The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  ‘So it shall be,’ Sessurea confirmed from nearby in the tangle. ‘So it shall be.’

  25

  CANDLETOWN

  CANDLETOWN WAS A LIVELY little trade port on the Marrow Peninsula. Althea had been here before, with her father. As she stood on the deck of the Reaper and looked around at the busy harbour, it suddenly seemed that if she jumped from the ship and ran down the docks, she must find the Vivacia tied up and her father on board her just as it used to be. He’d be in the captain’s salon, receiving merchants from the city. There would be fine brandy and smoked fish and aged cheese set out, and the atmosphere would be one of comradely negotiation as he offered his cargo in exchange for their wares or coin. The room would be both clean and cosy, and Althea’s stateroom would be as it once had been, her personal haven.

  The sudden ache of longing she felt for the past was a physical pain in her chest. She wondered where her ship was, and how she was faring under Kyle’s usage. She hoped Wintrow had become a good companion to her, despite the jealousy that assured her that no one could ever know Vivacia as well as she did. Soon, she promised both herself and her distant ship. Soon.

  ‘Boy!’

  The sharp word came from close behind her, and she jumped before she recognized both Brashen’s voice and the teasing snap in the word. Still, ‘Sir?’ she asked, turning hastily.

  ‘Captain wants to see you.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied and jumped up to go.

  ‘Wait. A moment.’

  She hated the way he glanced about to see if anyone was near, or even watching them. Didn’t he realize that to anyone else that was an obvious signal of something clandestine between them? Worse still, he stepped close to her, to be able to speak more softly.

  ‘Dinner ashore tonight?’ He tapped his pouch, so the coins inside gave a jingle. A newly-stamped ship’s tag hung from his belt beside it.

  She shrugged. ‘If I get liberty, perhaps I will.’ She chose deliberately to miss the invitation in his question.

  His eyes travelled over her face lingeringly. ‘That serpent burn is nearly gone. For a time, I feared you’d carry a scar.’

  Althea shrugged, refusing to meet the tenderness in his eyes. ‘What’s one more scar on a sailor? I doubt anyone else aboard has noticed it or will.’

  ‘Then you’ve decided to stay on with the ship?’

  ‘I’ll work it as long as we’re in port. But I think I’ve a better chance of getting a ship back to Bingtown from here than from the other little ports the Reaper will visit after this.’ She knew she should let it lie at that, but sudden curiosity made her ask, ‘And you?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ He grinned suddenly at her and confided, ‘They’ve offered me second. Almost twice the pay I started out at and it looks much better on a ticket than a third. I might stay aboard her, just for that. I’ve told them yes, but I haven’t signed ship’s articles yet.’ He was watching her face very carefully as he said, ‘On the other hand, if we found a sound ship heading back to Bingtown, it might be good to see home again, too.’

  Her heart dropped into her belly. No. This mustn’t continue. She forced a casual smile to her lips and a laugh. ‘Now what are the chances that we’d both end up on the same ship again? Pretty slim, I’d say.’

  Still, he watched her so closely. ‘Depends on how hard we tried,’ he offered. He took a breath. ‘I did put in a word for you here. Said I thought you did more the work of a real sailor than a ship’s boy. The first agreed with me. Like as not, that’s what the captain wants to see you about, to make you a better offer if you stay on.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said awkwardly. Not because she felt grateful, but because she felt the first sparks of anger kindling. Did he think she needed his ‘good word’ to be seen as an able-bodied seaman? She was well worth the wages they paid a regular hand, especially as she could skin, too. She felt as if he’d cheated her of her dignity and her own worth, by putting in his good word. She should have stopped at that, but heard herself add, ‘I think they’ve seen that about me already.’

  He knew her too damned well. ‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ he hastily apologized. ‘Anyone can see you’re worth your pay. You were always a good sailor, Althea. And your time on the Reaper has made you an even better one. If I had to work rigging in a storm, I’d choose you to be up there with me. A man can count on you, aloft or on deck.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said again, and this time it came out even more awkwardly, for she meant it. Brashen did not give out compliments casually. ‘I’d best report to the captain if I want to keep his good opinion of me,’ she added, as a way to be quickly away from him.

