The Mad Ship

She indicated the texts arranged on the table. ‘Here we have a copy of the original Bingtown Charter. This, the list of grievances they have submitted to us. This stack is made up of copies of new land grants you have issued in the Bingtown area.’ She turned to face him. ‘Considering their first point: I find that we have most definitely violated their original charter. All the new grants are in direct violation of the old agreement. You had no authority to issue new land grants to Bingtown lands without consulting the Traders first. That was clearly spelled out in their initial charter.’

He scowled but said nothing. She ran her fingertip down the scroll. ‘They also protest the new tariffs that have been levied, as well as the increases in the old ones. Those, I think we can justify, though we may have to be more moderate in the percentages.’ She perused the Traders’ list of grievances. ‘They complain also about the New Traders trafficking in slaves, and using slaves on their properties. And there is a final complaint about the financing of Chalcedean patrol boats and the stationing of patrol boats in Bingtown Harbour. These are areas in which I think we can negotiate compromises.’

‘Compromises,’ Cosgo muttered in disgust. ‘Am I not the Satrap? Why need I compromise at all?’

She set her chin in her hand and stared out over the gardens pensively. ‘Because you have violated the word of your ancestor. The Bingtown Traders are provincial in many ways. And conservative. They follow many of the old traditions. They keep their bargains to the written letter; a man’s word does not die with him, it is the responsibility of his heirs to honour it. They expect others to do the same. The delegation was very angry when they arrived. They had had a long voyage in which to commiserate with one another. They reinforced one another’s opinions until they were mutually convinced that their position was unassailable. And, of course, only those most angered by our recent actions would take the time to come so far to confront us. They were definitely our adversaries. Still, they might have been mollified on some of their complaints if you had agreed to meet with them personally.’ She turned back to face the Satrap.

He looked both grim and sulky. ‘I was ill that week. It was all I could do to meet with the Chalcedean trade delegation. You might also recall that there was an investiture of priests that I had to attend.’

‘You spent most of the week in a stupor, sampling the new pleasure drugs the Chalcedeans had brought you. Twice you promised me you would meet with the Bingtown delegation. Each time you kept them waiting for hours before sending word you were indisposed. You left me in a very uncomfortable position. They departed feeling snubbed and ignored. They were more convinced than ever of their own righteousness.’ She did not add that she agreed with them. It was her task to present the facts to him, not her feelings. At least, that was her present task. She hoped soon to take on more than that, if her plans prospered.

‘Stiff-necked sons of outcasts and outlaws,’ he sneered. ‘I should do as my friend Duke Yadfin advised me. Put him in place as my appointed governor in Bingtown. Dissolve their silly, feuding Councils. Old Traders, New Traders…who can keep up with it all? A little Chalcedean discipline would do that rabble good.’

Serilla could not help herself. She gaped at him. He scratched his nose negligently.

‘You cannot be serious,’ she offered at last. She was even prepared to feign amusement at his tasteless jest. Put a Chalcedean noble in authority over Bingtown?

‘Why not? Chalced is a good ally. Bingtown’s base slandering of them has proven groundless. Bingtown is closer to Chalced than it is to Jamaillia. A governor from Chalced could better regulate the folk there, and as long as I still received my percentages and tariffs, what harm ’

‘All of Bingtown would rise up in rebellion against you. There has already been talk of such a revolt. They would break with Jamaillia and govern themselves before they would tolerate a Chalcedean in power over them.’

‘Break with Jamaillia? They are nothing without Jamaillia. Bingtown is a backwards trade town, a frontier settlement with no future save trade with my city. They would not dare break with Jamaillia.’

‘I fear you have greatly misjudged the temperament of the folk there. For too long, you have left them to fend for themselves. They begin to question why they should be taxed for protection and improvements they have not received for five years.’

‘Oh, I see. Since my father’s death, you mean. You blame the discontent of this rabble on me, do you?’

‘No. Not entirely.’ She kept her voice flat. ‘Before your father died, his mind had begun to wander. He was not as adept at detail work as he had been when a young man. He, too, had begun to neglect Bingtown. You have simply let the slide continue.’

