by Robin Hobb
"What can you do?" Malta asked.
He considered. He did not think that this was the sort of thing usually discussed in shared dreams. "Your mother should write to my mother. They are the ones who should discuss this, not us."
He wondered what his mother's reaction would be. In coming to him for help, Malta seemed to have forgotten that the Khuprus family now held the note on the liveship. Not only were they one of the creditors that Malta now feared, but the pirated ship had secured that debt. It was a tangled situation. The magic of the liveships was to be carefully guarded, guaranteed by the purchaser never to fall into the hands of outsiders. When he had persuaded his mother to buy the Vestrit note on the ship, her long-range view was that the ship would be given as a bridal gift to the Vestrit family. He had expected his own children would eventually inherit it. The complete loss of the ship would be a substantial financial blow to anyone. He was sure his mother would be spurred to action, but he was not sure what action. He had never been interested in the financial business of the family. His mother, eldest brother and stepfather handled all that. He was the explorer and scholar. He mined out the discoveries that they turned into coin. What they did with that coin had not concerned him. Now he wondered if he had any say in it.
Malta was outraged instantly. "Reyn, we are talking about my father. I cannot wait for my mother to talk to your mother. If he is to be rescued, we must act now."
He felt emasculated. "Malta. I have no power to help you directly. I am a younger son, with three older siblings."
She stamped her foot angrily. "I don't believe you. If you care for me at all, you will help me."
She sounded just like the dragon, he thought in sudden dismay.
It was a dangerous thought to have in a dream-box setting. The earth suddenly trembled under their feet. A second, harder shudder followed the first. Malta clutched at a tree to keep from falling. "What was that?" she demanded.
"An earthquake," he replied calmly. They were common enough in Trehaug. The suspended city swayed with the living trees that supported it and took little harm. The quakes, however, often did great damage to the excavation work. He wondered if this were a real earthquake pushing its way into the dream, or an imagined one.
"I know what a quake is." Malta sounded annoyed with him. "The whole Cursed Shore is prey to them. I meant that sound."
"Sound?" he asked uneasily.
"Like scrabbling and scratching. Don't you hear it?"
He heard it all the time. Waking and sleeping, the sound of the dragon's claws working feebly against its tomb haunted him. "You can hear it, too?" He was astounded. He had learned to ignore what he had always been told was his imagination.
Before he could reply, everything began to change. The colors of the forest suddenly grew bright and new. There was a strong fragrance of ripening fruit on the warm breeze. The texture of the mosses underfoot became coarser, while the path suddenly sparkled in sunlight. The blue of the sky deepened. This was no longer Reyn's memory of a tapestry. Someone else was adding to the dream-box vision, and he did not think it was Malta.
When thunderclouds began to boil up along the horizon, he was certain of it. He glanced up fearfully as the rising winds sent ripe fruit plummeting from the trees. One spattered into seeds and pulp right by Malta's feet. The rich smell of its spilled nectar was decadent.
"Malta. We should part now. Tell your mother that…"
Lightning cracked the sky overhead. Thunder followed instantaneously. Reyn felt his hair stand on end and a peculiar smell rode the wind. Malta cowered low and pointed wordlessly up at the sky. The erratic winds lashed her hair wildly and pressed her nightdress up against her body.
A dragon hovered above the trees. The powerful beat of her wings spurred the winds. Even the cloud-dimmed light of the sun could not diminish her glory. She was iridescent. Colors chased one another over her silver body and wings. Her eyes were copper. "I have the power," she declared. Her voice split the sky. The branch of a nearby tree cracked and fell heavily to the earth. "Free me and I will aid you. I promise you this." Her wings lifted her to the sky where she turned a slow, dazzling loop. Her long serpentine tail lashed the sky behind her.
Rain began suddenly to fall, a torrent that drenched the humans. Malta fled shivering to the shelter of Reyn's arms and cloak. He put his arm around her. Even in the shadow of the hovering dragon, he was aware of the warmth of her skin through the damp cloth of her nightdress. From beneath his cloak, Malta squinted up at the beast. "Who are you?" she cried loudly. "What do you want?"
