Robin Hobb - The Complete Liveship Traders Trilogy - Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, Ship of Destiny

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. ‘Sailor-boy is lost again,’ the younger city guard observed. Even as Wintrow’s head swivelled to the man’s words, he received a shove that sent him sprawling on the paving stones. The older guard looked down at him and shook his head, almost regretfully.

‘I guess we’ll have to see him back to where he belongs this time,’ he observed as the brawny guard advanced on Wintrow. There was a deadly softness to his words that chilled Wintrow’s heart. Even more chilling were the three people who had halted to watch. None of them spoke nor made any effort to interfere. When he looked appealingly at them, seeking help, their eyes were guiltless, showing only their interest in what would happen next.

The boy struggled to his feet hastily and began backing away. ‘I’ve done no one any harm,’ he protested. ‘I simply wanted to see the Idishi Hall. My grandfather saw it and…’

‘We don’t welcome waterfront rats coming up our streets and dawdling about staring at folk. Here in Cress, we don’t let trouble start.’ The older man was speaking but Wintrow scarcely heard him. He spun about to flee, but in one lunge the brawny guard had him by the back of his collar. He gripped it hard, half strangling Wintrow and then shaking him. Dazed, Wintrow felt himself lifted from the ground and then propelled suddenly forward. He tucked into the fall, rolling with the momentum this time. One uneven paving stone caught him in the short ribs as he did so, but at least no bones broke. He came to his feet almost smoothly but not quite swiftly enough to avoid the younger guardsman. Again he seized Wintrow, shook him and then threw him in the general direction of the waterfront.

This time he collided with the corner of a building. The shock took the skin from his shoulder but he kept to his feet. He ran a few staggering steps, with the grinning inexorable guard in pursuit. Behind him the older soldier followed them almost leisurely, lecturing as he came. It seemed to Wintrow that his words were not for him, but to remind the folk who were halting to watch that they were only doing their jobs. ‘We’ve nothing against sailors, so long as they keep themselves and their vermin to the waterfront where they belong. We tried to be nice to you, boy, just because you are such a pup. If you’d gone to the Sailors’ Walk, you’d have found it suited you well, I’m sure. Now you’re bound for the waterfront anyway. You could have saved all of us a lot of effort and yourself a lot of bruises if you’d only listened.’

The calm reasonableness of the older man’s voice was almost more horrifying than the other guard’s efficient enjoyment of his task. The man was as quick as a snake. Somehow he once more had hold of Wintrow’s collar. This time he snapped the boy out as a dog flings a rat, sending him slamming into a stone wall. Wintrow felt his head strike the stone and saw a brief flash of darkness. He tasted blood. ‘Not a sailor,’ he blurted out. ‘I’m a priest. A priest of Sa.’

The young guard laughed. The older man shook his head in mock regret for the boy. ‘Oho. That makes you a heretic as well as waterfront scum. Haven’t you heard that the followers of Odava have no use for those who would submerge him as but a part of their own god? I was about to tell Flav you’d had enough, but another knock or two might hasten your enlightenment.’

The guard’s hand was closing on his collar, dragging him to his feet. In a panic, Wintrow let his head slip through the overlarge collar and whipped his arms in as well. He literally fell out the bottom of his shirt as the guard hauled up on the collar of it. Fear spurred him and he scrabbled away, already running as he came to his feet. There was a burst of laughter from the onlookers. He had one brief glimpse of the younger guard’s surprised face and the older man’s beard split in a grin of amusement. The old man’s laughter and the younger man’s angry shout followed him but Wintrow was running now, running full tilt. The lovely stonework that had earlier transfixed him was now but something to pass on his way back to his ship and safety. The wide straight streets that had been so open and welcoming now seemed designed only to expose him to pursuit. He dodged past people on the street, and they shrank back from him and then stared after him curiously. He ran shirtless, turning corners as he came to them, afraid of looking back lest they still be pursuing him.

When the streets narrowed and began winding through rows of wooden warehouses and ramshackle inns and brothels, he slowed from his now staggering run. He looked around himself. A tattoo shop. A cheap chandlery. A tavern. Another tavern. He came to an alley and stepped into it, heedless of the scattered garbage he waded through. Halfway down it, he leaned against a door-jamb and caught his breath. His back and shoulder burned where stone had abraded the skin from them. He touched his mouth cautiously; it was already beginning to puff up. The lump on his head was no more than that, just a bad bump. For a sickening second he wondered how badly the guard had intended to hurt him. Had he wanted to crack his skull, would he have continued beating him until he was dead if he hadn’t run away? He had heard of sailors and strangers being ‘roughed up’ by the city guard, even in Bingtown. Was this what was meant by that? He had always assumed that it happened only to those who were drunk or ill-mannered or in some other way offensive.

Yet today it had happened to him. Why? ‘Because I was dressed as a sailor,’ he said quietly to himself. For one ghastly instant he considered that this might be a punishment from Sa for not having worn his priest’s robe. He had denied Sa and as retribution Sa had denied him His protection. He pushed the unworthy thought away. So children and the superstitious spoke of Sa, as if he were nothing but a much larger and more vengeful human rather than the god of all. No. That was not what was to be learned from this. What was the lesson then? Now that the danger was past, his mind sought refuge in the familiar exercise. There was always something to be learned from any experience, no matter how horrendous. As long as a man kept sight of that, his spirit could prevail against anything. It was only when one gave in and believed the universe to be nothing more than a chaotic collection of unfortunate or cruel events that one’s spirit could be crushed.

The breath came more easily to his lungs. His mouth and throat were parched dry but he was not ready yet to go and look for water. He pushed the need to the back of his awareness and reached instead for the calm centre of himself. He took the deep steadying breaths and opened himself to perceive the lesson. He willed that his own mind would not shape it, nor his emotions. What was to be learned from this? What should he carry away?

The thought that came floating to the top of his mind shocked him. With great clarity, he saw his own gullibility. He had seen the beauty of the city, and interpreted it to mean that folk of beautiful spirit lived here. He had come here expecting to be greeted and welcomed in the light of Sa. So strong had been his prejudgement that he had failed to heed any of the warnings that now glared so plainly. His crew-mates had warned him, the city guard’s hostility had been a warning, the baleful glances from the townspeople… he had been like an overly friendly child approaching a growling dog. It was his own fault he’d been bitten.

A wave of desolation deeper than anything he’d ever felt swept over him. He was unprepared for it and sank with it, letting it sweep away his balance from him. Hopeless, it was all hopeless. He’d never regain his monastery, never return to the life of meditation he so missed. He would become like so many others he’d met, convinced that all men were born his enemy and that only crass gain created friendship or love. So often he’d heard folk mock Sa’s ideal that all folk had been created to become creatures of goodness and beauty. Where, he asked himself bitterly, was the goodness in the young guard who’d taken such pleasure in roughing him up today? Where was the beauty in the ulcer-lipped woman who had wanted to lie with him for the sake of money? He suddenly felt young and stupid, gullible in the worst way. A fool. A stupid fool. The pain of this hurt was as real as his bruises, his heart actually felt heavy in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut to it, wishing he could be somewhere else, be someone else who didn’t feel this way.