Ship of Magic lt-1

by Robin Hobb

  “Then let us oblige him. Boarders ready! No. Wait.” He took a breath and tried to stand up straight. “I'll lead them myself. Gankis! Come take the wheel. Etta, where is my crutch?”

  It was true. The ship was his for the taking, his luck had held. He had believed in it, he had persevered, and there it was, his beautiful liveship. As they gained her side, he thought he had never seen anything lovelier. From the castle of the Marietta, he could look down on her. There were bodies heaped upon a pile of fallen canvas, and her sails were hiked up like a bawd's skirts, but her silvery hull glistened and the clean lines of her were like music.

  He swayed and Etta clutched at him. Gankis had the wheel now. The old sailor gave him an odd look, half of pity and half of fear.

  “I don't know where your crutch is. Here. Let me get you to the railing.” She grunted with effort as she tugged him along. He came with her in lurching hops until he could lean on it with both hands. “My love,” she said very quietly. “I think you should go below and rest for a time. Let Sorcor secure the liveship for you.”

  “No,” he said savagely. It was so damn hard to remain on his leg, and she had to waste his strength with stupid arguing. “No. She's mine and I'll be among the first on her decks. She's come to me by my luck.”

  “Please,” Etta said, her voice breaking on the word. “My darling. My love. If you could see yourself just now…”

  “Sar,” Sorcor had joined them and he swore the word out on an exhalation. “Oh, Kennit, oh, sir…”

  “I'll be leading the boarding party,” he told Sorcor. His mate wouldn't argue with him. He'd make the damn woman stop arguing with him, too.

  “Yes, sir,” Sorcor confirmed very quietly.

  “You can't mean it!” Etta cried out to Sorcor. “Look at him. He's exhausted, I never should have let him stay on the deck, if I had known what it would cost”

  “Let him go.” Sorcor spoke quietly. He had brought Kennit's crutch, but he set it carefully down on the deck. “I'll rig a bosun's chair for you, sir. And I'll see you safely to the deck of your liveship.”

  “But…” Etta began, but Sorcor cut her off. “I promised him,” he said harshly. “Look at him, woman. Let me keep my promise to my captain.” In a lower voice he added, “I think there's little else we can do now.”

  “But…” she said again. She looked at him and when he met her eyes, something in them seemed to go very still. She did not seem to breathe, only looked at him. Then she looked at Sorcor past him. “I'm going with him, then,” she announced quietly.

  “We both are,” he confirmed it.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Restorations

  The mate roused Althea from a deep sleep with a cautious tug at her sleeve. “Hey,” Grag Tenira said in an undertone. “Captain wants to see you now. He's on anchor watch, so meet him on deck. Roll out now.” Grag turned and left without waiting to see if she would obey.

  A scant second later, Althea's bare feet hit the deck. Around her, the forecastle was dark and quiet. The rest of the crew had liberty tonight. Without exception, they'd gone ashore to carouse. Althea, more eager for solitude than beer, had pleaded lack of coin and stayed aboard to idle and sleep.

  The Ophelia was in port at a small island city called Rinstin. It was one of the few completely legitimate settlements in the islands of the Inside Passage. Originally founded near a tin deposit and possessing a good supply of fresh water, the town of prosperous tin miners was beginning to be a trade center as well. The inhabitants could afford a few of the Rain Wild goods that Tenira had to offer. He'd turn a nice profit selling off the casks of salt meat he'd taken on in Jamaillia as well, and depart with tinwares to sell in Bingtown. The man was a savvy trader. In her brief time with him, Althea had already grown to admire him.

  As she emerged onto the deck and looked about for Captain Tenira, the oddness of the situation suddenly struck her. The captain was on wheel watch in port? And he'd sent the mate to fetch her? A terrible suspicion welled up in her. Ophelia had given away her secret. When Althea spotted the captain smoking his pipe up by the figurehead, her suspicion became certainty. The young sailor perched on the railing nearby would be Grag, waiting to witness her exposure. Her heart sank into her belly.

  Althea paused a moment in the shadows, to smooth her hair back into its queue and rub the sleep from her face. She straightened her worn clothing as best she could. As bad as it had been to be thrown off the Reaper, this was going to be worse. These men knew her family, and would take this tale home with them. So. Head up. No tears, no anger, she promised herself. Dignity and pride. She wished her stomach would settle. She wished she'd had more warning.

