Tides Collection

2. The Accounting Problem-2

Syrina entered the office without knocking, ignoring the sign that said, PRIVATE. NO ENTRY.

* * *

The man behind the desk had a gaunt face and pudgy body. He lingered in that indeterminate age between thirty and fifty. What was left of his thin black hair was cropped short. He looked over his shoulder from where he fiddled with a row of dark wooden filing cabinets standing along the back wall, on either side of the door that led to Lees’s office. He wore loose, tailored, dark green trousers and a black satin vest, and he sported three large gems—red, black, and yellow—in rings on his right hand.

“This is a private business,” he said to the boy hovering in the doorway. “Didn’t you see the sign on the door? Are you lost?”

The lad appeared young, even among the N’naradin deckhands stranded in the Foreigner’s District, who averaged under seventeen. But his boyish cheeks, still free of stubble, were painted with burns, and his large green eyes were old and cold as glass.

“You mean you’re not expecting me?” The youth scowled and his scarred brow furrowed.

His N’naradin accent was thick, mushing his words together and rendering him almost unintelligible.

The man behind the counter only smirked and turned back to his filing. “Hardly.”

The boy sighed as if he weren’t surprised, stepped into the office, and sat in one of the two straight-backed wooden chairs opposite the plain reception desk.

“My name is Silas Narn. Shenaa Marik sent me to offer a proposal to Mr. Lees. You were supposed to have gotten a messenger hawk two or three days ago letting you know I was coming. I guess it never showed up. I assume you must be Lees’s secretary, Orvaan. You fit his description, anyway.”

The pear-shaped man behind the desk finally turned at Shenaa Marik’s name, but his expression was no more inviting.

“Yes, I’m Orvaan.” He studied Silas a moment and snorted for good measure. “Marik. The naphtha merchant? I assume that’s who you’re referring to. You claim she’s now using foreign r****e to deliver her business proposals?”

“As was supposed to have been explained already by way of the hawk, Miss Marik and most of her regular people are indisposed at one of her refineries. She hired me months ago as a valve operator so I could earn passage back to Fom. I have since done so, but I’d already decided to stay on with Miss Marik, who has encouraged me to work toward Skalkaad citizenship. She has rewarded my loyalty with less dangerous jobs away from the refineries, and has promised to sponsor me when my citizenship interview comes up in five or six years.” Silas eyed the scowl tugging at the corners of Orvaan’s mouth. “At least, they’re supposed to be less dangerous jobs.” He cleared his throat. “Again, at least some of that was probably explained in the hawk message you say never came.”

Orvaan’s expression grew even darker. “So then, why are you here?”

Silas reached into his tattered jacket and produced a folded letter, sealed with a blob of white wax and stamped with Shenaa Marik’s seal—the eight angular-pointed petals of a stylized navaras flower.

“As I said, I have a letter to deliver. A proposition.”

Orvaan reached out to take it, but Silas pulled it away and tucked it back into the hidden pocket of his jacket.

“For Mr. Lees only. Ms. Marik was very clear. I’m to receive his answer in person, as any further actions I take depends on his response.”

“Well, I’m not just going to let you in to see Mr. Lees based on your word and some mysterious letter I’m not allowed to see. He’s a busy man.” But there was a hint of hesitation in Orvaan’s voice.

Silas rolled his eyes. “Once again, more information was supposed to have already come by a hawk. Miss Marik, Mr. Lees, and a few others suffer from some sort of mutual problem, and Miss Marik thinks she’s found a solution. She instructed me to get a response from Mr. Lees first. If Mr. Lees agrees, I’m to approach the others. If he declines, I’m to return to her. If you want more information, you’ll need to let me in to see Mr. Lees, and he can read the letter himself, then tell you about it if he wants to. Which is no more my business than this letter is yours. With all due respect.”

Orvaan ground his teeth, mind churning. The last thing he wanted was to grant this little foreign prat some sort of perceived victory by letting him in to see Lees. But his own options were limited if the boy was telling the truth, and only Lees would know for certain. His only other choice was to take the letter by force and see for himself what it said. But if it was indeed a proposal beneficial to his boss, Lees would have him spit and roasted for blowing the opportunity, not to mention doing irreparable harm to whatever business relationship existed between Lees and Shenaa Marik. No, the only option left to him was to go into the office and ask the man himself what he should do with this urchin.

“Wait here,” Orvaan sneered after a long silence.

He turned and went through the door behind the desk, and locked it behind him.

* * *

Orvaan came out sometime later to find Silas leaning back in the chair, feet propped on his desk, looking around and chewing his tongue in thought. The boy’s gaze found Orvaan as the door opened, his smile amused. The expression made the top of Orvaan’s balding head grow red with anger, but his boss had spoken.

“Mr. Lees will see you now,” he said, through clenched teeth.

