I know. There's a fleet of Chalcedean warships coming into Bingtown Harbor. If you've got a ship, man it and get it out there. We need to slow them down. Everyone else, bring weapons and buckets and come down to the harbor. Chalcedeans use fire. If they manage to get off their ships, they'll try to burn the town.'
'What about our children?' a woman cried from the back of the crowd.
'If they're old enough to tote a bucket, bring them with you. Leave the smallest ones here with the old and crippled. They'll have to look after each other. Come on.'
Little Selden stood beside her in the crowd. Ronica looked down at him. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. His eyes were huge. 'Go into the Concourse, Selden,' Keffria told him in a falsely cheerful voice. 'We'll be back for you soon.'
'Shan't!' he declared in a brittle little voice. 'I'm big enough to carry a bucket.' He choked back a frightened sob and crossed his arms defiantly on his chest.
'Malta will be with you,' Keffria offered desperately. 'She can help take care of the babies and old people.'
'I'd rather carry a bucket,' Malta declared sourly as she took Selden's hand in hers. For a moment she looked and sounded almost like Althea. 'We're not going to hide here and wonder what is going on. Come on, Selden. Let's go.'
At the top of the Concourse steps, Trader Larfa was still shouting directions. 'You. Porfro. Get word to the Three Ships families. Someone take word to the New Traders' Council.'
'As if they would care! Let them watch out for themselves!' someone shouted back angrily.
'It's their fault we have Chalcedeans in the harbor in the first place,' someone added.
'There's no time for that now. We need to defend the city!' Larfa argued. 'Bingtown is what counts, not when we got here!'
'Bingtown!' someone shouted. Others took up the cry. 'Bingtown! To Bingtown!'
Wagons and carriages were already rattling out of the courtyard, headed down into the city proper. Ronica overheard someone arranging riders to take word to the outlying farms and settlements. There was no time to go home and change into different clothes, no time to wonder about missed breakfasts or shoes that were more sensible. She saw a woman and her grown daughter matter-of-factly tearing their voluminous skirts from their gowns. They discarded the hobbling fabric and in their long cotton pantaloons followed the men of their family.
Ronica seized Keffria's hand, counting on the children to follow. 'Room for us?' she shouted to a passing cart. The driver halted it without a word. They piled into it, heedless of the crowding. Three young men leaped in after them. One wore a pitted sword at his hip. They were all grinning like maniacs. Their eyes were bright, their movements swift and powerful like young bulls ready to challenge one another. They smiled wide at Malta, who glanced at them and looked aside. The cart started with a jolt and Ronica seized hold of the edge. They began the trip down to Bingtown.
At one place in the road, the trees parted and Ronica had a brief glimpse of the harbor. The liveships were drawn up in the mouth of it. Men clustered on their decks, milling and pointing. Out beyond them, she saw the tall mast of a ship. The many-oared galleys of the Chalcedeans surrounded it like foul, scuttling bugs.
'They were flying the Jamaillian standard!' one young man in their cart cried out as they lost sight of the harbor.
'Don't mean a thing,' another one sneered. 'The cowardly buggers just want to get in close before they attack. There's no other reason for that many ships to be heading into our harbor.'
Ronica agreed. She saw a sickly smile blossom on Malta's face. She leaned close to the white-faced girl. 'Are you all right?' she asked her quietly. She feared her granddaughter was about to faint.
Malta laughed, a thin, near-hysterical sound. 'It's so stupid. All this week, I've been sewing on my dress, thinking about Reyn, and the flowers and lights and dancing. Last night I could not sleep because my slippers displeased me so. And now I've a feeling that none of it may ever come to be.' She lifted her head and her wide eyes swept over the stream of wagons, carts, and the folk beside them on foot and on horseback. She spoke with a quiet fatalism. 'Everything in my life that I was sure I would do someday has always been snatched away when it was almost within my reach. Perhaps it will happen again.' A far look came into her eyes. 'Perhaps by tomorrow we shall all be dead and our town a smoking ruin. Perhaps my presentation will never even be.'
'Don't say such things!' Keffria exclaimed in horror.
Ronica said nothing at all for a time. Then she set her hand over Malta's where she gripped the side of the cart. 'This is today. And this is your life.' They were comfortless words, and she was not sure where they came from. 'It is my life, also,' she added, and looked ahead of them, far down the winding road to Bingtown.
REYN STOOD ON THE AFTERDECK OF THE KENDRY, WATCHING THE WIDENING wake of the great liveship in the broad river. The coming of morning turned the milky water of the river to silver and made the ever- dripping canopy of the forested banks a shimmering curtain of falling jewels. The swiftness of the current and the ship's great sails carried them downriver at an incredible rate. He drew in a great breath to try to lift the heaviness from his heart. It would not go away. He bowed his head into his hands. Sliding his hands up under his veil, he scrubbed at his sandy eyes. Deep sleep seemed like a nursery tale from his childhood. He wondered if he would ever sleep well again.
'You look like I feel,' a voice said quietly. Reyn startled and turned. In the dimness of the early morning light, he had not noticed the other man. Grag Tenira rolled a tiny parchment up and slipped it up the sleeve of his shirt. 'But you shouldn't,' he continued, his brow creasing in a frown. 'Are not you to be Malta Vestrit's escort at the Summer Ball? What is there to sigh about in that?'
'Very little,' Reyn assured him. He plastered a smile onto his face. 'I share her concerns for her father and their missing ship. That is all, but it is a heavy concern. I had hoped that her presentation ball would be a wholly festive occasion. I fear this will overshadow it.'
'If it's any comfort, the Kendry brought me word that the rescue expedition has already left Bingtown.'
'Ah. I had heard your name linked with Althea Vestrit's. This word comes directly from her then?' Reyn nodded his veiled head toward the missive that still peeped from Grag's sleeve.
Grag gave a short sigh. 'A farewell missive from her, before she set forth. She has great hopes for her expedition, but none at all for us. It's a very friendly letter.'
'Ah. Sometimes friendly is harder than cold.'
'Exactly.' Grag rubbed his forehead. 'The Vestrits are a stiff-necked bunch. The women are too damn independent for their own good. So everyone has always said of Ronica Vestrit. I've discovered the hard way that the same is true of Althea.' He gave Reyn a bitter grin. 'Let's hope your luck with the younger generation is better.'
'She gives little sign of that,' Reyn admitted ruefully. 'But I think that if I can win her, the battle will have been worth it.'
Grag shook his head and looked away from the other man. 'I felt the same way about Althea. I still feel that way. Somehow, I doubt that I'll get a chance to find out.'
'But you're returning to Bingtown?'
'I won't be stopping there, I'm afraid. Once we get to town, it's belowdecks for me, until we're out at sea.'
'And then?' Reyn asked.
Grag gave a friendly smile but shook his head dumbly.
'Quite right. The fewer who know, the better,' Reyn agreed. He returned his gaze to the river.
'I wanted to tell you personally how grateful the Teniras are for the support you've shown us. It is one thing to say you will back us. It's another to put your family fortune on the line as well.'
Reyn shrugged. 'It is a time when the Rain Wilds and Bingtown must stand united, or give up who and what we are.'
Grag stared at the ship's white-edged wake. 'Do you think enough of us will stand united for us to succeed? For generations, we have functioned as part of Jamaillia. All of our lives are patterned as closely as possible on Jamaillia City. It is not just our language and our ancestry. It is all our customs: our food, our style of dress, even our dreams for our futures. When we stand apart from that and say, We are Bingtown, what will we really be saying? Who will we be?'
