The Mad Ship. Робин Хобб

      ‘What did you dream?’ Paragon asked unwillingly.

      She laughed unevenly. ‘The same one. Serpents and dragons. The nine-fingered slave boy. Moreover, I hear your voice, calling warnings and threats. But you are not you. You are…someone else. And there is something…I don’t know. It all tatters away like cobwebs in the wind. The more I grasp after it, the worse I rend it.’

      ‘Serpents and dragons.’ Paragon spoke the dread words unwillingly. He tried to laugh sceptically. ‘I’ve taken the measure of serpents in my day. I do not think much of them. However, there are no such things as dragons. I think your dream is only a nasty dream, Amber. Set it aside and tell me a story to clear our minds.’

      ‘I think not,’ Amber replied unsteadily. Her dream had shaken her more than Paragon had thought. ‘For if I tried to tell stories tonight, I would tell you of the dragons I have seen, flying overhead against the blue sky. It was not so many years ago, and not so far to the north of here. I will tell you this, Paragon. Were you to tie up in a Six Duchies harbour, and tell the folk there that there were no such things as dragons, they would scoff at you for foolish beliefs.’ She leaned her head back against him and added, ‘First, though, they would have to get used to the idea that there was truly such a thing as a liveship. Until I saw one and heard him speak, I had believed liveships were only a wild tale concocted to enhance the reputation of the Bingtown Traders.’

      ‘Did you truly find us that strange?’ Paragon demanded.

      He felt her turn her head to gaze up at him. ‘One of the strangest things about you, my dear, is that you have no idea how wondrous you are.’

      ‘Really?’ He fished for another compliment.

      ‘You are fully as marvellous as the dragons I saw.’

      She had expected the comparison to please him. He sensed that, but instead it made him uneasy. Was she fishing for secrets? She’d get none from him.

      She seemed unaware of his displeasure as she mused, ‘I think there is in the heart of a man a place made for wonder. It sleeps inside, awaiting fulfilment. All one’s life, one gathers treasures to fill it. Sometimes they are tiny glistening jewels: a flower blooming in the shelter of a fallen tree, the arch of a small child’s brow combined with the curve of her cheek. Sometimes, however, a trove falls into your hands all at once, as if some greedy pirate’s chest spilled before an unsuspecting beholder. Such were the dragons on the wing. They were every gem colour I know, and every possible shape one could imagine. Some were dragons such as I knew from childhood tales, but others had shapes whimsical and still others were terrifying in their strangeness. There were proper dragons, some with long serpentine tails, some four-legged, some two, red and green and gold and sable. Flying amongst them were winged stags, a formidable boar who swept his tusks from side to side as he flew, and one like a great winged serpent and even a great striped cat, with striped wings…’ Her voice died away, subsiding in awe.

      ‘They weren’t real dragons, then,’ Paragon observed snidely.

      ‘I tell you, I saw them,’ she insisted.

      ‘You saw something. Or some things, some of which had stolen the shapes of dragons. Nevertheless, they were not real dragons. As well to say that you saw green, blue, and purple horses, some of which had six legs and some shaped like cats. Such things would not be horses at all. Whatever it was you saw, they were not dragons.’

      ‘Well…but…’

      It pleased him to hear her flounder for words. She who was usually so glib. He didn’t help her.

      ‘Some were dragons,’ she finally defended herself. ‘Some were shaped and coloured just as the dragons I have seen in ancient scrolls and tapestries.’

      ‘Some of your flying things were shaped like dragons and some like cats. As well to say that flying cats are real, and sometimes they are shaped like dragons.’

      She was silent for a long time. When she spoke, he knew she had been thinking and that her chain of thought had dragged her back to his personal history. ‘Why,’ she asked in a deceptively courteous tone, ‘is it so essential to your happiness that there be no such thing as dragons? Why are you so intent on crushing the wonder I felt at the sight of those creatures winging?’

      ‘It isn’t. I don’t. I simply believe that one should say what one means. I don’t care that you wondered at them. I just don’t think you should call such things dragons.’

      ‘Why? If there are no such things as dragons, what does it matter what I call the creatures I saw? Why should not I name them dragons if that name pleases me?’

      ‘Because,’ he declared, suddenly nettled beyond all reason. ‘Because if there were any such thing as dragons still, it would demean them to be grouped with such grotesques.’

      Suddenly she sat up straight. He felt her shift away from him. He could almost feel her prying stare trying to pierce the darkness and see what little the hatchet had left of his face. ‘You know something,’ she accused him. ‘You know something about dragons, and you know something about my dream and what it means. Don’t you?’

      ‘I don’t even know what you dreamed,’ he stated. He tried to make his voice reasonable, but it climbed up the scale and cracked. It always chose the worst times to do that. ‘And I’ve never seen any dragons.’

      ‘Not even in your dreams?’ Her soft question was as insidious as drifting fog.

      ‘Don’t touch me,’ he warned her suddenly.

      ‘I wasn’t going to,’ she said, but he did not believe her. If she touched him, skin to wood, and reached hard enough, she would know if he were lying. That was not fair. He couldn’t do that to her.

      ‘Do you ever dream of dragons?’ she asked him. It was a direct question, asked in a casual voice. He did not fall for it.

      ‘No,’ he replied succinctly.

      ‘Are you sure? I thought you had spoken to me about such dreams, once…’

      He shrugged, an elaborate charade. ‘Well, perhaps I did. I don’t recall. Maybe I did dream such a dream, but it wasn’t important to me. Not all dreams are important, you know. In fact, I wonder if any dreams are important or significant.’

      ‘Mine are,’ said Amber defeatedly. ‘I know they are. That is why it is so distressing when I cannot grasp what they mean. Oh, Paragon, I fear I’ve made an error. I pray it is not a grievous one.’

      He smiled in the darkness. ‘Well, how grievous an error can a bead-maker commit? I am sure you are troubling yourself over nothing. Dragons and sea serpents indeed. What do such fantastic creatures have to do with you and me?’

      ‘Sea serpents!’ Amber suddenly exclaimed. ‘Ah!’ For a long time, she was silent. Then he almost felt the warmth of her smile wash against him. ‘Sea serpents,’ she affirmed to herself softly. ‘Thank you, Paragon. Thank you for that much.’

      ‘It’s not your watch.’ Ophelia spoke the words quietly.

      ‘I know that as well as you do. I couldn’t sleep,’ Althea replied. She looked out past the figurehead. The waves were gentle swells. The soft spring wind pushed her light cloak against her body.

      ‘I know that as well as you do,’ Ophelia countered. ‘You’ve been tossing in your bunk for two hours now. Why? Are you excited about docking in Bingtown tomorrow?’

      ‘Yes. But not in a glad way. I fear all I must face tomorrow. My sister, my mother. Kyle, perhaps, if Vivacia is there. Oh, Ophelia, I even dread facing my ship when the time comes. How can I look at her and explain how and why I let her go?’

      ‘You know you will not have to. Just put your hand to her planking and she will feel it all, as surely as I do.’

      Althea slid her hands lovingly along the polished railing. ‘It is such a wonder to me, the understanding that has developed between us.