“Malta,” her grandmother said in a soft but firm voice. “I want to ask you, one last time, if you stole the box from your mother's room. No, think before you answer. Think what this means to our family honor, to your reputation. Answer truthfully, and I promise not to be angry with you about your first lie.” Her grandmother waited, holding her breath, watching Malta like a snake.
Malta set down her spoon. “I did not steal anything,” she said in a quivering voice. “I don't know how you can believe such things of me. What have I ever done to you, to deserve these accusations all the time? Oh, I wish my father were here, to see how I am treated while he is away. I am sure this is not the life he intended for his only daughter!”
“No. He'd have auctioned you off like a fat calf by now,” her grandmother said shortly. “Do not flap your emotions at me. You may fool your mother but you don't fool me. I tell you this plainly. If you have taken the dream-box and opened it, well, that is bad enough a hole for us to dig out of. But if you persist in lying and keep that thing… oh, Malta. You cannot flaunt a courtship from one of the major Trader families of the Rain Wilds. This is not a time for your childish little games. Financially, we are teetering. What has saved us thus far is that we are known for keeping our word. We don't lie, we don't cheat, we don't steal. We pay our debts honestly. But if folk lose faith in that, if they start believing we do not keep our word, then we are lost, Malta. Lost. And young as you are, you will have to help pay the forfeit for that.”
Malta stood slowly. She flung down her spoon so it rang against her plate. “My father will be home soon, with a fat purse from his hard work. And he will pay off your debts and protect us from the ruin your stubbornness has brought us to. We'd have no problems if Grandpa had traded up the Rain Wild River, like any other man with a liveship. If you'd listened to Davad and sold off the bottom land, or at least let him use his slaves to work it for shares, we wouldn't be in this hole. It's not my stubbornness that threatens this family, but yours.”
Her grandmother's face had gone from stern to shock. Now her mouth was pinched white with fury. “Do you listen at doors, sweet granddaughter? To the words of a dying man to his wife? I had thought many things of you, Malta, both good and bad. But I never suspected you of being a prying little eavesdropper.”
Malta wagged her head coldly. She made her voice sweet. “I was told it was how one became accepted as a woman in this family. To know the family holdings and finances, to be aware of both dangers and opportunities. But it seems to me you would rather risk any opportunity for the sake of keeping my father in ignorance. You don't really see him as a member of this family, do you? Oh, he's fine for fathering children and keeping my mother content. But you want nothing of him beyond that. Because then he might threaten your own plan. To keep power and control for yourself, even if it means ruin for the family.” Malta had not known the depth of her own anger until she heard it poured out as venom.
Her grandmother's voice was shaking as she replied. “If your father is ignorant of our ways, it is because he never took the time to learn them. If he had, I would not be so fearful of the power he already wields, Malta.” The woman took a breath. “You show me, here and now, that you have understanding I did not suspect in you. If you had shown us the depth of your understanding before, perhaps your mother and I would have seen you as more adult than child. For now, understand this. When Ephron… when your grandfather died, I could have retained far more control of the family fortune than I did. His wish was that Althea have the ship. Not Keffria and your father. It was I who persuaded him that your father would be a better choice for captain. Would I have done that, if my hope were to keep control for myself? If I opposed your father being a full member of this family? I believed in his stability and wisdom. But he was not content to inherit. He brought too much change, too fast, with no real understanding of what he was changing, or why such change would be bad. He never consulted any of us about it. Suddenly, it was all his own will and what he thought was best. I do not keep him in ignorance, Malta. His ignorance is a fortress he has built himself and defended savagely.”
Malta listened, but it was almost against her will. Her grandmother was too clever for her. She knew there were lies hidden there, she knew the old woman was twisting the truth about her handsome, dashing, bold father. But she wasn't smart enough to unravel the deception. So she forced a smile to her lips. “Then you won't mind if I tell him what I know, to dispel his ignorance that offends you so. You won't mind if I tell him there never were any charts of the Rain Wild River. That the quickened ship is her own guide. Surely I should dispel that ignorance for him.”
