The minister was unruffled. “The Chalcedean privateers are agents of the Satrap. They have been allowed to dock here since the Satrap appointed them guardians of the Inside Passage. The galleys both reported here formally, presenting their letters of merit. Their sole purpose is to control piracy. They will attack pirates, on their ships and in their outlaw settlements. They will also combat the smuggling that supports the pirates; if those miscreants had no markets for their stolen goods, their trade would soon cease.” The tariff minister paused to straighten a fold of his sleeve. In a bored tone, he resumed, “It is true there were some complaints from a few Bingtown residents about the Chalcedean presence, but the tariff dock is the property of the Satrap. No one save he can forbid the Chalcedeans to tie up here. And he has given his express permission that they may.” The minister gave a small snort of contempt. “I do not think the captain of a trading ship can over-ride the Satrap's word.”

“This dock may belong to the Satrap, but the waters that surround it are Bingtown Harbor, given by charter to the Bingtown Traders. By tradition and by law, we allow no Chalcedean galleys in our waters.”

The minister looked past Tenira. In a bored voice he replied, “Traditions change, and laws do also. Bingtown is no longer a provincial backwater, Captain Tenira. It is a rapidly growing trade center. It is to Bingtown's benefit that the Satrap combats the pirates that infest the waterways. Bingtown should normalize trade with Chalced. Jamaillia sees no reason to consider Chalced an enemy. Why should Bingtown?”

“Jamaillia does not share a disputed boundary with Chalced. Jamaillian farms and settlements have not been raided and burned. Bingtown's hostility toward Chalced is well-founded on history, not suspicion. Those ships have no right to be in our harbor. I wonder that the Bingtown Traders Council has not challenged this.”

“This is neither the place nor the time to discuss Bingtown's internal politics,” the minister suddenly declared. “My function here is to serve the Satrap by collecting his rightful tariffs. Corum. Are not you finished with those figures yet? When I accepted you for employment here, I understood from your uncle that you were swift with numbers. What is the delay?”

Althea almost felt sorry for the clerk. He was obviously accustomed to being the subject of the minister's displeasure, however, for he only smiled obsequiously and clattered his tally sticks a bit faster. “Seven and two,” he muttered, apparently for the benefit of those watching him. “Docking fee and security fee ... and patrol fee brings it to ... And the surcharge on non-Jamaillian woven goods.” He jotted a number onto the tablet, but before Althea could decipher it, the minister snatched it away. He ran a long-fingered nail down it with a disapproving glare. “This is not right!” he hissed.

“I certainly hope not!” Captain Tenira agreed vehemently. He was taller than the minister and looked over his shoulder easily. “That is twice what I paid for 'fees' last time, and the percentage on non-Jamaillian woven goods is ...”

“Tariffs have gone up,” the minister interrupted him. “There is also a new surcharge on non-Jamaillian worked-metal goods. I believe your tinware falls into that category. Refigure this immediately, accurately!” He slapped the tablet back down before the clerk, who only bowed his head and nodded repeatedly to the criticism.

“Rinstin is a Jamaillian town!” Tomie Tenira declared indignantly.

“Rinstin, like Bingtown, acknowledges Jamaillia's rule, but it is not in Jamaillia and is therefore not a Jamaillian town. You will pay the surcharge.”

“That I shall not!” Tenira exclaimed.

Althea suppressed a small gasp. She had expected Tenira to bargain over the tariffs that were due. Bargaining was the fabric of Bingtown society. No one ever paid what was first asked. He should have offered a generous bribe to the minister in the form of a lavish meal in a nearby establishment, or a selection from the more choice goods on board the Ophelia. Althea had never heard a Bingtown Trader simply refuse to pay.

The minister narrowed his eyes at Tenira. Then he gave a disdainful shrug. “As you will, sir. It is all one to me. Your ship will remain at this dock, her cargo on board until the proper fees are paid.” He raised his voice suddenly. “Guards! Enter, please! I may require your assistance here!”

Tenira did not even look toward the two burly men who stepped inside the door. His whole attention was riveted on the minister. “There is nothing proper about these fees.” He poked at the tablet the scribe was still trying to complete. “What is this for 'patrol' and this for 'security?' ”