The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  ‘Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Tomie said quietly. ‘I would like this to be something Bingtown acts on, not the Tenira family alone.’

  At that moment, a shouting match broke out elsewhere in the room. Althea half stood and craned her neck. She could see little, due to others standing up between her and the dispute, but it seemed to centre where Traders Daw and Restart had been seated. ‘You liar!’ someone accused. ‘You did and you know you did. Without you, the damn New Traders would never have become so deeply entrenched here.’ Another voice muttered a bland denial. The Council’s order-keepers were already moving to quell the disturbance. Althea felt her nails bite into her palms. The room was on the edge of breaking into violence, Trader against Trader.

  ‘This serves no one!’ she heard herself announce bitterly. By chance, her voice had sounded in a lull in the noise. Heads turned towards her. Even Grag and Tomie Tenira were looking at her in astonishment. She took a breath. If she waited, the Council might well adjourn for the night. Precious time would be lost. This might be her only chance to speak. ‘Look at us! We squabble like children, Trader against Trader. Ask yourself who wins that battle? We need to find agreement here. We need to speak of the larger matter that confronts us. What is Bingtown becoming? Are we going to bow our heads to the Satrap’s rules, accept his tariffs and restrictions, no matter how heavy they become? Will we tolerate his hirelings tying up in our harbour? Will we pay to feed and outfit them, so they can stop our ships and fleece them before they reach port? Why?’

  Every eye in the room had turned to her. Some people were resuming their seats, willing to hear what she had to say. She glanced down at a seated Grag. He gave her a nod of encouragement. She felt his mother reach up and take her hand. She gave it a squeeze before releasing it. Althea felt heady with power. ‘My father told me, two years ago, that it would come to this. I am not the Trader he was, but I do not hesitate to repeat his wisdom. A time will come when Bingtown must stand on its own, and determine its own future. That is what he told me. I think that time is now.’

  She looked around the room. Keffria, hand over her mouth, stared at her in horror. Davad’s face was as red as a turkey’s wattle. Some women looked scandalized that one of their sex should speak out so in public. But other Traders nodded, or looked seized by her words. She drew another shuddering breath. ‘There is too much we can no longer tolerate. These so-called New Traders usurp our lands. They know nothing of our ancient sacrifices, nothing of our blood-bonds with the Rain Wild Traders. They mock our laws with their tattooed slaves. The Satrap is no longer content with half our profits. He will take all we have bought with blood and sell it for coin to his new friends, be they New Traders or Chalcedean privateers!’

  ‘You’re talking rebellion!’ someone in the back of the room accused.

  Something inside her turned over. Step forward and admit it, she counselled herself. ‘Yes. I am,’ she said calmly.

  She was unprepared for the hubbub that broke out at her words. From the corner of her eye, she became aware of the order-keepers closing in on her. She also became aware that they were having a difficult time reaching her through the assembly. Folk were not stepping aside. Legs were thrust out, or benches shoved in their paths. Nevertheless, they would reach her soon and eject her. She had but a few more moments.

  ‘My father’s ship!’ Her voice rang out over the noise. The room quieted somewhat. ‘The Vivacia, a liveship of Rain Wild make, has been taken by pirates. I know that some of you have heard the rumours. I stand to tell you it is the truth. The unthinkable has happened. Pirates have taken a Bingtown liveship. Do you think the Satrap’s Chalcedean mercenaries will help me recover her? If by chance she does fall into their hands, do you think they will respect a Bingtown claim to her? She will be taken to Jamaillia City, as if she were plunder, and kept there. Think but a moment, of the Rain Wild River, and you know what that would mean! I need your help. Bingtown, please, I beg you, stand firm with me. I need money and a ship to go after my birthright.’

  She had not meant to say those words. Her mother gave her a stricken glance of disbelief. Her thought was plain. Althea was making a public claim on the ship as her own. She had meant to speak for her family, but her heart had chosen the words.

  ‘The Vestrit family brought that on themselves!’ someone shouted. ‘They let their family ship sail with a foreigner as captain. Shame on them! She talks a good wind, she does, but whom did she ride in with? Davad Restart, and gentlemen, we all know where he stands. Her wild talk is a New Trader trap. If we rise in defiance of the Satrap, we cannot expect him to be fair with us. We need to reason with the Satrap, not set ourselves up against him.’ Some were nodding and muttering agreement.

  ‘Why don’t the damn Chalcedean patrol boats go out to rescue the Vivacia? Isn’t that what all the new tariffs are about, paying them to run off the pirates? Why don’t they get out there and show us what our money bought?’

  ‘She talks against Chalcedeans, but her own sister married one!’ someone else sneered.

  ‘Kyle Haven can’t help his blood. He’s a good captain!’ someone defended him.

  ‘Ephron Vestrit left his ship in that foreigner’s hands,’ another added. ‘He lost it. That’s a Vestrit problem, not a Bingtown crisis. If they want the ship back, let them pay ransom on it.’

  Althea stood on tiptoe, craning to identify the speaker. ‘Trader Froe,’ Grag told her in a low hiss. ‘Never stood up for anything in his life. Pinches his coins so tight, they come away with his fingerprints on them.’

  As if he had heard the words, Froe asserted, ‘I’m not giving her one copper shard of mine. They shamed their ship, and Sa took it from them. I heard she was being used as a slaver…any liveship worth her salt would rather turn pirate than that!’

  ‘You can’t mean that!’ Althea was outraged. ‘You can’t dismiss her like that. There is a boy on that ship, my nephew. However you regard his father, you cannot deny he is Trader stock. The ship herself is Bingtown –’

  Beside her, Grag stepped to block one order-keeper, but another stepped past him to seize Althea’s arm. ‘Out!’ he told her firmly. ‘The Council is recessed. No one is to speak right now. You do not even have the Council’s permission to speak. She is not the Trader for the Vestrit family!’ he added more loudly as others raised their voices in protest of Althea’s treatment. ‘In the interest of order, she must go!’

  It was the spark in the kindling. A bench overturned with a crash. ‘No!’ Althea cried out in horror, and for a wonder, they heeded her. ‘No.’ she said more softly. She put a light hand on Grag’s arm. He slackened his grip on the order-keeper he had been restraining. ‘I didn’t come here to cause trouble. I came here to ask for help. I’ve asked. I also came to stand up in favour of the Tenira family. It is wrong for Ophelia to be detained at the Tariff dock. They have no legal claim on any of her cargo.’ In a lower voice she added, ‘If any of you want to help the Vestrit Traders, you know where our home is. You will be welcomed and you will hear our full tale. But I won’t be named as the one at fault for a riot in the Traders’ Concourse. I’m leaving now. Peacefully.’ To Grag, she murmured, ‘Don’t follow me. Stay here, in case the Council reconvenes. I’ll wait outside.’

  Head up and unescorted, she moved through the crowd. She knew she could do no more good here tonight. Others seemed to share her opinion. Those Trader families who had brought small children with them were herding them out, apparently for their safety. All over the room, order had broken down. Traders stood in small knots, some talking quietly, others arguing with wild hand gestures and raised voices. Althea picked her way past all of them. A glance showed her that her own family had remained. Good. Perhaps they might yet have a chance to speak out officially for rescuing Vivacia.

  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 wrongheaded 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 were 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 travelled from face to face. They seemed strangers to her, more foreign than Jamaillian New Traders. She did not know Bingtown any more.

  ‘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 any more.

  19

  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, she had expected either to 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 towards 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 about 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 parcelling out blame; like you, he simply stepped up to solve the problem.’ He paused. ‘I should have someone 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 any more.’ 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 any more. 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 favoured 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.’