Mad Ship (20 page)

“Only when my father wakes me up and asks me to,” Grag replied easily. “He said he wanted to have a quiet talk with both of us.”

“I was not to be included in this ‘quiet talk?’” Ophelia demanded, already offended.

“I assume you were, since he asked me to wake Althea and bid her to come here. I thought you might even have suggested it.”

“No. It’s my idea.” Captain Tenira stepped quietly into their circle. A coal glowed in the bowl of his short-stemmed pipe and fragrant smoke drifted with him. “Call me a fearful old man if you will, but there are some precautions I’d like to take before we dock in Bingtown. And they involve Althea.” His serious tone quenched their banter.

“What did you have in mind?” Althea asked.

“I’ve been thinking about our encounter with that Chalcedean galley. They were flying the Satrap’s banner. Things have been changing in Bingtown for the last few years. I don’t know how much favor and influence that captain may have there, or whether he would send a complaint there about our response.” Captain Tenira gave a disgusted snort. “When he finally got under way again, he may even have fled there. So. Depending on how much influence he has there … and on how badly the Satrap currently grovels to Chalced … we may have an unpleasant welcome awaiting us.”

A little silence fell over the group. It was obvious to Althea that Grag had given this no more thought than she had. It was not that she had dismissed the incident as trivial: never that! Ophelia’s beautiful, slender-fingered hands were scorched. No matter how many times the figurehead assured her that she did not feel pain, at least not as humans did, Althea still winced at every glimpse of her blackened hands. Althea had looked forward to reaching Bingtown, and expected that the other Old Traders would share her deep anger and affront at the attack. Never had she paused to think that others there might think the Chalcedean galley and her crew had been wronged.

Captain Tenira gave them time to mull this before he spoke again. “As I said, I might simply be a fearful old man. What, I asked myself, is the worst they can do to me? Well, I answered, they could seize my ship when I tied up at the tax dock. Why, they might even take custody of my first mate and me. Then who would go to my family, to tell what had befallen us? Who would witness to the Bingtown Trader Council and demand their aid? I have many good hands, good sailors one and all, but,” he shook his head, “good speakers they are not, nor are they Bingtown Traders.”

Althea grasped it instantly. “You want me to go?”

“If you would.”

“Of course. Without hesitation. I wonder that you think you need to ask this.”

“Of that, I had no doubt. But there is more, I’m afraid,” Captain Tenira said quietly. “The more I dwell on what may have changed in Bingtown, the less confidence I have of our welcome. To be safe, to be sure, I think it would be best if you resumed your boy’s guise. That way, you could more easily slip away from the ship. If you had to.”

“Do you really believe it is likely to come to that?” Grag asked incredulously.

Captain Tenira sighed. “Son, we carry a spare mast belowdecks. Why? Not because we are likely to need it but because someday we may. That is how I prefer to think of this as well.”

“I would feel as if I were sending her to face danger alone,” Grag objected suddenly.

His father eyed him levelly. “If it comes to this, we may actually be helping her to slip away from danger before the trap can close on her as well. It would be more advantageous to them to hold hostages from two Bingtown Trader families than one.”

“Them? Who are ‘them?’” Ophelia suddenly demanded. “And why should any Bingtown Trader have to fear anyone in Bingtown, save another Trader? Bingtown is our town. The Satrap Esclepius deeded it to us many years ago.”

“And Satrap Cosgo has been whittling away at that deed ever since he inherited the Mantle of Righteousness.” Captain Tenira closed his mouth suddenly, as if biting back bitter words. In a milder voice he went on, “Others have come to power in Bingtown. At first, we paid little heed to the tariff collectors. Even when they demanded a tax dock where each ship must first tie up, we conceded it as sensible. When they demanded the right to inspect cargoes for themselves rather than take the captain’s word on what he carried, we laughed and agreed. It was our town. Their suspicions were offensive, but in much the same way that rude children are offensive. We did not count on this wave of so-called New Traders, who would ally with the Satrap’s tax collectors to gain power. Nor did any of us ever believe that any Satrap would accept Chalced’s grubby hand in friendship, let alone permit Chalcedean galleys in our waters under the guise of law and protection.” He shook his head to himself. “These are the things I have been contemplating tonight, and that is why I have decided to err on the side of caution.”

