The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  ‘Not exactly. It buzzes, when you touch it. What is it?’ Malta twisted her head to try to see it in the mirror, but could not.

  ‘It’s just a greyish-blue spot, about the size of a fingertip. It looks like a bruise. Did you bump yourself, when you fainted on the ship?’

  Malta frowned distractedly. ‘Perhaps. Does it show much? Should I powder it?’

  Keffria had already dipped her fingers in the talc. With a quick dab, the smudge disappeared. ‘There. No one else will even notice it,’ she said comfortingly. But Malta had already gone back to staring at her face in the mirror.

  ‘Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore.’ Malta spoke quietly, but her voice was apprehensive rather than dreamy. ‘I’m not the silly little girl I was last summer, all in a hurry to grow up.’ Malta bit her lower lip and shook her head at herself. ‘I’ve tried to be responsible and learn all the things you’ve tried to teach me. A part of me knows that they are important. But, in all honesty, I hate the fussing with numbers and the constant juggling of this debt against that one. That isn’t who I am, either. Sometimes I think of Reyn or another young man, and my heart flutters and I think I could be so happy if I could just have him. But a few minutes later, that all seems like pretend, like a little girl being mother to her dolls. Or worse, it seems that I just want the man because he is who I wish I were…if that makes sense. When I try to think who I really am, all I feel is tired and somewhat sad in a way that doesn’t have tears. And when I try to sleep and I dream, the dreams seem foreign and distorted. Then when I wake up, the dreams seem to follow me, and I find myself thinking someone else’s thoughts. Almost. Does anything like that happen to you?’

  Keffria was at a loss. Malta had never spoken like this before. She put a falsely bright smile on her face. ‘My dear, you are just nervous, and it is making you have all these odd thoughts. Once we arrive at the Ball, your spirits will rise. This will be quite a Ball, such as Bingtown has never seen.’ She shook her head. ‘Our problems all seem quite small to me when I consider all that is happening in Bingtown. Here we are, blockaded in our own harbour by Chalcedean galleys that claim to be the Satrap’s patrol. The Satrap himself and most of his entourage are staying with Davad Restart. The Satrap will be coming to the Ball tonight, with several of his Companions. That alone will make Bingtown history. Even those who most ardently oppose Jamaillia will be endeavouring to get a moment with him. Some say we are at the brink of war, but I prefer to believe that the Satrap intends to correct the wrongs done us. Why else would he have come so far?’

  ‘And brought so many fine Chalcedean galleys and mercenaries?’ Malta added with a skewed smile.

  ‘I have heard it was to protect himself from pirates on his trip up,’ Keffria told her. The girl sounded altogether too disillusioned for her years. Had they done this to her? Had their discipline, lessons, and chores destroyed the selfish flighty girl and replaced her with this weary, cynical young woman? It squeezed her heart to think so.

  ‘Did they let the other ship come in? The one with the nobles aboard? I heard that the New Traders were quite upset about them being turned back. Many claimed to have relatives aboard.’

  ‘Not the ship, no, but they allowed the nobles themselves to come ashore in small boats. Many of them were ill, or suffered injuries in their many battles with the pirates on their way here. It was only common mercy to let them come ashore. Besides, as you say, they have kin here, among the New Traders. They are not Chalcedean mercenaries. What harm can they do us?’

  Malta shook her head. ‘No more than their relatives have already done, I suppose. After the great panic when all those ships came into the harbour, I expected we would exercise more caution. We spent near the whole day in Bingtown, filling buckets and barrels with water. Not to mention hours standing about with no idea what was happening out on the ships during the confrontation.’

  Keffria shook her head in exasperation at the memory. ‘That is because nothing was happening out there. Our ships held a line across the harbour mouth, and the Chalcedean galleys formed up across the sea entrance. I am glad all parties were reasonable and there was no bloodshed.’

  ‘Mother, there has been no trade since then. Trade is the lifeblood of Bingtown. There is no bloodshed when someone is strangled, but it is murder all the same.’

  ‘The Chalcedeans let the Kendry into the harbour,’ Keffria pointed out. ‘With your young man aboard.’

