Mad Ship (23 page)

There was a second class of unfamiliar folk on the street. They bore the tattoos of slavery beside their noses. Their furtive demeanor said they wished nothing so much as to be unnoticed. The number of menial servants in Bingtown had multiplied. They carried packages and held horses. One young boy followed two girls little older than himself, endeavoring to hold a parasol over both of them to shield them from the gentle spring sunlight. When the younger of the girls cuffed him and rebuked him sharply for not holding the sunshade steady, Althea repressed an urge to slap her. The boy was far too young to cower so deferentially. He walked barefoot on the cold cobblestones.

“It could break your heart, if you let it. But those two have been schooled not to have hearts at all.”

Althea started at the low voice so close to her ear. She spun to find Amber a step behind her. Their eyes met and Amber raised one knowing eyebrow. In a haughty tone, she offered, “I’ll give you a copper, sailor-boy, if you’ll carry this wood for me.”

“Pleased to oblige,” Althea replied and bobbed her head in a sailor’s bow. She took the large chunk of ruddy wood from Amber’s arms, and instantly found it much heavier than she had supposed. As she hefted it to a more secure grip, she caught the merriment in her friend’s topaz eyes. She fell into step a deferential two paces behind Amber, and followed her through the Market to Rain Wild Street.

Things had changed here as well. There had always been a few shops that kept night guards, and one or two that even employed guards by day. Now nearly every shop boasted a surly doorman with a short sword or a long knife at his hip. Doors did not stand invitingly open, nor was merchandise displayed on racks and tables outside the shops. The intricate and near-magical goods imported to Bingtown from the Rain Wilds were now visible only through the barred windows. Althea missed the waft of perfumes and the ringing of wind chimes and the savor of rare spices on the breeze. The shops and street were as busy as ever, but in both merchants and buyers there was a guarded wariness very unpleasant to behold. Even Amber’s shop had a guard outside the latched door. The young woman at her door wore a leather doublet and nonchalantly juggled two truncheons and a sap as she waited for her mistress to open up. She had long blonde hair caught back in a tail. She gave Althea a toothy smile. Althea edged past her uncomfortably. A large cat might so appraise a fat rodent.

“Wait outside, Jek. I’m not ready to open the store yet,” Amber told her succinctly.

“Whatever your pleasure, mistress,” Jek replied. Her tongue put a strange foreign twist on the words. She shot Althea one speculative glance as she carefully backed out the door and closed it behind her.

“Where did you find her?” Althea asked incredulously.

“She’s an old friend. She is going to be disappointed when she discovers you’re a woman. And she will. Nothing escapes Jek. Not that there is any danger of her betraying your secret. She is as close-mouthed as can be. Sees all, tells nothing. The perfect servant.”

“It’s funny. I never imagined you having servants of any kind.”

“It’s my preference not to, but I’m afraid a guard for the shop became necessary. I decided to live elsewhere, and with the increase of burglary in Bingtown, I had to hire someone to watch my shop at night. Jek needed a place to live; the arrangement works wonderfully.” She took the chunk of wood from Althea’s arms and set it aside. Then, to Althea’s surprise, she seized her by both shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “You do make a fetching youth. I can scarcely blame Jek for eyeing you.” She gave her a warm hug. As she released her, she added, “I am so glad to see you return unscathed. I have thought of you often and wondered how you fared. Come into the back. I’ll make some tea and we can talk.”

As Amber spoke, she was leading the way. The back room was the cluttered cave Althea remembered. There were workbenches with scattered tools and partly finished beads. Clothes hung on hooks or were layered neatly into trunks. There was a bed in one corner and an unmade pallet in another. A small fire burned in the hearth.

“I’d love tea, but I haven’t time just now. At least, not yet. I’ve a message to deliver first. However, as soon as I’ve done it, I’ll come right back here. I intended to do so, even before you spotted me on the street.”

“It is very important to me that you do so,” Amber replied so seriously that Althea stared at her. In answer to that look, Amber added, “It’s not something I can explain quickly.”

