Most of her attention shifted between her Aunt Althea and Brashen Trell. She still suspected there was something between them, but today she could detect no sign of it. Brashen was very much Captain Trell today. His clothes were clean and neat, his white shirt and dark blue trousers fastidiously pressed. The dark blue jacket gave him dignity. They were her grandfather's clothes, made over to his size. She wondered if he knew that, if he felt odd wearing his old captain's cast-offs. Althea was dressed unusually sedately. She wore a white blouse, and a split skirt with a matching vest. She even had her shoes on. Malta was willing to bet that these clothes were for show only. Even though she'd be acting as second mate, she suspected her aunt would revert to boy's clothes as soon as she could. There was something decidedly odd about Aunt Althea.
Her friend Amber appeared to have resolved that if people were going to stare, she'd give them a good reason. When she appeared, she wore the togs of an ordinary sailor, but every button to her trousers and shirt was a hand-carved bead. The garb was not flattering to her; it showed that she had a very spare figure, flat-chested and narrow-hipped. She wore a snugly laced vest with fanciful butterflies embroidered on it. The only part of her that seemed at all attractive to Malta was her coloring. Like some pale honey-wood was her skin and hair, and her eyes almost the same shade. She had pulled her long hair back, braided it, and then pinned it to her head. Foreign was the only word that fit her. Even her earrings did not match.
'Welcome aboard,' Brashen was saying. The others had started up the gangplank. He had come down to greet them all, and was now actually offering Malta his arm as he invited her to board the ship. Not so long ago, she would have felt giddy and flattered. He was handsome enough, and challenging in a rakish way. But her fears and her dreams seemed to have scorched that part of her to death.
Once on board the ship, Althea guided them about, pointing out what had been done. Most of it was meaningless to Malta, but she kept a politely interested look on her face. Sailors busy with the last-minute tasks of readying the ship for departure stepped hastily out of their paths, but stared after her. Their eyes were too bold and their manners too crude for Malta to find it flattering. She wondered how Aunt Althea would fare amongst them in the long weeks to come. Perhaps she enjoyed it, she thought in dismay. She felt distant from all of it as she followed her mother and grandmother on a slow tour of the upper deck.
Brashen was at the top of the gangplank, where other well-wishers had begun to gather. It was gratifying to see the Bingtown Traders at least show them this much support. Most of those who came were from liveship families. Perhaps only a seafaring family could appreciate their predicament. Some were dressed as if they had planned to bid them farewell. Others were the captains or crew members of other liveships currently in port. It was, Malta decided, a substantial turnout for such a venture. A few even paused to speak to Davad. The Trader had sagaciously stationed himself by Brashen, where anyone coming aboard must greet him as well. Malta gathered that he had been able to restore slightly his reputation with the other Traders by acting as a go-between in this arrangement. Even so, the greetings they gave him were formal and brief. Davad beamed as if he didn't know any better. At the slightest excuse, he began a well-rehearsed and long-winded account of all he had done to make today possible. Malta was careful to stay out of earshot and not make eye contact with him. The man was a toad.
'Coming, Malta?' her aunt asked her with a smile. She gestured that they were about to leave the foredeck and be shown the rest of the vessel. Malta had no desire to see the holds or the smelly quarters.
'I think I shall stay here,' she ventured. 'It's too lovely of a day to go below.'
'Well, I'm going,' Selden declared boldly and tugged free of her hand.
Althea looked troubled for an instant. Her glance strayed to the crewmen nearby. Plainly, she did not think she should leave her niece in such company. Then her look suddenly cleared and she nodded. 'Of course you may.'
Malta glanced over her shoulder. Amber was standing behind her, leaning on the rail by the figurehead. Some sort of sign had passed between Althea and Amber. Althea now felt Malta would be safe. Interesting.
And interesting, too, to be left in the company of such a mysterious and scandalous figure as the foreign bead-maker.
