The Mad Ship

9 BINGTOWN

DEEP INSIDE PARAGON, Amber tossed and turned like badly digested biscuit in a sailor’s gut. A dream he was not privy to tore at her sleep, rending her rest into a blanketed struggle with herself. Sometimes Paragon was tempted to reach for her thoughts and share her distress, but most nights he was simply grateful that her torment was not his.

She had come to live aboard him, to sleep inside him at night and guard him from those who might come to tow him away and destroy him. In her own way, she had complied with his request as well. She had stocked several of his holds, not with driftwood and cheap lamp oil, but with the hardwoods and finishing oils of her trade. The fiction between them was that she stored them there so that she could sit beneath his bow of an evening and carve. They both knew that it would take but a moment to kindle the dry wood with the oil and fill him with flame. She would not let him be taken alive.

Sometimes he almost felt sorry for her. It was not easy for her to live inside the tilted quarters of the captain’s room. With much muttering, she had cleared Brashen’s abandoned possessions from the chambers. Paragon had noticed that she handled them thoughtfully before she carefully stowed them belowdecks. Now she had taken over those quarters and slept in his hammock at night. She cooked out on the beach when the evenings were fine, and ate cold food at other times. Each day when she trudged off to her shop at daybreak, she took a water bucket with her. Every evening she returned laden with the brimming bucket and whatever she had brought from the market for her dinner. Then she would bustle about inside him, singing nonsense songs to herself. If the evening was fine, she kindled a cook-fire and talked to him while she prepared her simple meal. In a way, it was pleasant to have company on a daily basis. In another way, it chafed him. He had grown accustomed to his solitude. Even in the midst of a companionable talk, he would know that their arrangement was temporary. All humans did was temporary. How else could it be, with creatures who died? Even if she stayed with him the rest of her life, she would still eventually be gone. Once he had grasped that thought, he could not be rid of it. To know that his days with Amber must, eventually, come to an end gave him a feeling of waiting. He hated waiting. Better to be done with it, and have her gone than to spend all his time with her waiting for the day she would leave him. Often it made him cross and short-spoken with her.

But not tonight. Tonight they had had a merry evening together. She had insisted on teaching him a silly song, and then they had sung it together, first as a duet for two voices and then as a round. He had discovered he liked singing. She had taught him other things as well. Not weaving a hammock: that he had learned from Brashen. He did not think she knew such sailorly skills. However, she had given him soft wood and an oversize blade that he might try his hand at her trade. Sometimes she played another game with him, one that was somewhat unsettling. With a long light pole, she would reach up to tap him gently. The game was that he must bat the pole aside. She praised him most when he could deflect the tip before it actually touched him. He was getting good at the game. If he concentrated, he could almost feel the pole by the slight movement of air that it caused. Another fiction between them was that this was just a game. He recognized it for what it was: a drill in skills that might help him protect himself, if it came to a direct attack. How long could he protect himself though? He smiled grimly into the darkness. Long enough for Amber to be able to kindle fires inside him.

He wondered if that was what brought her bad dreams. Perhaps she dreamed that she had set fire to him and had not had time to escape. Perhaps she dreamed that she was burning inside his hull, the flesh crisping away from her bones as she screamed. No. This was more of a whimpering and pleading she made in her sleep, not the scream that could wake her. Sometimes, when the nightmares were upon her, it took her a long time to struggle back to wakefulness. Then, smelling of fear sweat, she would come out onto the deck to take in great gasps of cool night air. Sometimes when she sat down on his sloping deck with her back to the cabin, he could feel the trembling of her slender body.

That thought made him lift his voice. ‘Amber? Amber, wake up! It’s only a dream.’

He felt her shift restlessly and heard her incoherent reply. It sounded as if she called to him from a vast distance.

‘Amber!’ he replied.

She thrashed violently, more like a fish caught in a net than a woman sleeping in a hammock, then she was suddenly still. Three breaths later, he felt her bare feet hit the floor. She padded toward the hooks where she kept her garments. A moment later she was moving across his canted deck. Light as a bird, she dropped over his side to land on the sand. A moment later she leaned against his planking. Her voice was hoarse. ‘Thank you for waking me. I think.’

‘You wished to remain in your nightmare?’ He was puzzled. ‘I understood such experiences were unpleasant, almost as unpleasant as living through the reality.’

