Rain Wilds Chronicles

by Robin Hobb

  A hastily rigged tripod lifted and swung crates from the ship’s deck to the rudimentary dock where men grunted and swore as they caught them and guided them down. She spotted Carson’s silhouette, and Lecter’s, and then she saw Sedric among those dragging the crates from the dock to the shore. That made her smile. Alum was there, working alongside Skelly, and she suspected she knew why he had volunteered to stay and help with the last of the unloading. Once the crates were off the dock, they were loaded onto barrows and shuttled off to their temporary warehouse. The work proceeded in a steady, orderly fashion, the deck and shore crews moving in their concerted efforts as if in a careful dance.

  She caught sight of Thymara working alongside the men, and Nortel. There was Tats, shouting to Davvie to come lend a hand with the final crate he was struggling to shift. It came to her to wonder when a ship had last unloaded supplies for this city. What had this river port looked like in the days of the Elderlings? Too careless a thought. She knew a dizzying moment of double vision and saw a sprawling dock system and a score of vessels moored to it. Lights on tall poles streamed golden rays down on the broad-beamed, brightly painted vessels, and all manner of people came and went on the wharves. Some were Elderling by their dress and tall silhouettes, but others seemed to be foreigners to these shores. They wore tall hats and were garbed in long furs. She blinked and then squinted her eyes, willing herself back to the present. The Elderlings faded and the ships became fog until only the Tarman rode at anchor on the river’s tugging current.

  “And that’s the last of it, boys!” Hennesey shouted as four netted casks landed with a thump on the dock. A ragged cheer went up from the crew and the keepers. “Still got to get it all under cover, so don’t think the work is all done yet!” the mate reminded them.

  Alise had to agree. It looked like so much cargo, crates and kegs stacked in rows in the street as the keepers struggled to move it to shelter. But when she thought of the long months that remained and all the work that must be done before the keepers could create their own food supplies, her heart sank. Food from Trehaug would still have to be managed carefully, and wild game and forest greens would remain the bulk of their diet.

  So much to do, such a long distance to go before the city would function as a real city. Kelsingra needed seed for crops, plows to break the meadow soil, and horses to draw those plows. Most difficult of all was that the keepers would have to learn how to provide for themselves. Sons and daughters of hunters and gatherers, merchants and traders, former residents of a city that had never been able to feed itself, would they adapt to tilling fields and raising kine?

  And even if they did, were there enough of them to sustain it? The male-to-female ratio was worrisome and had been from the beginning.

  Resolutely, she pushed it all from her thoughts. Not tonight. Tonight was hers, finally. She reached the bottom of the hill and threaded her way through the crates and boxes and out onto the dock. “Watch your step!” Carson cautioned her with a grin. “We’ve given these timbers a real test tonight, and some are starting to split. One of the hazards of building with green logs.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised him.

  The emptied Tarman rode high, and the taut anchor lines hummed a quiet song of vigilance. She eyed the makeshift gangplank, steep and worn. No. She wouldn’t ask for help. She started up it, her Elderling shoes surprisingly sure on the wet wood, but was scarcely three steps up before Leftrin came leaping down to her. Heedless of the treacherous surface, he seized her in a hug that lifted her off her feet. Close by her ear, his unshaven cheek prickling hers, he told her, “I have missed you like I’d miss air in my lungs. I can’t leave you again. Just can’t, my lady.”

  “You won’t,” she promised him, and in the next gasped breath, demanded, “Put me down before we both go overboard!”

  “Not a chance!” As casually as if she were a child, he swung her up into his arms and in two steps thudded her down on Tarman’s deck. He set her on her feet but did not release her. His embrace warmed her as nothing else could. Perhaps her days in the Elderling city had sensitized her, but she felt Tarman’s welcome of her as a warmth that flowed up from where her feet touched his deck to engulf her whole body.

  “That’s amazing,” she murmured into Leftrin’s shoulder. She lifted her face slightly to ask him, “How do I let him know that it’s mutual?”

