The Complete Liveship Traders Trilogy: Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, Ship of Destiny. Robin Hobb
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through this year. Wasn’t it bad enough that your aunt vanished completely without you presenting yourself at the Harvest Ball dressed like a Jamaillian strumpet? What will your father say about this?’ He pulled a large kerchief from his sleeve and mopped his sweating face with it. He was wearing, she noted, the same blue trousers and jacket that he’d worn the two previous years. It strained at his girth; from the smell of cedar in the carriage, she doubted he’d taken it out of his clothing chest before tonight. And he dared to speak to her of clothing and fashion!
‘I had this dress specially made, for me, and for this night. With money my papa gave me, I might add. So I scarcely think he would be angry that I had used it as he suggested. What he might want to know, however, is what you mean by snatching his young daughter off the street and dragging her off against her will. I do not think he will be pleased.’
She had known Davad Restart for years, and knew how easily cowed he was when her grandmother snapped at him. She had expected at least a bit of that same deference for herself. Instead he surprised her by snorting. ‘Let him come to me and ask me, when he gets back to port, and I will tell him that I was trying to save your reputation. Malta Vestrit, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. A little girl like you, dressed up like a common… and then daring to show yourself so at the Harvest Ball. I pray to Sa that no one else recognized you. And nothing you can say will convince me that your mother or grandmother knew anything of that dress or your coming to the Ball when any proper girl would still be mourning her grandfather.’
She could have said a dozen things in reply to that. A week later, she had thought of them all, and knew exactly how she should have said them. But at the time no words would come to her and she sat silent and helplessly furious as the swaying carriage bore her resolutely homeward.
When they arrived, she did not wait for Davad Restart, but pushed past him to climb out of the carriage and hurry up to the door before him. Unfortunately a tassel of her skirt caught on the edge of the carriage door. She heard it tear and turned back with an exclamation of despair but it was too late. The tassel and a hand’s-length of pale green silk dangled from the doorframe. Davad glanced at it, then slammed the door on it. He stalked past her to the house door and loudly rang for the servants.
Nana answered it. Why had it to be Nana? She stared at Davad crossly, and then looked past him at Malta, who returned her glare haughtily. For an instant Nana merely looked affronted. Then she gave a gasp of horror and shrieked, ‘Malta! No, it cannot be you. What have you done, what have you done?’
That brought the whole household down on her. First her mother appeared, and fired a dozen angry questions at Davad Restart, none of which he could answer. Then her grandmother, in her nightgown and wrapper, her hair bundled up in a night scarf, appeared to scold her mother for making such a hue and cry in the night. At the sight of her, Grandmother had suddenly gone pale. She had dismissed all the servants save Nana, who she sent off for tea. She gripped Malta firmly by the wrist as she led her down the hall to what had been Grandfather’s study. Only when Davad, Keffria and Malta were inside and the door shut firmly had she turned to her.
‘Explain yourself,’ she commanded.
Malta drew herself up. ‘I wished to go to the Harvest Ball. Papa had said I might, and that I might go in a gown, as befitted a young woman. I have done nothing I am ashamed of.’ Her dignity was impeccable.
Her grandmother pursed her pale lips. When she spoke, there was ice in her voice. ‘Then you are truly as empty-headed as you appear to be.’ She turned aside from Malta, dismissing her completely. ‘Oh, Davad, how can I ever thank you for whisking her home? I hope you have not put your own reputation at risk while saving ours. Did many people see her like this?’
Trader Restart looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Not many. I hope. Cerwin Trell and his little sister. Some friend of his. I pray they were all.’ He paused as if considering whether or not to lie. ‘The Vintagli family arrived, to represent the Rain Wilds while she was there. But I do not think they saw her. For once, perhaps, my girth served some useful purpose.’ He rubbed his belly ruefully. ‘I hid her behind me, and snatched her into my carriage the moment they had passed. My footman was there, too, of course.’ He added reluctantly, ‘And there were other Trader families, coming and going, but I trust that I did not make too much of a scene.’ His face was troubled as he added hesitantly, ‘Of course, you knew nothing of any of this?’
‘I am both relieved and ashamed to admit I knew nothing,’ her grandmother said sternly. Her eyes were full of accusations as she turned to Malta’s mother. ‘Keffria? Did you know what your daughter was up to?’ Before her mother could reply, Grandmother went on, ‘And if you did not, how could you not?’
Malta had expected her mother to burst into tears. Her mother always burst into tears. Instead she turned on her daughter. ‘How could you do this to me?’ she demanded. ‘And why? Oh, Malta, why?’ There was terrible grief in her words. ‘Didn’t I tell you that you only had to wait? That when the time was right, you would be properly presented? What could have persuaded you to… do this?’ Her mother looked devastated.
Malta knew a moment’s uncertainty. ‘I wanted to go to the Harvest Ball. I told you that. Over and over again, I begged to be allowed to go. But you would not listen, even after Papa said I could go, even after he promised me I could have a proper gown.’ She paused, waiting for her mother to admit that promise. When she only stared at her aghast, Malta shouted, ‘Well, it’s your own fault if you’re surprised! I was only doing what Papa had promised me I could do.’
Something in her mother’s face hardened. ‘If you had any idea of how badly I want to slap you just now, you’d keep a more civil tongue, girl.’
Never had her mother spoken to her like that before. Girl, she called her, as if she were a servant! ‘Why don’t you then?’ Malta demanded furiously. ‘This evening has been ruined for me in every other way! Why don’t you just beat me here, in front of everyone, and have done with it?’ The tragedy of her ruined plans rose up and choked her.
Davad Restart looked aghast. ‘I really must be going,’ he said hastily and rose.
‘Oh, Davad, sit down,’ Grandmother said wearily. ‘There is tea coming. We owe you at least that for this rescue tonight. Don’t be put off by my grand-daughter’s sense of drama. Although beating Malta might make us all feel better at this point, we’ve never resorted to that — yet.’ She gave Trader Restart a wan smile and actually took his hand. She led the fat little man back to his chair and he sat down as she bade him. It made Malta queasy. Couldn’t they see what a disgusting little man he was, with his face and balding pate shining with sweat and his ill-fitting out-of-style clothes? Why were they thanking him for humiliating her?
Nana entered the room with a tray of tea things. She also had a bottle of port tucked under one arm, and a towel draped over the same arm. She set the bottle and the tray down on the table and then turned to present Malta with a towel. It was damp. ‘Clean your face,’ the old serving woman told her brusquely. The adults all glanced at her, then looked away. They would grant her the privacy in which to obey. For an instant she was grateful. Then it dawned on her what they were doing to her, telling her to wash her face like a dirty child.
‘I will not!’ she cried, and flung the wet towel to the floor.
A long moment of silence followed. Then her grandmother asked her conversationally, ‘Do you realize you look like a whore?’
‘I do not!’ Malta declared. She had another moment of doubt, but thrust it aside. ‘Cerwin Trell did not seem to find me unattractive this night. This dress and this way of painting my eyes are what is currently fashionable in Jamaillia.’
‘For the whores, perhaps,’ Grandmother continued implacably. ‘And I did not say you were “unattractive”. You are simply not attractive in a way any proper woman would be comfortable with.’
‘Actually,’ Davad Restart began uncomfortably, but Grandmother continued, ‘We are not in Jamaillia, nor are you a whore. You are the daughter of a proud Trader family. And we do not so flaunt our bodies or our faces in public. I wonder that