The Mad Ship

7 A BINGTOWN TRADER’S DAUGHTER

‘SIT STILL.’

‘It hurts,’ Malta protested. She lifted a hand to touch the hair her mother was twining into gleaming coils. Her mother pushed her hand away.

‘Most of being a woman hurts,’ Keffria told her daughter pragmatically. ‘This is what you wanted. Get used to it.’ She tugged at the weight of shining black hair in her hand, then deftly tucked a few stray strands into place.

‘Please don’t fill her head with nonsense like that,’ Ronica said irritably. ‘The last thing we need is her going about the house feeling martyred simply because she is a female.’ Malta’s grandmother set down the handful of ribbons she had been sorting and paced a restless turn around the room. ‘I don’t like this,’ she said suddenly.

‘What? Getting Malta ready for her first beau?’ There was bemused, maternal warmth in Keffria’s voice.

Malta frowned to herself. Her mother had initially refused to accept Malta being treated as a woman. Only a few weeks ago, she had said her daughter was much too young to have men courting her. Did she now approve of the idea? Malta shifted her eyes to try to see her mother’s face in the looking glass, but Keffria’s head was bent over her hairdressing task.

The chamber was light and airy, perfumed by hyacinths in small glass vases. Sunlight spilled into the room from the tall windows. It was a lovely afternoon in early spring, a day that should have brimmed with promise. Instead, Malta felt weighted with the listlessness of the two older women. There was no lighthearted chatter as they readied her to meet her first suitor. The house seemed stagnated in mourning, as if her grandfather’s death last spring had visited a permanent desolation upon them.

On the table before Malta were small pots of paints and creams and perfumes. None of them were new. They were leftovers from her mother’s rooms. It rankled Malta that they thought she deserved no better than that. Most were not even from the bazaar. They had been made at home, in the kitchen, rendered down like soup stock from berries, flowers, cream, and tallow. Her mother and grandmother were so disappointingly old-fashioned about these things. How could they expect Bingtown society to respect them if they lived as meagrely as paupers?

They spoke over her head as if she were a baby incapable of understanding them.

‘No, I’ve surrendered on that.’ Her grandmother sounded more irritable than resigned. ‘I don’t like that we haven’t heard anything from Kyle and the Vivacia. That is what worries me.’

Keffria’s voice was carefully neutral when she spoke of her husband and the family ship. ‘The spring winds can be fickle. No doubt, he will be home in a handful of days…if he chooses to stop in Bingtown. He may pass us and go directly to Chalced to sell his cargo while it is still in good condition.’

‘You mean while the slaves are still alive and marketable,’ Ronica observed relentlessly. She had always opposed using the family liveship as a slaver. She claimed to oppose slavery on principle, but that did not prevent her from keeping a slave in the house. Ronica had claimed it would be bad for the ship to be used as a slaver, that a liveship could not cope with the dark emotions of such a cargo. Vivacia had quickened only a short time before she set out on this voyage. Everyone said that liveships were very sensitive to the feelings of those who lived aboard them and young ships even more so. Malta had her doubts. She thought the whole thing about liveships was silly. As far as she could see, owning a liveship had brought her family only debt and trouble.

Look at her situation now. After she had begged for months to be allowed to dress and socialize as a young woman instead of a little girl, her family was finally giving in to her. And why? Not because they had seen how reasonable her request was. No. It was because some stupid contract said that if her grandmother could not keep up the payments on the family liveship debt, one of the family’s children would have to be offered to the Rain Wilds in place of the gold.

The unfairness of the whole thing rose and choked her. Here she was, young, lovely, and fresh. Who would her first suitor be? A handsome young Trader like Cerwin Trell, a melancholy poet like Krion Trentor? No. Not for Malta Vestrit. No, she got some warty, old Rain Wild Trader, a man so hideously deformed he had to wear a veil if he wished to come to Bingtown. Did her mother and grandmother even care about such things? Did they ever stop to think what it might mean to her to have such a man foisted upon her? Oh, no, not them. They were too busy worrying about the ship or what was happening to her precious brother Wintrow or where her Aunt Althea was. Malta counted for nothing. Here they were, helping her dress, doing her hair, and still not paying attention to her. On what might be the most important afternoon of her life, they were arguing about slavery!

‘…doing the best he can for the family.’ Her mother spoke in a low even voice. ‘You have to admit that much. Kyle can be thoughtless of feelings. I admit that. He has injured mine more than once. Nevertheless, he is not an evil man, nor selfish. I have never known him to do anything that he did not believe was best for all of us.’

Malta was a bit surprised to hear her mother defending her father. They had clashed badly right before her father sailed, and her mother had spoken little of him since then. Perhaps in her own dowdy, homebody way she still cared about her husband. Malta had always pitied her father; it was a shameful waste that so handsome and adventurous a sea captain should be married to a mousy little woman with no interest in society or fashion. He deserved a wife who dressed well, one who orchestrated social gatherings in their home and attracted fit suitors for their daughter. Malta felt she deserved a mother like that too. A new thought filled her with sudden alarm.

‘What are you planning to wear today?’ she asked her mother.

‘What I have on,’ her mother replied tersely. She added suddenly, ‘I will hear no more about that. Reyn is coming to visit you, not I.’ In a lower tone she added, almost reluctantly, ‘Your hair gleams like night itself. I doubt he will see anyone else but you.’

Malta did not allow the rare compliment to distract her. The simple blue woollen robe her mother was wearing was at least three years old. It had been well cared for and did not look worn; merely sedate and boring. ‘Will you at least dress your hair and put on your jewellery?’ she begged. Almost desperately, she added, ‘You always ask me to dress well and behave appropriately when I am about Trader business with you. Will not you and Grandmother do the same for me?’