  ‘And they closed up the blockade behind him. Were I the captain of the Kendry, I would not have brought him in. I suspect they only let him through to have one more liveship corralled in the harbour. You know they fear our liveships since Ophelia stood up to their galleys.’ A mirthless light dawned in Malta’s eyes.

  Keffria tried again. ‘Davad Restart has promised us that he will see you are personally presented to the Satrap and his Companions. That is a great honour, you know. There are many distinguished matrons in Bingtown who will envy you that. Yet, I suppose you will hardly have eyes for the Satrap, once Reyn arrives. The Khuprus family is always known to distinguish itself in matters of dress. Your young man will probably be resplendent. You will be the envy of every girl at the ball. Most young ladies spend their Presentation Ball dancing with fathers, uncles and cousins, or standing modestly beside mothers and aunts. I know I certainly did.’

  ‘I would throw both Reyn and the Satrap aside, could I have but one dance with my father,’ Malta observed to herself. ‘I wish there was something I could do to bring him home. Something besides this eternal waiting.’ She sat for a time in utter stillness staring into the mirror. Suddenly, she drew herself up straight and looked hard at her reflection. ‘I look awful. I have not slept well in weeks; my dreams when I do sleep allow me no rest. I shall not go to my presentation looking like this it is too important an opportunity. May I borrow rouge from you, Mother? And something to make my eyes look brighter?’

  ‘Of course.’ Keffria’s relief was so intense her head swam. She knew this Malta. ‘I’ll bring it to you right now, while you finish dressing your hair. Both of us need to get ready. Davad could not send his coach for us, of course; it will be much too busy, ferrying his grand visitors to the ball. But between your grandmother and I, we have scraped up enough for a hired coach. It will be coming soon, and we had best be ready.’

  ‘I intend to be ready,’ Malta replied determinedly, but it did not sound as if she were speaking of rouge and dresses.

  Serilla’s plans were in total disarray. Not only had the younger sons from the second ship managed to talk their way ashore, they had brought with them the remainder of the Satrap’s entourage from the main ship. The only positive aspect of that, as far as Serilla was concerned, was that her clothing and possessions had been brought ashore as well. In the days since then, not only had her control over the Satrap withered away but he had recovered his strength with amazing rapidity. A healer had declared the Satrap was mending well and gave Serilla the credit. Cosgo still believed that she had saved his life, but with Kekki and his pleasure drugs restored to him, his dependency was fading. Their host seemed bent on nourishing him with every rich food imaginable and cosseting him with constant entertainment.

  Cosgo’s restored vitality had set her plans awry. She had had to scramble to modify her position. The scroll that Cosgo had signed had been secreted in the knotted sleeve of one of her gowns. She herself had not brought up its existence since she had first shown it on the ship. When one Trader had asked her about it, she had smiled and assured him that since Cosgo had regained his health, it would not be needed. Cosgo himself did not seem to recall it existed. A special convening of the Bingtown Traders’ Council had been scheduled. She hoped that before then she would find some opportunity to shift power in her favour once more. For now, she must abide.

  She looked out the window of the chamber Trader Restart had given her. She was definitely in the provinces, she reflected to herself. The gardens below had a wilful, jungle look to them. The chamber itself,
though large, was both outdated and musty with disuse. The bedding smelled of cedar and storage herbs, and the hangings were of a style that her grandmother would recognize. The bed was uncomfortably tall; she suspected it had been designed to protect the sleeper from rats and mice. The chamberpot was right under the bed instead of in a separate alcove. The housemaids only brought her warm wash water twice a day, and there were no fresh flowers in her room. The household had provided the Companions with only one personal maid, and Kekki had kept the poor girl at a dash since then. Serilla had had to tend to her own needs. That suited her, at present. She had no desire to allow any stranger access to the items concealed in her room.

  But it was not the niceties that had fascinated her when she had chosen Bingtown as her area of expertise. This pioneer town had managed to survive. All other attempts to colonize the Cursed Shores had failed. In all she had ever read or heard of Bingtown, nothing had ever explained that to her satisfaction. Why had it survived and prospered? What had set it apart from all those other tragic efforts? Had it been the people, the location, or purest luck? There was a mystery to be probed here.

