The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  Amber, sitting there whittling, had wisely said nothing. He was still amazed at how easily she had adapted to his presence. She accepted his coming and going without comment. She still occupied the captain’s cabin. Time enough to make that space his own when the Paragon floated free once more. For now, he had slung his hammock in the ’tween decks. Living in the canted ship became more challenging daily as the angle of the deck grew ever sharper.

  ‘Paragon, no!’

  Amber’s voice, raised in disbelief, broke into his thoughts and coincided with the immense crack of a timber. Voices cried out in alarm. Brashen scrambled forward, arriving on the foredeck just in time to hear a timber resounding as it struck against a rocky outcrop of the beach. All around Paragon, the workers were retreating from the ship. They called warnings to one another, pointing not just at the thrown timber but at the trench it had made in the beach when it landed. Without a word, his face expressionless, Paragon refolded his thick arms on his muscled chest. He stared blindly out across the water.

  ‘Damn you!’ Brashen cried out with great feeling. He glared around at the workers. ‘Who let him get hold of that timber?’

  A white faced oldster replied. ‘We was setting it in place. He reached down and snatched it away from us…How in Sa did he know it was there?’ The old man’s voice was full of superstitious dread.

  Brashen clenched his hands into fists. If it had been the ship’s first display of sulkiness, he might have been surprised. But every day since they began, he had created one delay after another. His displays of temper and strength made it difficult for Brashen to keep workers. Through them all, Paragon had spoken not one civil word to Brashen.

  Brashen leaned over the railing. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Althea, just arriving at the ship for the day’s work. She looked puzzled at the frozen scene. ‘Get back to work!’ he bellowed at the men who were gawking and nudging one another. He pointed at the thrown timber. ‘Pick that up and put it back in place.’

  ‘Not me!’ one worker declared. He wiped sweat from his face, then tossed his mallet to the sand. ‘He could have killed me, just then. He can’t see where he’s throwing stuff, even if he did care. And I don’t think he does. He’s killed before, everyone knows that. My life is worth more than you’re paying me for a day’s work. I’m gone. I want my pay.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  ‘Same for me.’

  Brashen clambered over the railing, then dropped lightly to the beach. He didn’t let his face show how the pain shot to the top of his skull. He advanced on the men in a show of aggression, praying he wouldn’t have to back it up. He thrust his face into that of the first man who had spoken. ‘You want to get paid, you stick around and finish out your day’s work. You walk now, you don’t get a copper.’ He scowled round at the lot of them and hoped his bluff would work. If these ones walked, he didn’t know where he would find others. They were the dregs of the taverns, men who would only work long enough to earn coins for the night’s drinking. He had had to offer them better wages than they could get anywhere else to lure them out to the bad-luck ship. As the men about him muttered discontentedly, he barked, ‘Take it or leave it. I didn’t hire you for half a day’s work, and I’m not paying for half a day’s work. Get under that timber, now.’

  ‘I’ll work,’ one of the men offered. ‘But not up here, not where he can reach me or crush me with a thrown timber. I won’t do that.’

  Brashen spat in disgust. ‘Work on the aft keel then, lionheart. Amber and I will take the bow, if none of you here has the courage to do so.’

  A slow and evil smile spread across Paragon’s face. ‘Some prefer a quick death, some a slow one. Some don’t care if their sons are born legless and blind like this cursed ship. Pick up your mallets and work on. What care you about what happens tomorrow?’ In a lower voice he added, ‘Why should you expect to live that long?’

  Brashen had spun to confront the ship. ‘Are you talking to me?’ he demanded. ‘All your days of silence, and then you say that to me?’

  For an instant, the Paragon’s face changed. Brashen could not say what emotion was displayed there, but it froze his soul and squeezed his heart. An instant later, it was replaced with a supercilious stare. The figurehead took a breath and settled into stillness.

  Brashen’s temper snapped. The brightness of the day blazed inside his skull, igniting the pain to unbearable heat. He snatched up one of the buckets of drinking water that the workers had left near the bow. With every ounce of strength he had, he dashed it in Paragon’s face.