She turned away from the mirror to confront them. They both looked surprised. ‘Reyn Khuprus may be a younger son, but he is still a member of one of the most wealthy and influential Rain Wild Trader families. You told me that yourself. Should not we dress as if we are receiving an honoured guest, even if you are secretly hoping he will find me unappealing and simply go away?’ In a lower voice she added, ‘Surely we owe ourselves at least that much self respect.’

‘Oh, Malta,’ her mother sighed.

‘I do believe the child is right,’ her grandmother said suddenly. The small dark woman, burdened in her widow’s robes, suddenly straightened herself. ‘No. I know she is right. We have both been near-sighted in this. Whether or not we welcome Reyn’s courtship of Malta is not the issue here. We have given permission for it. The Khuprus family now holds the note for the Vivacia. Our contract is with them. Not only should we treat them with the same courtesy we did the Festrews, we should present the same face to them as well.’ Ronica paced a quick turn about the room. She ticked off her concerns on her fingers. ‘We have prepared a fine table, and the rooms are newly freshened for spring. Rache can wait upon table; she does well at that. I wish Nana was still with us, but it was too good of an opportunity for her to ask her to let it go. Do you think I should send Rache to Davad Restart’s, to beg the loan of other serving folk?’

‘We could,’ Malta’s mother began hesitantly.

‘Oh, please, no!’ Malta interjected. ‘Davad’s servants are horrid, unmannered and impertinent. We are better off without them. I think we should present our household as it truly is, rather than make a false show with ill-trained servants. Which would you find more genteel? A household with limited means who chooses the best their budget allows, or a household that borrows lackadaisical help?’

It pleased Malta to see both her mother and her grandmother surprised. Her mother smiled proudly as she said, ‘The girl has sense. Malta, I am sure you have seen to the heart of it. It pleases me to hear you speak so.’

Her grandmother’s approval was more wary. She pursed her lips at Malta, and gave a brief nod. Malta looked at her mirror, turning her head to see how well her mother had succeeded with her hair. It would do. She glanced once more at her grandmother’s reflection. The old woman was still perusing her. Malta decided it was hard for Ronica Vestrit to accept anyone else as clever. That was it. Her grandmother was jealous that Malta could think things through as clearly as she could. More clearly in fact. Her mother, however, had been proud of her. Her mother could be won over with her cleverness. Malta had never considered that before. A sudden inspiration came to her.

‘Thank you, Mother. I love what you have done with my hair. Now let me fix yours for you. Come. Sit down.’ She rose gracefully and drew her startled mother to her seat before the mirror. She pulled the long pins from her dark hair. It cascaded to her shoulders. ‘You dress your hair as if you were a dowdy old woman,’ she said artlessly. She did not need to point out that her grandmother wore hers in an identical fashion. She leaned down to put her cheek beside her mother’s, and met her eyes in the looking glass. ‘Let me arrange it with some flowers, set off with your pearl pins. It is spring, you know, and time to celebrate the blossoming of life.’ Malta lifted the silver-handled brush and drew it through her mother’s hair. She cocked her head to smile at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. ‘If we cannot afford to buy new robes and gowns before Father returns, perhaps we could brighten some of our older ones with new embroidery. I am sure it would please him. Besides, it is time I learned your rosebud stitch. Perhaps, after Reyn’s visit, you could teach me.’

Ronica Vestrit was sceptical of her granddaughter’s sudden sweetness. She felt diminished by her own pessimism, but dared not set it aside. She cursed the circumstances that had put her family’s reputation and finances into the awkward hands of this giddy girl. Even more frightening was that those awkward hands were greedy and grasping, and that Malta’s foolishness was fuelled by cunning. If the girl had only applied her keen mind to doing what was genuinely best for her family and herself, she would have done the Vestrits proud. As it stood, she was a dangerous liability.

As Ronica silently withdrew from the room where Malta plaited her mother’s hair into coils, she reflected sourly that if luck favoured her, perhaps Reyn Khuprus would take Malta off their hands. It would be restful to have the conniving little wench out of the house; then Ronica imagined Malta as Jani Khuprus’ daughter-in-law, and winced. No. Malta was a Vestrit problem. It was best to keep her at home until she had been taught to behave as befitted her family. Sometimes Ronica thought the only way to do that would be with a strap.

She sought the relative peace of her own chambers. With the coming of spring, Ronica had had the room cleaned and freshened as she did every year. It had not helped. The memory of the odour of sickness lingered. The sunlight spilling in the tall windows seemed false. The clean linens on the bed looked glacial white and cold, not fresh and inviting. She went to her own dressing table and sat down. She looked at herself in the mirror. Malta was right. She had become a dowdy old woman. She had never considered herself beautiful, but when Ephron had been alive, she had maintained herself. Since he had died, she had forgotten. She had stopped being a woman at all. The lines in her face had deepened; the skin of her throat sagged. The few pots of cosmetics on the table were dusty. When she opened her jewellery chest, the contents seemed both familiar and foreign. How long had it been since she had last taken pains with her appearance? How long since she had cared at all how she looked?

She took a deep breath. ‘Ephron.’ That was all she said, simply speaking his name aloud. Part plea, part apology, part farewell. Then she reached up to release her hair. She shook it down to her shoulders, frowning at how it had thinned. She lifted her hands to her face, prodding the papery dryness of her skin, and trying to smooth away the lines that framed her mouth. She shook her head at herself and then lowered her head to blow the dust off the cosmetic pots. She opened the first one.

She was just finishing by applying perfume when Rache’s hesitant tap came at her door. ‘Come in,’ Ronica called casually. Since Nana had left, Rache was the sole remaining house servant in the formerly bustling household. When the slave-woman entered, Ronica instantly knew why she was there. Only a visit from Davad Restart put such a look of guarded hatred in the woman’s eyes. Rache still blamed him for her son’s death on board Davad’s slave-ship. Any mention of the Trader wakened that look in her; it was the only time when the young woman seemed truly alive. So although Ronica sighed and begged, ‘Please, no,’ she knew the man was already in the sitting room.

