The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  He had caused her death. By bringing her to his city, he had put her on the path to her death. The only creature he blamed more was Tintaglia, the dragon. He despised himself for the way he had romanticized the dragon. He had believed her capable of nobility and wisdom, had lionized her as the last of her glorious kind. In reality, she was an ungrateful, selfish and egotistical beast. Surely, she could have saved Malta if she had only put her mind to the task.

  For his mother’s sake, he tried to say something positive. ‘It looks as if some of the folk have begun rebuilding,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Yes. Barricades,’ she observed as the ship approached the dock. She was right. With a sinking heart, Reyn noted that the men on the dock were well armed. They were Traders, for he recognized several among them, and the captain of the Kendry was already roaring a greeting to them.

  Someone cleared her throat. He started and turned to find a shawled Keffria Vestrit at his shoulder. Her eyes moved from his mother to him. ‘I don’t know what I will find at home,’ she said quietly. ‘But the hospitality of the Vestrit home is open to you.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Providing that it still stands at all.’

  ‘We could not impose,’ Jani assured her gently. ‘Do not be troubled for us. Somewhere in Bingtown, an inn must still stand.’

  ‘It would scarcely be an imposition,’ Keffria insisted. ‘I am sure Selden and I would welcome the company.’

  Reyn suddenly understood that there might be more to this invitation than a simple return of hospitality. He voiced it. ‘It might not be safe for you to return to your home alone. Please. Let my mother and me arrange our business, and then we will accompany you there, to see you resettled.’

  ‘Actually, I would be most grateful for that,’ Keffria admitted humbly.

  After a moment of silence, Reyn’s mother sighed. ‘My mind has been busy with my own troubles. I had not stopped to think of all this homecoming might mean to you. Sorrow I knew there must be, but I had not considered danger. I have been thoughtless.’

  ‘You have your own burdens,’ Keffria told her.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Jani said solemnly. ‘Honesty must replace all polite words for a time. And not just between you and me. All Traders must be frank if any of us are to survive this. Ah, Sa, look at the Great Market. Half of it is gone!’

  As the crew worked the ship into the dock, Reyn’s eyes roved over the men gathering to meet the ship, and spotted Grag Tenira. He had not seen him since the night of the Summer Ball. The strength of the mixed feelings that surged up in him took him by surprise. Grag was a friend, yet now Reyn connected him with Malta’s death. Would her death edge every day of his life with pain? It seemed it must be so.

  The ship was secured to the dock and a gangplank run up to it. The moment there was any access to the ship, the crowd surged forwards and folk began to cry out questions to the captain and the crew. Reyn pushed his way through the oncoming folk. His mother, Keffria and Selden followed in his wake. The second his foot touched the wharf, Grag stepped in front of him. ‘Reyn?’ he asked in a low voice.

  ‘Yes,’ he confirmed for him. He extended a gloved hand to Grag and Grag took it, but used it to pull Reyn closer.

  Head close to Reyn’s, Grag asked anxiously, ‘Has the Satrap been found?’

  Reyn managed to shake his head. Grag frowned, and spoke hastily. ‘Come with me. All of you. I’ve a waggon waiting. I’ve had a boy watching for the Kendry from the headland for the past three days. Quickly, now. There have been some wild rumours in Bingtown of late. This is not a good place for any of you.’ From beneath his own cloak, Grag produced a ragged workman’s cloak. ‘Cover your Rain Wild garb.’

  For an instant, Reyn was shocked into silence. Then he shook out the cloak and flung it over his mother’s before handing her off to Grag. He seized Keffria’s arm without ceremony. ‘Come along quickly and quietly,’ he whispered to her. He saw Keffria grip Selden’s hand more tightly. The boy sensed that all was not right. His eyes widened, and then he hurried along with them. All their bags were left behind on the ship. It could not be helped.

  Grag’s waggon was an open cart more suited to hauling freight than passengers. There was a definite smell of fish to it. Two well-muscled young men lounged in the back. They wore the smocks of Three Ships fishermen. Reyn helped the women in as Grag jumped to the seat and took up the reins. ‘There’s some sailcloth back there. If you spread it over you, it will keep some of the rain off.’

  ‘And hide us as well,’ Jani observed sourly, but she helped Reyn to unfold the canvas and stretch it out. They huddled together under it. Their escorts sat on the tail of the waggon, feet swinging as Grag stirred the ancient horse.

