by Robin Hobb
‘I am. But I’m going to sit with him tonight. It doesn’t seem right to leave him alone.’
‘Where did the surgeon go?’
‘Over to the Marietta. There are other injured men there. He’s done what he could do here. Now it is up to Opal.’
‘And your ship,’ she could not resist adding. She glanced about the foredeck. ‘Have you seen Kennit?’
Wintrow glanced towards the figurehead. It took her a moment to pick out his silhouette, for he shared a shadow with Vivacia. ‘Oh,’ she said quietly. She did not usually seek him out when he was talking to the ship. But having asked after him aloud, she could not very well just walk away. Trying to appear casual, she joined him at the bow rail. For a time, she did not speak. He had selected a small cove in one of the lesser islands for their anchorage. The Crosspatch rocked nearby, and the Marietta just beyond her. They showed few lights, but those few zigzagged away in reflections on the water. The wind had died off to an insistent breeze that made a faint music in the rigging. So close to land, the smell of the trees and plants was as strong as the saltwater. After a moment, she observed, ‘The attack went well today.’
‘Are you telling me that because you think I don’t know it?’ He put a small bite of sarcasm on his words.
‘Will you do it again? Use that channel that way?’
‘I might.’ His brief answer chilled her effort at conversation.
The ship was blessedly silent, but Etta still felt her presence as an intrusion. She wished they were on board the Marietta. There she could have contrived to move closer to him and make him aware of her. Here, the ship was like a duenna. Even in the privacy of the cabin, Etta felt her presence. She smoothed a hand down her skirt, taking pleasure in the crinkle and rustle of the fabric.
‘Before we were interrupted,’ Vivacia said abruptly, ‘we were discussing plans for tomorrow.’
‘We were,’ Kennit conceded. ‘At first light, we sail for Divvytown. I need a good place to stash the Crosspatch until she is ransomed. And I wish to put the slaves aboard her onto land as soon as possible. So we shall start back for Divvytown.’
They were ignoring her. Etta’s jealousy simmered, but she refused to stalk off.
‘And if we encounter other ships?’ the ship continued.
‘Then it will be your turn,’ Kennit said quietly.
‘I’m not sure if I’m ready. I still don’t know…all the blood. The suffering. Humans feel such pain.’
Kennit sighed. ‘I suppose I should not have brought Opal aboard. I was worried about the boy and wanted him near me. I didn’t think you would mind.’
‘I don’t, really,’ Vivacia added hastily.
Kennit went on speaking as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I don’t enjoy watching his pain, either. But what sort of a man would I be to turn away from it? Shall I turn aside from one who has taken hurt for my sake? For four years, my ship has been the only home that he has known. He wanted to be part of the boarding party today – Oh, how I wish Sorcor had stopped him! I know he did it to impress me.’ Kennit’s voice choked with emotion. ‘Poor lad. Young as he is, he was still willing to risk everything for what he has come to believe in.’ His words came tighter as he said, ‘I fear I have been the death of him. If I had not undertaken this crusade…’
Etta could not help herself. She had never heard Kennit speak such words. She had never imagined he carried such a depth of pain inside him. She stepped close to him and took his hand. ‘Oh, Kennit,’ Etta said softly. ‘Oh, my dear, you cannot take it all upon yourself. You cannot.’
For an instant, he stiffened as if affronted. The figurehead glared at her. Then Kennit turned. To her shock, he dropped his head down to rest it on her shoulder. ‘But if I do not?’ he asked wearily. ‘Oh, Etta, if I do not take this on, who will?’
Her heart broke with tenderness for the strong man who suddenly leaned on her. She lifted her hand to the back of his head. His hair was silky under her touch as she stroked it. ‘It will come out right. You’ll see. Many love you and will follow you. You must not take it all upon your own shoulders.’
‘Whatever would I do without them? I could not go on.’ His shoulders shook briefly, as if he suppressed a sob. He coughed instead.
‘Captain Kennit,’ Vivacia said in dismay, ‘I did not mean that I don’t share your ideals. I only said I was not sure if I was ready to completely—’
‘It’s all right. No, really, it’s all right,’ His reply cut off the ship’s even as his tone dismissed her words as mere courtesy. ‘We have only known one another a short time. It is far too soon for me to ask you to throw your fate in with mine. Good night, Vivacia.’ He drew in a long breath, let it out as a sigh. ‘Etta, my sweet. I fear my leg pains me tonight. Could you help me to our bed?’