  “Oh, he knows, trust me. He knows it just as I know it.”

  She could smell his scent. Not cologne such as Hest had often worn, but the scent of a man and the work he had done that day. His hands held her firmly against him; she surrendered to the rush of arousal that suffused her and turned her face up to his to be kissed.

  “Sir. Captain Leftrin.”

  “What?” His bark was more demand than question. Alise turned her head to find Skelly stifling a grin. Her hair gleamed from being freshly brushed, and she had abandoned her trousers and tunic for a flowered skirt and a pale yellow blouse and looked, Alise thought to herself, more like a girl than she ever had before.

  “Everything is tidied away, and the mate says he has no more tasks for me. Permission to go ashore for the night, sir?”

  Leftrin straightened. “Skelly. As your captain, I’ll grant you a night’s leave. But you are to be back here by dawn’s light, to help take Tarman across the water. Be late, and you won’t see this city again for a month. Are we clear on that?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be here, I promise.”

  As she spun excitedly away, he cleared his throat. Skelly halted to look back at him.

  “As your uncle, I’ll remind you that we had no opportunity to speak to your parents or your fiancé. They all still have assumptions about commitments from you. You are not free. Even if I thought it was wise to do so, I couldn’t give you that sort of permission. You know what I’m talking about. I’m responsible for you. But even more so, you are responsible for yourself. Don’t risk either of us.”

  Skelly’s cheeks had gone red. The smile flattened from her face. “I know,” she said sharply, and then, “sir,” she added, as if fearful he would revoke her shore time.

  Leftrin shook his head, then shrugged. “Go see your friends. Wander the city. Sa knows, I’m as curious as you are about this place. And if I were a deckhand instead of the captain of this vessel, I’d want to get off and take a good look. But I’m not. So I’ll be staying aboard, and I’ll expect to find you at the galley table when dawn breaks, ready for a day’s work.”

  “Sir,” she agreed and spun on her heel. In a twinkling, she was down on the dock and hurrying up the street. As they watched, Alum waved a farewell to Tats and Sedric and hurried after her.

  “Are you sure that was wise?” Alise asked, and then wondered at her own temerity.

  “I am sure it was not,” he told her. “Come.”

  Together they began the slow circuit of Tarman’s deck that always presaged bed and rest for them. Bed. No rest tonight, and a sudden shiver of desire rushed through her. A moment later, Leftrin smiled. “That’s an odd reaction for a lady to have to a poor sailor checking his knots.”

  “This ship keeps none of my secrets from you.” She laughed and walked to the next cleat to inspect the lines for herself. As Leftrin came to join her, she said more quietly, “I fear for your niece. While you have been gone, I have watched this place change all the young keepers. Alum is no exception. Skelly may not find him the same young man she left behind.”

  Leftrin smiled wryly. “That is ever the fate of sailors! And if you are correct, the sooner she discovers it, the better. And then she may be glad that she did not break her engagement with her beau in Trehaug.” He shook his head and in response to her unasked question, added, “There were many things I did not get done there. Did Malta and Reyn tell you the full tale of how the Council received me, and of the dastardly attack on Malta and her babe?”

  “I had the bones of it. I do not think Malta wanted to relive it, and Reyn strikes me as a man who always speaks l
ess than he knows.”

  Leftrin made a wry face. “They are private people. Despite their beauty, I think they have lived a life apart. Perhaps because of it. Or it may be caution. They may fear treachery still. Who would ever have imagined Malta the Elderling attacked by Chalcedeans in a Rain Wild city? It speaks to me of a duke who is very determined to get what he wants, and Traders corrupt enough to help him in that insanity. Alise, I know you have feared for the city. But the treasure that seems to be sought most at this time is not Elderling artifacts but dragon flesh. The rewards for it must be very high indeed if two men were willing to murder a woman and a newborn child in the hope of passing off their bodies as dragon meat. The dragons have shown already that they can drive off approaching ships. But what I fear is what will eventually happen if they feel they must continue to defend themselves. Sooner or later, human lives will be lost. Possibly many of them. And if there is war between humans and dragons, where will the Elderlings stand?”

