Page 135 of The Liveship Traders Trilogy

RAIN WILD TRADERS

‘B ECAUSE ANYTHING out of the ordinary rattles me, that’s why,’ Grandma snapped.

‘I’m sorry,’ Malta’s mother said in a neutral voice.

‘I was only asking.’ She stood behind Grandmother at her vanity table, pinning up her hair for her.

She didn’t sound sorry, she sounded weary of Grandma’s eternal irritability.

Malta didn’t blame her. Malta was sick of them both being so crabby.

It seemed to her that all they focused on was the sad side of life, the worrying parts.

Tonight there was a big gathering of Old Traders and they were taking Malta with them.

Malta had spent most of the afternoon arranging her hair and trying on her new robe.

But here were her mother and grandmother, just dressing at the last minute, and acting as if the whole thing were some chore instead of a chance to get out and see people and talk. She just couldn’t understand them.

‘Are you ready yet?’ she nudged them. She didn’t want to be the last one to get there.

There would be a lot of talking tonight, a Rain Wild and Trader business discussion her mother had said.

She couldn’t see why her mother and grandmother found that so distressing.

No doubt that would be sit still and try not to be bored time.

Malta wanted to arrive while there was still talking and greeting and refreshments being offered.

Then maybe she could find Delo and sit with her.

It was stupid that it was taking them so long to get ready.

They should have each had a servant to assist with dressing hair and laying out garments and all the rest of it.

Every other Trader family had such servants.

But no, Grandma insisted that they could no longer afford them and Mama had agreed.

And when Malta had argued they had made her sit down with a big stack of tally-sticks and receipts and try to make sense of them in one of the ledger books.

She had muddled the page, and Grandma made her copy it out again.

And then they had wanted to sit around and talk about what the numbers meant and why the numbers said they couldn’t have servants any more, only Nana and Rache.

Malta would be very glad when Papa got back.

She was sure there was something they were missing.

It made no sense to her. How could they suddenly be poor?

Nothing else had changed. Yet there they were, in robes at least two years old, dressing one another’s hair and snipping at each other as they did it.

‘Can we go soon?’ she asked again. She didn’t know why they wouldn’t answer.

‘Does it look as if we can go soon?’ her mother demanded. ‘Malta, please try to be useful instead of driving me mad. Go and see if Trader Restart’s carriage has arrived.’

‘Oh, not him!’ Malta protested. ‘Please, please tell me we are not riding with him in that smelly old carriage of his. Mother, the doors don’t even stay shut or open properly. I am going to be so humiliated if we have to go with—’

‘Malta, go and see if the carriage is here,’ her grandmother tersely commanded her. As if her mother had not already said it.

Malta sighed and stalked off. By the time they got there, the food and drink would be gone and everyone would be seated on the council benches.

If she had to go and sit through a whole council meeting, she at least wanted to be there for the fun part.

As she walked down the hall, she wondered if Delo would even be there.

Cerwin would. His family had been treating him like an adult for years.

Maybe Delo would be there, and if she was, Malta could find a way to get permission to sit with her.

It would be easy to get Delo to sit next to her brother.

She hadn’t seen Cerwin since the day Mother had insisted on showing him around the garden room.

But that didn’t mean that Cerwin was no longer interested.

At that thought, she made a quick side trip to the water closet.

There was a small looking-glass there. The light was not good, but Malta still smiled at what she saw.

She had swept her dark hair up from her face, braiding it and then securing it to the crown of her head.

Artless tendrils danced on her forehead and brushed the tops of her cheeks.

They still would allow her only flowers as adornments, but she had chosen the last tiny roses that still bloomed in the garden room.

They were a deep red, with a heady sweet fragrance.

Her robe for this evening was very simple, but at least it was not a little girl’s frock.

It was a Trader’s robe, such as all the Traders wore to such meetings.

Hers was a deep magenta, almost the same shade as the roses in her hair.

It was traditionally the Vestrit colour.

