Mad Ship tlt-2

by Robin Hobb

  "Did the newcomer just accept your mother taking the child?"

  Grag grinned again, but there was a fierce edge to it. A glint came into his eyes. "Not gracefully. However, Lennel, our cook, was with Mother. He is not a man to accept anyone trifling with the mistress. The slave-owner stood in the street and shouted threats after them, but did little more than that. Those that took notice either sneered or laughed. What will he do? Go to the town council and complain that someone kidnapped the child he had illegally enslaved?"

  "No. More likely he will go to the town council and lend his support to those who would make slavery a law as well as a fact here."

  "My mother has already declared that when the Bingtown Council hears our grievances against the Satrap's servants, she will bring up the matter of slavery as well. She intends to demand that our laws against it be enforced."

  "How?" Althea asked bitterly.

  Grag just looked at her. In a quiet voice he said, "I do not know. But it should at least be attempted. We have looked aside from it. Amber says that if the slaves truly believed we would support their liberty, they would not be so fearful to admit they were truly slaves. They have been told by their masters that if they are defiant and claim freedom, they will be tortured to death and that no one will interfere."

  Althea felt a terrible coldness well up in her. She thought of the child Naria had claimed. Did she still fear torture and death? What would that do to anyone, to grow up under such a shadow?

  "Amber feels that with genuine support, they would rise up and walk away from their slavery. They far outnumber their masters. She also feels that if Bingtown does not act soon to restore their rightful freedom, there will be a bloody rebellion that will ruin the whole city."

  "So. We help them regain their rightful freedom soon, or we will all go down in flames when they take it for themselves?"

  "Something like that." Grag lifted his mug of beer and drank thoughtfully.

  After a long moment, Althea heaved a sigh. She took another sip of her tea and stared off into the distance.

  "Althea. Don't look so woebegone. We're doing all that can be done. We go before the Council tomorrow night. Maybe we can bring them to their senses about both the Satrap's tariffs and slavery in Bingtown."

  "Perhaps you're right," Althea agreed glumly. She did not tell him that she had not been considering slavery or tariffs. She had been looking at the handsome and good-hearted young man across the table from her and waiting. She waited in vain. She felt only affectionate friendship. She had sighed, wondering why a decent and respectable man like Grag Tenira could not stir her heart and senses as Brashen Trell had.

  He nearly went around to the back door. Then some remnant of old pride made him stride up to the front and ring the bell. He refused to look down at himself as he waited. He was not ragged, nor dirty. The yellow silk shirt was of the finest quality, as was the scarf at his throat. The dark blue trousers and short jacket he wore had seen some mending, but the work of his own needle never shamed a good sailor. If the fabric and cut were more suited to the pirates of the isles than to a Bingtown Trader's son, well… Brashen Trell was likely more one than the other these days. There was a small cindin burn at the corner of his mouth where he had fallen asleep while indulging, but his current mustache hid most of that. A small smile came and went on his face. If Althea got close enough to see it, he doubted she'd be thinking about it. His quick ears detected the light scuff of serving girl's step in the passageway. He took off his hat.

  A well-rigged young woman opened the door to him. She looked him up and down, plainly disapproving of his rakish clothes. She returned his cheery grin with an affronted stare. "Did you wish something?" she asked him haughtily.

  He winked at her. "I could wish for a more courteous greeting, but I doubt that would get me one. I'm here to see Althea Vestrit. If she is not available, I'd like to meet with Ronica Vestrit. I've news that won't wait."

  "Indeed? Well, I'm afraid it will have to, as neither of them is at home at present. Good day."

  The inflection of her voice plainly said it was not at all a good day that she wished him. He stepped forward quickly to catch the edge of the door before it could close.

  "But Althea is back from sea?" he pressed, needing to hear those words spoken.

  "She has been home from sea for weeks. Let go!" she spat at him.

