Ship of Magic (41 page)

“I, Caolwn Festrew, of the Festrew Family of the Rain Wild Traders, accept your hospitality of home and table. I recall all our most ancient pledges to one another, Rain Wilds to Bingtown, and also our private agreement regarding the liveship
Vivacia,
the product of both our families.”

Both women straightened and Caolwn gave a mock sigh of relief that the formalities were over. Ronica was privately relieved that the ceremony was a tradition. Without it, she would never have recognized Caolwn. “It's a lovely table you've set, Ronica. But then, in all the years we have met, it has never been anything else.”

“Thank you, Caolwn.” Ronica hesitated, but not to have asked would have been the false reticence of pity. “I had expected Nelyn this year.”

“My daughter is no more.” Caolwn spoke the words quietly.

“I am sorry to hear that.” Ronica's sympathy was genuine.

“The Rain Wilds are hard on women. Not that they are easy on men.”

“To outlive your child . . . that is bitter.”

“It is. And yet Nelyn gifted us with three children before she went. She will be long remembered for that, and long honored.”

Ronica nodded slowly. Nelyn had been an only child. Most Rain Wild women considered themselves lucky if they bore one child that lived. For Nelyn to have borne three would indeed make her memory shine. “I had taken out the wine for Nelyn,” Ronica said quietly. “You, as I recall, prefer tea. Let me put the kettle on to boil and set aside the wine for you to take back with you.”

“That is too kind of you.”

“No. Not at all. When it is drunk, please have all who share it remember Nelyn and how she enjoyed wine.”

Caolwn suddenly bowed her head. The sagging growths on her face bobbed as she did so, but they did not distract Ronica from the tears that shone suddenly in the other woman's violet eyes. Caolwn shook her head and then heaved a heavy sigh. “For so many, Ronica, the formalities are only that. The welcome is forced, the hospitality uncomfortable. But ever since you became a Vestrit and took on the duties of the visit, you have made us feel truly welcome. How can I thank you for that?”

Another woman might have been tempted to tell Caolwn then that the measure of the gold was short. Another woman might not have believed in the sacredness of the old promises and pacts. Ronica did. “No thanks are needed. I give you no more than is due you,” she said, and added, because the words sounded cold, “But ceremony or no, pact or no, I believe we would have been friends, we two.”

“As do I.”

“So. Let me put on the kettle for tea, then.” Ronica rose and instantly felt more comfortable in the homey task. As she poured the water into the kettle and blew on the embers in the hearth, she added, “Do not wait for me. Tell me, what do you think of the smoked oysters? I got them from Slek, as we always have done, but he has turned the smoking over to his son this year. He was quite critical of the boy, but I believe I like them better.”

Caolwn tasted and agreed with Ronica. Ronica made the tea and brought the kettle to the table and set out two teacups. They sat together and ate and drank and spoke in generalities. Of simple things like their gardens and the weather, of things hard and personal like Ephron's and Nelyn's death, and of things that boded ill for them all, such as the current Satrap's debaucheries and the burgeoning slave trade that might or might not be related to his head tax on the sale of slaves. There was long and fond reminiscence of their families, and deep discussion of the
Vivacia
and her quickening, as if the ship were a shared grandchild. There was quiet discussion, too, of the influx of new folk to Bingtown, and the lands they were claiming and their efforts to gain seats on the Bingtown Council. This last threatened not only the Bingtown Traders, but the old compact between Bingtown and the Rain Wild Traders that kept them both safe.

The compact was a thing seldom spoken of. It was not discussed, in the same way that neither breathing nor death are topics for conversation. Such things are ever-present and inevitable. In a similar way, Caolwn did not speak to Ronica of the way grief had lined her face and silvered her hair, nor how the years had drawn down the flesh from her high cheekbones and tissued the soft flesh of her throat. Ronica forbore to stare at the scaly growths that threatened Caolwn's eyesight, nor at the lumpy flesh that was visible even in the parting of her thick bronze hair. The kindness of the dimmed candles could soften but not obscure these scars. Like the pact, these were the visible wounds they bore simply by virtue of who they were.

