by Robin Hobb
The crew assembled dispiritedly, but brightened at the prospect of going ashore. He had them draw lots for who would remain aboard, and then ordered the rest of them to the boats. Some would hunt and forage, and a picked handful would follow the path with him. While the men readied the boat, he sauntered forwards to Paragon with feigned nonchalance. ‘Want to tell me what I should expect?’
‘A bit of a hike, to begin with. Lucto did not want his little kingdom to be easily visible from the water. I’ve Kennit’s memories of the way. You’ll go uphill, but when you crest the hill and start to go down, be alert. The path goes through an orchard first, and then to the compound. There was a big house, and a row of smaller cottages. Lucto took good care of his crewmen; their wives and children lived here in happier times, until Igrot slaughtered most of them. The rest he carried off as slaves.’
Paragon paused. He stared blindly at the island. Brashen waited. ‘The last time I sailed from here, Mother was still alive. Lucto had perished. Igrot had taken his games too far and Father died. When we departed, Mother was marooned alone. That amused Igrot, I think. But Kennit swore he would come back to her. I believe he would have kept that oath. She was a doughty woman. Even as battered as she was, she would have chosen to live. She may still be alive here. If you find her … when you find her, tell her your tale. Be honest with her. She deserves that much. Tell her why you have come to take her.’ The ship’s boyish voice choked suddenly. ‘Don’t terrorize or hurt her. She has had enough of that in her life. Ask her to come with us. I think she may come willingly.’
Brashen took a deep breath and confronted the villainous aspect of the ship’s plan. It shamed him. ‘I’ll do the best I can,’ he promised Paragon. The best he could. Could the word ‘best’ be applied at all to this task, the kidnapping and bartering of an elderly woman? He did not think so, yet he would do it to regain Althea safely. He tried to console himself. He would see that she came to no harm. Surely Kennit’s own mother had nothing to fear from the pirate.
He voiced the largest hole in the plan. ‘And if Kennit’s mother is…no longer here?’
‘Then we wait,’ the ship proposed. ‘Sooner or later, he will come here.’
Now there was a comforting thought.
Brashen led his force of armed men up the overgrown trail. Fallen leaves were thick underfoot. Overhead, branches both bare and leafy dripped the morning’s rain. A sword weighted one side of his belt, and two of his men carried bows at the ready. The precaution was more against pigs, whose hoof-tracks and droppings were plentiful, than against any imagined resistance. From what Paragon said, if the woman still lived, she likely lived here alone. He wondered if she would be mad. How long could a person live in complete isolation and remain sane?
They crested the hill and started down the other side. The trees were as thick, though sizeable stumps showed that once this hillside had been logged for timber. The forest had taken it back since then. At the bottom of the hill, they emerged into an orchard. Tall wet grass soaked Brashen to the thighs as he pushed his way through it. His men followed him through the bare-branched fruit trees. Some of the trees sprawled where they had fallen. Others reached to intertwine wet black branches overhead.
But halfway through the orchard, the wide-reaching branches of the trees showed the signs of seasonal pruning. The grass had been trampled down, and Brashen caught a faint whiff of wood-smoke on the air. He saw now what the tangled trees had hidden. A whitewashed great-house dominated the valley, flanked by a row of cottages along the edges of the cultivated lands. He halted and his men stopped with him, muttering in surprise. A barn suggested livestock; he lifted his eyes to isolated sheep and goats grazing on the opposite hillside. This was too much to be the work of one set of hands. There were people here. There would be confrontation.
He glanced back at the men following him. ‘Follow my lead. I want to talk my way through this if we can. The ship said she would be willing to go with us. Let’s hope that is so.’
As he spoke, a woman carrying a child fled towards one of the cottages and slammed the door behind her. An instant later, it opened again. A large man stepped out onto the doorstep, spotted them, and ducked back inside the cottage. When he reappeared, he carried a woodsman’s axe. He hefted it purposefully as he looked up at them. One of Brashen’s archers lifted his bow.
‘Down,’ Brashen commanded in a low voice. He lifted his own arms wide to show his peaceful intent. The man by the cottage did not look impressed. Nor did the woman who emerged behind him. She carried a large knife now instead of the baby.