‘I am sorry, ma’am,’ Rache said in a nearly toneless voice. ‘It is Trader Restart. He insisted he must see you.’

‘It’s all right,’ Ronica replied with a deeper sigh. She rose from her dressing table. ‘I’ll be down as soon as I’m dressed. No. Do not trouble to go and tell him that. If he cannot be bothered to send a runner ahead of a social call, then he can simply wait until I am ready. Help me with dressing, please.’

She tried to make it a joke on Davad that the two of them could share, but Rache’s mouth remained in a flat line. He had deposited Rache at the Vestrit household when Ephron was dying, ostensibly to help. Ronica suspected it had been to get rid of Rache and her murderous gaze. Technically, she supposed the woman still belonged to him, a slave under Jamaillian law. Bingtown did not recognize slavery. Here in Bingtown, she was genteelly referred to as an indentured servant. There were a great many ‘indentured servants’ about Bingtown lately. Ronica treated her as she would any hired servant.

Ronica took her time choosing, finally selecting a dress of pale green linen. It had been so long since she had worn anything but a loose household robe. She felt oddly naked in it, even when the skirts were sashed about her waist and the over-blouse laced up from behind. She paused to look at herself again in the mirror. Well. She did not look lovely. She did not look young. However, she once more appeared as a matriarch of a Bingtown Family should present herself. She looked both groomed and dignified. She paused at her jewellery cask, to rope her throat recklessly with pearls and hang more from her ears. There. Now let the little minx insinuate she was a dowdy old woman.

She turned from the mirror to find Rache watching her with widened eyes. Ronica felt almost flattered by the serving woman’s surprise. ‘I will see Davad now. Would you bring coffee and simple cakes from the kitchen, please? Nothing elaborate. I do not wish to encourage him to linger.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Rache sketched a curtsey and left silently.

Ronica’s skirts whispered as she walked down the hall to the sitting room. The pearls were cool against her skin. Strange how a change of garments and a bit of care for her appearance made her feel so different. Her deep mourning for Ephron was still there, as was her anger for all that had befallen her with his death. All winter she had done her best to cope with the blows as they fell. It had been staggering to find that her trust in her son-in-law had been misplaced. Kyle’s greed had driven away Althea and his need for ruthless control had all but paralysed Keffria. The discovery that his daughter Malta seemed set on growing up to be just like him had been unnerving. A few months back, Keffria had promised to take a hand with Malta and change her. Ronica snorted softly to herself. So far, the only changes were that Malta was becoming more deceptive daily.

At the entrance to the sitting room she paused, and put such thoughts out of her head. By an act of will she smoothed her brow and put a pleasant expression on her face. She straightened her back and shoulders, then opened the door and swept into the room with a ‘Good morning, Davad. Such a surprise to have you call on us like this.’

His back was to her. He had taken a book from the shelf and was standing by the window to peruse it. With his wide rounded back encased tautly in a dark blue jacket, he reminded Ronica of a beetle. He closed the book and spoke as he turned. ‘Not surprising. Rude. Even as socially inept a blunderer as I know that I should have asked if you had time to see me. But I knew you would say no, and I had to…Ronica! You look amazing!’

His eyes swept up and down her, quite familiarly, bringing an unexpected blush to her face. A returning smile broke out on his ruddy round face.

‘I had become accustomed to seeing you in such dreary clothes, I had forgotten how you truly looked. I remember that dress. It is quite old, isn’t it? Didn’t you wear it to one of the parties you gave to announce Keffria’s wedding to Kyle? It takes years off your face. You must be quite proud to be able to squeeze yourself into it still.’

Ronica shook her head at the old family friend. ‘Davad Restart. Only you can so completely ruin so many compliments in one brief speech.’ He stared at her, completely flummoxed. As was often the case, he was completely unaware of how tactless he was. She moved to a divan and seated herself. ‘Come and join me,’ she invited him. ‘I’ve asked Rache to bring coffee and cakes, but I warn you, I have only a brief moment or two to spare. We are receiving Reyn Khuprus this afternoon. He is coming to call on Malta for the first time, and I still have a great deal of preparation.’

‘I know,’ he admitted easily. ‘Bingtown gossip has been full of it. It’s a bit unusual, isn’t it, to allow a man to court her before she’s even been presented as a woman? Not that she doesn’t think she’s ready, I’m sure. After her escapade last winter at the ball…well. I don’t blame you for trying to marry her off quickly. The sooner that girl has a man to settle her down, the safer all of Bingtown will be.’ He paused and cleared his throat. For the first time, he looked a bit uncomfortable. ‘Actually, Ronica, that is why I’m here. To beg a very great favour from you, I’m afraid.’

‘You wish to ask a favour of me, and somehow it’s connected to Reyn’s visit?’ Ronica was both puzzled and uneasy.

‘Yes. It’s simple. Invite me, too. Please.’

She managed not to gape at him. She was saved from having to reply immediately by Rache’s entry into the room with the coffee tray. Ronica dismissed her almost immediately; there was no sense in forcing Rache to serve coffee to a man that she hated. The small business of pouring coffee gave Ronica some time in which to think. Davad broke into her thoughts before she could begin her graciously worded refusal.

‘I know it isn’t proper, but I’ve thought of a way around that.’

Ronica decided to be blunt. ‘Davad, I don’t want to find a way around impropriety. The Khuprus family is socially powerful. I cannot afford to give anyone in Bingtown offence these days, let alone the son of such a family. You have not said why you wish to be here when we receive him. Traditionally, only the family of the girl is present when the young man first comes calling. To make him more at ease, you know.’

