by Robin Hobb
“Alise?” Her father stood at the door. She turned to him in surprise and felt an odd lurch of her heart at the soft, sad smile he wore. “Darling, it’s time to come downstairs. The carriage is waiting for us.”
SWARGE STOOD STIFFLY in the small galley. At a nod from his captain, he sat down. His big, rough hands rested lightly on the edge of the table. Leftrin sat down opposite him with a sigh. It had been a long day; no, it had been a long three months.
The secrecy the project demanded had tripled the work involved. Leftrin had not dared to move the log; towing it down the river to a better place to work on it was not an option. Any passing vessel would have recognized what he had. So the work of cutting the log into usable lengths and sections had all had to be done right there, in the mud and brush of the riverbank.
Tonight it was finished. The wizardwood log was gone; the small scraps that remained had been stowed as dunnage in Tarman’s holds. Outside on the deck, the rest of the crew was celebrating. And in light of what they’d conspired to do, Leftrin had decided it would be best if all of them made a fresh commitment to Tarman. All the rest of them had signed the ship’s papers. Only Swarge remained. Tomorrow, they’d relaunch Tarman and return to Trehaug to drop off the carefully selected and discreet woodworkers who had served them so well. And afterward, they would go back to their regular run on the river. But for now, they celebrated the completion of a massive project. It was finished, and Leftrin found he had no regrets.
A bottle of rum and several small glasses occupied the center of the table. Two of them weighted down a scroll. A bottle of ink and a quill rested beside it. One more signature, and Tarman would be secure. Leftrin nodded to himself as he studied the riverman opposite him. Streaks of dried mud and tar clung to the tillerman’s rough shirt. His thick fingernails were packed with silvery sawdust, and there was a stripe of dirt on his jaw where he’d probably scratched his face earlier.
Leftrin smiled to himself. He was probably just as grubby as the tillerman. It had been a long, hard day’s work, and it was labor of a kind neither one of them was accustomed to. It was coming to a close now, and Swarge had more than proven himself. He had been willing to join Leftrin’s little conspiracy and had done more than his share without complaint. It was one of the things that Leftrin liked about the man. Time to let him know that. “You don’t complain. You don’t whine, and you don’t find fault when something just plain goes wrong. You jump in and do your best to fix the situation. You’re loyal and you’re discreet. And that’s why I want to keep you on board.”
Swarge glanced at the small glasses and Leftrin got the message. He uncorked the bottle and dolloped out small measures for both of them. “Best clean your hands before you eat or drink. That stuff can be poisonous,” he advised his tillerman. Swarge nodded and carefully wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. Then they both drank before Swarge responded.
“Forever. I heard from the others that’s what this is about. You’re asking me to sign on and stay aboard Tarman forever. Until I die.”
“That’s right,” Leftrin confirmed. “And I hoped they mentioned that your wages will go up as well. With our new hull design we’re not going to need as large a crew as we’ve shipped in the past. But I’ll budget the same for pay, and every sailor aboard will get an equal share of it. That has to sound good, doesn’t it?”
Swarge bobbed a nod at him, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Rest of my life is a long time, Cap.”
Leftrin laughed aloud. “Sa’s blood, Swarge, you been with Tarman for ten years already. For a Rain Wild man, that’s half of forever already. So what’s the problem with signing on permanent? Benefits us both. I know I got a good tillerman for as long as Tarman floats. And you know that no one is ever going to decide you’re too old to work and put you ashore without a penny. You sign this, it binds my heir as well as me. You give me your word on this, you sign the paper with me, and I promise that as long as you live, Tarman and I will take care of you. Swarge, what else you got besides this boat?”
Swarge answered the question with one of his own. “Why has it got to be forever, Cap? What’s changed so much that I got to promise to sail with you forever now or clear off the ship?”
