Ship of Destiny (5 page)

“What utter nonsense!” Ronica exclaimed in disgust. “I did nothing of the kind. Brashen straightened himself out, and your father should be proud of him, not angry with the Vestrits over that. But I take it that he is satisfied to see us branded as traitors?”

Cerwin looked at the floor, ashamed. The dark eyes he finally lifted to hers were very like his older brother’s. “You’re right, I’m afraid. But please, torment me no longer. Tell me. Did Malta escape harm? Is she hiding here with you?”

Ronica considered for a long moment. How much of the truth should she entrust to him? She had no wish to torture the boy, but she would not endanger her family for the sake of his feelings. “When last I saw Malta, she was injured, but not dead. Small thanks to the men who attacked us and then left her for dead! She, her mother and brother are hiding in a safe place. And that is all I’m going to tell you.”

She didn’t admit that she knew little more than that herself. They had gone off with Reyn, Malta’s Rain Wild suitor. If all had gone as planned, then they had reached the
Kendry
in safety, and escaped Bingtown Harbor and then sailed up the Rain Wild River. If all had gone well, they were safe in Trehaug. The trouble was that very little had gone well lately, and there was no way for them to send Ronica word. All she could do was trust to Sa that she had been merciful.

Relief welled up in Cerwin Trell’s face. He reached to touch the rose he had left on Malta’s pillow. “Thank you,” he whispered fervently. Then he spoiled it by adding, “At least I now can cling to hope.”

Ronica repressed a grimace. She could see that Delo had not inherited all the melodramatic tendencies in the Trell family. She changed the subject firmly. “Tell me what is happening in Bingtown now.”

He looked startled by the sudden request. “Well, but, I don’t know that much. Father has been keeping our whole family close to home. He still believes this will all blow past somehow, and then Bingtown will go on as before. He will be furious if he discovers I’ve slipped away. But I had to, you know.” He clutched at his heart.

“Of course, of course. What did you see on the way here? Why does your father keep you close to home?”

The boy knit his brows and stared down at his well-kept hands. “Well, right now, the harbor is ours again. That could change any time, though. The Three Ships folk have been helping us, but while all the ships are fighting, no one is fishing or bringing goods to market. So food is starting to be dear, especially as so many of the warehouses were burned.

“In Bingtown, there has been looting and plundering. People have been beaten and robbed simply for trying to do business. Some say the culprits are New Trader gangs, others say they are escaped slaves out for anything they can get. The Market is deserted. Those who dare to open their doors to do business run many risks. Serilla had the City Guard seize what was left of the Satrap’s tariff dock. She wanted the message birds kept there, so that she might send word and receive tidings from Jamaillia. But most of the birds had died in the fire and smoke. The men she posted there did intercept a returning bird recently, but she would not share what tidings it brought. Some parts of the city are held by New Traders, some parts by Old. The Three Ships and other groups are caught between. At night, there are clashes.

“My father is angry that no one is negotiating. He says that real Traders know that almost everything can be solved by the right bargain. He says that proves that the New Traders are to blame for everything that has happened, but they, of course, blame us. They say we kidnapped the Satrap. My father believes you were going to help kidnap the Satrap so they could kill him and blame it on us. Now the Old Traders squabble among themselves. Some want us to recognize Companion Serilla’s authority to speak for the Satrap of Jamaillia; others say it is time that Bingtown shook off Jamaillian authority entirely. The New Traders claim that we are ruled by Jamaillia still, but they won’t recognize Serilla’s documents. They beat the messenger she sent to them under a truce flag, and sent him back with his hands bound behind him and a scroll tied to his throat. It accused her of treason and being a party to the plot to overthrow the Satrap. They said our aggression against the Satrap and his lawful patrol boats provoked the violence in the harbor and turned our Chalcedean allies against us.” He licked his lips and added, “They threatened that when the time came and strength was on their side, they would show no mercy.”

