Mad Ship tlt-2

by Robin Hobb

  "Just my old—" Ronica began, but at that moment, there was a noise at the door. Brashen stepped into the hall to view the entry with an alacrity that betrayed his concern.

  "It's Althea, and a boy," he declared, and strode off to meet her as if this were his home and she the guest. Keffria exchanged a look with her mother. Although Ronica looked only puzzled, Keffria was feeling increasingly affronted by his odd behavior. Something was not right about that man.

  She tried to take the boy's hand to lead him to the door, but he drew back from her touch. Poor lad. How badly had he been treated, to fear the simple touch of a hand? She opened the door and gestured him inside. "It's all right. No one's going to hurt you. Come inside." She spoke slowly and reassuringly. She wasn't sure he even understood her. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd left Davad's house. It had been a long weary walk in the dark, with only dark thoughts to occupy her. She'd failed badly tonight. She'd talked out of turn at the Council's meeting, and possibly hastened its early adjournment. The Council hadn't even formally agreed to hear their concerns. She'd been forced to face what Davad Restart had become; she feared there were many other Traders who had slid down just as far. And her quick tongue had burdened her with a boy she had no means to care for. She'd brought that down on herself. She wanted nothing so much as a bath and her bed, but she supposed she'd have to see to the boy's needs first. At least, little else could go wrong tonight. Then she thought of facing Keffria and her mother after all she'd said to the Council. Her mood plummeted.

  The boy had come up the steps but made no move to go inside. Althea opened the door wide, and stepped inside. "Come on in," she coaxed.

  "Thank Sa you're all right!"

  She jumped and spun about at the deep masculine voice behind her. Brashen was bearing down on her. Relief shone on his face, to be instantly replaced by a frown. A moment later he was chewing her out as if she were an incompetent deckhand.

  "You're damn lucky you weren't waylaid. When I heard you'd driven Restart's carriage off, I couldn't believe it. Why would you throw in with an ass like that, with feelings running so high against… oh. What is that?" He halted a step away from her, his expression changing. He lifted a hand to his nose.

  "S'not me!" The boy beside her piped up indignantly. A Six Duchies' twang twisted his tongue. "S'her. She's got shit aloover'er." At Althea's outraged glare, he shrugged apologetically. "Y'do. Y'need a bat' " he added in a small voice.

  It was the final blow. It was too much to endure. She transferred the frown to Brashen. "Why are you here?" she asked. The words came out more bluntly than she'd intended.

  Brashen's eyes traveled up and down her filthy robe before coming back to her face. "I was worried about you. As usual, you seemed to have survived your impulses. But, set that aside, I have something very important to discuss with you. Regarding going after Vivacia. Amber and I think we have a plan. You might think it's stupid, you probably won't like it, but I think it will work." He spoke hastily, his words coming too fast as if challenging her to disapprove. "If you'll only listen and think about it, you'll come to find it's really the only way to save her." He met her eyes again. "But that can wait. The boy is right. You should wash first. The smell is pretty bad." A small smile came and went on his face.

  It was too close an echo of his words when they'd parted in Candletown. Was he mocking her, to remind her of that, here and now? How dare he speak so familiarly to her, inside her own home? She scowled at him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but the boy's voice cut him off. "Nothen' stenks wors'n peg shet," the boy agreed cheerily. "Doon't let her get et on'yer," he cautioned Brashen.

  "Small chance of that," she told them both coldly. She met Brashen's eyes. "You can let yourself out," she told him. As she stalked by him, he gaped after her. The boy she could forgive; he was only a lad, in a foreign place and a strange situation. Trell had no such excuse for his manners. She'd had too long a day to listen to anything from him. She was exhausted, filthy and, Sa help her, hungry. Light and voices came from her father's study. She'd have to face her mother and Keffria as well.

  By the time she reached the door of her father's study, she had put a facade of calmness on her face. She stepped into the pleasant room, well aware that the smell of pig offal preceded her. She'd get it over quickly. "I'm home, I'm safe. I brought a little boy with me. Davad was using him as a stable boy… Mother, I know we cannot take on any more burdens just now, but he was tattooed as a slave and I simply couldn't leave him there." The look on Keffria's face was one of social horror. Althea's explanation halted as she met Amber's eyes. She was here, too?

