Mad Ship (37 page)

There was a sudden squawk, a thudding on the door, and then it was flung open. Althea entered, pushing a disheveled and struggling Malta before her. “Keffria! This brat was eavesdropping again. I’m tired of her spying, sneaking ways. It isn’t worthy of anyone in this family—Brashen? What are you doing here? What’s happened, what is going on?” Althea let go of Malta so suddenly that the girl sat down flat with a thud on the floor. She stared at him wild-eyed, her mouth open as if he had knocked the wind out of her lungs.

He stood and took a step toward her. His story spilled out. “The
Vivacia
has been captured by pirates. I saw her anchored up in a pirate stronghold, with the Raven flag flying from her masthead. That’s Kennit. I’m sure you know his reputation. It is said he kills the full crew of every slaver he captures. I don’t know the crew’s fate.”

A piercing wail from Malta blasted away all other responses. She drew a second breath, and came to her feet. She charged Brashen, swinging her fists wildly. “No. It’s a lie, it’s a lie! Father said he would come home, he was going to make everything right! He is going to come home and make us rich again and throw out Althea and make everyone treat me well! You’re only saying that, you pig. It isn’t true, it isn’t true. My father can’t be dead, he can’t!”

He caught one of her wrists, and then the other after she had hit him twice. He expected she would surrender. Instead, she kicked him sharply twice in the shins. “Malta! Stop that!” Ronica commanded sharply while Keffria cried out, “Stop it, stop it. It won’t solve anything.”

Althea was more direct. She strode up, seized Malta by the hair on the back of her head and pulled her sharply back. The girl cried out in pain. Brashen promptly released her wrists. Then Althea shocked him by pinning Malta in a rough embrace. “Stop it, stop it now,” she whispered hoarsely to the struggling girl. “It won’t do any good. Save your strength and your wits. We can’t waste them fighting each other. We have a common enemy now. We have to put everything we have toward rescuing them. Malta. Malta. I know this is terrible, but we have to cope, not thrash about in hysteria.”

Malta quieted abruptly. Then she thrust Althea savagely away and staggered clear of her aunt before turning to accuse her. “You’re happy this happened. You are! You don’t care anything about my father, you never did. All you want is that ship. You hope he is dead, I know you do! You hate me. Don’t pretend to be my friend.” She clenched her teeth and glared at Althea. A moment of stark silence filled the room.

Althea’s voice was stone. “No. I’m not your friend.” She pushed her mussed hair back from her face. “Most of the time, I don’t like you at all. But I am your aunt. Fate has made us family, and now it has made us allies as well. Malta. Put aside your airs and flouncing and sulking. Set your mind to this problem. It is what we all must do. We need to get our family ship back and rescue any of her crew who may still be alive. That is the only problem we can put our energies to right now.”

Malta looked her up and down suspiciously. “You’re trying to trick me. You still want the ship for yourself.”

“I still want to command the family ship,” Althea agreed easily. “That’s true. But that quarrel will have to wait until Vivacia is safely back in Bingtown. Right now, that is what all of us want. It is rare when the women of this family agree on anything. So, while we do, you need to stop behaving like a hysterical girl with the brains of a chicken.”

Althea’s gaze swept to include her mother and sister. “None of us can afford to give way to our emotions right now. We have only one course that I can see. We need to raise money for a ransom. A substantial one. That is, frankly, our best chance of getting both ship and crew back uninjured.” She shook her head. “It sticks in my craw to have to buy back what is ours, but that is our most practical way to regain it. If we are fortunate, he will take our money and return what is ours. Brashen is right, however. I have heard of this Captain Kennit. If he pursued the
Vivacia,
it is because he means to keep her. If that is so, we can only pray to Sa that he has been wise enough to keep her family members and familiar crew alive to keep her sane. So, you see, Malta, I have reasons of my own for hoping your father and brother are alive and well.” Althea delivered this wry aside with a pained clench of a smile.

In a lower voice she went on, “The Bingtown Trader Council meets tomorrow night. They are supposed to give the Tenira family a hearing on the Satrap’s tariff, the presence of the so-called Chalcedean ‘patrol ships’ and slaves in Bingtown. I’ve promised Grag I’ll be there to support his father’s views. Mother, Keffria, you should come as well. Rally any others that you can. It is time the Bingtown Traders were awakened to all that is going on. The worsening piracy and their increasing boldness is yet another part of the Satrap’s mess. When the time is right, we need to bring up the
Vivacia
’s situation and ask for support from at least the other liveship families, if we cannot sway all the Traders to help us. This is something that affects us all. At the risk of setting off Malta again, I will add that it directly relates to the slavery issue. If Kyle hadn’t been using Vivacia as a slaver, this would not have befallen her. It is well known that Kennit targets slaveships. It is also known,” she added in a slightly louder voice as Malta took a breath to interrupt, “that the pirate activities are why we have these Chalcedean privateers tied up in our harbor. If Bingtown itself takes a stand against the pirates, perhaps we can show the Satrap we don’t need his patrol boats and we don’t intend to pay for them.” She turned and looked out the window at the waning afternoon. “And if we succeed in all that, perhaps we can waken all Bingtown to the fact that we don’t need Jamaillia or the Satrap at all. That we can take care of ourselves now.” Those words were very softly spoken but they sounded clear in the quiet room.