‘All the more reason then to put a governor there. You see? By your own logic, my idea is a good one.’ He sat back, fanning himself contentedly.

She was silent until she could speak without shrieking. ‘It is not your idea, Magnadon. It is Duke Yadfin’s plan to fleece you while you smile and smoke his pleasure herbs. Legally, you cannot appoint a governor for Bingtown, let alone one from Chalced. That is not the structure of the charter of their founding.’

‘Then do away with the stupid charter!’ he roared at her. ‘Why do I owe them anything? They fled to the Cursed Shores, exiles, criminals, and rebellious young lords. For years, they have lived as they pleased up there, enjoying all the benefits of Jamaillian citizenship without shouldering the burdens…’

‘They cede to you fifty percent of their profits, Magnadon. That is a higher rate than any other class of citizens pay. They argue, and well, that they receive few benefits, that they have paid for all improvements to their harbours and that the piracy in the Inside Passage is worse than it has been since…’

‘Yet they resist my efforts to control the pirates. How can I protect them if they will not permit my patrol boats to shelter in their harbour?’

She sorted pages quickly. ‘Here. They propose that instead of your Chalcedean hirelings, they be allowed to keep those taxes and fund their own patrol vessels. Their argument is that as they are familiar with the tides and channels, and that they could patrol their area more effectively. Their figures indicate they could do it less expensively.’

‘But would they do a good job?’ Cosgo demanded.

Serilla sighed. ‘It is in their own best interests to do a good job.’ She leafed through several more sheets of thick paper. ‘I think this is one proposal you could have accepted easily, and gained much support from them in the process.’

‘Oh, very well.’ He shoved at her sorted papers in disgust. ‘I’ll see them and agree to that one. But they have to…’

‘Magnadon Cosgo, it is too late for that,’ she pointed out impatiently. ‘The delegation left here weeks ago. They went back to Bingtown.’

‘Then why are we worrying about any of this?’ he demanded. He rose. ‘Come. Accompany me to the steam pools. I think it would ease my head.’

Serilla didn’t move. ‘You promised that you would consider their complaints and reply to each one. You promised you would send your decision to them soon.’ She weighed her chances, decided to risk all. ‘I would like to write up your decisions and take ship to Bingtown. The sooner I carry your decisions to them, the sooner the crisis is resolved.’ She shuffled papers yet again, aligning them with obsessive tidiness. ‘I have drawn up a doctrine authorizing me to negotiate on your behalf. If you wish, you could simply sign it. I could take ship tomorrow, and you would not be bothered by any more of this discussion.’ She fought to keep hope from her face and voice.

He leaned over the table to look at the document penned in her even hand. Her heartbeat quickened. She longed to nudge the pen and ink towards him, but resisted. That would be too obvious.

‘This says I give my consent for you to make all decisions on my behalf, as regards the Bingtown Charter controversy.’ He sounded outraged. ‘I do not give that sort of power to anyone!’

Her heart sank. It wasn’t going to be as easy as she had hoped, but she would not give up yet. ‘It is true that you have not given anyone that sort of power in the past. Still, just a moment ago you spoke of appointing a Chalcedean governor. That would be ceding a great deal more power than this. This is but a temporary measure.’ She took a deep breath. She tried to put concern into her voice. ‘There was a time when your health used to be more robust. I know how these negotiations task you. I see no sense why the entire Satrapy should endure the risk to your health. Bingtown is my area of expertise. I should be very happy to serve you in this regard. I feel it is my duty.’

‘Your duty? I wonder. Not your opportunity, then?’

He had always been slyer than he looked. She tried to appear baffled by his words. ‘Magnadon, I have always considered my duty to the Satrapy to be my greatest opportunity in life. Now. As you can see, I have left plenty of room at the bottom where we can write in some limitations. A time limit seems called for, for example.’ She shrugged. ‘I simply saw this as the swiftest, easiest way to solve this.’

‘You would go to Bingtown? Alone? The Companions of the Heart do not leave the grounds of the palace. Not ever.’

