Mad Ship tlt-2

by Robin Hobb

  Outside it was a deceptively peaceful summer night. Crickets were chirping. The brightest stars were pricking their way into the twilight sky. Behind her, the Traders' Concourse hummed like a hive of disturbed bees. Some families were departing on foot, others entering carriages. Despite herself, she glanced about for Brashen, but saw no sign of him or Amber. Reluctantly, Althea turned her steps toward Davad's carriage. She would sit there and wait for the general adjournment of the meeting.

  It was nearly at the end of the long line of carriages. She reached it, then halted in horror. The driver had vanished. The team, old and placid as they were, snorted restively and pawed. Blood ran down the door of the carriage, thick and black in the twilight. A slaughtered pig, its throat cut wide, lolled halfway out the carriage window. «SPY» was written in blood over the Restart coat of arms. Althea felt dizzy with disgust.

  Behind her, the meeting seemed to have come to a close. Traders were streaming from the Concourse. Some conversed in loud, angry voices. Others hissed in whispers, glancing about suspiciously for eavesdroppers. Her mother was the first to reach her side. "The Council adjourned. They'll have a private meeting to see if they can hear—" Her words halted as she saw the pig. "Sa's breath," she gasped. "Poor Davad. How could anyone do this to him?" She glanced about as if the culprits might still be lurking.

  From somewhere, Grag appeared. After one horrified look, he took Althea's arm. "Come away," he said quietly. "I'll see that you and your family get safely home. You don't want to be involved in this."

  "No," she agreed grimly. "I don't. Neither does Trader Restart, I'll wager. I won't abandon him here, Grag. I can't."

  "Althea, think! This isn't someone's impulsive nastiness. Someone planned this. This pig was brought here, for this purpose, before anyone spoke to the Council. It's a serious threat." He tugged at her arm.

  She spun to confront him. "That's why I can't let Davad face it alone. Grag, he is an old man, with no real family left. If his friends abandon him, he's alone."

  "Maybe he deserves to be alone!" Grag kept his voice low. He kept glancing at the knot of gawkers forming around the carriage. He obviously wanted to get away from it. "How can you accept how he thinks, Althea? How can you let him drag your family into this?"

  "I don't accept how he thinks. I accept who he is. He is a wrong-headed old fool, but he has been like an uncle to me for as long as I can remember. Whatever he has done, he doesn't deserve this."

  She looked past Grag to see Davad approaching the carriage. Trader Daw was at his side, their arms linked. They seemed to be congratulating themselves. Daw saw the pig first. His jaw dropped. An instant later, he unhooked his arm from Davad's and scuttled off without a word. Privately Althea hoped a slaughtered pig waited in his carriage as well.

  "What's this? I don't understand this. Why? Who has done this? Where is my driver? Did the coward run off, then? Look at the leather, it's ruined, it's completely ruined." Davad flapped his arms about like a flustered chicken. He stepped close to his carriage, peered at the pig, then stepped back. He sent a bewildered look round at the crowd that had gathered. In the back, someone guffawed loudly. Others simply stared. No one expressed horror or disgust. They were watching him, to see what he would do.

  Althea's eyes traveled from face to face. They seemed strangers to her, more foreign than Jamaillian New Traders. She did not know Bingtown anymore.

  "Please, Grag," Althea whispered. "I'll stay with him and get him home. Would you take my mother, sister and niece? I don't think Malta should have to deal with this."

  "I don't think any of you should have to deal with this," Grag said acidly, but he was too well-bred to refuse. Althea had no idea what he said to her mother and Keffria that made them leave so quietly. Young Malta merely looked elated at the prospect of leaving in a finer carriage than the one she had arrived in.

  As they walked away, Althea took Davad's arm. "Calm down," she told him quietly. "Don't let them see you are rattled." Heedless of the blood, she jerked the door of the carriage open. The stubborn carcass rode in the window still. It was a runty pig; no one had sacrificed good stock to do this. In death, its bowels had relaxed. The stench of pig manure spilled out with it. Althea reminded herself that blood was no stranger to her. She'd seen far too much slaughter in the Barrens to be put off by a bit of pig blood now. Boldly she seized the dead animal's hind legs. A sharp tug freed it from the window. She let it drop to the street. She glanced at Davad, who stared at her wide-eyed. Blood and offal had soiled the front of her robe. She ignored it.

