by Robin Hobb
The next morning, Mild came to lean on her railing while he surreptitiously tucked a small piece of cindin in his lip. She frowned to herself. She did not like him using the drug, did not like how it blurred her perception of him. On the other hand, she could certainly understand why he felt he needed it today. She waited until he had secreted the remainder of the stick in the rolled cuff of his sleeve and then spoke quietly.
‘Mild. Tell the captain I wish Wintrow brought to me. Now.’
‘Oh, Sar,’ the boy blasphemed quietly. ‘Ship, why you want to put me in that spot? Can I just tell him you’d like a word with him?’
‘No. Because I would not. I’d rather have no words with him at all. I simply want Wintrow brought to me. Now.’
‘Aw, please,’ the young sailor begged. ‘He’s all in a lather already cause some of the map-faces are acting sick. Torg says they’re faking it; they say if he don’t put them somewhere better, they’re all going to die.’
‘Mild.’ It was all in the tone of the word.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She waited, but not for long. Kyle came storming across the deck, jumped to the foredeck. ‘What do you want now?’ he demanded.
She considered ignoring him, decided against it. ‘Wintrow. As I believe you’ve been told.’
‘Later. When we’re under way and the little cur can’t jump ship again.’
‘Now.’
He left without a word.
She was still not certain what she felt just now for Wintrow. She was glad he was aboard again. Yet she also had to confront the selfishness inherent in such gladness. And the humiliation that no matter how he had spurned her and abandoned her, she still would welcome him back. Where was her pride, she asked herself? From the moment he had come aboard, filthy, weary and sickened with despair, she had renewed her link to him. She had clutched at him and all that made him a Vestrit as a way to secure her own identity again. Almost immediately she had felt better, much more herself. It was a certainty she drew from him, an affirmation of herself. She had never been aware of that before now. She had known she was joined to him, but had thought of it as the ‘love’ that humans so treasured. Now she was not sure. Uneasily she wondered if there were something evil in the way she clung to him and drew her perception of herself from him. Perhaps it was what he had always sensed in their bond that had made him try to escape her.
It was a terrible division, to feel such need for someone, and yet to feel angry that the need existed. She did not want to exist as a being dependent on another for her validity. She was going to confront him now, demand to know if he saw her as a parasite and if that was why he had fled her. She feared he would tell her that was the truth, that she gave nothing to him, only took. Yet as much as she feared that, she would ask him. Because she had to know. Did she truly have a life and spirit of her own, or was she but a Vestrit shadow?
She gave Mild a few more minutes. Still, no one was dispatched to Wintrow’s door.
This was intolerable.
Earlier she had noted that their cargo was not evenly loaded. The crew was not used to stowing humans. It was not so much that it had to make a difference, but it could. She sighed, then subtly shifted her weight. She began to list to starboard. Just a tiny bit. But Kyle was, in some ways, a good captain, and Gantry was an even better mate.
They would notice the list. They would restow the cargo before getting under way. At which time she would develop a port list. And perhaps drag her anchor a bit. She stared stonily off at the shore. In the developing overcast, the white towers of Jamaillia City were dull, the dead white of empty shells. She swayed with the rocking of the ship, making the motion more pronounced. And she waited.
They sat together in the big darkened kitchen. Once, Keffria reflected, she had loved this room. When she was very small, she had loved to come here with her mother. Back then, Ronica Vestrit had often given intimate parties, and it was her especial pleasure to prepare the foods she herself would serve to her guests. Then the kitchen had been a lively place, for the boys would play with their blocks under the great wooden table, while she stood on a stool and watched her mother mince fine the savoury herbs that would season the little meat rolls. Keffria would help her shell the hard-boiled eggs, or pop the lightly steamed almonds out of their little brown jackets.
The Blood Plague had ended those days. Sometimes Keffria thought that everything that was merry and lighthearted and simple in their household had died with her brothers. Certainly there had never been any gay little parties after that. She did not recall her mother ever again preparing dainties as she had then, or even spending much time in the kitchen. Now that they had reduced their servants, Keffria came in to help with the cooking herself on busy days. But Ronica did not.