Althea gave a sudden deep sigh and her shoulders drooped. “I’m hungry. Isn’t that stupid? Brashen brings me the worst possible news that I can imagine, and somehow I still get hungry at dinner time.”

“No matter what befalls you, your body tries to go on living.” Ronica spoke the heavy words with the experience of a survivor. She moved stiffly as she crossed the room to her granddaughter. She held out her hand to her. “Malta. Althea is right. We must stand as a family now, putting aside all quarrels with each other.” She lifted her eyes and smiled grimly around at them all. “Sa’s breath. Look what it takes to make us remember we are family. I feel ashamed.” She returned her gaze to her granddaughter. Her empty hand waited, hovering. Slowly Malta extended her own. Ronica took it. She looked deep into the girl’s angry gaze. Suddenly she gave her a brittle hug. Malta cautiously returned it.

“Malta and Papa aren’t bad anymore?” a young voice wondered aloud. All heads turned to the boy in the doorway.

“Oh, Selden!” Keffria cried in weary dismay. She pulled herself up from her chair and went to her young son. She tried to hug him but he pulled stiffly free. “Mama, I’m not a baby!” he cried in annoyance. His eyes went past his mother to Brashen. He considered him gravely. He cocked his head. “You look like a pirate,” he decided.

“I do, don’t I?” Brashen said. He squatted down to be on a level with the small boy. He smiled and held out a hand. “But I’m not. I’m just an honest Bingtown sailor, a bit down on my luck.” For a moment, he believed it was true. He could almost forget the stub end of a cindin stick his wayward fingers had found in the corner of his jacket pocket.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
TAKING CHARGE

ALTHEA WATCHED HIM LEAVE. SHE HAD NOT JOINED
her mother to walk him to the door. Instead, she had fled to a maid’s chamber in the upper story of the house. She had left the dusty room dark, and did not even lean too close to the window lest Brashen look back and chance to see her. The moonlight washed the gaudy color from his clothes. He walked slowly, not looking back, his gait as rolling as if he strode a deck instead of a carriage drive.

Althea had been lucky she had been struggling with Malta when she first entered the study that evening. No one had remarked on her red cheeks or lost breath. She did not think that even Brashen had realized her moment of panic at seeing him. The stricken expressions that Keffria and Mother had worn had near stilled her heart. For one ghastly instant, she had imagined that he had come to her mother to confess all and offer to redeem Althea’s shame by marrying her. Even while she reeled from the severity of Brashen’s real tidings, she had felt a secret relief that she did not have to admit publicly what she had done.

What
she
had done. She accepted that now. Amber’s words had made her confront herself on that issue weeks ago. She was almost ashamed now that she had tried to hide behind excuses. What they had done, they had done together. If she wanted to respect herself as a woman and an adult, she could not claim otherwise. She had only spoken otherwise, she decided truthfully, because she had not wanted to be blamed for such an irresponsible act. If he had really tricked or coerced her into bed with him, then she could justify the pain she had felt since then. She could have been the wronged woman, the seduced innocent, abandoned by a heartless sailor. But such roles insulted both of them.

She had not been able to meet his eyes tonight, nor yet look away from him. She had missed him. The years of shipboard camaraderie, she told herself, outweighed the harsh way they had parted. Time and again, she had stolen glances at him, storing his image in her mind as if she were satisfying some sort of hunger. The devastating news he had brought still tore at her heart, but her traitor eyes had studied only the bright darkness of his eyes, and how his muscled shoulders moved under his silk shirt. She had noticed a cindin sore at the edge of his mouth; he was still using the drug. His freebooter’s garb had appalled her. It hurt and disappointed her that he had turned pirate. Yet, such clothes suited him far better than the sober dress of a Bingtown Trader’s son ever had. She disapproved of everything about him, yet the sight of him had set her heart racing.

“Brashen,” she said hopelessly to the darkness. She shook her head after his departing form. She had regrets, she told herself. That was all. She regretted that bedding with him had destroyed their easy companionship. She regretted that she had let herself do such an inappropriate thing with such an inappropriate person. She regretted that he had given up and not become the man her father had believed he would. She regretted his poor judgment and weak character. That was all she felt. Regrets.

