Dragon Keeper. Робин Хобб

as any other contract. Today, in the Traders’ Concourse, before families and guests, the terms of the marriage contract would be spoken aloud before either one of them set a signature to the final document. All would witness the agreement between Hest and her. The demands of Hest’s family had been precise, and some had made her father scowl. But at the last, he had recommended she accept them. Today she would formalize the agreement before witnesses.

      And afterwards, when the business was done, they would celebrate as a newly wed couple.

      And consummate their agreement tonight.

      Anticipation and dread roiled and fought in her. Some of her married friends had warned her of the pain of surrendering her virginity. Others had smiled conspiratorially, whispered of envy for her handsome mate and gifted her with perfumes and lotions and lacily beribboned nightdresses. Many a comment had been made about how handsome Hest was, and how well he danced and what a fine figure he cut when he went out riding. One less reserved friend had even giggled as she said, ‘Competence in one saddle sometimes bespeaks competence in another!’ So, even though their courtship had been bereft of stolen kisses or whispered endearments, she dared to hope that their first night alone might break his reserve and reveal a concealed passion for her.

      She snapped open a lacy little fan and cooled her face with it. A subtle fragrance rode the small breeze from the perfumed lace of the fan. She looked a final time into her vanity mirror. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks pink. As infatuated as a silly little girl, she thought to herself, and smiled forgiveness at her own image. What woman would not have given way to Hest’s charms? He was handsome, he was witty, intelligent and a delightful conversationalist. The small gifts he showered upon her were thoughtful and apt. He’d not only accepted her ambition to be a scholar; his bridal gifts to her revealed that he would support her in her studies. Two excellent pens with silver tips, and ink in five different hues. A glass ground to magnify the fading letters of old manuscripts. A shawl embroidered with serpents and dragons. Earrings made from tinted flaked glass to mimic dragon scales. Every gift had been tailored to her interests. She suspected that his gifts said what he was too reserved to put into words. In response, she, too, had remained correct and formal, but despite her quiet manner, warmth for him had begun to grow in her heart. The restraint she practised daily only fuelled her fantasies at night.

      Even the homeliest girl secretly dreams that a man might fall in love with her inner spirit. He had told her, plainly, that their marriage was one of convenience. But did it have to be, she wondered? If she devoted herself to him, could not she make it something more than that, for both of them? In the months that had slowly passed since the announcement of their engagement, she had become ever more aware of Hest. She learned the shape of his mouth as he spoke to her, studied his elegant hands as he lifted a cup of tea, admired his wide shoulders that pulled at the seams of his jacket. She stopped asking why and disbelieving that love could find her, and drowned joyously in her infatuation.

      War had ravaged Bingtown, and even if her parents had had money to fling into the wind, there were many items that simply could not be bought. For all that, this day still seemed like something out of a tale to her. It did not matter to her that her dress had been made from her grandmother’s gown; it only made it seem more significant. The flowers that decorated the Traders’ Concourse came, not from hothouses or the Rain Wilds, but from the gardens of her family and friends. Two of her cousins would sing while their father played his fiddle. It would all be simple, and honest, and very real.

      In the previous weeks, she had imagined their wedding night a hundred ways. She had dreamed him bold, and then boyishly shy, gentle and hesitant or perhaps rakishly bawdy or even demanding of her. Every possibility had warmed her with desire and chased sleep from her bed. Well. It was only a matter of hours now before she would find out. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The smile on her face surprised her. She tilted her head and studied her own reflection. Alise Kincarron, smiling on her wedding – who would ever have imagined it?

      ‘Alise?’ Her father stood at the door. She turned to him in surprise, and felt an odd lurch of her heart at the soft, sad smile he wore. ‘Darling, it’s time to come down stairs. The carriage is waiting for us.’

      Swarge stood stiffly in the small galley. At a nod from his captain, he sat down. His big rough hands rested lightly on the edge of the table. Leftrin sat down opposite him with a sigh. It had been a long day; no, it had been a long three months.

      The secrecy the project demanded had tripled the work involved. Leftrin had not dared to move the log; towing it down the river to a better place to work on it was not an option. Any passing vessel would have recognized what he had. So the work of cutting the log into usable lengths and sections had all had to be done right there, in the mud and brush of the riverbank.

      Tonight it was finished. The wizardwood log was gone; the small scraps that remained had been stowed as dunnage in Tarman’s holds. Outside on the deck, the rest of the crew was celebrating. And in light of what they’d conspired to do, Leftrin had decided it would be best if all of them made a fresh commitment to Tarman. All the rest of them had signed the ship’s papers. Only Swarge remained. Tomorrow, they’d relaunch Tarman, return to Trehaug to drop off the carefully selected and discreet woodworkers who had served them so well. And afterwards, they would go back to their regular run on the river. But for now, they celebrated the completion of a massive project. It was finished, and Leftrin found he had no regrets.

      A bottle of rum and several small glasses occupied the centre of the table. Two of them weighted down a scroll. A bottle of ink and a quill rested beside it. One more signature, and Tarman would be secure. Leftrin nodded to himself as he studied the riverman opposite him. Streaks of dried mud and tar clung to the tillerman’s rough shirt. His thick fingernails were packed with silvery sawdust, and there was a stripe of dirt on his jaw where he’d probably scratched his face earlier.

      Leftrin smiled to himself. He was probably just as grubby as the tillerman. It had been a long, hard day’s work, and it was labour of a kind neither one of them was accustomed to. It was coming to a close now, and Swarge had more than proven himself. He had been willing to join Leftrin’s little conspiracy and had done more than his share without complaint. It was one of the things that Leftrin liked about the man. Time to let him know that. ‘You don’t complain. You don’t whine and you don’t find fault when something just plain goes wrong. You jump in and do your best to fix the situation. You’re loyal and you’re discreet. And that’s why I want to keep you on board.’

      Swarge glanced again at the small glasses and Leftrin got the message. He uncorked the bottle and dolloped out small measures for both of them. ‘Best clean your hands before you eat or drink. That stuff can be poisonous,’ he advised his tillerman. Swarge nodded and carefully wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. Then they both drank before Swarge responded.

      ‘Forever. I heard from the others that’s what this is about. You’re asking me to sign on and stay aboard Tarman forever. Until I die.’

      ‘That’s right,’ Leftrin confirmed. ‘And I hoped they mentioned that your wages will go up as well. With our new hull design we’re not going to need as large a crew as we’ve shipped in the past. But I’ll budget the same for pay, and every sailor aboard will get an equal share of it. That has to sound good, doesn’t it?’

      Swarge bobbed a nod at him, but didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Rest of my life is a long time, Cap.’

      Leftrin laughed aloud. ‘Sa’s blood, Swarge, you been with Tarman for ten years already. For a Rain Wilds man, that’s half of forever already. So what’s the problem with signing on permanent? Benefits us both. I know I got a good tillerman for as long as Tarman floats. And you know that no one is ever going to decide you’re too old to work and put you ashore without a penny. You sign this, it binds my heir as well as me. You give me your word on this, you sign the paper with me and I promise that as long as you live, Tarman and I will take care of you. Swarge, what else you got besides this boat?’

      Swarge answered the question with one of his own. ‘Why has it got to be forever, Cap? What’s changed so much that I got to promise to sail with you forever now or clear off the ship?’

      Leftrin