‘They are. Extremely unpleasant. But sometimes, when such a dream comes repeatedly, it is because I am meant to experience it and heed it. After a time, such dreams can come to make sense. Sometimes.’

‘What did you dream?’ Paragon asked unwillingly.

She laughed unevenly. ‘The same one. Serpents and dragons. The nine-fingered slave boy. Moreover, I hear your voice, calling warnings and threats. But you are not you. You are…someone else. And there is something…I don’t know. It all tatters away like cobwebs in the wind. The more I grasp after it, the worse I rend it.’

‘Serpents and dragons.’ Paragon spoke the dread words unwillingly. He tried to laugh sceptically. ‘I’ve taken the measure of serpents in my day. I do not think much of them. However, there are no such things as dragons. I think your dream is only a nasty dream, Amber. Set it aside and tell me a story to clear our minds.’

‘I think not,’ Amber replied unsteadily. Her dream had shaken her more than Paragon had thought. ‘For if I tried to tell stories tonight, I would tell you of the dragons I have seen, flying overhead against the blue sky. It was not so many years ago, and not so far to the north of here. I will tell you this, Paragon. Were you to tie up in a Six Duchies harbour, and tell the folk there that there were no such things as dragons, they would scoff at you for foolish beliefs.’ She leaned her head back against him and added, ‘First, though, they would have to get used to the idea that there was truly such a thing as a liveship. Until I saw one and heard him speak, I had believed liveships were only a wild tale concocted to enhance the reputation of the Bingtown Traders.’

‘Did you truly find us that strange?’ Paragon demanded.

He felt her turn her head to gaze up at him. ‘One of the strangest things about you, my dear, is that you have no idea how wondrous you are.’

‘Really?’ He fished for another compliment.

‘You are fully as marvellous as the dragons I saw.’

She had expected the comparison to please him. He sensed that, but instead it made him uneasy. Was she fishing for secrets? She’d get none from him.

She seemed unaware of his displeasure as she mused, ‘I think there is in the heart of a man a place made for wonder. It sleeps inside, awaiting fulfilment. All one’s life, one gathers treasures to fill it. Sometimes they are tiny glistening jewels: a flower blooming in the shelter of a fallen tree, the arch of a small child’s brow combined with the curve of her cheek. Sometimes, however, a trove falls into your hands all at once, as if some greedy pirate’s chest spilled before an unsuspecting beholder. Such were the dragons on the wing. They were every gem colour I know, and every possible shape one could imagine. Some were dragons such as I knew from childhood tales, but others had shapes whimsical and still others were terrifying in their strangeness. There were proper dragons, some with long serpentine tails, some four-legged, some two, red and green and gold and sable. Flying amongst them were winged stags, a formidable boar who swept his tusks from side to side as he flew, and one like a great winged serpent and even a great striped cat, with striped wings…’ Her voice died away, subsiding in awe.

‘They weren’t real dragons, then,’ Paragon observed snidely.

‘I tell you, I saw them,’ she insisted.

‘You saw something. Or some things, some of which had stolen the shapes of dragons. Nevertheless, they were not real dragons. As well to say that you saw green, blue, and purple horses, some of which had six legs and some shaped like cats. Such things would not be horses at all. Whatever it was you saw, they were not dragons.’

‘Well…but…’

It pleased him to hear her flounder for words. She who was usually so glib. He didn’t help her.

‘Some were dragons,’ she finally defended herself. ‘Some were shaped and coloured just as the dragons I have seen in ancient scrolls and tapestries.’

‘Some of your flying things were shaped like dragons and some like cats. As well to say that flying cats are real, and sometimes they are shaped like dragons.’

She was silent for a long time. When she spoke, he knew she had been thinking and that her chain of thought had dragged her back to his personal history. ‘Why,’ she asked in a deceptively courteous tone, ‘is it so essential to your happiness that there be no such thing as dragons? Why are you so intent on crushing the wonder I felt at the sight of those creatures winging?’

‘It isn’t. I don’t. I simply believe that one should say what one means. I don’t care that you wondered at them. I just don’t think you should call such things dragons.’

‘Why? If there are no such things as dragons, what does it matter what I call the creatures I saw? Why should not I name them dragons if that name pleases me?’

‘Because,’ he declared, suddenly nettled beyond all reason. ‘Because if there were any such thing as dragons still, it would demean them to be grouped with such grotesques.’

