The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

The current was like a living thing now, the tide speeding through the narrow channel like a mill race. Wintrow fought the wheel. ‘Get moving if you want to live,’ he barked. ‘There’s no time for your fear. The ship is the only thing that matters now. Save her if you want to save yourselves.’

  ‘That’s the only time you’ve ever sounded like a son to me.’

  Blood had darkened down the side of Kyle Haven’s face. He moved with his body at a twist, trying not to jar the ribs that poked and grated inside him. He was paler than the grey sky overhead. He looked at his son holding the ship’s wheel, at the scarred map-faces that lumbered hastily off to do his bidding, at the debris of the insurrection and shook his head slowly. ‘This is what it took for you to find your manhood?’

  ‘It was never lost,’ he said flatly. ‘You simply couldn’t recognize it, because I wasn’t you. I wasn’t big and strong and harsh. I was me.’

  ‘You never stepped up to the mark. You never cared about what I could give you.’ Kyle shook his head. ‘You and this ship. Spoiled children, both of you.’

  Wintrow gripped the wheel tightly. ‘We don’t have time for this. Vivacia can’t steer herself. She’s helping me, but I want your eyes, too. I want your knowledge.’ He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. ‘Advise me, father.’

  ‘He’s truly your father?’ Sa’Adar asked in consternation. ‘He enslaved his own son?’

  Neither man answered him. Both peered ahead, into the storm. After a moment, the priest retreated to the stern of the ship, leaving them almost alone.

  ‘What are you going to do with her?’ his father demanded suddenly. ‘Even if you get safely through this channel, you haven’t enough good men to sail her. These are treacherous waters, even for an experienced crew.’ He snorted. ‘You’re going to lose her before you even had her.’

  ‘All I can do is the best I can,’ Wintrow said quietly. ‘I didn’t choose this. But I believe Sa will provide.’

  ‘Sa!’ Kyle shook his head in disgust. Then, ‘Keep her to the centre of the channel. No, a couple more points to port. There. Hold her steady. Where’s Torg? You should put him aloft to cry out what he sees.’

  Wintrow considered it an instant, combining his father’s opinion with what he felt through Vivacia. Then he made the correction. ‘Torg’s dead,’ he said after the brief silence. ‘He was put over the side. Because a slave considered him useless.’ He gestured with his chin to a man who clung, frozen, halfway up the mast. ‘He was supposed to take the lookout post.’

  An aghast silence followed his words. When his father spoke, his voice was strained. ‘All of this…’ his father said in a low voice, pitched only for Wintrow’s ears. ‘All of this, just so you could take the ship now, instead of a few years from now?’

  The question measured the distance between them for Wintrow. The gulf between them was vast and uncrossable.

  ‘None of this was about any of that.’ A stupid statement. But all the words he could utter in a lifetime would not make his father understand him. The only thing they would ever really share was the ship. ‘Let’s just get her through these rocks,’ he suggested. ‘Let’s speak of only that. It’s the only thing we can agree on.’

  After a very long time, his father stepped up to stand beside him. He set one hand lightly to the wheel beside his son’s. He glanced up at the rigging, spotted one of his own men. ‘Calt! Leave off that and get to the lookout’s post.’

  His father’s eyes roved ahead. ‘Here we go,’ he warned Wintrow softly as the ship suddenly gained speed.

  ‘You’ve sold me,’ Malta said dully. ‘You’ve sold me to a monster, to pay off a ship. So I can be dragged off to some swampy tree-camp to grow warts and make babies while you can all get rich off new trade contracts with the Khuprus family. Don’t think I don’t know how it works. Usually when a woman is given up to a Rain Wild husband, the family in Bingtown gets fat on the profits.’ They had wakened her early and called her down to the kitchen for this. Breakfast wasn’t even ready.

  ‘Malta, that’s not how it is,’ her mother said in her ‘let’s be reasonable’ voice.

  At least her grandmother was honest about how she felt. She finished filling the kettle, and then set it on the stove. She bent down and poked up the fire herself. ‘Actually, you sold yourself,’ she said in a deceptively pleasant voice. ‘For a scarf, a flame-jewel and a dream-box. And don’t claim you weren’t smart enough to know what you were doing. You know a great deal more about everything than you let on.’