Malta would have preferred a blue, but the magenta did look good on her.

And at least it was new. She’d never had a Trader’s robe before.

In a way, they were stuffy garments, round necklines, ankle-length, belted at the waist like a monk’s robe.

She admired the shining black leather of her wide belt, the stylized initial that formed the buckle.

She had cinched it tight, to better emphasize the swell of her hips and to pull the fabric taut over her breasts.

Papa was right. She did have a woman’s shape already; why should she not have a woman’s clothes and privileges?

Well, it was only a matter of time before he was back, and then things would change around here.

His trading would go well, he’d come home with pockets full of money, and then he would hear of how she had been mistreated and cheated of her promised gown and…

‘Malta!’ Her mother jerked the door open. ‘What are you doing in here? Everyone is waiting for you. Get your cloak and hurry up!’

‘Is the carriage here?’ she asked her mother’s back as she hurried after her.

‘Yes,’ Mama replied with asperity. ‘And Trader Restart has been standing beside it waiting for us.’

‘Well, why didn’t he knock or ring the bell or…’

‘He did,’ her mother snapped. ‘But as usual, you were off in some daydream of your own.’

‘Do I have to wear my cloak? We’ll be in the carriage and then the hall, and my old cloak looks stupid with my new robe.’

‘It’s cold out. Wear your cloak. And, please, try to remember your manners tonight.

Pay attention to what is said. The Rain Wild families don’t ask for an audience of all the Old Traders without good cause.

I have no doubt that whatever is said tonight will affect the fates of us all.

And remember that the Rain Wild folk are kin to us.

Don’t stare, have your best manners and… ’

‘Yes, Mother.’ The same lecture she had already delivered six times at least today.

Did she think Malta was deaf, or stupid?

Hadn’t she been told ever since she was born that they were kin to the Rain Wild families?

That reminded her. As they went out the door past a stern-faced Nana, Malta began, ‘I’ve heard that the Rain Wild folk have a new ware.

Flame-jewels. I heard that the beads are clear as raindrops, but there are small tongues of flames that dance in each one. ’

Her mother did not even answer. ‘Thank you so much for waiting, Davad. And this is so far out of your way as well,’ she was saying to the dumpy little man.

He beamed at her mother, his face shining with pleasure and grease as he helped her up into the carriage.

Malta didn’t say a word to him and managed to hop in before he could touch her arm.

She hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven him for her last carriage ride.

Her mother had settled in next to her grandmother.

Oh, they couldn’t expect her to sit next to Trader Restart.

It was just too disgusting. ‘May I sit in the middle?’ She managed to squeeze herself in between them.

‘Mother, about the flame-jewels…’ She began hopefully, but Trader Restart started speaking as if she weren’t even there.

‘All settled? Well, here we go then. Now, I shall have to sit by the door here to hold it shut, I’m afraid.

I told my man to see to having the catch repaired, but when I ordered the carriage out tonight, I found it had not been done yet.

It’s enough to drive one mad. What is the good of having servants if they pay no attention when you tell them to do something?

It’s almost enough to make a man wish for slavery here in Bingtown.

A slave knows that his master’s goodwill is his only hope of comfort and well-being, and it makes him pay attention to his orders. ’

And on and on and on, all the way to Trader Concourse.

Trader Restart talked and her mother and grandmother listened.

At most they only politely differed with him even though she had heard her grandmother say a hundred times that she thought slavery would ruin Bingtown.

Not that Malta agreed with her. She was sure Papa would not have become involved with it if it were not profitable.

Still, she thought it was rather spineless, the way her grandmother said one thing at home, and then didn’t stand up for her views with Restart.

The strongest thing she said was, ‘Davad, I have only to imagine myself a slave to know that it is wrong.’ As if that were some final argument.

Malta was thoroughly bored with the whole discussion long before the carriage stopped.

And she still hadn’t managed to tell her mother about the flame-jewels.