by Robin Hobb
She turned to look up at him incredulously. She could barely pick out his features. Was he teasing her? His voice had sounded serious. ‘Brashen Trell, are you proposing marriage to me?’
‘No,’ he said hastily. There was a long uncomfortable silence. Then he laughed softly. ‘Yes. I suppose I am. Marriage, or something very like it.’
Althea took a long breath and leaned back on the railing. ‘You never cease to surprise me,’ she observed shakily. ‘I … I don’t have an answer for you.’
His voice also shook, though she knew he tried for levity. ‘I suppose that’s all right, as I haven’t really asked the question yet. But when all this is over, I shall.’
‘When all this is over, I’ll have an answer for you.’ She made the promise, knowing she had no idea what that answer would be. Frantically, she pushed that worry to the back of her mind. Other things, she told herself, there were other, more pressing matters to deal with, even if those other matters did not make her heart shake as this had. She tried to quench her quick breathing and the yearning of her flesh.
‘What happens next?’ she asked, gesturing towards the muted lights.
He countered her question with another question. ‘Of those on board, who do you trust most? Name me two names.’
That was effortless. ‘Amber and Clef.’
His short laugh was rueful. ‘And my answer the same. Who do you trust least?’
Again she did not need to pause. ‘Lavoy and Artu.’
‘Then they are off the list of those we take ashore. We won’t take our problems with us, nor leave them unattended on the ship.’
We. She liked the sound of that. ‘Who are we taking then?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Jek. Cypros and Kert. I’d like to take one or two of your former slaves, to give the impression that we’re a mixed crew. You’ll have to choose them.’ He paused, thinking. ‘I’m leaving Lop with Amber. I’ll let Haff know that he is to back her if she asks him to. I’ll give her the word that if there’s any trouble at all, from inside or outside the ship, Lop is to row Clef ashore to find us.’
‘You’re expecting trouble from Lavoy?’
He made a disparaging noise. ‘Not expecting. Planning for all possibilities.’
She lowered her voice. ‘It can’t go on like this. What are you going to do about him?’
He spoke slowly. ‘Let him make the first move. And then, when it’s over, I’ll see what’s left. Maybe I can make a serviceable deckhand out of it.’
Dawn came, a disappointment. A high yellow sun shredded the mist to wandering ghosts. The clouds blew in, covering the sun’s face, and a miserable chill rain lanced down. Brashen ordered out the ship’s gig. While it was made ready, he stared at Divvytown. He scarcely recognized it. The elevated light of the night before resolved itself as a watchtower. The wharves were in a new location, backed by warehouses built of fresh lumber. On the edges of the town, the shells of some burned-out structures remained, as if a spreading fire had created the rebuilt town. He doubted it had been an accident; the watchtower spoke of people determined not to be taken unawares again.
He grinned wolfishly. It would probably upset them to find a strange vessel in their harbour. He considered waiting aboard for whoever they might send out to question him, but decided against it. Bold and brash as his name he would be; he would assume a welcome and fellowship, and see where it got him.
He took a deep breath. His own grin surprised him. He should be exhausted. He’d been up most of the night, and risen again before dawn, just for the pleasure of rousting Lavoy out of bed. He’d given the mate his orders. He was to keep order aboard the ship, and not permit the crew to leave it or converse with any folk who came out to the ship. Above all, calm was to prevail. Clef and the other ship’s boat were at Amber’s disposal. Before Lavoy could dare to ask why, Brashen had added that she had her separate orders, and Lavoy was not to interfere with them. In the meantime, he wanted all the crew’s bedding brought up on deck and aired, the sleeping areas smoked to drive out lice and other vermin, and the galley given a good scrubbing. It was work calculated to keep both mate and men busy, and they both knew it. Brashen stared Lavoy down until the first mate grudgingly acknowledged his orders. Then he had turned on his heel.
To Amber and Paragon he had given his most difficult commands. The ship was to keep still and silent, to pretend he was an ordinary wooden vessel. Amber was to help him in this ruse however she could. He trusted her to pick up the meaning between his words: let nothing upset the ship. Allow no one to provoke him.