  Malta kept silent for a time. Then, ‘I have the things in my room. I can return them,’ she offered gruffly. The flame-jewel. She hated to part with the flame-jewel. But better that than to be pledged to a toadish Rain Wild man. She thought of the dream of kissing him and shuddered. In reality, behind his veil, his lips would be pebbled with warts. Even the thought of that kiss made her want to spit now. It wasn’t fair, to send a dream in which he was so handsome when he was really a toad.

  ‘It’s a bit late for that,’ her mother said with asperity. ‘If you had been honest about the dream-box, things might have been mended. No. I take that back. You’d already accepted a scarf and a jewel, to say nothing of giving him a glass you had drunk from.’ She halted a moment, and when she went on her voice was kinder. ‘Malta. No one is going to force you into a marriage. All we have consented to is that the young man be allowed to see you. You won’t be alone with him. Grandmother or I or Rache or Nana will always be there too. You don’t have to be afraid of him.’ She cleared her throat and when she went on her tone was unmistakably cooler. ‘On the other hand, I will permit no discourtesy. You will never be late, or rude to him. You will treat him as you would any honoured visitor to our home. And that means no wild talk of warts, or swamps or making babies.’

  Malta got up from the table and went and cut herself a slice of yesterday’s bread. ‘Fine. I won’t talk at all,’ she offered them. What could they do about that, really? How could they force her to talk to him or be nice to him? She wasn’t going to pretend she actually liked him. He’d soon discover she found him disgusting and go away. She wondered if she’d be allowed to keep the scarf and the jewel if he said he didn’t want to marry her. It probably wasn’t a good time to ask that. But he could have the dream-box back any time. It had turned an ugly, flat grey colour after she had opened it, like ash in a fireplace. It still smelled pretty, but that was small reason to keep it.

  ‘Malta, these are not people we can offend,’ her mother pointed out.

  She looked very tired and worn of late. There were more lines in her face and she took even less care with her hair than she used to. Soon she would be as sour-faced as Grandmother. And Grandmother was frowning now. ‘It is not a matter of who we can or cannot afford to offend. There are many ways of dealing with an unwelcome suitor. Rudeness is not one of them. Not for our family.’

  ‘When will my father be home?’ Malta asked abruptly. ‘Do we have any preserved peaches anywhere?’

  ‘We don’t expect him until late spring,’ her mother said wearily. ‘Why?’

  ‘I just don’t think he would make me do this. Pretend to like a man I don’t even want to know… Isn’t there anything good to eat in this house?’

  ‘Put some butter on it instead. And no one asked you to pretend to like him!’ Grandmother burst out. ‘You are not a prostitute, he has not paid you to smile while he leers at you. I am simply saying we expect you to treat him with courtesy. I am sure he will be a complete gentleman. I have Caolwn’s word on that, and I have known her a very long time. All you need do is treat him with respect.’ In a lower voice she went on, ‘I am sure he will quickly decide you are not suitable, and cease his attentions.’ The way she said it, it was insulting. As if Malta weren’t worthy of him.

  ‘I’ll try,’ Malta grudgingly conceded. She tossed the dry bread down onto the table in front of her. At least it would be something to tell Delo about. She was always subtly bragging about all the young men who ca
me to her house. They were all Cerwin’s friends, Malta knew that. But Delo knew their names, and they made teasing jokes with her, and sometimes brought her sweets and trinkets. Once, when she had been allowed to go to the spice-market with Delo with Rache accompanying them, one of Cerwin’s friends had recognized Delo, and made a big sweeping bow to her, with his cloak blowing out in the wind when he did it. He had offered to treat them to spice tea, but Rache had said they must hurry home. It had made Malta look like an infant. Just for once, it would be nice to tell Delo that a young man had come to her house, to see her. She didn’t need to tell Delo he was probably covered with warts. Maybe she could make him seem mysterious and dangerous… She smiled to herself and looked afar dreamily, practising the look she’d wear when she told Delo about her young man. Her mother slammed a pot of honey down on the table in front of her.

  ‘Thank you,’ Malta said absently as she helped herself to it.

  Maybe Cerwin would be jealous.

