all that the Rain Wild River is not their border, but that their control stops at Hover Inlet. They've been pushing-”

“You'd have us in two wars at once then, battling both Chalced and Jamaillia! That's stupid. Remember, were it not for Jamaillia and the Satrap, Chalced would have tried to overrun us years ago. That's what we risk if we cut ourselves free of Jamaillia. War with Chalced!”

“War? Who speaks of war? All we need to ask is that the Satrap Cosgo keep the promises that Satrap Esclepius made to us!”

Once more the hall erupted with a chorus of angry voices. Traders stood on their chairs, or shouted from where they stood. Malta couldn't make sense of any of it. She doubted anyone could. “Mother,” she whispered pleadingly. “I am dying of thirst! And it's so stuffy in here. Can I just go outside for a breath of air?”

“Not now!” her mother snapped.

“Malta, shut up,” her grandmother added. She didn't even look at her, she seemed to be trying to follow a conversation between two men three rows ahead of them.

“Please,” Jani Khuprus was calling from the stage. “Hear me, please! Please!” As the babble died down, she spoke more quietly, forcing folk to be silent to hear her. “This is our biggest danger. We quarrel among ourselves. We speak with many voices, and so the Satrap heeds none of them. We need a strong group of people to take our words to the Satrap, and we must be united and sincere in what we say. One strong voice he must heed, but as long as we tear at one another like ...”

“I have to use the back house,” Malta whispered. There. That was something they never argued with. Her grandmother gave a disapproving shake of her head, but they let her go. Davad Restart was so intent on what Jani Khuprus was saying he scarcely noticed her slip past him.