Ship of Magic

“Thank you, sir,” Brashen said humbly. It was not a ship's ticket, but it was something. He took a moment to stow the coins—a few in his purse, some in his boot and the rest in the kerchief bound tight to his neck. No sense in letting one pickpocket have them all. Then he shouldered his sea-bag with a grunt and left the office. He had a mental list of what he needed to do. First, find a room at a cheap rooming house. Before this, he'd lived aboard the Vivacia even when she was in port. Now everything he owned was in the bag on his back. Next he'd go to a banker. Captain Vestrit had urged him, often enough, to set aside a few coins each trip. He'd never got around to it. When he'd sailed with Vestrit, his future had seemed assured. Now he abruptly wished he'd taken that advice much sooner. Well, he'd start now, as he could not start sooner, and remember this hard lesson well.

And then? Well, then he'd allow himself one good night in port before he set himself to looking for a new berth. Some fresh meat and new baked bread, and a night of beer and good companionship at the harbor taverns. Sa knew he'd earned a bit of pleasure for himself on this voyage. He intended to take this night and enjoy it. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about the rest of his life. He felt a moment's shame at anticipating pleasure while his captain lay dead. But Kyle would never allow him back aboard to pay his last respects. The best he could do for Captain Vestrit's memory was not to be yet another discordant element at his funeral. Let him go to the bottom from a peaceful deck. Tonight Brashen would drink to his memory with every mug he raised. Let that be his own private tribute to the man. Resolutely he turned towards town.

But as he stepped out of the shady offices of the ship's agent, he spotted Althea storming down the gangplank. He watched her come down the docks, striding along so that her skirts trailed out behind her like shredded sails in a gale. Her face was tear-streaked, her hair disheveled and her eyes hot-black with an anger that was almost frightening. Heads turned to watch her go by. Brashen groaned to himself, then settled his sea-bag more firmly on his shoulder. He'd promised he'd watch over her. With a heartfelt sigh, he followed her.

Chapter Seven Loyalties

It took the rest of the day to bury his grandfather. runners were sent throughout the town to advise friends and neighbors, and his death services were cried aloud in the public markets and on the dock. Wintrow had been surprised at the number of folk who came, and how swiftly they gathered. Merchants and sea captains, Old Traders and tradesmen forsook the business of the day and converged on the dock and ship. Those closest to the family were welcomed aboard Vivacia, while others followed on the vessels of friends. Every liveship currently in the harbor followed Vivacia as she carried her former master out to where he would be surrendered to the sea.

Wintrow was uncomfortable throughout the whole ceremony. He could not sort out what he felt about any of it. It stirred his pride that so many turned out to honor his grandfather, but it seemed uncouth that so many of them offered first their condolences and then their congratulations on the quickening of the ship. As many who stopped by the body to pay their final respects also stepped forward to the bow of the ship, to greet Vivacia and wish her well. That was where his grandmother stood, not by the body of her dead husband, and only his grandmother seemed to notice his unease. At one point she quietly told him that he had been too long away from Bingtown and its customs. That they congratulated her on the ship did not diminish one whit the grief they felt that Ephron had died. It was simply not the way of Bingtown folk to dwell on the tragic. Why, if the founders of Bingtown had dwelt on their tragedies, they would have drowned in their own tears. He nodded to her explanations, but kept his own private counsels as to what he thought of that.

He hated standing on the deck next to his grandfather's body, hated the proximity of the other great-sailed ships as they left the harbor together to do homage to his grandfather's burial at sea. It all seemed overly complicated, not to mention dangerous, to have all these ships sail forth, and then drop anchor in a great circle so folk might crowd along their railings and watch Ephron Vestrit's canvas-wrapped corpse slide off a plank and slip beneath the moving waves.