The Mad Ship. Робин Хобб

but her own concerns pushed it aside. ‘I need to speak to you privately as well. It’s a delicate matter. Perhaps I have no right to interfere, but she is’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps now is actually the best time, even though I haven’t spoken to Captain Tenira about this yet.’ Althea paused, then plunged ahead. ‘I’ve been serving on the liveship Ophelia. She’s been hurt, and I hope you can help her. A Chalcedean galley challenged us as we made our way back to Bingtown. Ophelia burned her hands fending them off. She says there is no pain, but she seems always to keep her hands clasped or otherwise hidden from view. I do not know how bad the damage is, or if a woodworker like yourself could do anything to repair scorched wood, but…’

      ‘Challenged by a galley? And attacked?’ Amber was horrified. ‘In the Inside Passage waters?’ She exhaled in a rush. She stared past Althea, as if looking into a different time and place. Her voice went strange. ‘Fate rushes down upon us! The time drags and the days plod past, lulling us into thinking that the doom we fear will always so delay. Then, abruptly, the dark days we have all predicted are upon us, and the time when we could have turned dire fate aside has passed. How old must I be before I learn? There is no time; there is never any time. Tomorrow may never come, but todays are linked inexorably in a chain, and now is always the only time we have to divert disaster.’

      Althea felt a sudden sense of vindication. This was the reaction she had hoped to get from her mother. Strange that it was a newcomer, and one not even a Bingtown Trader who instantly grasped the full significance of her news. Amber had completely forgotten her earlier offer of tea. Instead she flung open a chest in the corner of the room and began to haul garments from it in frenzy. ‘Give me just a few moments and I shall be fit to accompany you. However, let us not waste an instant. Begin with the day you left here, and talk to me. Tell me everything of your travels, even those things you consider unimportant.’ She turned to a small table and opened a box on it. She made a brisk check of its contents of pots and brushes, then tucked it under her arm.

      Althea had to laugh. ‘Amber, that would take hours no, days – to do.’

      ‘Which is why we must begin now. Come. Start while I change.’ Amber bundled up an armful of cloth and disappeared behind a wooden screen in the corner. Althea launched into an account of her experiences aboard the Reaper. She had barely got past her first miserable months and Brashen’s discovery of her before Amber emerged from behind the screen. But it was not Amber who stood before her. Instead, it was a smudge-faced slave girl. A tattoo sprawled across one wind-reddened cheek. A crusty sore encompassed half her upper lip and her left nostril. Her dirty hair was pulling free from a scruffy braid. Her shirt was rough cotton and her bare feet peeped out from under her patched skirts. A dirty bandage bound one of her ankles. Rough canvas work gloves had replaced the lacy ones Amber habitually wore. She spread a dirty canvas tote on the table and began to load it with woodworking tools.

      ‘You amaze me. How did you learn to do that?’ Althea demanded, grinning.

      ‘I’ve told you. I have played many roles in my life. This one disguise has proved very useful of late. Slaves are invisible. I can go almost anywhere in this guise and be ignored. Even the men who would not hesitate to force themselves on a slave are put off by a bit of dirt and a few well-placed scabs.’

      ‘Have the streets of Bingtown become that dangerous for a woman alone?’

      Amber shot her a look that was almost pitying. ‘You see what is happening and yet you do not see. Slaves are not women, Althea. Nor men. They are merchandise, goods and property. Things. Why should a slave-owner care if one of his goods is raped? If she bears a child, he has another slave. If she does not, well, what is the harm done? That boy you were staring at…it costs his master nothing if he weeps himself to sleep every night. The bruises he is given cost his owner nothing. If he becomes sullen and intractable from poor treatment, he will simply be sold off to someone who treats him even worse. The bottom rungs of the ladder become very slippery, once slavery is accepted. If a human’s life can be measured in counted coins, then that worth can be diminished, a copper at a time, until no value is left. When an old woman is worth less than the food she eats…well.’ Amber sighed suddenly.

      As abruptly, she straightened herself. ‘No time for that.’ She ducked to peer at herself in a mirror on the table, then snatched up a ragged scarf and tied it about her head and over her ears. The tool tote was concealed inside a market basket. She tucked her earrings up out of sight. ‘There. Let’s go. We’ll slip out the back way. On the street, take my arm, lean close and leer at me like a nasty sailor. That way we can talk as we go.’

      Althea was amazed at how well the ruse worked. Those folk who took any notice of them at all turned aside in disgust. Althea continued the tale of her journey. Once or twice, Amber made small sounds as if she would interrupt, but when Althea paused she would insist, ‘No, go on. When you are finished, that is the time for questions.’ Never had anyone listened to her so intently, absorbing her words as a sponge soaks in water.