The dragon threw back her head and roared her laughter. She swept past them and rose again into the sky. "Who am I? Do I look so foolish as to gift you with my name? No. You will not come to control me that way. As to what I want… a trade. My freedom, in exchange for this ship you mention, and if your father is still aboard it, his life. What say you? An easy trade, is it not? A life for a life?"
Malta looked to Reyn. "Is she real? Can she help us?"
Reyn stared up at the dragon above them. She beat her wings heavily as she rose into the storm-torn sky. Up and up she rose, growing smaller with distance. She shone like a star against the dark gray clouds. "She's real. But she can't help us."
"Why not? She is immense! She can fly! Couldn't she just go to where the ship is and…"
"And what? Destroy the ship to kill the pirates? Possibly, if you truly thought that was wise. Possibly, if she were truly free and flying. But she isn't. She is only showing herself to us, in this dream, as she imagines herself to be."
"How is she really?"
Reyn abruptly realized how close he had come to a very dangerous topic. "She's trapped, far beneath the earth, where no one can free her." He took her arm and hurried her down the path, to where he had willed a sturdy little cottage into existence. He opened the door and Malta darted inside gratefully. He followed her, shutting the door behind them. A small fire illuminated the simple little room. Malta gathered up her hair in a bundle and squeezed the water from it. She turned back to him, raindrops still glistening on her face. The firelight danced in her eyes.
"How is she trapped?" Malta demanded. "What would we have to do to free her?"
He decided to tell her enough to be honest. "A long time ago, something happened. We're not sure what. Somehow, an entire city was buried under a heavy layer of earth. It was so long ago that trees have grown in the earth above it. The dragon is in a chamber deep within the buried city. There is no way to free her." He put all the finality he could muster into his words. Malta looked stubbornly unconvinced. He shook his head at her. "This is not the dream I imagined we would share."
"Couldn't she be dug out? How can she be alive, buried so deeply?" Malta cocked her head at him and narrowed her eyes. "How do you even know she is there? Reyn. There is something you are not telling me," she accused him.
He straightened his back and stood his ground. "Malta, there are many things I cannot tell you. I would not ask you to betray the secrets of the Bingtown Traders. You must trust me that I have told you all I honorably can." He crossed his arms on his chest.
She stared at him for a time. Then she lowered her eyes. After a moment, in a lowered voice she said, "Please do not think ill of me. I did not realize what I was asking of you." Her voice grew throaty as she added, "I look forward to a time when there will be no secrets between us."
A blast of wind buffeted the cottage walls. Reyn suspected it was the dragon flying over them. "Free me!" Her long wild call slid down the sky to them. "Free me!"
At the sound of the dragon's voice, Malta's eyes grew wide. A second wave of wind hit the cottage, rattling the shutters, and she was suddenly in his arms. He held her close and felt her trembling. The top of her head came only to his chin. Her hair was damp under his touch when he stroked it. When she turned her face up to his, he fell into the bottomless gaze of her eyes. "It's only a dream," he assured her. "Nothing here can hurt you. Nothing here is quite real."
"It
seems very real," she whispered. Her breath was warm on his face.
"Does it?" he asked in wonder.
"It does," she assured him.
Cautiously he lowered his mouth to hers. She did not avoid his kiss. The thin layer of veil between their lips was an almost pleasant coarseness. Her arms came around him and held him with awkward inexperience.
The sweetness of the kiss clung to him as the power of the dream-box faded and he drifted into ordinary sleep. "Come to me." Her words reached him faintly. "Come to me at the full moon."
"I can't!" he cried out, desperate that his words reach her. "Malta, I can't!"
He awakened saying the words into his pillow. Had she heard him?
He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back into sleep and the shared dream. "Malta? I cannot come to you. I can't."