  "Can you climb up onto the box?" she asked him.

  He shook his head dumbly.

  "Then you'll have to ride inside. The other seat is almost clean. Take my handkerchief. The scent on it will help."

  Davad said not a word. He took the kerchief, and climbed ponderously into the carriage, making small distressed sounds the whole time. He was scarcely inside before Althea slammed the door behind him. She did not look about at the gawkers. Instead she walked around the team, had a quiet word with the horses, and then clambered up on the box. She took up the reins. She had not done this in years, and never with a team she didn't know. She kicked off the brake and shook the reins hopefully. The horses started forward at an uncertain walk.

  "From sailor to driver. That's the girl for Grag! Think of the money they'll save on hired help!" cried someone in the crowd. Someone else hooted loudly in appreciation. Althea kept her eyes forward and her chin up. She slapped the reins on the team, and they lurched into a trot. She trusted they'd know the way home, even in the gathering dark.

  She wasn't sure if she did, anymore.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Aftermath

  "You're home, Davad. Come out."

  The door was stuck, and Davad wasn't trying to open it. In the gloom, Althea could just see the pale shape of his face. He huddled in a corner of the seat, his eyes tightly shut. She braced a foot against the carriage and jerked on the door again. It popped open and she nearly fell backwards. It wouldn't have hurt her robe. It stank of pig blood, dung and her own sweat. The drive home had been nerve-wracking. All the way home, she had expected to either run the carriage off the side of the road or be accosted by Davad's enemies. Now they had reached his own front door, but no steward or stable boy came to greet them. Random lights shone in the windows of his house, but for all the greeting the master received, it might as well have been abandoned. A single lantern burned feebly by the doorpost.

  "What's your stable boy's name?" Althea demanded in irritation.

  Davad gawked at her. "I… I don't know. I don't talk to him."

  "Fine." She threw back her head and bellowed in her best first mate's style. "Boy! Get out here and tend to these horses. House steward! Your master is home!"

  Someone lifted a corner of a curtain and peered out at them. She heard footsteps inside the house, and then caught a glimpse of movement in the shadowy courtyard. She turned toward it. "Get out here and take these horses."

  The slender figure hesitated. "Now!" she barked at him.

  The boy that emerged from the shadows was no more than eleven years old. He came as far as the horses' heads, then halted uncertainly.

  Althea snorted in exasperation. "Oh, Davad, if you can't learn to manage your servants, you should hire a house steward who can." Her tact was all worn away.

  "I suppose you're right," Davad agreed humbly. He clambered down from the carriage. Althea stared at him. In the ride from the Concourse to his home, Davad had become an old man. His face sagged, bereft of the cockiness that had always characterized him. He had not been able to avoid the manure and blood. It smeared his clothes. He held his hands out from himself in distaste and distress. She looked up to meet his eyes. He looked apologetic and hurt. He shook his head slowly. "I don't understand it. Who would do something like this to me? Why?"

  She was too tired to answer so large a question. "Go inside, Davad. Have a bath and go to bed. Morning is soon enough to think a
bout all this." Absurdly, she suddenly felt he needed to be treated like a child. He seemed so vulnerable.

  "Thank you," he said quietly. "There's a lot of your father in you, Althea. We didn't always agree, but I always admired him. He never wasted time in parceling out blame; like you, he simply stepped up to solve the problem." He paused. "I should have a man escort you home. I'll order up a horse and man for you." He did not sound certain he could do it.

  A woman came to the door and opened it. A slice of light fell out. She peered out, but said nothing. Althea's temper snapped. "Send out a footman to help your master into the house. Have a hot bath drawn for him and lay out a clean robe. See that hot tea and a simple meal is prepared for him. Nothing spicy or greasy. Now."

  The woman darted back into the house, leaving the door ajar. Althea heard her passing on the commands shrilly.

  "And now you sound like your mother as well. You've done so much for me. Not just tonight, but for years, you and your family. How can I ever pay you back?"