Suddenly she sat up straight. He felt her shift away from him. He could almost feel her prying stare trying to pierce the darkness and see what little the hatchet had left of his face. ‘You know something,’ she accused him. ‘You know something about dragons, and you know something about my dream and what it means. Don’t you?’

‘I don’t even know what you dreamed,’ he stated. He tried to make his voice reasonable, but it climbed up the scale and cracked. It always chose the worst times to do that. ‘And I’ve never seen any dragons.’

‘Not even in your dreams?’ Her soft question was as insidious as drifting fog.

‘Don’t touch me,’ he warned her suddenly.

‘I wasn’t going to,’ she said, but he did not believe her. If she touched him, skin to wood, and reached hard enough, she would know if he were lying. That was not fair. He couldn’t do that to her.

‘Do you ever dream of dragons?’ she asked him. It was a direct question, asked in a casual voice. He did not fall for it.

‘No,’ he replied succinctly.

‘Are you sure? I thought you had spoken to me about such dreams, once…’

He shrugged, an elaborate charade. ‘Well, perhaps I did. I don’t recall. Maybe I did dream such a dream, but it wasn’t important to me. Not all dreams are important, you know. In fact, I wonder if any dreams are important or significant.’

‘Mine are,’ said Amber defeatedly. ‘I know they are. That is why it is so distressing when I cannot grasp what they mean. Oh, Paragon, I fear I’ve made an error. I pray it is not a grievous one.’

He smiled in the darkness. ‘Well, how grievous an error can a bead-maker commit? I am sure you are troubling yourself over nothing. Dragons and sea serpents indeed. What do such fantastic creatures have to do with you and me?’

‘Sea serpents!’ Amber suddenly exclaimed. ‘Ah!’ For a long time, she was silent. Then he almost felt the warmth of her smile wash against him. ‘Sea serpents,’ she affirmed to herself softly. ‘Thank you, Paragon. Thank you for that much.’

‘It’s not your watch.’ Ophelia spoke the words quietly.

‘I know that as well as you do. I couldn’t sleep,’ Althea replied. She looked out past the figurehead. The waves were gentle swells. The soft spring wind pushed her light cloak against her body.

‘I know that as well as you do,’ Ophelia countered. ‘You’ve been tossing in your bunk for two hours now. Why? Are you excited about docking in Bingtown tomorrow?’

‘Yes. But not in a glad way. I fear all I must face tomorrow. My sister, my mother. Kyle, perhaps, if Vivacia is there. Oh, Ophelia, I even dread facing my ship when the time comes. How can I look at her and explain how and why I let her go?’

‘You know you will not have to. Just put your hand to her planking and she will feel it all, as surely as I do.’

Althea slid her hands lovingly along the polished railing. ‘It is such a wonder to me, the understanding that has developed between us. It is another reason I dread docking in Bingtown tomorrow. I have felt so safe aboard you. I hate to leave you.’

A light footfall on the deck behind her turned her head. It was Grag. He moved across the moonlit deck, his bare feet falling softly. He wore only his trousers. His hair was tousled and boyish. Obviously, he had recently awakened, yet there was still a tigerish grace to his gait as he crossed the deck. A slow smile crept across Althea’s face. Very softly, Ophelia answered her thought. ‘Men have no concept of their own beauty.’

Grag grinned as he approached. ‘I tapped at your door. When I didn’t find you there, I knew right away where to look.’

‘Oh?’ Ophelia broke in archly. ‘Are you in the habit of tapping at Althea’s door at this hour? With no shirt on?’

‘Only when my father wakes me up and asks me to,’ Grag replied easily. ‘He said he wanted to have a quiet talk with both of us.’

‘I was not to be included in this “quiet talk”?’ Ophelia demanded, already offended.

‘I assume you were, since he asked me to wake Althea and bid her to come here. I thought you might even have suggested it.’

‘No. It’s my idea.’ Captain Tenira stepped quietly into their circle. A coal glowed in the bowl of his short stemmed pipe and fragrant smoke drifted with him. ‘Call me a fearful old man if you will, but there are some precautions I’d like to take before we dock in Bingtown. And they involve Althea.’ His serious tone quenched their banter.

‘What did you have in mind?’ Althea asked.