  The entire ship shuddered and Paragon gave an angry roar. Water dripped from his beard and ran down his chest. Below him on the sand, Brashen dropped the now empty bucket. He roared at the ship, ‘Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. I’m your captain, damn it, and I won’t tolerate insubordination from you nor anyone else. Get this through your wooden head, Paragon. You’re going to sail. One way or another, I’m dragging you out into the water again and putting canvas on your bones. Now you have a choice, but you’d better choose fast, because I am all out of patience. You can go out of here listing and wallowing, sulking like a brat, and the whole damn fleet will watch you go that way. Or you can lift your head up and sail out of here like you don’t give a damn about anything that anyone has ever said about you. You have a chance to prove them all wrong. You can make them eat every foul thing they’ve ever said about you. You can sail out of here like a Bingtown liveship and we’ll go give some pirates a bloody bad time. Or you can prove they were right all along and that I was the fool. I’m telling you this because that is the only thing you have a choice in. You don’t get to decide whether you’re going or not, because I’m the captain and I already decided that. You’re a ship, not a flowerpot. You were meant to sail and it is what we are going to do. Are we clear on that?’

  The ship clenched his jaws and crossed his arms on his chest. Brashen spun about and snatched up a second bucket. With a grunt of effort, he dashed it up into the figurehead’s face. Paragon recoiled, sputtering with shock.

  ‘Is that clear?’ Brashen bellowed. ‘Answer me, damn you!’

  Around him, the workmen were transfixed with awe. They waited for him to die.

  Althea had gripped Amber’s arm. The bead-maker’s eyes blazed with outrage. Only that hold kept her from charging out between Brashen and the ship. With a sign, Althea warned her to keep silent. Amber clenched her fists, but kept her tongue still.

  ‘It’s clear,’ Paragon finally replied. The words were clipped and unrepentant. But he had answered. Brashen clung to that tiny triumph.

  ‘Good,’ Brashen replied in a surprisingly calm voice. ‘I leave you to think about your choice. I think you can make me proud. I have to get back to my work. I intend that when you sail, you’ll look as sharp as the first time you were put into water.’ He paused. ‘Maybe we can make them eat every slur they ever uttered about me, too.’

  He turned back to Amber and Althea with a grin. Neither woman returned it. After a moment, it faded from his face. He took a breath and shook his head in resignation. In a low voice, he spoke only to them. ‘I’m doing my best with him, the only way I know how. I’m sailing. I’ll do or say whatever I must to get this ship in the water.’ He glared at their disapproving silence. ‘Maybe you two need to decide how badly you want this to happen. But while you’re thinking, we’re the bow work crew. Maybe tonight I can hire some new workers who aren’t afraid of him, but I can’t waste daylight on it now.’ He pointed at the flung timber. ‘We’re putting that back in place.’ In the quietest voice he could summon, he added, ‘If he thinks you’re afraid of him…if he thinks he can get away with behaving like this…we are all lost. Paragon included.’

  It was the start of a long, sweaty day. The skid timbers were massive. In a fit of perversity, Brashen spared neither of the women nor himself. He worked in the sun until he felt his brain boiling inside his skull. They dug at dry sand and hauled it away. The rocks they encountered wer
e always wedged together in layers, or just slightly larger than one person could move. He drove his body relentlessly, punishing it for its unceasing itch for cindin. If either Althea or Amber had asked for quarter, he could have given it. But Althea was as stubborn as he was, and Amber amazingly tenacious. They matched the pace he set. More, as they worked under the nose of the figurehead, they included Paragon in the conversation, ignoring his stubborn silence.

  The efforts of two mere women and their lack of fear seemed to shame the hired workmen. First one, and then another came to join them at the bow. When Amber’s friend Jek walked out from town to see what they were doing, she gave them a couple of hours of her strong back as well. Clef came and went, getting underfoot as often as he was helpful. Brashen snarled at the boy as frequently as he praised him, but his stint as a slave had given him a thick skin. He worked doggedly, handicapped more by his size than any lack of skill. He had all the makings of a good hand. Against his conscience, Brashen would probably take him along when they sailed. It was wrong, but he needed him.