Silas’s smile didn’t change, and the boy only offered a nod of thanks as he brushed past Orvaan into Xereks Lees’s office. Orvaan followed.

The room was paneled in dark wood, the floor covered with a thick wool rug the color of bronze. On three walls, nine massive portraits hung of men, alternately dour and jolly-looking, all with hawkish noses, thin lips, and slanted eyes. Nine generations of Lees. The newest one hung behind the desk, in the bold, cartoonish style that had been popular among the low merchant elite the past few years, and mirrored the man seated in front of it.

The fourth wall was covered from carpet to ceiling by a black and gold mural of interlocking tubes, concealing a door that must lead on to the warehouse floor.

The man seated behind the ornate marble desk was middle-aged, with flecks of gray salting his black hair and close-trimmed beard. His hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail, showing off a receding hairline. He wore a large tin pendant around his neck, fashioned in a Skalkaad Spiral. Despite the brooding, colorful portrait of himself hanging behind him, his smile was pleasant. His pale blue eyes gleamed, and if he felt any malice toward Silas Narn or concern over what the boy’s message might contain, it didn’t appear on his face.

“Orvaan tells me you’re here representing Shenaa Marik.” Lees’s voice was smooth and baritone.

Silas nodded.

“So how is that old bird, anyway?”

Silas forced a smile. “As good as she’s ever been since I’ve met her. Though I doubt she’d appreciate being called an old bird.”

Lees grunted a throaty laugh. “Marik has always had a knack for bringing out loyalty in her employees. I’m sure she’s pleased with her continued success in that regard. Now, you have a message?”

“Yes, sir.” Silas reached into his jacket and produced the letter, which he tossed onto the desk.

Lees cracked the seal and was silent as his eyes scanned the page, his expression unreadable. “Do you know what this says?”

Silas nodded. “Not exactly, but I know the general details. She wants you to break a contract with someone, so she can legally do the same. Then you both can resume your business with someone with more stable prices. If you agree, I’m to go to the other merchants on my list and convince them to do the same.”

He ignored Orvaan grating his teeth behind him.

Lees nodded. He traced his gaze over the letter again before turning his attention back to Silas.

“And if I decline?”

Silas shrugged. “Nothing, as far as I know. I go back to Miss Marik and tell her you weren’t game.”

“So my participation will determine whether she proceeds with the contract dissolution or not?”

Silas shrugged again. “Miss Marik doesn’t want to break her contract unless everyone else does, too.”

“Yes,” Lees nodded, “that would be the most legally expedient thing to do.”

Silas shrugged a third time. “She seemed to think that if you were on board, the rest would be easy enough to convince. She told me to start at the top.”

Lees’s smile was gaunt. “Flattering, but not inaccurate.” He sat in silence for a minute, thin lips pressed together. “Hmm,” he grumbled. “I realize there’s a legal precedent in what Marik seeks to do, but I must still decline. I’ve worked with Skaald for many years, and we’ve formed a trusting relationship with each other. A rare thing when one has done business in Skalkaad as long as I have. I wouldn’t throw such a commodity away for a temporary savings of tin, no matter how much tin it might be. After all, Skaald’s prices are the result of security issues that Marik and I have avoided only by chance.”

“So that’s what you want me to tell Miss Marik?”

“With my sincerest apologies.”

Silas stood and bowed. “Then my business with you is done. Thank you for your time, Mr. Lees.”

Lees remained seated as Silas turned to go. “Orvaan, please show Mr. Narn to the door.”

* * *

The sun was setting sharp and bright into the east end of Exporter Row. Syrina bobbed out of Lees’s office and turned west toward the District, glad to keep the light out of her eyes.

The Row was busy this time of evening. Camel carts rumbled by in both directions, their drivers cursing and shouting at the snarling, spitting animals, themselves as ill-tempered as their beasts, which were still shaggy from the brutal winter. A few steam trucks operated by the wealthier traders bumped along the roads, too, engines bleating, not any faster than the camels in the crowd. High tide wouldn’t peak for another three or four hours, but already a steady trickle of sailors and cargo was filtering toward the docks. There was a chill to the breeze, but it was still warm for so early in the spring. The air stank of smoke and oil and fish and camel s**t.

Syrina was glad she’d been able to weasel into Lees’s office. She couldn’t glean anything concrete from the encounter, but the only reason she’d gone was to get a look around. The low merchant’s background had all but assured her that he would decline Silas’s proposal. Whatever else anyone could say about Xereks Lees, once he signed a contract, he stuck with it. Good thing, too, because if he’d accepted Marik’s non-existent offer, it could’ve made things awkward down the road.

She turned south toward the docks, taking a casual look along the Row, memorizing faces. She didn’t think she’d roused any suspicions, but she still wanted to be certain Silas wasn’t being followed.