‘I’ve been thinking about our encounter with that Chalcedean galley. They were flying the Satrap’s banner. Things have been changing in Bingtown for the last few years. I don’t know how much favour and influence that captain may have there, or whether he would send a complaint there about our response.’ Captain Tenira gave a disgusted snort. ‘When he finally got under way again, he may even have fled there. So. Depending on how much influence he has there…and on how badly the Satrap currently grovels to Chalced…we may have an unpleasant welcome awaiting us.’

A little silence fell over the group. It was obvious to Althea that Grag had given this no more thought than she had. It was not that she had dismissed the incident as trivial: never that! Ophelia’s beautiful, slender-fingered hands were scorched. No matter how many times the figurehead assured her that she did not feel pain, at least, not as humans did, Althea still winced at every glimpse of her blackened hands. Althea had looked forward to reaching Bingtown, and expected that the other Old Traders would share her deep anger and affront at the attack. Never had she paused to think that others there might think the Chalcedean galley and her crew had been wronged.

Captain Tenira gave them time to mull this before he spoke again. ‘As I said, I might simply be a fearful old man. What, I asked myself, is the worst they can do to me? Well, I answered, they could seize my ship when I tied up at the tax dock. Why, they might even take custody of my first mate and me. Then who would go to my family, to tell what had befallen us? Who would witness to the Bingtown Trader Council and demand their aid? I have many good hands good sailors one and all – but,’ he shook his head, ‘good speakers they are not, nor are they Bingtown Traders.’

Althea grasped it instantly. ‘You want me to go?’

‘If you would.’

‘Of course. Without hesitation. I wonder that you think you need to ask this.’

‘Of that, I had no doubt. But there is more, I’m afraid,’ Captain Tenira said quietly. ‘The more I dwell on what may have changed in Bingtown, the less confidence I have of our welcome. To be safe, to be sure, I think it would be best if you resumed your boy’s guise. That way, you could more easily slip away from the ship. If you had to.’

‘Do you really believe it is likely to come to that?’ Grag asked incredulously.

Captain Tenira sighed. ‘Son, we carry a spare mast belowdecks. Why? Not because we are likely to need it but because some day we may. That is how I prefer to think of this as well.’

‘I would feel as if I were sending her to face danger alone,’ Grag objected suddenly.

His father eyed him levelly. ‘If it comes to this, we may actually be helping her to slip away from danger before the trap can close on her as well. It would be more advantageous to them to hold hostages from two Bingtown Trader families than one.’

‘Them? Who are “them”?’ Ophelia suddenly demanded. ‘And why should any Bingtown Trader have to fear any one in Bingtown, save another Trader? Bingtown is our town. The Satrap Esclepius deeded it to us many years ago.’

‘And Satrap Cosgo has been whittling away at that deed ever since he inherited the Mantle of Righteousness.’ Captain Tenira closed his mouth suddenly, as if biting back bitter words. In a milder voice he went on, ‘Others have come to power in Bingtown. At first, we paid little heed to the tariff collectors. Even when they demanded a tax dock where each ship must first tie up, we conceded it as sensible. When they demanded the right to inspect cargoes for themselves rather than take the captain’s word on what he carried, we laughed and agreed. It was our town. Their suspicions were offensive, but in much the same way that rude children are offensive. We did not count on this wave of so-called New Traders, who would ally with the Satrap’s tax collectors to gain power. Nor did any of us ever believe that any Satrap would accept Chalced’s grubby hand in friendship, let alone permit Chalcedean galleys in our waters under the guise of law and protection.’ He shook his head to himself. ‘These are the things I have been contemplating tonight, and that is why I have decided to err on the side of caution.’

‘It seems wise –’ Althea began but Ophelia broke in, ‘You said they might seize me. I shall not allow it. I did not permit those Chalcedean swine to board me and I shall not permit ’

‘Yes, you shall.’ Captain Tenira’s grave voice stopped her defiance cold. ‘Just as Grag and I shall permit them to detain us, if they attempt it. I have thought this through, my dear, to the bitter dregs. It is time Bingtown awakened. We have been slumbering and letting others chip and nibble away at what is ours. A few days ago, Chalcedean pirates masquerading as the Satrap’s patrol attacked us. A day or so from now, brigands and kidnappers masquerading as lawful tariff collectors may hold us. We shall let them seize us and detain us. Not because we recognize their right to do so, nor because we cannot defy them, but only to show the rest of Bingtown the powers these little upstarts have claimed. The danger must be recognized, while it is still easy to destroy. Therefore, I beg you, if they attempt to seize you, even to put armed guards aboard you, I think we should permit it. They cannot hold us long, once Bingtown is roused. Let Ophelia become a rallying point for Bingtown Trader pride.’

