Chiri-Chiri clicked in annoyance, then flew—wings beating very quickly—to the upper reaches of the room, where she settled onto one of her favorite perches, the lintel above the doorway.
A short time later, a knock at the door interrupted Rysn’s tedium. “Come,” she said. Her man, Wmlak—who was half assistant, half porter—poked his head in.
“Let me guess,” Rysn said, “the auditor is early.” They always were.
“Yes, but…”
Behind Wmlak, Rysn caught sight of a familiar flat-topped, conical hat. Wmlak stepped back and gestured toward an old man in blue and red robes, his Thaylen eyebrows tucked behind his ears. Spry for a man past his seventieth year, Vstim had a wise but unyielding way about him. Inoffensively calculating. He carried a small box under his arm.
Rysn gasped in delight; once, she would have leaped to her feet to embrace him. Now she could only sit there and gape. “But you were off to trade in New Natanan!”
“The seas are not safe these days,” Vstim said. “And the queen requested my aid in difficult negotiations with the Alethi. I have returned, with some reluctance, to accept an appointment from Her Majesty.”
An appointment …
“In the government?” Rysn asked.
“Minister of trade, and royal liaison to the guild of shipping merchants.”
Rysn could only gape further. That was the highest civilian appointment in the kingdom. “But … Babsk, you’ll have to live in Thaylen City!”
“Well, I am feeling my age these days.”
“Nonsense. You’re as lively as I am.” Rysn glanced at her legs. “More.”
“Not so lively that I wouldn’t mind a seat…”
She realized he was still standing in the doorway to her office. Even all these months after her accident, she pushed with her arms as if to spring up and fetch him a seat. Idiot.
“Please, sit!” she said, waving toward the room’s other chair. He settled down and placed his box on the table while she twisted to do something to welcome him, leaning over—precariously—to get the teapot. The tea was cold, unfortunately. Chiri-Chiri had drained the gemstone in her fabrial hotplate.
“I can’t believe you’d agree to settle down!” she said, handing him a cup.
“Some would say that the opportunity offered me is far too important to refuse.”
“Storm that,” Rysn said. “Staying in one city will wilt you—you’ll spend your days doing paperwork and being bored.”
“Rysn,” he said, taking her hand. “Child.”
She looked away. Chiri-Chiri flew down and landed on her head, clicking angrily at Vstim.
“I promise I’m not going to hurt her,” the old man said, grinning and releasing Rysn’s hand. “Here, I brought you something. See?” He held up a ruby chip.
Chiri-Chiri considered, then hovered down above his hand—not touching it—and sucked the Stormlight out. It flew to her in a little stream, and she clicked happily, then zipped over to the pot of grass and wriggled into it, peeking out at Vstim.
“You still have the grass, I see,” he said.
“You ordered me to keep it.”
“You’re now a master merchant, Rysn! You needn’t obey the orders of a doddering old man.”
The grass rustled as Chiri-Chiri shifted. She was too big to hide in it, though that never stopped her from trying.
“Chiri-Chiri likes it,” Rysn said. “Maybe because it can’t move. Kind of like me…”
“Have you tried that Radiant who—”
“Yes. He can’t heal my legs. It’s been too long since my accident, which is appropriate. This is my consequence—payment for a contract I entered into willingly the moment I climbed down the side of that greatshell.”
“You don’t have to lock yourself away, Rysn.”
“This is a good job. You yourself got it for me.”
“Because you refused to go on further trading expeditions!”
“What good would I be? One must trade from a position of power, something I can never do again. Besides, an exotic goods merchant who can’t walk? You know how much hiking is required.”
Vstim took her hand again. “I thought you were frightened. I thought you wanted something safe and secure. But I’ve been listening. Hmalka has told me—”
“You spoke to my superior?”
“People talk.”
“My work has been exemplary,” Rysn said.
“It isn’t your work she’s worried about.” He turned and brushed the grass, drawing Chiri-Chiri’s attention to his hand. She narrowed her eyes at it. “Do you remember what I told you, when you cut out that grass?”
“That I was to keep it. Until it no longer seemed odd.”
“You’ve always been so quick to make assumptions. About yourself, now, more than others. Here, perhaps this will … anyway, have a look.” Vstim handed her the box.
She frowned, then slid off the wooden lid. Inside was a wound-up cord of white rope. Beside that, a slip of paper? Rysn took out the sheet, reading it.
“A deed of ownership?” she whispered. “To a ship?”
“Brand new,” Vstim said. “A three-masted frigate, the largest I’ve ever owned—with fabrial stabilizers for storms, of the finest Thaylen engineering. I had her built in the shipyards of Klna City, which luckily sheltered her from both storms. While I’ve given the rest of my fleet—what’s left of it—to the queen for use against the invasion, this one I reserved.”
“Wandersail,” Rysn said, reading the ship’s name. “Babsk, you are a romantic. Don’t tell me you believe that old story?”
“One can believe in a story without believing it happened.” He smiled. “Whose rules are you following, Rysn? Who is forcing you to stay here? Take the ship. Go! I wish to fund your initial trade run, as an investment. After that, you’ll have to do well to maintain a vessel of this size!”
Rysn recognized the white rope now. It was a captain’s cord some twenty feet long, used as a traditional Thaylen mark of ownership. She’d wrap it in her colors and string it in the rigging of her ship.
It was a gift worth a fortune.
“I can’t take this,” she said, putting the box on the desk. “I’m sorry. I—”
He pushed the cord into her hands. “Just think about it, Rysn. Humor an old man who can no longer travel.”
She held the rope and found her eyes watering. “Bother. Babsk, I have an auditor coming today! I need to be composed and ready to account the queen’s vault!”
“Fortunately, the auditor is an old friend who has seen much worse from you than a few tears.”
“… But you’re the minister of trade!”
“They were going to make me go to a stuffy meeting with old Kholin and his soldiers,” Vstim said, leaning in, “but I insisted on coming to do this. I’ve always wanted to see the queen’s vault in person.”
Rysn wiped her tears, trying to recover some of her decorum. “Well, let’s be to it then. I assure you, everything is in order.”
* * *
The Sphere Vault’s thick steel door required three numbers to open, each rolled into a different dial, in three separate rooms. Rysn and other scribes knew one number, the door guards protected another, and an auditor—like Vstim—was typically given a third by the queen or the minister of the treasury. All were changed at random intervals.