thinking exactly what I thought when the thing was put to me—four-on-one's 'way outta line. But the gig turns on a Liaden Master Trader's say-so, and I figured that was good enough for me." He finished his ale and put the glass down, waving at the barkeeper.
"Short of it is, I'm cash-poor til tomorrow midday, when the pay-off's guaranteed. And this morning I came across as sweet a deal as you'd care to see—and I know just who'll want it, to my profit. A kais holds the lot—and me with three ten-bits in pocket. Stork was going to front the cash, and earn half the profit, fair enough. But the rush-money and the bonus was brighter." He shook his head. "So, Jethri Gobelyn, you can learn from my mistake—and I'm hopeful I'll do the same."
"Four-on-one," Jethri said, mind a-buzz with the circumstance, so he forgot he was just a 'prentice, talking to a full trader. "Do you have a paper with the guarantee spelled out?"
"I got better than that," Sirge Milton said. "I got his card." He turned his head, smiling at the bartender. "Thanks, Nance."
"No problem," she returned. "You got a Liaden's card? Really? Can I see?"
The man looked uneasy. "It's not the kind of thing you flash around."
"Aw, c'mon, Sirge—I never seen one."
Jethri could appreciate her curiosity: he was half agog, himself. A Liaden's card was as good as his name, and a Liaden's name, according to great-grand-captain Larance, was his dearest possession.
"Well," Sirge said. He glanced around, but the other patrons seemed well-involved in their own various businesses. "OK."
He reached into his pouch, pulled out an out-of-date Combine trading key—the SY 1118 color was red, according to the chart on the back of his door; blue-and-white was last year's short-term color—along with a short handful of coins and a cargo-head socket wrench. Finally, with a satisfied grunt, he fingered out a flat, creamy rectangle.
He held up it face up between the three of them, his hands cupping it like was a rare stone that he didn't want nobody else to see.
"Ooh," Nance said. "What's it say?"
Jethri frowned at the lettering. It was a more ornate form of the Liaden alphabet he had laboriously taught himself off the library files, but not at all unreadable.
"Norn ven'Deelin," he said, hoping he had the pronunciation of the name right. "Master of Trade."
"Right you are," said Sirge, nodding. "You'll go far, I'm sure, friend Jethri! And this here—" he rubbed his thumb over the graphic of a rabbit silhouetted against a full moon—"is the sign for his Clan. Ixin."
"Oh," Nance said again, then turned to answer a hail from up-bar. Sirge slipped the card away and Jethri took another sip of beer, mind racing. A four-on-one return, guaranteed by a Master Trader? It was possible. Jethri had seen the rabbit-and-moon sign on a land-barge that very day. And Sirge Milton was going to collect tomorrow mid-day. Jethri thought he was beginning to see a way to buy into a bit of profit, himself.
"I have a kais to lend," he said, setting the schooner aside.
Sirge Milton shook his head. "Nah.—I appreciate it, Jethri, but I don't take loans. Bad business."
Which, Jethri acknowledged, was exactly what his uncle would say. He nodded, hoping his face didn't show how excited he felt.
"I understand. But you have collateral. How 'bout if I buy Stork's share of your Port-deal, payoff tomorrow mid-day, after you collect from Master ven'Deelin?"
"Not the way I like to do business," Sirge said slowly.
Jethri took a careful breath. "We can write an agreement," he said.
The other brightened. "We can, can't we? Make it all legal and binding. Sure, why not?" He took a swallow of ale and grinned. "Got paper?"
* * *
"NO, MA'AM," Jethri said, some hours later, and as respectfully as he could, while giving his mother glare-for-glare. "I'm in no way trying to captain this ship. I just want to know if the final papers are signed with Digger ." His jaw muscles felt tight and he
"Short of it is, I'm cash-poor til tomorrow midday, when the pay-off's guaranteed. And this morning I came across as sweet a deal as you'd care to see—and I know just who'll want it, to my profit. A kais holds the lot—and me with three ten-bits in pocket. Stork was going to front the cash, and earn half the profit, fair enough. But the rush-money and the bonus was brighter." He shook his head. "So, Jethri Gobelyn, you can learn from my mistake—and I'm hopeful I'll do the same."
"Four-on-one," Jethri said, mind a-buzz with the circumstance, so he forgot he was just a 'prentice, talking to a full trader. "Do you have a paper with the guarantee spelled out?"
"I got better than that," Sirge Milton said. "I got his card." He turned his head, smiling at the bartender. "Thanks, Nance."
"No problem," she returned. "You got a Liaden's card? Really? Can I see?"
The man looked uneasy. "It's not the kind of thing you flash around."
"Aw, c'mon, Sirge—I never seen one."
Jethri could appreciate her curiosity: he was half agog, himself. A Liaden's card was as good as his name, and a Liaden's name, according to great-grand-captain Larance, was his dearest possession.
"Well," Sirge said. He glanced around, but the other patrons seemed well-involved in their own various businesses. "OK."
He reached into his pouch, pulled out an out-of-date Combine trading key—the SY 1118 color was red, according to the chart on the back of his door; blue-and-white was last year's short-term color—along with a short handful of coins and a cargo-head socket wrench. Finally, with a satisfied grunt, he fingered out a flat, creamy rectangle.
He held up it face up between the three of them, his hands cupping it like was a rare stone that he didn't want nobody else to see.
"Ooh," Nance said. "What's it say?"
Jethri frowned at the lettering. It was a more ornate form of the Liaden alphabet he had laboriously taught himself off the library files, but not at all unreadable.
"Norn ven'Deelin," he said, hoping he had the pronunciation of the name right. "Master of Trade."
"Right you are," said Sirge, nodding. "You'll go far, I'm sure, friend Jethri! And this here—" he rubbed his thumb over the graphic of a rabbit silhouetted against a full moon—"is the sign for his Clan. Ixin."
"Oh," Nance said again, then turned to answer a hail from up-bar. Sirge slipped the card away and Jethri took another sip of beer, mind racing. A four-on-one return, guaranteed by a Master Trader? It was possible. Jethri had seen the rabbit-and-moon sign on a land-barge that very day. And Sirge Milton was going to collect tomorrow mid-day. Jethri thought he was beginning to see a way to buy into a bit of profit, himself.
"I have a kais to lend," he said, setting the schooner aside.
Sirge Milton shook his head. "Nah.—I appreciate it, Jethri, but I don't take loans. Bad business."
Which, Jethri acknowledged, was exactly what his uncle would say. He nodded, hoping his face didn't show how excited he felt.
"I understand. But you have collateral. How 'bout if I buy Stork's share of your Port-deal, payoff tomorrow mid-day, after you collect from Master ven'Deelin?"
"Not the way I like to do business," Sirge said slowly.
Jethri took a careful breath. "We can write an agreement," he said.
The other brightened. "We can, can't we? Make it all legal and binding. Sure, why not?" He took a swallow of ale and grinned. "Got paper?"
* * *
"NO, MA'AM," Jethri said, some hours later, and as respectfully as he could, while giving his mother glare-for-glare. "I'm in no way trying to captain this ship. I just want to know if the final papers are signed with Digger ." His jaw muscles felt tight and he
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