Ophelia allowed the silence to hang for a moment. ‘I suppose I shall allow it,’ she finally conceded. ‘Only because you ask it of me.’

‘That’s my good girl,’ Tenira praised her warmly. ‘Never fear. Grag and I will see that you take no harm.’

Ophelia rolled her shoulders. ‘I shall see that you take no harm,’ she suggested.

Her captain smiled wanly. ‘Well. That is certainly a great relief to me.’ His glance went from Grag to Althea and then to the moonlit night above them. ‘I am suddenly weary,’ he announced. He looked only at Althea. ‘Will you take my watch for me? You seem wide awake.’

‘Pleased to do so, Sir. You’ve given me a great deal to mull over.’

‘Thank you. Carry on, then, Althea. Good night, Grag.’

‘Good night, Sir,’ the son replied.

Just before the captain was out of earshot, Ophelia observed, ‘How sweet! He found a way to leave you two alone in the moonlight.’

‘Pity you can’t do the same,’ Grag replied without rancour.

‘Leave you unchaperoned? Shame upon you, for even suggesting such a thing.’

He made no reply to that, but only went to the port side to lean on the railing. With a wink and a toss of her great head, Ophelia urged Althea to join him there. Althea sighed ruefully, then followed the ship’s suggestion.

‘You haven’t said much to me, these last few days,’ Grag remarked quietly to the night sea.

‘My work has kept me busy. When your father gives me a ship’s ticket, I want to have truly earned it.’

‘You already have. No one on board this vessel would ever dispute your ability. However, I do not think you have truly been that busy. I think our last conversation made you uncomfortable.’

She did not deny it. Instead, she noted, ‘You speak very directly, don’t you? I like that.’

‘Simple questions usually get simple answers. A man likes to know where he stands.’

‘That’s reasonable. A woman needs some time to think.’ Althea tried to keep her tone light but not flippant.

He did not meet her eyes as he pressed her. ‘Most women don’t need time to think about whether or not they could love someone.’ Was there a trace of hurt in his voice?

‘I didn’t think that was what you had asked me,’ Althea replied honestly. ‘I thought the topic under discussion was a possible marriage between us. If you are asking whether I could come to care for you, then I believe the answer is an easy “yes”. You are thoughtful, courteous and kind.’ Althea glanced toward Ophelia. The figurehead was intently motionless, staring over the water. Althea pitched her voice just a trifle louder. ‘Not to mention that you are very handsome and likely to inherit a beautiful ship.’

As she had hoped, they both laughed, and suddenly the atmosphere eased. Grag reached casually to cover her hand with his. She did not move away but added in a lower voice, ‘Marriage is not about love alone. Especially not a marriage between two Bingtown Trader families. For that is what it would be, not a simple joining of you and me, but an alliance of our families. I have to think of many things. If I married you, and went to sea with you, what would become of my own ship? All I have done in the last year, Grag, I have done with an eye to recovering her. Would marrying you mean giving up Vivacia?’ She faced him and he looked down on her with shadowed eyes. ‘Would you give up the Ophelia to marry me and live with me aboard the Vivacia while I captained her?’

The shock on his face made it evident he had never considered such a question.

‘And that is but the first of my considerations. I must ask myself, what would I bring to our partnership, other than my family’s debts? I inherited nothing from my father, Grag. Nothing except the sailing skills he taught me. I am sure my family would give me some sort of a dowry for the sake of respectability. But it would not be what you could usually expect to accompany a Trader’s daughter.’ Althea shook her head. ‘You could get more marrying a Three Ships girl. They’d pay richly for the family connection.’

He lifted his hand from hers. There was almost a chill in his voice as he asked, ‘Did you think that was why I made my proposal? To see how good an offer your family would make?’

‘No. Nevertheless, it is something I must consider, if only for the sake of my pride. You were the one who suggested that perhaps planning should come ahead of passion. So I consider the situation from every angle. Look at it coldly, Grag. To marry you, I must not only give up my ship, but also see her in the hands of a man I despise. To marry me, you must give up other partners who might create lucrative alliances for your family. If you consider these aspects, it does not look promising for us.’

