THE AFTERNOON WAS SWELTERING INSIDE THE MORNING ROOM. OPENING the windows hadn't helped; there wasn't a breath of air stirring. Malta plucked at the collar of her dress, pulling the damp fabric away from her skin.
'I remember when we used to drink iced tea here. And your cook would make those tiny lemon pastries.' Delo sounded more fretful about Malta's reduced circumstances than Malta herself. In fact, it rather irritated Malta to have her friend so pointedly noticing all the deficiencies in her home.
'Times have changed,' Malta pointed out wearily. She walked over to the open window and leaned out to look at the neglected rose garden. The bushes were blooming voluptuously and sprawling, rejoicing in their lack of discipline. 'Ice is expensive,' she pointed out.
'My papa bought two blocks yesterday,' Delo said negligently. She fanned herself. 'Cook is making ices for dessert tonight.'
'Oh. How nice.' Malta's voice was void of expression. How much of this did Delo expect her to take? First, she had shown up in a new dress with a fan and a hat to match. The fan was made of spice paper, and gave off a pleasant scent when she used it. It was the newest vogue in Bingtown. Then Delo hadn't even asked how the ship was coming along, or if they'd received a ransom note yet. 'Let's go out in the shade,' Malta suggested.
'No, not yet.' Delo glanced around the room as if servants might be spying. Malta almost sighed. They didn't have servants to eavesdrop. With a great show of secrecy, Delo pulled a small purse from inside the waistband of her skirt. In a lowered voice, she confided, 'Cerwin sent you this, to help you in these troubled times.'
For an instant, Malta could almost share Delo's enjoyment of this dramatic moment. Then it fluttered away from her. When she had first learned of her father's abduction, it had seemed exciting and fraught with tragedy. She had thrown herself into exploiting the situation to the limit of its theatrical possibilities. Now the days had passed, one after another, full of anxiety and stress. No good news had come. Bingtown had not rallied to their side. People had expressed sympathy, but only as a courtesy. A few had sent flowers with notes of commiseration, as if her father were already dead. Despite her plea to Reyn that he come to her, he had not. No one had rallied to her.
Day after day had ground by in deadly, boring desperation. It had slowly come to Malta that this was real, and that it might be the death knell for her family's fortune. She could not sleep for thinking of it. When she did fall asleep, her dreams were disturbing ones. Something stalked her, determined to bend her to its will. The dreams she could remember were like evil sendings from someone determined to break her hopes. Yesterday morning she had awakened with a cry, from a nightmare in which her father's wasted body washed up on the beach. He could be dead, she suddenly realized. He could already be dead and all these efforts for nothing. She had lost spirit that day, and had not been able to recover hope or purpose since then.
She took the little purse from Delo's hand and sat down. Her friend's discontented expression showed that she had expected a more passionate response. She feigned examining it. It was a little cloth purse, extensively embroidered and closed with gilt strings. Cerwin had probably bought it especially for this gift. She tried to take some pleasure in that. But thoughts of Cerwin were not as exciting as they had once been. He hadn't kissed her.
She still hadn't recovered from that disappointment. But what had followed was even worse. She had believed that men had power. The very first time she ever asked one to use that power for her, he failed her. Cerwin Trell had promised her he would help, but what had he done? At the Trader meeting, he had stared at her most improperly. Half the people there must have noticed it. Did he get up and speak when Althea was asking the Traders to help? Had he nudged his father to speak? No. All he had done was make calf eyes at her. No one had helped her. No one would help her.
'Free me and I will aid you. I promise you this.' The words of the dragon from the dream she had shared with Reyn suddenly echoed in her head. She felt a twinge of pain, as if a string pulled tight between her temples had suddenly become tauter. She wished she could just go and lie down for a time. Delo cleared her throat, abruptly reminding Malta that she was just sitting there, holding Cerwin's gift-purse.