  ‘Are you going to let me live?’ Kyle Haven asked softly as dawn began to tinge the sky. He tried to speak flatly, but harshness tinged with fear seeped into his words. Wintrow could hear weariness as well. The long night was nearly over, but it had taken both of them on the wheel and all Calt could see and all Vivacia could call back to them to get them through the channel. He had to admire his father for his tenacity. He had lasted it out. He still stood canted, sheltering the ribs on his left side, but he had helped bring the ship through. And now he asked for his life from his son. It had to be bitter.

  ‘I will do all I can to see you live through this. This I promise you.’ He glanced from his father to Sa’Adar who still leaned on the stern. Wintrow wondered how much he himself would have to say in any decision to come. ‘You don’t believe me. But your death would grieve me. All the deaths on this ship have grieved me.’

  Kyle Haven stared straight ahead. ‘Another point to port,’ was all he said.

  Around them the water suddenly spread and calmed. Crooked Island was falling behind them and Hawser Channel opened up.

  His son corrected their course. Overhead men shouted to one another in the rigging, arguing as to what they should do and how. His father was right. There was no way they could sail the ship with only two experienced and able hands. He gripped the wheel. There had to be some way. ‘Help me, ship,’ he breathed softly. ‘Help me know what to do.’ He felt her weary response. It was not one of confidence, only one of trust.

  ‘There’s another ship behind us,’ Sa’Adar observed aloud. ‘It’s getting closer fast.’ He peered at it through the insistent grey rain. ‘It’s the Raven flag!’ The joy in his voice was clear. ‘Sa has truly provided!’ The man tore off his rag of a shirt and began waving it at the other ship.

  ‘There’s a boy at her helm!’ Sorcor shouted down at him. The storm had died down, even the rain was ceasing but still he pitched his voice to carry through it. ‘And a mess on her decks. I think they’ve had a mutiny.’

  ‘All the better… for us.’ Kennit shouted back. It took so much effort. He was so tired. He drew a long breath. ‘Make ready a boarding party. We’ll take her as soon as she reaches the main channel.’

  ‘The boy seems to have a nice touch on the wheel, even with the sails set all wrong. Wait!’ Disbelief was strong in Sorcor’s voice. ‘Captain, they’re hailing us. It looks like the man is waving us alongside.’

  ‘Then let us oblige him. Boarders ready! No. Wait.’ He took a breath and tried to stand up straight. ‘I’ll lead them myself. Gankis! Come take the wheel. Etta, where is my crutch?’

  It was true. The ship was his for the taking, his luck had held. He had believed in it, he had persevered, and there it was, his beautiful liveship. As they gained her side, he thought he had never seen anything lovelier. From the castle of the Marietta, he could look down on her. There were bodies heaped upon a pile of fallen canvas, and her sails were hiked up like a bawd’s skirts, but her silvery hull glistened and the clean lines of her were like music.

  He swayed and Etta clutched at him. Gankis had the wheel now. The old sailor gave him an odd look, half of pity and half of fear.

  ‘I don’t know where your crutch is. Here. Let me get you to the railing.’ She grunted with effort as she tugged him along. He came with her in lurching hops until he could lean on it with both hands. ‘My love,’ she said very quietly. ‘I think you should go below and rest for a time. Let Sorcor secure the liveship for you.’

  ‘No,’ he said savagely. It was so damned hard to remain on his leg, and she had to waste his strength with stupid arguing. ‘No. She’s mine and I’ll be among the first on her decks. She’s come to me by my luck.’

  ‘Please,’ Etta said, her voice breaking on the word. ‘My darling. My love. If you could see yourself just now…’

  ‘Sar,’ Sorcor had joined them and he swore the word out on an exhalation. ‘Oh, Kennit, oh, sir…’

  ‘I’ll be leading the boarding party,’ he told Sorcor. His mate wouldn’t argue with him. He’d make the damned woman stop arguing with him, too.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Sorcor confirmed very quietly.

  ‘You can’t mean it!’ Etta cried out to Sorcor. ‘Look at him. He’s exhausted, I never should have let him stay on the deck, if I had known what it would cost…’

  ‘Let him go.’ Sorcor spoke quietly. He had brought Kennit’s crutch, but he set it carefully down on the deck. ‘I’ll rig a bosun’s chair for you, sir. And I’ll see you safely to the deck of your liveship.’

  ‘But…’ Etta began but Sorcor cut her off. ‘I promised him,’ he said harshly. ‘Look at him, woman. Let me keep my promise to my captain.’ In a lower voice he added, ‘I think there’s little else we can do now.’