  The other workmen on the ship watched them surreptitiously. Perhaps it shamed them to see the women working where they had refused to go. They stepped up the pace of their own labours. Brashen had never expected that such a sorry lot of dock scrapings would have any pride left. He seized the opportunity to push them harder.

  The afternoon was sweltering inside the morning room. Opening the windows hadn’t helped; there wasn’t a breath of air stirring. Malta plucked at the collar of her dress, pulling the damp fabric away from her skin.

  ‘I remember when we used to drink iced tea here. And your cook would make those tiny lemon pastries.’ Delo sounded more fretful about Malta’s reduced circumstances than Malta herself. In fact, it rather irritated Malta to have her friend so pointedly noticing all the deficiencies in her home.

  ‘Times have changed,’ Malta pointed out wearily. She walked over to the open window and leaned out to look at the neglected rose garden. The bushes were blooming voluptuously and sprawling, rejoicing in their lack of discipline. ‘Ice is expensive,’ she pointed out.

  ‘My papa bought two blocks yesterday,’ Delo said negligently. She fanned herself. ‘Cook is making ices for dessert tonight.’

  ‘Oh. How nice.’ Malta’s voice was void of expression. How much of this did Delo expect her to take? First, she had shown up in a new dress with a fan and a hat to match. The fan was made of spice paper, and gave off a pleasant scent when she used it. It was the newest vogue in Bingtown. Then Delo hadn’t even asked how the ship was coming along, or if they’d received a ransom note yet. ‘Let’s go out in the shade,’ Malta suggested.

  ‘No, not yet.’ Delo glanced around the room as if servants might be spying. Malta almost sighed. They didn’t have servants to eavesdrop. With a great show of secrecy, Delo pulled a small purse from inside the waistband of her skirt. In a lowered voice, she confided, ‘Cerwin sent you this, to help you in these troubled times.’

  For an instant, Malta could almost share Delo’s enjoyment of this dramatic moment. Then it fluttered away from her. When she had first learned of her father’s abduction, it had seemed exciting and fraught with tragedy. She had thrown herself into exploiting the situation to the limit of its theatrical possibilities. Now the days had passed, one after another, full of anxiety and stress. No good news had come. Bingtown had not rallied to their side. People had expressed sympathy, but only as a courtesy. A few had sent flowers with notes of commiseration, as if her father were already dead. Despite her plea to Reyn that he come to her, he had not. No one had rallied to her.

  Day after day had ground by in deadly, boring desperation. It had slowly come to Malta that this was real, and that it might be the death knell for her family’s fortune. She could not sleep for thinking of it. When she did fall asleep, her dreams were disturbing ones. Something stalked her, determined to bend her to its will. The dreams she could remember were like evil sendings from someone determined to break her hopes. Yesterday morning she had awakened with a cry, from a nightmare in which her father’s wasted body washed up on the beach. He could be dead, she suddenly realized. He could already be dead and all these efforts for nothing. She had lost spirit that day, and had not been able to recover hope or purpose since then.

  She took the little purse from Delo’s hand and sat down. Her friend’s discontented expression showed that she had expected a more passionate response. She feigned examining it. It was a little cloth purse, extensively embroidered and closed with gilt strings. Cerwin had probably bought it especially for her. She tried to take some pleasure in that. But thoughts of Cerwin were not as exciting as they had once been. He hadn’t kissed her.

  She still hadn’t recovered from that disappointment. But what had followed was even worse. She had believed that men had power. The very first time she ever asked one to use that power for her, he failed her. Cerwin Trell had promised her he would help, but what had he done? At the Trader meeting, he had stared at her most improperly. Half the people there must have noticed it. Did he get up and speak when Althea was asking the Traders to help? Had he nudged his father to speak? No. All he had done was make calf eyes at her. No one had helped her. No one would help her.