Until tonight. They had come to the kitchen as the shadows of the day began to lengthen. In an awful parody of those old days, they had cooked together, chopping and peeling, simmering and stirring, all the while discussing the selection of wines and teas, how strong to make the coffee and which cloth to set out on the table. They spoke very little of why the Festrews had contacted them to say they would come tonight. Even though the payment was not due for some days now, it waited in a strongbox by the door. Unspoken between them was the uneasy knowledge that there had been no reply at all to Keffria’s letter. The Khupruses were not the Festrews; there was likely no connection at all. Likely.
Keffria had known since she was a woman that the Rain Wild Traders came twice a year to accept payment on the liveship. She had known, too, that when the ship quickened, the size of the payments would increase. That was customary. The size of the payments reflected the belief that liveships would be used in trade on the Rain River, in the very profitable and exotic Rain Wild goods. Most liveship owners became swiftly very wealthy as soon as their ships quickened. The Vestrits, of course, had not. Sometimes, Keffria allowed herself to wonder if her father’s decision about magical goods had been a wise one. Sometimes, like tonight.
When the food was prepared and the table set, the two women sat down quietly by the hearth. Keffria made tea and poured cups for herself and her mother.
‘I still think we should invite Malta to join us,’ she ventured. ‘She should learn…’
‘That one has learned far more than we suspect,’ her mother said wearily. ‘No, Keffria. Indulge me in this. Let you and I hear the Festrews out together, and together decide our course. I fear that the decisions we make tonight may chart the course of the Vestrit family.’ She met her daughter’s eyes. ‘I do not say these words to hurt, but I do not know how to put it kindly. We two are the last of the Vestrits, I fear. Malta is Haven to the bone. I do not say Kyle Haven is a bad man. I say only that what conspires here tonight is for Bingtown Traders to decide. And the Havens are not Bingtown Traders.’
‘Have it as you will,’ Keffria said tiredly. Some day, she thought to herself without rancour, you will be dead and I will no longer be caught in the middle. Perhaps then I shall simply give it all over to Kyle, and spend the time tending my gardens. Thinking of nothing else, save whether the roses need pruning or if it is time to split the iris clumps. Resting at last. She was sure Kyle would leave her alone. These days, when she thought of her husband, it was like ringing a cracked bell. She could recall the wonderful sound his name had once produced in her heart, but she could no longer hear it or make it. Love, she thought dejectedly, was after all, based on things. Family love, the love in her marriage, even her daughter’s love for her. All based on things and the power to control the things. If you gave up power to people, then they loved you. Funny. Since she had discovered that, she little cared if anyone loved her or not any more.
She sipped at her tea and watched the fire burn. From time to time she added wood to it. There were still pleasures to be found in simple things: the warmth of the fire, a good cup of tea. She would savour what was left to her.
A distant gong rang from somewhere across the field. Her mother rose hastily, to m
ake a final check of everything. The lights in the room had long been dimmed, but now she added to the candles the leaf hoods to disperse their light even more. ‘Make fresh tea,’ she said quietly. ‘Caolwn likes tea.’ Then her mother did a rather peculiar thing. She went to the interior door of the kitchen, and opened it suddenly. She stepped out quickly, to peer up and down the hall, as if she expected to surprise someone.
When she came back into the room, Keffria asked her, ‘Is Selden out of bed again? He is such a little night owl.’
‘No, no one was there,’ her mother said distractedly. Then she shut the door firmly and came back to the table. ‘You recall the greeting ritual?’ she suddenly asked Keffria.
‘Of course. Don’t worry, I won’t shame you.’
‘You have never shamed me,’ her mother replied absently. Keffria could not say why her words made her heart leap so strangely.
Then the tap came on the door and Ronica stepped forward to open it. Keffria came to her shoulder. Outside the door stood two cloaked and hooded shapes. One wore a scattering of red flame-jewels on her face veil. It was an effect both eerie and beautiful. Jani Khuprus. A feeling of dread swept up from her belly. The dream-box. For an instant dismay dizzied her. Keffria waited desperately for her mother to speak, to rescue them all somehow. Her mother stood still and silent, shocked. She offered no greeting. Keffria took a breath and prayed she would get it all right. ‘I bid you welcome to our home. Enter, and be at home also.’