  Bingtown was the main settlement on the Cursed Shores. It was surrounded by a network of outlying villages and farms, yet for the number of years it had existed, it had not grown as large as one would have expected. The population did not thrive. Even the influx of the Three Ships Immigrants had been only a temporary swell in population. Families were small, with rarely more than four surviving children. The wave of New Traders threatened to displace the old Bingtown Traders with their sheer number, not to mention the slaves they had brought in with them. The growth was not welcome. Bingtown resisted the idea of expanding into the surrounding countryside. The reason offered was that much of the ground was too boggy, and that tilling up what looked like a wild pasture usually transformed it into a marsh by the next spring. Good reasons. But Serilla had always suspected there was something more going on.

  Take, for example, the so-called Rain Wild Traders. Exactly who were they?

  They were not mentioned, at least by that name, in any charter issued by a Satrap. Were they a group of Bingtown Traders that had splintered off? A native people who had intermarried with the Bingtown folk? Why were they never openly discussed? No one ever spoke of a city on the Rain Wild River. Yet there must be one. All the most fascinating goods from Bingtown were always touted as being from the Rain Wilds. Little more than that was said about them. Serilla was convinced that the two secrets were linked. In all her years of delving, she had never found the bottom of that mystery.

  Now she was here, in Bingtown itself. Or, at least, on the outskirts of it. Through the trees, she could catch just a glimpse of the lights of the town. How she longed to go and explore it. Since she had arrived, their host had insisted that they remain in his home and rest. It was a tactic she suspected of being more to Trader Restart’s advantage than theirs. While the Satrap and his Companions lodged with him, there would be a constant stream of visitors through his doors. She suspected, from the disused state of her chamber, that Trader Restart had not enjoyed such a jolt of popularity in many years. Yet, she was more than willing to smile and greet the Traders, both Old and New, that came to call. Every association that she could form, every woman she could dazzle with casual tales of palace life in Jamaillia, was one more foothold in her new home. For so she still intended to make it. Perhaps her opportunity to seize power had slipped away, but she still had a hope of making Bingtown her home.

  As she leaned on the railing of the small balcony, the whole house trembled gently. Again. She stood straight and backed away from the edge and into her room. The earth had shivered almost daily since her arrival here, but the local folk seemed to pay it no mind. The first time it had happened, she had started up from her seat, exclaiming in surprise. Trader Restart had merely shrugged his round shoulders. ‘Just a little shiver, Companion Serilla. Nothing to be concerned about.’ The Satrap had already been too doused with Restart’s wine to notice it. As it always did, the tremoring passed. Nothing had fallen, no walls had cracked. She heaved out a small sigh. That was a part of the Cursed Shores; the restlessness of the earth under her feet. If she intended to make a life here, she had best get used to it. She squared her shoulders firmly and turned her mind to the business at hand.

  Tonight, her dream would come true. She would see Bingtown. She shut the tall window and went to the wardrobe to select clothing. She was to be a guest at some sort of summer assemblage the Traders held. She gathered that by their standards, it was quite an affair. It was for the Bingtown Traders only; outsiders were admitted only if they had married into a Bingtown Trader family. Young women would be presented as being of age, and she had heard some rumours of offerings of friendship exchanged between the Bingtown Traders and the Rain Wild Traders. Now that, she told herself, was a fascinating internal distinction, one that was not spoken of in Jamaillia. Why were offerings exchanged? Did one group subjugate the other? Questions, questions.

  Serilla frowned at her jewellery. She could scarcely wear what she had filched from the Satrap’s chests. Kekki or one of the others would be sure to recognize it and comment upon it. With a small sigh, she restored the jewellery to its hiding place inside a slipper. She would have to go unadorned.

  Yesterday, one of Davad Restart’s visitors had sought to distinguish herself by bragging the gossip that Reyn Khuprus of the Rain Wild Traders was actually already courting a young girl who was to be presented tonight. The other Old Traders present had sternly hushed her. Then the woman, one Refi Faddon, had been bold enough to defy them, pointing out that surely the Satrap and his Companions would be introduced to young Khuprus at the Ball. What was the point of concealing who he was?

