The Complete Liveship Traders Trilogy: Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, Ship of Destiny

But in the depths of his soul, Sorcor was a more cautious sort than Kennit had given him credit. His dark eyes came back to lock gazes with Kennit’s pale ones. ‘You speak well. And I cannot think of a reason not to say yes. But I know that does not mean there isn’t a reason.’ He put his elbows on the table and leaned on his arms heavily. ‘Speak plainly. What must we do to bring these things about?’

‘Dare,’ said Kennit briefly. The licking flame of triumph he felt would not let him sit still. He had the man, even if Sorcor himself did not know it yet. He rose to pace the small cabin, wine glass in his hand. ‘First, we capture their imaginations and their admiration by what we dare to do. We amass wealth, yes, but we do it as no one has before. Look you, Sorcor. I need not show you a chart. All trade that comes from Jamaillia and the Southlands must pass us before it can reach Bingtown, or Chalced and the lands beyond. This is so?’

‘Of course.’ The mate’s brow furrowed in his effort to see where this obvious fact might lead. ‘A ship can’t get from Jamaillia to Bingtown, save that they pass the Pirate Isles. Unless they’re fool enough to go Outside and dare the Wild Sea.’

Kennit nodded agreement. ‘So ships and captains have but two choices. They can take the Outside Passage, where storms off the Wild Sea are fiercest and serpents thickest and the way is longest. Or they can risk the Inside Passage, with the tricky channels and currents and us pirates. Correct?’

‘Serpents, too,’ Sorcor insisted on pointing out. ‘Almost as many serpents haunt the Inside Passage as the Outside now.’

‘True. That’s true. Serpents, too,’ Kennit acceded easily. ‘Now. Imagine yourself a merchant skipper facing that choice. And a man comes to you and says, “Sir, for a fee, I can see you safely through the Inside Passage. I’ve a pilot who knows the channels and the currents like the back of his hand, and not a pirate will molest you on your way.” What would you say?’

‘What about the serpents?’ Sorcor demanded.

‘“And the serpents are no worse within the sheltered water of the passage than without, and a ship stands a better chance within them than if she’s on the Outside, battling both serpents and storms at once. And perhaps we’ll even have an escort ship for you, one full of skilled archers and laden with Baley’s Fire, and if serpents attack you, the escort will take them on while you escape.” What would you say, merchant skipper?’

Sorcor narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘I’d say, how much is this going to cost me?’

‘Exactly. And I’d name a fat price, but you’d be willing to pay it. Because you’d just add that fat price to your goods at the end of your run. Because you’d know you’d get through safe to sell those goods. Paying a fat price for that assurance is much better than sailing free and taking a big chance you’ll lose it all.’

‘Wouldn’t work,’ Sorcor declared.

‘Why not?’

‘Because the other pirates would kill you if you gave out the secret ways of our channels. Or they’d let you lead a fat ship in like a lamb to the slaughter, and then they’d fall on you both. Why should they sit back and let you have all the money?’

‘Because they’d get a cut of it, one and all. Every ship that came through would have to pay into a treasury and everyone would get a cut of that treasury. Plus, we’d make them promise that there’d be no more raids against us or our towns. Our folk could sleep peaceful at night, knowing that their daddies and brothers would be coming home safe to them, and that there’d be no Satrap’s boats coming to burn their towns and take them as slaves.’ He paused. ‘Look at us now. We waste our lives chasing their ships. When we do catch one, then it’s bloodshed and mayhem, and sometimes for naught. Sometimes the whole ship goes down, cargo and all, or sometimes we battle for hours and what do we get? A hold full of cheap cotton or some such rubbish. Meanwhile, the Satrap’s ships and soldiers are putting into our villages and towns, and rounding up everyone who doesn’t flee to be carted off as slaves, in revenge for our pirating. Now look at it my way. Instead of risking our lives to attack every tenth ship that comes through, and perhaps come up with nothing, we’d get a cut of every cargo on every ship that passed through our waters. We’d control it all. At no risk to our lives save what any sailor must face. Meanwhile, our homes and families are safe. The riches we garner, we keep to enjoy.’

An idea dawned slowly in Sorcor’s eyes. ‘And we’d say no slavers. We could cut the slave-trade’s throat. No slave-ships, no slavers could use the Inland Passage.’