  Alise walked with him in silence as they checked the last three lines. She heard the low murmur of voices and glanced up. On the roof of the deckhouse, Hennesey was standing, a wide smile on his face as he told some sailor story to a strange woman. Her scaled face reflected light from the tethered globes. So. That must be Tillamon, Reyn’s sister. She seemed captured by the mate’s tale. The Rain Wild woman was well bundled against the night’s damp chill. Someone had thought to bring her an Elderling gown. Probably Sylve, Alise thought to herself. In the reflected light of the failing torches, it glimmered copper and bronze. She was smiling up at Hennesey as he concluded his story, and they both laughed aloud at the finish of it. Much as she wanted to meet Reyn’s sister, Alise knew that now would not be a good time for pleasantries.

  Leftrin halted beside her. His eyes were narrowed, and a slight scowl bent his lips. She took his arm and drew him along with her as she approached the galley door. “They do as we do, my dear. They take what joy they may find in life as they can. As you well know that Skelly has run off to do tonight, also. The shadows of harsh times creep over us. For in a battle between dragons and men, my love, it is not only the Elderlings who must decide where they stand, but you and me as well.”

  They stepped into the cramped little galley of the ship. The room was deserted. A single mug, half full of coffee, graced the table. The small room smelled of coffee and cooking grease, tar and people living in close quarters. Alise felt her heart lift. “It’s so good to be home,” she said.

  He folded her into his arms, his hand sleeking her Elderling robe to her body. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, slowly and gently, as if all the time in the world belonged to them. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, she was breathless. Words came in a whisper. “Now is all we really have, isn’t it?”

  He tucked her against him, his chin resting on top of her head as if she were an instrument he was preparing to play. “Now is enough,” he murmured. “Now is enough for me.”

  Day the 2nd of the Plough Moon

  Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

  From Reyall, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown

  To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug, and Erek

  Standard message tube, wax applied.

  I am sure you are aware of the unhappiness of many of our patrons. The Bingtown Traders’ Council has now filed a formal petition asking that the Bird Keepers’ Guild accept a Committee of Traders to look into allegations of corruption, spying, and the selling of secrets. Messages and even birds have gone missing now. I think it likely we can blame some of the missing birds on the unwieldy message tubes and attachments that we are now being required to use!

  Three of our apprentices have reported being approached by Trader families wishing to breed and use birds of their own to establish private message flocks. I do not need to explain to you how this would undermine the Guild. A whole way of life and livelihood will be lost if this comes to pass.

  We have been directed here to adhere strictly to all rules about messages between keepers. Appending an additional message to an official message sent by a client is now cause for dismissal from the Guild. We must do bird counts three times a day, including eggs and fledglings, and any bad eggs or young birds that die in the nest must be witnessed by three keepers of journey level or higher before they can be disposed of. Bird handlers in Bingtown are allowed to touch only birds specifically registered to their own coops. Informally helping one another, allowed in the past, is now forbidden.

  Have these measures also been enacted in Trehaug or Cassarick or the lesser settlements? I will tell you that there are rumors that the Guild is sending out “testers,” but the gossip does not tell if these are men attempting to bribe bird handlers, or if they are messages designed to tempt those who tamper and spy. It saddens me that I rise to being a full Keeper of the Birds in these distrustful times.

  In happier news, Erek, your swift birds appear to be breeding true. Two of the offspring set records this last week in a race back to Bingtown after being released from a ship that was four days out of port. I have submitted the breeding records to the Guild masters, noting that you were the one who saw the potential and began specifically breeding this line. I hope they will recognize your expertise.

