The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  ‘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 damned good job so that no one says I’m daft to have taken you on. And you can keep it to yourself, for ever, that you ever shipped aboard 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, do 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 the 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 Harbour. 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 harbour, 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 humour 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. Goodnight, 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 th
ere. 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 he 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 swivelled 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-to-day running of the shallow-draught 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. 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 rundown 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.

  Brashen had pushed aside a squirming memory. ‘Not worth dying for,’ he’d said dryly. Finny had laughed and named a price. When Brashen nodded, the pirates selling their loot had consulted one another briefly, then accepted it. He’d felt soiled by the transaction. He’d suspected from the start that the Springeve would be trading in such goods. He just hadn’t imagined himself inspecting merchandise with a dead man’s blood on it.

  ‘Tell ya what,’ Tarlock offered slyly. ‘I’ll just say a name. You recall it, you tip me a wink and we’ll say no more about it. No more at all.’

  Brashen spoke softly over his shoulder. ‘How about you shut up right now and stop bothering me, and I don’t black both your eyes?’

  ‘Now is that any way to talk to an old-shipmate?’ Tarlock whined.

  The man was too drunk for his own good. Too drunk to be effectively threatened. Not drunk enough to pass out. But that, perhaps, Brashen could remedy. He changed tactics and turned back to face him. He forced a smile to his face. ‘You know, you’re right. Now I don’t recall that I’ve shipped with you before, but what difference need that make? As we’re shipmates now, let’s have a drink together. Boy! Let’s have some rum here, the good dark stuff, not this piss-thin beer you’ve been serving us.’

  Tarlock’s demeanour brightened considerably. ‘Well. That’s a bit more like it,’ he observed approvingly. He raised his mug and hastily drank his beer down to be ready for the rum when it arrived. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and grinned at Brashen, displaying what remained of his teeth. ‘Thought I recognized you when you first come aboard, I did. Been a long time, though. What’s it been, let’s see. Ten years? Ten years ago aboard the Hope?’

  The Despair. Brashen took a pull from his own mug and appeared to consider. ‘Me, you mean? Ten years ago? You’re mistaken, man, ten years ago I was just a lad. Just a lad.’

  ‘Right. That you were. That’s what made me uncertain, at first. You didn’t have a whisker to your chin, then.’

  ‘No, that I didn’t,’ Brashen agreed affably. The serving boy came with the bottle and two glasses. Brashen clenched his teeth and paid for the liquor. He grinned at Tarlock and elbowed the small glass aside. The rum gurgled happily as Brashen poured it into the sailor’s emptied beer mug. Tarlock beamed. Brashen tipped a bit into his own glass, then lifted it in salute. ‘So here’s to shipmates, old and new.’

  They drank together. Tarlock took a hefty slug of the rum, gasped, then leaned back with a sigh. He scratched his nose and whiskery chin energetically. Then he pointed a single thick finger at Brashen. ‘Child of the Wind,’ he said, and grinned his gap-toothed smile. ‘I’m right, ain’t I?’

  ‘About what?’ Brashen asked him lazily. He watched the man through narrowed eyes as he took a slow sip of his own rum. Tarlock followed his example with another swallow of his.

  ‘Aw, come on,’ Tarlock wheezed after a moment. ‘You were on Child of the Wind when we overtook her. Little whip of a kid you was, spitting and scratching like a cat when we hauled you out of the rigging. Didn’t have so much as a knife to defend yourself, but you fought right up until you dropped.’

  ‘Child of the Wind. Can’t say as I recall her, Tarlock.’ Brashen put a note of warning in his voice. ‘You’re not going to tell me you were a pirate, are you?’

  The man was either too stupid or too drunk to deny it. Instead he spewed a rummy laugh into his own mug and then sat back, to wipe his chin with his wrist. ‘Hey! Weren’t we all? Look around you, man. Think there’s a man in this room hasn’t freebooted a bit? Naw!’ He leaned forward across the table, suddenly confidential. ‘You wasn’t too slow to sign the articles, once you had a blade at your ribs.’ He leaned back again. ‘But as I recall, the name you went by wasn’t Brashen Trell of Bingtown.’ He rubbed his reddened nose, considering. ‘I bin trine to member,’ he slurred. He leaned heavily on the table, then set his head down on one of his arms. ‘Can’t remember what you say’d it was. But I recall what we called you.’ Again the thick finger lifted, just from the table top, to wag at Brashen. ‘Weasel. Cuz you was so skinny and so fast.’ The man’s eyes sagged shut. He drew a deep, heavy breath that emerged as a snore.

  Brashen stood quietly. The merchandise would be nearly loaded by now. It wouldn’t take much to speed up their departure. Perhaps when Tarlock awoke, he’d find his ship had sailed without him. He wouldn’t be the first sailor to get drunk and be left behind. He looked down at the snoring Tarlock. The years had not been kind to him since the Child of the Wind. Brashen would never have recognized him if he hadn’t revealed h
imself. He lifted the bottle of rum, then in a spirit of largesse, he re-corked it and nestled it in the crook of the old pirate’s elbow. If he woke up too soon, he’d likely delay himself with another drink or two. And if he woke up too late, perhaps the rum would console him. He really had nothing against the man, except that he reminded Brashen of a time he’d sooner forget.

  Weasel, he thought to himself as he left the tavern and emerged into the chill fog of the early evening. I’m not Weasel any more. As if to convince himself, he took a stick of cindin from his pocket and snapped the end off in his mouth. As he tucked it in his cheek, the sharp bitterness of it almost made his eyes water. It was probably the best quality cindin he’d ever known, and it had been a parting goodwill gift to him from the freebooters they’d dealt with earlier in the day. Free.

  No, he wasn’t Weasel any more, he reflected wryly as he headed back toward the dock and the Springeve. Poor Weasel never had cindin like this.

  35

  PIRATES AND CAPTIVES

  ‘THEY’RE PIRATES, you damned fool!’ Kyle spat at Sa’Adar. ‘Muster your men to repel them. We’ve still got a chance to get away. With Wintrow at the helm, Vivacia will…’

  ‘Yes, they are pirates,’ Sa’Adar agreed triumphantly. ‘And they fly the Raven flag. They’re the pirates that every slave in Jamaillia prays for. They capture slaveships and free the slaves. And they feed the crews to their own stinking serpents.’ The last he uttered in a low growl that was at odds with the joyous smile on his face. ‘Truly, Sa has provided,’ he added, and then he was striding away from them, to the waist of the ship where the gathered slaves were pointing at the Raven flag and shouting joyously to one another.

  The word had spread through the ship like fire. As the Marietta came alongside, grapples were thrown. Wintrow felt Vivacia’s apprehension as the sharpened hooks dragged across her decks to catch in her railing. ‘Steady, my lady,’ he breathed to her again. Her anxiety mingled with his own. They had no crew with which to resist the capture, even if he had had the stomach for more fighting and blood. He felt his exhaustion hung on him like a heavy, cold garment. He kept her wheel, even as the other ship hauled in tight to her. Like an outpouring of ants from a disturbed nest, gaudily-dressed sailors were suddenly swarming over her sides. Someone in the waist was barking orders, to slaves as well as sailors. With a swiftness and order that was almost magical, men began to flow up the masts. The sails were quickly and neatly reefed. He heard the anchor chain rattle out. Someone was barking orders in a voice of authority that the slaves responded to as they crowded out of the way of the pirate crewmen. Wintrow kept still, and he hoped, inconspicuous among the other slaves. A feeling of almost relief welled up in him. These pirates were taking over his ship, but at least they moved competently. She was in the hands of true seamen.