The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  ‘No. No, I’m going to be the captain. But you can be the mate. Vivacia likes you. When I am captain, I’m only going to have people we like aboard her.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said awkwardly. He had never believed that Althea liked him. In a strange way, it touched him. The captain’s daughter had liked him after all.

  ‘What?’ she asked him drunkenly.

  ‘Nothing,’ he told her. ‘Nothing at all.’

  They turned into the street of the Rain Wild merchants. Here the stores were more ornate, and all but one or two were closed for the evening. The exotic and expensive merchandise they dealt in was for the very wealthy, not the wild and reckless youth that were the main customers of the night market. The tall glass windows were shuttered for the night, and hired guards, heavily armed, loitered purposefully near the various shops. More than one glowered at the pair as they made their way down the boardwalks. The wares behind the shuttered windows were tinged with the magic of the Rain Wilds. It had always seemed to Brashen that there was a shimmer of something both shivery and sweet on this street. It prickled the hair on the back of his neck at the same time that it closed his throat with awe. Even in the night, with the mysterious goods of the forbidding river trade hidden from sight, the aura of magic shimmered silvery-cold in the night air. He wondered if Althea felt it and nearly asked her, save that the question seemed both too serious and too trivial to utter aloud.

  The silence between them had grown until Althea’s hand on his arm was an uncomfortable closeness. When he spoke again, it was to dispel that more than from any need. ‘Well, she’s come up in the world quite swiftly,’ he observed aloud as they passed Amber’s shop. He nodded toward a storefront on the corner of Rain Wild Street, where Amber herself sat in the window behind an expensive set of Yicca glass panes. They were as clear as water, and set in elaborately carved and gilded frames. They made the woman in the window look like a framed piece of art. The woven chair she lounged in was of white wickerwork. She wore a long brown gown that hung simply from her shoulders; it more cloaked than enhanced her slight form. Her shop windows were neither shuttered nor barred; no guards lurked outside. Perhaps Amber trusted to her own strange presence to detect thieves. A single dish-lamp burned on the floor beside her with a mellow yellow light. The rich brown of her draped gown pointed up the gold of her skin and hair and eyes. Her bare feet peeped from the bottom of her long skirts. She watched the street with a cat’s wide unblinking stare.

  Althea halted to return that stare. She swayed slightly on her feet and without thinking Brashen put his arm around her shoulders to steady her. ‘What is she selling?’ Althea wondered out loud. Brashen winced, certain that the woman beyond the glass had heard her words, but Amber’s expression neither changed nor faltered from her emotionless regard of the dishevelled girl in the street. Althea screwed her eyes tight shut, then opened them wide as if that would change the view. ‘She looks as if she’s all carved of wood. Golden maple.’

  The woman behind the glass could hear her words, for Brashen saw a small smile begin to form on her sculpted lips. But when Althea added plaintively, ‘She reminds me of my ship. Lovely Vivacia, with all the colours of life over the silk grain of wizardwood,’ Amber’s face abruptly changed to an expression of extreme distaste. Not quite sure of why that patrician disdain so alarmed him, Brashen nonetheless seized Althea by the elbow and firmly hurried her past the window and on down the dimly lit street.

  At the next intersection, he allowed her to slow down. She was limping by then, and he recalled her bare feet and the rough wood of the boardwalk. She said not a word of that, but only asked again, ‘What does she sell there? She’s not one of the Bingtown Traders who have Rain River trade; only liveship families can trade up the Rain River. So who is she and why does she have a shop on Rain Wild Street?’

  Brashen shrugged. ‘She was new here, about two years ago. Had a tiny little shop off the Odds and Bodkins Square. She made wooden beads and sold them. Nothing else. Just very pretty wooden beads. A lot of people bought them for their children to string. Then, last year, she moved to a better location and started selling, well, jewellery. Only it’s all made of wood.’

  ‘Wooden jewellery?’ Althea scoffed. She sounded much more herself and Brashen suspected the walk was sobering her up. Good. Maybe she’d have the sense to tidy herself up before walking barefoot into her father’s house.