  ‘Why is the harbour so empty?’ Reyn asked one of the fishermen. ‘Where are the ships of Bingtown?’

  ‘On the bottom, or off chasing Chalcedeans. They made a poke at us yesterday. Two ships approached the harbour with three others hanging offshore. Ophelia took out after them, and our other ships followed. Sa, how they ran! But I don’t doubt our ships caught up to them. We’re still waiting for our ships to return.’

  That didn’t seem right to Reyn, but he couldn’t put his finger on why it disturbed him. As the horse pulled the cart through Bingtown, he saw the city in glimpses from beneath the flapping canvas. Some commerce was taking place, but the city had an uneasy air. Folk hurried by on their errands or suspiciously watched the cart pass. The wind brought the clinging stink of low tide and burned houses. It seemed to Reyn that they took a roundabout route to the Tenira estate. At the gate, armed men waved Grag in, and closed the gates behind the cart. As Grag pulled the horses to a halt, the door opened wide. Naria Tenira and two of Grag’s sisters were among those who spilled out. Their faces were anxious.

  ‘Did you find them? Are they safe?’ Grag’s mother demanded as Reyn threw back the canvas that had covered them.

  Then Selden was scrabbling out of the cart, crying, ‘Grandma, Grandma!’

  On the doorstep of the Tenira manor, Ronica Vestrit opened her arms wide to her last surviving grandchild.

  Satrap Cosgo, heir to the Pearl Throne and the Mantle of Righteousness, picked at his chest, pulling off a long papery sheet of peeling skin. Malta looked aside to keep from grimacing. ‘This is intolerable,’ the Satrap complained yet again. ‘My skin is ruined. Such an unsightly pink shows beneath! My complexion will never again be as fair as it was.’ He looked at her accusingly. ‘The poet Mahnke once compared the skin of my brow to the opalescence of a pearl. Now, I am disfigured!’

  Malta felt Kekki’s knee bump the small of her back. Kekki lay on her pallet by the Satrap’s bed and Malta was hunkered on the floor beside her. It was her place in the small room. Malta winced at the nudge against her aching back but recognized the hint. She searched her mind, then lied. ‘In Bingtown, it is said that the woman who washes her face once a year in Rain Wild River water will never age. It is an uncomfortable treatment, but it is said to keep the complexion youthful and fair.’

  Kekki breathed out a sigh of approval. Malta had done well. Cosgo brightened immediately. ‘Beauty demands a price, but I have never flinched from a little personal discomfort. Still, I wonder what has become of the ship that we were to join at the mouth of the river. I am tired of this wallowing about. A ship of this size is ill suited to open water like this.’

  Malta lowered her eyes and stifled her opinion of his ignorance. The Chalcedeans travelled for months at a time in their galleys. Their ability to subsist on crude rations and endure the hardships of life aboard an open boat was legendary; it made their reputation as sailors and raiders.

  They had emerged some days ago from the mouth of the river. The Satrap had been angry that the Chalcedean mother ship was not there to take him up. Malta had been bitterly disappointed that there were no liveships guarding the river mouth. She had been enduring by pretending that Bingtown liveships would halt the galley and rescue her. The despair that swept over her as the galley swept freely on was unbeara
ble. She’d been a fool to dream of rescue. Such dreams had only weakened her. Angrily she purged her heart of them: no liveship patrol, no Reyn searching for her, no dreams at all. No one was going to magically appear and rescue her. She suspected her survival was in her own hands. She suspected many things that she did not share with the Satrap or Kekki. One was that the galley was in trouble. It did wallow, and it shipped a great deal more water than it should. Doubtless the Rain Wild River had taken a toll on its tarred seams and perhaps on its planking. Since they had left the river, the captain had taken them north, towards Chalced. The galley hugged the shore; if it broke up, they’d at least have a chance of reaching the beach alive. She judged the man was running for home, and gambling he’d reach there with both ship and unexpected cargo intact.

  ‘Water,’ Kekki croaked. She seldom spoke now. She no longer sat up at all. Malta kept her as clean as she could and waited wearily for her to die. The Companion’s mouth was ringed with sores that cracked and bled as Malta held a cup to her lips. Kekki managed a swallow. Malta dabbed at the pink-tinged water that ran from the corners of her mouth. She had drunk too much river water to live, but not enough to kill her quickly. Kekki’s insides were probably as ulcerated as her mouth. The thought made Malta cringe.

