The Complete Liveship Traders Trilogy: Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, Ship of Destiny. Robin Hobb
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more herself and Brashen suspected the walk was sobering her up. Good. Maybe she’d have the sense to tidy herself up before walking barefoot into her father’s house.
‘That’s what I thought, too, until I saw it. I had never known a crafter could find so much in wood. She works with the odd little knotty bits, and brings out faces and animals and exotic flowers. Sometimes she inlays pieces. But it’s as much the wood she chooses as the skill with which she does it. She has an uncanny eye, to see what she does in a bit of wood.’
‘So. Does she work wizardwood, then?’ Althea asked boldly.
‘Fa!’ Brashen exclaimed in disgust. ‘She might be new, but she knows our ways well enough to know that would not be tolerated! No, she only uses ordinary wood. Cherry and oak and I don’t know, all different colours and grains…’
‘There’s a lot more that work wizardwood in Bingtown than would like to own up to it,’ Althea observed darkly. She scratched at her belly. ‘It’s a dirty little trade, but if you want a carved bit and have the coin, you can get it.’
Her suddenly ominous tone made Brashen uneasy. He tried to lighten the conversation. ‘Well, isn’t that what all the world says of Bingtown? That if a man can imagine a thing, he can find it for sale here?’
She smiled crookedly at him. ‘And you’ve heard the rejoinder to that, haven’t you? That no man can truly imagine being happy, and that’s why happiness isn’t for sale here.’
The sudden bleakness of her mood left him at a loss for words. The silence that followed seemed in tune with the cooling of the summer night. As they left the streets of the merchants and tradesmen behind and followed the winding roads into the residential sections of Bingtown, the night grew darker around them. Lanterns were more widely spaced and set far back from the road. Barking dogs threatened them from fenced or hedged yards. The roads here were rougher, the only walkways were of gravel, and when Brashen thought of Althea’s bare feet, he winced sympathetically. But she herself said nothing of it.
In the silence and darkness, his grief for his fallen captain found space to grow in him. More than once he blinked away the sting of tears. Gone. Captain Vestrit was gone, and with him Brashen’s second chance at life. He should have taken better advantage of all the Old Trader offered him while he was alive. He should never have assumed that the helping hand the man had extended him would always be available. Well, now he’d have to make his own third chance. He glanced over at the girl who still depended on his arm. She’d have to make her own way, too, now. Either that, or accept the fate her family parcelled out to her. He suspected they’d find a younger son of a Trader family willing to wed her despite her risqué reputation. Maybe even his own little brother. He didn’t think Cerwin would be any match for Althea’s wilfulness, but the Trell fortunes would mingle well with those of the Vestrits. He wondered how Althea’s adventurousness would stand up to Cerwin’s hide-bound traditionalism. He smiled grimly to himself, and wondered whom he’d pity more.
He’d been to the Vestrits’ home before, but always it had been by daylight, with some bit of ship’s business to take to the captain. The walk to Althea’s home seemed much longer in the night. They left even the distant sounds of the night market behind them. They passed hedges with night blooming flowers perfuming the air. An almost eerie peace descended over Brashen. Today had seen an end to so many things. Once more he was cut loose and drifting, with only himself to rely on. No obligations tomorrow, no schedules. No crews to supervise, no cargo to unload. Only himself to feed. Was that bad, really?
The Vestrit mansion was set well back from the public road. The gardens and grounds hosted insects and frogs, all trilling in the summer night. They provided the only sound other than the crunching of his boots as they walked up the stone drive. It was when he stood before the white stone of the entryway, before the familiar door where he had sometimes awaited admittance on ship’s business, that he suddenly felt grief once more clutch at his throat. Never again, he supposed. This would be the last time he’d stand before this door. After a moment, he noticed that Althea had not let go of his arm. Here, clear of the narrow streets and shops, the moonlight could find her. Her bare feet were dirty, her gown draggled. Her hair had come loose of the lace thing she’d bound it in; at least, half of it had. She suddenly released his arm, stood up straight, and heaved a great sigh.
‘Thank you for seeing me home,’ she said, her voice as level and formal as if he had escorted her home in a carriage after a Trader festival.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said quietly. As if the words had awakened in the rough sailor the genteel boy his mother had once schooled, he bowed deeply to her. He very nearly lifted her hand to his lips, but the sight of his own battered shoes and the tattering edges of his rough cotton trousers recalled to him who he was now. ‘You’ll be all right?’ he half-asked, and half-told, her.
‘I suppose,’ she said vaguely. She turned away from him and set her hand on the latch, only to have the door violently jerked open before her.
Kyle filled the door. He was in his nightrobe and barefoot and his pale hair stood up in tousled tufts on his head, but his fury was such that there was nothing ridiculous about him. ‘What goes on here?’ he demanded. He had pitched his voice low, as if for secrecy, but the force of his emotions gave them the same strength as a bellow. Instinctively, Brashen straightened up before the man he had served as captain. Althea initially recoiled in shock from him, but recovered quickly.
‘None of your damned business,’ she declared, and tried to walk past him into the house. He caught her by the upper arm and spun her about. ‘Damn you,’ she cried out, and made no effort to keep her voice low. ‘Get your hands off me!’
Kyle ignored that, instead giving her a shake that snapped her smaller body about like the weight on the end of a lash. ‘This family is my business!’ he growled. ‘This family’s reputation and good name is my business, just as it should be yours. Look at yourself. Barefoot, looking and smelling like a drunken slut, and here’s a rogue sniffing after you like he’d go after some cheap whore… Is that why you brought him here, to your own family home? How could you? On the night of your father’s death, how could you shame us all like this?’
Althea had bared her teeth like a vixen at his wild accusations. She clawed at the hand that gripped her so firmly. ‘I’ve done nothing!’ she cried wildly, the drink all too plain in her voice. ‘I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of! You’re the one who should be ashamed. You thief! You’ve stolen my ship from me! You’ve stolen my ship!’
Brashen stood transfixed by horror. This was the last thing he wanted to get mixed up in. No matter what he did, it was going to be wrong in someone’s eyes. But worst was to stand still and do nothing at all. So. Be damned for a ram as deeply as a lamb. ‘Cap’n. Kyle. Let her go, she did nothing except to get a bit drunk. Given what she’s been through today, I think that’s to be expected. Let her go, man, you’re hurting her!’
He hadn’t lifted a hand, had given no sign that he intended to attack Kyle at all, but Kyle abruptly threw Althea aside and advanced on the sailor. ‘That might be what you expect, but it’s not what we expect.’ Behind Kyle, down the darkened hallway, Brashen caught a glimpse of a light being kindled, and heard a woman’s voice raised questioningly. Kyle made a grab for Brashen’s shirt-front, but Brashen stepped backwards. Behind him, Althea had staggered to her feet. She was crying, hopeless as a lost child. She clung to the door frame, the sweep of her hair hiding her bowed face, and wept. Kyle ranted on. ‘Yes, you’d expect her to get drunk, wouldn’t you, you scurvy dog? And followed her hoping for more than that. I’ve seen you watching her on the ship, and I know what you had in mind. Couldn’t wait for her father’s body to settle to come sniffing after her, could you?’
Kyle was stalking forward towards him, and Brashen found himself giving ground. Physically, he was no more afraid of Kyle than he was of any man larger than himself, but Kyle carried more than the weight of his fists as he advanced. He had all the advantage of Old Trader family line to fall back on. If he killed Brashen right here, few would question any account he might give of the event. So he told himself it was not cowardice, but savvy that made him back up, lifting