  ‘That’s what I thought, too, until I saw it. I had never known a crafter could find so much in wood. She works with the odd little knotty bits, and brings out faces and animals and exotic flowers. Sometimes she inlays pieces. But it’s as much the wood she chooses as the skill with which she does it. She has an uncanny eye, to see what she does in a bit of wood.’

  ‘So. Does she work wizardwood, then?’ Althea asked boldly.

  ‘Fa!’ Brashen exclaimed in disgust. ‘She might be new, but she knows our ways well enough to know that would not be tolerated! No, she only uses ordinary wood. Cherry and oak and I don’t know, all different colours and grains…’

  ‘There’s a lot more that work wizardwood in Bingtown than would like to own up to it,’ Althea observed darkly. She scratched at her belly. ‘It’s a dirty little trade, but if you want a carved bit and have the coin, you can get it.’

  Her suddenly ominous tone made Brashen uneasy. He tried to lighten the conversation. ‘Well, isn’t that what all the world says of Bingtown? That if a man can imagine a thing, he can find it for sale here?’

  She smiled crookedly at him. ‘And you’ve heard the rejoinder to that, haven’t you? That no man can truly imagine being happy, and that’s why happiness isn’t for sale here.’

  The sudden bleakness of her mood left him at a loss for words. The silence that followed seemed in tune with the cooling of the summer night. As they left the streets of the merchants and tradesmen behind and followed the winding roads into the residential sections of Bingtown, the night grew darker around them. Lanterns were more widely spaced and set far back from the road. Barking dogs threatened them from fenced or hedged yards. The roads here were rougher, the only walkways were of gravel, and when Brashen thought of Althea’s bare feet, he winced sympathetically. But she herself said nothing of it.

  In the silence and darkness, his grief for his fallen captain found space to grow in him. More than once he blinked away the sting of tears. Gone. Captain Vestrit was gone, and with him Brashen’s second chance at life. He should have taken better advantage of all the Old Trader offered him while he was alive. He should never have assumed that the helping hand the man had extended him would always be available. Well, now he’d have to make his own third chance. He glanced over at the girl who still depended on his arm. She’d have to make her own way, too, now. Either that, or accept the fate her family parcelled out to her. He suspected they’d find a younger son of a Trader family willing to wed her despite her risqué reputation. Maybe even his own little brother. He didn’t think Cerwin would be any match for Althea’s wilfulness, but the Trell fortunes would mingle well with those of the Vestrits. He wondered how Althea’s adventurousness would stand up to Cerwin’s hide-bound traditionalism. He smiled grimly to himself, and wondered whom he’d pity more.

  He’d been to the Vestrits’ home before, but always it had been by daylight, with some bit of ship’s business to take to the captain. The walk to Althea’s home seemed much longer in the night. They left even the distant sounds of the night market behind them. They passed hedges with night blooming flowers perfuming the air. An almost eerie peace descended over Brashen. Today had seen an end to so many things. Once more he was cut loose and drifting, with only himself to rely on. No obligations tomorrow, no schedules. No crews to supervise, no cargo to unload. Only himself to feed. Was that bad, really?

  The Vestrit mansion was set well back from the public road. The gardens and grounds hosted insects and frogs, all trilling in the summer night. They provided the only sound other than the crunching of his boots as they walke
d up the stone drive. It was when he stood before the white stone of the entryway, before the familiar door where he had sometimes awaited admittance on ship’s business, that he suddenly felt grief once more clutch at his throat. Never again, he supposed. This would be the last time he’d stand before this door. After a moment, he noticed that Althea had not let go of his arm. Here, clear of the narrow streets and shops, the moonlight could find her. Her bare feet were dirty, her gown draggled. Her hair had come loose of the lace thing she’d bound it in; at least, half of it had. She suddenly released his arm, stood up straight, and heaved a great sigh.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me home,’ she said, her voice as level and formal as if he had escorted her home in a carriage after a Trader festival.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said quietly. As if the words had awakened in the rough sailor the genteel boy his mother had once schooled, he bowed deeply to her. He very nearly lifted her hand to his lips, but the sight of his own battered shoes and the tattering edges of his rough cotton trousers recalled to him who he was now. ‘You’ll be all right?’ he half-asked, and half-told, her.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said vaguely. She turned away from him and set her hand on the latch, only to have the door violently jerked open before her.

