The Mad Ship. Робин Хобб

man mimed the tipping of a wineglass. ‘Oh, he drowns his troubles and scowls at his rival and moons at the little empress. Then he does it all over again. All very genteelly, of course. The man should be on a stage.’

      ‘No, no, she’s the one who should be on a stage. One moment she’s simpering at Reyn’s veil, but when she dances with him, she looks past his shoulder and flutters her lashes at young Trell.’ The serving maid who observed this added with a snort of disgust: ‘She has them both stepping to her tune, but I’ll wager she cares not a whit for either of them, but only for what measures she can make them tread.’

      For a brief time, Althea listened with amusement. Then her ears and cheeks began to burn as she realized that this was how the servants had always spoken of her family. She ducked her head, kept her eyes on her plate, and slowly began to piece the gossip into a bizarre image of the current state of the Vestrit family fortunes.

      Her mother was entertaining Rain Wild guests. That was unusual enough, given that her father had severed their trading connections there years ago. A Rain Wild suitor was courting a Trader woman. The servants did not think much of her. ‘She’d smile at him more if he replaced his veil with a mirror,’ one servant sniggeringly observed. Another added, ‘I don’t know who’s going to be more surprised on their wedding night: her when he takes off his veil and shows his warts, or him when she shows her snake’s nature behind that pretty face.’ Althea knit her brow trying to think what woman was a close enough friend to the Vestrit family that her mother would host a gathering in her honour. Perhaps one of Keffria’s friends had a daughter of marriageable age.

      A kitchen maid tugged her empty plate from her lax hands and offered her a bowl with two sugar dumplings in it. ‘Here. You may as well have these; we made far too many. There are three platters left and the guests are already starting to leave. No sense a young man like you going hungry here.’ She smiled warmly and Althea turned her eyes aside in what she hoped was a convincing display of boyish shyness.

      ‘Can I take my message to Ronica Vestrit soon?’ she asked.

      ‘Oh, soon enough, I imagine. Soon enough.’

      The sweet gooey pastries were messy to eat but delicious. Althea finished them, returned her bowl and used her sticky hands as an excuse to go back to the yard pump. A grape arbour screened the kitchen yard from the main entrance, but the new leaves were still tiny. Althea could watch the departing carriages through the twining branches. She recognized Cerwin Trell and his little sister as they left. The Shuyev family had also come. There were several other Trader families that Althea recognized more by crest than by face. It made her realize how long it had been since she had truly belonged to their social circle. Gradually the number of carriages dwindled. Davad Restart was one of the last to depart. Shortly after that, a team of white horses arrived drawing a Rain Wild coach. The windows were heavily curtained and the crest on the door was an unfamiliar one. It looked something like a chicken with a hat. An open wagon was drawn up behind it and a train of servants began carrying luggage and trunks from the house to that conveyance. So. The Rain Wild Traders had been houseguests at the Vestrit home. Increasingly mysterious, Althea thought to herself. Crane her neck as she might, she got no more than a glimpse of the departing family. Rain Wilders were always veiled by day and this group was no exception. Althea had no idea who they were or why they were staying at the Vestrit home. It made her uneasy. Had Kyle chosen to renew their trading connections there? Had her mother and sister supported such an idea?

      Had Kyle taken Vivacia up the Rain River?

      She clenched her fists at the idea. When the kitchen maid tugged at her sleeve, she spun on her, startling the poor girl. ‘Beg pardon,’ Althea apologized immediately.

      The maid looked at her strangely. ‘Mistress Vestrit will see you now.’

      Althea suffered herself to be led back into her own home and down the familiar hallway to the morning room. Everywhere were the festive signs of guests and lively company. Vases of flowers filled every alcove and perfume lingered in the air. When she had left, this had been a house of mourning and family contention. Now the household seemed to have forgotten those difficult days and her with them. It did not seem fair that while she had toiled through hardship, her sister and mother had indulged in social celebration. By the time they reached the morning room, the simmering confusion inside her was so great she guarded against it breaking forth as anger.

      The maid tapped at the door of the chamber. When she heard Ronica’s murmured assent, she stepped aside, whispering to Althea, ‘Go in.’

      Althea bobbed a bow, then entered the room. She shut the door quietly behind herself. Her mother was sitting on a cushioned divan. A low table with a glass of wine upon it was close to hand. She wore a simple day-gown of creamy linen. Her hair was coiled and perfumed, and a silver chain graced her throat, but the face she lifted to meet Althea’s gaze was taut with weariness. Althea forced herself to meet her mother’s widening eyes with a direct look. ‘I’ve come home,’ she said quietly.

      ‘Althea,’ her mother gasped. She lifted a hand to her heart, and then put both hands over her mouth and breathed in through them. She had gone so pale that the lines in her face stood out as if etched. She dragged in a shuddering breath. ‘Do you know how many nights I have wondered how you died? Wondered where your body lay, if it was covered in a decent grave or if carrion birds picked at your flesh?’

      The flood of angry words caught Althea off-guard. ‘I tried to send you word.’ She heard herself lying like a child caught in a misdeed.

      Her mother had found the strength to rise and now she advanced on Althea, her index finger levelled like a pike. ‘No you did not!’ she contradicted her bitterly. ‘You never even thought of it until just now.’ She halted suddenly in her tracks. She shook her head. ‘You are so like your father, I can even hear him lying with your tongue. Oh, Althea. Oh, my little girl.’ Then her mother suddenly embraced her, as she had not in years. Althea stood still in the circle of her pinning arms, completely bewildered. A moment later she was horrified when a sob racked her mother’s body. Her mother clung to her and wept hopelessly against her shoulder.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Althea said uncomfortably. Then she added, ‘It’s going to be all right now.’ A few moments later she tried, ‘What’s wrong?’

      For a time, her mother did not reply. Then she drew a deep, rattling breath. Ronica stepped back from her daughter and rubbed her sleeve across her eyes like a child. It smeared the careful paint on her lashes and eyelids, marking the fabric of her sleeve. Her mother took no notice of that. She walked unsteadily back to her divan and sat down. She took a long drink of her wine, then set it down and tried to smile. The smeared paint on her face made it ghastly. ‘Everything,’ she said quietly. ‘Everything that could be wrong, is. Save for one thing. You are home and alive.’ The honest relief on her mother’s face was more searing than her anger had been.

      It was hard to cross the room and seat herself on the end of the divan. Harder still to say calmly and rationally, ‘Tell me about it.’ For so many months, Althea had looked forward to coming home, to telling her story, to forcing her family to finally, finally listen to her view. Now she was here, and she knew with the unerring truth of Sa’s own revelation that duty demanded she listen first to all her mother would say.

      For a moment, Ronica just looked at her. Then the words began to spill out. It was a disordered tale of one disaster after another. The Vivacia was late coming home. She should have been back by now. Kyle might have taken her straight on to Chalced to sell the slaves, but surely he would have sent word by another ship if he intended to do so. Wouldn’t he? He knew how poor the family finances were; surely, he would have sent word so that Keffria would have something to tell their creditors. Malta had been into one kind of mischief after another. She didn’t even know where to begin that tale, but the end of it was that a Rain Wild Trader was now courting Malta. As his family held the paper on the Vivacia, courtesy and politics dictated that the Vestrits at least entertain his suit, although Sa knew Malta was not truly a woman and old enough to be courted. Moreover, Davad Restart had leapt into the midst of that tangle, and had made one gaffe after another all week in his determination to wring a profit from the courtship.