‘I know, I know. But seeing as how Ephron is dead and Malta’s father is at sea, I thought you could present me as an old friend who was standing in…a sort of protector in the absence of your family men…’

Davad’s voice trailed off at the look on Ronica’s face. She spoke in a low, controlled voice. ‘Davad. You well know that I have never required a man to be my protector. When the girls were small and Ephron was often at sea, I never asked his friends to settle business transactions for him, or deal with unpleasant realities in his absence. I coped. All Bingtown knows that. It is who I am. Now that I am truly alone, shall I quaver and faint and hide myself behind you? I think not. Reyn Khuprus comes today to meet the family of the girl he wishes to wed. He shall meet us as we truly are.’

As Ronica paused to draw breath after this onslaught, Davad spoke hastily. ‘It’s for me. For my benefit, I mean. I will be honest with you. There is no benefit to you, I admit that freely, and it might even cause you some embarrassment for me to be here. Sa knows, several families in Bingtown no longer receive me. I am well aware that I am a social embarrassment. At first, it was because I was inept. Well, I have never been good at the social things. Dorill was. She always took care of those things. After she died, many folk in Bingtown still treated me kindly, in memory of her, I think. But year after year, the number of Traders who hailed me as friend dwindled. I suppose I give offence without intention. Until now, of all the Bingtown Traders, you are the only one I dare call “friend”.’

He paused and sighed heavily. ‘I have no one else to turn to in my isolation. I know I must rebuild my alliances. If I could form some trade connections with the Rain Wild Traders, I could do so. I know that many in Bingtown do not approve of my politics. They say I grovel to the New Traders, that my dabbling in slavery is a disgrace, that I have betrayed the Bingtown Traders by negotiating for the New Traders. But you know that I only do so to survive. What else is there for me? Look at me! I have no one, nothing but my own wits to depend on. No wife to comfort me, no children to inherit my holdings. All I am trying to do is maintain enough property and income to keep me comfortable through my old age. After that, it all ends.’ He paused dramatically and then finished in a dwindling voice, ‘My line ends with me.’

Ronica had closed her eyes halfway through this recitation. When Davad sighed yet again, she opened them. ‘Davad,’ she said in a warning voice. ‘Shame on you, trying such tricks on me. I refuse to pity you, any more than I pity myself. The pits we are in, we have dug ourselves. You know the roots of your problems; you just listed them yourself. If you want to regain the respect of the Bingtown Traders, leave off politicking for the New Traders. Stop “dabbling” in the selling of humans. Go back to being who you were and your friends will return. Not quickly, for you have trodden firmly on too many toes. But eventually. You are Old Trader. As soon as you recall that to yourself, our compatriots will recall it as well.’

‘And in the meantime, I should genteelly starve?’ Davad blustered. As if to fend off such a dire fate, he took a large bite of the spice cake in his hand.

‘You will not starve,’ Ronica pointed out implacably. ‘As you have said, you have only yourself to support. You could live off your own holdings if you chose to apply yourself, even if you never negotiated another trade in your life. I venture to say that if you reduced your servants, you could supply most of your own wants from a kitchen garden, some chickens and a few cattle. You could revert to simplicity, as Keffria and I have been forced to do. As for your being alone in the world, well, as I recall, you have a grandniece. Approach her, if you want an heir. It might mend a great deal with that branch of your family.’

‘Oh, she hates me.’ Davad brushed the idea away with the cake crumbs that had fallen into his lap. ‘Some chance remark I made to her husband when he was courting her. She treats me as if I have the plague. It’s beyond all mending.’ He took a drink of his coffee. ‘Besides. How can you criticize my “dabbling” in slavery? Isn’t that where Kyle and the Vivacia are right now, on a round of slave-trading?’ At the darkening look on Ronica’s face, he abruptly changed his tactics. ‘Please, Ronica. I won’t linger. Just allow me to be here when he arrives, simply introduce me as a family friend. That’s all I ask. Just help me to establish a nodding acquaintance. I’ll do the rest for myself.’

He looked at her appealingly. The perfumed oil on his hair had left a sheen on his brow. He was pathetic. He was an old friend of the family. He trafficked in slaves. He and Dorill had been wed a week after she and Ephron had married; they had danced at one another’s weddings. He was certain to say something unfortunate to Reyn. He had come to her as his last hope.

He was a disaster in the making.

She was still looking at him dumbly when Keffria came into the room. ‘Davad!’ she exclaimed. She smiled stiffly. Her eyes were round with horror. ‘Such a surprise! I did not know you were here.’

Davad rose hastily, nearly oversetting his coffee cup. He charged at Keffria, took her hand and beamingly exclaimed, ‘Well, I know it is not completely correct, but I simply could not resist. With Kyle away, I thought it only fitting that there be some man about your household to appraise this youngster who thinks to come courting our Malta!’

‘Indeed,’ Keffria said faintly. She turned an accusing gaze on her mother.

Ronica steeled herself to the truth. In a quiet voice she spoke. ‘I’ve told Davad it is completely inappropriate. Later in the courtship, if both young people choose to continue it, we will offer a tea and invite family friends. That would be a more appropriate time for him to meet Reyn and his family.’

‘I suppose,’ Davad said heavily. ‘If that’s the best you can offer your oldest, truest friend, Ronica Vestrit. I’ll come back when I’m invited then.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ Keffria said faintly. ‘That’s why I came to find Mother. Reyn and his family are already here.’

Ronica rose swiftly. ‘His family! Here?’

‘In the morning room. I know: I did not expect them either. I did not expect Reyn until late this afternoon; the ship had good sailing. Nevertheless, Jani Khuprus is here with him, and an older brother…Bendir. Awaiting outside is a train of servants bearing baskets of gifts and…Mother, I need your help. With such a reduced staff of our own, how are we to deal–’

‘Quite simply,’ Davad interjected. Suddenly, his whole attitude had changed from petitioner to commander. ‘You still keep a boy for the garden and stable. Send him here to me. I’ll jot down a note, he can carry it to my house, and in no time my serving staff will arrive here. Discreetly, of course. I’ll give very specific instructions that they are to behave as if they are your servants and this is their normal place of employment and…’

‘And when the gossip spreads through Bingtown, as it must whenever servants are involved, we shall be a matter of much jest. No, Davad.’ It was Ronica’s turn to sigh. ‘We’ll take you up on your offer. We must. However, if we must borrow servants, then I shall not hesitate to admit that is so. Nor should your kindness in this matter be hidden for the sake of our pride.’ Belatedly recalling that her daughter’s opinion might differ, Ronica turned to Keffria. ‘Do you agree?’ she asked her bluntly.

