Balance of Trade Read Online Free PDF Page A

Port-year."

    The dark-haired man in modest trading clothes leaned his elbows on the counter and smiled. "That long?" He shook his head, smile going toward a grin. "I lose track of time, when there's business to be done."

    She laughed. "What'll it be?"

    "Franses Ale?" he asked, wistfully.

    "Coming up," she said and he grinned and put five-bit in her hand.

    "The extra's for you—a reward for saving my life."

    The barkeeper laughed again and moved off down-bar, collecting orders and coins as she went. Jethri finished the last of his beer. When he put the glass down, he found the barkeeper's friend—Sirge—looking at him quizzically.

    "Don't mean to pry into what's none of my business, but I noticed you looking at the board, there, a bit distracted. Wouldn't be you had business with Stork ?"

    Jethri blinked, then smiled and shook his head. "I was thinking of—something else," he said, with cautious truth. "Didn't really see the board at all."

    "Man with business on his mind," said Sirge good-naturedly. "Well, just thought I'd ask. Misery loves company, my mam used to say—Thanks, Nance." This last as the barkeeper set a tall glass filled with dark liquid before him.

    "No trouble," she assured him and put Jethri's schooner down. "Merebeer, Trader."

    "Thank you," he murmured, wondering if she was making fun of him or really thought him old enough to be a full trader. He raised the mug and shot a look at the ship-board. Stork was there, right enough, showing departed on an amended flight plan.

    "Damnedest thing," said the man next to him, ruefully. "Can't blame them for lifting when they got rush cargo and a bonus at the far end, but I sure could wish they waited lift a quarter-hour longer."

    Jethri felt a stir of morbid curiosity. "They didn't—leave you, did they, sir?"

    The man laughed. "Gods, no, none of that! I've got a berth promised on Ringfelder's Halcyon , end of next Port-week. No, this was a matter of buy-in—had half the paperwork filled out, happened to look up at the board there in the Trade Bar and they're already lifting." He took a healthy swallow of his ale.

    "Sent a message to my lodgings, of course, but I wasn't at the lodgings, I was out making paper, like we'd agreed." He sighed. "Well, no use crying over spilled wine, eh?" He extended a thin, calloused hand. "Sirge Milton, trader at leisure, damn the luck."

    He shook the offered hand. "Jethri Gobelyn, off Gobelyn's Market ."

    "Pleasure. Market's a solid ship—Arin still senior trader?"

    Jethri blinked. The routes being as they were, there were still some who had missed news of Arin Gobelyn's death. This man didn't seem quite old enough to have been one of his father's contemporaries, but. . . 

    "Paitor's senior," he told Sirge Milton steadily. "Arin died ten Standards back."

    "Sorry to hear that," the man said seriously. "I was just a 'prentice, but he impressed me real favorable." He took a drink of ale, eyes wandering back to the ship-board. "Damn," he said, not quite under his breath, then laughed a little and looked at Jethri. "Let this be a lesson to you— stay liquid . Think I'd know that by now." Another laugh.

    Jethri had a sip of beer. "But," he said, though it was none of his business, "what happened?"

    For a moment, he thought the other wouldn't answer. He drank ale, frowning at the board, then seemed to collect himself and flashed Jethri a quick grin.

    "Couple things. First, I was approached for a closed buy-in on—futures." He shrugged. "You understand I can't be specific. But the guarantee was four-on-one and—well, the lodgings was paid 'til I shipped and I had plenty on my tab at the Trade Bar, so I sunk all my serious cash into the future."

    Jethri frowned. A four-on-one return on speculation? It was possible—the crewtapes told of astonishing fortunes made Port-side, now and then—but not likely. To invest all liquid assets into such a venture—

    Sirge Milton held up a hand. "Now, I know you're