by Robin Hobb
She had to smile. He kissed her and went on, ‘We’d sail Paragon together, everywhere, up the Rain Wild River and down past Jamaillia to the islands your father knew so well, and trade where he did. We’d trade well, make lots of money, and pay off your family’s debt to the Rain Wilds. Malta wouldn’t have to marry anyone she didn’t want to. Kyle’s dead, we know that, so we can’t rescue him. Wintrow and Vivacia don’t seem to want to be rescued. Don’t you see, Althea? You and I could just take our lives and live them. We don’t need much, and we’ve already got it. A good ship and a good crew. You beside me. That’s all I’m asking of life. Fate has handed it all to me, and damn it, I want to keep it.’ His arms suddenly closed around her. ‘Just say yes to me,’ he had urged her sweetly, his soft breath warm on her ear and neck. ‘Just say yes and I’ll never let you go.’
Broken glass in her heart. ‘No,’ she had said quietly. ‘I have to try, Brashen. I have to.’
‘I knew you’d say that,’ he had groaned. He loosened his arms and fell back from her. He gave her a weary smile. ‘So, my love, what do you propose we do? Approach Kennit under a truce flag? Creep up on him by night? Challenge him on the open sea? Or just sail back into Divvytown and wait for him there?’
‘I don’t know,’ she had admitted. ‘All of those sound suicidal.’ She paused. ‘All save the truce flag. No, don’t stare at me like that. I’m not crazy. Listen. Brashen, think of all we heard in Divvytown. The folk there don’t speak of him as a tyrant they fear. He is a beloved ruler, who has put the best interests of his people first. He frees slaves that he could just as easily sell. He is openhanded in sharing the booty he takes. He sounds like an intelligent, rational man. If we went to him under a truce flag, he’d know the most sensible course was to hear us out. What could he gain by attacking us before he’d talked to us? We could offer him ransom money, but more than that, we could offer him the goodwill of at least one Bingtown Trader family. If he genuinely wants to make a kingdom of the Pirate Isles, eventually he will have to seek legitimate trade. Why not with Bingtown? Why not with the Vestrits?’
Brashen had leaned back on his pillow. ‘To make it convincing, you’d have to have it all written out. Not some verbal agreement, but a binding contract. What little ransom we offer him now would be just the opening. The trade agreements would be the real bait.’ He rolled his head on the pillow to meet her eyes. ‘You know that some folk in Bingtown will call you a traitor. Can you bind your family to an agreement with outlaws like these?’
She had been silent for a time. ‘I’m trying to think as my father would,’ she said quietly at last. ‘He said the mark of a good Trader was the ability to see ahead. To lay the groundwork for the trading of tomorrow with the deals one struck today. It was short-sighted, he said, to squeeze the last bit of profit out of a trade. A wise Trader never let the other man walk away feeling sour. I think this Kennit is going to succeed. And when he does, the Pirate Isles will either become a barrier between Bingtown and all the trade to the south, or it will become one more trading stop. I think Bingtown and Jamaillia are close to parting ways. Kennit could be a powerful ally for Bingtown, as well as a valuable trading partner.’ She sighed, not with sadness but finality. ‘I think I’d like to chance it. I’ll make an overture, but I’ll be clear that I’m not speaking for all of Bingtown. However, I’ll let him know that where one Trader comes, others soon follow. I’m going to tell him I speak for the Vestrit family. I need to decide exactly what I can honestly offer him. I can make this work, Brashen. I know I can.’ She gave a short, rueful laugh. ‘Mother and Keffria are going to be furious when I tell them. At first. But I have to do what I think best.’
Brashen’s fingers had traced a lazy circle around one of her breasts, his weathered hand dark against her pale skin. He bent his head to kiss her and then asked gravely, ‘Mind if I stay busy while you’re thinking?’
‘Brashen, I’m serious,’ she had protested.
‘So am I,’ he had assured her. His hands had moved purposefully down her body. ‘Very serious.’
‘What are you smiling about?’ Amber broke into her reverie. She grinned at Althea mischievously.
Althea started guiltily. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing,’ Jek agreed sourly from her bunk. Her arm had been flung across her face and Althea had assumed she was sleeping. Now she straightened. ‘Nothing except a bit more than the rest of us are getting.’
