Page 136
Story: The Liveship Traders Trilogy
But at least they weren’t the last ones to arrive.
Not quite. It took every bit of self-control Malta could muster to sit still while Restart fumbled with the faulty door-catch, and then manoeuvred himself out the opening.
She followed right away, stepping nimbly down before he could take her hand in his moist, meaty palm. The man made her want to go and wash.
‘Malta!’ her mother called to her sharply as she started up the walk. She didn’t even lower her voice as she said, ‘Wait there. We shall all go in together.’
Malta folded her lips and breathed out once through her nose.
She did it on purpose, her mother enjoyed publicly speaking to her as if she were still a child.
She waited for them, but when they caught up with her, she purposely lagged behind, not so far that her mother would call her, but far enough that she wasn’t quite with them and Trader Restart.
The Traders’ Concourse was dark. Well, not entirely, but certainly not lit as it had been for the Harvest Ball.
A mere two torches burned to illuminate the pathway, and the windows of the hall showed dimly through shutter cracks.
That was probably because this meeting had been called by the Rain Wild families.
They did not enjoy light, or so it was said.
Delo said it was something about their eyes, but Malta suspected that if they all were as ugly as the one she had seen, they just didn’t want everyone looking at them.
Warty. That was how she had heard them described.
Warty and deformed. A little shiver ran up her spine.
She wondered how many of them would be here tonight.
Another carriage rattled up behind Davad’s just as his coachman clucked to his horses.
It was an old style of carriage, with heavy lace panels obscuring the windows.
Malta dawdled to see who would get out of it.
In the dim light, she had to peer to see the crest on the door.
It was unfamiliar, not an Old Trader crest. That meant they had to be Rain Wild.
No one else would dare to be here tonight.
She walked on, but could not resist glancing over her shoulder to see who would get out.
A family disembarked, six figures, all cloaked and hooded in dark colours.
But as each stepped out, the touch of gloved hand to collar or cuff set tiny amber, red and orange lights to flickering at each location.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck and then she realized what they were.
Flame-jewels. Malta halted where she stood.
Oh, the rumours of them could not do them justice.
She caught her breath and stared. The closer they came, the more magnificent they were.
‘Malta?’ She heard the warning in her mother’s voice.
‘Good evening.’ It was a husky woman’s voice that came from within the shadowed depths of the hood.
And now Malta could see that the hood was veiled with a curtain of lace as well.
What could be so hideous, as to need hiding even in darkness?
The flame-jewels she wore were scarlet, weighing down the edges of her veil.
She was dimly aware of hurried footsteps behind her, the soft sussurrus of fabric.
She startled when her mother spoke right at her elbow.
‘Good evening. I am Keffria, of the Vestrit Trader family.’
‘Jani of the Rain Wild’s Khuprus gives you greeting,’ the hooded woman replied.
‘May I present my daughter, Malta Haven of the Vestrit family.’
‘You may indeed.’ The woman’s voice was a cultured purr. Malta belatedly remembered to bow. The woman chuckled approvingly. When she spoke, it was to her mother. ‘I do not believe I have seen her at a Gathering before. Has she just entered society?’
‘In truth, this is her first Gathering. She has not been presented yet. Her grandmother and I believe she must learn the duties and responsibilities of a Trader woman before she is presented as one.’ In contrast to Jani, her mother’s voice was courteous and hasty, as if correcting a wrong impression.
‘Ah. That does sound like Ronica Vestrit. And I do approve of such philosophy. I fear it is becoming rarer in Bingtown these days.’ Her tone smooth and rich as cream now.
‘Your flame-jewels are beautiful,’ Malta blurted out. ‘Are they very expensive?’ Even as she said it, she heard how childish she sounded.
‘Malta!’ her mother rebuked her.
But the Rain Wild woman chuckled throatily.
‘Actually, the scarlets are the most common and the easiest to awaken. But I still love them best. Red is such a rich colour. The greens and blues are rarer far, and much harder to stir. And so, of course, they are the ones we charge most dearly for. The flame-jewels are the exclusive province of the Khuprus, of course.’
