The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  ‘Althea?’

  She gave a guilty start. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Grag smiled understandingly. ‘In your position, I’m sure I would be as preoccupied. I continue to ask every ship that comes into the harbour for word of her. I’m afraid that is as much as I can do right now. Next month, when we sail again to Jamaillia, I will seek word from every ship I encounter.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she told him warmly. Then, as his look became too tender, she distracted him. ‘I have missed Ophelia. If I had not promised Mother that I would be more conservative in my behaviour, I would have come calling on her. The only time I ventured down there, the Satrap’s tariff guards challenged me. For the sake of propriety, I did not make an issue of it.’ She sighed, then changed her tone. ‘So Amber was able to repair Ophelia’s hands.’

  Grag leaned back in his chair. He squinted his eyes in the afternoon sunlight. ‘More than repair. She had to reshape them as a whole to keep the more slender fingers proportional. When Ophelia expressed concern for the scraps of wizardwood that had to be removed, Amber made a practice of saving every scrap in a special box. They never left the foredeck. The loss of them seemed very threatening to Ophelia; I was surprised that someone not of Bingtown stock could be so perceptive to the ship’s distress. Now she has even gone one step further. After consulting with Ophelia, she has gained my father’s permission to refashion the larger scraps into a bracelet for the ship. She will cut the pieces into fine rods and bars and then peg them together. No other liveship in the harbour possesses such jewellery, made not only by a prominent artist but carved of her own wizardwood. Ophelia is ecstatic.’

  Althea smiled but she was still slightly incredulous as she asked, ‘Your father permits Amber to work wizardwood? I thought that was forbidden.’

  ‘This is different,’ Grag pointed out hastily. ‘It is actually a part of the repair. Amber is only restoring to Ophelia as much of her wizardwood as she can. My family discussed this in great depth before my father permitted it. Amber’s integrity weighed heavily in our decision. She did not attempt to take any of the scraps. We watched her, you know, for as wizardwood is so rare, even the tiniest bit has value. She has been honourable. Moreover, she has been extraordinarily flexible in completing all the work on board the ship. Even the bracelet will be carved there rather than in Amber’s shop. She has had to haul quite a number of tools back and forth, and all in her guise of slave-whore.’ Grag took another bite of his pastry and chewed thoughtfully.

  Amber had told Althea nothing of all this. She was not surprised. There were depths of reserve to the bead-maker that she never expected to plumb. ‘She’s quite a person,’ Althea observed, as much to herself as to Grag.

  ‘My mother said the same thing,’ he agreed. ‘That, I think, has been the strangest development. My mother and Ophelia have always been very close, you know. They were friends even before she married my father. When she learned Ophelia had been injured when we were attacked, she was distraught. She had many reservations about letting a stranger work on her hands, and was rather piqued with my father for agreeing to it without consulting her first.’

  Althea grinned knowingly in answer to Grag’s straight-faced minimization of Naria Tenira’s legendary temper. It woke an answering grin on his handsome face. For an instant, she glimpsed a carefree sailor rather than the conservative Bingtown Trader that was his other face. Here in Bingtown, Grag was far more aware of both his family’s reputation and Bingtown propriety. His sailor clothes had given way to a dark coat, trousers and a white shirt. It reminded her of her father’s conservative dress when he was in Bingtown. It made him seem older, more serious and stable. Her heart gave a small leap of interest that a wicked grin could still light his face. The Trader was an interesting and respectable man; the sailor was an attractive one.

  ‘Mother insisted that she would be present when Ophelia’s hands were worked on. Amber did not object, but I believe she was a bit offended. No one relishes distrust. As it turned out, she and Mother talked for hours while Amber worked, about everything under the sun. Ophelia joined in, of course. You well know that you cannot speak anywhere on the foredeck without Ophelia sharing her opinion. The result has been surprising. Mother has become virulently anti-slavery. The other day she accosted a man on the street. There was a little girl with a tattooed face carrying his parcels. Mother knocked the packages from the child’s hands and told the man he should be ashamed at having such a young child away from her mother. Then she brought the girl home.’ Grag looked a trifle discomfited. ‘I don’t know what we will do with her. She is too scared to say more than a few words at a time, but my mother says the child has no relatives in Bingtown. She was torn from her family and sold, like a calf.’ As Grag spoke, his voice thickened with suppressed emotion. This was a new side of him.