  As she walked forward, Ophelia's rich voice carried on the night air, almost as if she intended Althea to hear her words. “And you, Tomie Tenira, are turning into a cranky old curmudgeon, with no sense of adventure left to you.”

  “Ophelia,” her captain warned her.

  “No sense of humor either,” Ophelia confided to Grag. The deck lantern left the mate's face in shadow, and he made no verbal response to her. Althea felt her mouth twist in an ironic smile. She wondered what Grag Tenira thought of his former dance partner now.

  She smoothed the smile from her face. She kept her features dispassionate as she greeted Tenira with, “Reporting, sir.”

  “Indeed,” Captain Tenira said heavily. He took his short pipe from his mouth. “You know what this is about, don't you?”

  She tried not to wince. “I'm afraid so, sir.”

  Tenira leaned back on the railing with a heavy sigh. “We've discussed this, Grag and I. And Ophelia has had her say. And more than her say, as is usual. I intend this for your best, young woman. Gather all your things. Grag will give you some coin and escort you ashore. There's a rooming house on Clamshell Street. It's clean. He'll see you safely there.”

  “Sir,” Althea conceded hopelessly. At least he wasn't shouting angrily at her. By keeping his dignity, he'd allowed her to keep hers. For that, she was grateful. But Ophelia's betrayal of her trust still stung. She looked past him to where Ophelia regarded her sheepishly over one round shoulder. “I asked you not to give me away,” she rebuked her softly. She studied the figurehead's face. “I can't believe you did this to me.”

  “Oh, not fair, my dear! Not fair at all!” Ophelia protested earnestly. “I warned you that you couldn't expect me to keep such a secret from my captain. And I also told you I'd try to find a way for you to stay aboard, if you wished to, under your own name. Now how could I do that without telling him what your real name was?” Ophelia turned her attention to her captain. “Tomie, you're enjoying this. Shame on you! Tell her the rest, right now. The poor girl thinks you mean to maroon her here.”

  “This is Ophelia's idea, not mine,” the captain observed grudgingly. “She's taken quite a shine to you.” He took a draw from his pipe while Althea waited in suspense. “Grag'll give you enough coin to fix yourself up. A bath, the proper clothes and so on. Tomorrow afternoon, you'll come back aboard as Althea Vestrit. And we'll take you home.”

  “And,” Ophelia cut in excitedly. “And, oh, this is the best part, my dear, and you can't imagine how hard it was for me to persuade Tomie. Grag was easy, of course, Grag's always easy, aren't you, my lamb?” She didn't wait for the mate's murmured assent. “You'll be acting as mate for the rest of the voyage home,” she announced to Althea gleefully. “Because a day or so out of Rinstin, poor Grag's going to have such a horrible toothache that he'll take to his bunk. And Tomie ‘s going to ask you to fill in, because he knows you sailed with your father.”

  Grag leaned forward to see her expression at this. At the shock on her face, he burst out laughing. His blue eyes darted to Ophelia, sharing his delight with her.

  “Do you mean it?” Althea asked incredulously. “Oh, how can I thank you?”

  Captain Tenira took the pipe out of his mouth. “You can thank me by doing a damn good job so that no one says I'm daft to have taken you on. And you c
an keep it to yourself, forever, that you ever shipped aboard the Ophelia as a boy and I didn't know it.” He rounded abruptly on his figurehead. “And I expect you to keep your word on that as well, you old busy-body. Not a word of this to anyone, man or liveship.”

  “Why, Tomie, how can you doubt me?” Ophelia demanded. She rolled her eyes and laid a hand over her heart as if stricken. Then she tipped a showy wink to Althea.

  Grag choked and the captain whirled on him. “Stop your sniggering, pup. You'll be as much a laughing-stock as I if this gets out.”

  “I'm not laughing, sir,” Grag lied merrily. “I'm just looking forward to the prospect of reading and lazing all the way from here to Bingtown.” His eyes darted to Althea's to share the joke. His gaze lingered on her face, and she was sure he was trying to see the girl he had known in her grubby boy's guise. She lowered her eyes uncomfortably as his father spoke to him.

