Mad Ship (91 page)

He continued quietly. “So, you see. The contract is already settled. You don’t have to marry me to discharge it.” His gloved hands tangled desperately against each other.

“And the dragon?” Malta asked breathlessly.

“She hates me now. I suppose that if she can drown me in her memories, she will. She tries to get me to come to her. But I resist.”

“How?”

He sighed. With a twinge of humor, he confessed, “When it gets really bad, I get so drunk I can’t even crawl. Then I pass out.”

“Oh, Reyn.” She shook her head in sympathy. And she has him to herself then, Malta conjectured. To torment as she wishes, in her world, with no escape for him. She took a breath. “What if I married you as part of the contract? If I said I preferred to pay it off that way, rather than have your family forgive it? Would that free you from your bargain?”

He shook his head slowly. “It wouldn’t release me from my contract.” He cocked his head at her. “Would you really do that?”

She didn’t know. She could not decide. He had made such a terrible bargain, just to be with her. But she could still not say, easily, that she wished to marry him. She knew so little about him. How could he have doubted her, and yet still have given his city up for her? It made no sense. Men were not at all what she had believed they were.

She held out her hand to him. “Take me for a walk.” Without a word, he took her hand. He led her out of the small chamber, to take her strolling on the walkway that spiraled up the trunk of the immense tree. She held his hand and did not look down nor back.

“I FAIL TO SEE WHAT GOOD IT DOES
for us to keep him. It looks like we’ve kidnapped him.” The lean Rain Wild Trader flung himself irritably back in his chair.

“Trader Polsk, you are thick-witted. The advantage is obvious. If we have the Satrap, he himself can speak out for us. He can say he was not kidnapped, but rescued by us from the New Traders’ assassination plot.” Trader Freye, the woman who criticized Trader Polsk so roughly, sat next to him. Keffria decided they were either friends, or related.

“Have we completely convinced him that that is the truth of the matter? The last time I heard him speak, he seemed to feel he had been snatched from an affable host and spirited away. He didn’t use the word kidnapped, but I don’t think it was far from his tongue,” Trader Polsk replied.

“We should put him in different chambers. He cannot help but feel a prisoner, held in such a place.” This from Trader Kewin. His veil was sewn so thickly with pearls that it rattled when he spoke.

“He is safest where he is. We all agreed to that hours ago. Please, Traders, let us not re-tread ground we have already packed into bricks. We need to move past why we hold him or where we hold him to what we plan to do with him.” Jani Khuprus sounded both weary and annoyed. Keffria sympathized.

There were moments when Keffria looked around herself and wondered where her life had gone. Here she was, sitting in a large chair at an imposing table, flanked by the most powerful Traders of the Rain Wild folk. The plans they discussed amounted to treason against the Jamaillian Satrapy. Yet, what surrounded her was not as strange as what was missing. Everything. Husband, son, mother, wealth and home had all vanished from her life. She looked around at the lightly veiled faces and wondered why they tolerated her here. What could she contribute to their Council? She spoke up anyway.

“Trader Khuprus is right. The sooner we can take action, the more lives we will save. We must get word to Jamaillia that he is alive and well. We must emphasize that we mean no harm to him, and that we hold him only for his own safety. Furthermore, I think we need to separate that message from any other negotiations. If we mention land grants or slavery or tariffs in the same missive, they will assume we are bartering the Satrap’s life for what we desire.”

“And why shouldn’t we?” Trader Lorek spoke up suddenly. She was a massive woman. A muscled fist smacked the table. “Answer me that, first. Why are we holding that spoiled adolescent in a fine chamber that he treats like a pig-sty and feeding him our best foods and wines when he has treated us as both loathesome and honorless? I say, bring him out here and make him look at us. Give him a dip or two in the Rain Wild River, and a month of hard work, and see if he doesn’t gain a bit of respect for our ways. Then trade his life for what we want.”

Silence followed this outburst. Then Trader Kewin replied to Keffria’s comments. Most of the Council seemed to ignore Trader Lorek’s little outbursts, Keffria noted. “To whom do we send such a message? Companion Serilla suspected that the conspiracy extends through many of the Jamaillian noble houses. They may be angered that we have preserved his life. Before we brag that we have foiled the plot, perhaps we should find out who was behind it.”

