Shadows Return

trade.
    Micum, whom Thero had never suspected of being such a consummate actor, pretended surprise when he heard what their business was. “What are you doing here, then? Aurënfaie don’t deal in flesh.”
    “Shhhhh! We don’t bring that here,” Notis explained, leaning on Micum’s shoulder. “We carry the poor buggers to the Riga markets, then take on cargo for here. You get the money here, get more flesh and round and round we go! The khirnari don’t care, so long as we got no slaves aboard when we drop anchor here.”
    “Is that the best port for it? Riga?”
    “Unless we got something real special. That we take to Benshâl. Good money in Riga, but best money in Benshâl. The Overlord? I hear he’s got five hundred of the best in his private collection. And that’s just the bedders. All the household slaves? They got to be perfect, too. No marks ’cept for the brands. Especially on the face.”
    “Not even what the clothes cover up?” asked Micum.
    “Not even,” Notis assured him.
    “Do you get many of those?”
    “No, damn the luck! We’ve not been up that way for months. Just come back from Riga, though.” Notis slapped his purse down on the tabletop with a respectable jingle of coin.
    “By the Flame, there must be good money in it,” Micum exclaimed, slurring a little now himself. “How’s a man get into that business, anyway?”
    Eyes narrowed around the table at that. “You asking, Skala?”
    “Do I sound like a Skalan to you?” Micum scoffed, offended. “I’m a northlander! No queens for me. No sir, I’m a free man, free to do as I please. And…” He paused and gave them a knowing wink. “Making money always pleases me. Only I’m wondering, if old Ulan knows the cargo you carry, why does he let your ships anywhere near his fai’thast, eh?”
    A Zengat with a scar across the bridge of his nose leaned in and whispered, “That is because of the agreement.”
    “What agreement?” Thero asked, speaking up at last.
    Notis and the others went silent and suddenly all eyes were on Thero, and not looking too friendly.
    “That’s a Skalan you’re with,” Notis growled.
    “Him?” Micum jerked a thumb at Thero. “Don’t mind him. I met him on the ship coming over and he’s been buying the drinks. What do you say, Thorwin? You too proud to earn your living?”
    It took Thero only a second to realize that he was Thorwin, and that a great deal rode on the proper response. “Since my father cast me out, I’ve made my own way just fine,” he shot back, trying to match the coarse, off-hand way Micum had been speaking. “One country’s silver spends the same as another’s, in my experience.”
    The others stared at him a moment, then they all burst out laughing, and Micum with them.
    Notis slapped Micum on the shoulder, rocking on the bench. “You got you a fine companion, friend. He talks like a priest, all stiff like a dead fish.” He stood and locked his arms at his sides, shuffling drunkenly from foot to foot, much to the amusement of his friends.
    Why am I always compared to fish?
Thero wondered, nonetheless relieved by this reaction.
    “What sorts of things do you bring back over the water?” Micum asked, giving Thero a wink.
    “Iron, copper, spirits mostly. This time we also bring back some ’faie.”
    “Aurënfaie?”
    “Freed slaves. Bunch of rubbish, you ask me, all beaten down and branded. Better off throwing ’em into the sea. But we get paid by the head, so we took good care of them. Only lost one.”
    “You got paid to bring slaves out of Plenimar?” Micum shook his head. “I never heard of such a thing!”
    “Ransom,” the Zengat said, licking his lips. “Pays better than slaving sometimes. Trouble is, so many of the freed ones kill themselves before we can get them back.”
    “So that’s the agreement?” Thero asked.
    “Keep your voice down, fish priest!” the man hissed, looking around nervously. “You want to get us lynched? It’s all—how do you say it?”
    “Under the table,” Notis explained with a wink. “No one in this port takes slaves from Virésse, and there’s a good bounty for any brought home again. Been going on for years.”
    “Ulan í Sathil ransoms his people back?” Thero whispered. “But if he knows they are being taken, why does he trade with you at all?”
    “He only does business with those who bring him word of his people in Plenimar. And with the Zengati clans he’s got treaties with.”
    “So you