'Behave yourself, Malta,' Keffria cautioned her daughter worriedly, but she allowed Althea to lead her away with Grandmother. As soon as they had left the deck, Malta focused her attention on Amber. She put a social smile on her face and extended a hand toward the woman.
'Best wishes for your voyage, Mistress Amber.'
The woman looked coolly amused. 'Thank you, Mistress Haven.' She merely inclined her head, but it was as courtly as a bow. She touched Malta's hand briefly with the tips of her gloved fingers. It sent a little shiver up Malta's arm. The woman was so strange. Amber shifted her eyes to stare out over the sea. Malta wondered if it were an attempt to end the conversation. She refused to let it die.
'It seems you have good weather for an auspicious start.'
'Yes. It does indeed.' Amber's voice was polite.
'And the ship seems to be in excellent condition.'
'I would venture to agree with that, also.'
'The crew seems fit and ready.'
'Captain Trell has trained them as thoroughly as time has permitted.'
'Indeed, it seems that all aspects are favorable for this voyage.' Malta suddenly tired of the game. 'Do you think there is any chance you'll succeed?' she asked bluntly. She needed to know. Was this all a fanciful exercise, a show of caring by her family, or was there truly a chance they might rescue her father?
'There is always a chance of anything happening,' Amber replied. Her voice was suddenly serious. She turned back to face her. The intensity of her sympathy burned Malta. 'And when anyone takes action to attempt to make something happen, that something becomes more likely. Many folk have taken actions to try to rescue your family's ship and your father and brother, Malta.' When Amber spoke her name, Malta had no choice but to meet her eyes. They were strange eyes, and it was not just the color. Somehow, that did not matter. She could feel the other woman's words reach for her. 'We have no other focus than rescuing them. I cannot promise you that we will succeed, but we shall sincerely try.'
'I don't know if your words make me feel better or worse.'
'What I want to tell you is that you have done all that you can. Be content with it. You have a wild young heart; right now, it is like a caged bird that batters itself against the bars. To struggle harder will only hurt you more. Wait. Be patient. Your time will come to fly. And when it does, you must be strong, not bloodied and weary.' Amber's eyes went suddenly wider. 'Beware of one who would claim your wings for her own. Beware of one who would make you doubt your own strength. Your discontent is founded in your destiny, Malta. A small life will never satisfy you.'
Malta crossed her arms on her chest, and actually took a step back. She shook her head. 'You sound like a fortune-teller,' she said. The laugh that came from her lips cracked in the summer air. 'How you have made my heart beat!' She tried to laugh again, to dismiss the moment as a foreigner's social gaffe.
'Sometimes I do,' Amber admitted. It was her turn to look away from Malta. The woman looked uncomfortable. 'Sometimes I am. But a fortune-teller is not a fortune-maker. We all make our own fortunes.'
'And how is that?' Malta felt as if she had somehow taken the upper hand in the conversation. When Amber turned back to meet her eyes, that feeling vanished.
'You earn your future, Malta Vestrit.' The bead-maker cocked her head at her. 'What does tomorrow owe you?'
'Tomorrow owes me?' Malta repeated in confusion.
'Tomorrow owes you the sum of your yesterdays. No more than that.' Amber looked out to sea again. 'And no less. Sometimes folk wish tomorrow did not pay them off so completely.'
Malta suddenly felt she must change the subject. She advanced to the railing and leaned on it to peer down at Paragon. 'Our ship looks very handsome today!' she complimented him recklessly. 'You absolutely gleam, Paragon. How excited you must be!'
As sudden as a snake striking, the ship twisted his head to look up at her. That was the chilling part. The wrecked space between his brow and nose froze her with its shattered glance. The coloring of the rest of his face was so natural, but the chopped place was silvered and splintered wood. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. She gripped the railing to keep from falling. Paragon's mouth parted in a wide, white smile. It was the rictus of madness.
'Too late for her,' he whispered. Malta did not know if he spoke to her or about her. 'Too late for her.
