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Althea scanned the members of the Council as they greeted one another and took their places at a long table on the dais.

She felt suddenly shamed that she could put names to so few of them.

Her father would have known which were his allies and which his opponents.

She had no such expertise. The chimes that indicated the beginning of the meeting rang.

Voices quieted. Althea breathed a brief prayer to Sa to guide her words.

She could have made it a much longer prayer.

In a wordy opening speech, the Council head declared that there were several topics to cover, so he thought it best to dispense with the simpler disputes first. Althea lifted a querying eyebrow at Grag; she thought this meeting had been specially requested to hear the Tenira family concerns.

He knitted his brows and gave a small shrug.

They were subjected to a heated discourse between two Trader families over water rights to a creek that bounded their properties.

One man had cattle to water; the other Trader wished to divert water to his fields.

It was a lengthy argument settled by the Council’s obvious decision that they must share the water.

An arbitrator group of three was appointed to aid them in deciding how.

As soon as the argumentative pair had bowed to one another and resumed their seats, Althea sat up expectantly.

She was doomed to disappointment. The next dispute was not so easily settled.

One Trader’s prize bull had impregnated the herd of a neighbouring Trader.

Both claimed to be the injured party. One wanted substantial stud fees; the other countered that he had wished to use a different bull, hence this year’s crop of calves was not what he had desired.

One claimed the other’s servant had sabotaged his fence; the second claimed the bull’s owner had been negligent in confining his animal.

The Council had great difficulty with this one.

They retired to a back room where they could debate more freely.

During this recess, the audience shifted restlessly or chatted with neighbours.

When the Council returned, they announced that the calves should be sold as soon as they were weaned, and the profits divided between the two Traders.

The bull’s owner would be responsible for fortifying the fence.

This did not suit either Trader, but the Council’s decision was binding.

Both Trader families rose and stalked out angrily.

To Althea’s dismay, several other families also rose and followed them.

She had hoped they would be able to address the Traders themselves as well as the Council.

The head of the Bingtown Traders’ Council consulted a tablet before him. ‘The Tenira family has requested time to address the Council for the purpose of disputing the Satrap’s tariffs levied against the liveship Ophelia and her detention at the tariff docks due to their failure to pay.’

No sooner had the head of the Council announced this than a Trader stood to address the Council.

They recognized Trader Daw, who spoke his obviously rehearsed words quickly.

‘This is not a proper matter for the Trader Council. Trader Tenira’s grievance is with the Satrap’s tariff office, not with another Trader.

He should take it up with them, and let the Council devote its precious time to matters that concern us all. ’

With a sinking heart, Althea noted that Davad Restart was seated right next to Daw, nodding soberly to his words.

Tomie Tenira stood. The old sea captain’s taut shoulders strained the sleeves of his Trader’s robe.

His fists were knotted at his sides. He strove to keep the anger from his voice.

‘When was the Traders’ Council reduced to a nanny quelling squabbles between siblings?

What is the Traders’ Council, if not Bingtown’s voice?

The grievance I present is not between the tariff officer and me.

It is about an unjust tax levied against all ship owners.

Our original charter called for fifty percent of our profits to go to the Satrap’s coffers.

Outrageous as that is, our forebears agreed to it, and I willingly abide by it.

However, nowhere in that charter are these tariffs mentioned.

Moreover, no document anywhere says that we must tolerate murdering, thieving Chalcedean mercenaries in our harbours.

’ Tomie Tenira’s voice had begun to shake with fury.

He strangled into silence, trying to regain control of himself.

Davad Restart came to his feet. Althea felt ill.