  With respect and affection,

  Reyall

  CHAPTER NINE

  Passing Ships

  Hest was trapped in someone else’s life. This was not the existence of the heir-son of a Bingtown Trader! He had never lived in such miserable conditions, let alone traveled in them. He’d lost count of the days he’d been confined belowdecks. He still wore the same garments he had been wearing when the Chalcedean had abducted him. Now they hung on him, their tailoring a victim of his greatly reduced diet and heavy labor. He knew he stank, but his only option for washing himself was cold river water, and he knew the dangers of using it. The chores the Chalcedean gave him put him out on the deck in the weather as often as not. His hands and face were chapped and sore from exposure to rain and chill and sun; his clothes were fading and tattering. He could not remember the last time his feet had been dry. He was starting to develop sores under his toes, and the wind-reddened skin on his face and hands stung constantly.

  He still had nightmares about disposing of Redding’s body. Dragging Arich’s body out along the narrow walkways in the dark and rain and eventually shoving him over the edge had been disgusting and unpleasant work. They had heard his falling body crashing through branches, but there had been no final sound. It had made Hest queasy, but it paled in comparison to his final parting with Redding. The Chalcedean had made him carry Redding’s body, and they had gone quite a distance, choosing always the tree paths that seemed least used. Eventually they had been balancing along a limb that had no safety ropes at all. Redding’s body was slung across Hest’s shoulders as if he were a hunter bearing home a deer. The familiar fragrance of Redding’s pomade mingled with the smell of the blood that dribbled down Hest’s neck. With every step, his limp burden had grown heavier and more horrific. Yet he had no choice but to lurch along in front of the man with the knife at his back. He suspected that if he had fallen while carrying the body, the man would have thought it of little consequence. The Chalcedean had finally chosen a spot where the narrowing limb of their tree crossed branches with another. Hest had propped Redding there and left him for the scavengers to find. “Ants and such will take him down to bones in just a few days. If he is found, which I doubt, no one will be able to tell who he was. Now we go back to your room and obscure all sign that you were ever in Cassarick.”

  He had meant it quite literally. He’d burned the children’s hands in the pottery hearth and destroyed the elaborate boxes that had held them. Redding’s cloak became a sack to hold the precious stones he’d salvaged from the boxes. He’d departed briefly, warning Hest not to leave. Hest suspected that he went to murder the woman who had rented him the room. If he did, he accomplished it very quietly. Perhaps, Hest told himself as he gritted his tee
th to keep them from chattering, he had only bribed her well. But he was gone a very long time, leaving Hest alone in the room that smelled of burned flesh and spilled blood. Sitting in the dimness, he could not shake the image of Redding’s ruined face peering back at him from the crook of the tree. The Chalcedean had slashed it repeatedly, crosshatching it with cuts until his familiar features were eradicated. Redding’s eyes had stared out from the dangling tatters of his once-handsome face.

  Hest had always thought of himself as a ruthless Trader. Deception, spying, sharp deals that bordered on theft; he had never seen any advantage to being fair, let alone ethical. Trade was a rough game and “every Trader needs to watch his own back,” as his father often said. It had pleased him to think of himself as rough-and-tumble, a man hardened to everything. But never had he been a party to murder. He hadn’t loved Redding, not as Sedric overused that tired word. But Redding had been an adept lover and a jolly companion. And his death had left Hest alone in this mess. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he had told the dying flames. “It’s not my fault. If Sedric had never made his insane bargain, I wouldn’t be here now. It’s all Sedric’s fault.”

  He had not heard the door open, but he had felt the draft and seen the hearth flames flicker. The Chalcedean was a black shadow against the blackness beyond. He pulled the door quietly closed. “Now, you will write a few letters for me. Then, we shall deliver them.”

  Hest had been beyond questioning what was happening to him. He wrote the letters as he was told, to names he did not recognize, signing his own name to them. In the notes he bragged of his reputation as a clever Trader and directed the letter recipients to meet him before dawn at the impervious boat that was tied up at the docks. Every letter was identical, stressing discretion and hinting that a great fortune awaited them now that “our plans have come to fruition,” and citing names of Traders that Hest had never even met.