The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [180]
“You seem to have thought this out.” Megaera’s voice is gentle. “Why do you feel that way?”
“It’s like this, your grace. I know the traders, like the Ruziosis . . . Klyen and I served under his uncle. That was before Freigr offered me the number-one and when the Duke was talking about building a real merchant fleet. Anyways, Klyen middled for me in Renklaar—just this one time—because the Whites hadn’t put out the word, but the declaration came out just after we loaded on everything but the trees. My boys had to load those themselves, even had to clean the pier, because it’s like the theft decree—”
“Theft decree?”
Gossel glances at Megaera. “Lift a hand to help Recluce, like a thief, and you lose that hand. Doesn’t matter what’s right, but Klyen can’t help again, leastwise not in Renklaar or anywhere east of the Westhorns. As for Nordla, the Griffin’s a good ship, but small to cross the entire Eastern Ocean, and . . .”
“How could we guarantee any protection?”
Gossel takes another sip from the goblet.
“So . . . we have to go at least as far as Southwind or Suthya to trade? Is that it?” asks Megaera.
“Yes, your grace. I don’t know as that’d work . . . maybe for the Dawnstar. Freigr’s got enough hold for the bulk stuff.” Gossel takes another swallow from the goblet. “See, everyone wants the expensive stuff, but there’s not much of it, and you try to sell it all at once and then the price drops. But ships come only every so often. That’s how the trading houses work. They stock the spices and silks and jewels, but they sell only a bit at a time. Keeps the price up that way. With the decree, only the smugglers’d touch our stuff, and their rates are much lower . . . wouldn’t even cover our costs.”
“We didn’t lose that much,” Creslin points out.
“One ship in three is lost every couple of years.”
“You’re saying that we can trade for a little while, even through the smugglers, but that it will raise costs—”
“A lot. Do that, and you have to pay the crew bonus money. You also need to ship marines or some sort of guards. Otherwise, smugglers’ll just take you, ship and all.”
Creslin shakes his head. “Clever of the Whites. Just punish anyone who takes our goods. That kills legal trade, and the economics kill most of the smuggled stuff.”
“I don’t see why. Smuggling’s been around for centuries,” protests Megaera.
“What’s smuggled, your grace? Weapons, drugs, jewels. Maybe art for a patron in Austra who isn’t too picky, or sometimes some brandy or whiskey—distilled stuff, you know. We’re buying weapons, and we don’t have jewels, let alone art.” Gossel lifts the goblet. “Now, if you could make a brandy out of this green-juice wine or whatever it is. But . . .” he shrugs . . . “we don’t have much of the stuff the smugglers want.”
“I see,” Megaera says pensively.
Creslin sees too. “Let us think about it.” He stands, reaching for his too-empty purse.
“No, ser. The coins are nothing. You made me a ship’s master, and that’s worth more than a few golds.” Gossel squares his shoulders.
“That’s why you’re worried?” Megaera asks softly.
“Aye, your grace. The Griffin, small as she is—”
“We’ll see what we can do.” Megaera’s eyes reach Creslin’s, but only for a moment, as his anger and frustration wash over her. She stands up.
Gossel’s head is down and he remains seated, still looking at the table, almost unaware that both regents are ready to leave.
“We will do something, Gossel.” Creslin pauses. “And we appreciate the honesty and the fair warning.”
They leave the cabin without further words. Gossel corks the bottle and racks it, then downs the last of the goblet.
As they cross the deck, Megaera looks at Creslin. “Why are you so angry? We’ve got trading crops. We’ll even have some wool, and Avalari is beginning to turn out some decent goblets and other fancy glassware. Now that we can color some of it, it should sell well, certainly in Suthya, and perhaps even in South Kyphros. They don’t pay much attention to the Whites