‘Council members, all Jamaillian merchants pay tariff to the Satrap. Why should we be any different? Is he not our good and just ruler? Do not we owe him support to maintain the reign that benefits all of us? These tariffs go to maintain the docks and facilities in Jamaillia City, as well as to pay for those who patrol the Inside Passage against piracy. The very qualities Trader Tenira disparages in the Chalcedeans are those that make them excellent defenders against piracy. If he does not care for their services, then perhaps he should…’

‘The Chalcedean “patrol ships” are no more than pirates themselves! They stop legitimate ships, with no other intent than extortion. All here know how my liveship Ophelia was injured defending herself from such an unwarranted intrusion. Bingtown ships have never willingly submitted to being boarded by foreigners. Are you suggesting we accept it now? The tariffs began simply, as reasonable fees. Now they are so complicated to work out that we must accept the word of a hired scribe as to what we owe. The tariffs have one purpose only: to make it unprofitable for us to trade anywhere except Jamaillia City. They steal our profits to bind us more tightly to their purse strings. Anyone who has tied up in Jamaillia recently can testify that the charges we are paying are not going for dock maintenance there. I doubt if anything has been spent on those docks in the last three years.’

A general rumble of agreement, with some laughter, followed his last statement. ‘My ship’s boy damn near fell through the last one we tied up to,’ someone in the back called out.

Daw stood again quickly, inserting his words into the pause.

‘Council members, I suggest you adjourn to see if you should even be hearing this matter before you accept any more testimony about it.’ He glanced about.

‘Evening draws close to night. Perhaps we should save this matter for a later meeting.’

‘We are well within our purpose in hearing this, I believe,’ the head of the Council replied, only to have two lesser members immediately shake their heads in denial. This necessitated another withdrawal to the private room.

This time the room was less patient and social while they were gone.

Folk got up and milled about. Trader Larfa of the liveship Winsome came to stand before Tomie Tenira.

He did not lower his voice as he announced, ‘Count on me, Tomie. No matter how it goes here. If you want, give the word now. Me and my sons will be with you, and we’ll go right now and untie your ship from that damned tariff dock.

’ Two tall young men behind him nodded soberly to their father’s offer.

‘You wouldn’t be alone,’ offered another man, one Althea didn’t recognize. Like Trader Larfa, he was flanked by his sons.

‘Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Tomie said quietly. ‘I would like this to be something Bingtown acts on, not the Tenira family alone.’

At that moment, a shouting match broke out elsewhere in the room.

Althea half stood and craned her neck. She could see little, due to others standing up between her and the dispute, but it seemed to centre where Traders Daw and Restart had been seated.

‘You liar!’ someone accused. ‘You did and you know you did. Without you, the damn New Traders would never have become so deeply entrenched here.’ Another voice muttered a bland denial.

The Council’s order-keepers were already moving to quell the disturbance.

Althea felt her nails bite into her palms. The room was on the edge of breaking into violence, Trader against Trader.

‘This serves no one!’ she heard herself announce bitterly.

By chance, her voice had sounded in a lull in the noise.

Heads turned towards her. Even Grag and Tomie Tenira were looking at her in astonishment.

She took a breath. If she waited, the Council might well adjourn for the night.

Precious time would be lost. This might be her only chance to speak.

‘Look at us! We squabble like children, Trader against Trader. Ask yourself who wins that battle? We need to find agreement here. We need to speak of the larger matter that confronts us. What is Bingtown becoming? Are we going to bow our heads to the Satrap’s rules, accept his tariffs and restrictions, no matter how heavy they become?

Will we tolerate his hirelings tying up in our harbour?

Will we pay to feed and outfit them, so they can stop our ships and fleece them before they reach port? Why?’

Every eye in the room had turned to her.

Some people were resuming their seats, willing to hear what she had to say.

She glanced down at a seated Grag. He gave her a nod of encouragement.

She felt his mother reach up and take her hand.

She gave it a squeeze before releasing it.

Althea felt heady with power. ‘My father told me, two years ago, that it would come to this. I am not the Trader he was, but I do not hesitate to repeat his wisdom. A time will come when Bingtown must stand on its own, and determine its own future. That is what he told me. I think that time is now.’