She shook her head helplessly. ‘I suppose I must. Malta is not going to care for this one bit.’ The last she added almost to herself.

‘Simply don’t let her trouble her pretty little head about it.’ Davad was beaming now. Ronica longed to club him as he went on, ‘I am sure she is going to be too much interested in her suitor to pay much attention to an old family friend anyway. Now. Where’s that paper, Ronica? I’ll dash a note off and you can get your boy on his way.’

Despite Ronica’s misgivings, all was accomplished quickly and easily. Keffria returned to the guests, assuring them that her mother would appear shortly. The message was sent. Davad insisted on a last minute peek in a mirror. Ronica was not sure if she was motivated by pity for him or for herself, but she persuaded him to blot the oil from his hair and forehead, and re-comb his hair in a more dignified styling. The way his hose sagged at the knees could not be helped, he told her; all his leggings did that, and as for the coat, it was new, and the cut of it was considered quite stylish. Ronica bit her tongue and did not point out the difference between stylish and becoming. Then, with a great deal of trepidation, she entered the morning room on Davad’s arm.

She had heard that the courtship of a Rain Wild man was less restrained than that practised in Bingtown. Before Keffria had consented to Reyn courting her daughter, they had been promised that the young man would not offer her expensive gifts that might turn a young girl’s head. Ronica had been prepared for him to present Malta with a bouquet of flowers and perhaps some sweets. She had expected to be introduced to a shy young man, accompanied perhaps by his tutor or uncle.

The morning room had been transformed. The simple arrangements of spring flowers that she and Keffria had contrived from the garden had all but disappeared. Baskets, bowls and vases of exotic Rain Wild blooms blossomed in profusion throughout the room. The heady floral fragrance was thick as smoke. Platters and bowls of fruit, bottles of wine, and trays of sweets and pastries had joined the carefully arranged repast on the table. Brightly coloured songbirds twittered in a brass cage hung in an artificial tree constructed from bronze and cherry wood. A little spotted hunting cat, no more than a kitten, prowled hopefully beneath the cage. Servants, both veiled and open-faced, moved silently and industriously about the room, completing its metamorphosis. As Ronica entered, a young man whose veiled face proclaimed him a Rain Wild Trader struck up a plaintive melody on a lap-harp.

As if carried by the music, Jani Khuprus swept up to greet her. Her face veil was white lace shimmering with pearls. The loose hood that covered her hair was decorated with braided and coiled silken tassels in many shades of blue. She wore an extravagantly beribboned blouse and loose pantaloons that were gathered at her ankles with yet more ribbons. Fanciful embroidery almost obscured the white linen that backed it. Ronica had never seen a woman in such garb, but she knew instantly it would become the new style in Bingtown. As Jani greeted her in the transformed room, Ronica felt as if she had been magically transported to the Rain Wilds, and that she was the guest in Jani’s home. Jani’s smile was warm, and only one quick puzzled glance betrayed her curiosity about Davad. ‘I am so glad you have come down to join us,’ Jani welcomed her. With unnerving familiarity, she took both Ronica’s hands in hers. She leaned closer to confide, ‘You must be quite proud of your daughter, Keffria. She has greeted us so warmly and so graciously! She is a credit to her upbringing. And Malta! Oh, I can see why my son was smitten so swiftly and so deeply. She is young, as you warned me, but already she is like an opening blossom. Any young man would fall prey to such eyes. No wonder he took such pains choosing what gifts to bring her. I confess, when the flowers are massed like this, they do appear a bit overwhelming, but surely you can forgive a young man’s impetuosity in this.’

‘Especially as it’s much too late to do anything else!’ Davad replied while Ronica was still composing a response. He stepped forward to set his hand on top of Jani’s and Ronica’s clasp. ‘Welcome to the Vestrit home. I’m Davad Restart, a long-time friend of the family. We are so thrilled to have you here, and deeply honoured by Reyn’s courtship of our Malta. Don’t they look charming together!’

His words were so different from anything that Ronica would have chosen to say that she nearly lost control of herself. Jani’s eyes went from Davad’s face to Ronica’s before she gently but unmistakably removed her hands from his clasp. ‘I recall you well, Trader Restart.’ The tone of her voice was chill; evidently, her recollection of him was not a kindly one. The subtlety was lost on Davad.

‘I am so pleased and honoured that you do,’ he exclaimed jovially. He beamed a smile at Jani Khuprus. He obviously believed that things were going well.

Ronica knew she had to say something, but for the life of her, she could not find any significant words. She retreated into banality. ‘Such lovely flowers. Only the Rain Wild yields such extravagant colours and fragrances.’

Jani shifted her body very slightly, but it was enough that she now faced Ronica while her shoulder was toward Davad, excluding him. ‘I am so glad you like them. I had feared you would rebuke me for letting Reyn indulge himself in such plenty. I know we had agreed he must keep his gifts simple.’

In actuality, Ronica felt that Jani had overstepped the bounds of her agreement. Before she could find a tactful way to let her know that Reyn must not do it again, Davad chimed for her. ‘Simple? What place has simplicity in a young man’s passion? Were I a boy again and courting such a girl as Malta, I, too, would attempt to overwhelm her with gifts.’