Malta tugged open the neck of the bag and spilled the contents out into her lap. There were some coins in it, and a few rings. 'Cerwin is going to be in big trouble if Papa finds out he gave those rings to you,' Delo told Malta accusingly. 'That little silver one is one Mama gave him for doing well at his lessons.' She crossed her arms and looked at Malta disapprovingly.
'He won't find out,' Malta told her bleakly. Delo was such a child. The rings were scarcely worth the trouble of selling them. No doubt, Delo thought this little bag a magnificent gift, but Malta knew better. She had spent the entire morning on the household books, and knew that what was in this purse was barely enough to hire two good workmen for a week. She wondered if Cerwin had as little knowledge of finances as Delo did. Malta hated helping to keep the accounts, but she understood money far better now. She recalled the rush of chagrin she had felt when she discovered just how foolishly she had spent the coins her father had given her. They should have been enough for a dozen dresses. Those small gold pieces had been worth far more than was in this bag. She wished she had them back now. They would have gone much further toward getting that ship off the sand than what Cerwin had given her. The boy simply did not grasp the size of her problem. It was as disappointing as the lack of a kiss.
'Why didn't he say anything at the meeting?' she wondered aloud. 'He knows what is at risk. He knows what it means to me. But he did nothing.'
Delo was huffy. 'He did. He did everything he could. He talked to Papa at home. Papa said it was a very complicated situation and that we could not get involved.'
'What is complicated?' Malta demanded. 'My father has been kidnapped and we must go and rescue him. We need help!'
Delo folded her arms on her chest and cocked her head. 'That is a Vestrit matter. The Trell family cannot solve it for you. We have trading interests of our own to maintain. If we invest money in a search for your father, what will the return be for us?'
'Delo!' Malta was shocked. The pain she felt was genuine. 'We are talking about my father's life… the only one who truly cares what becomes of me! This isn't about money and profit!'
'Everything eventually comes down to a profit,' Delo declared harshly. Then her expression suddenly softened. 'That is what my father said to Cerwin. They argued, Malta. It frightened me. The last time I remember two men shouting at each other was when Brashen lived at home. He used to argue with my father all the time… At least, he would stand there like a stick while my father roared at him. A lot of it I don't remember. I was little. They always sent me out of the room. Then, one day, my father told me that Cerwin was my only brother now. That Brashen would never be coming home again.' Delo's voice faltered. 'The arguing stopped.' She swallowed. 'It's not like your family, Malta. You all argue and shout and say terrible things, but then you hold together. No one is thrown out forever, not even your Aunt Althea. My family isn't like that. There isn't room in my family for that.' She shook her head. 'If Cerwin had kept arguing, I'm afraid I'd have no brothers at all now.' She looked at Malta in a direct appeal. 'Please. Don't ask my brother to help you with this. Please.'
The plea rattled Malta. 'I'm… sorry,' she said awkwardly. She had never thought that her experiments with Cerwin would affect anyone besides him. Lately, everything seemed so much bigger and far-flung than it once had. When she had first heard that her father was taken, it had not seemed real. She had used it as an opportunity to indulge her sense of the tragic. She had play-acted the role of a stricken daughter, but she had really believed that any day at all, her father would come home. Pirates could not really have taken her papa. Not brave, handsome Kyle Haven. Nevertheless, slowly it had become real. At first, she had feared that he would never come home to make her life better. Only now was she realizing he might never come home at all.
She scooped the coins and rings back into the purse. She offered it to Delo. 'You should take this back to Cerwin. I don't want him to get in trouble.' It also wasn't enough to do her any good, but she wouldn't mention that.
Delo looked horrified. 'I can't. He'd know that I'd said something to you. He'd be furious with me. Please, Malta, you have to keep it, so I can tell him I gave it to you. Also, he asked me to ask you to write him a note back or send him a token.'
Malta just looked at her. Sometimes, lately, she felt like she had run out of ideas and plans. She knew she should stand and pace a turn about the room. She knew she should say something like, 'There are so few things left I can call mine… most of them I have sold to raise money to rescue my father.' At one time, that would have
