by Robin Hobb
Malta certainly hoped so. She thought of the simmering tension between the two men and a shiver ran over her. She was so glad she had been able to talk her mother into the farewell party before Reyn left. She had begged a chance to introduce her friends to him, saying she needed to see for herself if they could accept her Rain Wild suitor. It had been more successful than she had ever dared dream. One and all, the girls had been eaten up with jealousy to see her pampered so.
She had found a moment to slip aside with Delo and show her all the "small trinkets" that Reyn had managed to slip in with her approved gifts. The dragonfly perched motionless upon the flowers sent to her bedchamber had been artfully fashioned from precious metals and tiny gems. A tiny perfect deep blue flame gem had been inside a bottle of scent. A little basket of candied violets had been lined with what at first glance appeared to be a handkerchief. Shaken out, the fine sheer fabric was large enough to drape her bed. An unsigned note in its folds told her that Rain Wild women used such cloth to fashion their night garments for their bridal trousseau. An apple in a basket of fruit proved to be a clever deception. At a touch, it unfolded to present a string of water-opals and a tiny packet of silver-gray powder. The note with that directed her to place the powder in the dream-box ten days after his departure. When Delo had asked her what the dream-box did, Malta told her it sent her dreams that she and Reyn could share. Asked what sort of dreams, Malta had turned aside and managed a blush. "It would not be proper to speak of them," she had whispered breathily.
No sooner had they returned to the festivities than Delo excused herself. A short time later Malta saw her in excited conversation with Kitten. The gossip had spread swiftly as a rising tide after that. Malta had seen it engulf Cerwin. She had refused to meet his eyes today, save for one glance. He had not hesitated to let her see the heartbreak in his gaze. She had sent him a stricken look of appeal. After that, she had feigned ignoring him. Enrapt in Reyn's conversation, she had left it to her mother to make her farewells to the departing guests.
It was so delicious to wonder what Cerwin would do next.
She was broken from her musings by the soft working of the kitchen door. Her mother and grandmother exchanged a glance. "I left it unlatched for her," Grandma Vestrit said quietly. They both got to their feet, but before they could move, a man entered the room. Keffria gave a gasp and stepped back in horror.
"I'm home," Althea announced. She took off the ragged coat she was wearing and smiled at them all. Her hair was disgusting, bound flat to her head and then swinging behind her in a boy's plait. The skin of her face was red and wind-chapped. She strode into the room and held her hands out to the fire as if she were perfectly at home here. She smelled of tar, oakum and beer.
"God of Fishes!" Keffria said, startling them all with the coarseness of the oath. She shook her head as she stared in dismay at her sister. "Althea. How can you do this to us? How can you do this to yourself? Have you no pride, no care at all for your family name?" She sat down heavily in her chair.
"Don't worry about it. No one who saw me recognized me," Althea retorted. She moved around the room like a stray dog sniffing. "You've moved Father's desk," she accused them all.
"The light is better by the window," Grandmother said mildly. "The older I get, the harder it is to see fine lettering. It takes me four or five efforts to thread a needle now."
Althea started to speak, then stopped. Her features changed slightly. "I am sorry to hear that," she said sincerely. She shook her head. "It must be hard, to lose things you have always taken for granted."
Malta was trying to watch them all at once. She saw her mother fold her lips tightly and guessed she was angered at how her complaint had been ignored. In contrast, Grandmother met Althea's eyes without anger, only a grave sadness. Malta ventured a move. "You can't know that no one recognized you. All you know is that no one showed that they had recognized you. Perhaps they were too ashamed for you to react."
For an instant, Althea looked shocked that Malta had spoken at all. She narrowed her eyes. "I think you should remember your manners when you speak to your elders, Malta. When I was your age, I was not encouraged to speak out of turn when adults were conversing."
It was like a spark to well-laid tinder. Malta's mother surged to her feet and stepped between them. "When you were Malta's age, as I recall clearly, you were a barefoot hoyden climbing around in the ship's rigging and conversing freely with all kinds of people. And sometimes doing more than conversing."