  She turned away from him, but he called after her, ‘I’ve got liberty. I’m off to the Red Eaves. Good food and ale, and cheap. See you ashore.’

  She hurried away from him, and hoped that by ignoring the odd look Reller sent her way she could dismiss it. Damn him. She’d hoped to live aboard and work the off-loading and resupplying of this ship until she had a berth on another one. But if Brashen made it too awkward, she’d have to go ashore and pay for a room. Her lips were folded tight as she knocked at Captain Sichel’s door. She tried to smooth her face into a more presentable expression when she heard his terse, ‘Come ahead.’

  She had only glimpsed the officer’s mess once or twice on the trip. Now as she entered it, she found it even less impressive than she had before. True, this was a hard-working ship and oil and meat were messy cargoes, but her father would never have tolerated the clutter she saw here. Captain Sichel sat at the table, while the first stood at his shoulder. There was a strongbox on the table, and a ledger as well as a stack of leather tickets and the ship’s seal. She knew that a number of the men had been paid off earlier that day. Those who had come aboard as debtors or prisoners had walked off as free men. True, they’d received no pay to show for the long year aboard the ship, only the stamped leather tag to show they’d put in their time, and a receipt to show their debt worked off. She caught herself wondering what sort of homes most of the men were returning to, or if their homes still existed. Then she felt the captain’s expectant stare and called her mind back to herself.

  ‘Reporting, sir,’ she told him smartly.

  He glanced down at the open ledger before him. ‘Athel. Ship’s boy. And I’ve a note here that you earned a bonus skinning for us as well. That right, boy?’

  ‘Yessir.’ He knew it, she knew it. She waited for whatever else he wanted to say.

  He flipped back through another book on the table, and ran his finger down the entries. ‘I’ve a note here in the ship’s log that it was your quick action that kept our third from being crimped, and yourself as well. Not to mention several men from other ships. And,’ he flipped the pages forward to another marker in the logbook, ‘the mate has noted that on the day we hooked the serpent, your quick action kept another man from going overboard. That so, boy?’

  She struggled to keep the grin off her face but could do nothing about the pleased flush that rose to her cheeks.

  ‘Yessir,’ she managed, and added, ‘I didn’t think anyone had made note of those things.’

  The captain’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. ‘We take more notice of most things than the men aboard suspect. With this large a crew, and half of them jail scrapings, I depend on my ship’s officers to watch closely, to see who is worth his salt and who isn’t.’ He cocked his head at her. ‘You came on at Bingtown as a ship’s boy. We’d like to keep you on, Athel.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ And no offer of a raise in either pay or status? So much for Brashen’s good word.

  ‘That suits you, then?’

  She took a breath. Her father had always preferred honesty in his men. She’d try it here. ‘I’m not sure, sir. The Reaper’s a fine ship, and I’ve no complaint against her. But I’ve been thinking I’d like to make my way back to Bingtown, and get there sooner than the Reaper would take me. What I’d like to do, sir, is take my pay and my ticket
now, but stay aboard her and work as long as she’s in port. And if I didn’t find another berth before the Reaper sailed, perhaps I could stay aboard her after all.’

  So much for honesty. The captain’s look had darkened. Plainly he believed he’d made her a fair bid in offering to keep her on. He wasn’t pleased that she’d consider looking about for a better one. ‘Well. You’ve a right to your pay and your ticket, of course. But as to your maybe, perhaps attitude, well, we set a great store on loyalty to the ship. Plainly you think you could do better elsewhere.’

  ‘Not better, no sir. The Reaper’s a fine vessel, sir, a fine vessel. I was just hoping to find one that would take me home a bit sooner.’

  ‘A sailor’s home is his vessel,’ Captain Sichel observed heavily.

  ‘Home port is what I meant, sir,’ Althea amended weakly. Plainly she was not handling this well.

  ‘Well. Let’s tally you out and pay you off. And I’ll give you your ticket as well, for I’ve no quarrel with the job you did. But I won’t have you idling about my deck and hoping for a better position. The Reaper is scheduled to sail within the month. If you come back before we up anchor and want your position back, well, we’ll see. It may be filled easily, you know.’