  The slave-boy stood in the doorway, pale eyes wide. His gaze darted from person to person. He did not speak. When Althea attempted to take his arm to pull him into the room, he snatched his hand away from her. She gave a false laugh. "I think it's the blood and dung. He didn't want to ride with me on the horse; that's what kept me so long. When I couldn't get him to mount with me, we left the horse and came home on foot."

  Althea glanced about for rescue. Keffria was staring past her. Althea glanced over her shoulder. Brashen Trell stood slightly behind her, arms crossed, looking very stubborn. He met her gaze steadily. His expression didn't change.

  "Come in, boy. No one will hurt you. What's your name?" Ronica sounded weary but kind. The lad stayed where he was.

  Althea abruptly decided to escape, at least for now. "I'm going up to bathe and change. I won't be long."

  "It won't take long for me to tell you our idea," Brashen countered pushily.

  Their gazes locked. She refused to look aside from him. He himself smelled of smoke and cindin. Who did he think he was? She wasn't going to let him bully her here in her father's house. "I'm afraid I'm much too tired to listen to any more from you, Brashen Trell." Her voice walked a thin line between correct and cold as she added, "I believe it's far too late for conversation." The line of his mouth flattened. For a moment, he almost looked hurt at her rebuff.

  Rache coming into the room interrupted their standoff. She carried a tray with a large pot of tea and cups on it. There was a small plate of spice cakes, just enough to be polite. The boy didn't move from where he stood, but he flared his nose and snuffed after them like a dog.

  "Althea." Her mother's tone more reminded than rebuked. "I, at least, am interested in what Brashen has to propose. I think we need to consider every possible solution to our situation. If you are that tired, we will, of course, excuse you. But I'd rather that you returned." Her mother's gaze traveled to the serving woman. She smiled at her apologetically. "Rache, if you don't mind, I think we'll need more cups. And something more substantial than spice cakes for the boy, please." Ronica's voice was as measured and controlled as if this were an everyday occurrence.

  Her mother's courtesy jabbed at Althea's conscience. This was still her father's house. She softened her tone. "If you wish, Mother. If you'll excuse me, I'll only be a few moments."

  Keffria poured for their odd guests. She tried to make polite conversation, but her mother stared at the cold grate while Brashen paced the room. Amber chose to sit cross-legged on the floor not far from where the boy hovered. She ignored Keffria's attempts at small talk. Instead, she lured the slave-boy with bits of cake, as if he were a shy puppy, until he finally snatched a whole cake from her hand. Amber did not seem to think her own behavior odd or outrageous at all. She smiled proudly when the boy stuffed the whole cake into his mouth. "You see," she said to him quietly. "Folk are kind here. You're safe now."

  Althea was true to her word. Rache had scarcely come back with more tea, cups and a plate of warmed food for the boy before she returned. She must have washed with cold water to be so quick, Keffria thought to herself. She was attired in a simple house-robe. Her wet hair had been braided and pinned up severely. The cold water had rouged her cheeks. She somehow managed to look both tired and freshened. Without any apologies, she helped herself to tea and cakes. She glanced at Amber, then went to join her on the flo
or. The boy sat on the other side of her, completely engrossed in his food. She addressed her first words to Amber. "Brashen says you have a plan to save the Vivacia. He also told me I wouldn't like it, but that I'd come to see it was the only way. What is it?"

  Amber gave Brashen a sidelong glance. "Thank you for preparing her so well," she said with dry sarcasm. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug followed by a sigh. "It is late. I think I should state it briefly, and then leave you all to think about it." The woman flowed smoothly to her feet, as if a string attached to her head had lifted her from the floor. She advanced to the center of the room and looked around at all of them to be sure of their attention. She smiled at the boy, who was wolfing down the food on the platter. He was aware of nothing save the next bite. Amber sketched a small bow and began. She put Keffria in mind of an actor on the stage.