Kennit knew a moment’s dismay. ‘But the fattest trade to be fleeced is the slave-trade ships. They’d be the ones that would pay the most to get through fast and easy, with their cargo alive and healthy still. What percentage of their wares do they get through…’

‘Men,’ Sorcor interrupted harshly. ‘Women and kiddies. Not wares. If you’d ever been inside one of those ships… and I don’t mean on the deck, I mean inside, chained up in a hold… you wouldn’t say “wares”. No. No slavers, Kennit. Slavers made us what we are. If we’re going to change that, then we start by doing to them what they done to us. We take their lives away. Besides. It’s not just that they’re evil. They bring the serpents. The stink of slave-ships is what lured the serpents into our channels in the first place. We get rid of the slave-ships, maybe the serpents will go, too. Hells, Cap’n, they lure the serpents right into our islands and ways, chumming them along with dead slaves. And they bring disease. They breed sickness in those holds full of poor wretches, sickness we never knew or had before. Every time a slave-ship ties up to take on water, they leave disease in their wake. No. No slavers.’

‘All right then,’ Kennit agreed mildly. ‘No slavers.’ He’d never suspected Sorcor had an idea in his skull, let alone that he’d felt so passionately about something. A miscalculation. He looked anew at his first mate. The man might have to be discarded. Not just yet, and perhaps not for some time. But at some point in the future, he might outlive his usefulness. Kennit decided he must keep that in mind, and make no long-range plans based on Sorcor’s skills. He smiled at him. ‘You are right, of course. I am sure there are many of our folk who will agree with you, and can be won over to us with such an idea.’ He nodded again as if considering it. ‘Yes. No slavers, then. But all of this, of course, is a way down the wind. Were we to voice such ideas now, no one would listen to us. They’d say that what we suggested was impossible. Or every man would want to try it for himself, competing with every other. It would be ship against ship. We don’t want that. So we must keep this idea quiet and private between us, until we’ve got every pirate in the islands looking up to us and ready to believe what we tell them.’

‘That’s likely so,’ Sorcor agreed after a moment’s pondering. ‘So. How do we get them to listen to us?’

Finally. The question he had been leading him to ask. Kennit came swiftly back to the table. He forced himself to pause for the drama of the moment. He set his own glass down, and uncorked the bottle. He topped up Sorcor’s wine, and added a dollop to his own nearly-full glass. ‘We make them believe we can do the impossible. By doing things all others deem impossible. Such as, say, capturing a liveship and using it as our main vessel.’

Sorcor scowled at him. ‘Kennit, old friend, that’s crazy. No wooden ship can capture a liveship. They’re too fleet. I’ve heard tell that the ship herself can scent a passage through a channel, and cry it to her steersman. And that they can feel the luff of the wind, and catch and use a breath of air that wouldn’t budge another ship. Besides, even if we did fall upon one and manage to kill off her crew, the ship itself would be no good to us. They’ll only sail for their own family members. Any one else, they turn on. The ship would run herself aground, or onto the rocks, or just turn turtle on us. Look at that death-ship, what was his name? The one that went mad and turned on his own family and crew? He rolled and took all hands with him. Not once, but three times, or so I’ve heard. And the last time they found him, he was floating upside-down in the mouth of Bingtown harbour itself. Some say the ghost crew brought him home, others that he came back to show them Traders what he’d done. They dragged him out and beached him, and there he’s been ever since. Pariah. That was his name. The Pariah.’

‘The Paragon,’ Kennit corrected him with wry amusement. ‘His name was the Paragon, though even his own family have taken to calling him the Pariah. Yes, I’ve heard all the old myths and legends about liveships, Sorcor. But that’s what they are. Myths and legends. I believe a liveship could be taken and could be used. And if the heart of the ship could be won over, you’d have a vessel for piracy that no other ship could stand against. It’s true, what you say about the currents and winds and liveships. True, also, that they can sense a serpent long before a man can spot him, and cry it out to the archers to be ready. A liveship would be the perfect vessel for piracy. And for charting out new passages through the Pirate Isles, or battling serpents. I’m not saying we should forsake all else and go hunting a liveship. I’m just saying that if one comes our way, instead of saying there’s no use in pursuing it, let’s give it a chase. If we win it, we win it. If not, well, plenty of other ships get away from us. We’ll have lost no more than we had before.’

