Rael’s fingers caressed the silk. She glanced over her shoulder. The market had grown more crowded in the short time they had been at the stand, but many of the same people she had noticed earlier were still studying it. Most were laborers or the owners or representatives of small businesses looking for a length of material or a few lengths at most, but several had that air of importance every Trader comes to recognize, be it in a tribal chieftain, government official, military officer, or industrial tycoon or manager.
Those individuals had the power and means to buy and buy big. “Deke,” she asked softly, “will you trust me with this?”
“Aye,” he responded, surprised.
“Let me play with it a while.”
“Have at it.”
“How long is it?”
“Three yards.”
“Perfect.” The size of a major veil. Her plan would work if she knew anything at all of human nature.
The Medic straightened. Her rib cage arched slowly, with infinite precision, as each muscle of her body obeyed the command of her will. The motion was subtle, seemingly almost nonexistent and certainly indefinable to anyone trying to classify or describe its individual components, but the close-fitting uniform shimmered sensuously even as her bones appeared to dissolve in a rippling swaying, as if in response to the light motion of the air.
As her body followed the strange rhythm directing its movements, her fingers closed on either end of the silk panel, and in that instant, it swept, wafted, into the air.
Up it swirled, glistening in the glory of Hallo’s light, held a breath’s space on high, and swooped down again to envelop the woman as she slowly turned with it.
Again, the Thornen veil swept out. It seemed no independent thing but rather part of she who controlled it, even as together they appeared to be an exquisite extension of the light and air in which they flowed.
Miceal Jellico tore his eyes away from the apparition to study those around them. Van Rycke, too, had recalled himself to the world of the market, but the others were fully ensorcelled. Rael’s performance was so unexpected in a place like this and so perfectly executed, the material so marvelous in itself, that nearly every eye in the vicinity was riveted on her as if by the command of some irresistible compulsion.
Three times and again a fourth, the veil rose to fill the air, then with a sigh and a lowering of the head as precise and perfect as the vision preceding them, Rael closed it in upon itself and returned it to its owner.
In so doing, she released her captives. Tatarcoff recovered nearly as quickly as the Queen’s senior officers and claimed it from her with a proprietary pride. His eyes were on the several individuals making purposefully for his stand.
“I knew you’d approve, Rael,” he remarked for his potential customers’ benefit.
“It’s wonderful. I envy the one with the spirit and credits to buy it,” she responded, her voice seemingly low but in actuality pitched to reach those who were approaching.
“Fly well, Deke. I hope we’ll run into each other again before we lift.”
The Solar Queen party went some distance before Jellico gave a sharp glance at his temporary hand.
She was laughing softly but stopped and looked up at him when she felt his gaze. “I love doing that,” she explained, “and I so rarely get the chance. Teague doesn’t approve.”
“Of his dancing?”
She was not surprised the Trader Captain had recognized what she had done. “Of using it or similar techniques to enhance one’s goods. He doesn’t think it’s quite the most respectable way of doing business.”
“It was effective,” he said, “and you made no false claims. Thornen silk is beautiful. You merely . . .” He paused a moment. “You merely spun it into a dream.”
“It’s up to Tatarcoff to sell that dream,” the Cargo-Master interjected, “though he’d have to have a crater instead of a brain not to do it now. Everyone back there wants it.”
“Deke’s good,” she assured them. “He’ll move the silk and probably most or all the rest with it.”
“You moved it for him,” Dane said, forcing himself to speak naturally. He was embarrassed by the spell Cofort’s performance had cast on him. A Trader, particularly part of the Cargo department, had to be able to keep his wits on his surroundings and business.
If the others said anything, now or later, so be it, he thought. He deserved no more after that lapse. In the meantime, walking around as dumb as a lump of inert matter would do no one, especially himself, any good. He was curious about the magic Rael Cofort had wrought—and magic it had been, Trader magic rather than the kind that so intrigued Tau. Van Rycke was one of the best, and he had not seen even him use anything the like of this . . .
“No,” the Medic responded slowly. “Thomen silk itself requires no selling. Better simply doesn’t exist. That bolt is such a patent extravagance here, though, quintessential luxury beyond anything required for any conceivable occasion on a planet like Canuche of Halio, no matter how formal. It was bound to be admired, but to lift the idea of actually purchasing it out of the realm of insanity, I had to waken the hunger for beauty, the ideal of beauty, that lies buried in every normal human soul.”
“You succeeded,” Jellico said, an obvious understatement in the face of the number of determined people who had pushed in around Tatarcoffs stand even as his party had left it.
She gave him a sharp look. “There are no objections, I hope?”
“None. We’re not competing, not on this run anyway, and if the locals buy from one Free Trader, they’ll be more inclined to patronize the rest of us as well.” His eyes rested pensively on her. “You were selling more than Deke Tatarcoffs silk back there.”
“That’s part of the purpose of this excursion, isn’t it?” she countered evenly. “I’m supposed to be displaying my skill in handling the various aspects of Trade, am I not?”
“You are. You’ve shown some strange talents, Rael Cofort. I’m curious to test the extent of them.”
“Test away. Captain Jellico,” she responded lightly. “I think you won’t find me wanting, nor, perhaps, the scope of my abilities so readily fathomed as you seem to imagine, either.”
14
The off-worlders paused to examine several more displays but were not tempted to make a purchase until they were nearly ready to quit that part of the market. A metallic glitter on the foremost table of one of the large booths caught Van Rycke’s eye. Even from a distance of several feet, he could see that it was a synthetic cloth of silver netting, exquisitely complex and extraordinarily fine.
He touched Dane’s arm. “Give that a look over. If it seems worth it, make an offer.”
The Cargo-apprentice nodded and stepped briskly toward the booth, taking care to conceal from both the Canuchean merchant and his own companions the considerable trepidation with which he viewed the assignment. True, his chief had been giving him an ever-increasing amount of responsibility, but the transactions he had thus far initiated had been small and straightforward, all of them concerned with minor outfitting of the starship. This was much larger in scope and was for Trade itself. It would also involve real bargaining, or it would if he did not blow it the first time he opened his mouth.
The Canuchean displayed the examination length of the silver netting with a grand flourish, all the while extolling its beauty and virtues as enthusiastically as if it were the genuine article straight out of Siren’s far-famed mills.
Once his litany of praise ended, however, he eyed Thorson’s brown uniform as if in askance. “We deal chiefly in credits on Canuche,” he said doubtfully.
Dane declared that the Solar Queen intended to pay by that means. He saw the flash of greed glint in the other’s eyes and set himself for battle. Specie or specie credit was always the preferred method of payment on any Federation planet, and the merchant was going to attempt to secure as much as he could.
It was the apprentice’s job, on the other hand, to minimize what the Queen had to lay out. Straight credits, being more desirable than an exchange of goods or services, were also more valuable. They generally bought more as a result, and Thorson was determined that those entrusted to him should do so. He held to his role as a prospective purchaser interested but by no means overwhelmed by the proffered goods and most assuredly in no desperate need of them. In the end, after much discussion, he succeeded in shaving off an 8 percent discount for the Queen and then heaped another 2 percent on top of it as a bulk order bonus for taking all twelve bolts available.