“It seems wise—” Althea began but Ophelia broke in, “You said they might seize me. I shall not allow it. I did not permit those Chalcedean swine to board me and I shall not permit—”

“Yes, you shall.” Captain Tenira’s grave voice stopped her defiance cold. “Just as Grag and I shall permit them to detain us, if they attempt it. I have thought this through, my dear, to the bitter dregs. It is time Bingtown awakened. We have been slumbering and letting others chip and nibble away at what is ours. A few days ago, Chalcedean pirates masquerading as the Satrap’s patrol attacked us. A day or so from now, brigands and kidnappers masquerading as lawful tariff collectors may hold us. We shall let them seize us and detain us. Not because we recognize their right to do so, nor because we cannot defy them, but only to show the rest of Bingtown the powers these little upstarts have claimed. The danger must be recognized, while it is still easy to destroy. Therefore, I beg you, if they attempt to seize you, even to put armed guards aboard you, I think we should permit it. They cannot hold us long, once Bingtown is roused. Let Ophelia become a rallying point for Bingtown Trader pride.”

Ophelia allowed the silence to hang for a moment. “I suppose I shall allow it,” she finally conceded. “Only because you ask it of me.”

“That’s my good girl,” Tenira praised her warmly. “Never fear. Grag and I will see that you take no harm.”

Ophelia rolled her shoulders. “I shall see that you take no harm,” she suggested.

Her captain smiled wanly. “Well. That is certainly a great relief to me.” His glance went from Grag to Althea and then to the moonlit night above them. “I am suddenly weary,” he announced. He looked only at Althea. “Will you take my watch for me? You seem wide awake.”

“Pleased to do so, sir. You’ve given me a great deal to mull over.”

“Thank you. Carry on, then, Althea. Good night, Grag.”

“Good night, sir,” his son replied.

Just before the captain was out of earshot, Ophelia observed, “How sweet! He found a way to leave you two alone in the moonlight.”

“Pity you can’t do the same,” Grag replied without rancor.

“Leave you unchaperoned? Shame upon you, for even suggesting such a thing.”

He made no reply to that, but only went to the port side to lean on the railing. With a wink and a toss of her great head, Ophelia urged Althea to join him there. Althea sighed ruefully, then followed the ship’s suggestion.

“You haven’t said much to me, these last few days,” Grag remarked quietly to the night sea.

“My work has kept me busy. When your father gives me a ship’s ticket, I want to have truly earned it.”

“You already have. No one on board this vessel would ever dispute your ability. However, I do not think you have truly been that busy. I think our last conversation made you uncomfortable.”

She did not deny it. Instead, she noted, “You speak very directly, don’t you? I like that.”

“Simple questions usually get simple answers. A man likes to know where he stands.”

“That’s reasonable. A woman needs some time to think.” Althea tried to keep her tone light but not flippant.

He did not meet her eyes as he pressed her. “Most women don’t need time to think about whether or not they could love someone.” Was there a trace of hurt in his voice?

“I didn’t think that was what you had asked me,” Althea replied honestly. “I thought the topic under discussion was a possible marriage between us. If you are asking whether I could come to care for you, then I believe the answer is an easy ‘yes.’ You are thoughtful, courteous and kind.” Althea glanced toward Ophelia. The figurehead was intently motionless, staring over the water. Althea pitched her voice just a trifle louder. “Not to mention that you are very handsome and likely to inherit a beautiful ship.”

As she had hoped, they both laughed, and suddenly the atmosphere eased. Grag reached casually to cover her hand with his. She did not move away but added in a lower voice, “Marriage is not about love alone. Especially not a marriage between two Bingtown Trader families. For that is what it would be, not a simple joining of you and me, but an alliance of our families. I have to think of many things. If I married you, and went to sea with you, what would become of my own ship? All I have done in the last year, Grag, I have done with an eye to recovering her. Would marrying you mean giving up Vivacia?” She faced him and he looked down on her with shadowed eyes. “Would you give up the
Ophelia
to marry me and live with me aboard the
Vivacia
while I captained her?”

The shock on his face made it evident he had never considered such a question.