  "I propose this. To recapture a liveship, let us use a liveship." Her gaze touched each of them in turn. "The Paragon, to be precise. We buy, lease or steal him, put a crew aboard with Brashen in command and go after the Vivacia." In the shocked silence that followed, she added, "If you suspect my motive in this, be assured that at least half of it is to save the Paragon from being turned into lumber. I think your good friend Davad Restart could be instrumental in getting the Ludlucks to part with the ship for a reasonable price. He has seemed to have their ear for the outrageous offers the New Traders have been making. Perhaps he might be willing to seize this opportunity to save face with the Old Traders. Perhaps that is even truer after tonight's events. I'm willing to put up everything I own as part payment for the ship. So. What say you?"

  "No." Althea spoke flatly.

  "Why not?" Malta demanded. She stepped into the room from the hallway. She wore a wrapper of thick blue wool over her white nightgown. Her cheeks were pink from sleep yet. She glanced about the room. "I had a nightmare. When I woke up, I heard your voices. I came down to see what was going on," she offered by way of explanation. "I heard you say we might be able to send a ship after Papa. Mama, Grandmother, why should Althea be able to forbid us to do this? It seems a sensible plan to me. Why not go rescue Papa ourselves?"

  Althea began to tick the reasons off on her fingers. "Paragon is mad. He has killed whole crews before; he might again. Paragon is a liveship, who should not be sailed by anyone except his family. He hasn't been sailed in years. He hasn't even been floated. I don't think we have the coin to both buy the Paragon and refit him as he would need. Moreover, if we do this, why should Brashen be captain? Why not me?"

  Brashen gave a snort of laughter. His voice broke strangely. "And there you have her real objection!" he observed. He drew out a kerchief and wiped perspiration from his brow.

  No one else laughed. There was a feverish note to his behavior that even Althea seemed to notice. She frowned at Amber, but the woman did not deign to notice it. Keffria decided that perhaps it was her turn to be blunt. "Forgive me if I sound skeptical. I do not see why either of you should wish to become involved in this. Why should a foreigner wish to risk her whole fortune on a mad liveship? What does it profit Brashen Trell to risk his life for a man who found his seamanship unsatisfactory? We could gamble what is left of the Vestrit finances, only to lose it all, if you never returned."

  Brashen's eyes flashed. "I may be disinherited, but that does not mean I am totally without honor." He paused and shook his head. "Plain words, tonight, will serve us all best. Keffria Vestrit, you fear I'd take the Paragon and turn pirate. I could. I don't deny that. But I wouldn't. Whatever differences Althea and I may have, I think she'll still vouch for my integrity. I know your father would have."

  "Speaking for myself," Amber added smoothly, "I've already told you that I wish to prevent the Paragon from being dismantled. We are friends. I am also a friend of your sister Althea. In addition, this is something that I feel I am called to do. I can explain it no better than that. I'm afraid you'll have to take my offer at face value. I can offer you no other assurances."

  A silence fell in the room. Brashen slowly folded his arms on his chest. His brow was deeply lined. He fixed his gaze on Althea and stared at her, in a challenge that made no pretense of courtesy. Althea refused to meet it. She looked instead at her mother. Malta fidgeted, looking from one adult to another.

  "I'll come back tomorrow evening," Brashen said suddenly. He waited until Althea glanced at him. "Think it over, Althea. I saw the mood of the Traders as they left tonight. I doubt that you'll get any other offers of aid, let alone a better one." He paused. In a softer voice he spoke only to her, "If you want to speak to me before then, leave a message at Amber's shop. She knows where to find me."

  "Are you living aboard Paragon?" Althea's voice sounded hoarse.

  "At nights. Sometimes." Brashen's voice was non-committal.

  "And how much cindin have you used today?" she suddenly demanded. There was a cruel edge to the question.

  "None at all." Brashen permitted himself a bitter smile. "That's the problem." He glanced at Amber. "I think I had best be going now."

  "I think I need to stay a bit longer." Amber sounded almost apologetic.

  "As you see fit. Well. Good evening to you all, then." Brashen sketched a bow.