Ronica finally found her tongue. ‘But I am sure a young man like Reyn will want to be valued for himself, not his presents. Such a display is worthy of their first presentation to one another, but I am sure his courtship to follow will be more restrained.’ By addressing her words to Davad rather than Jani, Ronica hoped to avoid giving offence while still letting her position be known.

‘Nonsense!’ Davad insisted. ‘Look at them. Does she look to you as if she wishes him to be restrained?’

Malta was all but enthroned in flowers. She sat in an armed chair, holding a great bouquet on her lap. Pots and vases of blooms and greenery had been placed around her. A single red flower had been pinned to the shoulder of her demure white dress. Another had been fastened into her upswept hair. They complimented the warm tones of her skin, and made her black hair seem even glossier. Her eyes were downcast as she spoke softly to the young man that stood so attentively beside her. Yet every so often, she would glance up at him through her eyelashes. When she did, her mouth would curve in the tiniest of cat-smiles.

Reyn Khuprus was dressed all in blue. A discarded cloak of dark blue draped an adjacent chair. His traditional Rain Wild garb of loose trousers and a long-sleeved shirt effectively camouflaged any deformities from the casual eye. He had a lean waist that he had proudly sashed with a wide silk belt. It was a darker hue than his other clothes. Black boots peeped out from the loose cuffs of his trousers. The backs of his fine black gloves were studded with azure flame-gems in a breathtaking display of casual wealth. His hood was plain, made from the same silk as his sash. His face veil was black lace, effectively obscuring his features. Although his face was invisible, one sensed his rapt attention in the cant of his head.

‘Malta is very young,’ Ronica said. She spoke quickly, before anyone could say any more. ‘She does not have the wisdom to know when to go slowly. It is up to her mother and me to exercise that caution. Jani and I have agreed that, for their own sakes, these young people must not be allowed to be too impulsive.’

‘Well, I fail to see why,’ Davad contradicted her jovially. ‘What can come of this except good? Eventually, Malta must wed. Why stand in the path of young romance? Think of what may come of this: grandchildren for Jani, great-grandchildren for you, Ronica. And mutually profitable trade arrangements for all, I don’t doubt.’

It pained Ronica to hear Davad so laboriously drag the conversation in the direction he wished it to go. Over the years, she had come to know the man too well. This was why he was truly here. He was an old friend of the family; he genuinely cared for Malta and what became of her. But the greatest part of his heart had long ago been given over to trade and the profits there from. For good or ill, it was how Davad’s mind worked. He had never hesitated to use his friendships to the good of his business deals, though he seldom risked a business profit for the sake of friendship.

All this passed through Ronica’s mind in a fraction of a moment. She saw Davad clearly, as she had always known him to be. She had never evaluated what it meant to have such a friend. Differences in politics had not persuaded her to set him aside, even when many other Traders ceased dealing with him. He was not a truly evil man; he simply did not give much thought to what he did. Profits beckoned and he followed, into slave trading, into the questionable practices of the New Traders, even to making a profit from Malta’s unsought courtship. He meant no harm by it; he never considered it in terms of right and wrong.

That did not make him harmless. Not in terms of what he could inadvertently do to the Vestrit family if he offended Jani Khuprus just now. The Khuprus family held the note on the liveship Vivacia. Ronica had reluctantly accepted Reyn’s courtship of Malta in the certainty that he would soon realize how young and unsuitable she was. For Reyn to begin such a courtship and then break it off would give her an odd social advantage. The Vestrit family might be seen as the injured party; the Khuprus family would be expected to be more than civil in their business dealings. But if the Khuprus family broke off the courtship because the Vestrit family had undesirable political connections, the attitude of the other Traders towards her family might be substantially different. Ronica had already felt social pressure to cut off her association with Davad Restart. She would be in a financial quagmire if that were extended to trading pressure.

The wise thing to do would be to dump Davad Restart.

Loyalty forbade that. And pride. If the Vestrit family allowed itself to be governed by what others perceived as correct, they would lose all control of their destiny. Not that much control truly remained in their hands.

The silence had grown uncomfortable. Ronica felt a resigned fascination coupled with horror. What dreadful thing would Davad say next? He was completely unaware of how gauche he was being. He smiled brightly and began, ‘Speaking of trade alliances –’

Rescue came from an unexpected quarter. Keffria swept up to them. A very fine mist of perspiration on her brow was the only visible sign of the agitation she undoubtedly felt at seeing Davad stand so close to Jani Khuprus for so long. She touched his arm lightly and asked him quietly if he could assist her in the kitchen, just for a moment. The servants were having difficulty opening some of the old wines she had chosen; could he come and supervise that task?

Keffria had chosen well. Wine and the correct serving of it were one of Davad’s favourite obsessions. He hastened away with Keffria following him, nodding as he spoke learnedly of the correct way to uncork a bottle to minimize agitation. Ronica sighed out in relief.

‘I wonder that you even tolerate him being here,’ Jani observed quietly. Now that Davad had gone, she stood at Ronica’s side. She spoke confidentially to her, beneath the music and conversation in the room. ‘The other day I heard him referred to as the Traitor Trader. He denies it, but all know he has been the go-between for the New Traders in many of their most tawdry dealings. It is even said that he is behind the New Traders who are making such ridiculous offers in the hope of buying the Paragon.’

‘Shockingly ridiculous offers,’ Ronica agreed in a low voice. ‘I think it is scandalous that the Ludluck family even allows them to be presented.’ She ventured a small smile as she presented this thought to Jani. To be sure her point was not missed, she added the old Trader adage, ‘After all, it takes two to strike a bargain.’

‘Indeed,’ Jani agreed coolly. ‘But isn’t it cruel of Davad that he tempts the Ludlucks with such offers? He knows how straitened their circumstances are.’

‘Most Bingtown Traders are feeling the pinch these days. Including the Vestrits. So we form alliances with one another, ones that may strike others as strange. Davad, for instance, came by today to offer me the use of his servants, for he was well aware we had reduced our staff to a mere skeleton.’

