Ship of Magic

by Robin Hobb

  “Seize him and bring him here,” Sa'Adar ordered his map-faces disgustedly.

  “Touch him and you all die!” Vivacia's tone was no longer that of a frightened child, but that of an outraged matriarch. Even anchored and grappled as she was, she contrived to put a rock in her decks. “Doubt it not!” she roared out suddenly. “You have soaked me with your filth, and I have not complained. You have spilled blood on my decks, blood and deaths I must carry with me forever, and I have not stirred against you. But harm Wintrow and my vengeance will know no end. No end save your deaths!”

  The rocking increased, a marked motion that the Marietta did not match. The anchor rope creaked complainingly. Most unnerving for Wintrow, the distant serpents lashed the surface of the sea, trumpeting questioningly. The ugly heads swayed back and forth, mouths gaping as if awaiting food. A smaller one darted forward suddenly, to dare an attack at the white one, who screamed and slashed at it with myriad teeth. Cries of fear arose from Vivacia's deck as slaves retreated from the railings and from the foredeck, to pack themselves tightly together. From the questioning tones of the cries, Wintrow surmised that few of them had any understanding of what the liveship was.

  Suddenly a woman broke free of the pirate group, to race across the deck and then swarm up onto the foredeck. Wintrow had never seen anything like her. She was tall and lean, her hair cropped close. The rich fabric of her skirts and loose shirt were soaked to her body, as if she had stood watch on deck all night, yet she looked no more bedraggled than a wet tigress would. She landed with a thud before him. “Come down,” she said to him, and her eyes made it more a command than her voice did. “Come down to him now. Don't make him wait. ”

  He did not answer her. Instead he spoke to the ship. “Don't fear,” he told her.

  “We are not the ones who need to fear,” Vivacia replied. He had the satisfaction of seeing the woman's face go blank with astonishment. It was one thing to hear the liveship speak, another to stand close enough to see the angry glints in her eyes. She glowered scornfully at the woman on her deck. The Vivacia gave a sudden shake to her head that tossed her carved tresses back from her face. It was a womanly display, a challenge from one man's female to another. The woman brushed back from her brow the short black strands that had fallen over her forehead and returned the figurehead's stare. For an instant it shocked Wintrow that the two could look so different and yet so frighteningly alike.

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  Wintrow did not wait any longer. He leaped lightly from the foredeck to the waist of the ship. Head up, he strode across the deck to confront the pirates. He did not even look at Sa'Adar. The more he saw of the man, the less he thought of him as a priest.

  The pirate chief was a large, well-muscled man. Dark eyes glinted above the burn scar on his cheek. A former slave himself, then. His unruly hair was caught back in a queue and further confined in a bright gold kerchief. Like his woman, his opulent clothing was soaked to him. A man who worked his own deck, then, Wintrow thought, and felt a grudging respect for that.

  He met the man's gaze. “I am Wintrow Vestrit, of the Bingtown Trader Vestrits. You stand on the decks of the liveship Vivacia, also of the Vestrit Family. ”

  But it was a tall pale man next to the scarred man who replied to him. “I am Captain Kennit. You address my esteemed first mate, Sorcor. And the ship that was yours is now mine. ”

  Wintrow looked him up and down, shocked beyond speech. Numbed as his nose was to the stench of humans, this man reeked of disease. He glanced down to where Kennit's leg stopped, and took note of the crutch he leaned on, on the swollen leg that distended the fabric of his trousers as a sausage stuffs a casing. When he met Kennit's pale eyes, he noted how large and fever-bright they were, how the man's flesh clung to his skull. When Wintrow replied, he spoke gently to the dying man. “This ship can never be yours. She is a liveship. She can only belong to one of the Vestrit family. ”

  Kennit made a brief motion of his hand to indicate Kyle. “Yet this man claims he is the owner. ” Wintrow's father yet managed to stand, and almost straight. Neither fear nor his physical pain did he permit to show. He was a man who waited now. Kyle spoke not a word to his son.

