The Sultan and Fortney entered the sitting-hall. Fortney stalked to the veranda and glared out over the city.

  The sound of the city was muted today. A thin wisp of smoke still rose from the Southeast Quarter, and a dingy pall hung in the sky, filtering the sunlight, making it look dirty.

  Fortney's knuckles cracked as she squeezed her fists.

  "Someone must be punished for this," she said.

  The Sultan raised an eyebrow.

  "Many have already been punished. By the fire, and by the loss. Would you punish more?"

  Fortney gritted her teeth. "A grain dust explosion has not happened before in my lifetime. An accident this incompetent needs an example to be made."

  The Sultan stood by her on the veranda.

  "Does it? Who is to blame?"

  Fortney pinched her lips.

  "The warehouse scribes should have been watching the dust. The stewards. Somebody should have seen something! Done something!"

  "Perhaps. But unless we know what happened, how can we punish someone?"

  Fortney folded her arms and glared silently at the wisp of smoke.

  "Besides, O light of my heart," the Sultan continued, "do we know it was an accident?"

  Fortney's face dropped open in shock. "What? You mean somebody might have done this deliberately? But why? That's their food, too!" Her face hardened as she thought.

  "Come, my daughter. Let us not dwell on these things now. The ambassador from Arden will be here soon. The fire is handled. Now clear your mind."

  She nodded shortly, her face fierce. "I will try, father."

  There was a rap at the door. Fortney's brow rose.

  "Who is striking the door?" she asked.

  "That is the way of the Ardenians. They strike the door with their knuckles instead of scratching."

  "That seems very brash," she said.

  "Be understanding," the Sultan said. "They have a very different culture from ours. They are unrefined. But look past their ignorance and crudity."

  "I will try, father."

  "Let's speak in Ardenian as much as we can. That will put the ambassador at ease."

  Fortney nodded.

  "Come in," the Sultan said in Ardenian. Fortney found the language strange and harsh coming from her father's mouth.

  Conrad Weatherby swept in. He had classic Ardenian features, complete with pale pink skin, long face, and narrow, hooked nose. He was dressed in a dark frock coat and trousers. Underneath his rich wool coat was a tidy vest and crisp white shirt. A dark blue cravat with a jeweled pin graced his neck. He carried a large, sealed cardboard tube under one arm.

  "Sultan Nurani," he said in a mellifluous voice. "It is a pleasure to meet with you again. I very much look forward to forging a trade agreement between our countries. Perhaps even something more. But I see we have a lady with us today." He swept off his top hat and bowed deeply. "May I know the name of this enchanting young lady?"

  "This is my daughter Fortney," the Sultan said.

  "Ah, I should have known that such rare beauty could only have been the famed princess of Namar?n. My name is Conrad Weatherby. It is a deepest pleasure to meet you, my lady."

  Fortney, struggling a little to keep up with the man's Ardenian, nodded shortly.

  The Sultan beamed. "Shall we get to it?" he said.

  "Of course," Weatherby said. He gestured toward the divan. "Would the lady care to sit?"

  Fortney's brow shot up, scandalized. She looked between her father and Weatherby.

  "Sultan sit first," she said in stilted Ardenian.

  "Of course," Weatherby said smoothly. "I apologize. I am still learning the finer points of your rich culture. Sultan?"

  Fortney scoffed in disbelief. This man was inviting the Sultan to sit in his own palace?

  "Does Arden try to insult us with this buffoon?" she asked her father in Namar?nian. He made calming motions.

  "Peace, daughter. They are a crude and ignorant culture, but diplomacy and trade demand some flexibility with regards to etiquette. A strong heart can withstand damaged pride. Steel heart, my daughter."

  "As you say, father."

  They settled themselves.

  "So, Ambassador Weatherby," the Sultan said, switching back to Ardenian. "Picking up from last time, what do you think of my proposal?"

  Weatherby nodded.