‘Of course.’ It touched her. ‘Bed would be wisest. There was some scented oil on the Crosspatch. I took some; I know how your crutch makes your back and shoulder ache. Let me warm the oil and rub them for you.’
He leaned on her as she assisted him away from the railing. ‘Your faith in me gives me such strength, Etta,’ he confided to her. He stopped suddenly and she halted beside him, confused. With an odd deliberation, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. He leaned down and kissed her slowly. Sensation washed through her, not just the warm press of his lips on hers and his strong arms around her, but the openness of this demonstration of affection. He ran his hands over her, the fabric of her skirt crackling to his touch as he snugged her close to him. He had placed her on a pinnacle for all to see his feelings as he kissed her. She felt glorified by it. He broke the kiss at last, but kept his arms around her. She trembled like a virgin.
‘Wintrow,’ Kennit said quietly. Etta turned her head to find the young man looking up at them wide-eyed. ‘If anything happens with Opal in the night, you will come to me right away?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ Wintrow whispered. His eyes travelled over both of them. Awe like hunger was in his eyes.
‘Come, Etta. To our bed. I need the comfort of your closeness. I need to feel your belief in me.’
To hear him speak such words aloud dizzied her. ‘I am beside you always,’ she assured him. She took his crutch to help him descend to the main deck.
‘Kennit,’ Vivacia called after him. ‘I believe in you. In time, I will be ready.’
‘Of course you will,’ he said politely. ‘Good night, ship.’
It took a year to cross the deck and another before she could close the door of their cabin behind them. ‘Let me warm the oil,’ she offered. But as she held it over the lamp, he limped over to her. He took the half-warmed oil from her hands and set it aside. For an instant, he frowned at her, his brows knitted as if she presented a problem. She looked at him questioningly. He braced his crutch under his arm and lifted his hands to her throat. He caught his lower lip between his teeth as his large hands struggled with the fine ribbon that closed her shirt. She put her hands up to untie it for him, but with amazing gentleness, he set them aside. ‘Allow me,’ he said softly.
She shivered as he painstakingly negotiated the ties and buttons of her clothes. He drew off each separate piece and dropped it to one side. Never before had he done such a thing. When she stood naked before him, he took up the dish of oil. He dipped his fingers in it. ‘Like this?’ he asked her uncertainly. His trailing fingers left shining tracks on her breasts and belly. She gasped at the lightness of his touch as he anointed her. He bent his head to kiss the side of her throat. He herded her gently toward the bed. She went willingly, though puzzled at this strange behaviour.
He lay himself down beside her and touched her. He watched her face the whole time, taking note of her every reaction. He leaned close to her and whispered into her ear. ‘Tell me what to do, to please you.’ The admission shocked her. He had never done this before; she was the first woman he had ever tried to please. It made her catch her breath. Suddenly his boyish incompetence was sweepingly erotic. He offered no resistance as
she took his hands and guided them on herself. Never had he offered her this dominance; it was heady.
He was not an apt pupil. His touch was hesitant, and as sweet as honeysuckle nectar. She could not look long at his intent face; she feared she would weep if she did, and he would not understand that. Instead, she surrendered herself to him. She watched him learn, guided by the sudden intake of her breath and the other small sounds that she could not control. A pleased smile began to hover around his mouth and his eyes grew brighter. She could almost see him learn that being able to bring her this much pleasure was a form of mastery. As the realization grew in him, his touch grew surer, but never rough. When he finally joined his body to hers, her release was immediate. Then came the tears she could not restrain. He kissed them away and began again.
She lost track of time. When her entire body was so satiated and so sensitized that his touch was almost painful, she spoke quietly. ‘Please, Kennit. Enough.’
A slow smile came to his face. He eased away from her, letting cooler air touch them both. Suddenly he leaned over and flicked the tiny skull charm at her navel. She winced at the impact. The little ring of wizardwood that pierced her navel protected her from both disease and pregnancy.
‘Does this come off?’ he asked her brusquely.
‘It could,’ she conceded. ‘But I am careful. It has never…’
‘And then you could get pregnant.’
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘I could,’ she admitted guardedly.