There. That was out in the open now. If Reyn’s courtship were mistakenly based on a supposed wealth the Vestrit family no longer possessed, it would soon be terminated.

When Jani Khuprus replied, Ronica discovered she had misjudged the depth of the woman’s graciousness. ‘I, too, was aware of your financial worries. It pleases me to see Reyn courting a young woman who understands the necessity of living within one’s means. Thrift and discipline are virtues always, no matter what one’s wealth. The servants we brought with us were meant, not to embarrass you, but to assist in making this a carefree time for all.’ Sincerity rang in her voice.

Ronica answered it. ‘Davad can be a difficult friend. I could abandon him. However, I have never seen the virtue in that. I have never respected folk who cast out offspring or relatives that displeased them. It always seemed to me that the duty of family is to continue trying to correct, no matter how painful. Why should it be different with old family friends? Especially when, in many ways, we have become Davad’s family. He lost his wife and sons to the Blood Plague, as you perhaps know.’

Jani’s reply caught Ronica off balance. ‘Then you did not force Althea out of your home for improper behaviour?’

The shock of the question astounded Ronica. Was that the Bingtown rumour? Spread as far as the Rain Wilds? She was grateful for the servant that suddenly presented them with a tray of delicate cakes. Was it only last night she and Keffria had baked these? She took one and then was immediately confronted by another serving person offering a fluted glass of some Rain Wild liqueur. She accepted it with thanks and took a sip from it. ‘This is wonderful,’ she told Jani with genuine pleasure.

‘As are the cakes,’ Jani replied. She looked aside, letting her gaze linger on Reyn and Malta. Whatever she had just said to him had made him laugh. The cant of Jani’s head suggested she smiled also.

Ronica considered letting the topic drop, but then steeled herself. Best to snuff rumours as soon as they were heard. Sa alone knew how long that one had been circulating, but it had probably been about ever since last summer.

‘I did not ask Althea to leave our home. In fact, she left against my will. The division of the inheritance from her father much distressed her. She had expected to inherit the Vivacia. She was hurt when she did not, and she disagreed with how Kyle chose to run the ship. There was a quarrel and she left.’ She found it hard, but she stared squarely at Jani’s veil and added, ‘I do not know where she is now or what she is doing. If she came to the door this very moment, I would welcome her with all my heart.’

Jani seemed to return her look. ‘It was an awkward question, perhaps. It is my way, to speak directly. I do not mean to give offence by it. It has always seemed to me that honest words leave the least room for misunderstanding.’

‘I share that sentiment.’ Ronica’s eyes followed Jani’s gaze as she turned to look at Reyn and Malta. Malta had lowered her face and turned her eyes aside. Her cheeks were pink with a blush, but her eyes were merry. The tilt of Reyn’s head showed that he shared her amusement as he tried to see into her averted face.

‘Within a family, there is no room for secrets,’ Jani added.

It was wonderful, far more wonderful than Malta had ever imagined it would be. So this was what it was like to be treated properly. Her soul had starved for this her entire life, and now it was able to sate itself in sweet sensations. Flowers scented the air all around her, every type of dainty food and fine drink that she could imagine had been offered to her, and Reyn himself could not have been more attentive. She could think of nothing that could have improved the day, unless perhaps some of her friends could be present to be enviously impressed. She indulged herself in imagining that scene. Delo and Kitten and Carissa and Polia would be seated over there, and as each tray of food or drink was offered to Malta, she would take her pick of it, and then send the rest over to her friends. Later, she would apologize warmly to them that she had so little time for them. What a shame that Reyn had insisted on monopolizing her time! But, well, they knew how men were! She would smile at them knowingly. Then she would recount some of the compliments he had showered on her, or repeat some of his witticisms.

‘May I ask what now brings such a smile to your face?’ Reyn requested gently. He stood a respectful yet attentive distance from her chair. He had not accepted her offer of a seat. She lifted her eyes to his veiled face. Her pretty daydream soured. Who knew what sort of a visage smiled beneath that veil? A little quivering turned restlessly in her belly. She did not let her unease show on her face. Instead, she answered in a pleasantly modulated voice, ‘Why, I was but thinking how gay it might be if some of my friends were here to share all this with us.’ She gracefully gestured at the festive room.

‘And I was thinking the opposite,’ he replied. He had a pleasant voice. It was cultured and richly masculine. His face veil stirred lightly with the wind of his breath.

‘The opposite?’ she wondered aloud as she raised an eyebrow to his words.

He did not move from where he stood, but pitched his voice for more intimacy. ‘I was thinking how pleasant it will be when I am deep enough in your trust to see you more privately.’

All she had to go by was his posture and his voice. There was no raised brow or shy smile to accompany the words. She had spoken to men before, even flirted when her mother or grandmother was not present, but no man had ever been so frank with her. It was both heady and daunting. All the time she hesitated, she knew he studied her bared face. Try as she might, she could not keep all expression from it. How could one flirt and smile when one did not know if a man or a grotesque freak answered that smile? The thought put a tiny chill into her words. ‘Surely, we must first decide if this courtship is even to begin. Is not that what this first meeting is about: to see if we are suited to one another?’

He gave a small snort of amusement. ‘Mistress Malta, let us leave that sport to our mothers. That is their game. See how, even now, they circle one another like wrestlers, awaiting an opening, a tiny bit of imbalance in the other? They will strike the bargain that joins us, and I do not doubt that both families will benefit in every way.’

He inclined his hooded head, very slightly, towards Jani Khuprus and Ronica Vestrit. Their facial expressions were carefully pleasant, but there was a poised alertness to them that suggested some verbal contest was in progress.

‘That is my grandmother, not my mother,’ Malta pointed out. ‘And I do not understand why you speak of this meeting as a game. Surely, this is a serious moment. At least, it is for me. Do you find it trivial?’