  Free me and I will aid you. I promise you this. The words of the dragon from the dream she had shared with Reyn suddenly echoed in her head. She felt a twinge of pain, as if a string pulled tight between her temples had suddenly become tauter. She wished she could just go and lie down for a time. Delo cleared her throat, abruptly reminding Malta that she was just sitting there, holding Cerwin’s gift-purse.

  Malta tugged open the neck of the bag and spilled the contents out into her lap. There were some coins in it, and a few rings. ‘Cerwin is going to be in big trouble if Papa finds out he gave those rings to you,’ Delo told Malta accusingly. ‘That little silver one Mama gave him for doing well at his lessons.’ She crossed her arms and looked at Malta disapprovingly.

  ‘He won’t find out,’ Malta told her bleakly. Delo was such a child. The rings were scarcely worth the trouble of selling them. No doubt, Delo thought this little bag a magnificent gift, but Malta knew better. She had spent the entire morning on the household books, and knew that what was in this purse was barely enough to hire two good workmen for a week. She wondered if Cerwin had as little knowledge of finances as Delo did. Malta hated helping to keep the accounts, but she understood money far better now. She recalled the rush of chagrin she had felt when she discovered just how foolishly she had spent the coins her father had given her. They should have been enough for a dozen dresses. Those small gold pieces had been worth far more than was in this bag. She wished she had them back now. They would have gone much further towards getting that ship off the sand than what Cerwin had given her. The boy simply did not grasp the size of her problem. It was as disappointing as the lack of a kiss.

  ‘Why didn’t he say anything at the meeting?’ she wondered aloud. ‘He knows what is at risk. He knows what it means to me. But he did nothing.’

  Delo was huffy. ‘He did. He did everything he could. He talked to Papa at home. Papa said it was a very complicated situation and that we could not get involved.’

  ‘What is complicated?’ Malta demanded. ‘My father has been kidnapped and we must go and rescue him. We need help!’

  Delo folded her arms on her chest and cocked her head. ‘That is a Vestrit matter. The Trell family cannot solve it for you. We have trading interests of our own to maintain. If we invest money in a search for your father, what will the return be for us?’

  ‘Delo!’ Malta was shocked. The pain she felt was genuine. ‘We are talking about my father’s life…the only one who truly cares what becomes of me! This isn’t about money and profit!’

  ‘Everything eventually comes down to a profit,’ Delo declared harshly. Then her expression suddenly softened. ‘That is what my father said to Cerwin. They argued, Malta. It frightened me. The last time I remember two men shouting at each other was
when Brashen lived at home. He used to argue with my father all the time…At least, he would stand there like a stick while my father roared at him. A lot of it I don’t remember. I was little. They always sent me out of the room. Then, one day, my father told me that Cerwin was my only brother now. That Brashen would never be coming home again.’ Delo’s voice faltered. ‘The arguing stopped.’ She swallowed. ‘It’s not like your family, Malta. You all argue and shout and say terrible things, but then you hold together. No one is thrown out forever, not even your Aunt Althea. My family isn’t like that. There isn’t room in my family for that.’ She shook her head. ‘If Cerwin had kept arguing, I’m afraid I’d have no brothers at all now.’ She looked at Malta in a direct appeal. ‘Please. Don’t ask my brother to help you with this. Please.’

  The plea rattled Malta. ‘I’m…sorry,’ she said awkwardly. She had never thought that her experiments with Cerwin would affect anyone besides him. Lately, everything seemed so much bigger and far-flung than it once had. When she had first heard that her father was taken, it had not seemed real. She had used it as an opportunity to indulge her sense of the tragic. She had play-acted the role of a stricken daughter, but she had really believed that any day at all, her father would come home. Pirates could not really have taken her papa. Not brave, handsome Kyle Haven. Nevertheless, slowly it had become real. At first, she had feared that he would never come home to make her life better. Only now was she realizing he might never come home at all.