Althea's face paled, making the smudges on it stand out more clearly. Malta smelled a secret there. Her mother knew something about Aunt Althea, something dirty. Secrets were power.
"Stop it." Grandmother spoke in a low voice. "You two have been apart for almost a year, and the first time you are in a room together, all you do is spit at each other like cats. I haven't stayed up all night to listen to you squabble. Sit down, all of you, and keep silent for a moment. I intend that you should listen to me."
Her mother returned slowly to her chair and her grandmother sat down with a sigh. As if to pique her sister, Althea sank down to sit on the hearthstones. She crossed her legs like a tailor; for a woman in trousers to sit like that struck Malta as obscene. She caught Malta staring at her and smiled back. Malta caught her mother's eye and gave a small shake of her head. Keffria gave a small sigh. Grandmother ignored it all.
"Instead of criticizing each other, we all need to look at our family's situation and do what we can to improve it," Grandmother began.
"Aren't you even going to ask her where she's been all this time and what she has been doing? We were worried to death about her! Now she comes dragging in, dirty and dressed like a man, and—"
"My niece is dressed like a woman, and is evidently being used as a lure to attract Rain Wild money. Why don't we talk about family pride and the morality of that first?" Althea demanded tartly.
Grandmother stood up and walked between them. "I said it was my turn to speak. I am trying to talk about what is most important first, before we bog down in bickering. We all have questions. Those questions will keep until we have determined if we can act as a family. If we cannot, then there is no point to asking the questions."
"If Althea had been here, as she should have been, she would know what we face," Keffria put in quietly. "But, I am sorry to interrupt. I will hear you out, Mother."
"Thank you. I will be brief. Some of this, Althea, I told you about earlier today, but not in detail. I think all of us need to consider our family's situation, rather than our own individual concerns. We need to set aside our differences. Or at least conceal them. We must decide where this family stands, and then we must show that image to Bingtown. We can show no trace of dissent. We could not weather the slightest breath of scandal."
Grandmother turned slightly so that her words were addressed more to Aunt Althea. "Althea, we are beset by our creditors. Our reputation is the only thing that keeps them at bay. Right now, they still believe that we will eventually pay them off, interest and all. Keffria and I — and Malta, I should add — have made many sacrifices to maintain an image of stability. We are living very simply. I have let go the servants, save for Rache. We have been doing for ourselves. We are not the only Bingtown Traders who have had to make this compromise, though few find themselves as straitened as we are. In some ways, it makes our situation worse. Many of our creditors are pinched; some who would have extended us understanding cannot afford to do so, for the sake of their own families."
Grandmother went on and on. It was too familiar a litany to Malta.
She had to fight to keep her eyes open. The only interesting thing was watching Aunt Althea as it was explained to her. Guilt and shame flickered across her face from time to time. Odd. Grandmother was not telling her that part of this was her fault, that if she had stayed at home properly she could have helped her family, but Althea still reacted as if the accusations had been spoken. When Grandmother spoke of how the Khuprus family had bought the note o
n the Vivacia and told her that there was no gracious way for little Malta to refuse the courtship, Althea even shot her a look of sympathy. Malta looked properly martyred in response.
Grandmother finished with, "I am sure you have noted the changes in the house and grounds. Now you know they were necessary sacrifices, not neglect. Althea, this is what I ask you to do. Stay home. Dress properly, behave sedately. If Keffria concurs, you might be helpful in managing some of the properties that demand a more active overseeing. Or, if you feel you need more… freedom, you could take over the little farm from my dowry. Ingleby is a quiet place, but cozy. It could benefit from someone taking an interest in it. You might find it satisfying to make a project of it, and see what you could—"
"Mother. That is not why I came home." Althea sounded almost sad. "I don't want a toy or a project. Nor do I wish to shame my family. I have come home to assist, but it will be in what I do best." Althea looked past Grandmother and locked eyes with her sister. "Keffria, you know the Vivacia should have been mine. You have always known that. I come home to claim her, to rescue her from being abused as a slaveship, and use her to create income for the family."