  His heart lurched with relief. She was home, safe. The girl was still tugging at the door he gripped. He decided the time for tact was past. "I won't leave. I can't. I bring important news. I won't be put off by a serving girl's tantrum. Let me in, right now, or both your mistresses will be greatly displeased with you."

  The little maid fell back a step, gasping in shock. Brashen took the opportunity to step into the entryway. He glanced about himself, frowning at what he saw. This entryway had always been the captain's pride. It was still clean and bright, but the woodwork and brass no longer gleamed. He missed the warm scents of beeswax and oil. He even saw wisps of a high cobweb in a corner. He had no time to see more. The housemaid stamped her small foot at him indignantly. "I am not a servant, you misbegotten bit of wharf-trash. I am Malta Haven, daughter of this household. I'll thank you to take your stench out of my home."

  "Not until I've seen Althea. I'll wait as long as I need to. Put me anywhere, I'll sit still and mind my manners." He peered at the girl more closely. "It is Malta! Beg pardon, I didn't recognize you. The last time I saw you, you were in a little girl's frocks." He attempted to make amends for his earlier slight. He smiled down on her. "My, don't you look grand today? Are you and your friends playing a tea party, then?"

  His attempt at disarming friendliness was a disaster. The girl's eyes went wide, and her upper lip sneered back from her teeth in disdain. "Who are you, sailor, to dare speak to me so familiarly, in my father's house?"

  "Brashen Trell," he said. "Former first mate for Captain Vestrit. Beg pardon for not saying so sooner. I bring news of the liveship Vivacia. I need to see your aunt or grandmother immediately. Or your mother. Is she at home?"

  "She is not. She and Grandmother have gone into town, to discuss spring planting arrangements. They will not be back until later. Althea is off doing whatever it is that currently amuses her. Sa knows when she will wander in. However, you can tell your news to me. Why has the ship been so long delayed? Will they be much longer?"

  Brashen cursed his own dull wits. The prospect of seeing Althea had displaced some of the gravity of his news in his mind. He looked at the girl before him. He was bringing tidings that her family ship had been seized by pirates. He would not be able to tell her if her father were still alive. That was not news he was going to deliver to a child at home by herself. He ardently wished that she had allowed one of the servants to open the door to him. He wished even more that he had had the sense to hold his tongue until an adult was present. He chewed his lip, then winced as it tugged at the cindin sores. "I think you had best send a boy down to the town, to ask your grandmother to come home right away. This is news she should receive first."

  "Why? Is something wrong?"

  For the first time, the girl spoke in her own voice, not a parody of an adult's. Oddly, it made her seem more mature. The sudden fear in her voice and eyes went to Brashen's heart. He stood tongue-tied. He didn't want to lie to her. He didn't want to burden her with the truth without her mother or aunt to help her absorb the blow. He turned his hat in his hands. "I think we had best wait for an adult to be here," he suggested firmly. "Do you think you could send a lad to find your mother or grandmother or aunt?"

  Her mouth twisted, and he almost saw her fears turn to anger. Her eyes glinted with anger as she crisply replied, "I shall send Rache. Wait here."

  With that command, she marched away and left him standing in the doorway. He wondered why she had not simply summoned a servant to carry the message. She had answered the door herself also. He ventured a few steps further into the once-familiar room and peered down the hall. His quick
eyes picked up minor signs of neglect there also. He cast his mind back to his walk here; the carriageway had been littered with broken branches and unraked leaves. The steps had been unswept. Had the Vestrit family come on hard times or was this just Kyle being tight-fisted? He waited restlessly. The evil tidings he was bearing might be much graver than he had first imagined. The capture of their family vessel might spell their ruin. 'Althea!' he thought fiercely as if he could summon her by will alone.

  The Springeve was anchored in Bingtown Harbor. They had arrived in port today. As soon as the ship was secured, Finney had sent Brashen ashore. Finney supposed he was arranging for a buyer for the best of their loot. Brashen had come straight to the Vestrit's home instead. The portrait of the Vivacia was aboard the Springeve, mute evidence that what he said was true. He doubted they would demand to see it, though Althea would definitely want to reclaim it. Brashen was not sure what Althea's feelings for him were right now, but she would know he was not a liar.

