The Complete Liveship Traders Trilogy: Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, Ship of Destiny. Robin Hobb
Читать онлайн книгу.
the ship, but he was acquitting himself well in his new position. Hundreds of buckets of seawater had been hauled aboard and the upper decks at least showed the benefit of it. But from the open hatch covers, a fetid stench welled up. There were simply too many live beings crowded aboard the vessel. They huddled in knots on the deck, bony limbs thrusting out of tattered rags. Some were endeavouring to help work the ship, others simply trying to stay out of the way. Some were engaged in the absorbing business of dying, interested in nothing else. As Kennit walked the length of the ship, a handkerchief held to his nose and mouth, the eyes of the slaves followed him. Every one of them spoke softly as he passed them. Eyes flooded with tears at his approach and heads were bowed before him. At first he had thought they grovelled in terror of him. When he finally realized their murmurs were expressions of thanks and blessings upon him, he did not know whether to be amused or flattered. Unsure of how to react to such a display, he resorted to his accustomed small smile, and made his way to what had been the quarters of the ship’s officers.
They had lived very well indeed, compared to the plight of the poor wretches who’d made up their cargo. He found he agreed with Sorcor’s assessment of the captain’s taste in clothing. In a whimsical moment, he had ordered it distributed to those of the slaves who could make best use of it. The man had smoking herbs in plenty also. Kennit wondered if he had not resorted to those to spare his own nose the stench of his cargo. It was an addiction Kennit had never succumbed to, so those, also, he ordered passed out among the slaves. He had next discovered the charts and papers in the dead man’s quarters. These he appropriated to himself. There was little else in the cabin of interest to him. The very ordinariness of the man’s possessions would have been a revelation to Sorcor, he thought to himself. This man had been no monster such as Sorcor had presumed, but simply an ordinary sea-captain and trader.
Kennit had originally intended to inspect belowdecks as well, to see how sound the ship was as well as to explore for any other valuable Sorcor might have missed. He descended the ladder into the hold and looked about him with watering eyes. Men, women, even some children, their eyes huge in their bony faces, were a haphazard clutter of limbs and bodies, stretching off into darkness. All faces turned towards him, and the lantern Rafo carried sent its light to dance in all those eyes. They reminded him of rats seen near midden heaps by night.
‘Why are they so thin?’ he demanded suddenly of Rafo. ‘The journey from Jamaillia is not so long as to leave folk like bones, unless they were fed nothing at all.’
Kennit was shocked to see Rafo’s eyes narrow in sympathy. ‘Most of them had been in debtors’ prison. Many are from the same village. Somehow they displeased the Satrap and he raised the taxes for their valley. When none of them could pay, all of them were rounded up to be sold as slaves. Almost the whole village, and not the first time such a thing had happened, from what they say. They were bought and held in pens and fed cheap until the folk trading in them had enough to make a full load. Simple folk like these are don’t bring a high price, they say, so they try to haul a lot at once. The ship had to be packed full in order to ensure a decent profit.’
The sailor lifted his lantern higher. Empty fetters dangled like strange cobwebs and curled on the floor like crushed snakes. Kennit realized he had only been aware of the first row of people staring at him. Behind him, others sprawled, crouched or sat in the darkness as far as his eyes could reach. Other than the slaves, the hold was empty. Bare planking. A few wisps of soiled straw caught in corners suggested discarded bedding. The inside of the ship, too, had been sloshed and scrubbed with seawater, but the urine-soaked wood and the noisome bilge in the depths would not give up its evil odour. The ammoniac stench made the tears roll freely down his cheeks. He ignored them and hoped they were not noticeable in the dimness. By gritting his teeth and breathing shallowly, he was able to keep from gagging. He wanted nothing so much as to be out of there, but he forced himself to pace the length of the hold.