Brashen reached a hard decision. ‘Keep your bows lowered. Follow me, but twenty paces behind me. Unless I order it, no man shoots an arrow. Am I clear?’
‘Clear, sir,’ one man answered, and the rest muttered doubtful responses. His last effort at peaceful negotiating was still fresh in their minds.
Brashen lifted his arms wide of his sheathed sword and called out to the people by the cottage. ‘I’m coming down. I mean no harm. I just want to talk to you.’ He began to walk forwards.
‘Stop where you are!’ the woman shouted back. ‘Talk to us from there!’
Brashen took a few more steps to see what they would do. The man came to meet him, axe ready. He was a large man, his wide cheeks tattooed all the way to his ears. Brashen recognized his type from brawls: He would not fight especially well, but he’d be hard to kill. With a sinking certainty, he knew he had no heart for this. He wasn’t going to kill anyone while their untended baby wailed inside the cottage. Althea herself would not ask that of him. There had to be another way.
‘The Ludluck woman!’ he shouted. He wished Paragon had told him the mother’s name. ‘Lucky’s widow. I want to talk to her. That’s why we’ve come.’
The man halted uncertainly. He looked back at the woman. She lifted her chin. ‘We’re the only ones here. Go away and forget you ever came.’
So she knew the odds were against them. If his men fanned out, they could trap them in the cottage. He decided to push his advantage.
‘I’m coming down. I just want to see that you are telling the truth. If she isn’t here, we’ll go away. We want no bloodshed. I just want to speak to the Ludluck woman.’
The man glanced back at his woman. Brashen read uncertainty in her stance and hoped he was correct. Arms held well away from his sword, Brashen walked slowly towards the house. The closer he came, the more he doubted that they were the only people on the island. At least one other cottage had a well-trodden path to the door and a shimmer of smoke rising from its chimney. A very slight movement of the woman’s head warned him. He turned just as a slender young woman launched herself from a tree. She was barefoot and unarmed but her fury was her weapon.
‘Raiders. Raiders. Filthy raiders!’ she yowled as she attacked with her fists and nails. He lifted his arm to shield his face from her nails.
‘Ankle! No! No, stop, run away!’ the other woman screamed. She came towards them at a lumbering run, her knife held high, the man only a step behind her.
‘We’re not slavers!’ he told her, but Ankle only came at him more fiercely. He hunched away from her, then spun back to seize her around the waist. He managed to catch one of her wrists. She clawed and pulled hair with the other hand until he captured that, too. It was like hugging an angry cat. Her bare feet thudded against his shins while she bit his shoulder. His vest was thick, but it did not dull the savagery of her attack. ‘Stop it!’ he shouted at her. ‘We’re not slavers. I just need to talk to Kennit Ludluck’s mother. That is all.’
At the name Kennit, the girl in his arms went limp. He took advantage of the moment to heave her towards the woman with the knife. The woman caught her with one arm and then put her behind her. She held up a hand to halt Axe-man’s headlong charge.
‘Kennit?’ she demanded. ‘Kennit sent you here?’
It didn’t seem a good time to correct her. ‘I’ve a message for his mother.’
‘Liar. Liar. Liar!’ T
he girl hopped up and down with rage, baring her teeth at him. ‘Kill him, Saylah. Kill him. Kill him.’ For the first time, Brashen realized all was not right with her mind. The man with the axe absently put a hand on her shoulder to calm her. There was something fatherly in the gesture. She stilled, but continued to pull faces at him. There was no exchange of glances; the woman was obviously thinking, and he now knew who was in charge here.
‘Come on,’ Saylah said at length, gesturing at the cottage. ‘Ankle, you run fetch Mother. Now don’t you alarm her, you just say a man is here with a message from Kennit. Go on.’ She turned back to Brashen. ‘My man Dedge is going to stand here and watch your men. If one of them moves, we’ll kill you. Understand?’
‘Of course.’ He turned back to the men. ‘Stay there. Do nothing. I’ll be back.’
A few heads bobbed agreement. None of them looked happy about it.