Brashen shrugged his shoulders, trying to find more room in his jacket. He was dressed for his role in the finery of a merchant captain, clothes not worn since he had bidden Bingtown a formal farewell. He’d tied a kerchief made from his yellow shirt about his brow and left his shirt open at the throat. He didn’t want to appear too staid. He wondered what Captain Ephron Vestrit would think if he could see the use his tailored blue jacket and fine white shirt were being put to. He hoped the old man would understand and wish him luck of it.
‘Boat’s ready, sir.’ Clef grinned up at him hopefully.
‘Thank you. You have your orders. See that you obey them.’
Clef rolled his eyes, but replied, ‘Yes, sir,’ with no trace of rebellion. He bounced along at Brashen’s heels as he made his way to the ship’s boat.
As their boat left the Paragon’s shadow, Brashen marked three other small craft on their way out to meet him. ‘To your oars,’ he ordered in a low voice. ‘Put your backs to it. I want us well away from Paragon before they can cut us off.’ As the crew obeyed, Brashen glanced back at his ship. The figurehead, silent and stoic, had his arms crossed on his chest. Amber leaned on the railing behind him. She lifted a hand in farewell, and Brashen nodded curtly. He looked at the rowing crew. ‘Remember your orders. We’re friendly. Don’t hesitate to spend freely the coin you’ve been given. No brawling. I don’t want anyone getting so drunk that he can’t guard his tongue. If they’ll allow us the free run of the town, spread out. Ask questions. I want every bit of information about Kennit and the Vivacia that we can gather, but don’t be too dogged about asking. Get them talking, then lean back and listen. Curious, not nosy. We’ll meet back at the docks at nightfall.’
They were more than halfway to the docks when the three other boats surrounded him. At a sign from Brashen, his crew shipped their oars.
‘State your business here!’ A skinny greybeard in one of the boats commanded him. The rain had soaked his shapeless hat to his head. An ancient slave tattoo was just visible above his beard.
Brashen laughed aloud. ‘My business in Divvytown? Divvytown has but one business, and I’ll wager that mine is the same as yours, old man. My name is Brashen Trell, and before I state anything else, I’ll know to whom I’m stating it.’ He grinned at him easily. Jek lolled at her oars, smiling broadly. Althea’s smile looked a bit more forced, while the others were apparently disinterested in the proceedings.
The oldster took himself very seriously. ‘I’m Maystar Crup, and I’m the harbourmaster. Captain Kennit hisself appointed me, and I got the right to ask any what come here what they’re about.’
‘Kennit!’ Brashen sat up straight. ‘That’s the name, sir, the name that brings me here. I’ve been here before, you know, aboard the Springeve, though that was a brief visit and I’ll fault no one if they don’t recall me. But the tales I heard then of Captain Kennit are what have brought me back now, me and my good ship and crew. We’d like to throw in our lots with his, so to speak. Think you that he’d see us today?’
Maystar ran a cynical eye over him. He licked his lips, revealing that most of his remaining teeth were yellow. ‘He might. If he were here, which he’s not. If you know about Kennit, how is it you don’t know he has a liveship? You don’t see no liveship in our harbour just now, do you?’
‘I had heard Kennit was a man of many ships. Moreover, I’d heard the first mistake any man could make about him was t
o assume anything about him. Sly as a fox is he, that is what is said, and keen as an eagle’s eye. But this is a chill and uncomfortable place to discuss such things. Divvytown has changed more than a bit since the last time I saw it, but surely it still has a tavern where men can talk at ease?’
‘It does. When we decide a man is welcome in Divvytown.’
Brashen raised one shoulder. ‘Perhaps that would be better decided over a bit of brandy. And then you can tell me if the rest of my crew would be welcomed ashore. We’ve been a time at sea. They’ve dry gullets and the coin to spend to wet them. Divvytown, they agreed, would be a fine place to divvy out our spoils.’ He smiled engagingly and slapped the fat purse at his belt. The coins in it clinked against the nails and the cut-up spoon he’d padded it with. He carried enough to stand a round of drinks or two, as well as pick up some minor supplies for the ship. His picked crew had enough coin for a fine show as well. Successful pirates they were, with money to spend.
