it out as a proper ship’s officer.
She spoke more to herself than to Brashen when she said, ‘No doubt he gets a great deal of pleasure from assigning this duty to you.’
He didn’t reply. The muscles in his jaws bunched a notch tighter, but he held his tongue. Even now, he would not speak out against his captain’s orders. He was hopeless.
‘Just the small chest, Brashen.’
He drew up a breath as if it had the weight of an anchor. ‘Mistress Althea. I am ordered to see your possessions removed from that cabin.’
She looked away from him. She was suddenly horribly weary of Kyle’s posturing. Let him think he had his way for now; her father would soon put it all right.
‘Then follow your order, Brashen. I shan’t hold it against you.’
He stood as if stricken. ‘You don’t want to do the packing up yourself?’ He was too shocked even to add ‘Mistress Althea’.
She gave him the ghost of a smile. ‘I’ve seen you stow cargo. I’ll warrant you’ll do a tidy job of it.’
For a moment longer he stood at her elbow, as if hoping for reprieve. She ignored him. After a time she heard him turn and pad lightly away across the deck. She went back to her consideration of the Vivacia’s visage. She gripped the railing tightly and vowed fiercely to the ship never to give her up.
‘Gig’s waiting on you, Mistress Althea.’
The note in the man’s voice implied that he had spoken to her before, possibly more than once. She straightened herself and reluctantly put her dreams aside. ‘I’m coming,’ she told him spiritlessly, and followed him.
She rode into town in the gig, facing Kyle but seated as far from him as possible. No one spoke to her. Other than necessary commands, no one spoke at all. Several times she caught uneasy glances from the sailors at the oars. Grig, ever a bold sort, ventured a wink and a grin. She tried to smile at him in return, but it was as if she could not quite recall how. A great stillness seemed to have found her as soon as she left the ship; a sort of waiting of the soul, to see what would befall her next.
The few times her eyes did meet Kyle’s, the look on his face puzzled her. At their first encounter, he looked almost horror-struck. A second glance showed his face deeply thoughtful, but the last time she caught him looking at her was the most chilling. For he nodded at her and smiled fondly and encouragingly. It was the same look he would have bestowed on his daughter Malta if she had learned her lessons particularly well. She turned expressionlessly away from it and gazed out over the placid waters of Trader Bay.
The small rowing boat nosed into a dock. Althea submitted to being assisted up to the dock as if she were an invalid; such was the nuisance of full skirts and shawls and hats that obscured one’s vision. She gained the dock, and for an instant Grig annoyed her by holding onto her for longer than was strictly necessary. She drew herself free of his arm and glanced at him, expecting to find mischief in his eyes. Instead she saw concern, and it deepened a moment later when a wave of giddiness made her catch at his arm. ‘I just need to get my land legs again,’ she excused herself, and once more stepped clear of him.
Kyle had sent word ahead of them and an open two-wheeled shimshay waited for them. The skinny boy who drove it abandoned the shady seat to them. ‘No bags?’ he cawed.
Althea just shook her head. ‘No bags, driver. Take us up to the Vestrit house. It’s on the Traders’ Circle.’
The half-naked boy nodded and offered her his hand as she clambered up onto the seat. Once Kyle had joined her there, the boy leaped nimbly to the nag’s back and clicked his tongue at her. Her shod hooves rang on the wooden planks of the dock.
Althea stared straight ahead as the shimshay left the docks for the cobbled streets of Bingtown and offered no conversation. Bad enough that she had to sit next to Kyle. She would not annoy herself by conversing with him. The hustle and bustle of folk and cart-traffic, the shouts of bargaining, the smells of the streetfront restaurants and tea shops seemed oddly distant to her. When she and her father had docked, it had been usual that her mother would be waiting to greet them. They would have left the docks on foot, her mother rattling off an account of all that had happened since they had left port. Like as not they would have stopped at one of the tea shops for fresh, warm sweet buns and cold tea before strolling the rest of the way home. Althea sighed.
‘Althea? Are you all right?’ Kyle intruded.
‘As well as I could expect, thank you,’ she replied stiffly.
He fidgeted, and then cleared his throat as if he were getting ready to say more. She was saved by the boy pulling in the horse right in front of home. He was by the side of the shimshay, offering his hand to her before Kyle could even stir. She smiled at him as she stepped down and he grinned back at her. A moment later the door of the house flew open and Keffria rushed out, crying, ‘Oh, Kyle, Kyle, I’m so glad you’re home. Everything is just awful!’ Selden and Malta were at their mother’s heels as she flew forwards to embrace her husband. Another boy followed them awkwardly. He looked oddly familiar; probably a visiting cousin or some such.
‘Nice to see you, too, Keffria,’ Althea muttered sarcastically, and headed for the door.
Inside the manor, it was cool and shady. Althea stood for a moment, gratefully letting her eyes adjust. A woman she did not recognize appeared with a basin of scented water and a towel and began to offer her the welcome of the house. Althea waved her away. ‘No, thank you. I’m Althea, I live here. Where is my father? In his sitting room?’
She thought she saw a brief flash of sympathy in the woman’s eyes. ‘It has been many days since he was well enough to enjoy that room, Mistress Althea. He is in his bedchamber and your mother is with him.’
Althea’s shoes rang on the tiled floors as she raced down the hallway. Before she reached the door, her mother appeared in the entry, a worried frown creasing her forehead. ‘What is going on?’ she demanded, and then, as she recognized Althea, she cried out in relief. ‘Oh, you are back! And Kyle?’
‘He’s outside. Is Father still ill? It has been months, I thought surely he would have… ’
‘Your father is dying, Althea,’ her mother said.
As Althea recoiled from her bluntness, she saw the dullness in her mother’s eyes. There were lines in her face that had not been there, a heaviness to her mouth and a curl in her shoulders that she did not recall. Even as Althea’s own heart near stilled with the shock of it, she recognized that her mother’s words were not cruel, but hopeless. She had given her the news quickly, as if by doing so she could save her the slow pain of realization.
‘Oh, Mother,’ she said, and moved towards her, but her mother flapped her hands at her in refusal. Althea stopped instantly. Ronica Vestrit had never been one for tearful embraces and weeping on shoulders. She might be bowed by her sorrow, but she had not surrendered to it.
‘Go and see your father,’ she told Althea. ‘He’s been asking for you, near hourly. I must speak to Kyle. There are arrangements to be made, and not much time, I fear. Go in to him, now. Go.’ She gave Althea two quick pats on the arm and then hastened past her. Althea heard the pattering of her shoes and the rustling of her skirts as she hurried away down the hall. Althea glanced once after her and then pushed open the door of her father’s bedchamber.
This was not
