him putting out a boat and men to pull them the more swiftly through a place passable only at a certain tide. It was his secret, and it had led to the Vestrit monopoly on a certain tree sap that dried into richly fragrant droplets. No one had been up that channel to trade with the villages there since her grandfather’s death. Like any captain, he took to his death more than he could ever pass on to his descendants. He had made no chart. But the lost knowledge was not lost, but stored in the Vivacia, and would awaken with her when she quickened. Even now, Althea was certain that she could take the ship up that channel, so completely had its secrets been passed on to her.
Night after night, Althea sprawled upon the wooden deck and dreamed with her ship. Even by day, she lay there, her cheek pressed firmly to the plank, musing on her future. She became attuned to the Vivacia, from the shuddering of her wooden body as she strained through a sudden change in course, to the peaceful sounds the wood made when the wind drove her on a steady and true course. The shouts of the sailors, the light thunder of their feet on her decks were only slightly more significant than the cries of the gulls who sometimes alighted on her. At such times it seemed to Althea that she became the ship, aware of the small men who clambered up her masts only as a great whale might be aware of the barnacles that clung upon it. There was so much more to the ship than the folk that worked her. Althea had no human words to express the fine differences she now sensed in wind and current. There was pleasure in working with a good steersman, and annoyance in the one who was always making minute and unnecessary adjustments, but it was a surface thing compared to what went on between the ship and the water. This concept that the life of a ship might be larger than what went on between her and her captain was a major revelation to Althea. In the space of a handful of nights, her whole concept of what a ship was underwent a sea-change.
Instead of an enforced confinement to her quarters, the days she spent closeted in her room became an all-involving experience. She recalled well a day when she had opened her door to find it blazing morning rather than the soft evening she had expected. The cook had been so bold as to take her by the shoulder and shake her when she had drifted off into a daydream in the galley on one of her visits for food. Later she had been annoyed by an incessant tapping at her door. When she opened it, she had found not Kyle, but Brashen standing outside it. He looked uncomfortable at questioning her but still demanded to know if all was well with her.
‘Certainly. I’m fine,’ she replied and tried to shut the door on him. He stiff-armed it ajar.
‘You don’t look fine. The cook told me you looked like you’d lost half a stone of weight and I’m inclined to agree. Althea, I don’t know what went on with Captain Kyle, but the health of the crew is still part of my duty.’
She looked at his knit brow and dark, troubled eyes and saw only an interruption. ‘I’m not part of the crew,’ she heard herself saying. ‘That is what happened between Captain Kyle and myself. And the health of a mere passenger is not your concern. Leave me be.’ She pushed at the door.
‘The health of Ephron Vestrit’s daughter is my concern, then. I dare to call him friend as well as captain. Althea. Look at yourself. You’ve not brushed your hair in days, I’d say. And several of the men have said that when they have seen you on deck, you drift like a ghost with eyes as empty as the space between the stars.’ He actually looked worried. Well he might. The slightest things could set off a crew that had endured too long under too strict a captain. A bewitched woman wandering about the decks might precipitate them into anything. Still, there was nothing she could do about it.
‘Sailors and their superstitions,’ she scoffed, but could not find much strength to put into her voice. ‘Leave it, Brashen. I’m fine.’ She pushed again at the door, and this time he let her close it in his face. She’d wager that Kyle knew nothing of that visit. She had once more arranged herself on the deck and, closing her eyes, sunk into communion with the ship. She felt Brashen standing outside the door for a few moments longer, and then sensed him hastening away, back to his proper tasks. By then Althea had already dismissed him and was considering instead the water purling past her bow as the pure wind drove her slicing forward.
Days later, the Vivacia tasted the waters of home, recognized the current that gently swept her towards Trader Bay and welcomed the sheltered waters of the bay itself. When Kyle ordered out two boats to draw the Vivarca into anchorage, Althea found herself rousing. She rose to peer out through the glass. ‘Home,’ she told herself, and ‘Father.’ She felt an answering thrum of anticipation from the Vivacia herself.
She turned away from the porthole and opened her sea-chest. In the bottom were her port clothes, items of ‘proper’ apparel to wear from the docks to her home. It was a concession both she and her father had made to her mother years ago. When Captain Vestrit walked about town, he was always resplendent in blue trousers and coat over a thick white shirt, heavy with lace. It was fitting. He was Old Trader, and a captain of note. Althea would not have minded such garb for herself, but her mother insisted that regardless of how she dressed aboard ship, in port and in town she must wear skirts. If nothing else, it set her apart from the serving folk of the town. Always her mother would add that, to look at her hair and skin and hands, no one would ever think her a lady, let alone a daughter of an Old Trader family. Yet it had not been her mother’s nagging but a quiet word from her father that had convinced her to comply. ‘Don’t shame your ship,’ he had told her quietly. That was all that was needed.
So, amidst the bustle of the crew setting the anchor and making the Vivaria ship-shape for her rest in port, Althea fetched warm water from the galley kettle and bathed herself in her stateroom. She donned her port clothes: petticoat and overskirts, blouse and vest and lacy shawl and a ridiculous lace snood to confine her hair. On top of it all went a straw hat annoyingly adorned with feathers. It was when she was sashing her skirts and lacing her vest that she realized Brashen had been right. Her clothing hung on her like a scarecrow’s rags. Her looking-glass showed dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks were almost hollow. The dove-grey of her garments and the pale blue trim made her look even more sickly. Even her hands had lost flesh, the bones of her wrist and fingers standing out. Oddly, it did not trouble her. It had been no different, she told herself, from the fasting and isolation that one might do to seek Sa’s guidance. Only instead of Sa, it had been the very spirit of the liveship that had possessed her. It had been worth it. She was almost grateful to Kyle for bringing it about. Almost.
She emerged from her room onto the deck, blinking in the bright afternoon sunlight that bounced off the placid waters. She lifted her eyes and surveyed the walls of the harbour basin. Bingtown spread out along the shore like the brightly-coloured wares in her marketplace. The smell of land drenched Althea. The Tax Docks were busy, as always. Ships coming into Bingtown had always to report there first, that the Satrap’s tax agents might inspect and tax the incoming cargos as they were unloaded. The Vivacia would have to await her turn; it looked as if the Golden were nearly ready to leave. They’d take that slip, then, as soon as it was clear.
Instinctively her eyes sought her home; she could see one corner of the white walls of the house; the rest was obscured by shade trees. She frowned for a moment at the changes she saw on the surrounding hills, but then dismissed them. Land and town had little to do with her. Her impatience and her worry about her father’s health mingled with a strange reluctance to leave the Vivacia. The captain’s gig had not yet been lowered over the side; by tradition, she would ride ashore in that. She did not relish the thought of seeing Kyle again, let alone sharing a boat ride with him. But somehow it did not seem as significant a displeasure as it would have a week or two ago. She knew now that he could never part her from the Vivacia. She was bonded to the ship; the ship herself would not tolerate being sailed without her. Kyle was an irritation in her life, but his threats no longer had any weight. Once she had spoken to her father, he would see what had happened. He’d be angry with her about what she had said of Kyle’s reasons for marrying Keffria. Recalling her own words now made even Althea wince. Her father would be angry with her and she would deserve it. But she knew