  The Companion, despite her pain and weakness, had kept her word. Malta had kept her alive and seen them rescued, and now Kekki did her best to teach Malta how to survive. She could speak little now, but with nudges and small noises, she reminded Malta of her earlier advice. Some of her hints merely made life tolerable. Malta should always respond to the Satrap’s complaints with either a positive aspect of them, or a compliment on how brave and wise and strong he was in enduring such things. Initially the words had near gagged Malta, but it did divert him from whining. If she must be confined with him, it was best to keep him agreeable. She cherished the hours after his evening meal when his smoke with the captain left him mellowly drowsing and nodding.

  Other things Kekki had told her were more valuable. The first time Malta had taken their privy bucket to empty it, the sailors had hooted and clicked their teeth at her. On her return, one man had blocked her way. Eyes cast down, she had tried to step around him. Grinning, he shifted to prevent her escape. Her heart began to hammer in her throat. She looked away and tried once more to pass him. This time he let her slip by, but as she went past him, he reached from behind her, seized one of her breasts and squeezed it hard.

  She cried out in pain and alarm. He laughed and jerked her back against him, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe. His free hand snaked down her blouse and caught her other breast. Callused fingers roughly caressed her bare skin. Shock froze her motionless and silent. He ground his body against her buttocks. The other men watched him, eyes bright and grins knowing. When he reached down to lift the back of her skirts, she suddenly found control of her muscles. The heavy wooden bucket was still in her hand. She twisted and swung it hard, hitting him in the shoulder. The remnant waste in the bottom of the bucket spattered up into his face. He had roared his distaste and released her, despite the jeering encouragement of his fellows. She had sprung away and had run back to their canvas shelter and flung herself inside.

  The Satrap was not there. He had gone to take a meal with the captain. In abject terror, Malta huddled on the floor beside the sleeping Kekki. Every passing step might be the sailor coming after her. She shook until her teeth chattered. When Kekki stirred awake and saw Malta shivering in a corner, clutching a water mug as her only weapon, she had coaxed the tale from her. While Malta gasped the story out, Kekki had listened gravely. Then she shook her head. She spoke in short phrases to save her mouth and throat.

  ‘This is bad … for all of us. They should fear … to touch you … without Cosgo’s permission. But they don’t.’ She paused, pondering. Then she drew breath, rallying her strength. ‘They must not rape you. If they do … and Cosgo does not challenge them … they will lose all respect … for all of us.

  ‘Don’t tell Cosgo. He would use it … to make you obey. To threaten you.’ She sucked in a painful breath. ‘Or give you to them … to buy favour. Like Serilla.’ She took breath again. ‘We must protect you … to protect all of us.’ Kekki groped weakly around herself, then picked up one of the rags Malta used to dab blood away from her mouth. ‘Here. Wear this … between your legs. Always. If a man touches you, say Fa-chejy kol. Means “I bleed.” He will stop … when you say it … or when he sees this.’

  Kekki motioned for water and drank. She sighed, then gathered herself to speak. ‘Chalced men fear a woman’s blood time. They say –’ Kekki took a breath and managed a pink-toothed smile. ‘A woman’s parts are angry then. They can slay a man’s.’

  Malta was amazed that anyone could believe such a thing. She looked at the blood-streaked rag she held. ‘That’s stupid.’

  Kekki shrugged painfully. ‘Be grateful they are stupid,’ she advised her. ‘Save the words. They know you cannot always be bleeding.’ Then her face and eyes grew grave. ‘If he doesn’t stop…don’t fight him. He will only hurt you more.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘They would hurt you … until you stopped fighting. To teach you a woman’s place.’

  That conversation had been days ago. It was the last time Kekki had spoken more than a few words to her. The woman weakened every day, and the smell from her sores grew stronger. She could not live much longer. For her sake, Malta hoped death came soon, though for her own sake, she feared Kekki’s death. When Kekki died, she would lose her only ally.

  Malta was weary of living in fear, but she had little choice. Every decision she made, she made in fear. Her life centred on her fear. She no longer left their chamber unless Cosgo ordered her directly. Then she went quickly, returned swiftly, and tried to meet no man’s eyes. The men still hooted and clicked their teeth, but they didn’t bother her when she was emptying the waste bucket.