Trader Polsk leaned his chair back. “Let a thick-witted old man boil it down for you. Get rid of him. Ship the kid back where he came from. Let them deal with him. They can kill him there, if they’re so set on it. And each other, for all I care. Tie a note around his neck that we’re done with him and we’re done with Jamaillia, and we’re going to do things our own way now. While we’re at it, let’s clean the Chalcedeans out of our bays and waterways, and make that stick this time, too.”

Several Traders nodded but Jani Khuprus sighed. “Trader Polsk, you do cut to the heart of it. Many of us wish it were that simple. But it isn’t. We cannot risk war with Chalced and Jamaillia at the same time. If we must placate one, let it be Jamaillia.”

Trader Kewin shook his head violently. “Let us not ally with anyone until we know who supports whom. We need to know what is going on in Jamaillia. I fear we must make the Satrap more comfortable and keep him, while we send a ship of delegates to Jamaillia, under a truce flag, to find out how things lie there.”

“Would they respect a truce flag?” one demanded, while another Trader cut in with, “Past pirates and Chalcedean mercenaries, and back again? Do you know how long that trip could take? There may be nothing left of Bingtown by then.”

Perhaps it was the mention of her home, but suddenly things seemed icily clear to Keffria. She knew what it was that she brought to this meeting. It was the same thing her ancestors had brought when they first came to the Cursed Shores to carve homes from hostile territory. She had herself: her courage, and her wits. It was all she had left to offer anyone. “We don’t need to go to Jamaillia to discover that,” she said quietly. All the veiled faces at the table turned abruptly to her. “The answers we need are in Bingtown. There are traitors there who were willing to let a boy be killed for the sake of snatching more of our land and making it over in Chalced’s image. Traders, we do not need to go to Jamaillia to discover who our friends are. We need only go so far as Bingtown to find who our enemies are, both there and in Jamaillia.”

Trader Lorek slammed the table again. “How are we to do that, Trader Vestrit? Ask them nicely? Or do you suggest we take a few captives and wring it out of them?”

“Neither,” Keffria said quietly. She looked around the table at the veiled faces. From their rapt silence, they appeared to be listening. She took a breath. “I could flee to them and throw myself upon their sympathies.” She took a breath. “Look at me. Pirates have taken my Chalcedean husband. I’ve been driven from my home, my daughter and son ‘killed’ in the kidnapping of the Satrap, to say nothing of my old friend Davad Restart. I could persuade them that my sympathies are with them. And somehow, I could get word back to you of what I discover about them.”

“Too dangerous.” Polsk condemned the idea quickly.

“You don’t have enough to offer them,” Trader Freye said quietly. “You’d need more to bargain with. Information about us or the river. Something.”

Keffria thought for a moment. “A note from the Satrap, in his own hand, saying he is alive and imploring aid of his nobles. I could offer to betray him.”

“That’s not quite it.” Freye shook her head.

Keffria suddenly knew. “My liveship,” she said quietly. “I could offer them a bargain. Ask them to rescue my family ship and husband. In return, I’d use the
Vivacia
to bring them up the river to where they could attack you and recapture the Satrap.”

“That would work,” Jani Khuprus agreed reluctantly. “They’d be suspicious of you if you came just to gift them with a betrayal. But if you come asking a favor or seeking a bargain, they’ll accept your motives.”

Polsk snorted. “It falls apart too easily. What if someone has talked to your mother? How would you come by such a note from the Satrap? All know Malta was promised to Reyn. They would not believe your sudden animosity.”

“I believe my mother fled the city the same day I did. And I spoke to no one after the ball; we all simply vanished. I could say that we were kidnapped along with the Satrap, that my children died from their injuries, but I was held with him. I gained his trust, he wrote the note, I escaped, but I decided to betray him because I blamed him.”

Keffria paused as her inventiveness ran out. What was she thinking? It was all too thin a weaving; any fool could see through it. The other Traders would know that, and dissuade her from going. She herself knew that she could not do it. Her sister Althea could have, even her daughter Malta had the spirit and courage. But she was only a quiet mouse of a woman, sheltered and naïve. They could all see that about her. They would never let her do it. She suddenly felt foolish for even suggesting such a laughable plan.

