Ship of Magic

“It's cold out. Wear your cloak. And, please, try to remember your manners tonight. Pay attention to what is said. The Rain Wild families don't ask for an audience of all the Old Traders without good cause. I have no doubt that whatever is said tonight will affect the fates of us all. And remember that the Rain Wild folk are kin to us. Don't stare, have your best manners and . . .”

“Yes, Mother.” The same lecture she had already delivered six times at least today. Did she think Malta was deaf, or stupid? Hadn't she been told ever since she was born that they were kin to the Rain Wild families? That reminded her. As they went out the door past a stern-faced Nana, Malta began, “I've heard that the Rain Wild folk have a new ware. Flame jewels. I heard that the beads are clear as raindrops, but there are small tongues of flames that dance in each one.”

Her mother did not even answer. “Thank you so much for waiting, Davad. And this is so far out of your way as well,” she was saying to the dumpy little man.

He beamed at her mother, his face shining with pleasure and grease as he helped her up into the carriage. Malta didn't say a word to him and managed to hop in before he could touch her arm. She hadn't forgotten nor forgiven him for her last carriage ride. Her mother had settled in next to her grandmother. Oh, they couldn't expect her to sit next to Trader Restart. It was just too disgusting. “May I sit in the middle?” she said, and managed to squeeze herself in between them. “Mother, about the flame jewels . . .” she began hopefully, but Trader Restart started speaking as if she weren't even there.

“All settled? Well, here we go, then. Now, I shall have to sit by the door here to hold it shut, I'm afraid. I told my man to see to having the catch repaired, but when I ordered the carriage out tonight, I found it had not been done yet. It's enough to drive one mad. What is the good of having servants if they pay no attention when you tell them to do something? It's almost enough to make a man wish for slavery here in Bingtown. A slave knows that his master's goodwill is his only hope of comfort and well-being, and it makes him pay attention to his orders.”

And on and on and on, all the way to Trader Concourse. Trader Restart talked and her mother and grandmother listened. At most they only politely differed with him even though she had heard her grandmother say a hundred times that she thought slavery would ruin Bingtown. Not that Malta agreed with her. She was sure Papa would not have become involved with it if it were not profitable. Still, she thought it was rather spineless, the way her grandmother said one thing at home, and then didn't stand up for her views with Restart. The strongest thing she said was, “Davad, I have only to imagine myself a slave to know that it is wrong.” As if that were some final argument. Malta was thoroughly bored with the whole discussion long before the carriage stopped. And she still hadn't managed to finish telling her mother about the flame jewels.

But at least they weren't the last ones to arrive. Not quite. It took every bit of self-control Malta could muster to sit still while Restart fumbled with the faulty door-catch, and then maneuvered himself out the opening. She followed right away, stepping nimbly down before he could take her hand in his moist, meaty palm. The man made her want to go and wash.

“Malta!” her mother called to her sharply as she started up the walk. She didn't even lower her voice as she said, “Wait there. We shall all go in together.”

Malta folded her lips and breathed out once through her nose. She did it on purpose: her mother enjoyed publicly speaking to her as if she were still a child. She waited for them, but when they caught up with her, she purposely lagged behind, not so far that her mother would call her, but far enough that she wasn't quite with them and Trader Restart.

The Trader Concourse was dark. Well, not entirely, but certainly not lit as it had been for the Harvest Ball. A mere two torches burned to illuminate the pathway, and the windows of the hall showed dimly through shutter cracks. That was probably because this meeting had been called by the Rain Wild families. They did not enjoy light, or so it was said. Delo said it was something about their eyes, but Malta suspected that if they all were as ugly as the one she had seen, they just didn't want everyone looking at them. Warty. That was how she had heard them described. Warty and deformed. A little shiver ran up her spine. She wondered how many of them would be here tonight.