Come back!’
She ignored the imperious command.
‘Please!’ the Satrap’s voice grated.
She kept walking, her sandals whispering over the marble floor.
‘The Magnadon Satrap Cosgo courteously requests that Companion Serilla return to his chambers to advise him on the Bingtown matter.’ These words were bellowed after her down the hallway. She paused, then turned. The expression on her face was studiously polite. It was in her vows. She could not refuse him her company if he asked advice in her area of expertise. Her considered advice was all she had vowed to give him.
‘I would be honoured, Magnadon.’ She retraced her steps. He leaned in the doorway, his normally pale cheeks reddened. His dark hair was tousled over his bloodshot eyes. She had to admire the expressionless guards. She re-entered the chamber and did not flinch as he slammed the door behind her. Instead, she crossed the room and hauled the heavy curtains to one side. Afternoon sunlight spilled into the room. She went to the table, seated herself, and then leaned forward to blow out the lamp she had been using. The afternoon light was ample, once the curtains were opened. Cosgo came grudgingly to sit beside her. She had deliberately spread her elbows apart to keep him at a distance. He seated himself as close to her as he could without actually touching her. His dark eyes were reproachful.
She indicated the texts arranged on the table. ‘Here we have a copy of the original Bingtown Charter. This, the list of grievances they have submitted to us. This stack is made up of copies of new land grants you have issued in the Bingtown area.’ She turned to face him. ‘Considering their first point: I find that we have most definitely violated their original charter. All the new grants are in direct violation of the old agreement. You had no authority to issue new land grants to Bingtown lands without consulting the Traders first. That was clearly spelled out in their initial charter.’
He scowled but said nothing. She ran her fingertip down the scroll. ‘They also protest the new tariffs that have been levied, as well as the increases in the old ones. Those, I think we can justify, though we may have to be more moderate in the percentages.’ She perused the Traders’ list of grievances. ‘They complain also about the New Traders trafficking in slaves, and using slaves on their properties. And there is a final complaint about the financing of Chalcedean patrol boats and the stationing of patrol boats in Bingtown Harbour. These are areas in which I think we can negotiate compromises.’
‘Compromises,’ Cosgo muttered in disgust. ‘Am I not the Satrap? Why need I compromise at all?’
She set her chin in her hand and stared out over the gardens pensively. ‘Because you have violated the word of your ancestor. The Bingtown Traders are provincial in many ways. And conservative. They follow many of the old traditions. They keep their bargains to the written letter; a man’s word does not die with him, it is the responsibility of his heirs to honour it. They expect others to do the same. The delegation was very angry when they arrived. They had had a long voyage in which to commiserate with one another. They reinforced one another’s opinions until they were mutually convinced that their position was unassailable. And, of course, only those most angered by our recent actions would take the time to come so far to confront us. They were definitely our adversaries. Still, they might have been mollified on some of their complaints if you had agreed to meet with them personally.’ She turned back to face the Satrap.
He looked both grim and sulky. ‘I was ill that week. It was all I could do to meet with the Chalcedean trade delegation. You might also recall that there was an investiture of priests that I had to attend.’
‘You spent most of the week in a stupor, sampling the new pleasure drugs the Chalcedeans had brought you. Twice you promised me you would meet with the Bingtown delegation. Each time you kept them waiting for hours before sending word you were indisposed. You left me in a very uncomfortable position. They departed feeling snubbed and ignored. They were more convinced than ever of their own righteousness.’ She did not add that she agreed with them. It was her task to present the facts to him, not her feelings. At least, that was her present task. She hoped soon to take on more than that, if her plans prospered.
‘Stiff-necked sons of outcasts and outlaws,’ he sneered. ‘I should do as my friend Duke Yadfin advised me. Put him in place as my appointed governor in Bingtown. Dissolve their silly, feuding Councils. Old Traders, New Traders…who can keep up with it all? A little Chalcedean discipline would do that rabble good.’
Serilla could not help herself. She gaped at him. He scratched his nose negligently.
‘You cannot be serious,’ she offered at last. She was even prepared to feign amusement at his tasteless jest. Put a Chalcedean noble in authority over Bingtown?
‘Why not? Chalced is a good ally. Bingtown’s base slandering of them has proven groundless. Bingtown is closer to Chalced than it is to Jamaillia. A governor from Chalced could better regulate the folk there, and as long as I still received my percentages and tariffs, what harm ’
‘All of Bingtown would rise up in rebellion against you. There has already been talk of such a revolt. They would break with Jamaillia and govern themselves before they would tolerate a Chalcedean in power over them.’
‘Break with Jamaillia? They are nothing without Jamaillia. Bingtown is a backwards trade town, a frontier settlement with no future save trade with my city. They would not dare break with Jamaillia.’
‘I fear you have greatly misjudged the temperament of the folk there. For too long, you have left them to fend for themselves. They begin to question why they should be taxed for protection and improvements they have not received for five years.’
‘Oh, I see. Since my father’s death, you mean. You blame the discontent of this rabble on me, do you?’
‘No. Not entirely.’ She kept her voice flat. ‘Before your father died, his mind had begun to wander. He was not as adept at detail work as he had been when a young man. He, too, had begun to neglect Bingtown. You have simply let the slide continue.’
‘All the more reason then to put a governor there. You see? By your own logic, my idea is a good one.’ He sat back, fanning himself contentedly.
She was silent until she could speak without shrieking. ‘It is not your idea, Magnadon. It is Duke Yadfin’s plan to fleece you while you smile and smoke his pleasure herbs. Legally, you cannot appoint a governor for Bingtown, let alone one from Chalced. That is not the structure of the charter of their founding.’
‘Then do away with the stupid charter!’ he roared at her. ‘Why do I owe them anything? They fled to the Cursed Shores, exiles, criminals, and rebellious young lords. For years, they have lived as they pleased up there, enjoying all the benefits of Jamaillian citizenship without shouldering the burdens…’
‘They cede to you fifty percent of their profits, Magnadon. That is a higher rate than any other class of citizens pay. They argue, and well, that they receive few benefits, that they have paid for all improvements to their harbours and that the piracy in the Inside Passage is worse than it has been since…’
‘Yet they resist my efforts to control the pirates. How can I protect them if they will not permit my patrol boats to shelter in their harbour?’
She sorted pages quickly. ‘Here. They propose that instead of your Chalcedean hirelings, they be allowed to keep those taxes and fund their own patrol vessels. Their argument is that as they are familiar with the tides and channels, and that they could patrol their area more effectively. Their figures indicate they could do it less expensively.’
‘But
