Ship of Magic

Malta looked from one solemn face to the other. Both her mother and grandmother were watching her intently. Her eyes widened in surprise. “How could it be? Are you certain?”

Her mother spoke quietly. “I am very certain.”

Malta came the rest of the way into the room and took her place at the breakfast table. She lifted the cover from the dish in front of her. “Not porridge again? We can't possibly be this poor! How could the box be missing?”

She looked up to meet their eyes again. Her grandmother's glance was narrowed as she said, “I thought perhaps you might know.”

“Mother had it last. She didn't give it to me, she barely let me touch it,” Malta pointed out. “Is there any fruit or preserves to go on this stuff?”

“No. There is not. If we are to pay our debts in a timely fashion, we are going to have to live simply for a while. You have been told that.”

Malta heaved a sigh. “I'm sorry,” she said contritely. “Sometimes I forget. I hope Papa gets home soon. I'll be so glad when things are as they are supposed to be again.” She looked up at her mother and grandmother again and essayed a smile. “Until then, I suppose we should just be thankful for what we have.” She sat up straight, put an agreeable look on her face, and spooned up some of the porridge.

“So. You have no thoughts on the missing dream-box?” her grandmother pressed.

Malta shook her head and swallowed. “No. Unless . . . did you ask the servants if they moved it when they tidied? Nana or Rache might know something.”

“I put it away. It was not left out where it might be moved by chance. Someone had to come inside my room, search for it, and then remove it.”

“Is anything else missing?” Malta asked quickly.

“Nothing.”

Malta ate another spoonful of porridge thoughtfully. “Could it have just . . . disappeared?” she asked with a half-smile. “I know, maybe that is silly. But one hears such extravagant tales of the goods of the Rain Wild. After a time, one almost begins to believe anything is possible.”

“No. It would not have disappeared,” her grandmother said slowly. “Even if it had been opened, it would not disappear.”

“How do you know so much about dream-boxes?” Malta asked curiously. She poured herself a cup of tea and sweetened it well with honey as she waited for a reply.

“A friend of mine was given one once. She opened the box and dreamed the dream. And she accepted the young man's suit. But he died before they were wed. I believe she married his brother a few years later.”

“Ick,” observed Malta. She took another spoonful of porridge and added, “I can't imagine marrying a Rain Wilder. Even if they are supposed to be our kin, and all. Can you imagine kissing someone who was all warty? Or having breakfast with him in the morning?”

“There is more to men than how they look,” her grandmother observed coldly. “When you realize that, I may start treating you as a woman.” She turned her disapproving stare on her own daughter now. “Well. What are we going to do?”

Malta's mother shook her head. “What can we do? Explain, most politely, that somehow the gift was lost before we could return it. But that we still cannot consider the suit, as Malta is far too young.

“We can't possibly tell them we lost his gift!” her grandmother exclaimed.

“Then what can we do? Lie? Say we are keeping it but refusing the suit anyway? Pretend we never got it and ignore the situation?” Keffria's voice was getting more and more sarcastic with each suggestion she made. “We'd only end up looking more foolish. As it was my fault, I shall write the letter, and I shall take the blame. I shall write that I had put it in a place I deemed safe, but it was gone in the morning. I shall offer most sincere apologies and reparation. But I shall also refuse the suit, and most tactfully point out that such a gift so early in a courting is scarcely appropriate. ...”

“By Rain Wild standards, it is,” Grandmother disagreed. “Especially for the Khuprus family. Their wealth is legendary. The boy probably considered it little more than a trinket.”

“Mm. Maybe we should marry Malta off to him, then,” her mother offered facetiously. “We could certainly use a wealthy relative these days.”

“Mother!” Malta exclaimed in irritation. She hated it when her mother said things like that.

“It was a joke, Malta. Don't fly into a fit about it.” Keffria stood up from the table. “Well. This is not going to be an easy letter to compose, and I have little time if I am to get it to the Kendry before she sails. I had best get busy.”

“Assure them that if we find the box, it will be returned,” her grandmother suggested.

“Of course. And I do intend to search my room again. But I'd best get this letter written if I am to have anything to send with the Kendry when she sails.” Malta's mother hastened out of the room.

Malta scooped up the last spoonful of porridge from her bowl, but she was not quite fast enough.