Trader's Honour Read online

  Mother said, her eyes pleading, "I thought you had a good chance of becoming someone important at the hospital. Eydrina was going to recommend you for surgeon training."

  Mikandra shrugged, feeling closer to tears than she dared admit. She'd wanted this since she was a little girl, damn it. Since seeing Aunt Amandra come to the house in her uniform, since hearing her stories about travel and other worlds. Since Aunt Amandra had spoken so eloquently about the opportunities that existed in Trading for women, since they were better at maintaining networks similar to the Coldi social networks. And if you understood the Coldi, and they respected you, many doors opened for you that were normally closed.

  "I am stunned by your audacity," Father said into the heavy silence. "I will be talking to Iztho Andrahar."

  Mikandra looked up sharply. He was going to do what? "Why? It's his decision to sign me on." And why should Iztho Andrahar care about what some self-important Lawkeeper thought?

  "Because I want him to understand that you're not going, and I can't believe for one moment that he signed the application with full knowledge of what he was doing."

  What? "Why wouldn't he?"

  "The Andrahar family is very traditional, and would assign their succession in the line of the oldest son of the oldest son. So, if it is true that Iztho signed for your training—"

  "—why won't you believe me?—"

  He raised his voice. "—If it is true, then their intention is to use you for a bridging period until he has a son only to cast you out later, or . . . some other reason."

  "Lots of Traders use bridging employees. There's nothing wrong with that."

  He glared at her. "Whatever his reason, you are not going."

  "But why? It's my life and my decision. It's not as if I'm going to get married and—"

  "How would you buy your own business? How would you pay for an office, for an aircraft, for exchange fees, even before you've started earning anything? If you think that we are going to pay for that—"

  "Asitho, please."

  Father glared at Mother. His face had gone red and now slowly resumed its normal colour. He put the letter down and pushed his plate onto one of the corners. "I'll deal with this after dinner."

  He started eating. The only sound in the room was the clinking of the spoon on his plate. Mikandra looked at her mother without raising her head. She met Mikandra's eyes, her spoon half-raised to her mouth. Her expression said, Did you really need to do that? Mikandra felt like shouting Why do you let him do this to you?

  Mikandra then looked at Liseyo. She had also started eating, meek and pale-faced. She had barely moved during the discussion and had her gaze firmly fixed on her plate. Her cheeks were so pale and poking from the sleeves of her severe dark red dress, her wrists were so thin that Mikandra often wondered if she was healthy, and wondered if Eydrina Lasko had already put her hand up her private parts or if she was still too young for that. And maybe Father had realised that he would never have a male heir and he was disappointed with Mother for not giving him any sons and angry with his eldest daughter who refused to behave like a good girl should.

  Embarrassing indeed.

  Mother deserved better than this. Liseyo deserved better than this.

  She started eating as well, although her stomach felt like a big knot. However, that only lasted for the first couple of bites. She never had any time to eat in the hospital, and she was hungry. Eydrina was always saying that she was much too thin.

  Most of dinner went past in the company of only the popping of the fire in the hearth and the soft clink of plates.

  When Rosep decided it was safe, he came to clear the plates and brought bread and eggs. He met Mikandra's eyes briefly and glanced at the letter under Father's plate. He collected all empty soup plates, except that one. Questions hovered in his expression. Even if he hadn't heard what had been said—and he wasn't the type who listened at doors—he'd been with the family since she was a small girl, and knew how arguments went. Father won, even if he lost.

  Mother filled the uneasy silence with small-talk about the theatre. The company was taking on the classic play of The Invasion, and now it was time to think about the new costumes. She cast a few pointed looks at Mikandra, and suggested that the girl who played the role of the legendary Tinandra Elendar wasn't very good, and oh did you know that are were some vacancies in the choir and we could really use a contralto to back up the old woman who has trouble keeping time?

  Also Your sister plays in it as well and it would be so nice if we could make it a family production.

  And We got Genny Manudrin to do the costumes and the dresses will be gorgeous.

  Mikandra grew more and more annoyed with the chatter. As usual, Mother was glossing over the big issue that hung over their heads, or rather, that was written on a letter underneath Father's plate. Ignoring it and hoping it would go away.

  When dinner was finished, Father rose, and Mikandra rose after him, as custom dictated. He went over to the door and took his cloak off the hanger. He looked like he was going to go back to his office.

  "Father, wait please."

  He stopped with his cloak halfway to his shoulders.

  "Can I have my letter back?"

  Father looked at her and didn't move.

  Her heart thudding, she continued, "I need the number that's on the letter for the reply."

  "Didn't you hear what I said earlier? I said you're not going."

  "I still don't understand why."

  "Because if I thought it was appropriate for a young lady to go to a place such as the Trader Academy—which I do not—you would be working with my sister. Her refusal to sign you should have been a sign for you."

  "She is busy with her council work."

  "Look me in the eye and tell me that was the reason she gave you."

  Mikandra met his eyes. No, it hadn't been the reason and she wasn't going to be untruthful about it. She hated it when Father did this.