Malta leaped to her feet. "My father owns that ship. He will never allow you to take it from him."
Althea caught her breath. Anger blazed in her eyes. For an instant, she clenched her jaws. Then she turned aside from Malta to address only Keffria. She spoke in an even voice. "My sister, you 'own' the ship. What becomes of it is solely up to you. Bingtown is not Chalced, to steal a woman's wealth and give it to her husband. Moreover, you all heard Kyle vow before Sa that if I could but show him a ship's ticket saying I am a worthy sailor, he would give the ship to me. I have that ticket, stamped with the likeness of the liveship Ophelia. Both her master and her mate will speak out as to my worthiness to command. I have been away nearly a year. In that time, this has been my only thought: not to shame my family, but to prove myself worthy of that which should have been mine without question." Althea's voice took on a note of appeal as she added, "Keffria, don't you see? I have made it easy for you. Give me the ship. Kyle would be keeping his oath before Sa; you would be doing what you know is right. I give you my word, but I will commit it to writing if you wish: the profits from every voyage will go back into your estate, save enough for me to refit and sail again."
Malta felt sickened at her mother's expression. She was being swayed by Althea's words. But before she could intervene, Althea thwarted herself.
"How could this be hard for you?" she demanded rhetorically. "Kyle may object, but all you have to do is stand up to him. You should have stood up to him a long time ago. This is family business, Vestrit business, Bingtown Trader business. It has nothing to do with him."
"He is my husband!" Keffria cried out, affronted. "He has his faults, and I am sometimes angry at him. But he is not a pet, nor a piece of furniture. He is a part of my family. He is a part of this family. For good or ill, that bond exists, Althea. I am sick at how he is dismissed by you and Mother. He is my husband and the father of my children, and he truly believes he is doing what is right. If you cannot have any respect for him, could you not at least respect my feelings for him?"
"As he has respected mine?" Althea asked sarcastically.
"Stop it," Grandmother broke in, her voice low. "This is what I fear, more than anything. That we cannot set aside our own differences long enough to preserve our family fortune."
For a moment longer, the two daughters glowered at one another. Malta bit her tongue. She longed to leap up and say that Althea should just leave. What was she, anyway? A husbandless, childless woman, a dead branch on this family's tree. She had no interest in the family's fortune, save what riches it could bring to her. Malta and Selden were the ones most sharply affected by the mess that her grandparents' mismanagement had caused. It seemed so logical to her: why could they not see it? Her father was the only strong man that remained to them. His children would profit most or suffer greatest from how the fortune was handled. He should be the one to make all the decisions. Oh, if only he were here.
But he was not. All Malta could do was to be his eyes and ears for him. When he came back, he would know all. She would not let him walk about vulnerable to the treachery of these power-hungry women.
Her grandmother had risen. She stood between her quarreling daughters. Slowly and silently, she extended a hand to each of them. Neither daughter was eager; each reluctantly took her hand. "This is what I ask of you," she said quietly. "For now. Let our quarrels remain within our walls. Outwardly, let us act as one. Althea, Keffria, no action can be taken as regards the Vivacia until she returns to port. Let us, until then, do what we have not done for years. Let us live as a family in one house, putting all our efforts to our mutual good." She looked from one daughter to another. "You are not so different from one another as you believe. I think that once you have seen what your united strength can do, you will have no wish to oppose each other. You have taken opposite positions, but there are many possible compromises. Once you have come to know one another again, you may be more open to them."
The power her grandmother exerted over her daughters was almost palpable. A silence filled the room. Malta could almost feel them struggle to refuse. Neither would look at each other or their mother. Nevertheless, as the silence lengthened, first Althea and then Keffria lifted her eyes to the other. Malta clenched her hands into fists as their eyes met and something passed between them. What was it? A memory of long ago accord? An acknowledgment of duty to their family? Whatever it was, it bridged the gulf between them. There were no smiles, but the stubbornness faded from their mouths and eyes. Keffria lifted a traitorous hand toward her sister. Althea reached in surrender to take it. Grandmother heaved a vast sigh of relief. They closed the circle of family.