  Kyle filled the door. He was in his nightrobe and barefoot and his pale hair stood up in tousled tufts on his head, but his fury was such that there was nothing ridiculous about him. ‘What goes on here?’ he demanded. He had pitched his voice low, as if for secrecy, but the force of his emotions gave them the same strength as a bellow. Instinctively, Brashen straightened up before the man he had served as captain. Althea initially recoiled in shock from him, but recovered quickly.

  ‘None of your damned business,’ she declared, and tried to walk past him into the house. He caught her by the upper arm and spun her about. ‘Damn you,’ she cried out, and made no effort to keep her voice low. ‘Get your hands off me!’

  Kyle ignored that, instead giving her a shake that snapped her smaller body about like the weight on the end of a lash. ‘This family is my business!’ he growled. ‘This family’s reputation and good name is my business, just as it should be yours. Look at yourself. Barefoot, looking and smelling like a drunken slut, and here’s a rogue sniffing after you like he’d go after some cheap whore… Is that why you brought him here, to your own family home? How could you? On the night of your father’s death, how could you shame us all like this?’

  Althea had bared her teeth like a vixen at his wild accusations. She clawed at the hand that gripped her so firmly. ‘I’ve done nothing!’ she cried wildly, the drink all too plain in her voice. ‘I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of! You’re the one who should be ashamed. You thief! You’ve stolen my ship from me! You’ve stolen my ship!’

  Brashen stood transfixed by horror. This was the last thing he wanted to get mixed up in. No matter what he did, it was going to be wrong in someone’s eyes. But worst was to stand still and do nothing at all. So. Be damned for a ram as deeply as a lamb. ‘Cap’n. Kyle. Let her go, she did nothing except to get a bit drunk. Given what she’s been through today, I think that’s to be expected. Let her go, man, you’re hurting her!’

  He hadn’t lifted a hand, had given no sign that he intended to attack Kyle at all, but Kyle abruptly threw Althea aside and advanced on the sailor. ‘That might be what you expect, but it’s not what we expect.’ Behind Kyle, down the darkened hallway, Brashen caught a glimpse of a light being kindled, and heard a woman’s voice raised questioningly. Kyle made a grab for Brashen’s shirtfront, but Brashen stepped backwards. Behind him, Althea had staggered to her feet. She was crying, hopeless as a lost child. She clung to the door frame, the sweep of her hair hiding her bowed face, and wept. Kyle ranted on. ‘Yes, you’d expect her to get drunk, wouldn’t you, you scurvy dog? And followed her hoping for more than that. I’ve seen you watching her on the ship, and I know what you had in mind. Couldn’t wait for her father’s body to settle to come sniffing after her, could you?’

  Kyle was stalking forward towards him, and Brashen found himself giving ground. Physically, he was no more afraid of Kyle than he was of any man larger than himself, but Kyle carried more than the weight of his fists as he advanced. He had all the advantage of Old Trader family line to fall back on. If he killed Brashen right here, few would question any account he might give of the event. So he told himself it was not cowardice, but savvy that made him back up, lifting his hands placatingly and saying, ‘It was nothing like that. I was just seeing her safely home. That’s all.’

  Kyle swung, and Brashen evaded it easily. The one swing was all he needed to gauge the man. Captain Haven was slow. And he overstepped his balance. And while the man was bigger, and had a longer reach and might even be stronger, Brashen knew he could take him, and without too much difficulty.

  In his brief moment of wondering if he’d have to fight him a woman’s voice sounded from the door. ‘Kyle! Brashen!’ Despite the age and grief in her voice, or perhaps because of it, Ronica Vestrit sounded as if she were a mother rebuking two unruly children. ‘Stop this! Stop this right now!’ The old woman, her hair braided back for sleep, clung to the door frame. ‘What is going on? I demand to know what is happening here.’

  ‘This son of a pig—’ Kyle began, but Althea’s low, even voice cut through his outrage. Her voice was hoarse from weeping, but other than that it was very controlled.