  Wintrow shaped his words with care. “He 'owns' her, yes, in the sense that one can own a thing. But she is mine. I do not claim to own her, any more than a father can claim to own his child. ”

  Captain Kennit looked him up and down disdainfully. “You look a bit young of a pup to be claiming any kind of a child. And by the mark on your face, I would say the ship owned you. I take it your father married into a Trader family, then, but you are blood of that line. ”

  “I am a Vestrit by blood, yes. ” Wintrow kept his voice even.

  “Ah. ” Again the small gesture of his hand toward Kyle. “Then we don't need your father. Only you. ” Kennit turned back to Sa'Adar. “That one you may have, as you requested. And those other two. ”

  There was a splash, and a trumpeting from one of the serpents. Wintrow looked starboard just in time to see two map-faces tip the other Jamaillian sailor over the edge. He went screaming until the white serpent cut his cry short with a snap. Wintrow's own cry of “Wait!” went unheeded. Vivacia gave a wordless cry of horror, and flailed at the serpents, but could not reach them. Map-faces were laying hold of his father. He sprang, not towards them, but at Sa'Adar. He gripped the man by the front of his shirt. “You promised them they would live! If they worked the ship for you through the storm, you promised them they would live!”

  Sa'Adar shrugged and smiled down at him. “It's not my will, boy, but that of Captain Kennit. He does not have to keep my word for me. ”

  “You spin your word so thin, I doubt anyone could be bound by it,” Wintrow cried furiously. He whirled on the men who had seized his father. “Set him free. ”

  They paid no attention to him as they forced his struggling father to the rail. Physically, Wintrow had no chance against them. He turned back to Captain Kennit, speaking quickly. “Set him free! You have seen how the ship is about the serpents! If you throw one of her own to them, she will be greatly angered. ”

  “No doubt,” the pirate captain replied lazily. “But he isn't truly one of her own. So she'll get over it. ”

  “I won't,” Wintrow told him furiously. “And you will soon discover that if you cut one of us, we both bleed. ” His father was struggling, but wordlessly and without much strength. Beside the ship, the white serpent trumpeted eagerly. Wintrow knew he had not the strength to prevail against those two men, let alone however many would muster to Kennit's command.

  Kennit, however, was another matter. Swift as a snake striking, Wintrow seized the pirate captain by his shirt front. He jerked him forward, so that his crutch fell to the deck and he must depend on Wintrow or fall also. The sudden motion wrung a low cry of pain from the man. The mate sprang forward with a snarl.

  “Back!” Wintrow warned him. “And stop those men. Or I'll kick him in that leg and spatter his rotten flesh all over the deck. ”

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  “Wait! Release him!” The command came not from Sorcor, but the woman. The men halted uncertainly, looking from her to Sa'Adar. Wintrow did not waste time speaking to them. Kennit was all but fainting in Wintrow's grasp. Wintrow gave him another shake and growled up into the man's face. “You burn with fever and you stink of decay. As you stand here, on the one leg left to you, you may kill both my father and myself. But if you do, you will not possess my ship for more than a handful of days before you follow us down. And whoever you leave behind upon the Vivacia's decks will perish, too. The ship will see to that. So I suggest we find a bargain between us. ”

  Captain Kennit lifted his hands slowly, to clutch at Wintrow's wrists with both of his own. The boy didn't care. At the moment, he had it within his power to cause the man incredible pain, perhaps enough pain to kill him with the shock of it. The deep lines in the pirate's face told Wi
ntrow that he, too, knew that. Beads of pain sweat shone on the pirate's brow. For a scant moment, Wintrow's eyes were caught by the odd wrist-brooch the man wore. A tiny face, like to the pirate's own, grinned up at him gleefully. It unsettled him. He looked up again at the man's face, met his eyes and stared deep into their coldness. They returned his gaze and seemed to look deep into the core of him. He refused to be cowed.

  “Well? What say you?” Wintrow demanded, with the barest hint of a shake. “Do we bargain?”

  The pirate's mouth scarcely moved as, in the softest whisper imaginable, Wintrow heard him say, “A likely urchin. Perhaps something useful can be made of him. ”

  “What?” Wintrow demanded furiously. Savage anger rose in him at the man's mockery.

  An extremely strange look had come over the pirate's face. Kennit stared down at him in a sort of fascination. For an instant, he seemed to recognize him, and Wintrow, too, felt an uncanny sense of having been here, done this and spoken these words before. There was something compelling in Kennit's gaze, something that demanded to be acknowledged. The silence between them seemed to bind them together.