‘Of course,’ her mother replied. ‘It is quite thrilling to see this new addition to the Khuprus merchandise. The rumours of them have not done them justice.’ Her mother glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh, dear! We have delayed you, I fear. We should probably all go in lest they begin without us.’
‘Oh, they will wait for me, I am certain,’ Jani Khuprus observed heavily. ‘It is at my behest we are all gathered here. But you are right, there is no courtesy in keeping others waiting. Keffria, young Malta. A pleasure to speak with you both.’
‘Our pleasure,’ her mother demurred, and stepped aside deferentially to allow the hooded woman to precede her.
As her mother took her arm, she gripped it just a fraction tighter than was comfortable.
‘Oh, Malta,’ she sighed in rebuke, and then firmly escorted her in.
Just within the doors of the Traders’ Concourse, Grandmother awaited them.
Her lips were folded tightly. She curtseyed deeply to Jani Khuprus as she passed, then turned wide eyes on Malta and her mother.
Her mother waited a few moments to be sure Jani Khuprus was out of earshot, then hissed, ‘She presented herself to her!’
‘Oh, Malta,’ her grandmother groaned. Sometimes Malta felt her name was a sort of club. Almost any time either of them said it, they expressed anger or disgust or impatience with the word. She hung her cloak on a peg, then turned with a shrug.
‘I just wanted to see her flame-jewels,’ she tried to explain, but as usual, neither of them was listening to her.
Instead they hurried her inside the hall.
It was dimly lit with tall standing branches of tapers.
A third of the space had been given over to an elevated stage.
The floor that she had always seen cleared for dancing was now lined with rows of chairs.
And it was as she had feared. They were late.
The tables of food were picked over and folk were either seated already or seeking their seats.
‘Can I go and sit with Delo?’ she asked hastily.
‘Delo Trell is not here,’ Grandmother pointed out acidly. ‘Her parents had the good sense to leave her at home. Which is where I wish you were, also.’
‘I didn’t ask to come,’ Malta replied, even as her mother said, ‘Mother!’ in rebuke.
A few moments later, Malta found herself seated between them at the end of a long row of cushioned chairs.
Davad Restart sat at the very end. There was an elderly couple in front of them, a pox-scarred man and his pregnant wife behind them, and on the other side of Mama were two heavy-jowled brothers.
They weren’t even interesting to look at.
By sitting up tall and craning her head, she finally found Cerwin Trell.
He was six rows in front of them, and almost at the opposite end of the row.
There were empty seats behind the Trells.
She was sure her mother had deliberately chosen to seat her so far away.
‘Sit still and pay attention,’ her grandmother hissed.
Malta sighed and slumped back in her seat.
Up front, Trader Trentor was midway through a long invocation to Sa.
It seemed to be a long list of everything that had ever gone wrong for any of the Trader families.
Instead of being angry that Sa had let such things befall them, he grovelled along about how Sa always came to their aid.
If it had been Krion instead of his uncle, perhaps it would have been interesting.
In the seats reserved for the Rain Wild Traders, several cowled heads were bent forwards.
She wondered if they were already dozing.
After the invocation, there was the speech of welcome by Trader Drur.
It repeated the same tired litany. All were kin, all were Traders, ancient oaths and bonds, loyalty and unity, blood and kin.
Malta found a flaw in the weave of her new robe.
It was right at the edge of her knee. When she tried to point it out to her mother, she looked annoyed and made a shushing motion with her hand.
When Drur finally resumed his seat and Jani Khuprus came forward, Malta sat up and leaned forward.
The Rain Wild Trader had taken off her heavy outer cloak and hood but her features were still obscured.
She wore a lighter mantle of ivory, also hooded, and the lace veil that covered her face was actually a part of that garment.
The flame-jewels still shone as brilliantly and had lost none of their effect in the dimly-lit room.
As she spoke, her veiled face often turned to different corners of the room.
Whenever she turned her head, the veil moved, and the flame-gems flared up more brightly.
There were fifteen of them, all as glistening red as pomegranate kernels, but about the size of shelled almonds.
She couldn’t wait to tell Delo that she had seen them up close and even spoken to Jani Khuprus about them.
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