Ship of Magic

“I do not know your ways all that well, in this regard. But to me, it did not seem . . . correct. So I asked them to wait in the sitting room.” Rache looked very uncomfortable. “I hope I have not caused an awkwardness.”

“Don't worry about it,” Ronica said crisply. “Malta invited this ‘awkwardness.’ But young Trell should have better manners as well. They are in the sitting room, you said?”

“Yes. Should I ... bring refreshments?” The two women looked at one another. In the face of this social dilemma, the lines between mistress and servant were near invisible.

“I ... yes. Thank you, Rache. You are correct. This is best handled with formality rather than scolding him like a rude boy. Even if that is how he has behaved.” Ronica bit her lower lip for a moment. “Advise Keffria of this as well, and ask her to join us. Bring refreshments and serve them. Then, wait a bit before you tell Malta she has guests waiting. She has created this, she should witness how it is dealt with.”

Rache took a breath, a soldier preparing for battle. “Very well.”

After she had left the room, Ronica lifted her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes. She glanced back at the accounting ledgers she had set aside, and shook her head. Her eyes and head ached from poring over them anyway, and she had yet to find any way to make the debts on the pages any smaller or the credits any larger. This, at least would be a distraction. An unpleasant distraction from an impossible problem. Ah, well. She patted at her hair, then straightened her spine and headed towards the sitting room. If she hesitated, she'd lose her nerve. Cerwin Trell might be young, but he was also the heir to a powerful Trader family. She needed to put him in his place, but without direct insult. It would be a fine line to tread.

At the sitting room door she paused to take a breath and set her hand to the latch.

“Mother.”

Ronica turned to see Keffria bearing down on her like a runaway horse. Small glints of anger shone in her usually docile eyes. Her lips were set in a firm line. Ronica could not recall having seen her daughter like this. She lifted a cautioning hand to her. “The Trell family is not to be offended,” she reminded her very quietly. She saw Keffria hear her words, evaluate them, and set them aside.

“Neither are the Vestrits,” she hissed in a low voice. The inflection was so like her father that it paralyzed Ronica. Keffria pushed open the door and preceded her into the room.

Cerwin looked up with a guilty start from where he perched on the edge of a divan. Even Delo looked startled. She cocked her head to peer past Keffria and Ronica.

Ronica spoke before Keffria could. “Malta will join us in a moment, Delo. I am sure your friend will be very happy to see you. And what a pleasure to have you call on us, Cerwin. It has been, oh, let's see. Why, do you know, I can't recall the last time you came to visit us.

Cerwin surged to his feet and bowed. He straightened and smiled, but not easily. “I believe my parents brought me to Keffria's wedding. Of course, that was some years back.”

“About fifteen,” Keffria observed. “You were an inquisitive little boy, as I recall. Didn't I catch you trying to grab the goldfish in the garden fountains?”

The boy was still standing. Ronica tried to recall his age. Eighteen? Nineteen? “I suppose you did. Yes, I do recall something of that. Of course, as you say, I was just a little boy then.”

“That you were,” Keffria replied before Ronica could speak. “And I would never blame a little child for seeing something bright and pretty and desiring to possess it.” She smiled at Cerwin as she added, “And here is Rache with some refreshments for us. Do sit down and be comfortable.”

Rache had brought coffee and small cakes and cream and spices on a tray. She set it up on a small table, and left the room. Keffria served them. For a time the only talk was whether or not cream and spices were preferred in the coffee. When all were served, Keffria seated herself and smiled round at their guests. Delo was sitting nervously on the edge of her seat, and she kept glancing towards the door. Ronica guessed she was hoping Malta would appear and take her out of the grown-up setting. At least, so she hoped.

Keffria immediately returned to her attack. “So. What does bring you calling here today, Cerwin?”

He met her eyes boldly, but his voice was soft as he said, “Malta invited me ... us. I had taken Delo into the market for an afternoon of shopping. We chanced to meet Malta and we all took some refreshment together. And Malta extended to us an invitation to call on her at home.”

“She did.” Keffria's tone did not question his story. Ronica hoped her dismay did not show as plainly as her daughter's. “Well. The silly child never told us to expect you. But that is how girls are, I suppose, and Malta worse so than most. Her head is full of foolish fancies, I am afraid, and they crowd out all common sense and courtesy.”