Balance of Trade Read Online Free Page A

Nothing's as simple as it looks."

    Thrown off , thought Jethri. I'm being thrown off of my ship. He thought that he could have borne it better, if he was simply being cast out to make his own way. But the arranged berth on Gold Digger added an edge of fury to his disbelief. He opened his mouth to protest further and was forestalled by a ping! from Paitor's terminal.

    The senior trader snapped forward in his chair, flipping the switch that accepted the first of the trade feeds from Ynsolt'i Port. He glanced over at Jethri.

    "You get me a kais for that silk, now. If the spice sells good for us, I'll OK that Combine key you been wanting. You'll have earned it."

    That was dismissal. Jethri stood. "Yessir," he said, calm as a dry mouth would let him, and left the trade room.

Day 33
Standard Year 1118
Ynsolt'i Port
Textile Hall

    "PREMIUM GRADE, honored sir," Jethri murmured, keeping his eyes modestly lowered, as befit a young person in discourse with a person of lineage and honor.

    Honored Sir bin'Flora moved his shoulders and flipped an edge of the fabric up, frowning at the underweave. Jethri ground his teeth against an impulse to add more in praise of the hand-loomed Gindoree cellosilk.

    Don't oversell! he could hear Uncle Paitor snap from memory. The Trader is in control of the trade.

    "Eight tor the six-bolt," the buyer stated, tossing the sample cloth back across the spindle. Jethri sighed gently and spread his hands.

    "The honored buyer is, of course, distrustful of goods offered by one so many years his inferior in wisdom. I assure you that I am instructed by an elder of my ship, who bade me accept not a breath less than two kais."

    "Two?" The Liaden's shoulders moved again—not a shrug, but expressive of some emotion. Amusement, Jethri thought. Or anger.

    "Your elder mis-instructs you, young sir. Perhaps it is a testing." The buyer tipped his head slightly to one side, as if considering. "I will offer an additional pair of tor," he said at last, accent rounding the edges of the trade-tongue, "in kindness of a student's diligence."

    Wrong , Jethri thought. Not to say that Honored bin'Flora wasn't the heart of kindness, which he very likely was, on his off-days. A trade was something else again.

    Respectful, Jethri bowed, and, respectful, brought his eyes to the buyer's face. "Sir, I value your generosity. However, the distance between ten tor and two kais is so vast that I feel certain my elder would counsel me to forgo the trade. Perhaps you had not noticed—" he caught himself on the edge of insult and smoothly changed course—"the light is poor, just here. . . "

    Pulling the bolt forward, he again showed the fineness of the cloth, the precious irregularities of weave, which proved it hand woven, spoke rapturously of the pure crimson dye.

    The buyer moved his hand. "Enough. One kais. A last offer."

    Gotcha , thought Jethri, making a serious effort to keep his face neutral. One kais, just like Uncle Paitor had wanted. In retrospect, it had been an easy sell.

    Too easy? he wondered then, looking down at the Liaden's smooth face and disinterested brown eyes. Was there, just maybe, additional profit to be made here?

    Trade is study , Uncle Paitor said from memory. Study the goods, and study the market. And after you prepare as much as you can, there's still nothing says that a ship didn't land yesterday with three holds full of something you're carrying as a luxury sell.

    Nor was there any law, thought Jethri, against Honored Buyer bin'Flora being critically short on crimson cellosilk, this Port-day. He took a cautious breath and made his decision.

    "Of course," he told the buyer, gathering the sample bolt gently into his arms, "I am desolate not to have closed trade in this instance. A kais. . .  It is generous, respected sir, but—alas. My elder will be distressed—he had instructed me most carefully to offer the lot first to yourself and to make every accommodation. . .  But a single