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Serilla’s plans were in total disarray. Not only had the younger sons from the second ship managed to talk their way ashore, they had brought with them the remainder of the Satrap’s entourage from the main ship.

The only positive aspect of that, as far as Serilla was concerned, was that her clothing and possessions had been brought ashore as well.

In the days since then, not only had her control over the Satrap withered away but he had recovered his strength with amazing rapidity.

A healer had declared the Satrap was mending well and gave Serilla the credit.

Cosgo still believed that she had saved his life, but with Kekki and his pleasure drugs restored to him, his dependency was fading.

Their host seemed bent on nourishing him with every rich food imaginable and cosseting him with constant entertainment.

Cosgo’s restored vitality had set her plans awry.

She had had to scramble to modify her position.

The scroll that Cosgo had signed had been secreted in the knotted sleeve of one of her gowns.

She herself had not brought up its existence since she had first shown it on the ship.

When one Trader had asked her about it, she had smiled and assured him that since Cosgo had regained his health, it would not be needed.

Cosgo himself did not seem to recall it existed.

A special convening of the Bingtown Traders’ Council had been scheduled.

She hoped that before then she would find some opportunity to shift power in her favour once more. For now, she must abide.

She looked out the window of the chamber Trader Restart had given her.

She was definitely in the provinces, she reflected to herself.

The gardens below had a wilful, jungle look to them.

The chamber itself, though large, was both outdated and musty with disuse.

The bedding smelled of cedar and storage herbs, and the hangings were of a style that her grandmother would recognize.

The bed was uncomfortably tall; she suspected it had been designed to protect the sleeper from rats and mice.

The chamberpot was right under the bed instead of in a separate alcove.

The housemaids only brought her warm wash water twice a day, and there were no fresh flowers in her room.

The household had provided the Companions with only one personal maid, and Kekki had kept the poor girl at a dash since then.

Serilla had had to tend to her own needs.

That suited her, at present. She had no desire to allow any stranger access to the items concealed in her room.

But it was not the niceties that had fascinated her when she had chosen Bingtown as her area of expertise.

This pioneer town had managed to survive.

All other attempts to colonize the Cursed Shores had failed.

In all she had ever read or heard of Bingtown, nothing had ever explained that to her satisfaction.

Why had it survived and prospered? What had set it apart from all those other tragic efforts?

Had it been the people, the location, or purest luck? There was a mystery to be probed here.

Bingtown was the main settlement on the Cursed Shores.

It was surrounded by a network of outlying villages and farms, yet for the number of years it had existed, it had not grown as large as one would have expected.

The population did not thrive. Even the influx of the Three Ships Immigrants had been only a temporary swell in population.

Families were small, with rarely more than four surviving children.

The wave of New Traders threatened to displace the old Bingtown Traders with their sheer number, not to mention the slaves they had brought in with them.

The growth was not welcome. Bingtown resisted the idea of expanding into the surrounding countryside.

The reason offered was that much of the ground was too boggy, and that tilling up what looked like a wild pasture usually transformed it into a marsh by the next spring.

Good reasons. But Serilla had always suspected there was something more going on.

Take, for example, the so-called Rain Wild Traders. Exactly who were they?

They were not mentioned, at least by that name, in any charter issued by a Satrap.

Were they a group of Bingtown Traders that had splintered off?

A native people who had intermarried with the Bingtown folk?

Why were they never openly discussed? No one ever spoke of a city on the Rain Wild River.

Yet there must be one. All the most fascinating goods from Bingtown were always touted as being from the Rain Wilds.

Little more than that was said about them.

Serilla was convinced that the two secrets were linked.

In all her years of delving, she had never found the bottom of that mystery.

Now she was here, in Bingtown itself. Or, at least, on the outskirts of it.

Through the trees, she could catch just a glimpse of the lights of the town.

How she longed to go and explore it. Since she had arrived, their host had insisted that they remain in his home and rest. It was a tactic she suspected of being more to Trader Restart’s advantage than theirs.

While the Satrap and his Companions lodged with him, there would be a constant stream of visitors through his doors.

She suspected, from the disused state of her chamber, that Trader Restart had not enjoyed such a jolt of popularity in many years.

Yet, she was more than willing to smile and greet the Traders, both Old and New, that came to call.

Every association that she could form, every woman she could dazzle with casual tales of palace life in Jamaillia, was one more foothold in her new home.

For so she still intended to make it. Perhaps her opportunity to seize power had slipped away, but she still had a hope of making Bingtown her home.

As she leaned on the railing of the small balcony, the whole house trembled gently.

Again. She stood straight and backed away from the edge and into her room.

The earth had shivered almost daily since her arrival here, but the local folk seemed to pay it no mind.

The first time it had happened, she had started up from her seat, exclaiming in surprise.

Trader Restart had merely shrugged his round shoulders.

‘Just a little shiver, Companion Serilla. Nothing to be concerned about.’ The Satrap had already been too doused with Restart’s wine to notice it.

As it always did, the tremoring passed. Nothing had fallen, no walls had cracked.

She heaved out a small sigh. That was a part of the Cursed Shores; the restlessness of the earth under her feet.

If she intended to make a life here, she had best get used to it.

She squared her shoulders firmly and turned her mind to the business at hand.

Tonight, her dream would come true. She would see Bingtown.

She shut the tall window and went to the wardrobe to select clothing.

She was to be a guest at some sort of summer assemblage the Traders held.

She gathered that by their standards, it was quite an affair.

It was for the Bingtown Traders only; outsiders were admitted only if they had married into a Bingtown Trader family.

Young women would be presented as being of age, and she had heard some rumours of offerings of friendship exchanged between the Bingtown Traders and the Rain Wild Traders.

Now that, she told herself, was a fascinating internal distinction, one that was not spoken of in Jamaillia.

Why were offerings exchanged? Did one group subjugate the other? Questions, questions.

Serilla frowned at her jewellery. She could scarcely wear what she had filched from the Satrap’s chests. Kekki or one of the others would be sure to recognize it and comment upon it. With a small sigh, she restored the jewellery to its hiding place inside a slipper. She would have to go unadorned.

Yesterday, one of Davad Restart’s visitors had sought to distinguish herself by bragging the gossip that Reyn Khuprus of the Rain Wild Traders was actually already courting a young girl who was to be presented tonight.

The other Old Traders present had sternly hushed her.

Then the woman, one Refi Faddon, had been bold enough to defy them, pointing out that surely the Satrap and his Companions would be introduced to young Khuprus at the Ball.

What was the point of concealing who he was?

Davad Restart himself had intervened. The host who had been almost stiflingly accommodating to that point suddenly invoked his power.

‘But you cannot discuss young Khuprus without mentioning the Vestrit family and the young lady in question. In her father’s absence, I regard her reputation to be my responsibility.

I shall not tolerate any gossip about her.

But I shall endeavour that you shall meet her personally after her presentation.

She is a dazzling young lady. Now. Shall we have more cakes? ’