Brashen’s smile was stiffening in the chill winter rain before Maystar gave him a grudging nod. ‘Aye. We can talk in the tavern, I suppose. But your men…your crew will stay with us there, and those on the ship will stay there for the time being. We don’t take kindly to strangers here in Divvytown. Not from ships that sneak in during the dark of night.’
That puzzled him, did it? Well, let the old man focus on that. ‘To the tavern, then!’ Brashen agreed heartily. He sat back in the stern and rode into town like a king, escorted by Divvytown’s constabulary. Half a dozen curious onlookers were huddled on the dock, shoulders hunched to the cold rain. Maystar preceded Brashen up the ladder. By the time he reached the top, Maystar was already the centre of a hail of questions. Brashen shifted all attention to himself when he proclaimed, ‘Gentlemen! Won’t someone guide us to the tavern?’ He beamed at the gathered crowd. From the corner of one eye, he noticed Jek’s smiling appraisal of the men. The grins she was getting in response could not hurt his cause. As his crew joined him on the dock, the onlookers relaxed. These were not raiders, but honest freebooters like themselves.
‘The tavern’s this way,’ Maystar told him grumpily.
Perhaps he was jealous of his importance. Brashen immediately targeted him. ‘Please, lead on,’ he told him. As they trailed Maystar, Brashen noticed that their following had already diminished. That suited him well. He wanted to gather information, not enthral the whole town. He noted that Althea had positioned herself to his left and one step behind him. It was good to know someone was there with a ready knife if the Divvytown folk did decide to turn on him. Cypros and Kert were right behind him. Harg and Kitl, the two tattooed ones that Althea had chosen, followed them. Jek had dropped back to the end of their group and had already struck up a conversation with a handsome young man. He caught a word or two; she was asking him if he thought they’d be given the run of the town, and if so, what entertainment he recommended for a lonely sailor on her first night in port. Brashen gripped his smile with his teeth. Well, he’d asked her to be friendly and gather information.
The interior of the tavern was dim. Most of the warmth came from body heat rather than from the blazing fire in the hearth. The smells of damp wool, sweat, smoke and cooking lingered in the air. Althea loosened her coat but didn’t take it off. If they had to get out of here fast, she didn’t want it left behind. She looked about her curiously.
The building was fairly new, but the walls had already begun to discolour with smoke. It had a plank floor, strewn with sand to make each night’s sweeping out easier. A window at one end faced the sea. Brashen led them towards the hearth end of the open chamber. Plank tables and long benches supported a variety of eaters, drinkers and talkers. Evidently the oncoming storm kept folk in today. They were regarded with varying degrees of curiosity, but no outright animosity. Brashen just might dance through the deception without missing a step.
Brashen clapped a friendly hand on Maystar’s shoulder as they seated themselves at the table, and before he could say a word, bellowed out an order for brandy for the harbourmaster and himself, and ale all round for his crew. A bottle was swiftly brought and opened, and two clay noggins set out. As the tavern boy began to load a tray with foaming mugs, Brashen turned to Maystar. ‘Well, much has changed in Divvytown. New buildings and a welcoming party for my ship are the least of it. I’ve never seen the harbour so deserted. Tell me. What has befallen the place since last I was here?’
For an instant, the old man looked puzzled. Althea wondered if he even remembered that he was supposed to be the one asking the questions. But Brashen had pegged his garrulous nature well. He probably didn’t often get the chance to hold forth as an expert for so long. Brashen became the most attentive and flattering of audiences as Maystar told in lurid detail of the slaver’s raid that had changed forever not just the layout but the very nature of Divvytown. As he spoke on, at great length, Althea began to grasp that this Kennit was no ordinary pirate. Maystar spoke of him with admiration and pride. Others added their own stories of things Kennit had said, or done, or caused to be done. One of the speakers was a man of obvious learning. The tattoo on his cheek wrinkled as he scowlingly recounted his days below deck in a slaveship before Kennit had freed him. They spoke of the man as if they were telling hero-tales, Althea realized uneasily. The stories made her grudgingly admire the pirate, even as they chilled her heart. A man like that, bold and sage and noble, would not easily give up a ship like Vivacia. And if half the tales told of him were true, perhaps the ship had given her heart to him. Then what?
