“As everyone else, I’m looking for a cargo.”
“I’ll ask if Mr Kenneth is in.” The woman picked up a pearl handset.
Eight minutes later they were being ushered into Kenneth Kavanagh’s office on the top floor. Half of one wall was an arched window giving a view out over the river. Broad barges were gliding over the smooth black water, as sedate as swans.
Kenneth Kavanagh was in his late thirties, a broad-shouldered man wearing a neat charcoal-grey suit, white shirt, and a red silk tie. His raven-black hair was glossed straight back from his forehead.
Syrinx almost paid him no attention at all. There was another man in the room, in his mid-twenties, with a flat, square-jawed face, and a mop of pale copper hair combed into a rough parting. He had the kind of build Syrinx associated with sportsmen, or (more likely on this world) outdoor labourers. His suit was made from some shiny grey-green material. The jacket’s left arm was flat, pinned neatly to his side. Syrinx had never seen anyone with a limb missing before.
You’re staring,ruben warned her as he shook hands with kenneth Kavanagh.
Syrinx felt the blood warm her ears. But what’s wrong with him?
Nothing. They don’t allow clone vats on this planet.
That’s absurd. It forces him to go through life crippled, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Medical technology is where the big arguments rage about what they should and shouldn’t permit. And wholesale cloning is pretty advanced.
Syrinx recovered and extended her hand to Kenneth Kavanagh. He said hello, then introduced the other man as: “My cousin Gideon.”
They shook hands, Syrinx trying to avoid eye contact. The young man had such a defeated air it threatened to drag her down into whatever private misery he was in.
“Gideon is my aide,” Kenneth said. “He’s learning the business from the bottom upwards.”
“It seems the best thing,” Gideon Kavanagh said in a quiet voice. “I can hardly manage the family estate now. That requires a great deal of physical involvement.”
“What happened?” Ruben asked.
“I fell from my horse. Bad luck, really. Falling is part of horse riding. This time I landed awkwardly, took a fence railing through my shoulder.”
Syrinx gave him an ineffectual grimace of sympathy, unsure what to say. Oenone was in her mind, its presence alone immensely supportive.
Kenneth Kavanagh indicated the chairs in front of his pale wooden desk. “It’s certainly a pleasure to have you here, Captain.”
“I think you’ve said that to a few captains this week,” she told him wryly as she sat down.
“Yes, a few,” Kenneth Kavanagh admitted. “But a first-time captain is always welcome here. Some of my fellow exporters take a blasé approach about our planet’s product, and say there will always be a demand. I think a little warmth in the relationship never comes amiss, especially as it is just the one product upon which our entire economy is so dependent. I’d hate to see anyone discouraged from returning.”
“Am I going to have cause to be discouraged?”
He spread his hands. “We can always find the odd case or two. What exactly is your starship’s capacity?”
“Oenone can manage seven hundred tonnes.”
“Then I’m afraid that a little bit of disappointment is going to be inevitable.”
“Old Dominic always kept some cases back for a decent trade,” Ruben said. “And we certainly have a trade in mind.”
“You knew Dominic Kavanagh?” Kenneth asked with a note of interest.
“I certainly did. Your father?”
“My late grandfather.”
Ruben’s shoulders sank back into his seat. “Hoh, boy, he was such a lovely old rogue.”
“Alas, his wisdom is sorely missed by all of us.”
“Did he go from natural causes?”
“Yes. Twenty-five years ago.”
“Twenty-five . . .” Ruben appeared to lose himself in reverie.
I’m sorry,syrinx told him.
Twenty-five years. That means I must have been here at least thirty-five years ago, probably more. Bugger, but there’s no fool like an old fool.
“You mentioned a trade,” Kenneth said.
Syrinx patted the coolbox on the floor by her chair. “The best Atlantis has to offer.”
“Ah, a wise choice. I can always sell Atlantean delicacies; my own family alone will eat half of them. Do you have an inventory?”
She handed over a sheaf of hard copy. There was no desktop processor block, she noticed, although there was a keyboard and a small holoscreen.
Kenneth read down the list, his eyebrows raised in appreciation. “Excellent, I see you have brought some orangesole, that’s one of my personal favourites.”
“You’re in luck, there are five fillets in this coolbox. You can see if they’re up to standard.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“None the less, I’d like you to accept the contents as my gift for your hospitality.”
“That’s really most kind, Syrinx.” He started touch-typing on the keyboard, looking directly at the holoscreen. She was sure her fingers couldn’t move at such a speed.
“Happily, my family has interests in several roseyards on Kesteven,” Kenneth said. “As you know, we can’t officially sell any Norfolk Tears until midsummer when the new crop is in; however, there is an informal allocation system operating amongst ourselves which I can make use of. And I see my cousin Abel has several cases unclaimed, he owns the Eaglethorpe estate in the south of Kesteven. They produce a very reasonable bouquet in that district. Regrettably, I can’t offer you a full hold, but I think possibly we can provide you with six hundred cases of bottled Tears, which works out at just under two hundred tonnes.”
“That sounds quite satisfactory,” Syrinx said.
“Jolly good. So, that just leaves us with the nitty-gritty of working out a price.”
Andrew Unwin loaded Quinn Dexter’s passport flek into his processor block, and the unit immediately went dead. He rapped on it with his knuckles, but nothing happened. The three men from the spaceplane were watching him keenly. Andrew knew his cheeks would be bright scarlet. He didn’t like to think what his father would say. Passport Officer was an important job.
“Thank you, sir.” Andrew meekly handed the unread flek back to Quinn Dexter, who took it without comment. Mel was still barking, from a distance, hiding behind the front wheel of his bike. The dog hadn’t stopped since the group trotted down the spaceplane’s airlock stairs.
And the day had been going so well until the spaceplane from the Lady Macbeth landed.
“Is that it?” Joshua asked, his voice raised above the barking.
“Yes, thank you, Captain, sir. Welcome to Norfolk. I hope you find a cargo.”
Joshua grinned, and beckoned him over. The two of them walked away from Quinn Dexter and Ashly Hanson who waited at the foot of the stairs, the dog scampering after them.
“Good of you to deal with us so promptly,” Joshua said. “I can see the aerodrome’s busy.”
“It’s my job, Captain, sir.”
Joshua took a bundle of leftover Lalonde francs from his ship-suit pocket, and slipped three out. “I appreciate it.” The plastic notes were pressed into the boy’s hand. A smile returned to his face.
“Now tell me,” Joshua said in a low tone. “Someone who can be trusted with passport duty must know what goes on around here, where the bodies are buried, am I right?”
Andrew Unwin nodded, too nervous to speak. What bodies?
“I hear there are some pretty important families on Norfolk, do you know which is the most influential here on Kesteven?”
“That would be the Kavanaghs, Captain, sir. There’s dozens and dozens of them, real gentry; they own farms and houses and businesses all over the island.”
“Do they have any roseyards?”
“Yes, there’s several of their estates which bottle their own Tears.”
“Great. Now, the big question: do you know who handles their offworld sales for them?”