Ship of Magic. Robin Hobb
died. Vivacia was not the cause of their deaths, but rather the sum total of their legacies. In her, they lived on. Something inside her eased a bit. She leaned over the side, trying to think of something coherent and welcoming to say to this new being. ‘My father would have been very proud of you,’ she managed at last.
The simple words woke her grief again. She wanted to put her head down on her arms and sob, but would not allow herself to, lest she alarm the ship.
‘He would have been proud of you, also. He knew this would be difficult for you.’
The ship’s voice had changed. In moments, it had gone from high and girlish to the rich, throaty voice of a grown woman. When Althea looked down into her face, she saw more understanding than she could bear. This time she did not try to stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks. ‘I just don’t understand it,’ she said brokenly to the ship. Then she swung her gaze back to her family, who like her lined the railing and looked down at Vivacia’s face.
‘I don’t understand it,’ she said more loudly, although her thickened voice was not more clear. ‘Why did he do this? Why, after all the years, did he give Vivacia to Keffria and leave me with nothing?’
She spoke her words to her mother’s stern anguish, but it was Kyle who dared to speak. ‘Maybe he wanted her to be in responsible hands. Maybe he wanted to entrust her to someone who had shown he could be reliable and steady and care for someone besides himself.’
‘I’m not talking to you!’ Althea shrieked at him. ‘Can’t you just shut up?’ She knew she sounded childish and hysterical and she hated it. But there had just been too much to take today. She had no control left. If he spoke to her again, she would fly at him and claw him to shreds.
‘Be quiet, Kyle,’ her mother bade him firmly. ‘Althea. Compose yourself. This is neither the time nor the place. We will discuss this later, at home, in private. In fact, I need to discuss it with you. I want you to understand your father’s intentions. But for now there is his body to dispose of, and the formal presentation of the ship. The Traders and other liveships must be notified of his death, and boats hired to bring them out to witness his burial at sea. And… Althea? Althea, come back here, right now!’
She had not realized she was striding away until she came to the gangplank and started down it. Somehow she had marched right past her father’s body and not even seen it. She did then what she would regret the rest of her life. She walked away from Vivacia. She did not accompany her on her maiden voyage to witness the sinking of her father’s body in the waters beyond the harbour. She did not think she could stand to watch his feet bound to the spare anchor and his body swathed in canvas before it was tilted over the side. Ever after, she would wish she had been there, to bid him farewell one final time.
But at that moment, she only knew she could not abide the sight of Kyle for one more moment, let alone her mother’s reasonable tones as she spoke horrible words. She did not look back to see the dismay on the faces of the crew nor how Keffria clung to Kyle’s arm to keep him from charging after her to drag her back. At that moment, she knew she could not bear to see Vivacia untied from the dock with Kyle in command of her. She hoped the ship would understand. No. She knew the ship would understand. She had always hated the thought of Kyle commanding the family ship. Now that Vivacia was quickened and aware, she hated it even more. It was worse than leaving a child in the control of a person you despised, but she also knew there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. At least not now.
The ship’s agent had a tiny office right on the docks. He had been somewhat taken aback to find Brashen leaning on his counter, his sea-bag slung over one shoulder.
‘Yes?’ he asked in his polished, businesslike way.
Brashen thought to himself that the man reminded him of a well-educated chipmunk. It was something about the way his beard whiskered his cheeks, and how he sat up so suddenly straight in his chair before he spoke. ‘I’ve come for my pay,’ he said quietly.
The man turned to a shelf, considered several books there before taking down a fat ledger. ‘I’d heard that Captain Vestrit had been brought down to his ship,’ he observed carefully as he opened the book flat and ran his finger down a line of names. He looked up and met Brashen’s eyes. ‘You’ve been with him for a long time. I’d think you’d want to stay with him to the end.’
‘I did,’ Brashen said briefly. ‘My captain is dead. The Vivacia is Captain Haven’s ship now, and we’ve little liking for one another. I’ve been cashiered.’ He found he could keep his voice as low and pleasant as the chipmunk’s.
The agent looked up with a frown. ‘But surely his daughter will take it over now? For years, he’s been grooming her. The younger one, Althea Vestrit?’
Brashen gave a brief snort. ‘You’re not the only one surprised that isn’t to be so. Including Mistress Vestrit herself, to her shock and grief.’ Then, feeling abruptly that he had said too much about another’s pain, he added, ‘I’ve just come for my pay, sir, not to gossip about my betters. Please pay no mind to an angry man’s words.’
‘Well said, and I shall not,’ the agent assured him. He straightened from a money box to set three short stacks of coins on the counter before Brashen. Brashen looked at it. It was substantially less than what he’d pulled down when he was first mate under Captain Vestrit. Well, that was how it was.
He suddenly realized there was one other thing he should ask for. ‘I’ll need a ship’s ticket, too,’ he added slowly. He’d never thought he’d have to ask for one from the Vivacia. In fact, several years ago, he had thrown away his old ones, convinced he’d never again have to show anyone proof of his capability. Now he wished he’d kept them. They were simple things, tags of leather embossed with the ship’s stamp and scored with the sailor’s name and sometimes his position, to show he’d satisfactorily performed his duties. A handful of ship’s tickets would have made it a lot easier to get another position. But even one from a liveship would carry substantial weight in Bingtown.
‘You have to get that from the captain or mate,’ the ship’s agent pointed out.
‘Hmph. Small chance of that.’ Brashen abruptly felt robbed. All his years of good service to the ship, and these stacks of coins were all he had to show for them.
The agent cleared his throat suddenly. ‘It’s well known to me, at least, that Captain Vestrit thought highly of you and your work. If you need a recommendation, feel free to refer them to this office. Nyle Hashett. I’ll see they get an honest word from me.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Brashen said humbly. It was not a ship’s ticket, but it was something. He took a moment to stow the coins — a few in his purse, some in his boot and the rest in the kerchief bound tight to his neck. No sense in letting one pickpocket have them all. Then he shouldered his sea-bag with a grunt and left the office. He had a mental list of what he needed to do. First, find a room at a cheap rooming house. Before this, he’d lived aboard the Vivacia even when she was in port. Now everything he owned was in the bag on his back. Next he’d go to a banker. Captain Vestrit had urged him, often enough, to set aside a few coins each trip. He’d never got around to it. When he’d sailed with Vestrit, his future had seemed assured. Now he abruptly wished he’d taken that advice much sooner. Well, he’d start now, as he could not start sooner, and remember this hard lesson well.
And then? Well, then he’d allow himself one good night in port before he set himself to looking for a new berth. Some fresh meat and new baked bread, and a night of beer and good companionship at the harbour taverns. Sa knew he’d earned a bit of pleasure for himself on this voyage. He intended to take this night and enjoy it. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about the rest of his life. He felt a moment’s shame at anticipating pleasure while his captain lay dead. But Kyle would never allow him back aboard to pay his last respects. The best he could do for Captain Vestrit’s memory was not to be yet another discordant element at his funeral. Let him go to the bottom from a peaceful deck. Tonight Brashen would drink to his memory with every mug he raised. Let that be his own private tribute to the man. Resolutely he turned towards town.