by Hobb, Robin
As for Alise . . . well, a marriage contract was, first and foremost, a contract. What she “felt” about the situation mattered not at all. She was bound by her word and signature as a Bingtown Trader’s daughter. He would hold her to it. That was all. She could come willingly, and he’d put her back in his home, with her scrolls and books and papers. Or she could fight him and come back to find herself little better than a servant. He’d done her a great social favor by marrying her. Her family would have to be fools not to urge her to return to her proper place. And that would be the lever he could use against her: if she fought him at all, he could threaten her family’s dignity and fortune. Then she would do as she was bid.
“Are you listening?” his father demanded abruptly.
“Of course I am!” Hest lied indignantly.
“Well, then, which ship and which departure date do you prefer? News of this new city has increased interest in the Rain Wilds to a fever pitch. Everyone with a cousin in Trehaug or Cassarick will be trying to book passage, to see if there is a way to make some money from this. If you want a berth on one of the ships going up the river, you’d best buy your passage today.”
“Have your man do it for me, would you? With Sedric off gallivanting, I’m afraid I’ve had to do all my own secretarial work—”
“Go to the docks. Book yourself a passage.” His father spoke in an adamant voice tinged with all the disgust of a man who did things for himself and found it inconceivable that his son would delegate those tasks to underlings.
Hest kept his expression bland. Once, years ago, he’d tried to explain to his father that he was a man of some importance in Bingtown, a Trader with a substantial fortune and ships of his own and that men like that did not go tramping off to arrange their own travel or choose their own ham from some merchant’s smoking rack. The argument that followed had been long and tedious as his father had asserted that that was how he had risen to importance and he would not consign the details of his life to someone else. Hest was braced for just such a lecture again when his mother made her entrance into his father’s study.
His mother never just walked into a room. Sealia Finbok entered like a ship in full sail. Her luxuriant black hair was pinned up and topped with a flower arrangement that Hest privately thought more suitable to a table than a woman’s head. She had always been buxom, and age had only increased her abundance. She wore, as she almost always did, a garment modeled on an old-fashioned robe in their Trader’s color, a rich purple. He suspected that she thought it reminded everyone she might encounter of their status. Also it was less confining than a more modern gown would have been. The simplicity of her attire was negated by the costly fabric she had chosen for it. She advanced, arms already gaping wide to engulf him.
“My poor dear boy! How can he expect you to manage anything when your heart must be aching so! Who would have thought it of Alise? She seemed such a mouse of a woman, so content to simply stay in her own home. I am convinced that when the full tale is told, there will be much more to the story. No woman in her right mind would ever forsake you! What other man could compare to you! And Sedric has been your friend for so long; however could he betray you so? My dear, dear boy! No. Something has befallen them in that foul place, some sort of dark Rain Wild magic.”
She moved and gestured as she spoke, almost dancing as if she were still the graceful dark-haired woman who smiled sweetly from her wedding portrait on the wall behind his father’s desk. His father was smiling at her, as he always did when she swept into his study, but a slight narrowing of his eyes indicated that, also as always, he did not approve of her melodramatic sympathy for Hest.
Hest did. It had always played to his favor. Three sons had died before him, carried away by the Blood Plague, leaving him to step into the role of eldest son and heir. There had always been speculation that the Blood Plague came from the Rain Wilds, either as a curse or as an infection caused by the handling of Elderling artifacts. His mother believed that and had never forgiven the Rain Wilds for the deaths of her three little sons. Sealia was perfectly ready to blame it now for the collapse of her son’s marriage and the defection of his “best friend.” And he was perfectly willing to let her. He fixed her with a soulful gaze and saw her brim with sympathy. “Would it were so, Mother.” He spoke softly. “But I fear that someone else has claimed her heart.”