  Wintrow felt a sudden prick against his ribs. The woman with the knife said, “Take Kennit gently, Sorcor. Boy, you have missed your chance to die swiftly. All you have bought is that you and your father will die together, each praying to be the first to go. ”

  “No. No, Etta, stand aside. ” The pirate managed his pain well, never losing his educated diction. He still had to take a breath to speak on. “What is your bargain, boy? What do you have left to offer? Your ship, freely given?” Kennit shook his head slowly. “I already have her, one way or another. So I am intrigued. Just what do you think you have to trade with?”

  “A life for a life,” Wintrow offered slowly. He spoke knowing that what he proposed was likely beyond his skill to perform. “I have been trained in healing, for I was once promised to Sa's priesthood. ” He glanced down at the pirate's leg. “You need the skills I have. You know you do. I'll keep you alive. If you allow my father to live. ”

  “No doubt you'll want to cut more of my leg off for such a bet. ” His question was contemptuous.

  Wintrow looked up, searching the older man's eyes for acceptance. “You already know that must be done,” he pointed out to him. “You were simply waiting until the pain of the festering would make the pain of the removal seem like a relief. ” He glanced down at the stump again. “You have nearly waited too long. But I am still ready to honor the bargain. Your life for my father's. ”

  Kennit swayed in his grasp and Wintrow found himself steadying the man. All about them, men were frozen in a tableau of watching and waiting. The map-faces had his father pressed up against the railing, that he might watch the serpent that waited so impatiently.

  “It's a poor sort of bet,” Kennit observed weakly. “Up the ante. Your life as well. ” He grinned a sickly grin. “So that if I win by dying, we all lose together. ”

  “You have a strange idea of winning,” said Wintrow.

  “Then you include your crew in your wager,” Vivacia suddenly pointed out. “For if you take Wintrow's life from me, I shall see every one of you to a watery grave. ” She paused. “And that is the only bargain I offer to any of you. ”

  “High stakes,” Wintrow observed quietly. “Nonetheless, I accept them if you do. ”

  “I am scarcely in a position to shake hands upon it,” the pirate pointed out. His tone was as cool and charming as ever, yet Wintrow could see the man's strength fading even as they spoke. A small smile bent his lips. “You do not try to make me agree that if I live, I give your ship back to you?”

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  It was Wintrow's turn to shake his head slowly. His smile was as small as Kennit's. “You cannot take her from me. Nor could I give her to you. That, I think, is something you must discover for yourself. But your word will suffice to bind me to the rest of our wager. And that of your mate and the woman,” he added. He looked past Kennit to the woman as he added, “And if my father comes to ill from the slaves aboard this ship, I shall take it to cancel the bet. ”

  “There are no slaves aboard this ship!” Sa'Adar declared pompously.

  Wintrow ignored him. He waited until the woman gave a slow nod.

  “If you have my captain's word, you have my word,” Sorcor added gruffly.

  “Fine,” Wintrow declared. He turned his head and looked straight at Sa'Adar as he spoke. “Clear the way to my father's salon. I want the pirate captain in his bed there. And let my father go to Gantry's cabin and take some rest. I will be seeing to his ribs later. ”

  For just an instant, Sa'Adar's eyes narrowed at the boy. Wintrow was not sure what passed through the man's mind. He knew he could not trust the priest to abide by anyone's word, not even his own. The man would bear watching.

  Slaves milled apart to open a channel to the aftercastle. Some moved grudgingly and others impassively. Some few looked at him and seemed to remember a boy with a bucket of water and a cool, moist rag. Wintrow watched his father led away to Gantry's cabin. He never turned to look back at his son, nor spoke a word.

  Wintrow decided he should press his power, to see how far it would extend. He glanced at the map-faces that flanked Sa'Adar. “This deck is still a shambles,” he observed quietly. “I want the canvas and line cleared from it, and all mess scrubbed away. Then begin below decks. Free men have no excuse to live in squalor. ”

  The map-faces looked from him to Sa'Adar and back again.