Amber’s face had gone grave. Althea bit her tongue to hold it silent. Best to let this discussion die right here. She met Jek’s gaze squarely.
Jek didn’t agree. ‘Well, at least you don’t deny it,’ she observed bitterly, sitting up. ‘Of course, it would be rather hard to do so, when you come in here late, purring like a kitten that’s been into the cream, or sit smiling to yourself, your cheeks as pink as a new bride’s.’ She looked at Althea and cocked her head. ‘You should make him shave, so his whiskers don’t rash the side of your neck like that.’
Althea lifted a guilty hand before she could stop herself. She let it drop to her side and considered Jek’s flat gaze. There would be no avoiding this. ‘What’s it to you?’ she asked quietly.
‘Other than that it’s completely unfair?’ Jek asked her. ‘Other than that you’re stepping up to the mate’s position at the same time you’re falling into the captain’s bed?’ Jek rose from her bunk to stand before Althea. She looked down at her. ‘Some people might think you don’t deserve either.’
The tall woman’s mouth was a flat line. Althea took a deep breath and readied herself. Jek was Six Duchies. On a Six Duchies boat, fists out on deck was how a dispute over a promotion would be settled. Did Jek expect that here? That if she could beat Althea on the deck, she could step up to the mate’s position?
Then Jek’s face broke into her customary grin. She gave Althea a congratulatory punch in the shoulder. ‘But I think you deserve the both, and wish you the best.’ With a quirk of an eyebrow and a widening grin, she demanded, ‘So. He any good?’
Relief numbed her. The look on Amber’s face consoled Althea that she was not the only one that Jek had duped. ‘He’s good enough,’ she muttered abashedly.
‘Well. I’m glad for you then. But don’t let him know that. Best to keep a man thinking there’s still something you wish he were doing. It keeps them imaginative. I get the top bunk now.’ Jek looked at Amber as if expecting her to challenge this.
‘Help yourself,’ Amber replied. ‘I’ll get my tools and dismantle the other bunk. Which do you think we want, Jek? A fold-down table, or room to turn around?’
‘Isn’t Haff moving into the empty bunk?’ Jek suggested innocently. ‘He is taking Althea’s position as second. He should have the bunk to go with it.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Althea grinned. ‘He’s staying in the forecastle with the rest of the crew. He thinks they need a bit of settling out. Lavoy and his deserters have rattled the order of things. Haff feels that the men who left with him did so because they were frightened; Lavoy had convinced them that they should side with him against Brashen, because going up against Kennit was suicidal.’
Jek gave a shout of laughter. ‘As if that was something we didn’t all know.’ At the look on Althea’s face, she sobered slightly. ‘Sorry. But if they didn’t know from the beginning that the odds were against us, then they were idiots and we’re well rid of them.’ She levered herself up easily onto the bunk Althea had just stripped and shouldered herself into it. ‘Snug. But it’s up higher. I prefer to sleep high.’ She gave a sigh of contentment. ‘So. Just what secret is Brashen keeping?’
‘About what?’ Althea asked.
‘About Kennit and what he plans to do to him? I’ll wager it’s a good one.’
‘Oh. That. Yes. It is indeed.’ Althea slung her duffel to her shoulder. She tried not to wonder what judgement Sa reserved for those who led others to their deaths.
Mingsley pursed his lips and set the chipped cup carefully back on its odd saucer. It held
a thin tea of wintermint from the kitchen garden. The good black Jamaillian tea had gone up in flames with everything else that the Chalcedeans had hoarded in the warehouses. He cleared his throat. ‘So. What have you managed for us?’
Serilla gazed at him levelly. She had already made up her mind to one thing. Now that she was rid of Roed Caern, no man was ever going to intimidate her again. Especially one who thought he had her under his finger. Had yesterday taught him nothing?
True to her word, Tintaglia had set out in search of the Kendry and any other liveships she might find. In her absence, the humans had sat down together to try and craft a binding agreement. Early in the proceedings, speaking on her behalf but without consulting her, Mingsley had insisted that Serilla be given the final word on the document. ‘She represents Jamaillia,’ he had intoned loudly. ‘We are all subjects of the Satrapy. We should be willing not only to have her negotiate with the dragon for us, but to assign us our correct roles in the new Bingtown.’