Grag took in a slow breath. ‘I suppose you are right and –’

‘Just kiss her, you great booby!’ Ophelia hissed loudly.

Althea burst into a laugh that was cut off by Grag’s mouth on hers. The kiss was startling, and her body’s response to it was shocking. Heat washed through her and she turned towards him, lifting one hand to his shoulder. She expected him to embrace her and continue the kiss. Before she could wonder how far she would allow him to continue, he lifted his mouth from hers and drew back a little. He would not. This was Grag, not Brashen, she reminded herself. He was ruled by his head, not his passions. She denied the disappointment in the comparison. In the moment that he lifted his mouth from hers, she convinced herself that if he had not broken the kiss, she would have. Grag Tenira was to be taken seriously. He was not an anonymous fling in a distant seaport. How she conducted herself with him would affect the rest of her life in Bingtown. Caution was the better path.

She took a breath. ‘Well!’ she said, in a tone intended to convey surprise without affront.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered and looked aside with a half-grin that did not look repentant at all. ‘Ophelia’s been bossing me around since I was eight years old.’

‘That did sound like a direct order,’ Althea agreed affably. She turned back to look out over the water. After a moment, his hand covered hers on the railing.

‘There would be difficulties to surmount,’ he said judiciously. ‘That is true of any undertaking. Althea, I ask only that you consider my offer. I could scarcely ask you for an answer now. You have not discussed it with your family; I have not broached the subject with my parents. We do not even know what sort of a storm we shall encounter when we tie up in Bingtown. I’d just like you to consider my offer. That’s all.’

‘That I will,’ she replied. The night was easy around them, and the clasp of his callused hand was warm.

She did not know what Captain Tenira or Grag said to the crew, but no one evinced any surprise when she appeared on deck in her boy’s togs. Ophelia entered Bingtown Harbour on a crisp breeze that made the hands work lively. If any of the crew recognized Althea as Athel from Candletown, no one was foolish enough to admit it. Instead, they accepted her toiling beside them with only a bit of good-natured teasing. Ophelia sailed with a will. The seasoned ship knew her business and cooperated with her crew, calling out suggestions to the man on the wheel. This was not operating a contraption of planks and canvas and lines to a place beside a dock, but the guiding of a cognizant creature into her home.

The Ophelia’s boats were put out to assist her to her berth at the tax dock. Althea took a spot on a bench and an oar; Captain Tenira had decided it was the best way to distance her from the ship and give her a chance to slip away if she needed it. After all their preparations, it was almost a disappointment to see the harbour traffic so ordinary. No one seemed to take any unusual notice of the Ophelia. As Althea’s eyes roved over the busy trading port, she felt a sudden rush of emotion far stronger than any homesickness. She had been on longer voyages with her father, and travelled farther than on this last trip. Nevertheless, she felt as if she saw Bingtown for the first time in years.

Bingtown was cupped in a sparkling blue bay. Rolling hills in the bright greens of spring backed the lively merchant town. Even before they docked, she could smell the smoke and cooking and cattle. The shrill cries of the hawkers in the market floated out over the water. The streets bustled with traffic, and the waters of the harbour were no less busy. Small craft plied back and forth between the shore and anchored ships. Little fishing vessels threaded their way through the tall-masted merchant ships to bring their catch to market. It was a symphony of sight and sound and smell, and its theme was Bingtown.

A discordant note jarred the harmony as the departure of a ship slowly disclosed a Chalcedean galley tied up at the tax dock. The Satrap’s banner hung flaccid from the single mast. Althea knew at a glance it was not the same galley that had accosted them; this one sported a fanged cat’s face upon the figurehead, and showed no signs of fire damage. Her frown only deepened. How many of the galleys were in Bingtown waters? Why had it been allowed into the harbour at all?

She kept her thoughts to herself and performed her share of the docking tasks as if she were no more than a ship’s boy. When Captain Tenira barked at her to bring his sea bag and follow snappy, she did not flinch at the unusual order. She sensed he wanted her to witness his meeting with the Satrap’s tax minister. She shouldered the small canvas bag and followed meekly at his heels. Grag, as first mate, stayed aboard to supervise the ship.

Tenira strode into the tax minister’s office. A clerk greeted them and brusquely demanded the manifest of the ship’s cargo. Althea kept her eyes averted, even when Tenira slammed his fist on the counter and demanded to speak with the tariff minister.

