Ship of Magic (Liveship Traders/Robin Hobb, Band 1) - Hardcover

Hobb, Robin

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0553103245 ISBN 13: 9780553103243

Verlag: Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, 1998

Inhaltsangabe

Expecting to inherit her family's Liveship, Althea Vestrit now must defend this animate, intelligent treasure from both her scheming brother-in-law, who plans to use it as a slave ship, and a nation of ruthless pirates, led by Captain Kennit.

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acclaimed Farseer trilogy--Assassin's Apprentice, Royal Assassin, and Assassin's Quest--wove a spellbinding tale of magic, passion, and glory. Now, in the first book of a new trilogy set in the same world, she tells the magnificent story of a proud seafaring clan and the enchanted ships that carry them on far-flung, ferocious tides....

Not far from the Six Duchies lies Bingtown, hub of exotic trade and home to a merchant nobility famed for its liveships--rare vessels carved from wizardwood, which ripens magically into sentient awareness. Bingtown's Old Traders, their wealth eroded by northern wars and the rapacity of southern pirates, now face an influx of upstart merchants who bring change to a complex society.

The Vestrit family's only hope of renewed prosperity is the Vivacia, a liveship they have nurtured for three generations. Now, as old Captain Vestrit lies dying in Bingtown, the Vivacia cuts home

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Althea longed for a fresh-water bath.  As she toiled up the companionway to the deck, every muscle in her body ached, and her head pounded from the thick air of the aft hold.  At least her task was done.  She'd go to her stateroom, wash with a wet towel, change her clothes and perhaps even nap for a bit.  And then she'd go to confront Kyle.  She'd put it off long enough, and the longer she waited, the more uncomfortable she became.  She'd get it over with and then damn well live with whatever it brought down on her.

"Mistress Althea."  She had no more than gained the deck before Mild confronted her.  "Cap'n requires you."  The ship's boy grinned at her, half-apologetic, half-relishing being the bearer of such tidings.

"Very well, Mild," she said quietly.  Very well, her thoughts echoed to herself.  No wash, no clean clothes and no nap before the confrontation.  Very well.  She took a moment to smooth her hair back from her face and to tuck her blouse back into her trousers.  Prior to her task, they had been her cleanest work clothes.  Now the coarse cotton of the blouse stuck to her back and neck with her own sweat, while the trousers were smudged with oakum and tar from working in the close quarters of the hold.  She knew her face was dirty, too.  Well.  She hoped Kyle would enjoy his advantage.  She stooped down as if to re-fasten her shoe, but instead placed her hand flat on the wood of the deck.  For an instant she closed her eyes and let the strength of the Vivacia flow through her palm.  "Oh, ship," she whispered as softly as if she prayed.  "Help me stand up to him."  Then she stood, her resolve firm once more.

As she crossed the twilit deck to the captain's quarters, not an eye would meet hers.  Every hand was suddenly very busy or simply looking off in another direction.  She refused to glance back to see if they watched after her.  Instead she kept her shoulders squared and her head up as she marched to her doom.

She rapped sharply at the door of the captain's quarters and waited for his gruff reply.  When it came she entered, and then stood still, letting her eyes adjust to the yellow lantern light. In that instant, she felt a sudden wash of homesickness.  The intense longing was not for any shoreside house, but rather for this room as it once had been.  Memories dizzied her.  Her father's oilskins had hung on that hook, and the smell of his favorite rum had flavored the air.  Her own hammock he had rigged in that corner when he had first allowed her to start living aboard the Vivacia, that he might better watch over her.  She knew a moment of anger as her eyes took in Kyle's clutter overlaying the familiar hominess of these quarters.  A nail in his boot had left a pattern of scars across the polished floorboards.  Ephron Vestrit had never left charts out, and would never have tolerated the soiled shirt flung across the chair back.  He did not approve of an untidy deck anywhere on his ship, and that included his own quarters.  His son-in-law Kyle apparently did not share those values.

Althea pointedly stepped over a discarded pair of trousers to stand before the captain at his table.  Kyle let her stand there for a few moments while he continued to peruse some notation on the chart.  A notation in her father's own precise hand, Althea noticed, and took strength from that even as her anger burned at the thought that he had access to the family's charts.  A Trader family's charts were among their most guarded possessions.  How else could one safeguard one's swiftest routes through the Inside Passage, and one's trading ports in lesser-known villages?  Still, her father had entrusted these charts to Kyle; it was not up to her to question his decision.

Kyle continued to ignore her, but she refused to rise to his bait.  She stood silent and patient, but did not let his apparent disinterest fluster her.  After a time he lifted his eyes to regard her.  Their blueness was as unlike her father's steady black eyes as his unruly blond hair was unlike her father's smooth black queue.  Once more she wondered with distaste what had ever possessed her older sister to desire such a man.  His Chalcedean blood showed in his ways as much as in his body.  She tried to keep her disdain from showing on her face, but her control was wearing thin.  She'd been too long at sea with this man.

This last voyage had been interminable.  Kyle had muddled what should have been a simple two-month turnaround trip along Chalced's coast into a five-month trading trek full of unnecessary stops and marginally profitable trade runs.  She was convinced all of it was an effort on his part to show her father what a sly trader he could be.  For herself, she had not been impressed.  At Tusk he had stopped and taken on pickled sea-duck eggs, always an uncertain cargo, and barely made dock in Brigtown in time to sell them off before they went rotten.  In Brigtown, he'd taken on bales of cotton, not just enough to fill the empty space in the holds but enough to make a partial deck load as well.  Althea had had to bite her tongue and watch her crew take their chances as they scrambled over and around the heavy bales, and then they'd had a late gale that had soaked and most likely ruined the portion of the load on deck.  She hadn't even asked him what the profit had been, if any, when he'd stopped to auction it off in Dursay. Dursay had been their last port.  The wine casks had yet again been shifted about to allow for a whim cargo.  Now, in addition to the wines and brandies that had comprised their original cargo, the hold was stuffed with crates of comfer nuts.  Kyle had held forth endlessly on the good price they'd bring, both for the fragrant oil from their kernels for soap and the lovely yellow dye that could be made from their husks.  Althea thought that if he crowed once more about the extra profit this would wring from the voyage, she'd throttle him.  But self-congratulation was not in the gaze he turned on her.  It was cold as seawater, lit with tiny glints of anger.

He neither smiled nor bid her be seated.  Instead he simply demanded.  "What were you doing in the aft hold?"

Someone had run to the captain and tattled.  She kept her voice steady.  "I re-stowed the cargo."

"You did."

It was a statement, almost an accusation.  But it was not a question, so she did not need to make any answer.  Instead, she stood very straight under that piercing gaze.  She knew he expected her to babble out explanations and excuses, as Keffria would have.  But she was not her sister, nor his wife.  He suddenly slammed his palm down on the table before him, and though the sudden impact made her flinch, she still did not speak.  She watched him waiting for her to say something, and then felt an odd sense of victory when his temper snapped.

"Did you presume to tell the men to change how that cargo was stowed?"

She spoke very softly, very calmly.  "No.  I did not.  I did the work myself.  My father has taught me that aboard a ship, one must see what...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 1998
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0553103245
• ISBN 13: 9780553103243
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 685
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar