The Complete Liveship Traders Trilogy: Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, Ship of Destiny. Robin Hobb
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the room at her tasks, he noted that most of them did. One man tried to catch at her sleeve after she had served him, but she evaded him nimbly. When she reached Athel, however, she paused. She smiled as she questioned the ship’s boy. Althea made a show of glancing into her mug, and then allowing the girl to refill it for her. The smile the tavern girl gave the supposed lad was a great deal friendlier than she had offered the other customers. Brashen grinned to himself; Althea did make a likely-looking boy, and the bashfulness the ship’s boy professed probably made her more alluring than most. Brashen wondered if the discomfort Althea exhibited was entirely feigned.
He set his mug back on the counter in front of him, and then opened his coat. Too warm. He actually felt too warm in here. He smiled to himself, replete with well-being. The room was warm and dry, the deck was still under his feet. The anxiety that was a sailor’s constant companion eased for a moment. By the time they reached Candletown with their cargo, he would have earned enough to give him breathing space. Not that he’d be so foolish as to spend it all. No. This time, at least, he’d hearken back to Captain Vestrit’s advice and set a bit by for himself. He even had a choice now. He knew the Reaper would be more than willing to keep him on. He could probably stay with the ship for as long as he wanted. Or he could take his ship’s ticket in Candletown, and look about a bit there. Maybe he’d find another ship there, something a bit better than the Reaper. Something cleaner, something faster. Back to merchant-sailing, piling on the canvas and skipping from port to port. Yes.
He felt a once-familiar burn in his lower lip and hastily shifted the quid of cindin. It was as potent as the seller had promised, to eat through his skin that fast. He had another mouthful of beer to cool it. It had been years since he’d indulged in cindin. Captain Vestrit had been an absolute tyrant on that point. If he even suspected a man of using it, on shore or on ship, he’d check his lower lip. Any sign of a burn put him off the ship at the next port, with no pay. He’d won the small plug earlier at a gaming table, another amusement he hadn’t indulged much of late. But, damn it all, there came a time when a man had to unwind, and this was as good a time as any. He hadn’t been irresponsible. He never bet anything he couldn’t lose. He’d started out with some sea-bear teeth he’d carved into fish and such in his bunk time. Almost from the start of the game, he’d won steadily. Oh, he’d come near to losing his deck knife, and that would have been a sore blow, but then his luck had turned sweet and he’d won not only the cindin plug but enough coins for the evening’s beer. He almost felt bad about it. The fellows he had fleeced of the coin and cindin were the mate and steward of the jolly Gal, another oil-ship in the harbour. Only the Jolly Gal had an empty hold and full kegs of salt. She and her crew were just on their way out to the killing-grounds. This late in the season, they’d have a hard time filling her up. Wouldn’t surprise Brash if she stayed on the grounds the season through, going from sea-bear to small whale. Now there was ugly, dangerous work. Damn glad he wouldn’t be doing it. His winning tonight was a sign, he was sure of it. His luck was getting better and his life was going to straighten itself out. Oh, he still missed the Vivacia, and old Captain Vestrit, Sa cradle him, but he’d make a new life for himself.
He drank the last of the beer in his mug, then rubbed at his eyes. He must have been wearier than he thought he was, to feel so suddenly sleepy. Cindin usually enlivened him. It was the hallmark of the drug, the benign sense of well-being coupled with the energy to have fun. Instead he felt as if the most wonderful thing that could happen to him now would be a warm, soft bed. A dry one, that didn’t smell of sweat and mildew and oil and oakum. With no bugs.
He had been so busy building this image of paradise in his mind that he startled to find the tavern maid before him. She smiled up at him mischievously when he jumped and then gestured at his mug. She was right, it was empty again. He covered it with his hand and shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m out of coin, I’m afraid. It’s all to the good. I’ll want a clear head when we leave port tomorrow anyway.’
‘Tomorrow? In this blow?’ she asked sympathetically.
He shook his head, confirming his own reluctance. ‘Storm or no storm, we have to face it. Time and tide wait on no man, or so they tell us. And the sooner we leave, the sooner we’re home.’
‘Home,’ she said, and smiled again. ‘Then this one is on me. To a swift trip home, for you and all your crew.’
Slowly he removed his hand from the top of his mug and watched her pour. Truly, his luck was changing. ‘You’re from the same ship as those men, aren’t you? The Reaper?’
‘That’s us,’ he confirmed. He shifted the cindin in his mouth again.
‘And you’re the mate of the Reaper then.’
‘Just barely. I’m the third.’
‘Ah. You’re Brashen, then?’
He nodded and could not help from grinning. There was something flattering about a woman knowing his name before he knew hers.
‘They’re saying the Reaper has filled her hold and is headed back. Must have been a good crew?’ She raised one eyebrow whenever she asked a question.
‘Good enough.’ He was starting to enjoy this conversation. Then, in her next breath, she betrayed the true reason for her generosity.
‘That’s your ship’s boy on the end, there? He’s not much of a drinker.’
‘No, he’s not. Doesn’t talk much, either.’
‘I noticed,’ she said ruefully. She took a breath, then suddenly asked, ‘Is it true what they say about him? That he can skin sea-bears near as fast as they shoot them?’
She did think Althea, or Athel, was comely, then. Brashen grinned to himself. ‘No, it’s not true at all,’ he said solemnly. ‘Athel is much faster than the hunters. That’s the problem we’ve had with the lad, he was down there skinning them out before they were shot. Our hunters had to spend all their time chasing down the naked bears he’d already skinned.’
He took a swallow of the beer. For an instant she just stared at him, eyes wide. Then, ‘Oh, you,’ she rebuked him with a giggle and gave him a playful push. Relaxed as he was, he had to catch at the bar to keep from falling. ‘Oh, sorry!’ she cried and caught at his sleeve to help him right himself.
‘It’s all right. I’m just more tired than I thought I was.’
‘Are you?’ she asked more softly. She waited until his eyes met hers. Her eyes were blue and deeper than the sea. ‘There’s a room in back with a bed. My room. You could rest there for a while. If you wanted to lie down.’
Just before he was certain of her meaning, she cast her eyes aside and down. She turned and walked away from him. He picked up his mug again and as he sipped from it, she said over her shoulder, ‘Just let me know. If you want to.’ She paused as she was, looking back at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically. Or was it invitingly?
A man’s luck turning is like a favourable tide. One has to make the most of it while it’s there. Brashen drained off the last of his mug and stood up. ‘I’d like that,’ he said quietly. It was true. Whether the offer of a bed included the girl or not, it sounded very good. What was there to lose? He shifted the cindin in his mouth again. It was very, very good.
‘One more round,’ Reller announced. ‘Then we’d better get back to the ship.’
‘Don’t wait for us,’ one of the hands giggled. ‘Head back, Reller. We’ll be along soon enough.’ He started to sag his head down onto his arms.
Reller reached across the table and gave him a shake. ‘None of that, Jord. No passing out here. Once we get to the ship you can drop to the deck and snore like a pig for all I care. But not here.’
Something in his tone got Jord’s attention. He lifted his head blearily. ‘Why’s that?’
Reller leaned across the table. ‘Deckhand from the Tern gave me a warning earlier. You know that Jolly Gal tied up just to the lee of us? Crew had the red-heaves before they