'I know.' Brashen was brusque. 'But he's endured it for years. He got himself back to Bingtown, blind and capsized. This is no time for a risky experiment in carving wizardwood. He'll have to trust us, Amber. He has done so much to turn himself around that I don't want to risk changing any of his conditions. If you tried and failed, well,' Brashen shook her head. 'I think it's better for us to sail as he is. He's familiar with this hindrance. I think he can cope better with blindness he's accepted than with a great disappointment.'
'But he has never accepted it,' Amber began earnestly.
'Forty-two,' Althea cut in. She gave a sigh but managed a smile. 'We've had this conversation at least forty-two times.'
Amber nodded in acceptance. She changed the subject. 'Lavoy.'
Brashen groaned, then laughed. 'I gave him the last night in town. He'll be on deck on time. I'll vouch for that. He'll have a head, no doubt of that, and he'll take it out on the hands. That's traditional, and they'll expect it. I expect he'll drive them hard and they'll resent him. That's traditional, too. He's the best we could have hired for the job.'
Althea bit her tongue firmly. She had lost count of how many times she and Brashen had wrangled about that. Besides, if they got into it again, he would probably make her admit that Lavoy was not as bad as she had expected him to be. The man had a streak of fairness in him. It was unreliable, but when it did surface, he held himself to it. He would be a tyrant. She knew that. So did Brashen. As long as he did not go too far with it, a tyrant was exactly what this crew needed.
The sea trials had exposed every weakness in their crew. Althea now knew which hands wouldn't scramble, and which ones seemed incapable of it. Some were lazy, some stupid and some slyly determined to do as little as possible. Her father, she was convinced, would have sacked the lot of them. When she had complained to Brashen, he had told her she could replace any and all of them with better men at her discretion. All she had to do was find such men and hire them at the wages he could offer.
That had ended that conversation.
'I wish we were already out there,' Brashen said quietly.
'So do I,' Althea agreed. And yet she dreaded it also. The sea trials had exposed more than the weaknesses of the crew. She knew now that Paragon was far more fragile than she had ever expected. True, he was a stoutly built ship. Once Brashen had arranged the ballast to his liking, he had sailed well, but he did not sail like a liveship. Althea was ready to accept that, as long as he did not actively oppose the men working his decks. What was most difficult for her was his obvious torment. Every time Brashen called a course change, the figurehead flinched. His hands would break free briefly from his crossed arms, to tremble before him. Almost instantly, he would recross his arms and hold them firm against his chest. His jaws were clenched tightly shut, but his fear simmered throughout the ship. All around her, Althea could see the crew reacting to it. They glanced at one another, up at the rigging, out over the water, all seeking the source of their uneasiness. They were too new to the ship to realize they were infected with his fear. That made them more prone to panic, not less. To tell them the cause would only have made it worse. They would learn, she had promised herself. In time, they would learn.
TRADER RESTART HAD HAD HIS CARRIAGE REPAIRED. THE UPHOLSTERY HAD been thoroughly cleaned as well. Now the doors opened and shut as they should, the springs had not groaned alarmingly as Malta climbed in, and when the horses did start, the jolt did not clack her teeth together. It all looked quite clean. As it worked its way through the busy Bingtown streets, a breeze came in the window. Still, she could not convince herself that she didn't smell dead pig. She dabbed at her face with her scented handkerchief.
'Are you all right, dear?' her mother asked her for the tenth time.
'I'm fine. I didn't sleep well last night.' She turned and looked out the window and waited for her mother's next line in the dialogue.
'Well, it's natural for you to be excited. Our ship is sailing today and the ball is only eight days away now.'
'Quite natural!' Davad Restart agreed heartily. He smiled round at them all eagerly. 'You shall see, my dear. This shall mark the turn of all our fortunes.'
'I'm sure it will,' Ronica agreed, but to Malta, it sounded more as if her grandmother prayed it would be so.
'And here we are!' Davad brayed out enthusiastically, as if no one else had noticed. The carriage halted smoothly. 'No, sit still, sit still,' he told them as Keffria reached for the door. 'The driver will open that.'
The slave did indeed come to the door of the carriage, open it for them, and then assist them all out. As first Ronica and then Keffria thanked him for this courtesy, the man looked uneasy. He glanced at Davad as if expecting to be rebuked, but the Trader was too busy straightening his jacket. Malta frowned briefly to herself. Either Davad had become more prosperous lately, or he had simply decided to be freer with his money. The repaired carriage, the trained driver, Davad's new clothes… he was preparing for something. She made a mental note to be more watchful of the Old Trader. Foolish as Davad was socially, he had a shrewd streak for sensing profit. Perhaps there was a way to turn whatever he was doing to her family's advantage as well.
He offered his arm to her grandmother. Ronica allowed it. They were all dressed in their best summer clothes. Grandmother had insisted on it. 'We cannot afford to look poor on this day,' she had said, somewhat fiercely. So fabric had been salvaged from old gowns, washed, turned and pressed to make new dresses for all of them. Rache was developing into quite a seamstress. Malta had to admit she had an eye for copying the newer styles on the streets of Bingtown. Today they were almost fashionable, save for last year's parasols. Even Selden was properly dressed, in blue trousers and a white shirt. He was digging at his collar again. Malta frowned at him severely and shook her head. 'A proper little Trader boy doesn't fuss with his collar,' she told him.
He dropped his hand but scowled at her. 'Being a proper little Trader is choking me,' he returned snippily.
'Get used to it,' she advised him, and took his hand.
The day was warm, the breeze fresh and the Bingtown docks as lively as always. Her mother followed her grandmother, and Malta came on her heels with Selden. She could not deign to notice them, but it was still gratifying to see the sailors' heads turn as she passed. A few made admiring, if unseemly, comments to their fellows. She kept her head up and did not change her pace. Sharp and sudden, she wished she were a Three Ships girl. She could have winked and flirted back and no one would think she had made a bad match if she attracted a hearty young sailor. She was having to live as cheaply as a fisher girl; why could not she have the carefree ways of one?
Her grandmother slowed the pace as they reached the West Wall. As they proceeded down the docks, she greeted each liveship by name. Without failure, every ship returned her greeting, and added good wishes for the Paragon's voyage. Some spoke the words formally, but Malta thought she detected genuine warmth from others. Ronica Vestrit thanked every ship before going on.
When they finally reached the Paragon, the rush of emotion she felt surprised Malta. There he was, the blind ship, the mad ship that her family had scraped and strained to refloat. He rode easily beside the dock. His brass gleamed, his wood shone. He looked like a new ship. He held his head high, his arms crossed on his muscled chest. Below his splintered eyes, his jaw was set firmly and his chin jutted. He looked nothing like the rotting old wreck she had last seen on the beach below the cliffs. Selden's small hand tightened on hers.
Her grandmother halted and looked at the figurehead. She raised her voice. 'Good day to you, Paragon! A fine day to begin a voyage.'
'Good day to you, Mistress Vestrit.' A sudden smile cracked his beard. 'I'm blind, not deaf. You needn't shout.'
'Paragon!' Brashen rebuked him. He had appeared suddenly on the foredeck. Althea hastened up the docks to them.
'It's quite all right, Captain Trell. The ship is correct.' Ronica Vestrit refused to take offense. 'But I shall say again it is a lovely day to begin a voyage.'
There followed an exchange of pleasantries between Brashen, the ship and her grandmother. Malta did not pay too much attention. She was glad the ship wasn't whining or raving. She had feared he would be in one of his mad moods today, throwing things about and shouting. She had seen him like that once, when she had ventured down to the beach to see how things were progressing. He had frightened her so that she had immediately turned around and gone back home.