Althea’s curiosity was piqued, but her own concerns pushed it aside. “I need to speak to you privately as well. It’s a delicate matter. Perhaps I have no right to interfere, but she is—” She hesitated. “Perhaps now is actually the best time, even though I haven’t spoken to Captain Tenira about this yet.” Althea paused, then plunged ahead. “I’ve been serving on the liveship
Ophelia.
She’s been hurt, and I hope you can help her. A Chalcedean galley challenged us as we made our way back to Bingtown. Ophelia burned her hands fending them off. She says there is no pain, but she seems always to keep her hands clasped or otherwise hidden from view. I do not know how bad the damage is, or if a woodworker like yourself could do anything to repair scorched wood, but … ”

“Challenged by a galley? And attacked?” Amber was horrified. “In the Inside Passage waters?” She exhaled in a rush. She stared past Althea, as if looking into a different time and place. Her voice went strange. “Fate rushes down upon us! The time drags and the days plod past, lulling us into thinking that the doom we fear will always so delay. Then, abruptly, the dark days we have all predicted are upon us, and the time when we could have turned dire fate aside has passed. How old must I be before I learn? There is no time; there is never any time. Tomorrow may never come, but todays are linked inexorably in a chain, and now is always the only time we have to divert disaster.”

Althea felt a sudden sense of vindication. This was the reaction she had hoped to get from her mother. Strange that it was a newcomer, and not even a Bingtown Trader who instantly grasped the full significance of her news. Amber had completely forgotten her earlier offer of tea. Instead she flung open a chest in the corner of the room and began to haul garments from it in frenzy. “Give me just a few moments and I shall be fit to accompany you. However, let us not waste an instant. Begin with the day you left here, and talk to me. Tell me everything of your travels, even those things you consider unimportant.” She turned to a small table and opened a box on it. She made a brisk check of its contents of pots and brushes, then tucked it under her arm.

Althea had to laugh. “Amber, that would take hours—no, days—to do.”

“Which is why we must begin now. Come. Start while I change.” Amber bundled up an armful of cloth and disappeared behind a wooden screen in the corner. Althea launched into an account of her experiences aboard the
Reaper.
She had barely got past her first miserable months and Brashen’s discovery of her before Amber emerged from behind the screen. But it was not Amber who stood before her. Instead, it was a smudge-faced slave girl. A tattoo sprawled across one wind-reddened cheek. A crusty sore encompassed half her upper lip and her left nostril. Her dirty hair was pulling free from a scruffy braid. Her shirt was rough cotton and her bare feet peeked out from under her patched skirts. A dirty bandage bound one of her ankles. Rough canvas work gloves had replaced the lacy ones Amber habitually wore. She spread a dirty canvas tote on the table and began to load it with woodworking tools.

“You amaze me. How did you learn to do that?” Althea demanded, grinning.

“I’ve told you. I have played many roles in my life. This one disguise has proved very useful of late. Slaves are invisible. I can go almost anywhere in this guise and be ignored. Even the men who would not hesitate to force themselves on a slave are put off by a bit of dirt and a few well-placed scabs.”

“Have the streets of Bingtown become that dangerous for a woman alone?”

Amber shot her a look that was almost pitying. “You see what is happening and yet you do not see. Slaves are not women, Althea. Nor men. They are merchandise, goods and property. Things. Why should a slave-owner care if one of his goods is raped? If she bears a child, he has another slave. If she does not, well, what is the harm done? That boy you were staring at … it costs his master nothing if he weeps himself to sleep every night. The bruises he is given cost his owner nothing. If he becomes sullen and intractable from poor treatment, he will simply be sold off to someone who treats him even worse. The bottom rungs of the ladder become very slippery, once slavery is accepted. If a human’s life can be measured in counted coins, then that worth can be diminished, a copper at a time, until no value is left. When an old woman is worth less than the food she eats … well.” Amber sighed suddenly.

As abruptly, she straightened herself. “No time for that.” She ducked to peer at herself in a mirror on the table, then snatched up a ragged scarf and tied it about her head and over her ears. The tool tote was concealed inside a market basket. She tucked her earrings up out of sight. “There. Let’s go. We’ll slip out the back way. On the street, take my arm, lean close and leer at me like a nasty sailor. That way we can talk as we go.”

Althea was amazed at how well the ruse worked. Those folk who took any notice of them at all turned aside in disgust. Althea continued the tale of her journey. Once or twice, Amber made small sounds as if she would interrupt, but when Althea paused she would insist, “No, go on. When you are finished, that is the time for questions.” Never had anyone listened to her so intently, absorbing her words as a sponge soaks in water.