  "You are thankless and ungrateful for everything I, your mother and Eydrina Lasko have gone out of our way to do for you. I and your aunt are working very hard to protect our ways and our nation. The Andrahar brothers would open the floodgates for foreign Traders and businesses and destroy Miran. They'd pillage us. They'd dig up our mountains and raid them for minerals. They'd build huge factories and fill them with guest workers. What do you think my colleagues and your aunt's colleagues, notably Nemedor Satarin, would have to say about your joining the very people who are trying to bring us down? That is the embarrassment, if I have to spell it out to your face. You are not going."

  "I still need the letter." She bent over the table, snatched the letter from under her father's plate and ran for the door.

  "Wait a moment, young lady!" The floor vibrated with his steps. His hand closed on her upper arm.

  From close up, he was terrifying. His typical narrow face, his ice-cold light blue eyes. His long straight nose, his long straight hair, platinum white. All prime characteristics of the Endri. She could see the veins in his eyes, the pores in his skin. Pearls of sweat glistened on his upper lip. The nails of his carefully-manicured hands dug into the soft flesh underneath her upper arm.

  "Asitho," said her mother, quietly in a soft pleading tone.

  Father sniffed, and continued as if Mother hadn't spoken. "Clearly, I failed to make myself clear to you. Being of the Endri is about being grateful and giving back to our city and those less fortunate than us. It is not about running off to some foreign place and spending lots of money there, and taking all the money out of our city and wasting it on frivolous pursuits. If, despite my strong advice, you decide to go, expect no financial help from me or your mother, or my sister. You will also be stricken off the list of owners of the family estate and you are no longer welcome in this house. You understand?"

  She glared at him, and he glared back.

  "Asitho, leave it," Mother said. "Let's talk it over later."

  "No, we will not, because she will not
listen. Not now and not later. I have no idea how I've ended up with such a brat for a daughter. Everyone has been far too accommodating with her all this time. She should have been married last year and taught manners."

  "I thought we covered the marriage issue," Mother said.

  Liseyo was looking on from her seat, her eyes wide like those of a scared animal.

  Father glanced aside. "Did we? I don't remember that. I must get back to it." His nostrils flared. Oh yes, he remembered when they'd last broached the marriage issue, when Geonan Takumar had visited, looking for a young girl. To amuse me he'd said, while undressing Mikandra with his eyes. And later, Mother had pleaded Mikandra to take up the position in the hospital Because he will marry you off to that old creep if you don't take it.

  "Can I go? You're hurting me." Mikandra looked pointedly at her arm in Father's grip. She would have another nasty bruise next to the one from last week. "I'm not a toddler."

  "Then don't behave like one." But he let her go because hurting your wife and daughters was also not part of the honour code.

  Mikandra rubbed her arm. While still meeting Father's eyes, she stuffed the letter between her breasts in the bodice of her dress.

  Then she ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time, through the hall, scrambled into her room and slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter 2

  It took a while before Mikandra's heart stopped racing and her breathing calmed. She listened out for Father's footsteps on the stairs, but only heard his and Mother's voices in the living room and the clangs and clinks made by Rosep in the kitchen while cleaning the dishes.

  Phew.

  She pulled the letter out of her dress, unfolded it onto her desk and smoothed out the wrinkles. It was printed on heavy and smooth paper that she had heard people in the oases of Kedras made from the fibres of a plant. It was an old-fashioned and lengthy process, and paper was expensive. If she held it up to the light, she could just read the Trader Guild pledge in Coldi script which served as watermark. She knew the words off by heart.

  I dedicate my life to the Trader Guild.

  I will recognise the Guild’s authority above all others.

  I will respect and obey the Trader Laws at all times, and report on those who break them.

  I will honour and respect my fellow Traders, regardless of their race or origin.

  I will accept them and their families as my kinsfolk.

  I pledge unswerving loyalty to the Trader Guild and in return, expect unswerving loyalty of the Guild to me.

  The words came to her like those of a childhood song.

  She had practiced them with Lihan when he was about to be admitted to the academy, and they'd made silly pacts to go to the academy together. But of course he'd gone first, being two years older and of a proper Trading family, and of course he couldn't possibly marry an infertile girl, no matter how much steamy-breathed kisses in the little alley behind his house had suggested that he wanted to. That was a happy time. He was to leave for Kedras the next day. He had never shown anything except friendship to her, except on that day. I didn't want to ruin our friendship, he had said when she asked him why.

  Then he left and the next time she saw him, he was in uniform, with a group of apprentice friends, talking and laughing. She'd gone up to greet him, but his manner had been cool and distant, and although she very much wanted to remind him of the fact that he'd kissed her and she wanted him to do it again, she couldn't, because of his friends. She had never spoken personally to him since. Neither had she worked out what had changed and why he had acted so cool. Maybe kissing did ruin the friendship.

  He'd completed the academy, got his licence and travelled a lot, as Traders did.

  Right now, she wanted to tell him her news, wanted to see the smile on his face and the dancing light in his eyes. Wanted to hear Yes, now we can be together. Wanted someone to be happy about the news that she'd been accepted.