  ‘But…’ she said again. She looked at him and when he met her eyes, something in them seemed to go very still. She did not seem to breathe, only looked at him. Then she looked at Sorcor past him. ‘I’m going with him, then,’ she announced quietly.

  ‘We both are,’ he confirmed it.

  34

  RESTORATIONS

  THE MATE ROUSED ALTHEA from a deep sleep with a cautious tug at her sleeve. ‘Hey,’ Grag Tenira said in an undertone. ‘Captain wants to see you now. He’s on anchor-watch, so meet him on deck. Roll out now.’ Grag turned and left without waiting to see if she would obey.

  A scant second later, Althea’s bare feet hit the deck. Around her, the forecastle was dark and quiet. The rest of the crew had liberty tonight. Without exception, they’d gone ashore to carouse. Althea, more eager for solitude than beer, had pleaded lack of coin and stayed aboard to idle and sleep.

  The Ophelia was in port at a small island city called Rinstin. It was one of the few completely legitimate settlements in the islands of the Inside Passage. Originally founded near a tin deposit and possessing a good supply of freshwater, the tin miners were prosperous and the town was beginning to be a trade centre as well. The inhabitants could afford a few of the Rain Wild goods that Tenira had to offer. He’d turn a nice profit selling off the casks of salt meat he’d taken on in Jamaillia as well, and depart with tinwares to sell in Bingtown. The man was a savvy trader. In her brief time with him, Althea had already grown to admire him.

  As she emerged onto the deck and looked about for Captain Tenira, the oddness of the situation suddenly struck her. The captain was on wheel watch in port? And he’d sent the mate to fetch her? A terrible suspicion welled up in her. Ophelia had given away her secret. When Althea spotted the captain smoking his pipe up by the figurehead, her suspicion became certainty. The young sailor perched on the railing nearby would be Grag, waiting to witness her exposure. Her heart sank into her belly.

  Althea paused a moment in the shadows, to smooth her hair back into its queue and rub the sleep from her face. She straightened her worn clothing as best she could. As bad as it had been to be thrown off the Reaper, this was going to be worse. These men knew her family, and would take this tale home with them. So. Head up. No tears, no anger, sh
e promised herself. Dignity and pride. She wished her stomach would settle. She wished she’d had more warning.

  As she walked forward, Ophelia’s rich voice carried on the night air, almost as if she intended Althea to hear her words. ‘And you, Tomie Tenira, are turning into a cranky old curmudgeon, with no sense of adventure left to you.’

  ‘Ophelia,’ her captain warned her.

  ‘No sense of humour, either,’ Ophelia confided to Grag. The deck-lantern left the mate’s face in shadow, and he made no verbal response to her. Althea felt her mouth twist in an ironic smile. She wondered what Grag Tenira thought of his former dance partner now.

  She smoothed the smile from her face. She kept her features dispassionate as she greeted Tenira with, ‘Reporting, sir.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Captain Tenita said heavily. He took his short pipe from his mouth. ‘You know what this is about, don’t you?’

  She tried not to wince. ‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

  Tenira leaned back on the railing with a heavy sigh. ‘We’ve discussed this, Grag and I. And Ophelia has had her say. And more than her say, as is usual. I intend this for your best, young woman. Gather all your things. Grag will give you some coin and escort you ashore. There’s a rooming house on Clamshell Street. It’s clean. He’ll see you safely there.’

  ‘Sir,’ Althea conceded hopelessly. At least he wasn’t shouting angrily at her. By keeping his dignity, he’d allowed her to keep hers. For that, she was grateful. But Ophelia’s betrayal of her trust still stung. She looked past him to where Ophelia regarded her sheepishly over one round shoulder. ‘I asked you not to give me away,’ she rebuked her softly. She studied the figurehead’s face. ‘I can’t believe you did this to me.’

  ‘Oh, not fair, my dear! Not fair at all!’ Ophelia protested earnestly. ‘I warned you that you couldn’t expect me to keep such a secret from my captain. And I also told you I’d try to find a way for you to stay aboard, if you wished to, under your own name. Now how could I do that without telling him what your real name was?’ Ophelia turned her attention to her captain. ‘Tomie, you’re enjoying this. Shame on you! Tell her the rest, right now. The poor girl thinks you mean to maroon her here.’