The Rain Wild Chronicles: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Robin Hobb
Leftrin cleared the table, clattering the plates and mugs into a dish pan. ‘Shall we go, then?’ he invited her, and she responded with a nod.
They left the galley together, and he offered her his hand to disembark from the ship. As they had put out no gangplank, this required a small jump from the scow to the dock. Once she had landed safely, it seemed only natural to accept the arm that he offered her. As they strolled down the docks in the early morning light, he gestured to the boats they passed, telling her their names and a bit about each one. Tarman was the largest vessel by far. ‘And the oldest,’ he told her proudly. ‘When they built him, they didn’t spare the wizardwood. The river has eaten thousands of boats since he was launched, but Tarman takes the river, rocks and acid flows and snags, and just keeps on splitting the water.’
When they left the floating docks, it was to step from them onto a wide path of beaten earth. The ground gave strangely under her feet. ‘It’s a leather road,’ he told her. ‘It’s an old technique. Layers of tanned hides over logs, and cedar branches and bark in the thick layer over that, then more hides and finally ash and then a layer of earth over all. The rot process is slowed and the wood-and-leather layers have some buoyancy. It doesn’t last forever, but if they didn’t do something, this road would be trodden to mud in a few weeks, and soon after that water would seep up and fill it in. May not look like much but it cost Cassarick a pretty penny to make it. And here we are at the lift station. Or would you prefer the stairs?’
There at the base of an immense tree was a spiral staircase that wound up and around the tree’s trunk. She craned her head back and saw the lowest level of Cassarick above her. Beside the staircase as an alternative was a flimsy looking platform with a woven railing around it. A long woven cord with a handle dangled next to it. ‘You pull the bell pull and if the operator is at work, he sends down the counterweight to lift you up. It costs a penny or two, but it’s faster and easier than the staircase.’
‘I think I prefer the stairs,’ Alise decided. But she wasn’t even halfway up before she regretted her decision. The climb was steeper than it had looked. The captain gamely accompanied her, grunting softly with each step. When she reached the first landing and looked around her, she suddenly forgot her aching legs.
A wide platform circled the tree’s huge trunk. The vendor stalls that backed up to the trunk were just opening their canvas curtains. From the central platform around the trunk, a spider web of suspended boardwalks spread out in various directions toward other trees and the platforms that circled their trunks. Although the boardwalks had railings woven of vines, they sagged in the middle, and there were visible gaps in the planking. ‘This way to their Traders’ Hall,’ Leftrin told her and putting her hand on his arm, he guided her out onto one of the walks.
Four steps out, she felt giddy. The planks thunked musically under their feet. Leftrin didn’t bother with the flimsy rails and seemed unaware of the gentle swaying of the bridge. She glanced down, gasped at a glimpse of the earth far below her, then looked to the side and felt suddenly ill. The bridge sagged under their weight and she was stepping down the planking and certain that she was going to fall at any moment. Leftrin put his hand over hers on his arm. ‘Look ahead to the next platform,’ he told her in a low reassuring voice. ‘Get the rhythm of it, and it’s just like climbing stairs. Don’t look down and don’t worry about what isn’t there. Rain Wilders have been building these for over a hundred years now. They’re our streets. You can trust them.’
He spoke in a matter-of-fact way that wasn’t condescending. He didn’t think less of her for being afraid; he accepted it that she would naturally be apprehensive. Somehow that made it easier to take his advice. She firmed her grip on his arm and matched her stride to his, so that soon they were clomping along in rhythm. Suddenly, it was almost like a dance they were partnered in. They reached the lowest point of the bridge and then they were climbing up the gentle rise, the planks becoming a sloping ladder until they abruptly reached the next platform. She halted there to breathe, and Captain Leftrin paused with her.
‘Only three more to go,’ he told her, and although she felt a bit frightened, she didn’t feel daunted by the prospect. Challenged, she thought. Challenged, but not afraid to take up that challenge.
‘Well, let’s go then,’ she said.
She nearly lost her courage on the second bridge when they encountered a group of workmen heading in the opposite direction. She and Leftrin had to move closer to the edge to allow them passage, and the rhythm of their strides made the whole structure waggle like a friendly dog being petted. But by the third crossing, she had recovered her sensation of dancing with Leftrin. They reached their final platform with her slightly out of breath but feeling triumphant.
Cassarick had ambition. That was evident from the size of the Traders’ Hall they had built all around the trunk of the largest tree she had visited yet. The platform that supported and surrounded it served as an esplanade. It circled both Hall and tree, and four staircases wound up from it to platforms in adjacent trees. Early as it was and dim as the light was this far below the treetops, sputtering torches still lit the walkways. Their journey had led them away from the riverbank, and less light from that open area penetrated the settlement. Alise felt that she had journeyed into a twilight city of fantastic people.
She had grown up in Bingtown among the descendants of the original Trader families who had settled there. She had always known of their Rain Wilds kin and respected the bonds between Rain Wilds and Bingtown. Only here in the Rain Wilds were the magical treasures of the ancient Elderlings to be unearthed. But living in the Rain Wilds and working in the buried Elderling cities exacted a toll on the folk who settled there. Almost all Rain Wilders had some disfigurement at birth, and it increased with each year of their lives. Sometimes it was a bit of scaling on the scalp or lips, or a fringe of wattled growths along the jawline. With age might come a change in eye colour and a thickening of nails; those were typical of the sorts of things one might see on a Rain Wilder who visited Bingtown. Even Captain Leftrin had his share of marks. The skin on the backs of his hands and on the knobs of his wrist was bluish and lightly scaled. Behind his bushy eyebrows and on the back of his neck, she thought she had glimpsed more scaling. It had been easy to ignore.
Here in Cassarick as in Trehaug, the majority of the Rain Wilders went unveiled. This was their city and if folk who visited here did not respect them, such folk were swiftly encouraged to leave. She had tried not to stare at the workmen who had passed them earlier. The backs of their hands and their elbows had been heavily scaled, and the scales had not been flesh coloured, but blue or green or shocking scarlet. One man had been completely hairless, scales like fine mail over his bared scalp, and outlining his brow and replacing his lips. Another had sported a heavy fringe of fleshy growths along his jaw and some that overshadowed his eyes, thick and floppy like the comb of a rooster. She had averted her eyes from them, grateful that keeping her balance on the galloping bridge demanded all her attention.
But now she was on a solid platform and it was difficult to know where to put her gaze. This early in the day, there were not many folk about but all were unmistakably marked as Rain Wilders. Many cast curious glances her way, and she desperately told herself that it was her attire, so different from what they wore, that drew their eyes. The men had been wearing almost a uniform of heavy blue cotton shirts, thick brown canvas trousers and loose canvas jackets. The boots they wore were heavy things, still clotted with dried mud from their previous day’s work. They’d carried their lunches in canvas sacks. Thick gloves and woollen hats protruded from their trouser pockets. ‘Diggers,’ Leftrin had told her as they passed. ‘Headed off for a long day’s work underground. Cold down there, and damp, winter or summer.’
Now, as they passed a woman clad in soft leather trousers and a leather vest tufted with fur, Leftrin said, ‘She’s a climber. See how she goes barefoot for a better grip. She’ll be headed up into the canopy today, to gather fruit or hunt birds.’
Just as she nearly decided that the women of Cassarick led hard, lean lives, two chattering girls passed them going the other direction. They wore morning dresses and were perhaps going off to call on a friend or to visit the early markets. Their flounced skirts were shorter than those currently worn in Bingtown, and showed off their soft brown shoes. They wore lacy little shawls