Leftrin concealed a small sigh. Swarge was a good man and great on the tiller. He could read the river as few men could. Tarman felt comfortable in his hands. With all the changes the ship had undergone recently, Leftrin didn’t want to break in a new tillerman. He met Swarge’s look squarely. “You know that my claiming that wizardwood and what we’ve done with it is forbidden. It’s got to stay a secret. Best way to keep a secret, I think, is to make sure it benefits every man who knows it. And to keep those who share the secret in one place.
“Before we started, I let go any man I didn’t think was mine, heart and soul. I’ve got a plum little crew here now, handpicked, and I want to keep you all. It comes down to trust, Swarge. I kept you on because I knew you’d done some boatbuilding back when you were a youngster. I knew you’d help us do what Tarman needed doing, and keep it quiet. Well, now it’s done, and I want you to stay on as his tillerman. Permanently. If I bring a new man aboard, he’s going to know immediately that something about this ship is very unusual, even for a liveship. And I won’t know if he’s someone I can trust with a secret that big. He might just have a big mouth, or he might be the type that thinks he could squeeze some money out of me for silence. And then I’d have to take steps I’d rather not take. Instead, I’d rather keep you, as long as I can. For the rest of your life, if you’ll sign on for that.”
“And if I don’t?”
Leftrin was silent for a moment. He hadn’t bargained on this. He thought he’d chosen carefully. He’d never imagined that Swarge would be the one to hesitate. He said the first thing that came into his mind. “Why wouldn’t you? What’s stopping you?”
Swarge shifted from side to side on his chair. He glanced at the bottle and away again. Leftrin waited. The man wasn’t known for being talkative. Leftrin poured another jot of rum for both of them and waited, almost patiently.
“There’s a woman,” Swarge said at last. And there he stopped. He looked at the table, at his captain, and then back at the table.
“What about her?” Leftrin asked at last.
“Been thinking to ask her to marry me.”
Leftrin’s heart sank. It would not be the first time he’d lost a good crewman to a wife and a home.
THE RECENTLY REPAIRED and renovated Traders’ Concourse still smelled of new timber and oiled wood. For the ceremony, the seating benches had been removed to the sides of the room, leaving a large open space. The afternoon sun slanted in through the windows; fading squares of light fell on the polished floor and broke into fragments against those who had gathered to witness their promises to each other. Most of the guests were attired in their formal Trader robes in the colors of their families. There were a few Three Ships folk there, probably trading partners of Hest’s families, and even one Tattooed woman in a long gown of yellow silk.
Hest had not arrived yet.
Alise told herself that did not matter. He would come. He was the one who had arranged all this; he would scarcely back out of it now. She wished devoutly that her gown did not fit her so snugly, and that it was not such a warm afternoon. “You look so pale,” her father whispered to her. “Are you all right?”
She thought of all the white powder her mother had dusted on her face and had to smile. “I’m fine, Father. Just a bit nervous. Shall we walk about a bit?”
They moved slowly through the room, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Guest after guest greeted her and wished her well. Some were already availing themselves of the punch. Others were unabashedly scanning the terms of their marriage contract. The dual scrolls of their agreement were pegged down to the wood of a long central table. Silver candelabra held white tapers; the light was needed for anyone who wished to read the finely written words. Matching black quills and a pot of red ink awaited Hest an
d her.
It was a peculiarly Bingtown tradition. The marriage contract would be scrutinized, read aloud, and signed by both families before the far briefer blessing invocation. It made sense to Alise. They were a nation of traders; of course their nuptials would be as carefully negotiated as any other bargain.
She had not realized how anxious she was until she heard the wheels of a carriage in the drive outside. “That must be him,” she whispered nervously to her father.
“It had better be him,” he replied ominously. “We may not be so rich as the Finboks, but the Kincarrons are just as much Traders as they are. We are not to be trifled with. Nor insulted.”