  ‘Yessir.’ She bit her lip to keep from saying more. As the captain totted up her pay and bonus and counted it out to her, she gave him marks for his own honesty. Blunt and merciless as he had been, he still counted out her correct pay, down to the last copper shard. He passed it to her, and while she pocketed it, he took up a ship’s tag and with mallet and stamp drove the Reaper’s mark into it. He wiped ink over it to make it stand out better, and then took up a leather scribing tool. ‘Full name?’ he asked casually.

  Odd, the places where the world caught up with one. Somehow she had never foreseen this moment. She took a breath. It had to be in her name, or it would be worth nothing at all. ‘Althea Vestrit,’ she said quietly.

  ‘That’s a girl’s name,’ the captain complained as he began to carve the letters into the ticket.

  ‘Yessir,’ she agreed quietly.

  ‘What in Sa’s name made your parents hang a girl’s name on you?’ he asked idly as he started on the ‘Vestrit’.

  ‘I suppose they liked it, sir,’ she answered. Her eyes didn’t leave his hands as he carefully scored the letters into the leather. A ship’s ticket, and all the proof she needed to make Kyle keep his oath and give her back her ship. The scribing hand slowed, then halted. The captain looked up and met her eyes. A frown deepened on his face. ‘Vestrit. That’s a Trader name, isn’t it?’

  Her mouth was suddenly dry. ‘Yes—’ she began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

  He swung his attention to his first mate. ‘Vestrits had that ship, what was her name? A liveship?’

  The mate shrugged, and Captain Sichel turned back to her sharply. ‘What was the ship’s name?’

  ‘The Vivacia,’ Althea said quietly. Pride crept into her voice whether she willed it or no.

  ‘And the captain’s daughter worked the deck alongside the crew,’ Captain Sichel said slowly. He stared at her hard. ‘You’re that girl, aren’t you?’ His voice was hard now, the words an accusation.

  She held herself very straight. ‘Yessir.’

  He flung the carving implement down in disgust. ‘Get her off my ship!’ he snapped at the first.

  ‘I’ll go, sir. But I need that ticket,’ Althea said as the mate advanced on her. She stood her ground. She wasn’t going to shame herself by fleeing from him now.

  The captain gave a snort of disgust. ‘You’ll get no ticket from me, not with my ship’s stamp on it! Do you think I’ll let you make me the mock of the slaughter-fleet? Shipped a woman aboard all season and never even knew it? That would be a fine laugh on me! I ought to shake your pay out of your pockets for such a lie. No wonder we had such troubles with serpents, worse than we ever had before. Everyone knows a woman aboard a ship draws serpents. We’re damned lucky we got here alive, no thanks to you. Get her out of here!’ This last he bellowed at his mate, whose expression showed he shared his captain’s opinion.

  ‘My ticket,’ Althea said desperately. She lunged for it, but the captain snatched it up. She’d have to assault him to get it. ‘Please,’ she begged him as the mate grabbed her arm…

  ‘Get out of here and off my ship!’ he growled in return. ‘Be damned glad I’m giving you time to pack your gear. If you don’t get out of here now, I’ll have you put off on the docks without it. Lying whore-bitch. How many of the crew did you sleep with to keep your secret?’ he asked as the mate forced her toward the door.

  None, she wanted to say angrily. None at all. But she had slept with Brashen, and though that was no one’s business but hers, it would have made a lie of her denial. So, ‘This is not fair,’ was all she could manage to choke out.

  ‘It’s fairer than your lying to me was!’ Captain Sichel roared.

  The mate thrust her out of the room. ‘Get your gear!’ he growled in a savage whisper. ‘And if I hear so much as a rumour of this in Candletown, I’ll hunt you down myself and show you how we deal with lying whores.’ The push he gave her sent her stumbling across the deck. She caught her balance as he slammed the door behind him. She swayed with the strength of her anger and disappointment as she stared at the slab of wood that had closed between her and her ticket. None of it seemed real. The months of hard work, and all for what? The handful of coins that was all a ship’s boy was worth. She would have gladly given them all back, and everything else she owned for the scrap of leather that he was, no doubt, cutting up even now. As she turned slowly away, she caught Reller staring at her. He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

  ‘They’ve turned me off the ship,’ she said briefly. It was true and the simplest explanation.

