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

The wretches drew closer as he passed, murmuring among themselves. It set the hair up on the back of his neck, but he refused to look behind to see how closely they followed him. One woman, braver or stupider than the rest, stepped in front of him. She suddenly offered him the bundle of rags she clutched. Against his will, he peered at it, to see the babe within. ‘Born on this ship,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Born into slavery, but freed by you.’ Her finger touched the bluish X that some diligent slaver had already marked beside the child’s nose. She looked up at him again, a sort of fierceness in her eyes. ‘What could I ever offer you in thanks?’

Kennit could feel his control over his rising gorge slipping. The thought of the only thing she might offer him made his flesh crawl. The breath of her mouth smelled of rotting teeth loose in her gums. He bared his own teeth for a moment, a parody of a smile. ‘Name the child Sorcor. For me,’ he suggested in a choked voice. She seemed to miss the sarcasm in his voice, for she blessed him as she stepped back, beaming and clutching the skinny infant. The rest of the crowd jostled stiflingly closer, and several voices were lifted. ‘Captain Kennit, Captain Kennit!’ He forced himself to stand his ground and not retreat. Instead he motioned to the sailor preceding him with the lantern, and then commanded in a wheeze, ‘Enough. I have seen enough.’ He was not able to keep the distress from his voice. He clutched his scented handkerchief to his face and ascended the closest ladder rapidly.

On deck it took him a moment to regain control of his heaving gut. He set his face and stared off at the horizon until he was sure he would not disgrace himself with any show of weakness. He forced himself to consider this prize Sorcor had won for him. The ship had appeared sound enough, but he’d never get a decent price for her, not if the buyer had a nose at all. ‘A waste,’ he growled, furious. ‘Such a waste!’ He summarily ordered the gig to return him to the Marietta . It was then he had decided to head for Askew. If the ship was not going to bring a good price, then at least he would be rid of it soon, and able to go on with other things.

It was late afternoon before he decided to visit Askew himself. It would be amusing, he thought, to see both how his freed slaves were reacting to the town, and how the town was welcoming this sudden influx of population. Perhaps by now Sorcor would have seen the folly of his beneficence.

He made his will known to the ship’s boy, who speedily passed the word. By the time he had smoothed his hair, settled his hat and emerged from his cabin the ship’s gig was readied to be lowered. The sailors who were to man her were as eager as dogs invited for a walk. Any town, any shoreside trip was a welcome diversion to them. Despite the brevity of the notice he had given, every man jack of them had found time to don a cleaner shirt. From their anchorage to the docks of Askew was but a few minutes of their diligent rowing. Kennit silently ignored the grins the men exchanged. They tied up at the base of the dock, and he ascended the rickety ladder to the top and then awaited his men while he wiped the slime from his fingers with his handkerchief. As if he were passing out sweetmeats to children, he drew a handful of small coins from his coat pocket. It was enough for a round of beer for all of them. He entrusted it to the man in charge, with the nebulous warning, ‘Be here and ready when I come back. Don’t make me wait.’

The men clustered in a circle about them. Gankis spoke for them. ‘Cap’n. You don’t need to do that. After what you done, we’d be waiting here for you if every demon of the deep was after us.’

The sudden outpouring of devotion from the old pirate took Kennit aback. He could think of nothing he had done for them lately that should merit this sudden affection. In an odd way it touched him as much as it amused him. ‘Well. No sense waiting thirsty, boys. Don’t be late though.’

‘No, sir, Cap’n, that we won’t. Promise to be here, every one of us.’ The man who spoke grinned so that his old tattoo crawled and danced across his face. Turning his back on them, Kennit proceeded up the docks and towards the heart of town. Behind him, he could hear the men arguing as to how they could best enjoy their beer and still be back awaiting him on time. It pleased him to set them these little dilemmas. Perhaps it even sharpened their wits. In the meantime, he set his own wits as to puzzling out what he had done to please them. Had there been booty on the other boat that Sorcor had not informed him about? Promises of favours from the women that had been among the slaves? Suspicions, never long absent from Kennit’s thoughts, suddenly took over. It might be very revealing to find out where Sorcor was right now and what he was doing. That he had let the men believe such largesse had come from the captain did not excuse him for passing it out without making Kennit aware of it.

He made his way down the main street of the small town. There were but two taverns in the town; if Sorcor was not in one, it was likely he was in the other. As it turned out, he was in neither. In what looked like a jubilant celebration, the entire population of the town seemed to be gathered in the street between the two taverns. Tables and benches had been dragged out into the light of day, and kegs rolled out and broached in the street. Kennit’s suspicions became even darker. This sort of jubilation usually bespoke coins by the handful, lavishly doled. He put a knowing look upon his face, accompanied by a small, tight smile. Whatever was going on here, he must appear to be informed of it, or be a fool before all.

‘Say nothing. Trust your luck,’ chided a tiny voice. The charm at his wrist had a tiny melodic laugh, unnerving in its sweetness. ‘Above all, show no fear. Luck such as yours has no patience with fear.’ Again, the laugh.

He dared not lift his wrist nor gaze at his token. Not in public. Nor was there time to seek a quieter spot to confer with it, for at that moment the crowd became aware of him. ‘Kennit!’ cried a voice aloud. ‘Captain Kennit! Kennit!’ Others took up the cry until the summer air rang with his name. Like a beast stirred from licking itself, the mob turned faces towards him and then surged at him like an oncoming wave.

‘Courage. And smile!’ taunted the wizardwood face.

He himself felt his sardonic grin was set in ice upon his features. His heart pounded and the sweat started down his back at the sight of the mob coming towards him, fists and mugs raised to the sky. But they could not see that. No. All they would see as they closed on him was that small smile and how straight and fearless he stood as they engulfed him. A bluff, perhaps, but a bluff only worked so long as the user believed it would. In vain he tried to pick out Sorcor’s face in that oncoming wave of humanity. He wanted to find him, and, if necessity dictated it, make sure he at least died before Kennit did.

Instead the folk ringed him, their faces flushed red with both drink and apparent triumph. None, as yet, dared to touch him. They stood a respectful distance from his fists and every eye was on him. He let his gaze rove over them, looking for a weakness or for the aggressor who would strike the first blow. Instead a burly woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd ringing him, to stand before him, her meaty fists on her generous hips. ‘I’m Tayella,’ she announced in a clear and powerful voice. ‘I run Askew.’ Her eyes met his as if he might challenge that declaration. Then, to his astonishment, her eyes flooded suddenly with tears. They spilled unabashedly down her cheeks as she added in a voice that suddenly broke, ‘And I tell you that anything here is yours, yours for the asking. Anything, any time. For you have brought us our own, whom we never thought to see again!’