She watched her grandmother's face closely, to see how she would take Malta knowing this secret. But the old woman's face did not betray her. She shook her head. “You make a threat, child, and you don't even know that you threaten yourself. There are both costs and dangers to dealing with the Rain Wild Traders. Our kin they are, and I speak no ill against them. The bargains we have struck with them I will keep. But Ephron and I long ago decided that we would make no new bargains, no new commitments with them. Because we wanted our children and our grandchildren, yes, even you, to make their own decisions. So we lived a harder life than we needed to, and our debts were not paid off as swiftly as they might have been. We did not mind the sacrifice.” Her grandmother's voice began to quaver wildly. “We sacrificed for you, you spitting little cat. And now I look at you and wonder why. Chalcedean salt water runs in your veins, not Bingtown blood.”
The old woman turned and rushed from the room. There was no dignity and strength in her retreat. Malta knew that meant she had won. She had faced her down, once and for all, and now they all would have to treat Malta differently. She had won, she had proved her will was as strong as her grandmother's. And she didn't care, not really, about that last thing her grandmother had said. It was all a lie anyway, about sacrifices made for her. It was all a lie.
A lie. And that was another thing. She hadn't meant to lie to her about the box. She wouldn't have done it, if the old woman had not been so sure she had both stolen it and lied about it. If Ronica Vestrit had looked at her and wondered a little if she were innocent, Malta would have told her the truth. But what was the good of telling people the truth when they already believed you were wicked and the truth would just prove it to them? She might just as well lie twice and be the liar and thief that her grandmother not only believed she was, but hoped she was. Yes, that was true, her grandmother wanted her to be bad and wicked, because then she'd feel justified in the horrid way she treated Malta's father. It was all her grandmother's own fault. If you treated people badly, then it all just came back on you.
“Malta?” The voice was very soft, very gentle. A hand came to rest tenderly on her shoulder. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Malta whirled, seizing up her porridge bowl and dashing it at the floor at Rache's feet. “I hate porridge! Don't serve it to me again! I don't care what else you have to cook for me, don't serve me porridge. And don't touch me! You don't have the right. Now clean that up and leave me alone!”
She pushed the shocked slave out of the way and stormed out of the room. Slaves. They were so stupid. About everything.
“Paragon. There's something I have to talk to you about.”
Amber had spent the afternoon with him. She'd brought a lantern with her, and explored inside him. She'd walked slowly through his hold, the captain's chamber, the chart room, every compartment inside his hull. In the course of it, she'd asked many questions, some of which he could answer, others he would not or could not. She'd found the things that Brashen had left and boldly arranged them to suit herself. “Some night I'll come out here and sleep with you, shall I?” she had proposed. “We'll stay up late and tell each other stories until dawn.” She'd been intensely interested in every odd bit of junk she found. A bag with dice in it, still tucked up in a crack where some sailor had hidden it so he could game on watch and not be caught. A scratched out message on one bulkhead. “Three days, Sa help us all”, it read, and she had wanted to know who had carved it and why. She had been most curious about the blood stains. She had gone from one to another, counting up to seventeen irregular blotches on his deck and in various holds. She had missed six others, but he didn't tell her that, nor would he recall for her the day that blood had been shed or the names of those who had fallen. And in the captain's quarters she had found the locked compartment that should have held his log books, but did not. The lock was long shattered, even the plank door splintered and torn awry. The logs that should have been his memory were gone, all stolen away. Amber had picked at that like a gull at a body. Was that why he would not answer her questions? Did he have to have his logs to remember? Yes? Well, then, how did he remember her visits, or Mingsley's? He had no log of those things.
He had shrugged. “A dozen years from now, when you have lost interest in me and no longer come to visit, I shall probably have forgotten you as well. You do not stop to think that you are asking me of events that most likely occurred long before you were born. Why don't you tell me about your childhood. How well do you remember your infancy?”