  “I'm sure. Well, be prepared to make a quick recovery if I decide I need you on the deck after all.” Captain Tenira swung his gaze back to Althea and almost apologized as he added, “Not that I think I shall. I've heard you can scramble lively and with the best of them. Now. Do you anticipate any problem, ur, changing from boy to girl again?”

  Althea shook her head thoughtfully. “I can go to the rooming house as a sailor lad and get cleaned up there. Tomorrow morning, I'll shop about town for ‘gifts’ for my sister. Then back to my room, change clothes, fix my hair, and whisk out the back. Unnoticed, I hope.”

  “Well. Let's hope it all goes that simply.”

  “I truly don't know how to thank you, sir. All of you,” Althea's warm gaze included Ophelia.

  “There is one other thing I'd ask of you,” Captain Tenira said heavily.

  Something in Althea braced at his tone. “And that is?” she asked.

  “Ophelia has told us about your situation with your ship. If I may be bold, young lady, I advise you to keep it a family matter. Oh, I'll vouch for you, if you prove yourself to me. I'll give you a ship's ticket with a mate's stamp on it, if you perform well. I'll even stand beside you in Traders' Council and take your part if need be. But I'd rather not. Vestrit family business should be settled behind Vestrit doors. I knew your father, not well, but well enough to know that's how he'd prefer it.”

  “I will if I can, sir,” Althea replied gravely. “I'd prefer it that way myself. But if it comes down to it, I'll do whatever I must to regain my ship.”

  “I knew she'd say that,” Grag crowed. He and Ophelia exchanged triumphant glances.

  “I knew your great-grandmother,” Ophelia added. “You take a lot of your looks from her. And your spirit. She'd want you to have her ship. Now, there was a woman who knew how to sail. I remember the day she first brought the Vivacia into Bingtown Harbor. There's even a notation about it in my log for that day, if you'd ever care to see it. Anyway, the breeze was fresh and —”

  “Not now,” Captain Tenira chided Ophelia. He fixed Althea in his gaze. “I've my reasons for asking you to keep Vestrit family business in your family. Selfish reasons. I don't want to be seen as siding with one Trader against another.” When Althea looked puzzled, Tenira shook his head. “You've been away from Bingtown for a while. Things are heating up there. It's no time for Trader against Trader problems.”

  “I know. We got enough problems with the New Traders,” Althea agreed quietly.

  “Would that were all,” Tenira said fervently. “But I fear worse is to come. I got the word in Jamaillia City itself. You know what that fool of a boy — Satrap has done now? Hired Chalcedean mercenaries as privateers to patrol the Inside Passage. Word I got is that he's given them the right to stop in Bingtown for water and supplies. Free of charge. Says it's the least Bingtown should be willing to do to help clean out the pirates. When we left Jamaillia City, his messenger boat was already two days out. With papers authorizing the Satrap's revenue officer to see his Chalcedean hirelings are treated well. ‘To collect contributions for their provisioning’ was the pretty paper he wrapped it in.”

  “We've never allowed armed Chalcedean ships into Bingtown harbor, only trading vessels,” Althea observed quietly.

  “You catch on quick, girl. My guess is that we still won't. It will be interesting to see how the New Traders ally. I fear more will support the Satrap and his Chalcedean dogs than…”

  “Tomie,” Ophelia interrupted. “Save politics for later. You can bore her to tears with that at every meal from here to Bingtown. But first Athel has to become Althea again.” Her eyes lifted to Althea's. “Go on, girl, go fetch your things. Grag will see you ashore and safely to the door of the rooming house.” Her mouth widened in a bawdy grin and she suddenly winked at the mate. “And mind you behave yourself, Grag, for Althea will tell me all about it otherwise. Go along now, but be sure you stop at her door.”

  Althea found herself more flustered at the ship's humor than Grag did. He seemed accustomed to it. “Thank you, sir,” she managed to Captain Tenira. “I do so appreciate this.” Then she hastened away where the shadows could hide her face.

  When she came back out on deck, Grag was waiting for her by the hatch. She shouldered her sea-bag, and was relieved when he had the sense not to offer to carry it for her. She followed him down the gangplank and then up into town. He set a good pace. She found herself without words, and he seemed as shy. The night was mild, and the roads lit with the light spilling out from the sailor taverns they passed. When they came to the door of the rooming house, Grag halted.