‘Why a liveship?’ Sorcor asked bewilderedly. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘I… want one. That’s why.’

‘Well then. I’ll tell you what I want.’ For some odd reason, Sorcor thought they were striking a bargain. ‘I’ll go along with it,’ he conceded grudgingly. ‘We’ll chase liveships when we see them, though I don’t see much use to it. Not that I’ll admit that to the men. In front of the men, I’ll be as hot to go after them as a hound on a scent. But you make me this balance. For every liveship we chase, we go after the next slaver we smell. And we board them, and throw the crew to the serpents, and see the slaves safe back to a town. No offence to your judgement, Cap’n, but I think that if we stop enough slavers and do away with the crews, we’ll gain the respect of the others a lot faster than by capturing a liveship.’

Kennit did not mask his scowl. ‘I think you overestimate the righteousness and morality of our fellows here in Divvytown. I think they’d be as likely to think us soft-headed fools to waste our time pursuing slavers only to free the cargo.’

Perhaps the fine wine had gone to Sorcor’s head faster than a lesser vintage would have. Or perhaps Kennit had unwittingly found the man’s one nerve. His deep voice was deadly soft as he pointed out, ‘You only think so because you’ve never been chained hand and foot in a stinking hold when you’re scarcely more than a lad. You’ve never had your head gripped in a vice to still you while a tattooist jabs your new master’s mark into your face.’ The man’s eyes glittered, turned inward towards a darkness only his sight could pierce. He drew a slow breath. ‘And then they put me to work in a tanner’s pit, curing hides. They cared nothing for what it did to my own hide. I saw older men there coughing blood from their lungs. No one cared, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was one of them. One night I killed two men and got away. But where was I to go? North where it’s all ice and snow and barbarians? Back south to where my tattoo would mark me as an escaped slave, easy money for anyone who wanted to club me down and return me to my owner? Or should I make for the Cursed Shores, and live like an animal until some demon drained my blood? No. The only thing left to a man like me was the Pirate Isles and a pirate’s life. But it’s not what I would have chosen, Kennit, given the chance to choose. There’s damned few here would have chosen this.’ His voice wandered off as did his eyes. He stared past Kennit into the dim corner of the room, seeing nothing for a time. Then his gaze snapped suddenly back to Kennit’s. ‘For every liveship we chase, we run down a slaver. That’s all I’m asking. I give you a shot at your dream, you allow me one at mine.

‘Fair enough,’ Kennit declared brusquely. He knew when the final bargain had been set out on a table. ‘Fair enough then. For every liveship, a slaver.’

A coldness welled up in Wintrow. It had filled his belly first and now it flowed out through him. He literally shook with it. He hated how it made his voice waver, as if he were a child on the brink of crying when all he was trying to do was present his case rationally and calmly, as he had been trained. As he had been taught in his beloved monastery. The memory of the cool stone halls where peace flowed with the wind rose up unbidden. He tried to take strength from it. Instead it only unmanned him more. He was not there, he was here, in the family’s dining hall. The low table of golden oak polished until it shone, the cushioned benches and lounges that surrounded the table, the panelled walls and the paintings of ships and ancestors all reminded him that he was here, in Bingtown. He cleared his throat and tried to steady his voice as he looked from his mother to his father to his grandmother. They were all seated at the same table, but they were grouped at one end of it, like a panel about to pass judgement on him. As perhaps they were. He took a breath.

‘When you sent me off to be a priest, it was not my choice.’ Again he looked from face to face, trying to find some memory in them of that devastating day. ‘We stood in this very room. I clung to you, Mother, and promised I’d be good for ever, if only you wouldn’t send me away. But you told me I had to go. You told me that I was a first-born son, dedicated to Sa from the moment that I drew breath. You said you couldn’t break your promise to Sa, and you gave me over to the wandering priest to take me to the monastery at Kall. Don’t you remember at all? You stood there, Father, over by that window, on a day so bright that when I looked at you, all I could see was a black shadow against the sunlight. You said not a word that day. Grandmother, you told me to be brave, and gave me a little bundle with a few cakes from the kitchen to keep me on my way.’

Again he looked from face to face, seeking some discomfort with what they were doing to him, some trace of guilt that would indicate they knew they were wronging him. His mother was the only one to show any signs of uneasiness. He kept trying to catch her eye, to make her speak her thoughts, but her gaze slid away from him to his father. The man looked as if he were carved of stone.