“Then claim it back!” she exhorted him, her voice rising in the challenge. “Go to her. Show yourself side by side with him. Remind her of all you have done for her: the beautiful home, her own little study, the priceless scrolls, and the evenings you have had to spend alone while she fussed and stared at them. She owes you her loyalty. Remind her of the oaths of your marriage contract.” His mother’s voice deepened and slowed as she added, “And remind her of the costs, both social and financial, of breaking those oaths.”
His father steamed out a breath through his nostrils. “My dear, do you not fear that Alise may in her turn remind Hest of all the weeks she has spent alone while he was off on his trading voyages? All the evenings when he has chosen to entertain his friends at places other than his home. And the lack of a babe to cherish . . .”
“How dare you place that blame on our son?” His mother sprang to his defense before Hest could say a word. “It may well be that she is the barren one! And if she is, well, then perhaps he is the one who is doubly wronged! And if she has been faithless in the hopes of proving that the fault is in him, then let her bring the little bastard up on her own! The Finbok family is not so destitute of honor that we must put up with that sort of thing. Her running off has given Hest ample reason to set her aside if he chooses; surely such a long absence violates her marriage contract. And it isn’t as if Bingtown is lacking in lovely, eligible, well-brought-up young ladies who would be delighted to have him as a spouse. Why, when we announced he would wed, all I heard from every quarter were cries of dismay! Every one of my dearest friends had a young woman in mind who they had hoped to present to Hest! If I’d only known that he had decided he was ready to settle down, I could have presented him with a dozen, no, a score of eligible women! And of better houses and fortunes, I might add!”
She crossed her arms on her chest as if she had just proven something. And perhaps she had. Hest had not stopped to consider that a runaway wife might offer his mother a chance not only to saddle him with another inconvenient spouse but one who might not be as easily dominated as the missing Alise. Having rid himself of one wife, he had no desire to acquire another. In truth, he had no desire at all to regain Alise . . . unless, of course, she came with a fifteenth of an unlooted Elderling city attached.
His father looked both weary and stubborn; his mother, determined. It was a familiar stance for both of them. When, as a youngster, Hest had broken or lost a toy, his father had always expected him to deal with it, while his mother’s strategy had always been to replace it quickly with something more expensive or interesting. He thought of that applied to a wife and felt a wave of dread. Time to stop her, time to divert her. If his father challenged her will on this, she’d never give in!
“I chose Alise,” he said heavily as his mother opened her lips to speak. “I chose her, Mother, and I married her. I signed a contract. And perhaps my father is right. I might be wisest to first make peace with the wife I chose before shopping around for a new one. I have spent many nights away from her, in my ambition to improve our fortune. I meant it to be for her benefit, but perhaps she did not understand that and felt neglected. And while our efforts to have a child have not proven fruitful yet, well, I am not so hard-hearted a man as to blame that on her. Perhaps, as you have said, she is barren. But is she to be blamed for that? Poor thing. Perhaps she feels shame on that account, and that is what has led her to flee our home. First, I shall take Father’s advice and see if I cannot win her back. Later, if that does not avail me, when my heart has healed, we can think of other courses.”
His mother melted. “Hest, Hest, you were ever the tenderhear
ted one.” A smile of gentle resignation claimed her face.
His father leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest. Dour amusement dominated his features. With the wisdom of years of managing his wife, he held his silence.
Sealia Finbok clasped her ringed fingers together and tilted her head at him. “Well, even if I do not think she is worthy of this effort, I cannot deny the nobility of your intention. And I will defer my own judgment and put all my efforts to furthering yours. Now you wait here. I just need to change into something more appropriate for the day and have Bates tell the stableman to harness up and be ready. We are going to the market, my dear. And not just to find gifts suitable to wooing back your wayward bride. Oh, no. We are going to deck you in such fine feathers as she has never seen. Let her see you with fresh eyes; let her see that you have made an effort to gain her attention again. She will be unable to resist you! No, no, don’t roll your eyes and look at your father. In this you must trust me, darling. I am a woman, and I know what will sway her woman’s heart! And if it costs a pretty penny, then so be it. Your dear, loyal heart deserves no less than that.”