  "Wait!" Malta's plea sounded sharp. "Please, I mean. Please wait." Keffria thought she had never heard such anxiety in her daughter's voice. "May I ask some questions? About Paragon?"

  Brashen focused his entire attention on her. "If you're asking my permission, certainly."

  Malta shot a pleading look around the room. "If he is going to leave us to think on this, then… it is like you are always telling me, Grandmother. We cannot argue with numbers. Nor can we make decisions without them. So, to consider this at all, we first need to know the numbers."

  Ronica Vestrit looked snared between shock and approval. "That's true."

  Malta took a breath. "So. My Aunt Althea seems to think that the Paragon will need many repairs before he can sail. But I have always heard the wizardwood doesn't rot. Do you think he needs to be refitted?"

  Brashen nodded. "Not as much as if he were a ship of ordinary wood, but yes, there is much to be done. The Paragon is an old ship. Far more wizardwood was used in his construction than in later liveships. Those parts of him that are wizardwood are sound. Much of the rest of him is in surprisingly good condition. I think wizardwood repels many of the boring worms and pests much as cedar repels moths. But there is still a great deal of work and supplies he would need. New masts, new canvas, new lines. Anchors, chain and a ship's boat, plus a kit for the kitchen, carpenter tools, a medicine chest… all of the things a ship must carry aboard it to become its own little world. Many of his seams should be re-caulked. A lot of his brightwork needs replacing. Amber has restored much of his interior wood and fixtures, but there is still a great deal to be done.

  "There would be the further expense of buying the foodstuffs necessary to stock the ship for the voyage. We'd need a secret store of money or goods, in the hopes we can make a ransom offer for the ship and men. Weapons, also, would have to be bought, in case Captain Kennit refuses to dicker, and if we can afford any deck machines, they'd have to be installed. And there would have to be some coin up-front to hire hands for the voyage."

  Althea found her voice. "Do you believe you'll find any decent sailors willing to sign aboard the Paragon? I think you are forgetting his reputation as a killer. Unless you are willing to pay above top wages, why should a good hand ship out on such a vessel?"

  Keffria could hear that Althea was trying to keep her voice civil. She suspected that her sister's interest was roused despite her disparagement of the idea.

  "It would be a problem," Brashen conceded easily. He pulled out the kerchief again and wiped his face. His hands trembled very slightly as he carefully refolded it. "There might be a few who would sign on simply for the daring of it. There are always some sailors with more guts than brains. I'd start with the Vivacia's old hands first, asking those of your father's crew that Kyle discharged.
Some of them might go for the sake of the ship herself, or your father's memory. For the rest—" He shrugged. "We would end up with the dregs and the troublemakers. A great deal would depend on whom we could get as first mate. A good mate can make a working crew out of near anything, if he's given a free hand."

  "What's to keep them from turning on you when—"

  "Numbers!" Malta broke in irritably. "There is no sense in worrying about 'what ifs' until we know if it is financially possible." She went to her grandfather's old desk. "If I give you paper and ink, can you write up for us what you think it would cost?"

  "I'm not an expert," Brashen began. "Some things would have to be done by professionals and—"

  "Assuming you'd find any shipwrights willing to work on the Paragon," Althea chimed in sarcastically. "His reputation is bad. And assuming the Ludlucks give permission and—"

  Malta's hands clenched into fists on the paper she had taken from the drawer. Keffria thought she would ball it up and throw it to the ground. Instead, the girl closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath. "Assuming all that, then. How much money? And can we possibly get it? Until we answer those questions, there is no point in asking others!"

  "We may just as easily be defeated by these other factors as by a lack of money!" Althea snorted in exasperation.

  "All I am saying," Malta said in a tightly controlled voice, "is that we should consider those factors in the order in which they may defeat us. If we have no money to hire hands, then we don't have to worry about who will or will not sail for us."

  Althea stared at the girl. Keffria felt her muscles tighten. Althea could be sharp-tongued. If she mocked Malta now, when the girl was trying so hard to be pragmatic, Keffria would not even try to control her temper.

  "You're right," Althea said suddenly. She looked suddenly at their mother. "Do we have any reserves left at all? Anything not entailed, anything we can sell off?"