  He tried to push thoughts of Althea away, but once turned to that topic, his mind refused to give it up. What did she think of him? Why did it matter so much to him? Because it did. Because he wanted her to think well of him. They had not parted well, and he had regretted that ever since. He didn't believe she would hold his rough jest against him when they met again. She wasn't like that; she wasn't some prissy female to take grave offense at an awkward joke. He closed his eyes a moment and almost prayed he was right. He thought more than well of her. He thrust his hands in his pockets and paced a turn around the hallway.

  Althea stood in Amber's shop, idly running her hands through a basket of beads. She fished one out at random, and looked at it. An apple. The next was a pear, and the next was a cat, its tail curled around its body. At the door, Amber bid her customer farewell, promising that she would have his selections strung into a necklace by this time tomorrow. As the door shut behind him, Amber rattled a handful of beads into a small basket, and then began to restore the rejected wares to their shelves. As Althea came to help her, Amber picked up their earlier conversation.

  "So. Naria Tenira will confront the Bingtown Council about slavery? Is that what you came to tell me?"

  "I thought you'd want to know how persuasive she'd found you."

  Amber smiled, pleased. "I already knew, of course. Naria told me. I scandalized her by saying I wished I could be there."

  "The meetings are for Trader folk only," Althea protested.

  "She said the same," Amber replied affably. "Is that what brought you here so swiftly?"

  Althea shrugged. "I hadn't seen you in awhile. And I couldn't face going home to the accounts or to Malta. Someday, Amber, I'm going to shake that girl until her teeth rattle. She is so infuriating."

  "Actually, she sounds as if she's a lot like you." At Althea's outraged glare, Amber amended, "As you would have been if your father had not taken you to sea."

  Althea observed reluctantly, "Sometimes I wonder if what he did was kind."

  It was Amber's turn to be surprised. "Would you have it otherwise?" she asked quietly.

  "I don't know." Althea ran her hands through her hair distractedly. Amber watched in amusement.

  "You're not playing the role of a boy anymore. You'd best smooth out that mess you just made."

  Althea groaned, and patted at her hair. "No. Now I'm playing the role of a Bingtown woman. It's equally false to me. There. Does it look all right now?"

  Amber reached across the counter to push a lock of Althea's hair back into place. "There. That's better. False, how?"

  Althea bit her lip for a moment. Then she shook her head. "False in every way. I feel trapped in these clothes; I must walk a certain way, sit a certain way. I can scarcely lift my hand over my head without the sleeves binding me. The pins in my hair give me a headache. I must speak to people according to proper protocol. Even to stand here, speaking intimately with you in your shop, is potentially scandalous. But worst of all, I must pretend to want things I don't really want." She paused briefly. "Sometimes I almost convince myself I do want them," she added confusedly. "If I could want them, life would be easier."

  The bead-maker made no immediate reply. Amber picked up the small baskets of beads. Althea followed her as she walked to an alcove at the back of the store. Amber let down a rattling curtain of hand-carved beads to shield them from casual eyes. She sat down on a tall stool by a worktable. Althea took a chair. The arms of it bore the marks of Amber's idle whittling.

  "What don't you want?" Amber asked kindly as she began to set the beads out on the table before her.

  "I don't want all the things a real woman would want. You made me realize that. I don't dream of babies and a pretty house. I don't want a settled home, and a growing family. I'm not even sure I want a husband. Today Malta accused me of being odd. It stung worse than anything else she flung at me. Because it's true. I suppose I am. I don't want any of the things a woman is supposed to want." She rubbed her temples. "I should want Grag. I mean… I do want Grag. I like him. I enjoy his company." She stared at the front door as she added more honestly, "When he touches my hand, it warms me. But when I consider marrying him and all that would go with it…" She shook her head. "It's not what I want. It would cost too much. Even though it would, perhaps, be wise."