  Davad Restart himself had intervened. The host who had been almost stiflingly accommodating to that point suddenly invoked his power. ‘But you cannot discuss young Khuprus without mentioning the Vestrit family and the young lady in question. In her father’s absence, I regard her reputation to be my responsibility. I shall not tolerate any gossip about her. But I shall endeavour that you shall meet her personally after her presentation. She is a dazzling young lady. Now. Shall we have more cakes?’

  He had effectively ended the conversation. While some of the Bingtown Traders had regarded him with approval, a few of the others had rolled their eyes at his circumspect ways. Interesting. She could sense the pull and stress of power at play here. This Davad Restart seemed to be some sort of a bridge between the Old and New Traders. Circumstance seemed to have landed them in an ideal position, for both sides of the divided society seemed moderately comfortable in calling on Davad. While the New Traders brought the Satrap extravagant gifts and invitations to their homes, the Bingtown Traders brought only their dignity and implied power. She did not think the Satrap had made a particularly good impression on the Old Traders. It would be interesting to see how things proceeded. There was so much going on here; it was so much livelier than the staid and stagnant court at Jamaillia. Here, if a woman was bold, she could make a place for herself. She pulled a gown from the wardrobe and held it against her. It would do, she decided. It was simple, but well made; surely that would be appropriate for an evening among provincial folk.

  Changing into the gown necessitated baring her body. She resolutely turned her back to the mirror in the room while she dressed. Yesterday morning, as she dressed, a casual look in the mirror had revealed to her that the deep bruises on her back and the backs of her thighs had faded to shades of green, brown and yellow. That brief betraying glance had suddenly swept her back into horror and helplessness. She had been caught there, staring at herself. Suddenly a deep shuddering, more kin to convulsion than trembling, had taken her. She had sat down abruptly on the edge of her bed, and taken great breaths to keep the deep sobs from tearing out of her. Tears would have been a relief. Even after she had managed to dress, she had been unable to force herself out the door and down to breakfast. They would know. They would all know
. How could anyone look at her and not know how badly she had been hurt?

  It had taken her until noon to compress her feelings and master them again. The panic had passed, and she had been able to join the party, pleading a morning headache as excuse for her absence. Since then, she had wondered if it were strength or a sort of madness that let her pretend she was normal. As before, she resolved to create for herself a place where no man had authority over her. She lifted her chin as she touched scent to her throat. Tonight, she told herself. The opportunity might come tonight. If it did, she would be ready.

  ‘How do you stand the veil?’ Grag Tenira asked Reyn. ‘I thought I was going to die of suffocation in the carriage on the way here.’

  Reyn shrugged. ‘One gets used to it. I have lighter ones than the one I loaned you, but I feared you might be recognized if you were not veiled heavily.’

  They sat together in a guest chamber in the Tenira home. A small table had been bustled in, laden with bread, fruit, plates, glasses and a bottle of wine. From the hallway outside came the heavy tread of the servants bringing Reyn’s trunks and chests up the stairs. Grag’s discarded Rain Wild garb was strewn across the bed. He tousled up his sweaty hair to cool himself, and then advanced on the table. ‘Wine?’ he offered Reyn.

  ‘It would be most welcome, little cousin,’ Reyn replied wryly.

  Grag gave a half-laugh, half-groan. ‘I don’t know how to thank you enough. I had not intended to come ashore in Bingtown at all. Yet here I am, not only on shore but back in my family’s home, for however brief a time. If you had not been willing to aid me in this ruse, I fear I would still be cowering in the Kendry’s hold.’

  Reyn accepted the glass of wine, deftly slipped it under his veil, and drank. He gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Well,’ he balanced it, ‘if you had not extended me the hospitality of your home, I’d be standing outside the inn with my cases. The town is crawling with New Traders and the Satrap’s minions. My rooms at the inn were long ago given away.’ Reyn paused uncomfortably. ‘With the harbour blockaded, and the inns full, I do not know how long I will have to beg hospitality of you.’