She brought her clasped hands up under her plump little chin, shook her head in merry denial of his supposed protests, and then swept from the study, already calling for her serving man Bates.
Trader Finbok heaved himself from his chair, crossed the room, and shut the door firmly behind her. “And a partial share of an unexplored Elderling city may well be worth the nuisance of putting up with a wayward woman. That I understand. But the matter of an heir, Hest, is one that we cannot ignore much longer. It pains me to bring it up yet again, but . . .”
“But until I have brought Alise back to Bingtown and into my bed again, there is absolutely no sense in our discussing it. I know of no man who could impregnate his wife at such a distance, regardless of his eagerness to do so. Not even your son is that well hung.”
Hest had gauged it exactly. Despite his father’s exasperation, the crude jest brought a smile to his face. Trader Finbok shook his head and let the matter drop. “You need to hear the rest of what I’ve learned about the Tarman. The ship is a liveship, and as I’ve told you, one of the first ones built, if not the first one. Never quickened is what everyone believed, as it was built as a barge, with no figurehead. But when the Tarman decided to depart Cassarick without giving the Councils an opportunity to challenge Leftrin’s interpretation of the contract, there was an attempt to restrain the ship by force. The crew of the Tarman fought back, throwing a number of people into the river with no regard for their safety. Then, as the ship moved off, and smaller boats followed in hopes of tracking them back to their find, there was a strange disturbance on the river. Rumor says it was as if the barge itself had legs, or a tail, and struck out at the craft following it, causing many of them to capsize. Others followed at a distance of course. But when night fell and all was dark, the Tarman quenched all lanterns and continued up the river, as if the ship itself were choosing the course. Most of those who followed quickly lost sight of the barge, and by morning it was well away of them. Some gave pursuit, including one of those new vessels, but so far there is no word of any of them sighting the Tarman again. So it seems likely to me that here we have Elderling magic at work. It’s more evidence they’ve found something.”
“And whatever it is, one-fifteenth of it belongs to me.”
“To your family, Hest. Through your wife. She is key to all this. So go book your passage. Make it part of your shopping trip with your mother. And do your best not to beggar the family this afternoon. Until you bring Alise back, the prospect of owning a share of Kelsingra is only a dream.”
“I’ll give priority to booking passage to Trehaug for Redding and me.”
He was halfway to the door when his father spoke quietly but severely. “Book passage for yourself, son. Not for Redding. When a man goes after his runaway wife, he goes alone. He doesn’t take a secretary. Or assistant. Or however you are referring to Redding these days.”
Hest didn’t pause. There were times when he suspected that his father knew much more than he let on. This was such a moment, but if his father only suspected, he would not give himself away. “As you suggest,” he replied in an offhand tone.
He left his father’s study and shut the door firmly behind him. Then he paused to straighten the lace of his cuffs, thinking of a certain wine-red fabric that he had seen at the tailor’s only a day ago, and wondered if he could persuade his mother that a jacket of that fine stuff might win him Alise’s heart. Then the lace of the cuff snagged on his bandage, and a too-familiar welling of anger and fear engulfed him. For an instant, he literally choked on the sensation.
Glancing around, he realized he was looking for Sedric, and he hissed out a breath in disgust with himself. That vicious Chalcedean had brought his former companion back to mind just when Hest had succeeded in banishing him from his thoughts. It would have been a comfort, a great comfort, to have Sedric at his side, he thought, and then amended that to, Sedric as he once was. Not the Sedric who had argued and defied him, to the point of provoking his temper and making Hest send him off on that stupid voyage. The tractable and doting Sedric, the Sedric who was always at his disposal, competent, calm, clever even. Something very like a twinge of regret passed through Hest, and he very nearly blamed himself for how Sedric had changed. He had pushed him too far.