The wretches drew closer as he passed, murmuring among themselves. It set the hair up on the back of his neck, but he refused to look behind to see how closely they followed him. One woman, braver or stupider than the rest, stepped in front of him. She suddenly offered him the bundle of rags she clutched. Against his will, he peered at it, to see the babe within. ‘Born on this ship,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Born into slavery, but freed by you.’ Her finger touched the bluish X that some diligent slaver had already marked beside the child’s nose. She looked up at him again, a sort of fierceness in her eyes. ‘What could I ever offer you in thanks?’
Kennit could feel his control over his rising gorge slipping. The thought of the only thing she might offer him made his flesh crawl. The breath of her mouth smelled of rotting teeth loose in her gums. He bared his own teeth for a moment, a parody of a smile. ‘Name the child Sorcor. For me,’ he suggested in a choked voice. She seemed to miss the sarcasm in his voice, for she blessed him as she stepped back, beaming and clutching the skinny infant. The rest of the crowd jostled stiflingly closer, and several voices were lifted. ‘Captain Kennit, Captain Kennit!’ He forced himself to stand his ground and not retreat. Instead he motioned to the sailor preceding him with the lantern, and then commanded in a wheeze, ‘Enough. I have seen enough.’ He was not able to keep the distress from his voice. He clutched his scented handkerchief to his face and ascended the closest ladder rapidly.
On deck it took him a moment to regain control of his heaving gut. He set his face and stared off at the horizon until he was sure he would not disgrace himself with any show of weakness. He forced himself to consider this prize Sorcor had won for him. The ship had appeared sound enough, but he’d never get a decent price for her, not if the buyer had a nose at all. ‘A waste,’ he growled, furious. ‘Such a waste!’ He summarily ordered the gig to return him to the Marietta. It was then he had decided to head for Askew. If the ship was not going to bring a good price, then at least he would be rid of it soon, and able to go on with other things.
It was late afternoon before he decided to visit Askew himself. It would be amusing, he thought, to see both how his freed slaves were reacting to the town, and how the town was welcoming this sudden influx of population. Perhaps by now Sorcor would have seen the folly of his beneficence.
He made his will known to the ship’s boy, who speedily passed the word. By the time he had smoothed his hair, settled his hat and emerged from his cabin the ship’s gig was readied to be lowered. The sailors who were to man her were as eager as dogs invited for a walk. Any town, any shoreside trip was a welcome diversion to them. Despite the brevity of the notice he had given, every man jack of them had found time to don a cleaner shirt. From their anchorage to the docks of Askew was but a few minutes of their diligent rowing. Kennit silently ignored the grins the men exchanged. They tied up at the base of the dock, and he ascended the rickety ladder to the top and then awaited his men while he wiped the slime from his fingers with his handkerchief. As if he were passing out sweetmeats to children, he drew a handful of small coins from his coat pocket. It was enough for a round of beer for all of them. He entrusted it to the man in charge, with the nebulous warning, ‘Be here and ready when I come back. Don’t make me wait.’
The men clustered in a circle about them. Gankis spoke for them. ‘Cap’n. You don’t need to do that. After what you done, we’d be waiting here for you if every demon of the deep was after us.’
The sudden outpouring of devotion from the old pirate took Kennit aback. He could think of nothing he had done for them lately that should merit this sudden affection. In an odd way it touched him as much as it amused him. ‘Well. No sense waiting thirsty, boys. Don’t be late though.’
‘No, sir, Cap’n, that we won’t. Promise to be here, every one of us.’ The man who spoke grinned so that his old tattoo crawled and danced across his face. Turning his back on them, Kennit proceeded up the docks and towards the heart of town. Behind him, he could hear the men arguing as to how they could best enjoy their beer and still be back awaiting him on time. It pleased him to set them these little dilemmas. Perhaps it even sharpened their wits. In the meantime, he set his own wits as to puzzling out what he had done to please them. Had there been booty on the other boat that Sorcor had not informed him about? Promises of favours from the women that had been among the slaves? Suspicions, never long absent from Kennit’s thoughts, suddenly took over. It might be very revealing to find out where Sorcor was right