  Sorcor broke the impasse. “You can obey the boy when he tells you to do it, or you can obey me. The point is, it gets done and promptly. ” He looked away from them to his own crew. The map-faces slowly moved away from Sa'Adar, to take up their directed tasks. The priest remained standing as he was. Sorcor was giving commands. “. . . and Gory on the wheel, Brig running the deck. I want anchor up and sail on as soon as you see the Marietta start to move. We'll all be heading back to Bull Creek. Move lively, now, show them how a sailor does his work. ” He glanced again at the slowly dispersing map-faces and included the priest, who stood with his arms crossed on his chest. “Lively. There's work for all of you. Don't make Brig find it for you. ”

  Two steps brought him to Wintrow's side, where the boy more held than threatened the man anymore. As gently as if he were picking up a sleeping infant, the burly mate eased his arms about his captain. The smile he gave Wintrow showed him more teeth than a bulldog's snarl. “You lived through laying hands on the captain once. It won't happen again. ”

  “No. I trust it won't need to,” Wintrow replied, but it was the woman's cold black eyes on his back that made his belly cold.

  “I'll see you to your room, sir,” Sorcor suggested.

  “After I have presented myself to the ship,” Kennit countered. The man actually tried to smooth his shirt front.

  Wintrow smiled. “I'll be pleased to introduce you to Vivacia. ”

  The methodical slowness with which Kennit worked his way across the deck made Wintrow's heart sink. He was a man held together by sheer will and sense of self. Should either falter, he would die. As long as he was determined to live, Wintrow had a powerful ally in curing him. But if he gave it up, all the skill in the world would not prevail against the spreading infection.

  The ladder to the foredeck was a major obstacle. Sorcor did his best to maintain Kennit's dignity as he helped him up it, while Etta, who had preceded them, turned to glare down at the gawking slaves. “Have you nothing better to do than stare?” she demanded of them, and then to Brig she suggested, “There are sick slaves below, no doubt. These ones could be employed in bringing them up for air. ” A moment later Kennit gained the foredeck. She tried to take his arm, but he waved her away. By the time Wintrow had gained the foredeck, Kennit had used his crutch to make his painful way to the bow.

  Vivacia turned to look over her shoulder. Her eyes traveled up and down him before she said in
a quietly reserved voice, “Captain Kennit. ”

  “My lady Vivacia. ” He bowed to her, not as deeply as a healthy man might have, but more than a nod. When he straightened, he returned her inspection. Wintrow watched uneasily, for the man's nostrils widened and the smile that curved his mouth was both approval and avarice. His frank appraisal flustered Vivacia. In an almost girlish response, she drew back and lifted her arms to cross her wrists over her breasts. Kennit's smile only widened. Vivacia's eyes went very wide, but she could not seem to stop the smile that crept to her own face.

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  She broke the silence first. “I do not know what you want of me. Why have you attempted to claim me this way?”

  Kennit took a step closer. “Ah, my lady of wood and wind, my swift one, my beauty. What I want could not be plainer. I wish to make you my own. So my first question must be, what do you wish of me? What must I do to win you?”

  “I do not . . . No one has ever . . . ” Obviously flustered, she turned to Win trow. “Wintrow is mine and I am his. We have both discovered that nothing can change that. Certainly you cannot come between us. ”

  “Can't I? So says the girl who speaks fondly of her brother, until her lover steals her heart away. ”

  Wintrow found himself speechless. Perhaps the only other person as flabbergasted at this interplay was the woman who had come aboard with Kennit. Her eyes were narrowed, like a cat's when she stares down a hostile dog. Jealous, Wintrow thought. She is jealous of his sweet words to the ship. As I, he admitted to himself, am jealous at Vivacia's confusion and pleasure.

  The fine grain of her cheeks had taken on a pink blush. The breath that moved her bare breasts behind her arms came more swiftly. “I am a ship, not a woman,” she pointed out to him. “You cannot be my lover. ”

  “Can't I? Shall not I drive you through seas no other man would dare, shall not we together see lands that are the stuff of legends? Shall not we venture together under skies where the stars have not been named yet? Shall not we, you and I, weave such a tale of our adventures that the whole world will be in awe of us? Ah, Vivacia, I tell you plainly that I shall win you to me. Without fear, I tell you that. ”