"Is that what you say to all females?" Somewhere a voice laughed in wicked amusement. Claws twitched feebly against iron-hard wizardwood. "Don't fret, Reyn. You cannot go to her. But I shall."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marooned
The moon stood clear in the sky and the tide was high when Kennit decided it was time to keep his promise. It had taken some careful maneuvering, but everything was in place and ready. No sense in wasting time. He swung his leg over the side of the bunk and sat up, scowling when a sleepy Etta lifted her head from the pillows. He wanted no interference from anyone tonight. "Go back to sleep," he commanded her. "If I need you, I'll tell you."
Instead of looking chastened, she gave him a fond and drowsy smile, then closed her eyes again. Her placid acceptance of his independence was almost unnerving.
At least she was coming to accept that he didn't need her damn help with everything. She had been tiresomely helpful in the weeks of his convalescence. Several times, he'd had to roar at her before she would retreat and let him take care of himself.
He reached for the waiting peg and slipped his stump into the cup on the end. The harness of leather that secured it to his body still seemed awkward, but he was becoming accustomed to it. Pulling his trousers on past it was another difficulty. He frowned at it. The woman would have to come up with a better arrangement. He would tell her so in the morning. His belt held only a long sheathed dagger now. A sword was a useless vanity to a man who had to balance on one leg. He dragged on his boot, then took up the crutch that leaned against the bunk. He thudded his way across the room. Teetering precariously, he buttoned on a shirt and then donned a vest. A fine broadcloth coat went over it all. He added a clean kerchief and his usual items to his pocket. He tugged his collar straight and made sure his cuffs were even. Tucking the crutch firmly under his arm, he left his cabin, shutting the door quietly behind him.
All was at peace on the anchored vessel. The ship had been tidier and better run since he had reduced the crew in Divvytown. Most of the rescued slaves had been glad to leave the crowded ship. Some had wished to remain. He had sieved those rigorously. Some had simply not been able sailors. Others were too surly. Not all those with multiple tattoos across their faces were free spirits who would not bow to slavery. Some, quite simply, were men and women too stupid to learn their tasks well and do them willingly. He did not want them any more than their former owners had. A dozen former slaves, victims of Sa'Adar's influence, had insisted on remaining aboard. Kennit had graciously allowed it. It had been his only concession to their claim to own the ship. Doubtless, they still hoped for more. Doubtless they would be disappointed. Three others he had kept aboard for his own reasons. They would serve their purposes tonight.
He found Ankle leaning on the forward railing. Not far from her, Wintrow was sprawled in the deep sleep of exhaustion. Kennit permitted himself a small smile. Brig had taken his request that the boy be kept very busy for a few days literally. The girl turned to the tapping of his peg on the deck. Ankle's wide dark eyes watched him approach with trepidation. She was not as fearful as she had been at first. A few days after he had taken the ship, Etta had put a stop to the freed men and crew using her for sex. The girl herself had not seemed to object, so Kennit had seen no problem with it, but Etta had insisted she was too addled by ill use to know how to resist their advances. Later Wintrow had told him what he knew of the girl. Ankle had gone mad in the hold and crippled herself struggling against her fetters. Wintrow believed she had been normal when she had first been put belowdecks. No one on board seemed to know anything else about her, not even her name or age. A shame, Kennit supposed, that her mind was gone. She would always limp. She was worse than useless aboard the ship, for she ate food and took up space that could have been given to an able man. He would have put her off in Divvytown if both Etta and Wintrow had not interceded for her. When Vivacia, too, had spoken out in her behalf, Kennit had allowed himself to be swayed. Nevertheless, it was time to be done with her. It was the kindest thing to do. A pirate ship was not a nursery for blighted souls.
He made a small gesture to her to come to him. She advanced a single hesitant step.
"What will you do with her?" Vivacia spoke softly from the shadows.
"I mean no harm to her. You know me well enough now to understand that." He glanced toward Wintrow. "But let's not wake the lad." He made his suggestion in a kindly tone.
The figurehead was silent for a time. "I sense you believe you are doing what is right for her. But I cannot see what that is." After a time, she added, "You block me. There are portions of your heart that you have never allowed me to see. You keep secrets from me."
