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Serilla managed not to frown. She had not been warned of any of this. They had formulated a recovery plan without her? With difficulty, she held her tongue and bided her time.

‘Twice before in our history, we have imposed a moratorium on debts and foreclosures. As we enacted this before, for the Great Fire that left so many families homeless, and again during the Two Year Drought, it is appropriate now. Debts and contracts will continue to amass interest, but no Trader shall confiscate the property of any other Trader, nor press for payment on any debt until this Council declares this moratorium to be lifted.’

Serilla watched their faces. There was a low murmur of conversation in the hall, but no one leapt up to object. This surprised her. She had thought that opportunistic profit had been behind much of the looting. Did the Traders stand back from that now?

‘Secondly, that every Trader family shall double their city duty days, nor shall they be able to buy back this responsibility. Every Trader and every member of a Trader’s family over fifteen years of age shall fulfil this duty personally.

Lots shall be drawn for tasks to be completed, but our first efforts shall be made on our harbour, wharves and city streets, that trade may be restored. ’

Again, there was only a brief silent pause. Again, no one objected. A slight movement by another council member caught Serilla’s eye. She glanced at the scroll in front of him, where he had just noted, ‘agreed to by all.’ This silence was assent, then?

She gazed about incredulously. Something was happening here, in this room.

This people was gathering itself up and finding the united strength to begin anew.

It would have been heart-warming, save that they were doing it without her.

As her eyes roved over the folk, she marked how some sat straighter.

Parents held hands with one another and with their younger children.

Young men and some of the women had assumed determined expressions.

Then her eyes snagged on Ronica Vestrit.

The old woman sat close to the front of the assemblage, in her worn dress and the dead woman’s shawl.

Her eyes were bird-bright and they were fixed on Serilla in glittering satisfaction.

Trader Dwicker spoke on. He called for young single men to supplement the City Guard, and read off the boundaries of the area that they would attempt to control.

Within that area, merchants were urged to resume normal commerce, so that necessary trade could resume.

Serilla began to see the method to their plan.

They would restore order to a section of the city, attempt to bring it back to life, and hope that the rejuvenation spread.

When he had finished his list, she waited, expecting that he would next defer to her. Instead, a score of Traders stood and waited silently, hoping to be recognized.

Ronica Vestrit was among them.

Serilla startled everyone, including herself, when she stood.

Instantly all eyes were focused on her. All that she had earlier planned to say fled her mind.

All she knew was that she must somehow reassert the Satrap’s power, and hence her own.

She must keep Ronica Vestrit from speaking.

She had thought she had ensured the woman’s silence earlier when she spoke to Roed Caern.

Listening to how assuredly the Bingtown mechanism had begun to govern once more, she suddenly had little faith in Roed.

The power that people simply took for themselves here astonished her.

Roed would be no more than a cat in the path of a carriage if Ronica managed to gain an audience.

She did not wait for Trader Dwicker to recognize her. She had been foolish to let him even begin this meeting. She should have seized control at the very start. So now she looked around at the people and nodded and smiled until those standing slowly resumed their seats. She cleared her throat.

‘This is a proud day for Jamaillia,’ she announced.

‘Bingtown has been called a shining gem in the Satrapy’s crown, and so it is.

In the midst of adversity, the folk of Bingtown do not fall into anarchy and disorder.

Instead, you gather amidst the ruins and uphold the civilization you are sprung from.

’ She spoke on and on, trying to make her voice ring with patriotism.

At one point she reached across and picked up the scroll that lay before Trader Dwicker and held it aloft.

She praised it, saying that Jamaillia itself was founded on just such a sense of civic responsibility.

She let her eyes rove over the crowd as she tried to claim some credit for these measures, but in her heart she wondered if any of them were fooled.

She spoke on and on. She leaned forwards towards them, she met their eyes, and she put the fervour of belief into her words.

All the while, her heart trembled within her.

They did not need the Satrap or the Satrapy to govern them.