‘Good.’ He lay down beside her with a contented sigh. ‘I might want you to have a child. If I wanted you to have a baby, you’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?’
Her throat clenched so she could scarcely speak. She whispered, ‘Oh, yes. Yes.’
Night was deep when Kennit awakened to a scratching at the door. ‘What is it?’ he called hoarsely. Beside him, the woman slept on deeply.
‘It’s Wintrow. Captain Kennit…Sir. Opal’s dead. He just…died.’
That wasn’t good. The whole idea had been that Opal would endure pain, and then survive it. He was supposed to be an object lesson for Vivacia. Kennit shook his head in the darkness. Now what? Could it be saved?
‘Captain Kennit?’ Wintrow sounded desperate.
Kennit pitched his voice low. ‘Don’t question it, Wintrow. Accept it. That’s all we can do. We are, after all, only men.’ He sighed loudly, and then put concern in his voice. ‘Go get some rest, lad. Tomorrow morning is soon enough to face this sorrow.’ He paused. ‘I know you tried, Wintrow. Don’t feel you have failed me.’
‘Sir.’ After a moment, he heard the soft pad of the boy’s feet as he moved away. Kennit lay back down. So. What would he say to the ship tomorrow? Something about a sacrifice, something that made Opal seem noble and inspiring instead of just dead. The words would come to him, if he just relaxed and trusted to his luck. He put his arms up above his head and leaned back on his pillows. His back ached abominably. He had had no idea that women had such stamina.
‘Vivacia is roiling with jealousy. But that was what you intended, wasn’t it?’
He turned slightly towards the charm on his wrist. ‘If you know so much, why do you ask so many questions?’
‘To hear you admit what a cad you are. Do you feel anything at all for Etta? Are not you ashamed at all at what you do to her?’
Kennit was offended. ‘Ashamed? She has not suffered at my hands. On the contrary, I gave her a night tonight that she will never forget.’ He stretched, trying to ease his aching muscles. ‘And at no small cost to myself,’ he added petulantly.
‘Such a performance,’ the little wizardwood face muttered sarcastically. ‘Did you fear the ship would not know it if she did not cry out with pleasure? I assure you, Vivacia is keenly aware of you at all times. It was your efforts on Etta’s behalf that scalded her, not any pleasure Etta took.’
Kennit rolled over and spoke more softly. ‘So. How aware of the ship are you?’
‘She guards against me,’ the charm admitted reluctantly. ‘But there is still much I can tell. She is far too large, and all around me. She cannot completely conceal her awareness from me.’
‘And Wintrow? Can you sense him through her? What does he feel tonight?’
‘What? Do you need to know more than how he sounded when he came to bring you the news? He was devastated by Opal’s death.’
‘Not about Opal’s death,’ Kennit said impatiently. ‘I saw him watching us, when I kissed Etta in front of Vivacia. It surprised me. Does he have feelings for the whore?’
‘Don’t call her that!’ the charm warned him in a low growl. ‘If you speak of her like that again, I shall tell you nothing.’
‘Does he find Etta attractive?’ Kennit persisted doggedly.
The charm relented. ‘He is naive. He admires her. I doubt he would presume to find her attractive.’ The small voice paused. ‘Your little display tonight set him thinking for a time. He will contrast that with Opal’s death.’
‘An unfortunate coincidence,’ Kennit muttered. He fell silent, considering how he could make Wintrow more aware of Etta. He should have her wear more jewellery, he decided. Boys were always attracted to sparkly things. He would display her as an attractive possession.
‘Why did you ask her about a baby tonight?’ the charm demanded abruptly.
‘A passing thought. A child might be useful. Much depends on how Wintrow develops.’
The charm was baffled. ‘I don’t understand what you are suggesting. I suspect if I did, I would find it repugnant.’
‘I don’t see why,’ Kennit replied easily. He composed himself for sleep.
‘How could a child be useful to you?’ the charm demanded a few moments later.
‘I won’t be quiet until you answer me,’ it added when some silence had passed.
Kennit drew a weary breath and sighed it out. ‘A child would content the ship. If Wintrow becomes too intractable, if he interferes with me persuading the ship to obey me willingly, well, he could be replaced.’
‘With your own child, by Etta?’ the charm asked incredulously.
