Mad Ship (36 page)

He wandered back to a window, looked out down the drive. A light footfall behind him turned him around. It was Malta again. A bit spoiled, if Althea’s tales of her were true. Her eyes met his, and she smiled gravely. Her demeanor had changed yet again. “I’ve sent off a runner, as you suggested. If you’d like to follow me, I can offer you a cup of coffee and some morning cake.” Her genteelly modulated voice was that of a well-bred young lady welcoming him to her home.

It recalled him to his own manners. “Thank you. That would be most welcome.”

She gestured to the hallway, and surprised him by taking his arm. She scarcely came to the top of his shoulder. He noticed her scent now, some floral oil, violets perhaps. It wafted up from her hair. She glanced up at him once through her eyelashes as he accompanied her down the hall. The look made him reevaluate his first impression of her. Sa’s breath, how fast children grew up. Hadn’t she been a playmate of little Delo? The last time he had seen his little sister, she had been in disgrace for muddying her pinafore. He hadn’t even set eyes on her in years. A peculiar sense of loss assailed him. He had lost more than just home and fortune when his father had disowned him.

She led him into the morning room. Coffee service and a plate of morning bread had already been set out on a small table flanked by two comfortable chairs. The opened window presented a garden vista. “I hope you’ll be comfortable waiting here. I made the coffee myself. I hope it isn’t too strong.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” he said lamely. He felt doubly shamed. That had been what had delayed her, and yes, the Vestrit family had fallen on hard times when a daughter of the house made coffee and sliced bread for visitors. “You know my sister, don’t you?” he burst out suddenly. “Delo?”

“Of course I do. Dear, sweet Delo. She is my closest friend.” Again, she gave him that smile. She gestured him to a seat, and took the opposite one at the small table she had arranged. She poured the coffee, and served him the sweet seed-studded bread.

“I haven’t seen Delo in years,” he found himself admitting.

“You haven’t? What a shame. She has quite grown up, you know.” Her smile was slightly different as she added, “I know your brother also.”

Brashen knit his brows at her knowing tone. “Cerwin. He is well, I trust.”

“I suppose. He was the last time I saw him.” She gave a small sigh and looked away from him. “I do not see him often.”

Was she infatuated with young Cerwin? Brashen quickly reckoned his siblings’ ages from his own. Well. He supposed Cerwin was of an age to be courting young ladies. Yet, if Delo and Malta were the same age, Malta seemed rather young to be courted. He began to feel a bit uncomfortable. Was this pretty little charmer girl or woman? She stirred her coffee, and somehow contrived to make him notice the elegance of her hands as she did so. Then she leaned across the little table and offered to spice his coffee for him. Surely, she had not intended to display quite that much bosom as she did so. He looked away but her scent still reached him.

She sat back in her chair. She lifted her coffee, sipped it, and then pushed a stray strand of hair back from her unlined brow. “You know my Aunt Althea, I believe?”

“Of course. We served together … on the
Vivacia,
for many years.”

“Of course.”

“She returned safely to Bingtown?”

“Oh, yes. Weeks and weeks ago. She came back aboard the
Ophelia.
That’s the Tenira family liveship, you know.” Her eyes met his squarely as she added, “Grag Tenira is very enamored of her. It has made Bingtown buzz with gossip. Not a few are startled at the idea of my headstrong aunt suddenly losing her heart to such a steady young man. My grandmother, of course, is quite thrilled. We all are. We had almost given up hope of her ever making a good match and settling down. I am sure you know what I mean.” She gave a small confidential laugh, as if these were words she would not share with just anyone. She watched him so closely, as if she could see how the barbs of her words set in his heart and clawed there.

“A good match,” he repeated numbly. He found himself nodding like a bob-head toy. “Tenira. Grag Tenira. Oh, he would. Be a good match, I mean. He’s a good sailor, too.” This last he added more to himself. It was the only thing he could think of that might have attracted Althea to Grag Tenira. Well, he was handsome, too. Brashen had heard him called handsome. He also wasn’t disinherited and didn’t have a fondness for cindin. The thought of the drug made him abruptly long for some, to distract him from this nasty new sensation. There might be part of a stick in his jacket pocket, but he could scarcely indulge in a waterfront vice here in front of this gently reared child.

