Mad Ship (25 page)

“Let us drink,” Amber proposed. “To all that is right with the world. To friendship, and good brandy.”

Althea lifted her glass but could not think of anything to add to the toast.

“The
Vivacia?”
Amber suggested.

“I wish her well, but until her decks are under my feet again, she is tangled with all that is most wrong in my world.”

“To Grag Tenira?” Amber proposed facetiously.

“That is also too complicated.”

Amber grinned broadly. “To Brashen Trell!”

Althea groaned and shook her head, but Amber raised her glass anyway. “Here’s to irresponsible men who give in to their passions.” She drained off her brandy. “So women can claim it was none of their doing.”

This last she uttered just as Althea had given in and was tossing her brandy down. She choked and sputtered. “Amber, that’s not fair. He took advantage of me.”

“Did he?”

“I told you,” Althea replied stubbornly. Actually, she had told Amber very little, other than to admit with a shrug that it had happened. At the time, Amber had let it pass with but a raised eyebrow. Now she met Althea’s glare with a steady gaze and a small knowing smile. Althea took a breath. “I had been drinking, and drugged beer at that, and I’d taken a good blow to the head. Then he gave me some of his cindin. And I was cold and wet and exhausted.”

“All of that was true of Brashen as well. I’m not finding fault, Althea. I don’t think either of you needs to make excuses for what happened. I think you shared what you each needed most. Warmth. Friendship. Release. Acknowledgment.”

“Acknowledgment?”

“Ah, so you agree to the first three without question?”

Althea didn’t answer the question. “Talking to you is a balancing act,” she complained. Then, “Acknowledgment of what?” she demanded.

“Of who you are. What you are.” Amber’s voice was soft, almost gentle.

“So you think I’m a slut, too.” The effort at putting humor in her voice fell flat.

Amber considered her for a moment. She tipped back on her chair, balancing it on two legs. “I think you know what you are. You don’t need my opinion. All you have to do is look at your daydreams. Have you ever fancied yourself settled down, a wife and mother? Ever wondered what it will be like to carry a babe within you? Do you dream of taking care of your wee ones while awaiting your husband’s return from sea?”

“Only in my worst nightmares,” Althea heard herself admit with a laugh.

“So. If you never truly expect yourself to be a settled wife, do you expect that you will live all your life knowing nothing of men?”

“I hadn’t given much thought to it.” She pulled her beer mug closer.

Amber snorted. “There is a part of you that thinks of little else, did you but care to admit it. You simply don’t want to accept the responsibility for it. You’d like to pretend it is just something that happens to you, something a man tricked you into doing.” She returned her chair to the floor with a thump. “Come on,” she invited Althea. “The tide is rising and I’ve an appointment.” She gave a small belch. “Walk with me.”

Althea rose. She could not decide if Amber’s words had offended or amused her. “Where are we going?” she asked as she accepted a ragged coat.

“The beach. I want you to meet a friend of mine. Paragon.”

“Paragon? The ship? I know Paragon well!”

Amber smiled. “I know you do. He spoke of you one night. It was a slip of his tongue and I gave no sign of recognizing your name. However, even if he hadn’t, I would have known. You left signs of your stay aboard him. They were mixed in with Brashen’s things.”

“Like what?” Althea demanded suspiciously.

“A little hair comb I had seen you wearing the first time I noticed you. It was left perched on a window ledge, as if you had stood there to fix your hair and then forgotten it.”

“Ah. But what have you to do with the
Paragon?”

Amber measured her reaction as she said, “I told you. He’s my friend.” More cautiously, she added, “I’m in the process of buying him.”

“You can’t!” Althea declared, outraged. “The Ludlucks cannot sell their liveship, no matter how he has disgraced himself!”

“Is there a law against it, then?” Amber’s voice was inquisitive, nothing more.

“No. There has never been any need to make such a law. It is the tradition of Bingtown.”

“Many of Bingtown’s most venerated traditions are giving way before the onslaught of the New Traders. It is not publicly noised about, but anyone in Bingtown who cares about such things knows that the
Paragon
is up for sale. And that bids from New Traders are being considered.”

Althea was silent for a time. Amber put on a cloak and drew a hood well up over her pale hair. When Althea spoke, her voice was low. “If the Ludluck family is forced to sell Paragon, they will sell him to other Old Traders. Not a newcomer like you.”