  “Well. Here we are,” he said awkwardly. He hesitated as if about to say more.

  Althea resolved to put him at ease. “Can I buy you a beer?” she offered, gesturing to the tavern across the street.

  He glanced at it, and his blue eyes were wide as they came back to hers. “I don't think I'd be comfortable,” he said honestly. “Besides. My father would skin me if I took a lady in a place like that.” After a moment, he added, “But thank you.” He didn't move.

  Althea ducked her head to hide her smile. “Well. Good night, then.”

  “Yes.” He shuffled his feet, then hitched up his trousers. “Uh, I'm supposed to meet you tomorrow and bring you back to the ship. As if it's ‘by chance,’ as Ophelia put it.” He looked down at his feet. “I don't want to look all over town for you. Shall we meet somewhere?” His eyes came up to her face again.

  “That would be a good idea,” she said quietly. “Where do you suggest?”

  He looked away. “There's a place just down the street from here.” He pointed through the darkness. “Eldoy's. They make chowder and fresh bread there. It's very good. We could meet there. I'd buy you dinner, and you could tell me your adventures. Since you left Bingtown.” His eyes came back to her face and he managed a smile. “Or since we last danced together.”

  So he had recalled that. She returned his smile.

  He had a good face, open and honest. She thought of what she had seen of him, especially him and his father and Ophelia together. The fondness and ease that existed among them made her suddenly hunger for such things as simple jokes and companionable times. When she smiled back at him, his grin widened before he looked away. “I'll meet you there tomorrow afternoon,” she agreed easily.

  “Good. Good, then, that's settled. Good night, then.” Almost hastily, he turned away from her. He gave another hitch to his trousers and then shifted his cap to the back of his head. She smiled as she watched him walk away. He had a jaunty sailor's roll to his gait. She recalled now that he'd been a very good dancer.

  “You know something?” Tarlock queried drunkenly. “I know you. I'm sure I know you.”

  “Not surprising. I'm only the mate on your ship,” Brashen told him disgustedly. He swiveled in his seat so he didn't have to face the seaman. Tarlock didn't take the hint.

  “No. No, I mean, yeah, that's true. That's true, you're mate on the Springeve. But I knew you before that. Way before that.” With elaborate care, he sat down beside Brashen. His mug sloshed a bit over the
lip as he set it down.

  Brashen didn't turn to face him. Instead he lifted his own mug and drank from it as if he hadn't noticed Tarlock had joined him. He'd been alone at the tavern table before the grizzled old sot had sought him out. He'd wanted to be alone. This was the first port the Springeve had made since they'd left Candletown, and Brashen had wanted time to think.

  His job was pretty much what he'd expected it to be. The day-today running of the shallow-draft vessel was not a large strain on his abilities. Most of the crew aboard her had been with her for some time and knew their tasks well enough. He'd had to back up his bark with his fists a few times, especially when he first came aboard, but that was something he'd expected. Men were bound to challenge a new mate, regardless of whether he came aboard fresh or rose up through their ranks. It was just how sailors were. Knowledge and ability weren't enough in a mate; he had to be able to back it up with his fists. Brashen could. That wasn't the problem.

  It was his off-ship tasks that were bothering him. Initially the ship had followed the coast of Jamaillia north, skipping along its increasingly broken shoreline. Now it ventured from island to island, skirting and sometimes venturing into what was acknowledged as pirate territory. This little town was typical. It was little more than a wharf and a handful of warehouses on a scummy slough. A couple of taverns housed a few run-down whores. A scatter of hovels marred the hillside behind the taverns. The town had no reason to exist that Brashen could see.

  Yet he'd spent the whole afternoon with a sword hanging at his belt and a truncheon in his hand. He'd been watching his captain's back, standing guard behind him as he sat at a table in one of those warehouses. Between his captain's feet was a chest of coins. Three of the most suspicious sea-dogs Brashen had ever encountered brought out merchandise samples, a bit at a time, and prices were negotiated. The variety and condition betrayed the source of their wares. Brashen had felt a surge of disgust with himself when the captain had turned to ask his opinion on some blood-spattered but heavily illustrated manuscripts. “How much are they worth?” Captain Finny had demanded.