“Not bad at all,” Van Rycke gloated when they were out of sight and earshot of the booth. “The youngster’s beginning to show a little promise. I don’t know if I’d have had the nuggets to demand a bulk discount for a dozen bolts of cloth.”
“A nice move,” the Captain agreed, “but do we need twelve bolts?”
“It’ll sell,” Jan assured him. “Some primitive society will go for it, and it’s absolutely stellar quality. If that cloth was real silver, we could take it anywhere in the inner systems.”
“We still can,” Dane interjected. “Those planets tend to enjoy greater wealth and luxury than the outer and rim worlds, but there are plenty of very ordinary people working away on all of them. They can’t afford clothes spun out of precious metals, but those conscious of fashion will grab a good synthetic. If we aren’t planning a trip in there ourselves in the near future, we’ll be encountering ships like the Black Hole that are. Any one of them’d be glad to pick up some of this in exchange for goods we’ll find more immediately useful.”
“I agree,” Rael said, “but I don’t think you’ll have to trade any of it off. You’ll sell, and you won’t have to leave the outer systems to do it. A dozen bolts wouldn’t be anything to a large manufacturer. It could go even faster in individual sales in a fairly big town, much less in a city.
Aphrodite comes to mind at once. So does Sultana, which might actually be your best bet if you can swing in that far.
The teachers there’d jump at this for use in training, although, of course, they won’t bring anything fake into the temples.”
“Hera’s even closer,” Dane suggested. “According to Mara’s notes, the priestesses there love glitter. They sew and paste mirrors and all sorts of beads and pieces of metal and strips of lace on their robes. They should go for this like a drowning man for oxygen.”
“True enough, and as you so sagely point out, Hera’s close by.”
Thorson’s head lifted in gratification at his chiefs ready acceptance of the viability of his suggestion. He did not see the look of pride that accompanied it. That was an extremely obscure bit of information, a one-line margin note jotted down as a reminder on an old reorder list. Van Rycke had not recalled it himself, although he doubtless would have done so before long, and he was pleased that his fledgling, who had obviously been studying the files, had beaten him to it.
With the business of the cloth’s potential saleability settled, the Cargo-Master felt at liberty to address another matter whetting his curiosity. His blue eyes flickered in Cofort’s direction. “Speaking of Sultana, Doctor, I’m wondering how you’ve managed to pick up her most cherished art form.”
She smiled. “I first saw her Ibis dancers when I was eight years old. It was love at first sight. I’d always detested sports, and even then I thought formal exercise a galactic-class bore, necessary to maintain health and muscle tone, perhaps, but a waste of time, plentiful as that is in space. This beautiful, complex dance was different. I wanted it, and I was determined to learn how to perform it.
“I bought every tape and book my credits would allow and pestered my father for more, then I secretly worked with them, deciphering and copying the moves as best I could. I’d made such progress by the time he finally caught me at it that he sought to arrange for lessons for me the next time we planeted on Sultana, which was a regular port on our trade route. I was good enough that his request was granted.”
“He was damned lucky you didn’t disappear,” Miceal told her bluntly. “Those people worship beauty. You must have had that even then, and you were a dancer, besides.”
She shook her head. “To them, I was the ultimate tragedy. I had the talent to dance, but it was stillborn. I had come to it far too late. Sultanites literally begin preliminary training when they’re six months old. Their parents start giving them coordination exercises at that age. They encouraged me to continue all the same because they, their teachers, recognized that my love for their art is genuine.
“I’m fully aware of my limitations. I’d never be allowed on any temple floor, much less on an altar, but I don’t expect that. I dance for my own pleasure and well-being.”
“You can perform for us some day,” Van Rycke promised.
Rael flushed scarlet. “You’re not a tamed audience! And I know you all . . .”
Jellico laughed, but he draped a surprisingly comforting arm around her shoulders. “Power down, Doctor. Our good Cargo-Master’s only running you over the jets. Ibis dancing’s potentially too potent a force for disruption to be loosed in the confines of a starship. Rest assured that you’ll be allowed to continue exercising to your heart’s content in complete privacy.”
The four spacers moved into that part of the huge market where the gems and jewelry were sold.
Here the difference between the Solar Queen and the Roving Star, the chasm between the credits each starship had at her disposal, between the routes they flew, were made clearly apparent. The really good pieces, finished or unset, coming for sale on Canuche of Halio were offered in the major enclosed facilities, not in this open field, yet they could not give the top line of even what was on display of the mounted stones more than a passing glance.
Miceal’s expression darkened as he continued to watch the Medic. Inevitably, her eyes went to the best pieces, lingered on the really good ones. She knew they were beyond the means of her party and said nothing, but the way she looked at them was sufficient. It was not hard to imagine her disappointment. Teague Cofort would have gone for those choices. Space, Deke Tatarcoff probably could have picked up a couple or three of them. So could the Queen, he thought bitterly. Of course, then they would have nothing left with which to lay in a Trade store …
He stopped himself with a mental oath. What was he doing? Was this accursed woman driving him to feel ashamed of his own starship?
Jellico’s mood improved again once they left the highpriced jewelry behind and found themselves surrounded by stalls stocking goods within their range.
He had no time for brooding then. The Solar Queen had almost no jewelry left, and these mid-line goods, particularly the numerous beads, were of intense interest to her Captain.
Now that she was free to act, Rael Cofort shone. She unerringly seized upon the beautifully marked agates, the oddly colored sodalite strand whose dark lavender shade might be a fault but was also strikingly attractive. She found the three unpitted strings in a bundle of otherwise poor garnets, and she spotted uniquely shaped beads and strange clasps to add distinction to the Queen’s growing collection of interesting if relatively uncostly trade material.
Van Rycke glowed with satisfaction. Cofort was performing exactly as he had seen her do in that other market but with the grand difference that on this occasion she was working for the Solar Queen, not against her.
He permitted her to do only the choosing. Although each individual piece cost little, the total of their gem and mineral purchases would be significant. This was Queen business, and he was not about to turn the crucial bargaining over to any temporary hand.
Dane watched him with the awe of a knowledgeable beginner for a superb master in his craft, and with pleasure.
Someday, he would have a similar post and would perform, he hoped, with skill equal to that of his chief.
Jellico and Cofort’s impressions might be less precisely tuned, but they were no less powerful. Both were veterans in Trade and recognized an ability so well honed that it transcended the professional to move into the realm of art.
Once the Cargo-Master was satisfied that they had secured everything they needed or wanted that the Queen could afford, he indicated that they should return to the freighter with their treasures. All four of them were burdened with a number of fairly substantial packages by that time. The cloth, of course, would be delivered to the ship, but when one purchased gems and minerals, he took care to carry them away with him.
“Could we at least go by the loose stones?” the Medic asked wistfully.
“If you like,” Jellico replied. “I thought you agreed with Van that we wouldn’t take any.”
“Aye. This is for me. I just want to look.”
“The Roving Star deals heavily in them,” Van Rycke recalled.
She nodded. “We do our own setting, you see. Our Steward’s a master jeweler. — He’s taken prizes from some of the biggest guilds in the ultrasystem. — He mounts what we bring to him, both for Trade and for the rest of us personally. All we have to do is supply the materials, and he produces individual works of art. I’ve gotten in the habit of checking out anything that might conceivably be of interest as a result.”