They both stepped back to allow the Rain Wild Traders to enter. Keffria braced herself as they removed their gloves, hoods and veils. The one woman’s violet eyes were almost hidden by the wobbly growths on her eyelids. It was difficult for Keffria to meet her gaze and smile in a welcoming way, but she did. Yet Jani Khuprus, she of the flame-jewels, was surprisingly smooth-faced for a Rain Wild Trader. She could almost have walked down a Bingtown street by daylight and not been stared at. Her markings were subtle. A pebbly outline traced the edges of her lips and eyelids. The whites of her eyes glowed bluish in the dim room, as did her hair, teeth and nails. It was not unattractive, in a shivery way. Her mother was still silent, so as in a dream Keffria spoke the words. ‘We have prepared refreshment for you, after your long journey. Will you be seated at our table?’
‘Most gratefully,’ they replied, almost as one.
All the women curtseyed to one another. Again, Keffria had to speak to break her mother’s silence. ‘I, Keffria Vestrit, of the Vestrit Family of the Bingtown Traders, make you welcome to our table and our home. We recall all our most ancient pledges to one another, Bingtown to Rain Wilds, and also our private agreement regarding the liveship Vivacia, the product of both our families.’
‘I, Caolwn Festrew, of the Festrew Family of the Rain Wild Traders, accept your hospitality of home and table. I recall all our most ancient pledges to one another, Rain Wilds to Bingtown, and also our private agreement regarding the liveship Vivacia, the product of both our families.’ The one woman paused, and suddenly indicated the woman at her side. ‘I bring to your table and your home my guest who after this shall be your guest. Can you extend your welcome to Jani Khuprus, our kinswoman?’ Her gaze was fixed on Keffria’s face. It was up to her to respond.
‘I do not know the formal reply to such a request,’ she admitted frankly. ‘So I shall simply say that any guest of our long-time friend Caolwn is more than welcome in our home. Allow me but a moment to set out another plate and silver.’ She desperately hoped that so august a personage as the head of the Khuprus clan would not be offended by her informality.
Jani smiled, and glanced at Caolwn as if seeking permission to speak. Caolwn gave her a small smile. ‘I, for one, am just as glad to set aside formality as well. Let me say that this unexpected visit is more my doing than Caolwn’s. I begged her to arrange it and to allow me to accompany her, that she might introduce me to your home. If it has presented any difficulty for you, I wish to apologize now.’
‘None at all,’ Keffria replied quietly. ‘Please, let us be at ease with one another, as neighbours, friends and family ought to be.’ Her words included her mother as well as the other two. As if by accident, she let her hand brush her mother’s in a silent plea for her to end her shocked stillness.
Caolwn had turned to regard Ronica oddly. ‘My old friend, you are silent tonight. Are you comfortable with the guest I bring?’
‘How could I be otherwise?’ Ronica said faintly. In a stronger voice, she added, ‘I but defer to my daughter tonight. She has come into her inheritance. It is more fitting that she welcome you now, rather than I, and that she speak for the Vestrits.’
‘And she has done so eloquently,’ Jani Khuprus said with genuine warmth in her voice. She smiled at them all. ‘Oh, I fear I have not done this well. I had thought that coming myself might be the most comfortable way to begin this, but perhaps a letter would have been better.’
‘It is quite all right, I assure you,’ Keffria spoke as she set an extra glass in place and then drew up another chair to the table. ‘Let us all be seated and enjoy food and tea and wine together. Or I have coffee, if anyone would prefer it.’ She had a sudden odd desire to know Jani Khuprus better before the reason for her visit was broached. Slowly. Slowly. If this riddle must be unfolded, she wanted it to be slowly, to be sure she understood it fully.