‘I did what you told me to do,’ he said simply. The words sounded weak, whiny. ‘I left here and went off with a stranger. The way to the monastery was hard, and when I got there, everything was foreign. But I stayed and I tried. And after a time, it came to be my home, and I realized how correct your decision for me had been.’ Memories of his first taste of priestly life were bittersweet; the strangeness and then the Tightness of it all washed over him yet again. Tears pricked at his eyes as he said, ‘I love serving Sa. I have learned so much, grown so much, in ways I cannot even express to you. And I know that I’m only at the beginning, that it is all just starting to unfold for me. It’s like…’ He fumbled for a metaphor. ‘When I was younger, it was as if life was a beautiful gift, wrapped in exquisite paper and adorned with ribbons. And I loved it, even though all I knew of it was the outside of the package. But in the last year or so, I’ve finally started to see there is something even better, inside the package. I’m learning to see past the fancy wrappings, to the heart of things. I’m right on the edge. I can’t stop now.’

‘It was wrong,’ his father conceded suddenly. But even as Wintrow’s heart started to soar with relief, the sea-captain went on. ‘All those years ago, I knew it was wrong to send you away. I stood there and I kept my mouth shut and I let your mother have her way, because it seemed so important to her. And small as Selden was, he was a brave little fellow, and I knew I’d have a son to follow after me.’

He rose from his seat at the table and crossed the room, to stare out the window as he had on that morning years ago. Kyle Haven shook his head at himself. ‘But I should have followed my instincts. I knew it was a bad decision, and so it has proved. The time has come when I, when this family, needs a young son to rise up and take his place on the family ship, and we are not prepared. Selden is still too young. Two years from now, even one perhaps, and I’d take him as a ship’s boy.’ He turned back to face the room. ‘We brought this on ourselves, all of us. And so all of us will have to endure, without complaining, the pain of correcting that mistake. It means that you women will have to manage on your own here for yet another year. Somehow our creditors must be made to wait, and you must do whatever it takes to wring a profit out of our holdings. Those that cannot be made profitable must be sold to shore up those that can. It means another year of sailing for me, and a hard year, for we will have to sail fast and traffic in that which is most profitable. And for you, Wintrow, it means a single year in which I must teach you all you should have learned in the last three, a single year for you to learn the ways of a man and a sailor.’ He paced the room as he spoke, ticking off orders and goals on his fingers. Wintrow suddenly knew that this was how he spoke to his mate on board ship, lining out tasks to be done. This was Captain Haven, accustomed to unquestioning obedience and he was sure to be astonished by what was about to happen.

Wintrow stood, pushing his chair back carefully. ‘I am going back to the monastery. I have little to pack, and all I can do here I have done. I shall be leaving today.’ He looked around the table. ‘I promised Vivacia when I left her this morning that someone would come down to spend the rest of the day with her. I suggest you wake Althea and ask her to go.’

His father’s face reddened with instant rage. ‘Sit down and stop talking nonsense,’ he barked. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. That’ll be your first lesson to learn.’

Wintrow thought the beating of his heart was making his whole body shake. Was he afraid of his own father? Yes. It took all the defiance he could muster to remain standing. He had nothing left to speak with. Yet even as he met his father’s glare and did not look away, even as he stood still and silent as the furious man advanced on him, a cool and particular part of himself observed, ‘yes, but it’s only physical fear of physical things’. The notion caught up his whole mind in its web, so he paid no attention to his mother crying out and then shrieking, ‘Oh, Kyle, no, please, please don’t, just talk to him, persuade him, don’t, oh, please don’t!’ and his grandmother’s voice raised in command, a fierce shout of, ‘This is my home and you will not…’

Then the fist hit the side of his face, making a tremendous crack as it impacted. So fast and so slowly he went down, amazed or ashamed that he had neither lifted a hand to defend himself nor fled, and all the time somewhere a philosophical priest was saying, ‘physical fear, ah, I see, but is there another kind, and what would have to be done to me to make me feel it?’ Then the flagstone floor struck him, hard and cool despite the dawning heat of the day. Losing consciousness felt like he was sinking down into the floor, becoming one with it as he had with the ship, save that the floor thought only of darkness. So did Wintrow.