She wondered what had brought him back to Bingtown. He would not have come all this way just to tell them Vivacia had been captured. At the thought of her ship, the pain in her heart wrenched one notch tighter. Losing her to Kyle had been hard enough; now she was in the hands of a pirate capable of murder. It would mark the ship. There was no escaping that. If she ever did recover Vivacia, she would be very different from the lively and spirited ship that had left Bingtown over a year ago.

“As different as I am from whom I was then,” she said aloud to the night. “As different as he is.” She watched Brashen until the darkness swallowed him.

MIDNIGHT HAD COME
and gone before Malta managed to slip away from the house. The family had all eaten in the kitchen like servants, making a late meal off what was there. They had included Brashen in their company. When Rache had come in later from her day off in town, the family and Brashen had moved to her grandfather’s study and continued their discussion. Even Selden had been included, much to Malta’s disgust. All he did was ask stupid questions, which would not have been so bad, except that everyone kept trying to answer them in ways that he would understand, while insisting that he should not be scared. Finally he fell asleep on the hearth. Brashen had offered to carry him up to his bed and her mother had actually allowed that instead of rousing the little bug.

Malta drew her cloak more tightly about her. It was a fine summer night, but the dark cloak helped both camouflage her and kept the dew at bay. Her slippers and the hem of her gown were already soaked. It was much darker outside at night than she had expected. The white pebbled walkway that led to the oak tree and the gazebo reflected the moonlight to guide her feet. In some places, grass sprawled over the path. Wet brown leaves, unraked since autumn, clung to the bottoms of her slippers. She tried not to think of slugs and worms mashed under her feet.

She heard a rustle in the bushes to her right and stopped with a gasp. Something hastened away through the underbrush, but she remained frozen, listening. Once in a great while, mountain cats were seen near Bingtown. It was said they would carry off small livestock, even children. She longed to go back to the house, but she reminded herself she must be brave. This was no prank or test of her will. What she did now, she did for her father’s sake.

She was sure he would understand.

She had found it very ironic that Aunt Althea had implored her to unite with her family to get the ship and her father back. Even her grandmother had made a fine show with that squishy hug. The truth was, neither of them thought Malta could do anything to help, save stay out of trouble. Malta knew the opposite was true. While Mother wept in her bedchamber and boiled wine as an offering to Sa, and Aunt Althea and her grandmother lay awake thinking of what might be sold off to raise coin, only Malta would act. Malta alone realized that she was the one who could rally others to their aid. Her resolve hardened as she thought about it. She would do whatever she had to do to bring her father safely home. Then she would see to it that he knew who had truly made a sacrifice for him. Who said that women could not be brave and daring for the sake of those they loved? Fortified with this thought, she picked her way along the path.

A weird glow through the trellised roses sent a shiver up her spine. A soft yellow light flickered and swayed. For a second all the spook tales she had ever heard about the Rain Wilds assailed her. Had Reyn set something to watch over her, and would it think she was betraying him? She almost turned back until a slight breeze brought her the scent of burning candle wax and the jasmine perfume that Delo lately favored. She crept toward the oak. From its deeper shadow, she discerned the source of the glow. Yellow light shone gently through the slats of the old gazebo, outlining the leaves of the ivy that draped the structure. It seemed a magical place, romantic and mysterious.

Cerwin awaited her there. He had lit a candle to guide her to him. Her heart surged and raced. It was perfect, a minstrel’s romantic tale. She was the heroine, the young woman wronged by fate and her family, beautiful, young and heartbroken over her father’s captivity. Despite all that her unloving family had done to her, she would be the one to make the ultimate sacrifice that saved them all. Cerwin was the young man who had come to deliver her, for his manly young heart thundered with love for her. He could not do otherwise. She stood still in the fickle moonlight, savoring the drama of it all.

She walked softly until she could peek inside the leafy door. Two figures waited inside. Delo was huddled up in a corner in her cloak, but Cerwin paced back and forth. It was his motion that made the candle’s light erratic. His hands were empty. She frowned to herself. That didn’t seem right. Reyn would have brought her flowers at least. Well, perhaps whatever Cerwin had for her was small. Maybe it was in his pocket. She refused to let it spoil the moment.

Malta paused only to push back her hood, shake out her hair and spread it carefully over her shoulders. She scraped her teeth over her lips to redden them, then entered the spill of light from the gazebo. She walked forward with a dignified pace, her face grave. Cerwin noticed her immediately. She stopped where she could be half in shadow. She turned her face to the candlelight’s caress and opened her eyes wide.