Kennit chuckled sleepily. ‘No, of course not. Now you are being ridiculous.’ He stretched and turned his back to Etta. He curled up and closed his eyes. ‘Wintrow would have to father the child. So it would be of the ship’s family.’ He gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, then frowned to himself. ‘I imagine a baby aboard would be a nuisance. It would be simpler if Wintrow learned to accept his fate. The boy has great potential. He thinks. I simply have to school him to think my way. Perhaps I shall take him to the Others’ oracle. Perhaps they could persuade him it is his destiny.’
‘Let me speak to him instead,’ the charm offered. ‘Perhaps I could persuade him to kill you.’
Kennit chuckled appreciatively and released himself into sleep.
21
SALVAGE
THE BREEZE OFF the water was the only thing that made working tolerable. The summer sun beat down from the cloudless sky. When Brashen looked out across the waves, the reflected light was dazzling. The brightness pounded spikes of pain into his brow. The only thing that made him scowl more deeply was the workmen moving lackadaisically, performing their tasks without energy or enthusiasm.
He stood braced on the slanting deck of the Paragon. He shut his eyes for a moment then reopened them and tried to consider the task from a fresh perspective. The ship had been hauled out on the beach over a score of years ago. Abandoned and neglected, the elements had had their way with him. Were it not for his wizardwood construction, he would be no more than a skeleton. Storms and tides had conspired to push the Paragon to the limits of the high tide line. The passage of years had heaped sand against his hull. He now lay with his keel towards the water, heeled over on the sandy beach. Only the very highest tides now touched him.
The solution was deceptively easy. The sand must be shovelled away. Timbers placed under the hull would act as skids. Put a heavy counterweight on the top of his shattered main m
ast to lay him even further over on his side. At the highest tide at the end of the month, anchor a barge offshore. Run a line from the Paragon to the barge’s stern windlass. With men on shore with levers to urge him down the skids and men on the barge working the windlass, the ship would slide on his side towards the water. The counterweight on his hull would keep him heeled over and allow him to float in shallower water. Once they got him into deeper water, they’d right him.
Then they would see what happened next.
Brashen sighed. A man could describe the whole operation in a breath or two. Then he could work for a solid week and be no closer to the solution.
All around the ship, men toiled with shovels and barrows. Heavy timbers had been floated in on yesterday’s high tide. Securely roped together, they awaited use on the beach. Near them was another raft of roller logs. If all went well, eventually Paragon would ride them down the beach to be re-launched. If all went well. Some days that seemed like a vain hope.
The new crew of workmen moved sluggishly in the hot sun. Hammers rang in the summer air. There was rock under the sand. In some places it could be chipped away to allow the skids under the ship. In others, the workers were trying to set levers under the hull. Then there would be a massive effort of lifting, so that other levers could be grounded even more deeply. Each shifting placed new wracks on the old vessel.
After all the years of lying on his side, there was bound to be some shifting of timbers and planks. From what Brashen could see, the hull was not too badly racked, but the ship would have to be lifted before he could be sure. Once he was upright and floating free…and he prayed Paragon would float freely…the real work would begin. The entire hull would have to be trued up before it could be re-caulked. Then a new mast would have to be stepped…Brashen abruptly stopped the chain of thought. He could not think that far ahead, or he would become completely discouraged. One day and one task at a time were all his aching head could handle.
He absent-mindedly ran his tongue about inside his lower lip, feeling for a piece of cindin that wasn’t there. Even the deep sores from the addictive drug were starting to heal now. His body seemed able to forget the drug faster than his spirit. He longed for cindin with an intensity as relentless as thirst. He’d traded away his earring for a stick two days ago, and regretted it. Not only had it set him back in forgetting the drug, but the cindin had been poor quality, no more than a tease of relief. Still, if he’d had even a shard of silver to his name, he would not have been able to resist the urge. The only coins he possessed were those in the bag Ronica Vestrit had entrusted to him. Last night he’d awakened drenched in a cold sweat, his head pounding. He’d sat up until dawn, trying to rub the cramps from his hands and feet while he stared at the dwindling purse. He’d wondered how wrong it would be to take a few coins to set himself right. The cindin would help him to stay alert longer and have more energy for this task. Towards dawn, he had opened the bag and counted the coins out into his hand. Then he had put them back and gone into the galley, to brew yet another pot of chamomile tea.