Ankle took off running. Her feet kicked up clods of dirt as she crossed a harvested garden. Dedge crossed his arms on his chest and fixed a glowering stare on Brashen’s men. Brashen went with the woman.
The crowing of a rooster broke the grey afternoon, making him jump. He wondered suddenly if he had completely miscalculated. Tilled earth, chickens, sheep, goats, pigs…this island could support a substantial settlement. ‘Hurry up,’ Saylah snapped.
At the door of the cottage, she got in front of him. Once inside, she swooped up a lustily bawling baby and hugged the child to her, still keeping her knife at the ready. ‘Sit down,’ she ordered him.
He sat, looking curiously around the room. The furnishings spoke of folk with more time than skill. The table, the chairs, the bed in the corner looked like the work of their own hands. Everything was sturdy if not elegant. It was, in its own way, a cosy room. A small fire burned on the hearth and he found himself grateful for the warmth after the chill day. The baby quieted in his mother’s arm. The woman began the universal rocking sway of women holding children.
‘You have a nice home,’ he said inanely.
Her eyes widened in confusion. ‘It’s good enough,’ she said grudgingly.
‘And better than many another place we’ve both been, I’m sure.’
‘That’s true,’ she conceded.
He put on his best Bingtown manners. Small talk while they waited for the lady of the house. He tried to sit as if he had confidence in her hospitality. ‘It’s a good place to raise a boy. Plenty of room to run free, lots to explore. Healthy as he looks, it won’t be long before he’s ranging the whole island.’
‘Probably,’ she conceded, looking down for an instant at the baby’s face.
‘He’s, what, about a year old?’ Brashen hazarded a wild guess.
It brought a smile to her face. ‘Scarcely.’ Saylah gave the baby an affectionate bump. ‘But I think he is big for his age.’
A sound outside the door brought her back to alertness, but Brashen dared to hope he had disarmed some of her distrust. He tried to maintain a relaxed posture as Ankle thrust her head into the room. She glared at him and pointed. ‘Raider. Liar,’ she asserted furiously.
‘Ankle, go outside,’ Saylah ordered her. The younger woman stepped back, and Brashen heard an odd muttering from outside the door. When an older woman entered, a glance told him that she was the one he sought. Kennit had his mother’s eyes. She tipped her head inquiringly at him. She carried a basket on one arm; wide-capped brown mushrooms glistened inside it.
She made an inquiring noise at Saylah, who stabbed towards Brashen with her knife. ‘He showed up, coming from the cove, with six men. He says he has a message for you from Kennit. But he asked for you as Lucky’s widow, the Ludluck woman.’
The older woman turned an incredulous gaze on Brashen. She raised her brows in an exaggerated gesture of surprise, and muttered something. Her lack of a tongue was not going to make any of this easier. He glanced at Saylah, wondering how best to proceed. Paragon had told him to be honest, but did that mean in front of witnesses?
He took a breath. ‘Paragon brought me here,’ he said quietly.
He should have been prepared for her shock. Kennit’s mother staggered where she stood, then gripped the edge of the table. Saylah uttered an exclamation and stepped forwards to steady the old woman.
‘We need your help. Paragon wants you to come with us, to see Kennit.’
‘You can’t take her off the island! Not alone!’ Saylah cried angrily.
‘She can bring whoever she wants to bring,’ Brashen said recklessly. ‘We mean no harm to her. I keep telling you that. I am here to take her to Kennit.’
Kennit’s mother lifted her face and stared at Brashen. Her mild blue eyes pierced him with their acuity. She knew that no one who mentioned Paragon came from Kennit. She knew that whether or not he intended harm to her, he would be taking her into danger. Her eyes were the ancient eyes of a martyr, but they met his steadily in a long look. She nodded.
‘She says she will go with you,’ Saylah needlessly informed him.
Kennit’s mother made another sign to the woman. The tattooed woman looked stunned. ‘Him? You can’t take him with you.’
Kennit’s mother drew herself up straight and stamped her foot for emphasis. She made the odd sign again, a turning motion of her hand. Saylah looked hard at Brashen. ‘Are you sure she is to bring whoever she wants? That was part of the message?’