Althea fought to keep the smile on her face and to nod to Maystar’s tales as she pondered it. She had been thinking of Vivacia as a stolen family treasure, or as a kidnapped child. What if she was more like a headstrong girl who had eloped with the love of her life? The others were all laughing at some witticism. Althea chuckled dutifully. Did she have the right to take Vivacia away from Kennit, if the ship had truly bonded to him? What was her duty, to her family, to the liveship?
Brashen leaned over to reach the brandy bottle. It was a pretence, to bring his leg into contact with hers. She felt the steady warm pressure of his knee against hers, and realized that he saw her dilemma. His brief glance spoke volumes. Worry later. Pay attention now, and later they would consider all the implications of what they had heard. She finished her mug of ale and held it aloft for a refill. Her eyes met those of the stranger across the table. He was watching her intently; Althea hoped her earlier thoughtfulness had not made him too curious. At the far end of the table, Jek was engaged in arm wrestling with the man she had targeted earlier. Althea judged that she was letting him win. The man across the table followed her gaze, and then his eyes came back to hers. Merriment danced in them. He was a comely man, his looks spoiled only by a trail of tattoos across his cheek. In a lull in Maystar’s explanations, she asked him, ‘Why is the harbour so empty? I saw but three ships where several dozen could easily anchor.’
His eyes lit at her question, and he grinned more broadly. He leaned across the table to speak more confidentially. ‘You’re new to this trade, then,’ he told her. ‘Don’t you know that this is the harvest season in the Pirate Isles? All the ships are out reaping our winter livelihood. The weather is our ally, for a ship from Jamaillia may have been running three days in a storm, its crew weary and careless, when we step out from our doorsteps to stop it. We let winter do our harrying for us. This time of year, the cargoes are fatter, for the fruits of the harvest are now in transit.’ His grin faded as he added, ‘It is also the worst time of year for those taken by slaveships. The weather is rough, and the seas run cold. The poor bastards are chained below in damp holds, in irons so cold they bite the flesh from your bones. This time of year, slaveships are often little more than floating cemeteries.’ He grinned again, fierceness lighting his face now. ‘But there is sport this year, as well. The Inside Passage swarms with Chalcedean galleys. They hoist a flag and proclaim they are the Satrap’s own, but it is all a sham to pick off the fattest hog
s for themselves. They think themselves so sly. Captain Brig, Kennit’s own man, has taught us the game of it. Let the galleys prey and fight and glut themselves with wealth. When their ships ride heavy, the harvest is ripe for gathering. We go in, and in one battle, we harvest the cream of many ships they’ve taken.’
He sat back on the bench, laughing aloud at Althea’s incredulous look, then seized his mug and banged it on the table to attract the serving boy’s attention. After the boy brought him a fresh mug, he asked, ‘How came you to this life?’
‘By as crooked a road as your own, I’ll wager,’ she returned. She cocked her head and looked at him curiously. ‘That’s not Jamaillia I hear in your accent.’
The ruse worked. He launched into his life history. Indeed, a convoluted path had brought him to Divvytown and piracy. There was tragedy in his tale, as well as pathos, and he told it well. Unwillingly, she began to like him. He told of the raid that ended his parents’ lives and of a sister vanished forever. Carried off from his family’s sheep farm in some little seacoast town far to the north, he passed through a succession of Chalcedean masters, some cruel, others merely callous, before he found himself on a ship southbound, sent off with half a dozen other slaves as a wedding gift. Kennit had stopped the ship.
And there it was again. His story challenged not just her idea of who and what Kennit was, but her notion of what slavery meant and who became slaves. Pirates were not what she had expected them to be. The greedy immoral cutthroats she had heard tales of were suddenly men pushed to the edge, clawing their way out of slavery, stealing back a portion of what had been stolen from them.