Cerwin paused for breath. His young face looked older as he went on. “It’s a mess and not getting better. Some of my friends want to arm themselves and simply drive the New Traders into the sea. Roed Caern says we should kill any of them who won’t leave. He says we must take back what they stole from us. Many of the Traders’ sons agree with him. They say that only when the New Traders are gone can Bingtown, go back to being Bingtown. Some say we should round up the New Traders and give them a choice of leaving, or death. Others talk of secret reprisals against those who dealt with the New Traders, and burning the New Traders out to force them to leave. I’ve heard rumors that Caern and his friends go out a great deal at night.” He shook his head miserably. “That is why my father tries to keep me close to home. He doesn’t want me involved.” He met Ronica’s eyes suddenly. “I am not a coward. But I don’t want to
be
involved.”

“In that, you and your father are wise. Nothing will be resolved that way. It will only justify them in more violence against us.” Ronica shook her head. “Bingtown will never be Bingtown again.” She sighed and asked, “When is the next Bingtown Council meeting?”

Cerwin shrugged. “They have not met at all since this began. At least, not formally. All the liveship Traders are out chasing Chalcedeans. Some of the Traders have fled the city; others have fortified their homes and never leave them. Several times the heads of the Council have gathered with Serilla, but she has urged them to delay calling a meeting. She wishes to reconcile with the New Traders and use her authority as the Satrap’s representative to restore peace. She wishes to treat with the Chalcedeans, also.”

Ronica was silent for a moment. Her lips tightened. This Serilla, it seemed to her, was taking entirely too much authority to herself. What were the tidings she had concealed? Surely the sooner the Council met and formulated a plan to restore order, the sooner the city could heal. Why would she oppose that?

“Cerwin. Tell me this. If I went to Serilla, do you think she would speak to me? Or do you think they would kill me as a traitor?”

The young man looked at Ronica with dismay. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I no longer know what my own friends are capable of doing. Trader Daw was found hanged. His wife and children have disappeared. Some say he killed himself when he saw that fortunes were going against him. Others say his brothers-in-law did it, out of shame. No one talks much of it.”

Ronica was silent for a time. She could huddle here in the remains of her home, knowing that if she were murdered, folk would not talk much of it. Or she could find a different place to hide. But winter was coming, and she had already decided that she would not perish gracefully. Perhaps confrontation was all that was left. At least she would have the satisfaction of speaking her piece before someone killed her. “Can you carry a message to Serilla for me? Where is she staying?”

“She has taken over Davad Restart’s house. But, please, I don’t dare carry a message. If my father found out—”

“Of course.” She cut him off abruptly. She could shame him into it. All she need do was imply that Malta would think him a coward if he did not. She would not use the boy to test the waters. What sense was there in sacrificing Cerwin to ensure her own safety? She would go herself. She had cowered at home long enough.

She stood up. “Go home, Cerwin. And stay there. Listen to your father.”

The young man stood slowly. His gaze traveled over her, and then he looked away, embarrassed for her. “Do you . . . are you doing well here, by yourself? Have you enough to eat?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” She felt oddly touched by his concern. She looked down at her garden-stained hands and her dirt-caked nails. She restrained an impulse to put her hands behind her.

He took a breath. “Will you tell Malta that I came, that I was worried about her?”

“I will. The next time I see her. But that may not be for quite a long time. Now go home. Obey your father after this. I am sure he has enough worries without you putting yourself in danger.”

That made him stand up a bit straighter. A smile touched his mouth. “I know. But I had to come, you see. I could know no peace until I discovered what had become of her.” He paused. “May I tell Delo, also?”

The girl was one of the worst gossips in Bingtown. Ronica decided that Cerwin did not know enough about anything to be a threat. “You may. But plead with her to keep it to herself. Ask her not to speak of Malta at all. It is the greatest favor she can do her friend. The fewer people who wonder about Malta, the safer she is.”

Cerwin frowned dramatically. “Of course. I see.” He nodded to himself. “Well. Farewell, Ronica Vestrit.”

“Farewell, Cerwin Trell.”

Only a month ago, it would have been unthinkable for him to be in this room. The civil war in Bingtown had turned everything topsy-turvy. She watched him go, and it seemed that he carried the last of that old familiar life away with him. All the rules that had governed her had fallen. For an instant, she felt as desolate and plundered as the room she stood in. Then an odd sense of freedom washed over her. What had she left to lose? Ephron was dead. Ever since her husband’s death, her familiar world had been crumbling away. Now it was gone, and only she remained. She could make her own way now. Without Ephron and the children, little of the old life mattered to her.