Freedom receded. She let nothing show on her face. ‘As I said, I sought the swiftest, easiest way to resolve this without taxing your health. I am completely informed on the history of the situation. I imagined you would convey your wishes to me, and that in turn I would pass them on to the Bingtown Traders. By honouring them with a visit from one of your Heart Companions, you convince them of both your sincerity and your regard for them. It would also present me with the opportunity to see first-hand a city that has been at the heart of my studies for several years.’

Fabled Bingtown. Frontier city of magic and opportunity. The only settlement that had ever survived the Cursed Shores, let alone prospered there. How she longed to see it for herself. She said nothing of the Rain Wild Traders, and their reputed cities far up the Rain Wild River. They were no more than an elusive legend. To imply there was treasure he did not even suspect would only excite his greed. She tried to refocus her thoughts. ‘Before your father died, he promised me that someday I would see that city for myself. This is also an opportunity for you to keep that promise.’ As soon as she uttered the words, she knew they were a mistake.

‘He said he would let you go to Bingtown? Preposterous! Why would he promise you such a thing?’ His eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion. ‘Or is that what you demanded in return for your favours? Did my father ever lie with you?’

A year ago, when he had first dared ask her that question, it had shocked her into silence. He had asked it so often since then that the silence was a reflex now. It was the only true power she had over him. He didn’t know. He didn’t know if his father had had what she refused him, and it gnawed at him.

She recalled the first time she had ever seen Cosgo. He had been fifteen, and she was nineteen. She was very young to be a Heart Companion. It was surprising that such an elderly Satrap would even take a new Companion. When she had been presented to Cosgo as his father’s new adviser, the young man had looked from her to his father and back again. His glance had spoken his thoughts plainly. She had blushed, and the Satrap had slapped his son for his insolent gaze. Young Cosgo had taken that to mean that his base suspicions were true.

When his father died, Cosgo had dismissed all his father’s Heart Companions. Ignoring all tradition, he had sent them off without the mercy of shelter and sustenance for their declining years. Most had been elderly women. Serilla alone he retained. She would have left then, if she could have. As long as she wore a Satrap’s ring, she was bound to the Satrap’s side. Cosgo was Satrap now. Her vows demanded that she stay and advise him as long as he desired it. Her advice was all he could require of her. From the beginning, he had made it plain he wished more. For his other Heart Companions, he had chosen women more educated in the flesh than in diplomacy. Not one of them refused him.

Traditionally, the Companions of the Heart were not a harem. They were supposed to be women with no other loyalties than to the Satrapy. They were supposed to be what Serilla was: blunt, out-spoken, and ethically uncompromising. They were the Satrap’s conscience. They were supposed to be demanding, not comforting. Sometimes Serilla wondered if she were the only Companion who remembered that.

Serilla suspected that if she ever did allow him into her bed, she would lose all power over him. As long as she represented a possession of his father’s that he could not claim, he would want her. He would pretend to listen to her, and occasionally actually follow her advice in an attempt to please her. It was the last vestige of power left to her. She hoped she could use it as a lever to gain her freedom.

So now, she regarded him in cool silence. She waited.

‘Oh, very well!’ he suddenly exclaimed in disgust. ‘I will take you to Bingtown, then, if it means so much to you.’

She teetered between elation and dismay. ‘You’ll let me go, then?’ she asked breathlessly.

A tiny frown creased his brow. Then he smiled at her. He had a tiny thin moustache that twitched just like a cat’s whiskers. ‘No. That is not what I said. I said I’d take you there. You can accompany me, when I go.’

‘But you are the Satrap!’ she faltered. ‘For two generations, no ruling Satrap has left Jamaillia City!’

‘It is as you said. This will convince them of my sincerity when we negotiate. Besides. It is on my way to Chalced. I have been invited there numerous times. I had already decided to go. You shall accompany me there, after we have settled the rebellious rabble in Bingtown.’ His smile widened. ‘There is much you can learn in Chalced. I think it will be good for both of us.’

7 A BINGTOWN TRADER’S DAUGHTER (#ulink_9af573f4-e1e7-5169-be7a-35e430af55c6)

‘SIT STILL.’

‘It hurts,’ Malta protested. She lifted a hand to touch the hair her mother was twining into gleaming coils. Her mother pushed her hand away.