  ‘What for?’ the sailor demanded, following her as she headed towards the forecastle to gather her meagre belongings.

  She just shrugged and shook her head. ‘Don’t want to talk,’ she said gruffly, and hoped she sounded like an angry adolescent boy instead of a woman on the verge of hysterical tears. Control, control, control, she whispered to herself as she clambered one last time into the cramped and stuffy place she had called home all winter. It was the work of a few moments to snatch up her possessions and shove them down into her sea-bag. She swung it to her shoulder and left the ship. As her foot touched the dock, she looked around her with new eyes. Candletown. A hell of a place to be with nothing but a handful of coins and a sea-bag.

  A man turned his head and stared at him oddly. Brashen glanced at him and then looked away. He realized he was striding down the street with a foolish grin on his face. He shrugged his shoulders to himself. He had a right to grin. He was proud of her. She had looked just like any tough ship’s lad, standing there on the Reaper’s deck. Her casual acceptance of his invitation, the cocky angle of her cap had all been perfect. In retrospect, this voyage that he had expected to kill her had actually been good for her. She’d recovered something, something he’d believed Kyle had hammered out of her once he took over as captain of the Vivacia. The lack of it was what had made her unbearable those last two voyages. It had changed her cheekiness to bitchiness, her sense of fair-play to vindictiveness. On the day her father had died, he had thought that spark of the old Althea had been extinguished. He had seen no sign of it until that day on the Barrens when she was skinning out sea-bears. Something had changed in her that day. The change had begun there and grown stronger, just as she herself had grown stronger and tougher. The night she had come to him in Nook, he had suddenly and completely realized that she had returned to being the old Althea. He had realized too, how much he had missed her.

  He took a deep breath of land air and liberty. His pay was in his pockets, he was free as a bird, and had the prospect of some very good company for the evening. What could be better? He began watching for the signboard of the Red Eaves. The first mate had grinned and recommended the inn to him as a clean place for a th
rifty sailor when Brashen had mentioned he might spend the night ashore. The mate’s smile had plainly indicated he did not expect Brashen to spend the night alone. For that matter, neither did Brashen. He caught sight of the inn’s red eaves long before he saw its modest signboard.

  Within, he found it clean but almost austere. There were only two tables and four benches, all sanded clean as a good ship’s deck. The floors were covered with raked white sand. The fire in the hearth was built of driftwood; the flames danced in many colours. The place was empty of customers. He stood some time in the open room before a man gimped out to greet him. He was wiping his hands on his apron as he came. He looked Brashen up and down almost suspiciously before he gave him, ‘Good day.’

  ‘Your house was recommended to me. How much for a room and a bath?’

  Again there was that scrutiny, as if the man were deciding what Brashen could afford. He was a man of middle years, a sea-scarred fellow who now walked on a badly twisted leg. That was probably what had put an end to his sailing. ‘Three,’ he said decisively. Then he added, ‘You’re not the kind to come in drunk and break things up, are you? For if you are, then the Red Eaves has no room for you.’

  ‘I’ll come in drunk, yes, but I don’t break things up. I sleep.’

  ‘Emph. Well, you’re honest, that’s in your favour.’ He held his hand out for the coin, and as soon as he had it in hand, he pocketed it. ‘Take the room to the left at the top of the stairs. If you want a bath, there’s a pumphouse and a fireplace and tub in the shed out back. Fire’s banked, but it doesn’t take much time to stir it up. See to yourself and take as long as you want, but mind you leave all as tidy as you found it. I keep a tidy place here. Some don’t like that, they want to come in and drink and eat and shout and fight until all hours. That’s what you want, you’ll have to go somewhere else. Here an honest man can pay for a clean bed and get it. Pay for a well-cooked meal and get it; not fancy, but good clean food, cooked today, and an honest mug of good beer with it. But this isn’t a tavern or a whorehouse nor a place to make bets and game for money. No, sir. It’s a clean place. A clean place.’