"Yes. Just as you keep secrets from me. You have to trust me in this. Do you?" He made a small test of the question.
She was silent. He walked forward, past Ankle, who cowered slightly as he passed her. He took her place on the forward rail and leaned down to the ship. "Good evening, sweet sea-lady," he greeted the ship, as if they were the first words he had spoken to her. His utterance was little more than a whisper on the evening wind.
"It is more like a good night, gentle sir," she replied in kind.
He extended his hand to her and she twisted to reach up her large fingers to touch his. "I trust you are well. Tell me." He gestured at the surrounding panorama of scattered islands. "What do you think of my islands, now that you have seen a bit of them?"
She made a warm sound in her throat. "There is a unique beauty to them. The warmth of the water, the drifting mists that veil and reveal them… even the birds that flock here are different. More colorful, and more tuneful in their songs than most seabirds. I have not seen such plumage since Captain Vestrit took me on a voyage far to the southlands…" Her voice trailed away.
"You still miss him, don't you? I'm sure he was a fine captain, and showed you many wondrous places. But if you trust me, my lady, you and I shall see places even more exotic, and have adventures even more exciting." There was an almost jealous note in his voice as he asked, "Do you recall him that well? I had thought you were not quickened then."
"I recall him like one recalls a good dream in the morning. Nothing is sharp, but a scent, a horizon, the taste of a current, will seem familiar and a memory comes with it. If Wintrow is with me, it is sharper. I can convey to him far more detail than I can speak."
"I see." He changed the subject. "Nevertheless, you have never been in these parts before, have you?"
"No. Captain Vestrit avoided the Pirate Isles. We passed them by, keeping as easterly a course as we could. He always said it is easier to avoid trouble than to deal with it."
"Ah." Kennit looked past her, to the Marietta also rocking at anchor. Sometimes he missed Sorcor. It would have been handy to have him here for this night's work. Still, one best keeps a secret alone. He recalled abruptly what he had come on deck to do. "On that, I would have to agree with him. So, my lady, if you will excuse me, I need to avoid some trouble tonight. Think of me, until I return."
"I shall." There was puzzlement in her voice. He tapped away from her, his crutch and peg making an odd rhythm as he swung across the deck. He gestured to Ankle to follow
him. She came slowly, limping, but she came. When he reached the captain's gig, he told her, "Stay here. I'll take you for a ride." He made motions as he spoke, to be certain his command was clearly conveyed. She looked anxious, but obediently sat down on the deck.
He left her sitting there in darkness. He passed the sailor on anchor watch and acknowledged him with a nod. The sailor bobbed his head but made no comment. Captain Kennit had always done as he pleased on the ship. He even sensed that the crew was more confident now that he had resumed his erratic tours of the ship. It reassured them that all was well with their captain.
He could move almost swiftly now, with a stride and a swing on his crutch, when he chose. It was not without discomfort. Wintrow seemed to think he would build callus as time passed. He hoped so. Sometimes the leather cup that held his stump chafed abominably, and his armpit would ache at the end of the day from the bruising of the crutch's impact.
Moving quietly was more of an effort than moving swiftly, but he managed. He had taken the time to ascertain where Sa'Adar slept every night and he made his way there with confidence. Even in the fitful light of the widely spaced lanterns, he knew his way. When he came to the reclining man, he stood still, looking down on him. Sa'Adar was not asleep, so Kennit made no pretense of waking him. In a very soft voice, he said, "If you would see justice done to Kyle Haven, rise and follow me now. Silently."
In apparent confidence, he turned his back on the man and walked away from him. He did not deign to look back. His keen ears picked up the soft footfalls of the priest following him. He had judged him well. The air of mystery and secrecy drew him to come alone, without waking his comrades. Kennit strode on past other sprawled and sleeping men until he came to two others he had chosen earlier. Dedge slept with his arm thrown protectively over Saylah. She was curled around her own belly. He nudged Dedge twice with the tip of his crutch. He indicated the man's companion as well, and then moved on. Obedient as a good dog, the man nudged the woman awake and silently followed him.