  ‘Did the newcomer just accept your mother taking the child?’

  Grag grinned again, but there was a fierce edge to it. A glint came into his eyes. ‘Not gracefully. However, Lennel, our cook, was with Mother. He is not a man to accept anyone trifling with the mistress. The slave-owner stood in the street and shouted threats after them, but did little more than that. Those that took notice either sneered or laughed. What will he do? Go to the town council and complain that someone kidnapped the child he had illegally enslaved?’

  ‘No. More likely he will go to the town council and lend his support to those who would make slavery a law as well as a fact here.’

  ‘My mother has already declared that when the Bingtown Council hears our grievances against the Satrap’s servants, she will bring up the matter of slavery as well. She intends to demand that our laws against it be enforced.’

  ‘How?’ Althea asked bitterly.

  Grag just looked at her. In a quiet voice he said, ‘I do not know. But it should at least be attempted. We have looked aside from it. Amber says that if the slaves truly believed we would support their liberty, they would not be so fearful to admit they were truly slaves. They have been told by their masters that if they are defiant and claim freedom, they will be tortured to death and that no one will interfere.’

  Althea felt a terrible coldness well up in her. She thought of the child Naria had claimed. Did she still fear torture and death? What would that do to anyone, to grow up under such a shadow?

  ‘Amber feels that with genuine support, they would rise up and walk away from their slavery. They far outnumber their masters. She also feels that if Bingtown does not act soon to restore their rightful freedom, there will be a bloody rebellion that will ruin the whole city.’

  ‘So. We help them regain their rightful freedom soon, or we will all go down in flames when they take it for themselves?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Grag lifted his mug of beer and drank thoughtfully.

  After a long moment, Althea heaved a sigh. She took another sip of her tea and stared off into the distance.

  ‘Althea. Don’t look so woebegone. We’re doing all that can be done. We go before the Council tomorrow night. Maybe we can bring them to their senses about both the Satrap’s tariffs and slavery in Bingtown.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Althea agreed glumly. She did not tell him that she had not been considering slavery or tariffs. She had been looking at the handsome and good-hearted young man across the table from her and waiting. She waited in vain. She felt only affectionate friendship. She had sighed, wondering why a decent and respectable man like Grag Tenira could not stir her heart and senses as Brashen Trell had.

  He nearly went around to the back door. Then some remnant of old pride made him stride up to the front and ring the bell. He refused to look down at himself as he waited. He was not ragged, nor dirty. The yellow silk shirt was of the finest quality, as was the scarf at his throat. The dark blue trousers and short jacket he wore had seen some mending, but the work of his own needle never shamed a good sailor. If the fabric and cut were more suited to the pirates of the isles than to a Bingtown Trader’s son, well…Brashe
n Trell was likely more one than the other these days. There was a small cindin burn at the corner of his mouth where he had fallen asleep while indulging, but his current moustache hid most of that. A small smile came and went on his face. If Althea got close enough to see it, he doubted she’d be thinking about it. His quick ears detected the light scuff of a serving girl’s step in the passageway. He took off his hat.

  A well-rigged young woman opened the door to him. She looked him up and down, plainly disapproving of his rakish clothes. She returned his cheery grin with an affronted stare. ‘Did you wish something?’ she asked him haughtily.

  He winked at her. ‘I could wish for a more courteous greeting, but I doubt that would get me one. I’m here to see Althea Vestrit. If she is not available, I’d like to meet with Ronica Vestrit. I’ve news that won’t wait.’

  ‘Indeed? Well, I’m afraid it will have to, as neither of them is at home at present. Good day.’

  The inflection of her voice plainly said it was not at all a good day that she wished him. He stepped forward quickly to catch the edge of the door before it could close.

  ‘But Althea is back from sea?’ he pressed, needing to hear those words spoken.

  ‘She has been home from sea for weeks. Let go!’ she spat at him.