  "I have considered it, but I do not think my government would allow our rifles to rest in the hands of a foreign power. They are a technology unique to Arden, and they are crucial to defending our borders. My government is reluctant to risk them falling into the hands of enemies or bandits along the way. Also, please understand, the technology is very complex--much more so than a sword or spear. There are chemicals and mechanisms involved. Our own soldiers require extensive training to operate our rifles."

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  The Sultan looked disappointed.

  "That is unfortunate," he said. "This technology would have been a great boon to our soldiers and guards protecting the trade routes between our countries. The countryside around our land can be treacherous and wild. These 'rifles' of yours would be a great help."

  The ambassador nodded.

  "As I say, there are too many issues at present," Weatherby said. "It is more difficult than simply handing around weapons. There are powders and slugs and all manner of complications. However!" He slapped his knees. "I have come up with a compromise. His Majesty's government would be willing to provide a small garrison of troops--only for protecting the trade routes, of course--and house them right here in Baradon! Naturally, His Majesty's government would pay all the costs associated with building barracks and administrative--"

  "Oh, that would be far too much for us to ask of the generosity of Arden," the Sultan cut in sharply. He grinned, but some of the mirth had drained from his smile.

  "I assure you, His Majesty's government would not mind at all. We have many garrisons supporting our trade routes all over the world."

  "I've heard," the Sultan said, his smile becoming a bit fixed. "But come, we get ahead of ourselves. Let us discuss the trade routes."

  "Of course."

  The Sultan stood and led Weatherby and Fortney over to a broad table. Weatherby opened the tube that he carried and pulled out a large roll of high-quality paper. He unrolled the large sheet across the table. It was covered with lines and colors. Fortney peered at it with great interest.

  "What this?" she asked, exercising her limited Ardenian.

  "It's a map," Weatherby said. "A picture of your land. Imagine if a bird were to fly high over the world, and paint a picture of all it could see. Here, you can see the nation of Namar?n and all the surrounding countries. Imagine if you were flying in the sky, and you could look down--"

  "I know map," she said shortly. "But usually just 'square is Baradon, 45 parsang to desert, 120 parsang to sea." She gingerly touched the map with its delicate lines and bright colors. "This..." She thought for a moment, then asked her father a question in Namar?nian.

  "Pretty?" the Sultan said. "My daughter thinks your map is very pretty."

  Fortney frowned at her father but lacked the vocabulary to add nuance to his words.

  "I thank you," Weatherby said. "Arden takes great pride in its maps. Now, here," he said, pointing at the map, "is Namar?n. This dot is Baradon. Here are the surrounding countries. Over here far to the west is Arden." He moved his finger down. "Now Baradon is all grassy plains, but much of Namar?n is desert to the west. Overland travel directly from Arden to Namar?n would be very difficult."

  "Not so difficult as you might think," the Sultan. "We are accustomed to crossing the desert in our great caravans. We have traded often in this manner over the centuries."

  "Noted," Weatherby said. "But it is still a long and dangerous journey. Here, you have the river that runs through Baradon--I believe your people call it the Sick River?"

  Fortney winced at the butchering of the name.

  "Shiqu River," the Sultan corrected.

  "Of course, my apologies. That makes more sense. The 'Shiek' River." Fortney opened her mouth to correct his pronunciation, but he had already moved on. "This river flows through Baradon and empties into the Noon Sea."

  "Nūn Sea," the Sultan said.

  "Right. A series of barges could carry goods downriver very swiftly, load up in the ports here, and travel to Arden that way."

  Fortney and the Sultan looked at each other.

  "The seaports of the Shiqu River are in the land of Damasar," the Sultan said. "They have long had a terrible envy of Namar?n. This has manifested in hatred and war." He nodded deferentially to the ambassador. "I know that is how you came to us, but the Damasar likely did not know you were heading to Namar?n. I apologize, noble Weatherby, but I cannot put my throat in the hand of my enemy. Any trade through Damasar would be at risk."