  It was the wrong moment to ask her such a question. The stable boy had come. The lamp revealed a spidery tattoo by the side of his nose. The ragged tunic he wore was scarcely longer than a shirt. He cowered from Althea's black-eyed stare.

  "Tell him he's not a slave anymore." Her voice was flat.

  "Tell… I beg your pardon?" Davad gave his head a small shake, as if he could not have heard her correctly.

  Althea cleared her throat. It was suddenly difficult to have any sympathy for the little man. "Tell this boy he's not a slave anymore. Give him his freedom. That's how you could pay me back."

  "But I… you can't be serious. Do you know how much a healthy boy like that is worth? Blue eyes and light hair are favored in Chalced for house servants. If I keep him a year and teach him some valet skills, do you know how much coin he'd be worth?"

  She looked at him. "Far more than you paid for him, Davad. Far more than you could sell him for." Cruelly, she added, "How much was your son worth to you? I've heard he was fair-haired."

  He blanched and stumbled backwards. He grasped at the carriage, then jerked his hand away from the blood-sticky door. "Why do you say such a thing to me?" he wailed suddenly. "Why is everyone turning against me?"

  "Davad…" She shook her head slowly. "You have turned against us, Davad Restart. Open your eyes. Think what you are doing. Right and wrong is not profit and loss. Some things are too evil to make money from them. Right now, you may be gaining handsomely from the conflict between the Old and New Traders. But this conflict will not go on forever, and when it does end, there you will be. One side will see you as a runagate, the other as a traitor. Who will be your friends then?"

  Davad was frozen, staring at her. She wondered why she had wasted her words. He would not heed her. He was an old man, set in his ways.

  A footman came out of the door. He was chewing something and his chin shone with grease. He came to take his master's arm, then cringed away with a gasp. "You're filthy!" he exclaimed in disgust.

  "You are lazy!" Althea retorted. "Help your master in and see to his needs, instead of stuffing your belly in his absence. Promptly, now."

  The footman reacted to her tone of command. Gingerly, he extended his arm to his master. Slowly Davad took it. He took a few steps, then halted. Without turning, Davad spoke. "Take a horse from my stable to get home. Shall I send a man with you?"

  "No. Thank you. I don't need one." She wanted nothing from him anymore.

  He nodded to himself. He added something quietly.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  He cleared his throat. "Take the boy, then. Stable boy. Go with the lady." He took a breath and spoke heavily. "You are free." Davad walked into the house without a backward glance.

  She had a miniature of him. She had begged him to sit for it, shortly after they were married. He had told her it was a foolish notion, but she was his bride, and so he gave in. He had not been gracious about sitting for it. Pappas was too honest an artist to paint Kyle Haven with patient eyes, or to leave out the small fold of annoyance between his brows. So now as Keffria looked at Kyle's portrait, he regarded her as it seemed he always had, with annoyance and impatience.

  She tried to cut past the layers of hurt in her heart to discover a core of love for him. He was her husband, the father of her children. He was the only man she had ever known. Yet, she could not honestly say that she loved him. Odd. She missed him and longed for him to return. It was not just that his return would mean the return of the family's ship and her son. She wanted Kyle himself. Sometimes, she thought, having someone stronger to depend on was more important than having someone you loved. At the same time, she needed to settle things with him. Over the months that he had been gone on this trip, she had discovered there were words she had to say to him. She had decided she would force him to respect her, even as she had learned to demand respect from her mother and sister. She did not want him to vanish from her life before she had wrung that respect from him. If she did not gain it, she would always wonder if she had ever been truly worthy of it.

  She closed the miniature's case and set it back on the shelf. She badly wanted to go to sleep, but wouldn't until Althea was safely home. She found her feelings for her sister closely mimed those she had for her husband. Every time she felt that she and Althea had regained some remnant of sisterly closeness, Althea would reveal that she still played only for herself. Tonight, at the meeting, she had made it clear that the ship was what she cared about, not Kyle nor Wintrow. She wanted the ship back in Bingtown so she could challenge Keffria for ownership of it. That was all.