They shared the steaming cups of tea and the savory foods. The heavy silver implements ticked against the fine china whilst outside the summer's night breeze stirred Ronica's wind chimes to a silvery counterpoint to their conversation. For the space of the meal, they were neighbors sharing a genteel evening of fine food and intelligent conversation. For this, too, was a part of the pact. Despite the miles and differences that separated the two groups of settlers, both Bingtown Traders and Rain Wild Traders would remember that they had come to the Cursed Shore together, partners and friends and kin. And so they would remain.

So it was not until the food was finished and the women were sharing the last cup of cooled tea in the pot, not until the social conversation had died to a natural silence that the time came to discuss the final purpose of Caolwn's visit. Caolwn took a deep breath and began the formality of the discussion. Long ago the Bingtown Traders had discovered that this was one way to separate business from pleasure. The change in language did not negate the friendship the women shared, but it recognized that in matters of business, different rules applied and must be observed by all. It was a safeguard for a small society in which friends and relatives were also one's business contacts. “The liveship
Vivacia
has quickened. Is she all that was promised?”

Despite her recent grief, Ronica felt a genuine smile rise onto her face. “She is all that was promised, and freely do we acknowledge that.”

“Then we are pleased to accept that which was promised for her.”

“As we are pleased to tender it.” Ronica took a breath and abruptly wished she had brought up the short measure earlier. But it would not have been correct nor fair to make that a part of their friendship. Hard as it was for her to speak it, this was the correct time. She groped for words for this unusual situation. “We acknowledge also that we owe you more at this time than we have been able to gather.” Ronica forced herself to sit straight and meet the surprise in Caolwn's lavender eyes. “We are a full two measures short. We would ask that this additional amount be carried until our next meeting, at which time I assure you we shall pay all that we owe then, and the two additional measures, plus one-quarter measure of additional interest.”

A long silence followed as Caolwn pondered. They both knew the full weight of Bingtown law gave her much leeway in what she could demand as interest for Ronica's failed payment. Ronica was prepared to hear her demand as much as a full additional two measures. She hoped they would settle at one-half to one measure. Even to come up with that much was going to tax her ingenuity to its limits. But when Caolwn did speak, the soft words chilled Ronica's blood. “Blood or gold, the debt is owed,” Caolwn invoked.

Ronica's heart skipped in her chest. Who could she mean? None of the answers that came to her pleased her. She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice, she sternly reminded herself that a bargain was a bargain, but one could always try to better the terms. She took the least likely stance. “I am but newly widowed,” she pointed out. “And even if I had had the time to complete my mourning, I am scarcely suitable to the pledge. I am too old to bear healthy children to anyone, Caolwn. It has been years since I even hoped I would bear another son to Ephron.”

“You have daughters,” Caolwn pointed out carefully.

“One wed, one missing,” Ronica quickly agreed. “How can I promise you that which I do not have the possession of?”

“Althea is missing?”

Ronica nodded, feeling again that stab of pain. Not knowing. The greatest dread that any sea-going family had for its members. That someday one would simply disappear, and those at home would never know what became of him . . .

“I must ask this,” Caolwn almost apologized. “It is required of me, in duty to my family. Althea would not . . . hide herself, or flee, to avoid the terms of our bargain?”

“You have to ask that, and so I take no offense.” Nonetheless, Ronica was hard put to keep the chill from her voice. “Althea is Bingtown to the bone. She would die rather than betray her family's word on this. Wherever she is, if she still lives, she is bound, and knows she is bound. If you choose to call in our debt, and she knows of it, she will come to answer for it.”

“I thought as much,” Caolwn acknowledged warmly. But she still went on implacably. “But you have a granddaughter and grandsons as well, and they are as firmly bound as she. I have two grandsons and a granddaughter. All approach marriageable age.”

Ronica shook her head, managed a snort of forced laughter. “My grandchildren are children still, not ready for marriage for years yet. The only one who is close to that age has sailed off with his father. And he is pledged to Sa's priesthood,” she added. “It is as I have told you. I cannot pledge you that which I do not possess.”

“A moment ago, you were willing to pledge gold you did not yet possess,” Caolwn countered. “Gold or blood, it is all a matter of time for the debt to be paid, Ronica. And if we are willing to wait and let you set the time to pay it, perhaps you should be more willing to let us determine the coin of payment.”

Ronica picked up her teacup and found it empty. She stood hastily. “Shall I put on the kettle for more tea?” she inquired politely.