The fisherman, Sparse Kelter had stood and spoken. ‘With no disrespect to this lady, I refuse her authority. She is welcome to sit in with us and speak as a representative of Jamaillia, if she wishes. But this is Bingtown business for Bingtown folk to sort out.’
‘If you will not cede her the authority due her, then I see no reason for the New Traders to remain here,’ Mingsley had blustered. ‘It is well known that the Old Traders have no intention of conceding our right to our lands and…’
‘Oh, do just leave,’ the Tattooed woman had sighed. ‘Or shut up and be a witness. But there is not enough daylight for us to discuss the things we must cover, let alone deal with your posturing.’
The others had stared at him, agreement in their silence. Mingsley had stood threateningly. ‘I know things!’ he had intoned. ‘Things you will wish I had stayed and shared with you. Things that will render useless all you agree to here. Things that…’
But all the rest of his ‘things’ had been lost as two brawny young Three Ships men literally picked him up and set him outside the Council chamber. His final astonished glare at Serilla had said plainly that he had expected her to take his part. She had not. Nor had she tried to claim authority over the meeting, but had been, as suggested, a witness for Jamaillia. And, incidentally, one who was very clear on the original terms of the Bingtown Charter. On many of the provisions, her knowledge was clearer than that of the Traders, gaining the Bingtown Traders’ surprised respect for her erudition. Perhaps they were beginning to see that her precise knowledge of the legal relationship between Bingtown and Jamaillia could benefit them after all. The New Traders had not been as pleased. Now she stared at their spokesman, daring him to take the confrontation further.
Mingsley mistook her long silence for abashment. ‘I will tell you this. You have failed us twice, and badly. You must remember who your friends are. You can’t seriously intend to support the old Charter. It offers us nothing. Surely you can do better for us than that.’ He moved the cup on the saucer. ‘After all we’ve done for you,’ he reminded her slyly.
Serilla took a slow sip of tea. They were in the drawing room of Davad’s house. The Chalcedean raiders had burned the east wing, but this end of the house was still habitable. She smiled small to herself. Her cup was not cracked. A small thing, but a satisfying one. She had stopped fearing to offend him. She looked at Mingsley levelly. It was time to draw a line. ‘I do intend to enforce the old Charter. More, I intend to suggest it as a basic foundation for the new Bingtown.’ She smiled brightly at him as if a brilliant idea had just occurred to her. ‘Perhaps, if you were willing to go upriver, the Rain Wild Traders might offer you the same status as they have offered the Tattooed. Of course, it would have the same requirements. You’d have to bring your true-born daughters and sons with you. When they married into Rain Wild families, they’d become Traders.’
He recoiled from the table, and snatched a kerchief from his pocket. He patted hastily at his lips. ‘The very idea is abhorrent. Companion, are you mocking me?’
‘Not at all. I am merely saying that the so-called New Traders had best come to the bargaining table with everyone else. And they must understand that, like everyone else, they will have to meet certain terms to be accepted here.’
His eyes flashed. ‘Accepted here! We have every right to be here. We have charters granted by Satrap Cosgo himself, ceding us land and…’
‘Charters you bought from him, for outrageous bribes and gifts. Because you knew that bribing him was the only way you could get such a charter. What he could not legitimately grant you, you bought from him. Those charters were founded on dishonesty and broken promises.’ She took another sip of tea. ‘If they hadn’t been, you never would have consented to pay so much for them. You bought lies, “New Trader” Mingsley. Now the truth has come to Bingtown. The truth is that the Three Ships immigrants have a true right to be here. They negotiated it with the Bingtown Traders when they first came here. Last night, they negotiated further. They will be given grants of lands, and votes in the Council, in recognition of all they have done against the Chalcedean invasion. Oh, they will never be Bingtown Traders, of course. Not unless they marry into the families. However, I imagine the Bingtown Traders will become a ceremonial aristocracy of sorts, rather than a true ruling class any more. Moreover, Three Ships families seem to cherish the distinction of being Three Ships. Those of the Tattooed who choose to remain in Bingtown rather than go to the Rain Wilds will have the opportunity to earn land of their own, by assisting in the rebuilding of Bingtown. Those that do will receive voting privileges with the land, and stand on an equal footing with every other landowner.’
