Trader's Honour

Chapter 2

2

IT TOOK A WHILE before Mikandra’s heart stopped racing and her breathing calmed. She listened 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 the 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 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 the 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 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 the city of 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 shone 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 tidily 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 had she ever agreed to do 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 made her do the 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 wardrobe 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-f*****g-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 it in the paint. She wrote on the wall If you want to shine, be like a star.

There, that was better already, a much better use of eye paint than putting it on her eyelids where it irritated her eyes and made her look as if she’d been crying.

Bah, crying was for helpless damsels.

But that still didn’t make the decision any easier. She let her shoulders sag. It was easy to be angry in this room. Being angry when facing Father was a whole different matter. Or saying that she didn’t want to be in that play when Mother was crying.

There was a knock on the door. Mikandra looked from the door to the wall. If that was her father again, he’d be even more angry with her for painting on the wall. If that was her mother, she would say how disappointed she was in her eldest daughter. If it was Rosep, he would complain about having to repaint the wall and tell her father.

There was another knock.

“Sis, it’s me,” a small voice said. “Open up, please.”

Mikandra sighed and went to open the door. Her sister slipped inside. In the low light, her face was a pale oval. She glanced from the dress on the floor to the papers scattered over the bed to the text scrawled on the wall. Her eyes were wide. Scared.

Mikandra sometimes forgot how young Liseyo was, and how much what Mother and Father said was still law to her.

“Why is it so cold in here? Hasn’t Rosep lit the fire?”

Mikandra gazed at the dark hearth. The fire was producing lots of smoke but no flames.

Annoyed, she poked the smouldering fire bricks aside and fanned the tiny glow in the coals underneath. Flames licked the corner of the fire bricks.

Liseyo sat down on the bed amongst the scattered papers. She picked one up, and then a couple more, shuffling the sheets in order.

“Mother borrowed this text off Gisandra Tussamar. It’s very old and precious.” There was a tone of accusation in her voice, a tone that said that the noble lady would not appreciate it if her precious play got flung over the bed out of order. She was right of course, and that was the annoying part.

“Don’t you start, too, Liseyo.”

“This is my favourite retelling of The Invasion. I’m going to play Dinandra.”

“Isn’t that a role for someone older?”

“They’ll make me look older, with white paint in my hair and lines drawn on my face. I get to wear a really nice old-fashioned dress. I think you should join, too. It’d be great fun.”

Mikandra sighed. “It’s a hideously skewed view of history. There are plenty of documents in the library which say that there was no invasion at all. That the Coldi who came were weak and hungry. They say that the Mirani defenders killed a lot of them before the Coldi could make it clear what they wanted. It’s not as if they spoke our language. Flaming creatures came down from the sky indeed. Where is the truth in that? They came in battered aircraft. They didn’t shoot and weren’t aggressive. The truth is that Miran had the watchtower, and the watchtower keeper used telescopes. Asto is by far the clearest point of light in the sky, and the Mirani council back then knew that people lived there. So why were they still surprised when these people came?” She spread her hands in frustration.

Liseyo’s mouth twitched. “Does it matter if it’s accurate? It’s just a story.”

“None of the historical plays is ever just a story. There are children in the audience, and this stuff is being taught to them as fact. They hear that Miran was glorious, yet the evidence is that it was not. We are far heathier, better clothed and better fed than the people back then. The children learn that Miran was attacked, but the evidence is that these people came for help, not to conquer.”

“Baaah, you’re no fun.”

“This has nothing to do with fun. It’s about the way we learn to see people from outside Miran, and those views start when children are taught this sort of crap.”

She let an angry silence lapse.

Liseyo’s eyes were big. “I just wish you wouldn’t talk like this. It makes me scared. I don’t like it when Mother cries. Father is really angry this time, a lot more angry than he was when you refused to go to the theatre. Why do you do this?”

Mikandra sat next to her sister and closed her in her arms. Her shoulders were so thin. “Oh, Liseyo, I’d tell you, but you’re not old enough to understand.”

“That’s what everyone in this house says, and I’m sick of it. Try me. Why do you hate everyone so much?”

Was that what they thought? “I don’t hate everyone. I just want to make a difference and do something that helps.”

“Being in the hospital makes a difference. There are a lot of sick people who need you.”

“It’s all fake, Liseyo. Everything we’re allowed to do as girls is fake. The theatre, art, music, healing, nothing makes serious money or is anywhere near places where real decisions are made. Nothing is really important. While we’re in the theatre rehearsing the plays of centuries ago or in the wards covering up the problems of the city, they make decisions on our behalf, and nothing gets solved. Being in the hospital is just putting dressings on infected wounds that people wouldn’t have if they had houses so they weren’t sleeping in the street and attacked by maramarang, or if they had heating and didn’t get frostbite. I want people to stop the glorifying of Miran. I love Miran, but there are things wrong that we need to make better. I don’t think we can do that alone by shutting ourselves off from other people and other worlds.”