For the first time, she realized how much her father had feared Hest would leave her standing unclaimed, their promises unsigned. She looked deep into his eyes and saw the anger that mingled with his fear. Fear that he’d be humiliated, fear that he’d have to take his unclaimed daughter home. She looked away from him, and some of the shine went off the day. Not even her own father could believe that Hest was truly in love with her and would want to marry her.
She drew as deep a breath as the tightly sewn dress would allow her. She stiffened her spine and with it her resolve. She was not going back to live in her father’s house as his failed daughter. Never again. No matter what.
Then the door of the Concourse was flung wide, and Hest’s men poured in dressed in the formal robes of their family lineages. They cascaded down the steps, an unruly laughing mob of his friends and business associates. Hest was carried down in their midst. Her first glimpse of him sent her heart racing. His dark hair was tousled boyishly, and his cheeks were reddened. He was grinning good-naturedly as they hurried him along. His wide shoulders were emphasized by his closely tailored jacket of dark green Jamaillian silk. He wore a white neckcloth pinned with an emerald stickpin that was not greener than his eyes.
When his eyes found her, his face went suddenly still. His smile faded. She held his gaze, challenging him to change his mind now. Instead, as he regarded her solemnly, he nodded slowly, as if confirming something to himself. Dozens of well-wishers had moved forward to greet him when he had entered. He moved through them as a ship cuts through waves, not rudely, but refusing to be delayed or distracted by them. When he reached Alise and her father, he bowed formally to both of them. Alise, startled, managed a hasty curtsy. As she rose from it, Hest held out a hand to her. But it was her father he smiled at as he said, “I believe this is mine now, isn’t it?”
She put her hand in his.
“I believe that there is a contract to be signed first,” her father said, but he spoke jovially. With that one gesture, Hest had changed his anxiety to good nature. Her father was beaming proudly to see his daughter claimed so confidently by such a handsome and wealthy man.
“That there is!” Hest exclaimed. “And I propose that we get to it immediately. I have no patience with lengthy formalities. The lady has made me wait quite long enough!”
A thrill shot though Alise at his words while a murmur of approving amusement and some small laughter rippled through the gathered guests. Hest, ever charming and charismatic, literally hurried her across the Concourse to the waiting contracts.
As tradition demanded, they moved to their positions on opposite sides of the long table. Sedric Meldar came forward to hold the inkwell for Hest. Alise’s elder sister Rose had demanded the honor of being her attendant. Hest and Alise would move in unison down the long table, each reading aloud a term from their wedding contract. As each term was agreed to, both would sign. At the end of the table, the couple would finally stand together, to be blessed by their parents. Each contract scroll would be carefully sanded and dried, and then rolled up and stored in the Concourse archives. It was rare that the terms of a dowry or the subject of a child’s inheritance came into question, but the written records often served to prevent such strife.
There was nothing of romance in these written words. Alise read aloud that in the event of Hest’s untimely death before he sired an heir, she would relinquish all claim to his estate in favor of his cousin. Hest countered that by reading and then signing the clause that stipulated his widow would be granted a private residence of her own on his family’s land. In the event of Alise’s death with no heir, the little vineyard that was her sole dowry would revert to her younger sister.
There were standard pledges expected in all Bingtown marriage contracts. Once they were wed, each would have a say in the financial decisions of the household. The amount of each one’s personal allowance was agreed to, and provisions were made either to increase or decrease such allowances as their fortunes prospered or faded. Each agreed to be faithful to the other, and each attested that neither had already produced a child. Alise had requested the old form of agreement, in which the firstborn child of either sex was to be recognized as the full heir. It had warmed her that Hest had not objected at all to that, and when she read aloud the clause that she had insisted on, that she be allowed to travel to the Rain Wilds to continue her study of the dragons, at a date to be agreed upon in the future, he signed his name with a flourish. She blinked away tears of joy, willing that they not spill and make tracks down her powdered face. What had she done to deserve such a man? She vowed to be worthy of his generosity.