  His heart lurched with relief. She was home, safe. The girl was still tugging at the door he gripped. He decided the time for tact was past. ‘I won’t leave. I can’t. I bring important news. I won’t be put off by a serving girl’s tantrum. Let me in, right now, or both your mistresses will be greatly displeased with you.’

  The little maid fell back a step, gasping in shock. Brashen took the opportunity to step into the entryway. He glanced about himself, frowning at what he saw. This entryway had always been the captain’s pride. It was still clean and bright, but the woodwork and brass no longer gleamed. He missed the warm scents of beeswax and oil. He even saw wisps of a high cobweb in a corner. He had no time to see more. The housemaid stamped her small foot at him indignantly. ‘I am not a servant, you misbegotten bit of wharf-trash. I am Malta Haven, daughter of this household. I’ll thank you to take your stench out of my home.’

  ‘Not until I’ve seen Althea. I’ll wait as long as I need to. Put me anywhere, I’ll sit still and mind my manners.’ He peered at the girl more closely. ‘It is Malta! Beg pardon, I didn’t recognize you. The last time I saw you, you were in a little girl’s frock.’ He attempted to make amends for his earlier slight. He smiled down on her. ‘My, don’t you look grand today? Are you and your friends playing a tea-party, then?’

  His attempt at disarming friendliness was a disaster. The girl’s eyes went wide, and her upper lip sneered back from her teeth in disdain. ‘Who are you, sailor, to dare speak to me so familiarly, in my father’s house?’

  ‘Brashen Trell,’ he said. ‘Former first mate for Captain Vestrit. Beg pardon for not saying so sooner. I bring news of the liveship Vivacia. I need to see your aunt or grandmother immediately. Or your mother. Is she at home?’

  ‘She is not. She and Grandmother have gone into town, to discuss spring planting arrangements. They will not be back until later. Althea is off doing whatever it is that currently amuses her. Sa knows when she will wander in. However, you can tell your news to me. Why has the ship been so long delayed? Will they be much longer?’

  Brashen cursed his own dull wits. The prospect of seeing Althea had displaced some of the gravity of his news in his mind. He looked at the girl before him. He was bringing tidings that her family ship had been seized by pirates. He would not be able to tell her if her father were still alive. That was not news he was going to deliver to a child at home by herself. He ardently wished that she had allowed one of the servants to open the door to him. He wished even more that he had had the sense to hold his tongue until an adult was present. He chewed his lip, then winced as it tugged at the cindin sores. ‘I think you had best send a boy down to the town, to ask your grandmother to come home right away. This is news she should receive first.’

  ‘Why? Is something wrong?’

  For the first time, the girl spoke in her own voice, not a parody of an adult’s. Oddly, it made her seem more mature. The sudden fear in her voice and eyes went to Brashen’s heart. He stood tongue-tied. He didn’t want to lie to her. He didn’t want to burden her with the truth without her mother or aunt to help her absorb the blow. He turned his hat in his hands. ‘I think we had best wait for an adult to be here,’ he suggested firmly. ‘Do you think you could send a lad to find your mother or grandmother or aunt?’

  Her mouth twisted, and he almost saw her fears turn to anger. Her eyes glinted with anger as she crisply replied, ‘I shall send Rache. Wait here.’

  With that command, she marched away and left him standing in the entry-hall. He wondered why she had not simply summoned a servant to carry the message. She had answered the door herself too. He ventured a few steps further into the once-familiar room and peered down the hall. His quick eyes picked up minor signs of neglect there as well. He cast his mind back to his walk here; the carriageway had been littered with broken branches and unraked leaves. The steps had been unswept. Had the Vestrit family come on hard times or was this just Kyle being tight-fisted? He waited restlessly. The evil tidings he was bearing might be much graver than he had first imagined. The capture of their family vessel might spell their ruin. Althea! he thought fiercely as if he could summon her by will alone.

  The Springeve was anchored in Bingtown harbour. They had arrived in port today. As soon as the ship was secured, Finney had sent Brashen ashore. Finney supposed he was arranging for a buyer for the best of their loot. Brashen had come straight to the Vestrit’s home instead. The portrait of the Vivacia was aboard the Springeve, mute evidence that what he said was true. He doubted they would demand to see it, though Althea would definitely want to reclaim it. Brashen was not sure what Althea’s feelings for him were right now, but she would know he was not a liar.