  ‘I was distraught. I had too much to drink. I ran into Brashen Trell in a tavern and he insisted on seeing me home. And that is all that happened or was going to happen, before Kyle stormed out here and began calling people names.’ Althea lifted her head suddenly and glared at Kyle, daring him to contradict her.

  ‘That’s true,’ Brashen added just as Kyle complained, ‘But look at her, just look at her!’

  He never could decide who Ronica Vestrit believed. Something of the steel she was known for showed in her as she simply said, ‘Kyle and Althea. Go to bed. Brashen, go home. I’m too tired and heartsick to deal with any of this just now.’ When Kyle opened his mouth to protest she added compromisingly, ‘Tomorrow is soon enough, Kyle. If we wake the servants, they’ll tattle this scandal all through the market. I don’t doubt that more than one is listening at a door right now. So let’s put an end to this now. Keep family business inside the walls. That was what Ephron always said.’ She turned to face Brashen. ‘Good night, young man,’ she dismissed him, and he was only too happy to flee. He did not even say goodbye or goodnight, but walked briskly away into the night. When he heard the heavy door shut firmly, he felt it had closed on a chapter of his life.

  He strode back toward the harbour basin and Bingtown proper. As he wended his way down, he heard the first cautious calls of the dawn birds. He lifted his eyes to the east, to a horizon that was starting to be tinged with light, and felt suddenly weary. He thought of the cramped bunk awaiting him on Vivacia, and suddenly realized the truth of the day. No bunk awaited him anywhere. He considered paying for a room at an inn, somewhere with soft beds and clean quilts and warm wash-water in the mornings. He made a face between a snarl and a grin. That would deplete his coin rapidly. Maybe tonight, when he could take a full night’s advantage of the bed, he’d pay for one. But the most sleep he was going to get this morning was a few hours before the light and noise and heat of the day had him up again. He wouldn’t spend coin for a bed he’d hardly use.

  Long habit had led him toward the harbour. He shook his head at himself and turned his steps towards Wield Road, out of town and down to the rocky beaches where the poorest fishermen pulled up their small boats. Paragon would put him up for the day and be glad of the company. Afternoon would be soon enough to recover his sea-bag and begin to look for work and lodgings. For now, he’d take a few hours’ rest for himself, well away from both Vestrits and Havens.

  Maulkin halted where he was. His jaws gaped wide and closed repeatedly as he tasted this new atmosphere. The tangle settled wearily into the soft muck, gra
teful for this brief respite from his dogged pace. Shreever watched their leader with something like fondness as he sampled the brine of this Plenty. His ruff stood up around his throat, half-challenging, half-questioning. A few of the other serpents rumbled at his attitude, shifting their coils uneasily.

  ‘There is no challenger here,’ observed Sessurea. ‘He feints with bubbles.’

  ‘No,’ Shreever asserted quietly. ‘Memories. He fights to capture them. He has told me. They shine before his mind like a great school of capelin, confounding the eye with its multitude. Like a wise fisher, he must gape and lunge into the midst, trusting that when his jaws close there will be substance in his grasp.’

  ‘Silt, most likely,’ Sessurea said softly.

  Shreever stood her ruff up at him, and he swiftly turned aside from her, to nose at his own tail as if grooming. She herself stretched, preening showily to demonstrate she did not fear him. ‘Tubeworms,’ she observed as if to herself, ‘are always content with a stationary view.’

  The others, she knew, were beginning to question Maulkin’s leadership. She did not. It was true that of late his thoughts seemed even more unfocused than usual. True, also, that he trumpeted strangely in his dreams during the brief rests he allowed them, and that he spoke to himself more often than he did his followers.

  But the very things that unnerved the others were the signs that convinced Shreever that Maulkin was guiding them true. The farther north they had followed him, the more certain she became that he was truly one of those who carried the old memories. She watched him now. His great copper eyes were shielded by his milky eyelids as he danced the full length of his body through a knot, stroking himself over and over until his golden false-eyes glowed. Some of the others watched disdainfully, as if they believed Maulkin stimulated his senses simply for the pleasure of it. Shreever watched him hungrily. If the rest of the tangle had not been so intently watching him, she might even have dared to join him, to wrap his length with her own and try to share the memories he was seeking.