“I wondered if you would point that out,” Amber replied in a conversationally even voice. She lifted the bar on the back door and opened it. “Coming?”

“I don’t know.” Althea preceded her out the door, then stood in the dark alley as Amber locked up. The last few minutes of conversation with Amber had taken a decidedly uncomfortable turn. Most unsettling was the feeling she had that Amber had deliberately engineered this small confrontation. Was she trying to test their friendship? Or was there some larger agenda behind her needling? She chose her words carefully.

“I don’t think you are less, or not as good as I am, simply because I am Trader born and you are not. Some things are the sole province of the Bingtown Traders, and we guard those things jealously. Our liveships are very special. We feel the need to protect them. It would be hard to make an outsider understand all that our liveships are to us.”

“It is always difficult to explain that which you don’t understand yourself,” Amber retorted quietly. “Althea, this idea has to break through, not just to you but to all the Bingtown Traders. To survive, you will have to change. You will have to decide what things are most important to you, and preserve those things. You must accept the allies who share those values, and not be so suspicious of them. Above all, you must relinquish your claims to things that don’t belong to you. Things that don’t belong even to the Rain Wild Traders, but are the rightful heritage of all.”

“What do you know about the Rain Wild Traders?” Althea demanded. She peered at Amber in the dimness of the alley.

“Precious little. Your close-mouthed Bingtown traditions have seen to that. I suspect they plunder the cities of the Elderlings of their treasures, and claim that ancient magic as their own. Bingtown and the Bingtown Traders act as a shield to conceal a people unknown to the rest of the world. Those people delve deep into secrets they cannot grasp. They dismantle the hard-won knowledge of another folk and time, and market it as amusing trinkets. I suspect they destroy as much as they pilfer. Come on.”

Althea took a deep breath to reply, then clamped her jaws firmly. She followed Amber.

A brief silence fell. Then Amber laughed. “You see. You will not even tell me if my deductions are correct.”

“Those things are Bingtown Trader business. One doesn’t discuss it with outsiders.” Althea heard the coldness in her own voice but could not repent it.

For a time, they walked in false companionship. The revelry of the Night Market reached them as distantly as a memory of better times. The wind off the water was cold. In these hours before dawn, spring was forgotten. The world returned to the dark and chill of winter. Althea touched the bottom of despair. She had not realized how much she had valued her friendship with Amber until it was threatened.

Amber took her arm suddenly. The contact made the intensity of her voice more compelling. “Bingtown cannot stand alone,” she said. “Jamaillia is corrupted. The Satrap will cede you to Chalced, or sell you to New Traders without even a moment of consideration. He doesn’t care, Althea. Not about his honor, or his ancestor’s pledge or the people of Bingtown. He doesn’t even care about the citizens of Jamaillia. He is so engrossed in himself, he cannot perceive anything except as it relates to him.” Amber shook her head, and Althea thought she sensed a deep sadness. “He comes to power too young, and unschooled. He had great promise and much talent. His father took joy in his potential, and he charmed his teachers. No one wished to daunt that inquisitive spirit; he was allowed complete freedom in his explorations. No discipline was imposed on him. For a time, it was like watching an extravagant blossom unfold.”

Amber paused as if remembering a better time. She went on with a sigh, “But nothing thrives without limits. At first, the court was amused when he discovered the pleasures of the flesh and indulged in them. Characteristically, he set out to explore them all. Everyone supposed it was but a stage of his growth. It wasn’t. It was the end of his growth. Mired in pleasure, lost in all but the titillation of his own senses, he became ever more self-centered. Ambitious people saw it as a path to the future Satrap’s favor; they began to supply his desire. The unscrupulous saw it as a pathway to power. They taught him exotic new pleasures, ones they alone could supply. When his father died abruptly and he was catapulted into power, the strings of the puppet were already fixed. Since then, they have only become more confining.” Amber gave a mirthless laugh. “It is bitter. The young man who was never restricted by the walls of discipline is now choking on the leashes of his addictions. His enemies will rob his folk and enslave his lands, and he will smile as the dream herbs smolder in his chambers.”

“You seem well versed in this history.”

“I am.”

The brusqueness of her answer cut off Althea’s next question. She found a different one. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asked in a low voice.