“So, does that mean you’re going?”

Mikandra shrugged. For a moment she wished she’d never received that offer. Everything else she’d done in her life in the way of protest was gentle and reversible. She’d cut off her hair when Mother complained about her wearing it in a ponytail, but it had grown back. She’d walked around in hunting clothes in the city when she’d hidden that stupid dress Mother wanted her to wear so well that no one in the house could find it.

But she had never done anything or said anything that challenged her life with her parents and sister in a way this did.

If she went to Trader Academy, there would be no way back to this house or this room. She would have to be fully independent, and, since she would not find a husband to share her living costs, she would have to earn enough to support herself.

Money frightened her and the thought of not having any frightened her even more.

In the semidarkness of the room, Liseyo was like a pale ghost with her soft cream-coloured hair and huge eyes.

“When you were gone, Father said again that he’ll disown you. He really means it.”

Mikandra shrugged again. If his anger when he got wind of her infatuation for Lihan Ilendar was anything to go by, he would, too.

Apparently, when Father first took up his position as Lawkeeper he had been wronged by Mariandra Ilendar, Lihan’s mother and the Ilendar Traders’ account keeper. Mikandra never quite understood what the problem was, except that Father chose to remember it whenever a situation came up where an Ilendar family member would benefit from something he did, or something he approved, allowed or paid for.

“Why does he hate us so, Liseyo?”

“He doesn’t hate us. He just doesn’t want us to be left alone when we’re old.” Liseyo’s eyes glittered.

Mikandra’s heart jumped. No, please. “Did Eydrina come to see you, too, and put her hand up . . . there?”

Liseyo nodded. She looked at her hands clasped in her lap. A tear leaked out of her eye and ran down her cheek.

The horror. Two infertile girls in the family. No heirs, no respectable marriages, no future matrons of noble houses, no grandchildren.

“Eydrina says it’s especially bad in our generation.” Liseyo’s voice sounded hoarse. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can see that it’s true, with girls who can’t have children and so many others suffering madness. It gets worse all the time.” She looked up and met Mikandra’s eyes. “You know what it said in the Foundation Declaration, that us Endri have the obligation to look after the city and the laws and all the Nikala workers? We can’t do that if we can’t even keep our own families alive. Our people are dying.” Her lip trembled.

Mikandra nodded. The lack of children born in the Endri nobility had been discussed by many, and no one had come up with a solution. New blood, some said, but when someone married into the Nikala merchants or worker class, the chance that there were children was even less. There were also no records of Mirani Endri fathering children with any of the people from other worlds.

The increasing number of Nikala in the council, like high councillor Nemedor Satarin, already proved that no one needed the Endri, not even to maintain services in Miran. Except those new people had never been taught about responsibility and duty. They wanted money for everything, even for healing, and a lot of the Nikala workers didn’t have any, so they went hungry and were sick all the time, and that meant more trouble for the Endri class to fix up, and they had to do so with fewer and fewer people. It was a constant downward spiral.

She stared into the hearth. The fire had expanded to cover the new fire bricks she had thrown in.

Mikandra got up to poke the half-burnt bricks from this morning into a better position.

“What are you going to do about that letter?” Liseyo asked.

“I don’t know.” Panic crept up in her. She had three days to decide the rest of her life. “I dreamed of this for a long time.”

“If you accept, you’ll have to leave.” Her sister’s eyes were wide with fear.

“Yes.”

“Then where will you live?”

“At the Guild headquarters, I presume.”

“At Kedras?” The world whose major function was to provide a home for the Traders from all over the settled worlds.

Mikandra nodded. She took Liseyo’s hands, which felt small and fragile, in hers. “I haven’t made a decision yet.” Liseyo’s eyes were big, and glittered with tears.

A bit later Mikandra added, “I’ll think of something.” Although what she wanted was clear in her mind, how she was going to do it was not. “Just take care, Liseyo. Whatever I do, I do for you, you understand that? Even if it makes Father angry.”

Liseyo said, softly, “I don’t want you to go. Mother and Father will pick on me doubly hard. They’ll tell me that I don’t appreciate what I have, and they’ll keep telling me that they gave you the opportunity but you wasted it.” Her lip trembled. “They’ll tell me to go to the hospital in your place, because you embarrassed them. I want to stay in the theatre. I know you hate it, but I like the theatre.”

Who would look after Liseyo if she left? Who would make sure that she didn’t blindly follow whatever Father said and set her own wishes aside? Who would make sure that when she did stand up for herself, Father wouldn’t hurt her? Who would stop her being married off to a much older man if she became troublesome?

“Will you please promise me to stay here?”

Mikandra looked down. “I can’t do that.”

“Please?” Her sister’s voice was no more than a whisper.

Mikandra’s eyes misted over. She didn’t want to leave Liseyo, but if she stayed here, neither of their lives would ever improve. “Be strong, Liseyo. For me. I’ll sort something out.” Eventually. But things were likely to get worse before they got better.