The clerk gave a startled squeak, then got his face and voice under control. ‘I am in charge here today, sir. Your manifest, please.’

Tenira tossed the bundled documents to the counter with a fine disdain. ‘There’s my ship’s manifest. Stick your nose in it, boy, and figure out what I owe. But get me someone down here who can talk of more than coppers and cargo. I’ve a complaint.’

The door to an inner room opened and a robed man emerged. His shaven pate and topknot proclaimed his status as the Satrap’s minister. He was a well-fleshed man. His robe was embroidered on sleeves, breast and hems. His pale hands nestled together before him. ‘Why are you abusing my assistant?’ he demanded.

‘Why is a Chalcedean war galley tied up to a Bingtown dock? Why did a similar galley accost my ship, supposedly in the Satrap’s name? Since when have the enemies of Jamaillia been allowed safe harbour in Bingtown?’ Tenira punctuated each query with a thud of his fist on the counter.

The minister was unruffled. ‘The Chalcedean privateers are agents of the Satrap. They have been allowed to dock here since the Satrap appointed them guardians of the Inside Passage. The galleys both reported here formally, presenting their letters of merit. Their sole purpose is to control piracy. They will attack pirates, on their ships and in their outlaw settlements. They will also combat the smuggling that supports the pirates; if those miscreants had no markets for their stolen goods, their trade would soon cease.’ The tariff minister paused to straighten a fold of his sleeve. In a bored tone, he resumed. ‘It is true there were some complaints from a few Bingtown residents about the Chalcedean presence, but the tariff dock is the property of the Satrap. No one save he can forbid the Chalcedeans to tie up here. And he has given his express permission that they may.’ The minister gave a small snort of contempt. ‘I do not think the captain of a trading ship can override the Satrap’s word.’

‘This dock may belong to the Satrap, but the waters that surround it are Bingtown Harbour, given by charter to the Bingtown Traders. By tradition and by law, we allow no Chalcedean galleys in our waters.’

The minister looked past Tenira. In a bored voice he replied, ‘Traditions change, and laws do too. Bingtown is no longer a provincial backwater, Captain Tenira. It is a rapidly-growing trade centre. It is to Bingtown’s benefit that the Satrap combats the pirates that infest the waterways. Bingtown should normalize trade with Chalced. Jamaillia sees no reason to consider Chalced an enemy. Why should Bingtown?’

‘Jamaillia does not share a disputed boundary with Chalced. Jamaillian farms and settlements have not been raided and burned. Bingtown’s hostility toward Chalced is well-founded on history, not suspicion. Those ships have no right to be in our harbour. I wonder that the Bingtown Traders’ Council has not challenged this.’

‘This is neither the place nor the time to discuss Bingtown’s internal politics,’ the minister suddenly declared. ‘My function here is to serve the Satrap by collecting his rightful tariffs. Corum. Are not you finished with those figures yet? When I accepted you for employment here, I understood from your uncle that you were swift with numbers. What is the delay?’

Althea almost felt sorry for the clerk. He was obviously accustomed to being the subject of the minister’s displeasure, however, for he only smiled obsequiously and clattered his tally sticks a bit faster. ‘Seven and two,’ he muttered, apparently for the benefit of those watching him. ‘Docking fee and security fee…and patrol fee brings it to…And the surcharge on non-Jamaillian woven goods.’ He jotted a number onto the tablet, but before Althea could decipher it, the minister snatched it away. He ran a long-fingered nail down it with a disapproving glare. ‘This is not right!’ he hissed.

‘I certainly hope not!’ Captain Tenira agreed vehemently. He was taller than the minister and looked over his shoulder easily. ‘That is twice what I paid for “fees” last time, and the percentage on non-Jamaillian woven goods is…’

‘Tariffs have gone up,’ the minister interrupted him. ‘There is also a new surcharge on non-Jamaillian worked-metal goods. I believe your tinware falls into that category. Refigure this immediately, accurately!’ He slapped the tablet back down before the clerk, who only bowed his head and nodded repeatedly to the criticism.

‘Rinstin is a Jamaillian town!’ Tomie Tenira declared indignantly.

‘Rinstin, like Bingtown, acknowledges Jamaillia’s rule, but it is not in Jamaillia and is therefore not a Jamaillian town. You will pay the surcharge.’

‘That I shall not!’ Tenira exclaimed.