Brashen nodded, wondering what he was getting into. It was too dangerous to contradict himself now. He met the older woman’s eyes. ‘Paragon said to trust you,’ he told her.
Kennit’s mother closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them, they swam with tears. She shook her head fiercely, then turned away from him to the other woman. She gabbled away at her, punctuating her noises with hand signs. The other woman frowned as she translated. ‘There are a few things she has to gather. She says you should go back to the cove, and we will come there.’
Could it be this easy? He met the pale blue eyes once more and the woman nodded at him emphatically. She wanted to do this her own way. Very well.
‘I’ll wait there for you,’ he told her gravely. He stood, and bowed formally.
‘Hold a moment,’ Saylah warned him. She stuck her head out the door. ‘Ankle! You put that down! Mother says we are to let him go back to the cove. If you hit him with that, I’ll take a belt to you. Now, I mean it!’
Just outside the door, a heavy stick of kindling was flung disdainfully to the earth.
The tattooed woman issued more orders. ‘You run tell Dedge that Mother said to let him pass. Tell him all is well. Go on, now.’
Brashen watched the girl run away. If he had stepped out the door, she would have brained him. He felt a cold rush up his spine at the thought.
‘She’s never been right since they chained her, but she’s getting better. She can’t help it!’ The woman spoke the last words defensively, as if Brashen had criticized her.
‘I don’t blame her,’ he said quietly, and found that he did not. Brashen watched the girl run. She could not have been more than sixteen. Her limp was very pronounced as she hurried up to Dedge. He listened, then acknowledged the message with a nod to Saylah.
Brashen left the cottage with another bow. Ankle made faces at him as he passed them and gesticulated wildly and obscenely. Dedge spoke not a word. His eyes never left Brashen. Brashen gave him a solemn nod as he passed, but the man’s face remained impassive. He wondered what Dedge would say or do when he was told Kennit’s mother planned to take him with him.
‘So. How long do we wait?’ Amber asked him.
Brashen shrugged. He had returned immediately to the ship and told her all. He had found his men jubilantly gutting two hairy pigs they had taken with spears. They had wanted to hunt longer, but he had insisted that the entire crew re-board. He would take no chances on any possible trickery.
Paragon had remained silent through his accounting. Amber had looked thoughtful. Now the ship spoke. ‘Never fear. She will come.’ He turned his face away,
as if shamed to let them read his features. ‘She loves Kennit as much as I did.’
As if his words had summoned her, Brashen spotted movement on the shaded trail. An instant later, Kennit’s mother emerged onto the beach. She looked up at Paragon and her hands flew to her tongueless mouth. She stared at him. Dedge came behind her. He carried a sack over his shoulder; in his free hand he held the end of the chain. At the end of it shambled a wreck of a man, long-haired and pale, thin as a bundle of sticks. The chained man turned his eyes from the light, wincing as if it pained him.
‘What is that?’ Amber demanded in horror.
‘I guess we’ll soon find out,’ Brashen replied.
Behind them came Saylah, pushing a barrow of potatoes and turnips. A few trussed roosters squawked loudly atop the vegetables. Amber instantly grasped what that was about. She jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll see what we can spare in the way of trade goods. Are we generous or sparing?’
Brashen shrugged his shoulders. ‘Use your judgement. I doubt we have much, but anything they can’t make for themselves will probably please them.’
In the end, the entire exchange went easily. Kennit’s mother was brought aboard and immediately went to the foredeck. With her, she carried a canvas packet. It was more difficult to get the chained man aboard. He could not manage to climb the ladder; in the end, he had to be hoisted aboard like cargo. Once on deck, he huddled in a heap, moaning softly. His scarred forearms sheltered his head as if he expected a blow at any moment. Brashen guessed it had taken all his strength to get that far. Amber was generous to a fault in her trading, giving them needles and such tools and fasteners as she decided she could spare from the ship’s tool chest, as well as clothing and fabric from the sea-chests of their dead crewmen. Brashen tried not to think about buying food for the living with the possessions of the dead, but the crew did not seem troubled by it, and Saylah was delighted. Amber’s generosity went far to disarm her hostility and suspicion.
‘You’ll take good care of Mother?’ she asked as they were taking leave.