‘I will never find trivial any moment spent in your presence. Of that, you may be assured.’ He paused, then let his words pour forth. ‘From the moment that you opened the dream box and we ventured together into your imaginings, I have known that nothing could turn me aside from this courtship. Your family sought to dampen my hopes with the notion that you were more child than woman. That I found laughable. That is the game I spoke of, the game that all families play when their offspring wish to wed. Obstacles will be invented, only to dissolve when the balance is weighted with enough gifts and trade advantages…but this talk is too blunt for us. It speaks of the pocket and not of the heart. It speaks not at all of my hunger for you.’ His words tumbled swiftly, unchecked. ‘Malta, I ache for you. I long to possess you, to share every secret of my heart with you. The sooner my mother surrenders to every demand of your family, the better. Tell your grandmother that. Tell her she may ask anything she wishes and I will be sure the Vestrits receive it, so long as I may find you soon in my arms.’

Malta recoiled with a swift intake of breath. Her shock was not feigned, but Reyn mistook the source of it. He stepped back from her and inclined his head gravely. ‘Forgive me, I beg you.’ His voice went husky. ‘I am cursed with a tongue that speaks the words of my heart before my head can intervene. How crude I must seem to you, like an animal panting after you. I vow to you, that is not so. Ever since I saw you that evening outside the Traders’ Concourse, I became aware that I had a soul as well as a mind. Before that, I was little more than an intelligent tool, serving my family as well as I could to advance their fortunes. When my brother or sisters spoke of passion and attractions, I could not grasp what they meant.’ He paused for breath, and gave a sort of laugh. ‘If you know aught of Rain Wild Folk, you will know that we usually find our hearts when we are young and wed soon after. By the customs of my folk, I have always been an odd fish. Some say I was ensorcelled young by my work, and would never know a true love for anyone human.’ A snort of disdain bespoke his disgust.

He shook his head, then went on, ‘Some whispered that I was a eunuch, incapable of a man’s passions. Their words did not bother me. I knew I had a heart, but it slept within me and I saw no need for it to awaken. In the runes I traced and deciphered, in the strange mechanisms I dismantled, I thought I had enough to occupy all my thoughts. I was annoyed when my mother insisted I accompany her to Bingtown for that meeting. Annoyed! All that was swept aside in the first moment I dared speak to you. As jidzin is wakened to light by touch, so your voice woke my heart to longing. Wild, boyish hope drove me to leave the dream-box for you. I was sure you would not open it, sure that one such as yourself would discard my dream before I could even broach it to you. But you did not. You opened my soul and shared with me a vision of such enchantment…you walked through my city and your presence awoke it to life! I had always believed the cold and silent city was my heart. You can guess what that meant to me.’

Malta heard his impassioned words with only half an ear. Her thoughts and heart were full of what he had already said. Anything that she asked, he would see that his family conceded. Anything! Her mind darted about like a startled fish. She should not ask so much that she seemed greedy. That might make him rethink his passion for her. Nor should she ask so little that she appeared foolish, or undervalued by her family. No. There was a line to tread here, one to be carefully considered. Instantly she seized on the one she considered wisest in the way of bargaining. Oh, if only her father were here, he would see to it that she used Reyn’s passion to her best advantage. In an instant, she realized that was what she must do: delay the negotiations until her father returned.

‘You are silent,’ Reyn observed in a chastened voice. ‘I have offended you.’

She moved to seize the advantage. He must think his position uncertain, but not hopeless. She tried to put a timorous smile on her face. ‘I am not accustomed…that is, no one has ever spoken to me of such…’ She let her voice trail away doubtfully. She took a breath as if composing herself. ‘My heart is beating so…Sometimes, when I am frightened, I become quite…Do you suppose you could bring me a glass of wine?’ She lifted both hands and patted lightly at her cheeks, as if endeavouring to restore herself. After the dream they had shared, could she make him believe her spirit was so delicate as to be distressed at such frank speech?

She could. There was suppressed panic in the set of his shoulders as he turned hastily from her. He snatched up a glass from the sideboard and poured her wine so hastily that it threatened to leap from the glass. When he brought it to her, she drew back slightly, as if fearing to take it from his hand. He expelled a small sound of dismay, and she forced a tremulous smile to her lips. As if she steeled herself to courage, she took the glass from him and raised it to her lips to sip delicately from it. It was an excellent vintage. She lowered the glass and sighed softly. ‘That is better. Thank you so much.’

‘How can you thank me, when I am the one who caused you such distress?’

She widened her eyes and looked up at him. ‘Oh, I am sure the fault is with me,’ she said disingenuously. ‘How foolish I must appear to you, that I begin to tremble at mere words. My mother warned me that there was still a great deal that I did not know of what it is to be a woman. This, I suppose, is part of it.’ She made a small gesture around at the room. ‘As you can tell, we live a quiet life here. I suppose I have been more sheltered than I thought. I have well understood my family’s need to live simply, within our means. Nevertheless, it has kept me apart from many experiences.’ With a tiny shrug, she confessed, ‘I know so little of the ways of young men.’ She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them as she added meekly, ‘I must ask you to be patient while I learn, I fear.’ A final glance up at him through lowered lashes. ‘I hope you will not think me stupid and dull, nor be wearied with the need to teach me such things. I hope you do not give up on me as hopelessly simple. Almost, I wish I had had other suitors, that I could already know something of the ways of men and women.’ She gave a tiny shrug and a sigh as she looked back down. She held her breath for a moment, hoping the effort would redden her cheeks as with a blush. She whispered breathlessly, ‘I confess, I almost did not understand my own dream, that night I opened the box.’ She did not look up as she pleaded prettily, ‘Could you teach me what such things signify?’

She did not need to see his face. She didn’t even need to look up at his stance. She knew she had conquered completely in the moment he replied, ‘I could think of nothing I should like better than to be your tutor in such things.’