Althea suppressed a small gasp. She had expected Tenira to bargain over the tariffs that were due. Bargaining was the fabric of Bingtown society. No one ever paid what was first asked. He should have offered a generous bribe to the minister in the form of a lavish meal in a nearby establishment, or a selection from the more choice goods on board the Ophelia. Althea had never heard a Bingtown Trader simply refuse to pay.

The minister narrowed his eyes at Tenira. Then he gave a disdainful shrug. ‘As you will, sir. It is all one to me. Your ship will remain at this dock, her cargo on board until the proper fees are paid.’ He raised his voice suddenly. ‘Guards! Enter, please! I may require your assistance here!’

Tenira did not even look towards the two burly men who stepped inside the door. His whole attention was riveted on the minister. ‘There is nothing proper about these fees.’ He poked at the tablet the scribe was still trying to complete. ‘What is this for “patrol” and this for “security”?’

The minister gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘How do you expect the Satrap to reimburse those he has hired to protect you?’

Althea had suspected that Tenira’s outrage might be some sort of a bargaining ploy. Colour rose so high in his face that she no longer doubted the sincerity of his anger as he asked, ‘You mean those Chalcedean scum, don’t you? May Sa close my ears before I hear such idiocy! I won’t pay for those pirates to anchor in Bingtown Harbour.’

The guards were suddenly standing very close, right at Tomie Tenira’s elbows. Althea, in her role of ship’s boy, strove to look tough and follow her captain’s lead. If Tenira threw a punch, she would be expected to jump in. Any ship’s boy worth his scrap would do so, but it was a daunting prospect. She had never been in a real brawl before, other than that one brief dust-up with Brashen. She set her jaw and chose the younger of the two men as her mark.

It didn’t come to that. Tenira suddenly dropped his voice and growled, ‘I’ll be presenting this to the Traders’ Council.’

‘As you see fit, sir, I’m sure,’ the minister purred. Althea thought him a fool. A wiser man would have known better than to bait Tomie Tenira. She half expected the captain to strike him. Instead, he smiled a very narrow smile.

‘As I see fit,’ he rejoined smoothly. With a curt gesture to Althea to follow him, they left the tariff office. He spoke not a word to her until they were back aboard the ship. Then he sent her to ‘Fetch the mate, and smartly now. Have him come to my cabin.’ Althea obeyed him promptly.

When they were sequestered in the captain’s cabin, Tenira himself poured three jots of rum for them. He didn’t pause to consider propriety, nor did Althea as she drank it off. The scene in the tariff office had chilled her worse than a cold night on deck. ‘It’s bad,’ was Tenira’s first greeting to his son. ‘Worse than I’d feared. Not only are the Chalcedeans tied up here, but the Traders’ Council hasn’t even challenged it. Worse, the damn Satrap has tacked more duties and taxes on to our trade to pay them to be here!’

‘You didn’t pay them?’ Grag asked incredulously.

‘Of course not!’ Tenira snorted. ‘Someone around here has to start standing up to this nonsense. It may be a bit rocky to be the first one, but I’ll wager once we’ve set the example, others will follow. The minister says he’s going to detain us here. Fine. While we’re tied up here, we take up this much dock space. A few more like us, and he won’t be able to process ships or tariffs. Grag, you’ll have a quiet word with Ophelia. Sa help us all, but I plan to give her free rein and let her be as unpleasant and bitchy as only she knows how. Let the dock workers and passers-by deal with that.’

Althea found herself grinning. The small room was as charged as if a storm were brewing. It was a storm, she told herself, and one her father had seen gathering for years. Still, it humbled her to watch an old captain like Tenira announce that he would call the first bolt down on himself. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.

‘Go home. Take word to your mother of all you saw and heard. I didn’t see the Vivacia in the harbour, but if she is in, I ask you to set aside your differences with your brother-in-law and try to make him see why we must all be together in our defiance. I’ll be heading home myself in a bit. Grag, I’ll be trusting the ship to you. At the first whiff of any sign of trouble, send Calco to me with a message. Althea?’

Althea weighed his words, then nodded slowly. As much as she hated the idea of a truce with Kyle, Captain Tenira was right. It was no time for the Bingtown Traders to be divided on anything.

The smile the Teniras gave her was worth it. ‘I suspected I could count on you, lass,’ Captain Tenira said fondly.

Grag grinned at her. ‘And I knew I could.’