“Only if it will boil swiftly,” Caolwn replied. “Night will not linger for us to barter, Ronica. The bargain must be set and soon. I am reluctant to be found walking about Bingtown by day. There are far too many ignorant folk, unmindful of the ancient bargains that bind us all.”

“Of course.” Ronica sat down hastily. She was rattled. She abruptly and vindictively wished that Keffria were here. By all rights, Keffria should be here; the family fortunes were hers to control now, not Ronica's. Let her face something like this and see how well she would deal with it. A new chill went up Ronica's spine; she feared she knew how Keffria would deal with it. She'd turn it over to Kyle, who had no inkling of all that was at stake here. He had no concept of what the old covenants were; she doubted that even if he were told, he'd adhere to them. No. He'd see this as a cold business deal. He'd be like those ones who had come to despise the Rain Wild folk, who only dealt with them for the profit involved, with no idea of all Bingtown owed to them. Keffria would surrender the fate of her whole family to Kyle, and he would treat it as if he were buying merchandise.

In the moment of realizing that, Ronica crossed a line. It was not easily done, for it involved sacrificing her honor. But what was honor compared to protecting one's family and one's word? If deceptions must be made and lies must be told, then so be it. She could not recall that she had ever in her life decided so coldly to do what she had always perceived as wrong. But then again, she could not recall that she had ever faced so desperate a set of choices before. For one black moment, her soul wailed out to Ephron, to the man who had always stood behind her and supported her in her decisions, and by his trust in her decisions given her faith in herself. She sorely missed that backing just now.

She lifted her eyes and met Caolwn's hooded gaze. “Will you give me some leeway?” she asked simply. She hesitated a moment, then set the stakes high in order to tempt the other woman. “The next payment is due in mid-winter, correct?”

Caolwn nodded.

“I will owe you twelve measures of gold, for the regular payment.”

Again the woman nodded. This was one of Ephron's tricks in striking a bargain. Get them agreeing with you, set up a pattern of agreement, and sometimes the competitor could be led into agreeing to a term before he had given it thought.

“And I will also owe you the two measures of gold I am short this time, plus an additional two measures of gold to make up for the lateness of the payment.” Ronica tried to keep her voice steady and casual as she named the princely sum. She smiled at Caolwn.

Caolwn smiled in return. “And if you do not have it, we shall adhere to our family's original pledge. In blood or gold, the debt is owed. You shall forfeit a daughter or a grandchild to my family.”

There was no negotiating that. It had been pledged years ago, by Ephron's grandmother. No Trader family would dream of going back on the given pledge of an ancestor. The nod she gave was a very stiff one, and the words she spoke she said carefully, binding the other woman with them. “But if I have for you a full sixteen measures of gold, then you will accept it as payment.”

Caolwn held out a bare hand in token of agreement. The lumps and wattles of flesh that depended from the fingers and knobbed the back of it were rubbery in Ronica's grip as their handshake sealed them both to this new term. Caolwn stood.

“Once more, Ronica of the Trader family Vestrit, I thank you for your trade. And for your hospitality.”

“And once more, Caolwn of the Rain Wild family Festrew, I am pleased to have welcomed you and dealt with you. Family to family, blood to blood. Until we meet again, farewell.”

“Family to family, blood to blood. May you fare well also.”

The formality of the words closed both their negotiations and the visit. Caolwn donned once more the summer cloak she had set aside. She pulled the hood up and well forward until all that remained of her features were the pale lavender lights of her eyes. A veil of lace was drawn down to cover them as well. As she drew on her loose gloves over her mis-shapen hands, she broke tradition. She looked down as she spoke. “It would not be so ill a fate as many think it, Ronica. Any Vestrit who joined our household I would treasure, as I have treasured our friendship. I was born in Bingtown, you know. And if I am no longer a woman that a man of your folk could look upon without shuddering, know that I have not been unhappy. I have had a husband who treasured me, and borne a child, and seen her bear three healthy grandchildren to me. This flesh, the deformities . . . other women who stay in Bingtown perhaps pay a higher price for smooth skin and eyes and hair of normal hues. If all does not go as you pray it will, if next winter I take from you one of your blood . . . know that he or she will be cherished and loved. As much because that one comes of honorable stock and is a true Vestrit as because of the fresh blood he or she would bring to our folk.”