Ship of Magic

“Are you ready yet?” she nudged them. She didn't want to be the last one to get there. There would be a lot of talking tonight, a Rain Wild and Trader business discussion her mother had said. She couldn't see why her mother and grandmother found that so distressing. No doubt that would be sit-still-and-try-not-to-be-bored time. Malta wanted to arrive while there was still talking and greeting and refreshments being offered. Then maybe she could find Delo and sit with her. It was stupid that it was taking them so long to get ready. They should have each had a servant to assist with dressing hair and laying out garments and all the rest of it. Every other Trader family had such servants. But no, Grandma insisted that they could no longer afford them and Mama had agreed. And when Malta had argued they had made her sit down with a big stack of tally sticks and receipts and try to make sense of them in one of the ledger books. She had muddled the page, and Grandma made her copy it over. And then they had wanted to sit around and talk about what the numbers meant and why the numbers said they couldn't have servants anymore, only Nana and Rache. Malta would be very glad when Papa got back. She was sure there was something they were missing. It made no sense to her. How could they suddenly be poor? Nothing else had changed. Yet there they were, in robes at least two years old, dressing one another's hair and snipping at each other as they did it. “Can we go soon?” she asked again. She didn't know why they wouldn't answer.

“Does it look like we can go soon?” her mother demanded. “Malta, please try to be useful instead of driving me mad. Go and see if Trader Restart's carriage has arrived.”

“Oh, not him!” Malta protested. “Please, please tell me we are not riding with him in that smelly old carriage of his. Mother, the doors don't even stay shut or open properly. I am going to be so humiliated if we have to go with-”

“Malta, go and see if the carriage is here,” her grandmother tersely commanded her. As if her mother had not already said it.

Malta sighed and stalked off. By the time they got there, the food and drink would be gone and everyone would be seated on the council benches. If she had to go and sit through a whole council meeting, she at least wanted to be there for the fun part. As she walked down the hall, she wondered if Delo would even be there. Cerwin would. His family had been treating him like an adult for years. Maybe Delo would be there, and if she was, Malta could find a way to get permission to sit with her. It would be easy to get Delo to sit next to her brother. She hadn't seen Cerwin since the day Mother had insisted on showing him around the garden room. But that didn't mean that Cerwin was no longer interested.

At that thought, she made a quick side trip to the water closet. There was a small looking-glass there. The light was not good, but Malta still smiled at what she saw. She had swept her dark hair up from her face, braiding it and then securing it to the crown of her head. Artless tendrils danced on her forehead and brushed the tops of her cheeks. They still would allow her only flowers as adornments, but she had chosen the last tiny roses that still bloomed in the garden room. They were a deep red, with a heady sweet fragrance. Her robe for this evening was very simple, but at least it was not a little girl's frock. It was a Trader's robe, such as all the Traders wore to such meetings. Hers was a deep magenta, almost the same shade as the roses in her hair. It was traditionally the Vestrit color. Malta would have preferred a blue, but the magenta did look good on her. And at least it was new.

She'd never had a Trader's robe before. In a way, they were stuffy garments, round necklines, ankle length, belted at the waist like a monk's robe. She admired the shining black leather of her wide belt, the stylized initial that formed the buckle. She had cinched it tight, to better emphasize the swell of her hips and to pull the fabric tauter over her breasts. Papa was right. She did have a woman's shape already; why should she not have a woman's clothes and privileges? Well, it was only a matter of time before he was back, and then things would change around here. His trading would go well, he'd come home with pockets full of money, and then he would hear of how she had been mistreated and cheated of her promised gown and . . .

“Malta!” Her mother jerked the door open. “What are you doing in here? Everyone is waiting for you. Get your cloak and hurry up!”

“Is the carriage here?” she asked her mother's back as she hurried after her.

“Yes,” Mama replied with asperity. “And Trader Restart has been standing beside it waiting for us.”

“Well, why didn't he knock or ring the bell or . . .”

“He did,” her mother snapped. “But as usual, you were off in some daydream of your own.”

“Do I have to wear my cloak? We'll be in the carriage and then the hall, and my old cloak looks stupid with my new robe.”