“And that is but the first of my considerations. I must ask myself, what would I bring to our partnership, other than my family’s debts? I inherited nothing from my father, Grag. Nothing except the sailing skills he taught me. I am sure my family would give me some sort of a dowry for the sake of respectability. But it would not be what you could usually expect to accompany a Trader’s daughter.” Althea shook her head. “You could get more marrying a Three Ship’s girl. They’d pay richly for the family connection.”

He lifted his hand from hers. There was almost a chill in his voice as he asked, “Did you think that was why I made my proposal? To see how good an offer your family would make?”

“No. Nevertheless, it is something I must consider, if only for the sake of my pride. You were the one who suggested that perhaps planning should come ahead of passion. So I consider the situation from every angle. Look at it coldly, Grag. To marry you, I must not only give up my ship, but also see her in the hands of a man I despise. To marry me, you must give up other partners who might create lucrative alliances for your family. If you consider these aspects, it does not look promising for us.”

Grag took in a slow breath. “I suppose you are right and—”

“Just kiss her, you great booby!” Ophelia hissed loudly.

Althea burst into a laugh that was cut off by Grag’s mouth on hers. The kiss was startling, but her body’s response to it was shocking. Heat washed through her and she turned toward him, lifting one hand to his shoulder. She expected him to embrace her and continue the kiss. Before she could wonder how far she would allow him to continue, he lifted his mouth from hers and drew back a little. He would not. This was Grag, not Brashen, she reminded herself. He was ruled by his head, not his passions. She denied the disappointment in the comparison. In the moment that he lifted his mouth from hers, she convinced herself that if he had not broken the kiss, she would have. Grag Tenira was to be taken seriously. He was not an anonymous fling in a distant seaport. How she conducted herself with him would affect the rest of her life in Bingtown. Caution was the better path.

She took a breath. “Well!” she said, in a tone intended to convey surprise without affront.

“Sorry,” he muttered and looked aside with a half-grin that did not look repentant at all. “Ophelia’s been bossing me around since I was eight years old.”

“That did sound like a direct order,” Althea agreed affably. She turned back to look out over the water. After a moment, his hand covered hers on the railing.

“There would be difficulties to surmount,” he said judiciously. “That is true of any undertaking. Althea, I ask only that you consider my offer. I could scarcely ask you for an answer now. You have not discussed it with your family; I have not broached the subject with my parents. We do not even know what sort of a storm we shall encounter when we tie up in Bingtown. I’d just like you to consider my offer. That’s all.”

“That I will,” she replied. The night was easy around them, and the clasp of his callused hand was warm.

SHE DID NOT KNOW
what Captain Tenira or Grag said to the crew, but no one evinced any surprise when she appeared on deck in her boy’s togs. Ophelia entered Bingtown Harbor on a crisp breeze that made the hands work lively. If any of the crew recognized Althea as Athel from Candletown, no one was foolish enough to admit it. Instead, they accepted her toiling beside them with only a bit of good-natured teasing. Ophelia sailed with a will. The seasoned ship knew her business and cooperated with her crew, calling out suggestions to the man on the wheel. This was not operating a contraption of planks and canvas and lines to a place beside a dock, but the guiding of a cognizant creature into her home.

The
Ophelia
’s boats were put out to assist her to her berth at the tax dock. Althea took a spot on a bench and an oar; Captain Tenira had decided it was the best way to distance her from the ship and give her a chance to slip away if she needed it. After all their preparations, it was almost a disappointment to see the harbor traffic so ordinary. No one seemed to take any unusual notice of the
Ophelia.
As Althea’s eyes roved over the busy trading port, she felt a sudden rush of emotion far stronger than any homesickness. She had been on longer voyages with her father, and traveled farther than on this last trip. Nevertheless, she felt as if she saw Bingtown for the first time in years.

Bingtown was cupped in a sparkling blue bay. Rolling hills in the bright greens of spring backed the lively merchant town. Even before they docked, she could smell the smoke and cooking and cattle. The shrill cries of the hawkers in the market floated out over the water. The streets bustled with traffic, and the waters of the harbor were no less busy. Small craft plied back and forth between the shore and anchored ships. Little fishing vessels threaded their way through the tall-masted merchant ships to bring their catch to market. It was a symphony of sight and sound and smell, and its theme was Bingtown.