Balance of Trade by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page B

she kept them waiting, which Jethri could only see as a boon, for he used the time to catch his breath and surreptitiously stretch his sore muscles, so he wasn't blowing like a grampus when they were finally let in to see her.

    Her office wasn't as big as admin entire—not quite. Nor was her workspace quite as wide as his private quarters on the Market . Screens were set above the desk, which was itself a confusion of lading slips, catalogs and the ephemera of trade—that much was familiar, so much so that he felt the tears rising to his eyes.

    The master trader, she was familiar, too, with her gray hair and her snapping black eyes.

    "So," she said, rising from her chair and coming forward. "It is well." She inclined her head and spoke to Pen Rel—a rapid burst of Liaden, smooth and musical. The arms master made brief reply, swept a bow to her honor, treated Jethri to a heavy tip of the head, and was gone, the door snapping behind him like a hungry mouth.

    Black eyes surveyed him blandly. Belatedly, Jethri remembered his manners and bowed, low. "Master ven'Deelin. I report for duty, with joy."

    "Hah." She tipped her head slightly to the right. "Well said, if briefly. Tell me, Jethri Gobelyn, how much will it distress you to find that your first duty is dry study?"

    He shrugged, meeting her gaze for gaze. "Uncle Pai—Trader Gobelyn taught me that trade was study, ma'am. I wouldn't expect it otherwise."

    "A man of excellent sense, Trader Gobelyn. My admiration of him knows no limit. Tell me, then, oh wise apprentice, what will you expect to study firstly? Say what is in your heart—I would know whether I must set you to gemstones, or precious metals, or fine vintage."

    Had she been Terran, Jethri would have considered that she was teasing him. Liadens—none of his studies had led him to believe that Liadens held humor high. Honor was the thing, with Liadens. Honor and the exact balancing of any wrong.

    "Well, ma'am," he said, careful as he was able. "I'm thinking that the first thing I'll be needing is language. I can read Liaden, but I'm slow—and my speaking is, I discover, nothing much better than poor."

    "An honest scholar," Master ven'Deelin said after a moment, "and of something disheartened." She reached out and patted his sleeve. "Repine not, Jethri Gobelyn. That you read our language at all is to be noted. That you have made some attempt to capture the tongue as it is spoken must be shown for heroic." She paused.

    "Understand me, it is not that we of the clans seek to hide our customs from those traders of variant ilk. Rather, we have not overindulged in future thinking, whereby it would have been immediately understood that steps of education must be taken." She moved her shoulders in that weird not-shrug, conveying something beyond Jethri's ken.

    "Very nearly, the masters of trade have walked aside from their duty. Very nearly. You and I—we will repair this oversight of the masters and rescue honor for all. Eh?" She brought her palms together sharply.

    "But, yes, firstly you must speak to be understood. You will be given tapes, and a tutor. You will be given the opportunity to Balance these gifts the ship bestows. There is one a-ship who wishes to possess the Terran tongue. Understand that her case is much as yours—she reads, but there is a lack of proficiency in the spoken form. She, you will tutor, as you are tutored. You understand me?"

    So, he had something of worth that he could trade for his lessons and his keep. It was little enough, and no question the ship bore the heavier burden, but it cheered him to find that he would be put to use.

    Smiling, he nodded; caught himself with a sharp sigh and bowed. "I understand you, ma'am. Yes."

    "Hah." Her eyes gleamed. "It will be difficult, but the need is plain. Therefore, the difficult will be accomplished." She clapped her hands once more. "You will be a trader to behold, Jethri Gobelyn!"

    He felt his ears warm, and bowed again. "Thank you,