‘You have set a lovely table,’ Jani Khuprus observed as she took her place at it. It did not escape Keffria that she seated herself first, nor that Caolwn deferred to her. She was suddenly glad that the olives were the finest, that her mother had insisted the almond paste be prepared fresh tonight, that only the very best of what they had cooked be set out upon the table. It was a lovely table of rich and dainty food such as Keffria had not seen in months. Whatever their financial limits might be, Ronica had not allowed it to affect this feast, and Keffria was glad of it.
For a time, table talk was all there was. Slowly Ronica recovered both poise and charm. She led the conversation into safe channels. Compliments on the food, the wine, the coffee and other generalities accompanied the meal. But Keffria noticed that whenever Jani took over the conversation, which was often, the little stories and anecdotes she told served to illustrate the wealth and power of her family. They were not told braggingly; there was no intent to humble the Vestrits or their table. In each case, she compared the food or the company favourably to some grander occasion or personage. She was, Keffria decided, deliberately trying to share information about her family. Her husband was still alive, she had three live sons and two live daughters, an immense family by Rain Wild standards. The new wealth from the discovery of the flame-jewels was allowing them more time to travel and entertain, to bring into her home objects of beauty and the knowledge of scholarship. Was not that truly the greatest benefit of wealth, that it allowed one to treat family and friends to what they deserved? If they cared to journey up the river, they would be most welcome in her home.
It was like the courting dance of a bird, Keffria reflected. Her heart turned over in her chest again. Jani Khuprus suddenly turned to look at her, as if Keffria had made some small sound that had attracted her eyes. With no warning, she smiled dazzlingly and said, ‘I did receive your message the other day, my dear. But I confess, I did not understand it. That was one of the reasons I begged Caolwn to arrange this visit, you know.’
‘So I surmised,’ Keffria said faintly. She glanced at her mother. Ronica met her eyes and gave her a tiny nod. She drew strength from her restored calm. ‘Truly, I found myself in a most embarrassing position. I thought it best simply to write and be honest about what had happened. I assure you, if the dream-box is found, it will be swiftly returned.’
That was not quite as graciously phrased as it could have been. Keffria bit her lower lip. Jani cocked her head sideways.
‘That, of course, was what confused me. I called my son to me and questioned him. Such an impulsive and passionate act could only have been the doing of my youngest. Reyn stammered a bit, and blush
ed a great deal, for prior to this, he has shown no interest in courting. But he admitted the dream-box. And the scarf and flame-jewel as well.’ She shook her head with maternal fondness. ‘I have scolded him for this, but I fear he is quite unrepentant. He is very taken with your Malta. He did not, of course, discuss the dream they shared. That would be quite, uh, indelicate of a gentleman. But he did tell me he was certain she looked with favour on his suit.’ She smiled round at them again. ‘So I shall presume the box was found and enjoyed by the young lady.’
‘So we should all presume, I am sure,’ Ronica said suddenly before Keffria could speak. The two Vestrit women exchanged a glance whose meaning could not have been concealed from anyone.
‘Oh, dear,’ Jani sighed apologetically. ‘I take it you do not share your young woman’s enthusiasm for my son’s courtship.’
Keffria’s mouth had gone dry. She sipped at her wine, but it did not seem to help. Instead she coughed awkwardly, and then choked. She was just getting her breath when her mother spoke for her.
‘I am afraid our Malta is a mischievous little thing. Full of pranks and tricks is our girl.’ Ronica’s tone was light, but the look on her face was sympathetic. ‘No, Jani, it is not your son’s courtship that we look on with disfavour. It is Malta’s age and her childish behaviour. When Malta is old enough to have suitors, he will most certainly be welcomed by us. And if he gains her favour, we could only feel honoured by such a joining. But Malta, although she may have the appearance of a young woman, has only a child’s years, and I fear, a child’s love of pretence and mischief. She is barely thirteen. She has not yet been presented. He must have seen her in her Trader robe, at the Gathering you called. I am sure that if he had seen her as she usually dresses, in a little girl’s frocks, he would have realized his… error.’
A silence descended. Jani looked from one woman to the other. ‘I see,’ she said finally. She seemed to feel uncomfortable now. ‘This, then, is why the young woman is not present tonight.’