  But it was not going to be like that, and she'd known this since first setting eyes on him in school. He was an only son. Regardless of his wishes, his family's succession was his main concern. She did not enter that picture. She would have to do all this alone.

  The sheets that followed the official acceptance letter detailed course materials she would get—navigation, politics, government, piloting. That thought was exciting and scary. She'd flown in Aunt Amandra's private craft a few times, but had been too scared to ask if her aunt would teach her, because of what father might say. But she knew all the theory. There was a box over there in her wardrobe that held a stack of pictures of aircraft. She could tell all the models, despite the fact that few foreign craft ever came to Miran. She could tell their operation, knew their engine type, propulsion system, safety procedures, pretty much anything about each model.

  She knew everything about flying save the feel of her hands on the controls. And that was going to be a real problem. Her family was as far removed from flying as Miran was from the sea. Father called travel a waste of time and money.

  How would she even get an aircraft—oh, it said For students who do not bring their family aircraft or who otherwise have no access to a craft, vehicles can be provided at an extra charge. How much? She had no money. Father had just told her that he wouldn't pay.

  The next sheet contained information on room allocation in the Trader Guild complex and advice on how and when to get there. Mikandra did a double-take when she saw how much the flight to Kedras would cost. She had some savings, mainly from money given to her by her grandmother, but the cost of a flight would make a substantial hole in her finances.

  Money, money, it was all about money.

  Presumably she would be taught and funded by the Andrahar brothers, because there was no way she could afford it otherwise. But how much would be paid by them, and how much would she remain indebted to them? There were so many questions she had never thought to ask.

  The package also included a booklet on required pre-knowledge. She'd done the test and had obviously satisfied the selectors, but it was nothing like this. She had, perhaps innocently, assumed that students would be taught the basics of navigation from the ground up, but the brochure used a lot of technical words she didn’t know and had never heard. Her knowledge of Coldi deserted her.

  She'd thought getting into the academy was the hardest part. She was wrong. This was way out of her league. It was scary.

  Maybe Father was right. Maybe she was too innocent, too provincial and too stupid to do something like this. Maybe she only applied because of Lihan. She let the letter fall on her desk.

  The only light in the room was provided by the flapping oil lamp on the wall, which Rosep would have lit while she was at dinner. The pool of light cast by the lamp faded out before hitting the opposite wall, so her cupboard and the end of the bed vanished into darkness.

  Her room was on that side of the house where sunlight only came for a few weeks in high-winter and the rest of the year, the icy wind crept in through the cracks. The fitful fire in the hearth did little to dispel the cold and she went to put a couple of fire bricks on, which smothered the flames and made them smoke.

  Rosep had pulled her blankets tidy over the bed. In the light from the fire, it looked very peaceful, like a girl's room with all the frills and dresses. She hated it.

  There, on the outside of the cupboard door, was the hideous dress Mother wanted her to wear to the theatre. On the table by her bed lay the text of the play. Why ever had she agreed to doing that stupid audition? Because Mother made her feel guilty, that's why.

  Because she was weak and couldn't say no. Because her stupid tendency to please people who made her do things she was expected to do.

  Why was she like this? Why did she always crawl in a hole when Father got angry? Why did she always give in to Mother's demands? Why didn't she dare tell Father that she didn't think it was a bad thing if foreign Traders could come to Miran?

  She was such a wimp.

  Mikandra strode to the wardro
be and flung the dress onto the floor. She slammed the wardrobe door. She took the wad of paper with the text of the play—a stupid old-fashioned drama about some ancient event in Miran's history—off the night stand and flung it on the bed. Papers flew like butterflies.

  Stupid play with its pompous, self-righteous language. Stupid events in the past which still caused people to have hangups about participating in gamra society. The boycott had not started because the other gamra entities had cut off Miran, but because Miran was continuously obstructing foreign investment within its borders with arcane rules.

  Because the council was stubborn and inflexible and old-fashioned. And then they were surprised that other worlds and nations of gamra got angry.

  The Invasion indeed.

  She spread the papers out over the bed.

  Stupid traditions.

  Stupid Endri arrogance.

  Stupid notion of being all nice and pretty and utterly useless.

  So, she was not good marriage material, huh? Only to be passed to old creepy men who wanted a plaything. So, when she tried to be useful regardless, they treated her like this, huh?

  Shut up and learn your lines, huh? Live the rest of your life in some sort of stupid fantasy oblivious to the burning of Miran's society around it. Pretend Miran was still at the top of its glory. Pretend everything was like before The Invasion. Like the Coldi cared, like the Trader Guild cared. Those people were just laughing at Miran.

  Clothes, plays, music, arts.

  Stupid-fucking-make-up.

  While in the poor parts of the city people froze to death and homeless were left to be eaten by wild animals. And then the Endri nobles sent their girls into the hospitals to put bandages on their wounds?

  And that was Miran's culture?

  She went to the mirror, picked up the eye paint brush and dipped in the paint. She wrote on the wall If you want to shine, be like a star.