  Amber said nothing. She was setting out bits of metal and wooden spacers. She measured off several lengths of gleaming silken thread, and then began to knot them together into a woven rope. "You don't love him," Amber suggested.

  "I could. I don't allow myself to love him. It's like wanting something you can't possibly afford to buy. There is no reason not to love him, save that there is so much… attached to him. His family. His inheritance. His ship, his position in the community." Althea sighed again, and looked miserable. "The man himself is wonderful. But I can't bring myself to give up everything I'd have to surrender to love him."

  "Ah," Amber said. She fitted a bead to the woven strand and knotted it in place.

  Althea traced an old carving on the chair's arm. "He has expectations. They don't include me captaining my own liveship. He'd want me to settle down and manage things for him. I'd make a home for him to come back to, and raise our children and keep our household in order." Her brows knit over her dark eyes. "I'd do everything that needed to be done so that he could sail off without any worries save the ship." Bitterness came into her voice. "I'd do all the things that made it possible for him to live the life he wanted." She spoke the next words sadly. "If I decide to love Grag, to marry him, it would cost me everything else I've ever wanted to do with my life. I'd have to lay it all down for the sake of loving him."

  "And that's not what you want to do with your life?" Amber asked.

  A sour smile twisted Althea's mouth. "No. I don't want to be the wind in his sails. That's what I want someone else to do for me." She sat up straight suddenly. "That is… that didn't come out right. I'm not explaining this very well."

  Amber looked up from her work to grin at her. "On the contrary, I think you are uncomfortable only because you have stated it so plainly. You want a mate who will follow your dream. You don't want to give up your own ambitions to make someone else's life possible."

  "I suppose that's true," Althea admitted reluctantly. An instant later she demanded, "Why is that so wrong?"

  "It isn't," Amber assured her. A moment later she added wickedly, "As long as you're male."

  Althea leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms stubbornly. "I can't help it. That's what I want." When Amber said nothing, Althea asked, almost angrily, "Don't try to tell me that that is what love is, giving it all up for someone else!"

  "But for some people, it is," Amber pointed out inexorably. She bound another bead into the necklace, then held it up to look at it critically. "Others are like two horses in harness, pulling together toward a goal."

  "I suppose that wouldn't be so bad," Althea conceded. Her knit brows said she did not entirely believe it. "Why can't people love one another an
d still remain free?" she demanded suddenly.

  Amber paused to rub her eyes, then tug thoughtfully at her earring. "One can love that way," she conceded regretfully. "But the price on that kind of love may be the highest of all." She strung her words together as carefully as she strung her beads. "To love another person like that, you have to admit that his life is as important as yours. Harder still, you have to admit to yourself that perhaps he has needs you cannot fill, and that you have tasks that will take you far away from him. It costs loneliness and longing and doubt and—"

  "Why must love cost anything? Why does need have to be mixed up with love? Why can't people be like butterflies, coming together in bright sunshine and parting while the day is still bright?"

  "Because they are people, not butterflies. To pretend that people can come together, love and then part with no pain or consequences is more false a role than pretending to be a proper Trader's daughter." She set her beads down and met Althea's gaze. She spoke bluntly. "Don't, please, convince yourself that you can bed Grag Tenira and walk away from it without diminishing both of you. A moment ago you spoke of love without need. To sate your need without love is theft. If you must have that, hire it done. But don't steal that from Grag under the pretense that it is free. I know Grag Tenira now. He cannot give you that, not that way."

  Althea crossed her arms on her chest. "I wasn't thinking of doing that."

  "Yes, you were," Amber asserted, her eyes back on her beads. "We all think about doing that. That doesn't make it right." She turned her work and began a new pattern of knots. In the silence she added, "When you bed someone, there is always a commitment. Sometimes that commitment is only that you will both pretend it doesn't matter." Her strangely colored eyes held Althea's for a moment. "Sometimes that commitment is made only to yourself. The other party never knows it or agrees to it."