“ … more bread, Brashen?”

He caught only her last few words. He glanced down at his untouched plate. “No. No, thank you very much. It’s very good, though.” He hastily took a bite of the bread. In his dry mouth, the seedy texture was like sawdust. He washed it down with a gulp of the coffee, and then realized he was eating like a deckhand at a galley table.

Malta reached across the table to lightly touch the back of his hand with her slender little fingers. “You seem quite travel-worn. I was so upset when I first let you in … I never thanked you for coming so far to bring us tidings of my father’s ship. You have come from afar, haven’t you?”

“Quite a ways,” he admitted. He drew away from her and rubbed his hands together in his lap, as if that would still the tingling of her touch. She smiled knowingly at that, and then turned her face aside. A blush rose on her cheeks. She was aware of her flirting then, it wasn’t the casual touch of a child. He felt besieged and confused. There were too many things to consider here. His mouth ran at the thought of even a small piece of cindin to clear his mind. He forced himself to take another bite of bread instead.

“You know, I look at you, and I wonder how your brother might look if he grew a mustache. Yours is quite flattering to your jaw and lips.”

Brashen lifted a hand to his own face to smooth his mustache self-consciously. Her words were not appropriate, nor the way her eyes followed his fingers almost avidly. Brashen stood. “Perhaps I should come back later this afternoon. Please let them know to expect me. I probably should have sent word before I came calling today.”

“Not at all.” The girl remained seated. She did not stand to escort him to the door or even acknowledge his desire to leave. “I’ve already sent the runner. I am sure they will return soon. They will want to hear news of my father and his ship as swiftly as possible.”

“I am sure they will,” Brashen agreed stiffly. He could not understand this young woman. She looked at him guilelessly. Perhaps her words had been a child’s artless error. Perhaps he had been too long at sea. He sat down, his back rigidly straight, and held his hat in his lap. “I will wait for them, then. I am sure I have interrupted your day. Please, do not feel you must remain with me. I shall be fine waiting here by myself.”

She gave a bubble of laughter at his awkward words. “Oh, dear. I have made you uncomfortable. I am terribly sorry. I suppose I have been too familiar with you. It is only because you were dear Grandfather’s first mate so long that I feel you are almost a relative. Also, knowing Cerwin and Delo as well as I do, I naturally wished to extend a warm welcome to their brother.” Her voice dropped dramatically. “I think it is so tragic that you are no longer welcome in your family home. I have never understood exactly what happened between you and your father … ” She let her words trail off, inviting his confidence.

Spilling his guts about his family quarrel was the last thing he wished to do now. He could not recall that he had ever been in such an awkward situation. One moment Malta seemed an innocent child doing her best to welcome a guest in the absence of her elders. The next she seemed like a temptress toying with him. His news was pressing, and he wished to see Althea, but the longer he remained here, the uneasier he felt. It was belatedly occurring to him that perhaps this whole situation would be seen as improper. He was, to all appearances, completely alone with a young woman of good family. He knew some fathers and brothers who had fought duels over lesser offenses. He stood again. “I fear I must go. I have other errands. I will return, late this afternoon. Please give your family my regards.”

Malta made no effort at rising. He didn’t wait for her to do so. “Very pleasant to have seen you again.” He bowed to her, and turned to leave.

“Your brother Cerwin doesn’t think I’m a child.” There was a challenge in those words.

Unwillingly he turned back to face her. She had not arisen, but she had thrown back her head against the chair, baring the white column of her throat. A bit of her hair had come loose and she reached up to twine it through her fingers as she spoke. She smiled lazily. “He is sweet, like a little house cat. You, I suspect, are more like a tiger.” She put a fingertip in her mouth and nibbled at it thoughtfully. “Pets can be such boring creatures,” she observed.

Brashen suddenly discovered that the heart of a correctly mannered Bingtown Trader’s son beat in his chest under his pirate’s blouse. He was shocked to his core. There could be no mistake in her inflection. Captain Vestrit’s granddaughter, in his family home, was honing her seductive wiles on him. It was outrageous.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he said with honest indignation.

