L. Modesitt: Scion of Cyador

“So has said the Hand, but he has also advised that we have time, and that Bluoyal will overreach himself before such can occur.”

“Would that I could take comfort in that,” says the Empress, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Seldom is he wrong…most seldom.”

“If he is…?”

“If he is, if we fail, then blood will stain the sunstone of the Palace so deeply it cannot ever be lifted.” He looks down and studies her drawn face. “I tell you this often, but…You give too much to me.”

“What else would I do, dearest? We know there is no one else.”

“Not yet.”

As he speaks, her fingers lift to rest lightly on his cheek.

The orange glow of twilight floods from the hillside to the west, and the white stone piers of the harbor shimmer gold.

The Emperor and Empress stand on the balcony and watch the gold fade.

Sitting at one end of a long table in the corner of Ryalor House, in gray light of a stormy spring morning, Lorn reads through the stack of papers that Eileyt has set before him. The senior enumerator has assured Lorn that the papers have several examples of shady trading practices.

Outside of several clear errors in addition, Lorn has found nothing. He finally beckons to Eileyt, and when the gray-eyed man nears, says, “I don’t think I’m seeing what I should be seeing.”

Eileyt turns over the first three bills of lading, then points to an entry halfway down the fourth one. “Look at that closely.”

Lorn looks at the entry: Cotton, 20 bales, dun, Hamor .

“Hamor grows dun cotton, but all they usually export is the good white. Look at the parchment-and it is parchment, which is another clue.”

“It looks like it’s smoother there, but just around the word dun .”

“There’s more space around the word dun , too.” Eileyt nods. “With parchment, you can use it like a palimpsest, take a sharp knife and scrape off the letters, then write in dun instead of white.”

“But why? Why don’t they just rewrite the bill of lading?”

“It’s sealed below. A trader gets caught counterfeiting a seal, and he loses a hand. An ‘error’ in a bill of lading merely costs some golds in fines, but most of such ‘errors’ are never found. The tariff on white cotton is a gold a bale. It’s a silver on dun cotton, and you can get that from Kyphros or Valmurl or even out of Worrak in Hydlen.”

“But they all come from beyond Cyador,” Lorn says.

“That is right,” Eileyt says patiently. “But…if the Imperial tariff were a gold on Kyphran dun cotton, then people would use carts and smuggle it along the beaches below the lower Westhorns, and some dishonest merchanter in Fyrad would mix it with his real Kyphran stock and it would be hard to tell without counting every bale, and the Imperial Enumerators don’t have the bodies or the days to do that. At a silver a bale, and the tariff is the same for a bolt of the finished cloth, it’s cheaper and faster to ship the dun cotton, or any cotton from Kyphros, than smuggle it. Hamorian white cotton goes for five golds a bale these days…and dun for one. So…on this shipment, the trader could pocket nearly eighteen golds, just by changing one word on the lading bill. And he can claim, if he gets caught, that it was a mistake. If the Hamorian seal’s intact, and a magus can see that, then all he’ll get is a three-gold fine, maybe ten-. But most won’t catch something like this.”

“But the finished cotton…that’s more like ten a bolt, and they’re easier to carry,” Lorn says, recalling his early trading adventures with Ryalth. “Why would anyone import the bales all the way from Hamor? They’re bulky.”

Eileyt nods. “Good. That’s another reason to suspect this. Anyone can look at a bolt of finished cotton and see the difference between Hamorian white and Kyphran dun, but raw cotton-that’s another story. Might even be something hidden in the bales, as well.”

Lorn shakes his head, but he has asked Ryalth and her people to show him what they can about forbidden trading practices, even though it is unlikely he will be directly involved, except when called in by the Emperor’s tariff enumerators, if he ever is. The more he learns, the more small references tell him how intertwined everything is-such as Bluoyal’s involvement in the consorting between Syreal and Veljan that, because of Lorn’s killing of Veljan’s older brother Shevelt, has led to a greater possible influence by the Magi’i in the affairs of one of the leading merchanter houses. That underscores why he would like to know enough to be able to ask his own questions should such arise. His experience with patrol tactics and the Accursed Forest was enough of an example of not knowing enough, to confirm his decision to learn what he can in the few days he has in Cyad. He is also coming to realize that it is far better-and less costly to all involved-to act before others act…rather than when it is obvious to all that one must act.

So he might as well learn what he can, since Ryalth cannot give up work, especially since spring is far busier for Ryalor House than Lorn ever would have imagined.

He looks back through the bills of lading again, looking for odd spacing, improbable goods, anything.

On the next to last, he finds something-or thinks he does.

“A hundred stone of zinc tools?” he asks. “Is this a cover for iron blades? It’s a metal and almost the same number of letters.”

“That’s more dangerous, because iron-bladed weapons carry high tariffs, and selling them in Cyad or failing to declare them for shipment elsewhere can send a trader to prison,” Eileyt says. “But some traders like to buy Hamorian blades and sell them elsewhere in Candar.” The enumerator hands Lorn another set of lading bills.

It is nearly midday when Lorn walks into Ryalth’s inner study. She looks up from a ledger.

“You have a nice study here,” he observes.

“Merchanters call them ‘offices,’ dearest…remember?” She smiles. “But if you want traders to think you know less than you do, just call them ‘studies.’”

“Thank you. That might be wiser. I can see why you’re the trader, and I’m not.” He shakes his head again.

“We work better together,” she says.

“Do you have to work all day?”

“Zerlynk is coming in midafternoon. He had made an offer on cordage. I picked up some raw hemp from a Sligan trader last year, and got some peasants near Desahlya to turn it into rope. It’s not top-line, and I’ll not try to sell it as such, but we should make some silvers on it. After he goes, I can leave.”

Lorn nods. “You’re busy. I’ll see what else I can learn.”

“You might talk to Kutyr. He knows more than he’ll tell me.” Ryalth smiles again.

“He might not tell me, either.”

“If you flatter him…”

Lorn shakes his head ruefully, then smiles, and turns.