  ‘Are you stupid or just lazy?’ the Satrap demanded loudly.

  Malta looked up at him with a jolt. Her thoughts had carried her far. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and tried to make her voice sincere.

  ‘I said, I’m bored. Not even the food is interesting. No wine. No smoke, save at table with the captain. Can you read?’ At her puzzled nod, he directed her, ‘Go and see if the captain has any books. You could read to me.’

  Her mouth went dry. ‘I don’t read Chalcedean.’

  ‘You are too ignorant for words. I do. Go borrow a book for me.’

  She tried to keep fear from her voice. ‘But I don’t speak Chalcedean. How will I ask for one?’

  He snorted in disgust. ‘How can parents let their children grow up in such ignorance! Does not Bingtown border on Chalced? One would think you would at least learn your neighbour’s tongue. So damnably provincial. No wonder Bingtown cannot get along with them.’ He sighed heavily, a man wronged. ‘Well, I cannot fetch it myself, with my skin peeling like this. Can you remember a few words? Knock on his door, kneel down and abase yourself, then say, La-nee-ra-ke-je-loi-en.’

  He rattled the syllables off in a breath. Malta could not even tell where one word began and another left off. ‘La-nee-ra-ke-en,’ she tried.

  ‘No, stupid. La-nee-ra-ke-je-loi-en. Oh, and add, re-kal at the end, so he doesn’t think you are rude. Hurry now, before you forget it.’

  She looked at him. If she pleaded not to go, he would know she was afraid and demand to know why. She would not give him that weapon to bludgeon her with. She picked up her courage. Perhaps the sailors wouldn’t bother her if she was obviously bound for the captain’s cabin. On the way back, she’d be carrying a book. It might keep her safe from them; they wouldn’t want to damage their captain’s property. She muttered the syllables to herself as she left the chamber, making a chant of them.

  She had to walk the length of the galley between and above the rowers’ benches. The hooting and clicking of teeth terrified her; she knew her fearful expression only encouraged them. She forced herself to keep repeating her syllables.
She reached the captain’s door without a man laying a hand on her, knocked, and hoped desperately that she had not knocked too loudly.

  A man’s voice replied, sounded annoyed. Praying that he had bid her come in, she opened the door and peered in timidly. The captain was stretched out on his bunk. He leaned up on one elbow to stare at her angrily.

  ‘La-nee-ra-ke-je-loi-en!’ she blurted. Then, abruptly recalling the Satrap’s other instructions, she dropped to her knees and bent her head low. ‘Re-kal,’ she added belatedly.

  He said something to her. She dared lift her eyes to him. He had not moved. He stared at her, then repeated the same words more loudly. She looked at the floor and shook her head, praying he would know she did not understand. He got to his feet and she braced herself. She darted a glance up at him. He pointed at the door. She scrabbled towards it, backed out of it, came to her feet, bowed low again and shut it. The moment she was outside the cabin, the catcalls and teeth-clicking resumed. The other end of the boat seemed impossibly far away. She would never get there safely. Hugging her arms tightly around herself, Malta ran. She was nearly at the end of the rowing benches when someone reached up and snatched hold of her ankle. She fell heavily, striking her forehead, elbows and knees on the rough planking. For an instant, she was stunned. Dazed, she rolled to her back and looked up at a laughing young man standing over her. He was handsome, tall and blond like her father, with honest blue eyes and a ready grin. He cocked his head and said something to her. A query? ‘I’m all right,’ she replied. He smiled at her. Her relief was so great; she almost smiled back at him. Then he reached down and flung up the front of her skirts. He went down on one knee, his hands busy at his belt.

  ‘No!’ she cried wildly. She tried to scrabble away, but he seized her ankle and casually jerked her back. Other men were standing up to get a better view. As he exposed himself to Malta, Kekki’s words rushed back to her. ‘Fa-chejy kol!’ she blurted. ‘Fa-chejy kol!’ He looked startled. She pushed her hair back from her face. He recoiled suddenly in horror, uttering an exclamation of disgust. She did not care. It had worked. She jerked away from him, managed to stand, raced the last few strides to shelter, flung herself through the door flap, and collapsed on the floor. Her breath sobbed in and out of her. Her elbows stung. She blinked something wet from her eye, then wiped at it. Blood. The fall had opened her scar again.