They didn’t need her. And once they realized it, she was doomed.

All the power that she had thought she had amassed would vanish, leaving her just a helpless woman in a strange land, prey to whatever fate overtook her. She could not allow that to happen.

When her throat began to grow dry and her voice to shake, she sought desperately for an ending.

Taking a deep breath, she declared, ‘You have made a brave start tonight. Now, as darkness closes around our city, we must recall that dark clouds still overshadow us. Return to the safety of your homes. Keep yourselves well there, and wait for word from us as to where your efforts can best be employed. On behalf of the Satrap, your ruler, I praise and thank you for the spirit you have shown. On your way to your homes this evening, please keep him in mind. But for the threats raised against him, he would be here himself tonight. He wishes you well.’

She took a breath and turned to Trader Dwicker. ‘Perhaps you should lead us in a closing prayer of thanksgiving to Sa before we disperse.’

He came to his feet, his brow creased. She smiled at him encouragingly, and saw him lose the battle. He turned to the assembled Traders and took a breath to begin.

‘Council, I would speak before we adjourn. I ask that the matter of Davad Restart’s wrongful death be considered.’ It was Ronica Vestrit.

Trader Dwicker actually choked. For a moment, Serilla thought she had lost entirely. Then Roed Caern rose smoothly to his feet.

‘Council, I submit that Ronica Vestrit speaks without authority here. She is no longer Trader for her own family, let alone Restart’s. Let her sit down. Unless this matter is raised by a rightful Trader, the Council need not consider it.’

The old woman stood stubbornly, two high spots of colour on her cheeks. She controlled her anger and spoke clearly. ‘The Trader for my family cannot speak for us. The attempt on our lives has sent her into hiding with her children. Therefore, I claim the right to speak.’

Dwicker managed a breath. ‘Ronica Vestrit, have you written authorization from Keffria Vestrit to speak as Trader for the Vestrit family?’

A silence of six heartbeats. Then, ‘No, Councilhead Dwicker, I do not,’ Ronica admitted.

Dwicker managed to contain his relief. ‘Then, according to all our laws, I fear we cannot hear you tonight. For every family, there is only one designated Trader. To that Trader, both voice and vote belong. If you obtain such a paper, duly witnessed, and come back to us when next we meet, then perhaps we can hear you.’

Ronica sank slowly back to her seat. But Serilla’s relief was short lived.

Other Traders rose to their feet, and Dwicker began recognizing them in turn.

One Trader rose and asked if Wharf Seven could be repaired first, as it offered the best moorage for deep draught ships.

Several others quickly agreed with this idea, and in quick succession a number of men volunteered to take this as their task.

Proposal after proposal followed. Some referred to public matters, others to private.

One Trader stood to offer space in his warehouse to any who would help him make quick repairs and to guard it at night.

He quickly had three volunteers. Another had teams of oxen, but was running out of feed for them.

He wanted to trade their labour for food to keep them alive.

He, too, received several offers. The night grew later and later, but the Traders showed no inclination to go home.

Before Serilla’s eyes, Bingtown knit itself back together.

Before Serilla’s eyes, her hopes of power and influence faded.

She had almost ceased listening to the proceedings when a sombre Trader stood and asked, ‘Why are we being kept ignorant of what triggered this whole disaster? What has become of the Satrap? Do we know who was behind the threat to him? Have we contacted Jamaillia to explain ourselves?’

Another voice was raised. ‘Does Jamaillia know of our plight? Have they offered to send ships and men to help us drive out the Chalcedeans?’

All faces turned towards her. Worse, Trader Dwicker made a small motion encouraging her to speak.

She gathered her thoughts hastily as she stood.

‘There is little that is safe to tell,’ she began.

‘There is no practical way to send swift word to Jamaillia without risk of it being intercepted. We are also uncertain whom we should consider trustworthy and loyal there. For now, the secret of the Satrap’s location is best not shared with anyone.

Not even Jamaillia.’ She smiled warmly at them as if certain of their understanding.