  He tried to push thoughts of Althea away, but once turned to that topic, his mind refused to give it up. What did she think of him? Why did it matter so much to him? Because it did. Because he wanted her to think well of him. They had not parted well, and he had regretted that ever since. He didn’t believe she would hold his rough jest against him when they met again. She wasn’t like that; she wasn’t some prissy female to take grave offence at an awkward joke. He closed his eyes a moment and almost prayed he was right. He thought more than well of her. He thrust his hands in his pockets and paced a turn around the entry-hall.

  Althea stood in Amber’s shop, idly running her hands through a basket of beads. She fished one out at random and looked at it. An apple. The next was a pear, and the next a cat, its tail curled around its body. At the door, Amber bid her customer farewell, promising that she would have his selections strung into a necklace by this time tomorrow. As the door shut behind him, Amber rattled a handful of beads into a small basket, and then began to restore the rejected wares to their shelves. As Althea came to help her, Amber picked up their earlier conversation.

  ‘So. Naria Tenira will confront the Bingtown Council about slavery? Is that what you came to tell me?’

  ‘I thought you’d want to know how persuasive she’d found you.’

  Amber smiled, pleased. ‘I already knew, of course. Naria told me. I scandalized her by saying I wished I could be there.’

  ‘The meetings are for Trader folk only,’ Althea protested.

  ‘She said the same,’ replied Amber affably. ‘Is that what brought you here so swiftly?’

  Althea shrugged. ‘I hadn’t seen you in a while. And I couldn’t face going home to the accounts or to Malta. Someday, Amber, I’m going to shake that girl until her teeth rattle. She is so infuriating.’

  ‘Actually, she sounds as if she’s a lot like you.’ At Althea’s outraged glare, Amber amended, ‘As you would have been if your father had not taken you to sea.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if what he did was kind,’
Althea observed reluctantly.

  It was Amber’s turn to be surprised. ‘Would you have it otherwise?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Althea ran her hands through her hair distractedly. Amber watched in amusement.

  ‘You’re not playing the role of a boy any more. You’d best smooth out that mess you just made.’

  Althea groaned, and patted at her hair. ‘No. Now I’m playing the role of a Bingtown woman. It’s equally false to me. There. Does it look all right now?’

  Amber reached across the counter to push a lock of Althea’s hair back into place. ‘There. That’s better. False, how?’

  Althea bit her lip for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘False in every way. I feel trapped in these clothes; I must walk a certain way, sit a certain way. I can scarcely lift my hand over my head without the sleeves binding me. The pins in my hair give me a headache. I must speak to people according to proper protocol. Even to stand here, speaking intimately with you in your shop, is potentially scandalous. But worst of all, I must pretend to want things I don’t really want.’ She paused briefly. ‘Sometimes I almost convince myself I do want them,’ she added confusedly. ‘If I could want them, life would be easier.’

  The bead-maker made no immediate reply. Amber picked up the small baskets of beads and Althea followed her as she walked to an alcove at the back of the store. Amber let down a rattling curtain of hand-carved beads to shield them from casual eyes. She sat down on a tall stool by a worktable. Althea took a chair. The arms of it bore the marks of Amber’s idle whittling.

  ‘What don’t you want?’ Amber asked kindly as she began to set the beads out on the table before her.

  ‘I don’t want all the things a real woman would want. You made me realize that. I don’t dream of babies and a pretty house. I don’t want a settled home, and a growing family. I’m not even sure I want a husband. Today Malta accused me of being odd. It stung worse than anything else she flung at me. Because it’s true. I suppose I am. I don’t want any of the things a woman is supposed to want.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘I should want Grag. I mean…I do want Grag. I like him. I enjoy his company.’ She stared at the front door as she added more honestly, ‘When he touches my hand, it warms me. But when I consider marrying him and all that would go with it…’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not what I want. It would cost too much. Even though it would, perhaps, be wise.’