“Everyone’s uncertain and afraid,” Kindalana snapped, her posture perfect, her gestures articulate, every inch the young Prince. “Why would they invest in new business right now, or try to sell their crops abroad, when ships are being taken and ports are being closed? You might lose it all. Better to eat your own food, and keep your goods to yourself, and wait, wait until the world stabilizes. So the ports idle, and the businesses who rely on the ports close down, and the hawala banks stop loaning and sending. The mbo’s gold and shell and jade is all locked up in vaults and attics. It’s not moving. Do you understand?”

Tau did, actually: there was less and less money on the market, so each piece of money was worth more, each golden coin or silver bar could buy more things, which made people even less willing to risk it on a loan or a shipping expedition. It was like water freezing, a phenomenon Tau had never seen: it grew slow, and thick, and clotted.

“I think,” they said, politely, “that the solution is clear. We must make everyone unafraid. We must cheer them up, and make them brave. The griots should be encouraged to tell the ancient epics, and the comedies.”

Tau’s politesse just enraged Kindalana further. “You,” she said, stalking to the door, “think like an old person.”

“I think like a Prince.”

“Haven’t you learned anything from him?” Kindalana shouted. “Anything at all? This isn’t about trim! We’re like an old, old elephant, and Falcrest is running us down, herding us toward the pit!”

“No,” Tau said, calmly. “There’s no Falcrest, really, nor any Oriati Mbo. Just two groups of people. It’s always about the connections between people. That’s where we’ll make a difference.”

Thinking back upon it, Tau realized that Kindalana had taken inspiration from this moment: if not, perhaps, in the way Tau expected.

That night Kindalana drank sorghum malt beer with Cairdine Farrier and told him loud jokes. The bearded man seemed to relax a little. Tau couldn’t figure out why Kindalana was acting so crudely, until they realized Kindalana was trying to behave like a commoner, and an adult.

*   *   *

COSGRAD Torrinde’s diarrhea cleared. Tau went to visit him, to be sure he was comfortable.

“What should we do,” Tau asked him, “if everyone stops spending their money, for fear of risk?”

“Print money,” Cosgrad suggested.

“Print money?”

“Yes. Use fiat currency. Paper notes that say they can be exchanged, later, for gold or gems or bone. Flood the market with your paper, and expand the supply of money: you must shock the market back into motion, you must lubricate it with, ah”—he searched for words in Seti-Caho—“with lube? Is that the word?”

“No,” Tau said, giggling, “that means sex oil. Perhaps fish oil, or olive oil?”

“Oh. But my point stands! You must print fiat money.”