  "Ah. I see. Well, our other option is the port here, to the southwest. In..." he squinted at the map. "Mirashan? Has there been any war with Mirashan?"

  The Sultan smiled.

  "There has been war with every nation," he said. "But Mirashan is friendly enough now. They would be more so if we used their ports. They love money. Your negotiators would need to be sharp to get a fair price on their harbor fees. It would be an easy enough port to use."

  "But?" Weatherby said, filling in the unspoken word.

  The Sultan grinned broadly and shrugged. "The journey over land to Mirashan is much shorter than the journey across the desert, but it is much more dangerous. Mirashan has lush jungles filled with exotic and deadly creatures. They have tall mountains and flowing volcanoes. Truly, their land protects them more than any army. And there are many bandits in the jungles. Small groups of travelers can make it through, and they often do, but a large caravan of valuable goods? They'd be torn apart by both man and beast."

  Weatherby frowned.

  "It sounds like the desert may be the easiest route, then." He shook his head. "It's a beastly long journey, though. Months, for a caravan to cross. And dangerous, as well."

  "We have many experienced caravans. We have carried worlds of spice across the desert and traded with many countries. We are accustomed to the travails of the desert."

  Weatherby cleared his throat.

  "My government was hoping for a simpler route."

  "My friend, the land is not so easily overcome. But the land that makes our trade difficult also makes moving armies difficult. The wilderness has protected Namar?n from invading armies of all kinds. Wouldn't you agree that's a small price to pay?"

  Weatherby smiled thinly.

  "Perhaps so. Now about these goods..."

  Later that evening, Weatherby sat at his desk with his fountain pen, scratching out a missive by the clean, steady light of the oil lamp.

  "Dispatch to the Foreign Office, Solinor of Arden," it read.

  "My Lords,

  "Negotiations with Sultan Nurani are proceeding, albeit slowly. He presents still the guise of a jolly buffoon, but he rules a vast and complex kingdom. It is difficult to ascertain whether he is genuinely as affable and foolish as he appears, or whether it is a clever and subtle shield he uses in negotiations. In either case, friendly as he is, he is altogether too sharp to agree to the simple terms that are self-evidently beneficial to Arden's interests.

  "I had the opportunity to meet with his daughter the princess this afternoon. As difficult as deliberations with the Sultan are, I harbor sincere doubts negotiations with her would be simpler. She glared death at me throughout the meeting. She is clearly more insular and hostile than our friendly Sultan. It is my recommendation that we make no move against the Sultan at this time; it is possible that negotiations could break down completely if she were ruling."

  Weatherby leaned back, stretching himself with a crackle of stiff joints, then bent back to his letter.

  "We have begun discussing the goods that will pass through to Arden, and what technology we would provide in return. As discussed, I have focused on the spice trade, and have thus far only incidentally mentioned the iron and copper we truly desire for our industry. I have verified with my own eyes that they have rich mines laden with ore of the highest quality. I will let the Sultan exhaust himself with negotiating over the details of the spice trade, then slip in our copper and iron trade, seemingly as an afterthought. This should yield excellent terms for their quality ores.

  "The Sultan has resisted all efforts to establish an Ardenian garrison here in Baradon, or anywhere in Namar?n. I am confident, however, that once trade is established, events can be arranged to convince him to allow us a military toehold. This will be critical; Baradon is the singular chokepoint for the lands further east. It is fertile and wealthy; if Arden were to hold Namar?n, we would have an excellent platform to launch ventures further east, and a powerful defensive position for our further exploits.

  "In all, our plans are continuing smoothly. I anticipate that we will have begun finalizing agreements by the time of my next missive.

  "Your most obedient and faithful servant,

  "Conrad Weatherby

  "Envoy to Namar?n"

  Weatherby blotted the letter, closed it, and sealed it with his sigil and set it aside to send out with the next caravan.