“Malta!” he whispered in a voice choked with suppressed emotion. He strode toward her. He would sweep her up in his arms. She braced herself for that, but instead he halted and then dropped to one knee before her. His head was bowed and she could see only his dark curly hair. In a tight voice he said, “Thank you for coming. When midnight passed and you were not here, I feared—” He gasped in a breath that was almost a sob. “I feared I had no hope at all.”

“Oh, Cerwin,” she murmured sorrowfully. From the corner of one eye, she noted that Delo had crept to the door of the gazebo and was peeking out at them. For a moment, it annoyed her. It spoiled the mood to have Cerwin’s little sister watching them. She pushed the thought away. Ignore her. It didn’t matter. Delo couldn’t tell anything without getting in big trouble herself. Malta took a step closer to Cerwin. She set her pale hands to his dark head and ran her fingers through his curls. He caught his breath at her touch. She turned his face up to hers. “How could you think I would not come?” she asked him gently. She gave a soft sigh. “No matter what sorrows batter me, no matter what danger to myself … you should have known I would come.”

“I dared to hope,” he admitted. When he looked up at her, she was shocked. He strongly resembled Brashen, yet he suffered in the comparison. She had thought Cerwin manly and mature. Now, after she had watched Brashen for an evening, Cerwin appeared a callow youth. The comparison annoyed her. It made her conquest less of a triumph. He caught her two hands, then dared to kiss each of her palms before releasing them.

“You must not,” she murmured to him. “You know I am promised to another.”

“I will never allow him to have you,” he vowed.

She shook her head. “It is too late. The tidings your brother brought us tonight have made me see that.” She looked aside from him to stare wide-eyed into the night forest. “I have no choice but to fulfill my fate. My father’s life depends on it.”

He surged to his feet. “What are you saying?” His voice was a low cry. “What news came … my brother brought it? Your father’s life … I don’t understand.”

For an instant her voice tightened with real tears. “Pirates have captured our family ship. Brashen was kind enough to bring us word of it. We fear my father and brother may already be dead, but if they are not, if any chance remains … oh, Cerwin, somehow we must find the money to ransom them. And yet, how can we? Humbling as it is, I know you are aware of our financial difficulties. Once word gets out that our ship has been taken, our creditors will close in like sharks.” She lifted her hands to her face. “I do not know how we will feed ourselves, let alone find money to ransom my father. I fear I will be wed off to the Rain Wilder immediately. As much as that distresses me, I know it is what I must do. Reyn is a generous man. He will help us to get my father back. If marrying him is what it will take … I do not mind … so much.” Her voice cracked on these final words. She swayed, genuinely overcome by her cruel fate.

He caught her in his arms. “You poor, brave child. Can you imagine that I would allow you to go to a loveless marriage, even for the sake of your father?”

She whispered against his chest. “The choice is not ours, Cerwin. I will offer myself to Reyn. He has both the wealth and power to help me. That will be what I think of when …  that time comes when …  I must accommodate him.” She hid her face against his shirt as if ashamed to speak of such things.

Cerwin clutched her upper arms more tightly. “Never,” he promised her. “That time will never come.” He took a breath. “I do not claim to be as wealthy as a Rain Wilder. But all I have, and all I ever will have, I put at your service.” He held her a little away so he could look down into her face. “Did you think I would do less than that?”

She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I did not think you could,” she admitted. “Your father is still the Trader of your family. Poor Brashen is proof that he runs his household with a firm hand. I know what your heart bids you to do, but, in reality—” she shook her head sadly— “there may be little you can actually command.”

“Poor Brashen!” He snorted disdainfully, distracted from her real problem. “My brother brought about his own misfortunes. Do not pity him. Your other words are true, and I do not deny them. I cannot put the entire Trell fortune at your disposal, but—”

“As if I would ask that! Oh, Cerwin, what must you think of me? That I come to you at night, at risk to my reputation, to ask for money?” She turned aside from him in a swirl of cloak that briefly revealed the white cotton nightgown she wore beneath it. She heard Delo’s in-drawn gasp. She scuttled out of the gazebo to stand beside Malta.

“You are practically naked!” she scolded her. “Malta, how could you!”

There. If Cerwin had been too dense to notice it before, he knew it now. Malta drew herself up with dignity. “I had no choice. I had but one chance to slip out of the house to meet you, and I took it. I don’t regret it. Cerwin has been gentleman enough to ignore it and not shame me. It is not as if I chose to come to him this way. Cannot you understand that my father’s life is at stake, Delo? This is not an ordinary time, and the ordinary rules do not apply.” She set her hands pleadingly over her heart.

She watched Cerwin’s reaction from the corner of her eye. He was staring at her with horrified admiration. His eyes traveled her body as if he could see through her cloak. “Delo,” he said brusquely, “it is of no importance. You are such a child, to make much of it. Please. Allow me to speak to Malta privately.”