Ronica was expecting Serilla to use her claim of the Satrap’s authority, but Trader Devouchet stepped to the front of the dais. He lifted his arms high and the crowd hushed.

“We have gathered here in the Bingtown Traders’ Concourse. Since Trader Dwicker has been murdered, I step up to the position of leader of the Bingtown Traders’ Council. I claim the right to speak first.” He looked over the assembled folk expecting some dissent, but for now, all was silent.

Devouchet proceeded to state the obvious. “We are gathered here, all the folk of Bingtown, to discuss what we will do about the dragon that has descended upon us.”

That, Ronica thought to herself, was inspired. Devouchet mentioned nothing of the differences that had set the town to battling in the first place. He focused all of them, as a single entity, on the problem of the dragon. Devouchet spoke on.

“She has driven the Chalcedean fleet from our harbor and hunted down several roving bands of raiders. For now, she has disappeared from our skies, but she said she would soon return. Before she does, we must decide how to deal with her. She has freed our harbor. What are we prepared to offer her in exchange?”

He paused for breath. That was his mistake, for a hundred voices filled in, with a hundred different answers.

“Nothing. We owe her nothing!” one man bellowed angrily, while another made heard his comment, “Trader Tenira’s son has already struck our deal. Grag told her that if she drove the Chalcedeans away, we would help her with a task she named. That seems fair enough. Does a Bingtown Trader go back on his word, even to a dragon?”

“We should prepare offerings for it. The dragon has liberated us. We should offer thanksgiving to Sa for sending us this champion!”

“I’m not a Trader! Neither is my brother, and we won’t be bound by another man’s word!”

“Kill it. All the legends of dragons warn of their treachery and cruelty. We should be readying our defenses, not standing about talking.”

“Quiet!” Mingsley roared, stepping forward to stand at Devouchet’s shoulder. He was a stout man, but the power of his voice still surprised Ronica. As he looked about over the crowd, the whites showed all around his eyes. The man, Ronica realized, was deeply frightened. “We have no time for squabbling. We must move swiftly to an accord. When the dragon returns, we must meet her as a united folk. Resistance would be a mistake. You saw what she did to those ships and men. We must placate her, if we hope to avoid the same fate.”

“Perhaps some here deserve the same fate as the Chalcedeans,” Roed Caern observed callously. He pushed forward to stand threateningly close to the stout merchant. Mingsley stepped back from him as Roed turned to the crowd. “I heard it spoken clearly, earlier. A Trader has already struck an accord with the dragon. The dragon is ours! She belongs to the Bingtown Traders. We should honor our bargain, Bingtown Traders, without recourse to any of the foreigners who have sought to claim our town as their own. With the dragon on our side, Bingtown can not only drive the dirty Chalcedeans back to their own land, we can force out the New Traders and their thieving slaves with them. We have all heard the news. The Satrap is dead. We cannot rely on Jamaillia to aid us. Bingtown Traders, look around you. We stand in our ruined hall in a ravaged town. How have we come to this pass? By tolerating the greedy New Traders in our midst, folk who came here in violation of our Charter, to plunder our land and beggar us!” A sneer of hatred curled his lip as he stared at Mingsley. With narrowed eyes, he suggested, “How can we pay our dragon? With meat. Let the dragon rid us of all outsiders.”

What happened next shocked everyone. Even as the mutter of outrage at his words became a roar, Companion Serilla stepped forward resolutely. As Roed turned, surprised, she set her small hand to the center of his chest. Baring her teeth in sudden effort, she shoved him backward off the dais. The fall was a short one; it would have been an easy jump if he had been prepared, but he was not. He went over with a yell, arms flailing. Ronica heard the sharp crack of his head against the floor, and then his howl of pain. Men closed in around him. There was a brief flurry of struggle.

“Stand clear of him!” Serilla shouted, and for one confusing instant, Ronica thought she defended the man. “Disperse, or share his fate!” Like trickling water vanishing in sand, those few who had attempted to help Roed fell back and merged suddenly into the crowd. Roed alone remained, held immobile by his captors, one arm twisted up behind him. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but managed to spit a curse at Serilla. Traders, both Old and New, were the ones who held him. At a nod from Serilla, they wrestled him away from the gathering. Ronica wondered, as she watched him taken away, what they would do with him.