"Perhaps we hope to live out our insignificant little lives as we see fit," Wintrow retorted. He did not move back from the dragon he defied. Reyn recognized the set of his shoulders and the way he held his mouth. Her brother shared Malta's stubborn streak. The dragon's chest had started to swell.
Malta hastened to stand between her brother and the dragon. She looked fearlessly from one to the other. "We are all weary, too weary to bargain well tonight."
"Bargain!" the dragon snorted contemptuously. "Oh, not again! Humans and their bargaining."
"Far simpler to kill anyone who disagrees with you?" Wintrow suggested tartly.
Malta set a restraining hand to her brother's arm. "All of us must sleep," she suggested firmly. "Even you, Tintaglia, are in need of rest. By morning, we will be rested, and each can state what he needs. It is the only way this can be resolved."
THE DRAGON, ALTHEA REFLECTED, WAS THE ONLY ONE TO GET ANY SLEEP. THE humans gathered once more, aboard the Motley this time, for Captain Red had bragged that he had coffee as well as a slightly larger chart room. She was beginning to have a grudging admiration for Malta's ability to negotiate. Her niece had inherited some of Ronica's trading skills but much rested in Malta's inherent charm. Her first achievement was in insisting that the Jamaillian nobles be seated at the table with them. Althea heard a few words of her whispered argument with the offended Satrap. "…bind them to your service with their own interests. If you break them too low, they will ever after be as a treacherous cur at your heels. This will assure that they will not later disclaim the treaty," she had insisted heatedly.
For a wonder, the Satrap acceded to her demands. Her second stroke of genius was in arranging food for all before they convened. When they finally gathered around Captain Red's table, tempers were calmed. Malta and Reyn had privately conferred as well, for she rose and announced that they could not proceed until she had informed everyone more fully of events in Bingtown. Despite her own interest in Malta's tale, Althea found herself watching the faces of the others. The Jamaillian nobles looked stricken as they finally recognized the fullness of the Chalcedean betrayal. Etta listened quietly but attentively. Amber stared obsessively at Wintrow, a look of near-tragic speculation on her face. Brashen beside her was unnaturally silent, but his hand under the table was warm in hers. The only time he spoke was when Reyn began to discuss the quake damage to Trehaug. Brashen leaned forward to claim attention with a light slap on the table. His words were only for Reyn as he asked, "Is Rain Wild Trader business so openly discussed before outsiders?"
Reyn did not take offense. He bowed his head gravely to Brashen's concern and replied, "We have discovered that we must become a part of the greater world, or perish. I say nothing that has not already been openly spoken at a town meeting in Bingtown. The time has come to share our secrets or perish alongside them."
"I see," Brashen replied gravely, and leaned back in his chair.
When Reyn had finished speaking, Wintrow claimed attention by standing. To Althea, he looked too weary to remain upright. The note of resigned amusement in his voice surprised her. "Considering what Reyn has told us and the nature of liveships, I believe we must follow Tintaglia's wishes."
"If the liveships agree with her, I don't see where we have any choice," Althea agreed.
Reyn spoke to Malta, but all overheard. "Would you rather go straight home to Bingtown rather than to Jamaillia?"
Her glance flickered over her brother and her aunt. She didn't lower her voice as her eyes met his unequivocally. "I'll go where you go."
A small silence followed her words. She boldly disarmed it by turning to Lord Criath. "Now. As you have heard, the dragon desires us to negotiate for foodstuffs to be shipped to the Rain Wilds. It remains to be seen which of the Satrap's loyal nobles will win the privilege of supplying us."
Criath knit his brows in puzzlement. Malta continued to meet his eyes levelly, waiting for him to realize what she offered. Then Lord Criath cleared his throat. He nodded around to his fellows, seeking support, as he spoke. "Magnadon Satrap Cosgo. I think I am not alone in now accepting the wisdom of your alliance. In fact," he smiled at Malta, "I would like to offer my assistance to the dragon's representatives. My holdings in Jamaillia include grain fields, and pastured cattle. Mutually beneficial trade with the Rain Wild folk could go far to make up the losses I must reconcile from my renunciation of my Bingtown land grants."
The deepest part of night passed as they haggled. Althea kept silent, stunned by the realization that she witnessed the reordering of her world. Tintaglia was wise to send "her Elderlings" to Jamaillia to speak for her. They would not only open trade avenues between Jamaillia and the Rain Wilds. In Reyn's scaled visage, the Jamaillians would confront the copper-eyed future of the world. She felt she floated on her exhaustion, disconnected from the scene around her. In a shifting of perception, she perceived a vast juncture left behind, and a swift current ahead. This new world of men and dragons would be ordered by negotiation rather than wars. Here, in this room, they set that precedent. Suddenly, she understood, and she tried to catch Amber's eyes to acknowledge that, but the carpenter contemplated Wintrow ruefully.
The Jamaillian nobles scented only profit and power. They were soon fiercely competing among themselves to set grain prices, and trying yet again to assert some rights to Bingtown. Both Reyn and Malta drew the line firmly. Althea was relieved that they still negotiated for their own kind as shrewdly as they did for the dragon. As the night wore on, most of the negotiating was between nobles arranging subagreements with other nobles, the Satrap setting the percentage of their profits that would go to the treasury, the captains backing Wintrow and Etta as they reminded the others that there would be a tariff for goods passing through the Pirate Isles…
Althea jerked awake as Brashen elbowed her. "They're finished," he whispered. Around the table, men were signing papers, while Wintrow offered Etta his arm. She ignored it, standing on her own and rolling her shoulders.
Althea tried to stretch unobtrusively. How long had her eyes been closed? "Did any of it have anything to do with us?" she asked quietly.
"Never fear. Both Reyn and Malta stood up well for Bingtown, and when it came to the cutting edge, Bingtown and the Pirate Isles stood together." He gave a short laugh. "Wonder what your father would have thought of that? He'd have been damn proud of Malta, that I know. That woman's as sharp a Trader as I've ever seen."
Althea felt a tickle of jealousy at his admiration for her niece.
"And now?" she asked him quietly. Everyone was standing. A sleepy ship's boy was gathering coffee mugs onto a silver tray.
"And now, we can have a few hours' sleep before we get up, bid our farewells and set our sails again." He didn't look at her as he spoke. She followed him out onto the deck. The chill night air was welcome after the stuffy chart room. The rain had paused.
"Think the dragon will accept our terms?"
Brashen rubbed his eyes wearily. "We're only asking her help in what she already said we must do. Put an end to the territorial fighting on the Inside Passage. Best way to do that is to chase the Chalcedeans out of here. After what they did to 'her' serpents yesterday, I think she'll be happy to help us do that. All the rest of it was wrangling between the other parties." He shook his head. "I think it's all over save for her telling us what she wants us to do."
"That worries me, too," Althea agreed. "We have struggled so hard and come so far, all in uncertainty, only to have a dragon suddenly decree, This is how your life will go. I don't like her directing our actions, saying who will go where. And yet," she shrugged and almost laughed, "in an odd way it would almost be a relief to have those decisions snatched away. A lifting of a burden."