The Rain Wild Chronicles: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Robin Hobb

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СКАЧАТЬ felt a small vibration and then that prickle of awareness. Someone, a stranger to Tarman, was on the deck of his ship. Leftrin stood silently. From a nearby equipment box, he picked up the large hardwood fid used for mending and splicing the heaviest lines. He weighed the heft of it in his hand, smiled to himself and moved quietly as the cat to the door. He eased it open. The cool air of morning flowed in. In the upper reaches of the forest, birds were calling. In the lower levels, bats were still heading home to roost. He stepped out on his deck and began a noiseless patrol of his vessel.

      He found no one, but when he came back to the door of the deckhouse, a small scroll rested on the deck there. His heart gave a lurch as he stooped down to pick it up. The paper of the scroll was soft and thick; it smelled of a foreign land, bitterly spicy. He carried it back into his stateroom and shut the door. The wax that sealed it was a plain brown blob; no signet press betrayed the owner. He flicked it off and unrolled the small scroll. He read it by the grey light seeping in his small window.

       ‘There are no coincidences. I’ve manoeuvred you into place. Lend your support to the one that I’ve arranged to be there. You will know him soon enough. You know what he seeks. A fortune rides on this, and the blood of my family. If all goes well, the fortune will be shared with you. If it does not go well, my family will not be the only ones to mourn.’

      It was not signed, but no signature was needed. Sinad Arich. Months ago, he had given the foreigner passage to Trehaug, and almost as soon as the boat had docked, the Chalcedean merchant had vanished. He hadn’t asked for passage back down the river. Two days later, when the Tarman was loaded with cargo and Leftrin had heard nothing from or about the man, they had departed. The foreign trader had left few signs of his passage on the Tarman. There had been a shirt that Leftrin had dropped overboard and some smoking herbs that he’d appropriated for his own use. The crew never asked what had become of their passenger, and Leftrin hadn’t made much noise about his leaving Trehaug that day. The man’s papers had been in order and he’d sold him passage up the river. That was what he intended to say if anyone ever asked him about the merchant. But no one ever had, and Leftrin had hoped he had set that misadventure behind him.

      He’d hoped in vain. He wished he’d never heard of that damn Chalcedean merchant, wished he’d found a way to throw him overboard a year ago. Sinad Arich had haunted his nightmares since he’d last seen the man. After all that time, Leftrin had almost believed he’d seen the last of him, that the man had only wanted to use him once and then let him go.

      But that was what it was to deal with Chalced or any Chalcedean. Once they knew you had a weakness, a secret spot of any kind, they’d hook into you, exploit you until you were either killed in the process or turned on them and killed them. He gritted his teeth together. Only a few moments ago, he’d been doltishly happy at the prospect of travelling upriver with the object of his fascination. Now he wondered who else would be travelling with him, and how relentless they would be in their threats. He wondered if he would have to kill someone on this journey, and if he did, how he would do it and if he would be able to keep it concealed from Alise.

      It saddened him. He suspected that if she knew half the things he’d done in his life, she’d have nothing to do with him. He didn’t like that he had to conceal part of what he was to enjoy her companionship, but he would. He’d do whatever he must to have what little time with her that he could. He was already at an immense disadvantage with such a fine lady. Here he was, a Rain Wilds riverman with little more than a boat to his name. She couldn’t even imagine what a unique and wonderful boat the Tarman was. She couldn’t possibly see his ship as his fortune. So he didn’t know why she seemed to like him. He worked hard and expected he always would. He had no fine home to present to her. His clothes were rags compared to the garments of her dandified escort; he wore no rings. Before she had set foot on his ship, he’d had little more ambition than to continue doing what he’d always done: carrying freight shipments up and down the river, and making enough to pay his crew, and to have a good meal when his schedule allowed him to overnight in a town. He’d had his chance to make a fortune selling off that wizardwood. He could have been a wealthy man now, with a palatial home in Jamaillia or Chalced. He didn’t regret the decision he’d made; it was the only right thing he could have done.

      Yet he wondered at how small a life he’d been willing to settle for. He wished in vain that he’d foreseen that some day such a woman might walk into his life. If he had, perhaps he would have saved the sort of wealth that might impress her. But what could he have acquired that could compare with whatever her rich husband in Bingtown offered her?

      He looked at the little scroll again. He wondered if he should have killed the Chalcedean merchant and dropped him over the side before they ever reached Trehaug. He didn’t think of it casually; he’d only killed one man, long ago, and that had been over a game of chance gone wrong, with accusations that he was cheating. He hadn’t been, and when the fellow and his friends had made it clear that they’d kill him before they let him walk off with his winnings, he’d beaten one man unconscious, killed another and fled the third. He didn’t feel proud that he’d done so, only competent that he’d survived. It was another decision that he refused to regret.

      So now as he contemplated retroactive murder, he did it only in a ‘what if’ frame of mind. If he’d killed the merchant, he would not be standing here now holding this threatening scroll, he wouldn’t have to wonder which of the people that would be accompanying him on his journey was a traitor to the Traders, and he wouldn’t have to speculate on whether Sinad Arich had really had a finger in his winning this sweet plum of a contract. And, he thought, as he reduced the scroll to shreds of fibre and dropped them out of the window, he wouldn’t be worrying if he’d have to do something that might cause Alise to think less of him.

      ‘Time to get up!’

      ‘Get up, pack your stuff, rouse your dragons!’

      ‘Get up. Time to get on your way.’

      Thymara opened her eyes to the grey of distant dawn. She yawned and abruptly wished she had never agreed to any of this. Around her, she heard the grumbles of the other rousted keepers. The ones doing the rousting were the men who had accompanied them from Trehaug to here. Their duties would come to an end today and apparently they could not wait for them to be over. The sooner the keepers rose, woke their dragons and began their first day’s journey, the sooner the men who had brought them here could turn around and go back to their homes.

      Thymara yawned again. She supposed she’d better get up if she wanted anything to eat before the day started. She’d never known just how much and how fast boys could eat until she’d had to share a common cook-pot with them. She sat up slowly, clutching her blanket to her, but the chill morning air still reached in to touch her.

      ‘You awake?’ Rapskal asked her. Ever since they’d left Trehaug, he’d slept as close to her as she would allow him. One morning she’d awakened to find him snuggled up against her back, his arm around her waist and his head pillowed against her. The warmth had been welcome, but not the awakening to sniggers. Kase and Boxter had teased them relentlessly. Rapskal had grinned rakishly but uncertainly; she suspected he wasn’t quite sure what the joke was. She’d resolutely ignored them. She told herself that Rapskal’s need to be near her had more to do with a kitten’s desire to sleep close to something familiar than any amorous intent. There was no attraction between them. Not that she would have acted on it if there had been. What was forbidden was forbidden. She knew that. They all knew that.

      But she wondered if they all accepted it as deeply as she did.

      Greft had strongly hinted that he did not. He was going to make his own rules, he’d said. So. What about Jerd? Would she keep the rules they had all grown up with?

      As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she tried not to notice who slept adjacent to whom, СКАЧАТЬ