She might as well make the new one interesting, as long as it was going to be unpleasant anyway.

After the boy’s footsteps in the tiled passage had died away, Ronica left Malta’s bedchamber and walked slowly through the house. She had avoided coming here since the day they had returned and found it raided. Now she forced herself to walk through each room and look at the corpse of her world. The heavier furniture and some of the hangings and drapes remained. Almost everything else of value or use had been carried off. She and Rache had salvaged some kitchenware and bedding, but all the simple items that made living gracious were gone. The plates they set on the bare wooden table did not match, and no linens protected her from the rough wool of her blankets. Yet, life went on.

As her hand fell on the latch of the kitchen door, she noticed one wax-sealed pot that had fallen on its side and rolled into a corner. She stooped down to retrieve it. It was leaking a little. She licked her sticky finger. Cherry preserves. She smiled ruefully, then tucked it into the crook of her arm. She would take this last bit of sweetness with her.

“
LADY COMPANION?
”

Serilla lifted her eyes from the map she was perusing. The serving boy at the door of the study looked deferentially at his feet. “Yes?” she acknowledged him.

“There is a woman to see you.”

“I’m busy. She will have to come back at a better time.” She was mildly annoyed with him. He should have known she did not want any other visitors today. It was late, and she had spent all the afternoon in a stuffy room full of Traders, trying to make them see sense. They quibbled over the most self-evident things. Some were still insisting that there must be a vote of the Council before they would recognize her authority over them. Trader Larfa had quite rudely suggested that Bingtown should settle Bingtown matters, with no advice from Jamaillia. It was most frustrating. She had shown them the authorization that she had extorted from the Satrap. She had written it herself, and knew it to be unchallengeable. Why would they not admit that she held the authority of the Satrap, and that Bingtown was subject to the Satrap’s authority?

She consulted the Bingtown chart once more. So far, the Traders had been able to keep their harbor open, but it was at the expense of all trade. The town could not long survive those circumstances. The Chalcedeans knew that very well. They did not have to rush in and control Bingtown immediately. Trade was the lifeblood of Bingtown and the Chalcedeans were slowly but surely strangling it.

The stubborn Traders were the ones who refused to see the obvious. Bingtown was a single settlement on a hostile coast. It had never been able to feed itself. How could it stand up to the onslaught of a warlike country like Chalced? She had asked that of the Council leaders. They replied that they had done it before and would do it again. But those other times, the might of Jamaillia backed them. And they had not had to contend with New Traders in their midst who might welcome a Chalcedean invasion. Many New Traders had close ties with Chalced, for that was the major market for the slaves they funneled through Bingtown.

She considered again the bird-message Roed Caern had intercepted and brought to her. It had promised a Jamaillian fleet would soon set out to take revenge on the corrupt and rebellious Old Traders for the murder of the Satrap. Just to think of it made Serilla cold. The message had arrived too soon. No bird could fly that fast. To her, it meant that the conspiracy was widespread, extending to the nobility of Jamaillia City itself. Whoever had sent the bird to Jamaillia had expected that the Satrap would be murdered and that evidence would point to the Old Traders. The swiftness of the reply indicated that those who responded had been awaiting the message.

The only question was how extensive the conspiracy was. Even if she could root out the source of it, she did not know if she could destroy it. If only Roed Caern and his men had not been so hasty the night that they seized the Satrap. If Davad Restart and the Vestrits had survived, the truth might have been wrung from them. They might have revealed who of the Jamaillian nobility were involved in this. But Restart was dead and the Vestrits missing. She’d get no answers there.

She pushed the chart to one side and replaced it with an elegant map of Bingtown. The finely inked and illustrated work was one of the wonders she’d discovered in Restart’s library. In addition to the original grants of all the Old Traders, with each holding inked in the family’s color, Davad had penned in the main claims of the New Traders. She studied it, wondering if it might offer some clue to his allies. She frowned over it, then lifted her pen, dipped it and made a note to herself. She liked the location of Barberry Hill. It would be a convenient summer home for her, once all this strife was settled. It had been a New Trader holding; likely the Bingtown Traders would be glad to cede it to her. Or as the Satrap’s representative, she could simply take it.