Ship of Magic

Kyle swung, and Brashen evaded it easily. The one swing was all he needed to gauge the man. Captain Haven was slow. And he overstepped his balance. And while the man was bigger, and had a longer reach and might even be stronger, Brashen knew he could take him, and without too much difficulty.

In his brief moment of wondering if he’d have to fight him a woman’s voice sounded from the door. ‘Kyle! Brashen!’ Despite the age and grief in her voice, or perhaps because of it, Ronica Vestrit sounded as if she were a mother rebuking two unruly children. ‘Stop this! Stop this right now!’ The old woman, her hair braided back for sleep, clung to the door frame. ‘What is going on? I demand to know what is happening here.’

‘This son of a pig—’ Kyle began, but Althea’s low, even voice cut through his outrage. Her voice was hoarse from weeping, but other than that it was very controlled.

‘I was distraught. I had too much to drink. I ran into Brashen Trell in a tavern and he insisted on seeing me home. And that is all that happened or was going to happen, before Kyle stormed out here and began calling people names.’ Althea lifted her head suddenly and glared at Kyle, daring him to contradict her.

‘That’s true,’ Brashen added just as Kyle complained, ‘But look at her, just look at her!’

He never could decide who Ronica Vestrit believed. Something of the steel she was known for showed in her as she simply said, ‘Kyle and Althea. Go to bed. Brashen, go home. I’m too tired and heartsick to deal with any of this just now.’ When Kyle opened his mouth to protest she added compromisingly, ‘Tomorrow is soon enough, Kyle. If we wake the servants, they’ll tattle this scandal all through the market. I don’t doubt that more than one is listening at a door right now. So let’s put an end to this now. Keep family business inside the walls. That was what Ephron always said.’ She turned to face Brashen. ‘Good night, young man,’ she dismissed him, and he was only too happy to flee. He did not even say goodbye or goodnight, but walked briskly away into the night. When he heard the heavy door shut firmly, he felt it had closed on a chapter of his life.

He strode back toward the harbour basin and Bingtown proper. As he wended his way down, he heard the first cautious calls of the dawn birds. He lifted his eyes to the east, to a horizon that was starting to be tinged with light, and felt suddenly weary. He thought of the cramped bunk awaiting him on Vivacia, and suddenly realized the truth of the day. No bunk awaited him anywhere. He considered paying for a room at an inn, somewhere with soft beds and clean quilts and warm wash-water in the mornings. He made a face between a snarl and a grin. That would deplete his coin rapidly. Maybe tonight, when he could take a full night’s advantage of the bed, he’d pay for one. But the most sleep he was going to get this morning was a few hours before the light and noise and heat of the day had him up again. He wouldn’t spend coin for a bed he’d hardly use.

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