He did not turn back at her shocked gasp, but proceeded down the hall to the main door. He pulled it open to let himself out and found himself looking down into the startled faces of Ronica Vestrit and Keffria Haven. “Oh, thank Sa you’ve come,” he exclaimed, even as Keffria demanded, “Who are you and what are you doing in our house?” She glanced about wildly as if to summon menservants to seize him.

“Brashen Trell,” he told her hastily, bowing low. “I bring tidings of the
Vivacia.
Urgent and troublesome tidings.”

The shock of his words instantly seized their attention.

“What is wrong? Has anything happened to Kyle? Have you word of my son, of Wintrow?” Keffria demanded immediately.

“No.” Ronica Vestrit commanded. “Not here, come inside and sit down. Come, Keffria. To the study.”

Brashen stepped aside to allow them to precede him. He spoke as he followed them. “Your granddaughter Malta let me in. I presumed the runner she had sent to fetch you would have prepared you for my tidings.” He wanted to ask if Althea were coming, but held his tongue against that.

“No runner found us,” Ronica Vestrit informed him tersely. “But I had feared that sooner or later, someone would knock at our door and the tidings would not be good ones.” She ushered them into the study and shut the door firmly. “Have a chair, Trell. What do you know? You didn’t sail with the
Vivacia;
I know that Kyle replaced you with a man of his own choosing. So how do you come to bear this message to us?”

How much of the truth did he owe her? If she had been Althea and they had been sitting quietly over a couple of beers, he would have told her all, and allowed her to judge him as she saw fit. Trafficking with pirates was a hanging offense; there was no denying that was what he had been doing. He wouldn’t lie; he simply wouldn’t tell.

“Vivacia has been taken by pirates.” He dropped the words like an unchained anchor. Before they could recover enough to pelt him with questions, he added, “I know very little more than that. She was seen in a pirate outpost harbor, anchored up. I do not know what has become of her captain or crew. I’m sorry to tell you that, and sorrier to tell you that the pirate who has seized her is one Captain Kennit. I don’t know why he went after Vivacia. His reputation is that of an ambitious crusader. He dreams of uniting the Pirate Isles into a kingdom for himself. To that end, he has been pursuing slaveships. The rumors say that he kills all the crew, and sets the slaves free, to gain their goodwill and that of other pirates who hate slavery as he does.” He ran out of breath and words. As he spoke, Keffria had appeared to become boneless, settling deeper and deeper into her chair as if his words were taking all life from her body. She had lifted both hands to cover her mouth, holding in a wail of horror.

In contrast, Ronica Vestrit stood as if turned to wood. Her face was frozen in a rictus of despair. Her old hands clutched the back of a chair like a bird’s talons gripping a perch.

After a long moment, Ronica drew in a breath. She spoke in a whisper that seemed to tax her. “Do you bring us a ransom offer?”

It shamed him. The old woman was quick-witted. She had seen the cut of his clothes, and guessed where he had been making his living. She thought he was Kennit’s go-between. The shame burned him, but he could not fault her for it. “No,” he said simply. “I know little more than I’ve told you, and half of that is rumor and gossip.” He sighed. “I do not think there will be a ransom offer. This Captain Kennit appears very pleased with his prize. The ship, at least, I suspect he will keep. I know nothing of the men who were aboard her. I’m sorry.”

The silence that welled up now seemed chilling. His tidings had changed the course of their lives. With a score of words, he had slain their hopes. The ship was not merely delayed. Her captain would not come home with coin to restore their fortunes. Instead, whatever they had left to muster must be sacrificed for a ransom, if they were fortunate enough to receive a ransom offer. The news he had brought ruined the Vestrit family. They would hate the bearer of such tidings. He waited for the storm to break.

Neither of them wept. Neither of them screamed, nor accused him of lying. Keffria buried her face in her hands. “Wintrow,” she said very softly. “My little boy.” Ronica aged before his eyes, her shoulders sagging, the lines in her face graving more deeply. She groped her way into her chair and sat in it, staring. A horrible weight of responsibility settled on Brashen. What had he expected? He groped after vanished imaginings in which Althea had been fiery-eyed with anger, and turned to him as her friend to aid her in rescuing her ship. This was the reality. He had dealt the final crushing blow to a family who had once befriended him.