‘Ah, well, then.’ Mingsley leaned back in his chair and rested his hands contentedly on his belly. ‘That is what you should have told me first. If voting and control of the town are to be based on land ownership, then we New Traders have nothing to fear.’
‘Certainly, that is true. Once you legally acquire some land, you, too, will be allowed to vote on the Council.’
He went red, and then his face darkened until she feared he would collapse. When he spoke, the words burst from him like steam from a kettle. ‘You have betrayed us!’
‘And how did you expect to be served? You betrayed the Satrapy once, luring Cosgo to issue grants to you that you knew were illegal. Then you came here, and further betrayed Bingtown, by dirtying its shores with slavery and undercutting its economy and way of life. But that was not enough for you. You and your cohorts wanted it all, not just the lands of Bingtown, but the secret trade of Bingtown.’
She paused for a sip of tea, and to smile at him. ‘And for that you were willing to betray the Satrap into death. You would have used his slaughter as an excuse to let the Chalcedeans kill the Bingtown Traders, so long as you could keep their wealth for yourselves. Well, you were betrayed once, by the Chalcedeans. How that astonished you! But you did not learn. Instead you sought to bend me as you bent the Satrap, not with wealth but threats. Well. Now you are betrayed again, by me. If betrayal you would call it, that I stand up for what I have always believed in.’
In a very reasonable voice, she continued, ‘New Traders who labour alongside the Three Ships folk and the slaves in helping to rebuild Bingtown will be granted land. That the Bingtowners themselves decreed, with no prodding from me. It is the best offer you will get. But you will not take it, for your heart is not here. It never was. Your wives and your heirs are not here. Bingtown, to you, was a place to plunder, never home, never a new chance.’
‘And when the Jamaillian fleet arrives here, what then?’ he demanded. ‘The birds that were sent out to Jamaillia primed them to expect Old Trader treachery against the Satrap. Lo and behold, we were more right than we knew! Your Bingtown Trader friends were the ones who sent the Satrap to his death.’
Her voice was cold. ‘You are so bold, you admit your part in the plot against Satrap Cosgo, and then threaten me with the consequences?’ She shook her head in patrician disbelief. ‘If Jamaillia
were going to muster a fleet against us, it would have done so by now. Unless I am much mistaken, those who hoped to sail north and plunder Bingtown have found they must stay at home to protect what they have. If this threatened Jamaillian fleet ever arrives, I doubt there will be much to it. I assure you, I am all too familiar with the financial state of the Jamaillian treasury. The death of a Satrap and the threat of civil war will prompt most nobles to keep their wealth and their strength close to home. I know what the conspiracy hoped. You believed your Jamaillian partners would arrive with ships and turn Bingtown over to you. Doubtless you thought it wise to have this fall-back defence against the Chalcedeans in case they became too greedy. As they did, and far sooner than you expected.’
She gave a small sigh and poured herself more tea. With a social smile, she waved the pot questioningly towards Mingsley’s cup, then interpreted his outraged silence as a refusal. She took up her lecture again. ‘If this fleet ever arrives here, they will be greeted with diplomacy, a cordial welcome and a well-fortified harbour. They will find a city rebuilding itself after an unjustified Chalcedean attack. I suggest you consider the New Traders’ position in Bingtown from an entirely different angle. Whatever will you do if the Satrap is not dead? For if the dragon speaks truth when she says that Malta Vestrit lives, then perhaps the Satrap has survived alongside her. How uncomfortable could that be for you? Especially as I have it, in your own hand, that there was a New Trader plot against him. Not that you were personally involved, of course.’ She idly stirred a bit of honey into the mint tea. ‘In any case, if the fleet is met, not with a show of force, nor a scene of civil disorder, but with a courteous and diplomatic welcome … well.’ She cocked her head at him and smiled winningly. ‘We shall see. Oh. Did I caution you to remember that this Jamaillian fleet must first come here through not only the Pirate Isles, but through the Chalcedean “patrol” vessels? It will, I think, be rather like coming past an enraged hive of bees. If and when the fleet reaches us, they may be glad of a peaceful harbour and a dragon guardian.’ She stirred her tea again as she idly asked, ‘Or had you forgotten about Tintaglia?’