10 CONFRONTATIONS

‘KYLE, I WILL NOT HAVE IT!’

Her mother’s voice echoed clearly down the stone-flagged hall. The strident ring of it made Althea want to hurry her headache off in the other direction, even as the mention of Kyle’s name made her want to charge into battle. Caution, she counselled herself. The first thing to do was to find out what kind of weather she was sailing into. She slowed her step as she made her way down the hall to the dining room.

‘He’s my son. I’ll discipline him as I see fit. It may seem harsh right now, but the faster he learns to mind, and mind quickly, the easier it will go for him on the ship. He’ll come round, and you’ll find he’s not much hurt. More shocked than anything else, most likely.’

Even Althea could hear the vague note of anxiety in Kyle’s voice. That muffled sound, she decided, was her sister weeping. What had he done to little Selden? A terrible dread rose up in her, a desire to flee this messy domestic life and go back to… what? The ship? That was no escape any longer. She halted where she stood, until the dizzying misery could pass.

‘That was not discipline. It’s brawling, and it has no place in my home. Last night, I was willing to make some allowances for you. It had been a horrible day already, and Althea’s appearance was shocking. But this, inside my own walls, between blood-kin … no. Wintrow’s not a child any more, Kyle. Even if he were, a spanking would not have been the answer. He was not throwing a temper-tantrum, he was trying to make you see his side of things. One doesn’t spank a child for courteously voicing an opinion. Nor does one strike a man for it.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Kyle said flatly. ‘In a few days he’s going to be living aboard a ship, where opinions don’t matter unless they’re mine. He won’t have time to disagree. He won’t even have time to think. On a ship, a hand obeys, at that instant. Wintrow’s just had his first lesson in what happens if he doesn’t.’ In a quieter voice he added, ‘It just may save my son’s life some day.’

Althea heard the scuff of his boots as he walked. ‘Come, get up, Keffria. He’ll come around in a few minutes, and when he does, I don’t want you fussing over him. Don’t encourage him in behaviour I won’t tolerate. If he thinks we’re divided on this, he’ll only fight it the more. And the more he fights it, the more times he’s going to meet the floor.’

‘I hate this,’ Keffria said in a small dull voice. ‘Why does it have to be this way? Why?’

‘It doesn’t,’ her mother said flatly. ‘And it won’t. I tell you this plainly, Kyle Haven, I won’t tolerate it. This family has never treated one another so, and we are not going to start on the day after Ephron’s death. Not in my home.’ Ronica Vestrit left no room for disagreement.

It was the wrong tone to take with Kyle. Althea could have told her that. Setting herself up directly against him would only bring out the worst in him. It did.

‘Fine. As soon as he comes round, I’ll take him down to the ship. He can learn his manners there. Actually, that’s probably for the best anyway. If he learns a bit of the ship in port, he won’t have to scramble so hard when we’re under weigh. And I won’t have to listen to women argue with every order I give him.’

‘Aboard my ship or in my home,’ her mother began, but Kyle cut across her words with words of his own that made Althea both cold and hot with anger.

‘Keffria’s ship. And mine, as I am her husband. What happens aboard the Vivacia is no longer your affair, Ronica. For that matter, I believe by Bingtown laws of inheritance, this house is now hers as well. To run as we see fit.’

There was a terrible silence. When Kyle spoke again, there was an offer of apology in his voice. ‘At least, it could be that way. To the detriment of all of us. I don’t propose a splitting of our ways, Ronica. Obviously the family will prosper best if we work together, from a common home towards a common goal. But I cannot do that with my hands tied. You must see it is so. You’ve done very well, for a woman, all these years. But times are changing, and Ephron should not have left you to cope with everything on your own. As much as I respected the man… perhaps because I respected the man, I must learn from his mistakes. I’m not going to just sail off into the sunset and tell Keffria to mind things and manage until I return. I have to make provisions now to be able to stay home and run things. Nor am I going to let Wintrow come aboard the Vivacia and behave like some spoiled prince. You’ve seen what became of Althea; she’s wilful and thoughtless of others to the point of uselessness. No, worse, to the point of doing damage to the family name and reputation. I’ll tell you bluntly, I don’t know if you two can draw the lines with her that need to be drawn. Perhaps the simplest thing to do with her would be to marry her off, preferably to a man who does not live in Bingtown…’