Now, it should be noted that Tress proceeded with this conversation under a slight weight of guilt. She wanted Fort to like her, and she wasn’t generally one to demand trades or payments from friends.
Yet she’d watched how he interacted with others. Fort wasn’t a selfish man. He’d not only been the one to haul her up that first day, he’d given her food when she needed it. He always seemed to have what people needed, quietly providing medicine, shoes, or even a deck of cards for a Doug in need. And he rarely took something of equal worth in trade.
Yet with people like Ann or Salay, he’d bargain fiercely for the smallest items. Even ones they should be able to requisition from the ship’s stores. Tress thought maybe he was like her Aunt Glorf, who had always fought for the best deals at the market. She’d been afraid of looking silly by being taken advantage of.
The guess was as wrong as ending a sentence with a preposition. But it worked anyway. Like ending a sentence with a preposition. Because it convinced her to bargain, even when she didn’t want to impose.
Do this once for each day I fed you, Fort said, and our debt will be equal.
“Now, that would seem like a fair deal,” Tress said, “if one happened to be using a rotting loaner brain that Ulaam dug out of his bottom drawer. The food you provided me, Fort, was practically worthless. I’d say that one good meal should balance out a few dozen terrible ones.”
The food wasn’t worthless, Fort said, mashing some more nuts. He could hold the pestle in his curled fingers quite easily, pausing now and then to tap with his knuckles on the top of his board—which, resting on the counter, now displayed the words on the same surface. Food has a minimum threshold of usefulness, assuming it’s not poisonous.
“It wasn’t poisonous,” Tress said, “but it sure tried.”
It kept you alive, and a life is invaluable, I’d say. So my food, provided when you couldn’t get any other, was therefore priceless.
“Ah,” Tress said as she chopped, “but the captain has repeatedly said my life is worthless. So your food, in turn, is the same.”
If you have no value, Fort wrote, mashing nuts with one hand and tapping with the other, then surely your labor is barely worth anything at all. And hence, I should be able to employ you for a pittance.
“Well then,” Tress said, “I suppose if that’s the case, then I’ll find some other way to repay you. What a shame.” She took the last piece of the test cake before he could grab it, then popped it in her mouth.
Oh moons, she’d forgotten what it was like to eat without forcibly suppressing her gag reflex.
Fort rubbed his chin, then grinned. All right, fine. Each day of work providing adequate meals like this pays off two days of meals I gave you.
“Five,” Tress said.
Three.
“Deal,” she replied, “but you can’t tell the others that these meals are mine. I can’t afford to be roped into cooking breakfast and lunch as well. I have other work to do.”
The crew will get suspicious if two meals are bad and one is incredible.
“So the food is incredible, is it?” she said.
He froze, then grinned again. I underestimated you.
“Hopefully that’s catching,” she said. “You’re a resourceful man, Fort. You can come up with an excuse to put off the crew. Tell them you’re trying new recipes, but only have time to practice one a day. Plus, if we get that oven working, the things you make might not be so…”
Unique? he wrote.
“Unrecognizable.”
A deal, I suppose. Assuming you agree to make dessert each day as well. The Dougs have been asking for one that doesn’t melt the plates before it can be eaten.
“They’ve been asking for more of what you were making? Moons, how many of those bargain bin brains did Ulaam have?”
Fort laughed out loud. It was a full laugh, but not like Ann’s raucous one. More unrestrained than uncontrolled. It was the laugh of someone who didn’t care how they sounded or looked to others.
I’m wrong, she realized. He’s not worried about seeming silly by being taken advantage of.
Well? he wrote. Dessert?
“I want a flare gun,” she said, sliding her chopped meat into a pie tin, “with flares. Without questions.”
He eyed her.
Mask business? he wrote.
“Maybe.”
Will it help us with our predicament? He pointed upward toward the captain’s cabin.
“I hope so.”
Then you may have it. In trade for desserts for the rest of the trip.
“Until we reach our destination in the Crimson Sea,” Tress said.
I wasn’t aware we had one. Curious. Well, so be it. He wiped his hand, then held it out.
She shook to seal the deal.
Thank you, Fort said. Genuinely.
“For the food?” she asked.
For the trade.
“Why do you like it so much, Fort?” she asked, leaning against the counter.
I am a hunter by profession, he explained. It is a mark of pride among my people, and my family in particular, to execute an excellent hunt.
“…Hunt?”
Well, we’ve broadened the definition over the years, he explained. Turns out, a whole society of hunters doesn’t scale well. Who’s going to make the shoes? Bake the bread? Plan the weddings? He tapped, blanking the board, then continued, So, we choose our hunt when we come of age. This is mine. A worthy hunt, same as my mother. I record each great victory and send them home in letters to be hung in our family hall.
“Wow,” Tress said.
You’re impressed? Ann laughed.
“I am impressed,” she said. “Plus, I have a friend who’d love hearing that story. I hope you can meet him someday. Is…your trade deal with me today going to go in one of the letters?”
He laughed again. Tress, it would embarrass you to know how successful my hunt just was. Have you eaten my food? The first bite of bread you gave me was worth every meal I gave you in the past. And you have not only promised more, but are going to let me take credit with the Dougs? He winked at her. I’m going to brag about this catch for three pages! Now, hurry up. I want to try one of those pies.
THE PHILOSOPHER
Cutting apart a spore-filled flare while distracted wasn’t the best of ideas—but admittedly Tress hadn’t decided to be distracted. It happened naturally, like a case of the hiccups or the inevitable and relentless entropic decay of the universe.
As she pried the stiff wax-paper cap off the flare, she mulled over the pure joy Fort experienced when negotiating. It had always made her nervous to haggle at the market, as she didn’t want to make the merchants feel that their goods were worthless or their service unvalued. Yet Fort loved the haggling part.
And Ann, shooting the cannon. Tress thought about her while carefully pouring the spores out of the flare. Had Tress ever seen anyone so excited about anything as Ann got? Even Charlie with a freshly cooked pie hadn’t looked so content.
Tress tapped the flare carefully, then glanced at Huck, who had insisted on joining her at the worktable—but hid under a large soup bowl, holding it up an inch or so to peek out. He was mostly afraid of the spores at the moment, though she’d caught him hiding a lot more lately. Even when the cat wasn’t around.