When they approached the tariff docks, Amber pulled Althea aside for a moment. “How will you introduce me to the ship?” she asked.

“I’ll have you follow me aboard. I haven’t discussed this with Captain Tenira yet.” Althea frowned to herself as she suddenly realized how awkward all this could be. “You’ll have to meet Captain Tenira and Grag before I take you forward to meet Ophelia. I honestly don’t know how friendly they will be, to you or to the idea of someone not of Bingtown working on their ship.”

“Trust me to handle them. I can be charming when it is required. Now, forward.”

Althea was unchallenged at the ship’s ramp. She gave a furtive look around and then made a show of beckoning Amber forward. The two tariff guards on the dock spotted her immediately. One made a grimace of distaste while the other brayed out a knowing laugh. Neither one interfered as the ship’s boy smuggled his doxie aboard.

The seaman on watch aboard the
Ophelia
raised an incredulous eyebrow, but at a sign from Althea, he bit his tongue. He escorted them to the door of Captain Tenira’s cabin and stood by while Althea tapped.

“Enter,” Tenira called. Althea jerked her head at Amber and she followed her in. The captain had been busy with a pen and parchment at his table while Grag stood looking out the windows. “What’s this?” Captain Tenira demanded incredulously while Grag’s mouth twisted in distaste.

“I am not what I look, sir,” Amber replied before Althea could utter a word. Her voice was so genteelly modulated, her accent so pure, that no one could have doubted her. “Please excuse that I come disguised. It seemed prudent. I’ve been a friend of Althea’s for some time. She knows I can be trusted. She has told me of your encounter on your way here. I am here not just to lend my support to your defiance of the tariffs, but to see if I can repair the damage that was done to Ophelia’s hands.”

In one breath, she had smoothly stated everything that Althea would have stumbled over expressing. Then she stood quietly, hands clasped demurely in front of her, her spine straight, her eyes meeting theirs unashamedly. The two men exchanged a glance. The first words out of Captain Tenira’s mouth shocked Althea.

“Do you really think you can do something for Ophelia’s hands? It pains me to see her ashamed of their appearance.”

There was a depth of emotion in the man’s voice when he spoke of his ship that touched Althea’s soul.

“I don’t know,” Amber replied honestly. “I know little of wizardwood. My small experience of it tells me that it is exceedingly fine-grained. The very density of it may have preserved her from taking deep harm. But I will know only when I look at her hands, and perhaps not even then.”

“Then let us go forward and look,” Tenira immediately declared. He gave an almost apologetic look at Althea. “I know you bear tidings for me from your mother. Do not think I under-value them. But Ophelia is my ship.”

“She must come first,” Althea agreed. “It was in my mind also, when I asked my friend Amber to accompany me.”

“That is so like you,” Grag observed warmly. He was so bold as to touch Althea’s hand. He sketched a bow toward Amber. “Anyone that Althea calls friend, I am honored to know. It is the only credential you need with me.”

“My son recalls me to my manners. Forgive me, lady. I am Captain and Bingtown Trader Tomie Tenira of the liveship
Ophelia.
This is my son, Grag Tenira.”

Althea realized sharply that she did not know Amber’s family name. But before she could stumble through that introduction, Amber spoke. “I am Amber the bead-maker, an artisan of Rain Wild Street. I look forward to meeting your ship.”

With no more ado, Captain Tenira led the way. Ophelia was obviously simmering with curiosity. She looked Amber up and down with a scandalized restraint that brought a grin to Althea’s face despite herself. As soon as Amber’s presence was explained, the ship showed no hesitation at turning to her and presenting her scorched hands for inspection. “Do you think you can do anything for me?” she asked gravely.

It was the first time Althea had had a clear look at the damage. The tarry fireballs had clung to her fingers as they burned her. It had licked up the inside of Ophelia’s left wrist. Her patrician hands looked like those of a scrub maid.

Amber took one of the ship’s large hands in both her own. She ran her gloved fingertips over the scorched surface lightly, then rubbed at it more firmly. “Tell me if I hurt you,” she added belatedly. Her brow was furrowed with concentration. “A most peculiar wood,” she added to herself. She opened the tote of tools and selected one. She scraped lightly at one blackened fingertip. Ophelia gave a sharp intake of breath.