No one save Malta marked that she was excluded from it.
Coldness burned inside her as Ronica promised them, "You will not be sorry you tried. I promise you that."
Malta showed her bitter smile only to the dying fire. She had promises of her own to keep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Portrait of Vivacia
Brashen lounged against the wall in the captain's cabin, attempting to look both threatening and unconcerned. It was not an easy pose, keeping both his affable smile and his heavy truncheon equally in evidence. Then again, very little about this job had turned out to be as simple and easy as he had expected it to be.
A stream of servants bearing wares flowed through the cabin. They were rapidly transforming Finney's untidy domain into a showplace for the merchant's goods. The chart table already had been spread with a length of lush velvet the color of a blue midnight. Arranged against this backdrop and securely stitched to it to prevent theft were an assortment of earrings, necklaces, bracelets and baubles in a variety that indicated their many sources. The gaudy vied with the sophisticated. Every kind of precious stone or metal seemed to be represented. Finney sat at his ease, contemplating this trove. His thick fingers grasped the delicately fluted stem of a wine glass. The merchant-trader, a Durjan named Sincure Faldin, stood respectfully at his shoulder. He called Finney's attention to each piece of jewelry in turn.
As he gestured at a simple but elegant pearl necklace with matching earrings, he attested, "These, now, these were the property of a nobleman's daughter. Note the twisting of the gold links between each pearl, as well as their warm luminescence. It is well known that pearls bloom best on those of a passionate nature, and this woman… ah, what can I say of her, save that once she beheld her captors, she had no wish to be ransomed back to her wealthy family. Such pearls, it is said, if given to a cold woman will allow her hidden passions to surface, while if given to a warm-natured woman, well, a man does so at the risk of his own complete exhaustion."
The trader quirked his eyebrows and grinned broadly. Finney laughed aloud in delight.
The trader had a knack for tales. To hear him tell it, every piece on the table had a history at once romantic
and fascinating. Never before had Brashen seen stolen goods so elaborately displayed. Resolutely alert, the mate drew his attention away from the brightly attired Sincure Faldin to keep an eye on his sons who were still bringing aboard and displaying other wares. The whole family seemed to share the father's flair for showmanship. Each of the three boys was dressed as opulently as his father, in garments fashioned from the same fabrics that one boy was now arranging in a rainbow of swaths unrolled from fat bolts of cloth. An older son had opened the doors of an elaborately carved cabinet he had carried aboard, to display several racks of tiny stoppered bottles. Brashen did not know if they were samples of liquors and wine or oils and perfumes. The third son had spread a white cloth over Captain Finney's bunk and was setting out a hodge-podge of weaponry, table cutlery, books, scrolls and other items. Even this was not done randomly. The knives were arranged in a fan of blades and hilts, the scrolls and books fixed open to illustrations, and every other item displayed in a way calculated to invite the eye and intrigue the buyer.
This third boy was the one Brashen watched most closely. He doubted they were anything other than diligent and enthusiastic merchants, but he had resolved to be more suspicious since the unfortunate incident ten days ago. It had taken the ship's boy the better part of a day to holystone that rogue's bloodstain from the Springeve's deck. Brashen was still unable to decide how he felt about what he had done. The man had forced him to act; he could not have simply stood by and let him rob the ship, could he? Yet, Brashen could not shake the uneasy notion that he should never have taken this berth. If he had not been here, he would not have had to shed blood.
Where would he have been? He had not known where this job was leading. Nominally, he had been hired on simply as the first mate. The Springeve was a lively little ship, shallow draft and skittish in high winds, but wonderful for negotiating the waterways to the lagoon towns and river settlements she frequented. Nominally, the Springeve was a tramp freighter and trader, hauling and bargaining whatever goods came her way.