The provisions of the contract were precise, not vague, and recognized that no marriage was perfect. Term after endless term was delineated. Every detail was considered; nothing was too intimate to be mentioned. If Hest sired a child outside of the marital bed, such a child would be ineligible to inherit anything, and Alise could, if she chose, terminate their marriage agreement immediately, while claiming 15 percent of Hest’s current estate. If Alise were found to have committed an infidelity, Hest could not only turn her out of his home but could dispute the parentage of any child born after the date of the transgression; such children became the financial responsibility of Alise’s father.
It went on and on. There were provisions by which they could mutually end their agreement, and stipulations on transgressions that rendered the contract null and void. Each had to be read aloud and formally signed by both of them. It was not unusual for the process to take hours. But Hest was having none of that. With each phrase he read, he increased the tempo of his reading, plainly anxious to be done with this part of the ceremony. Alise found herself caught up in play, and matched the speed of her words to his. Some of the guests seemed affronted at first. Then, as they noticed Alise’s pink cheeks and the sly smile that wafted across Hest’s face periodically, they, too, began to smile.
In a remarkably short time, they reached the end of the table. Alise was out of breath as she babbled through the last stipulation from her family. She spoke the final proviso aloud, the standard one. “I will keep myself, my body and my affections, my heart and my loyalty, solely to you.” As he repeated it, it seemed a redundancy to her, after all they had already promised to each other. They signed. The quills were handed back to their attendants. Finally freed of such tedious formality, they joined hands and stepped to where the table no longer divided them. Together they turned to face their waiting parents. Hest’s hands were as warm as Alise’s were cold; he held her fingers gently, as if afraid he might harm her with a firmer grip. She closed her hands on his; let him know now that all her hesitations were gone. She was his, and she gave her well-being into his hands.
First their mothers and then their fathers joined in blessing the couple. Hest’s parents spoke a much longer blessing than Alise’s did, imploring Sa for prosperity, many children, a happy home, longevity with health for both of them, healthy dutiful children—the list went on and on. Alise felt her smile grow fixed.
When the blessings were finally finished, they turned to face each other. The kiss. It would be their first kiss, and suddenly she appreciated that he had reserved it for this moment. She took as deep a breath as her gown would allow her and turned her face up to him. He looked down on her. His green eyes were unreadable. As he bent to her, she close
d her eyes and let her lips relax. Let him take charge of this moment. She felt his breath as his mouth hovered over hers. Then he kissed her, the lightest brushing touch of his mouth against hers. As if the wing of a hummingbird had just brushed her lips.
A small shiver passed over her, and she caught her breath as he stepped back from her. Her heart was thundering. He teases me, she thought, and could not keep a smile from her face. He would not meet her eyes, but a sly smile stole across his face as well. Cruel man. He would make her admit to herself that she was as eager as he was. Let the night come, she thought and stole a sideways glance at her husband’s handsome face.
“SO. TELL ME about her,” Leftrin ventured when the silence had grown long.
Swarge sighed and then looked up at him and smiled. It transformed his face. Years dropped away, and the bluish glints behind his blue eyes seemed almost kindly. “Her name is Bellin. She’s, well, she likes me. She can play the pipes. We met a couple of years ago, in a tavern in Trehaug. You know the one. Jona’s place.”
“I know it. River folk trade there.” He cocked his head and looked at his tillerman, reluctant to ask the question that came to his mind. Most of the women he’d met at Jona’s were whores. Some of them were nice enough, but most were good at their trade and unlikely to give it up for one man. He wondered if Swarge were dim-witted in that area and was being deceived. He almost asked if he’d been giving her money to save up for a house for them. Leftrin had seen that trick played on a gullible sailor more than once.
But before he could ask Swarge anything, the tillerman must have seen his captain’s doubts in his eyes. “Bellin’s river folk. In there with the rest of her crew for a drink and a hot meal. She works on that little barge, the Sacha, that goes back and forth between Trehaug and Cassarick.”