Then he shook his head, and a smile of remembered pleasure twisted his mouth. Sedric had enjoyed being pushed; Hest had, perhaps, erred in how far he had pushed the man, but Sedric had been a party to it. Not Hest’s fault. Everything had an end, and they had simply found theirs. Hest could have accepted it with equanimity if only the man had not run off with his wife, caused a scandal, and perhaps endangered his claim to one-fifteenth of an undiscovered, unlooted Elderling city.
“Shall we go?” his mother proposed.
He turned to look at her. He had not expected her to be ready so promptly. How swiftly she had changed into more stylish dress suggested that she was extremely bored and pleased for the excuse for an outing. And a bored mother was often a generous mother. Clearly there would be a luncheon involved in this outing, perhaps at one of the better places in Bingtown. He would encourage her to treat herself well and flatter her in her purchases. He knew that he could expect full reciprocation from her in that regard. He smiled. “Yes. Let’s.”
Bates had operated with his usual efficiency. The smaller family carriage with his mother’s favorite team of white horses was at the front door. Hest handed her up into the upholstered interior and then followed her in. They did not have far to go, and the weather was not so terrible, but his mother enjoyed being seen descending from her carriage into the busy market. The coachman would wait for them, letting all know that Trader Finbok’s wife was at the market.
As soon as the carriage was in motion, Hest cleared his throat. “Father suggested that we first book my passage to the Rain Wilds, before we do anything else.”
She frowned. He had known that such a stop would not please her. It would take them down to the ships docks, and she would have a long boring wait as he exchanged pleasantries, found out which liveships were going up the Rain Wild River, and when, and then decided which to take passage on. Not all carried passengers. Most of their valuable cargo space was devoted to the goods they carried. Upriver went all the necessities of life that the Rain Wilders could not create or harvest for themselves. And that was almost everything. Downriver came the rare and the unusual, the magical artifacts of the ancient Elderling cities that the Rain Wild Traders had been plundering for generations. The long-buried cities were difficult to mine, and dangerous, but the value of the goods that came out of them was what had created Bingtown’s reputation as a town where “if a man could imagine it, he could buy it in Bingtown.” Was Trehaug almost mined out? There had been rumors that the supply of wonders would soon come to an end. The discovery of more buried ruins at Cassarick had been heralded as a renewal of the
fountain of Elderling goods, but Hest knew what few cared to talk about: Cassarick had been a much smaller city and did not seem to have withstood the ravages of time and damp as Trehaug had. Which made the theoretical discovery of Kelsingra all the more tempting.
“No. That’s foolish.”
He had almost forgotten what had begun the conversation in his wandering thoughts. “Foolish?” he asked.
“How can you book passage when you don’t know when your new wardrobe will be ready? Or when you will find the perfect gifts to turn her silly head back to you? No, Hest, we will visit the Great Market first and lay all the groundwork for your renewed courtship. Later, when we know when the tailors will be finished, then you can go on your own to book your passage. That is a much more practical plan.”
“As you wish, Mother. I only hope Father agrees with you.” He sounded appropriately dubious about crossing his father.
“Oh, let me worry about that. I’ll ask him if it would have been better for you to buy a ticket and then not be able to sail on that date. He rushes into things too much, your father does. He always has. And he does not listen to me at all. If he had, he would know that there are swifter ways to travel up the Rain Wild River now. There are these new boats, Jamaillian made, and their hulls are specially treated to withstand the river’s acid. And they are not big sailing ships like our liveships, but narrow river craft, shallow draught, designed to be swift when rowed against a current yet have room for cargoes and passengers. What is it they’re calling them . . . Impervious. Because of the hulls. Your father thinks them a bad idea; he says that our Bingtown liveships must keep a monopoly on trade on the river if Bingtown is to survive. Luckily there are other Traders who are more forward looking. And you shall be among them, when you book passage up the river on one.