“To wake you up. Appeals to the Satrap’s honor, and reminders of ancient promises will not produce results. The diseases of power have eaten too deeply into the Satrap and the influential families of Jamaillia. They are too busy saving themselves and gathering what scraps of power they can to be interested in Bingtown’s plight. If Bingtown wishes to continue as it has, then it must find its own allies. Not just those of the newcomers who share Bingtown’s ideals, but the slaves brought here against their will, and … any others who share Bingtown’s enemies. The Rain Wild Traders must also step out from the shadows, not only to assert their rights but also to take responsibility for what they do.”

Althea halted suddenly in the street. Amber took another step, then stopped and looked back at her.

“I need to go home, to my family,” Althea said quietly. “All of what you say speaks to me, not only of Bingtown, but of my family’s predicament.”

Amber released her arm. “If I have made you see that those two things are connected, I have not wasted my time this evening. Another time, you will come to Paragon with me. And you will help me convince him that he must support my efforts to buy him.”

“First I will have to convince myself of that,” Althea cautioned her. She took satisfaction in knowing that Paragon had had the good sense to resist Amber’s efforts. As much as she liked her, there had to be a better buyer for the
Paragon
than she. Althea added that to her list of concerns. She would discuss it with Grag and his father when next she saw them.

“You will be convinced, if you open your ears and eyes. Go carefully, Althea, and reach home safely. Visit me when you can. Until then, be aware. Consider all that troubles Bingtown. Notice all that seems wrong to you, even that which does not seem to involve you. You will reach the same conclusions I have.”

Althea nodded at her. She didn’t speak. It saved her from having to say she would reach her own conclusions. What was best for her family would come first.

“ARE WE GOING TO SIT UP ALL NIGHT?”
Malta finally asked.

Keffria’s reply was surprisingly mild. “I’m going to stay up until Althea gets home. I know you must be tired, dear. It’s been quite a week for you. You can go to bed if you wish.”

“I thought you told me that Grandmother would start treating me more like an adult if I acted like one.” She kept an eye on her grandmother as she said this, and saw the small flicker of her eyes that said her barb had struck. It was time the old woman realized that she and her mother did talk together about such things. “I think if you are both going to stay up and talk to Aunt Althea when she gets home, I should, too.”

“As you wish,” her mother said wearily. She picked up the needlework she had set aside and looked at it.

Malta leaned back in her chair. She had curled her legs up and tucked her feet under her. Her back ached and her head pounded. She still smiled. It had been quite a week for her. She reached up and began to take her hair down. As she plucked the pins out and it cascaded darkly about her shoulders, she wondered what Reyn would think if he could see her like this. She imagined him sitting across from her, watching her hair slowly come down. He would tilt his head and his veil would move slightly when he sighed. He would toy with the fingertips of his gloves. He had confided to her that he found them more annoying than the veil. “To touch something, skin to surface, can tell one so much. A shared touch, skin to skin, can speak the words our mouths are not free to say.” He had held his hand out, as if inviting her to touch his gloved fingers, but she had not moved. “You could remove your gloves,” she had told him. “I would not be afraid.”

He had laughed lightly, his veil puffing out with his amusement. “I think there is not much you would fear, my little hunting cat. But that would not make it proper. I have promised my mother that this courtship will be proper.”

“Did you?” She had leaned forward, dropping her voice to a breathy whisper. “Do you tell me that to make me feel safe? Or to discourage me from attempting any impropriety?” She had let a tiny smile curl her mouth and lifted one brow. It was an expression often practiced in her mirror.

A slight movement of the lace over his face told her she had scored. That quick little intake of breath said he was both shocked and delighted at her boldness. But even better, past his shoulder, she glimpsed the dark scowl on Cerwin Trell’s face. She had given a throaty little trill of laughter, contriving that her whole attention seemed focused on Reyn as she watched for Cerwin’s reaction. Cerwin had snatched up a bottle of wine from a passing servant’s tray and refilled his own glass. He was far too well bred to slam the bottle down on the table at his elbow, but it had made an audible thud. Delo had leaned over to rebuke him, but he had brushed his sister’s remark away. What had he thought then? That he had been too timid in his suit? That he had missed his opportunity to have such a rare creature as Malta Haven smile at him like that?