  She left her bedroom and drifted through the house like a wraith. She peeked in on Selden. He was deeply asleep, careless of all the problems that beset his family. When she came to Malta's closed door, she tapped on it lightly. There was no reply. Malta, too, slept with the deep ease that children had for rest. She had behaved so well at the meeting. On the ride home, she had made no mention of the near riot, but had put Grag Tenira at ease with her casual conversation. The girl was growing up.

  Keffria went down the stairs. She knew she would find her mother in her father's study. Ronica Vestrit, too, would not sleep until Althea returned. If they were going to stay up, they might as well do it together. As she passed through the hall, she heard a light footfall on the front porch. That would be Althea. Keffria frowned in annoyance when she knocked at the door. Why couldn't she go around to the unlocked kitchen door? "I'll get it," she called to her mother and went to unlatch the big front door.

  Brashen Trell and that bead merchant stood on the porch. He was wearing the same clothes as when she had last seen him. His eyes were bloodshot. The bead merchant looked composed. Her expression was friendly but offered no apology for the late hour. Keffria stared at them both. This went beyond the boundaries of all courtesy. It was rude enough of Brashen to come calling so late, unannounced, but he had also brought an outsider with him. "Yes?" she asked uncomfortably.

  Her restraint didn't seem to bother him. "I need to talk to all of you," he announced without preamble.

  "About what?"

  He spoke quickly. "About getting your ship and your husband back. Amber and I think we've come up with a plan." As he nodded toward his companion, Keffria noted a sheen of sweat on his face. The night was mild and pleasant. The feverishness of his face and manner was alarming.

  "Keffria? Did Althea come in?" her mother called from down the hall.

  "No, Mother. It's Brashen Trell and ah, Amber, the bead-maker."

  This brought her mother swiftly to the door of the study. Like Keffria, she was in her night-robe and wrapper. She had taken her hair down. With the long graying strands of it around her face, she looked haggard and old. Even Brashen had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed. "I know it is late," he apologized hastily. "But… Amber and I have conceived of a plan that might benefit all of us. Greatly." His dark eyes met Keffria's squarely. It seemed to take an effort on his part. "I believe it might offer us
our only chance of bringing your husband, son and ship safely home."

  "I do not recall that you ever had any great warmth or respect for my husband," Keffria said stiffly. If Brashen Trell had been alone, she might have felt more kindly toward him, but his strange companion put Keffria's hackles up. She had heard too many peculiar things about her. She did not know what these two were after, but she doubted it would be to anyone's benefit but their own.

  "Warmth, no. Respect, yes. In his own way, Kyle Haven was a competent captain. He just wasn't Ephron Vestrit." He considered her stiff stance and cold eyes. "Tonight, at the meeting, Althea asked for help. That's what I've come to offer her. Is she home?" His bluntness was appalling. "Perhaps at a more suitable time…" Keffria began, but her mother cut her off.

  "Let them in. Bring them to the study. Keffria, we don't have the luxury of being picky about our allies. Tonight, I am willing to listen to anybody's plan to make our family whole again. No matter how late they come calling."

  "As you will, Mother," Keffria said stiffly. She moved aside and let them enter. The foreign woman dared to give her a sympathetic glance. The woman even smelled odd as she passed Keffria, to say nothing of her strange coloring. Keffria had no quarrel with most foreigners. Many of them were both charming and fascinating. But this bead-maker made her uneasy. Perhaps it was the way the woman assumed equality, no matter what company she was in. As Keffria followed them reluctantly down the hall to the study, she tried not to think of the nasty rumor about this woman and Althea.

  Her mother did not seem to share her misgivings. Despite the fact that she and Keffria were both in their house-robes, she welcomed them in. She even rang Rache to ask her to bring in some tea for their visitors. "Althea has not returned home yet," Ronica told them before Brashen could ask. "I'm waiting up for her."

  He looked concerned. "That was a harsh prank played upon Trader Restart. I wondered at the time if worse awaited him at home." He stood abruptly. "You probably have not heard. Bingtown has been very disturbed tonight. I think I had best go seek for Althea. Have you a horse I might borrow?"