Trader Polsk steepled his lean fingers on the table before him. “Very well. You’re right. Nonetheless, I insist that Trader Vestrit take a night to think this over before she commits to it. She has been through a great ordeal. Her children would be safe here, but we would be sending her into great danger, with few resources.”

“The
Kendry
sails tomorrow. Could she be ready by then?” Trader Lorek pushed.

“We still have links with slaves in some of the New Trader households. They could pass information to us. I’ll get you a list of names to commit to memory,” Trader Freye offered. She looked around the table. “We all accept, of course, that this plan must not leave this room.”

“Of course not. I myself will speak of it only to the
Kendry
’s captain, to suggest that there may be a stowaway on his ship. One he should not ferret out. He can keep his crew clear of her.”

“You will need supplies, and yet we cannot outfit you too efficiently, or your story will not ring true,” Jani worried aloud.

“We should prepare her a bracelet. Gold, painted to look like cheap enamel. If she is threatened, she may be able to buy her life with it,” Freye added.

Keffria listened as the plan she had suggested took shape around her. She wondered if she were the fish caught in the net, or the fisherman who had thrown it. The dread she felt was a familiar sensation; the lifting elation that accompanied it was not. What was she becoming?

“I insist we allow her at least one night to consider this well,” Polsk repeated.

“I will sail with the
Kendry,
” Keffria asserted quietly. “I leave my children in your care. I will tell them I am returning to Bingtown to persuade their grandmother to join us here. I beg you to tell them no more than that.”

Veiled heads all around the table nodded. Jani Khuprus spoke quietly. “I only pray that we still hold Bingtown Harbor when you get there. Otherwise, this whole plan is for naught.”

IT WAS A BLACK AND SILVER NIGHT
. She supposed it was beautiful, in its own way, but Malta had no time for considering beauty in her life. Not anymore. The gleaming moon above, the rush of the deadly river below, and in between fog drifting and a light breeze blowing were all things to ignore as she focused on the gentle swaying of the bridge beneath her feet.

It was sickening.

There was a rope railing, but it was slack and right at the edge of the walkway. She preferred to stay to the middle of the span as she walked along carefully. She placed each of her feet carefully, to keep from making the bridge sway any more than it already was. She kept her arms crossed tightly on her chest, hugging herself. The spaced lanterns on the railing doubled and tripled her shadow, making her recall the fuzzy visions from her injury. She felt queasy.

She heard a wild clattering of feet and Selden came racing up to her. She dropped to her hands and knees, and clutched at the planks of the bridge.

“What are you doing?” the boy demanded. “Come on, Malta, hurry up or we’ll never get there. There’s only three more bridges, and one trolley span.”

“Trolley span?” she asked weakly.

“You sit in a little box and yank yourself along on a pulley sort of thing. It’s fun. You can go really fast.”

“Can you go really slow, too?”

“I don’t know. I never tried that.”

“We’ll try it tonight,” she said firmly. She took a shuddering breath and came to her feet. “Selden. I’m not used to the bridges yet. Could you go more slowly and not make them swing so much?”

“Why?”

“So your sister doesn’t knock your head off,” she suggested.

“You don’t mean that,” he informed her. “Besides, you’d never catch me. Here. Take my hand and don’t think about it so much. Come on.”

His hand felt dirty and damp in hers. She held it tightly and followed him, her heart in her throat.

“Why do you want to go into the city, anyway?”

“I’m curious. I’d like to see it.”

“Why didn’t Reyn take you?”

“He didn’t have time today.”

“Couldn’t he make time to take you tomorrow?”

“Could we just walk and not talk?”

“If you want.” He was silent for three breaths. “You don’t want him to know you’re doing this, do you?”

Malta hurried after him, trying to ignore the sickening sway of the bridge. Selden seemed to have the trick of timing his stride to it. She felt that if she stumbled, she might go right over the edge. “Selden,” she asked quietly, “do you want Mama to know about you and the thick boats?”

He didn’t reply. This bargain didn’t need to be formalized.