Ship of Magic (37 page)

Keffria quickly leaned forward to replenish her husband's cup. She had been so pleased when he had joined her for breakfast, so sure she could beg this favor of him. It seemed forever since he had set aside any time for the two of them. He came home exhausted each night and rose before each dawn to hasten back to his ship. This morning when he had lingered in her bed, she had hoped it foretold an easing in his temperament. When he had told her he had time to breakfast with her, her hopes had bubbled swiftly. But she recognized that tone in his voice when he spoke of Wintrow. There was no arguing with it. Best for the sake of peace to set her hopes aside.

Over two weeks had passed since the day Kyle had sent her son from the house to the ship. In those two weeks, Kyle had volunteered no mention of her son, and replied but briefly to her queries. It was almost as it had been in the days when he had been newly gone to the monastery. Not knowing what his life had become, she could find no solid premises to anchor her worries. Still, they loomed, nebulous and threatening, whenever her mind was not otherwise occupied with worrying about her mother's grieving silence or Althea's absolute disappearance. At least, she comforted herself, she knew where he was. And Kyle was his father. Surely he would let no harm come to him, and would tell her if there was any real reason for concern. No doubt Kyle was right about the boy. Perhaps his firmness was what was called for. After all, what did she know of boys that age? She took a steadying breath and moved resolutely to her next topic of concern.

“Have you . . .” she hesitated. “Has Althea been down to the ship?”

Kyle frowned. “Not since the day that fool Torg ran her off. I had given orders she was not to come aboard, but I never meant for him to chase her off. I truly wish he had had the wit to summon me. I can tell you right now, I would have hauled that young woman home here where she belongs.” His tone left no doubt that Althea's opinion in the matter would not have counted.

There was no one in the room with them save a serving maid, but Keffria lowered her voice nonetheless. “She has not been to see Mama. I know, for I asked her. And she has not come home at all. Kyle, where can she be? I've had nightmares. I fear she may be murdered, or something worse. I did have one other idea the other night . . . could she have sneaked aboard the
Vivacia
? She always had such a strong bond with the ship. She is just stubborn enough, perhaps, to creep aboard and hide herself until you were out to sea and turning back would be difficult, and then . . .”

“She's not on the ship,” Kyle said shortly. His whole tone dismissed Keffria's conjectures as female silliness. “She's probably staying somewhere in town. She'll be home as soon as her ready cash runs out. And when she does come home, I want you to be strict with her. Don't fuss over her and tell her you were worried. And don't scold like an angry hen. She'll ignore that. You need to be hard with her. Leave her without a coin to her name until she starts behaving herself. Then keep the leash short.” He reached across the table and took her hand gently, his touch belying the firmness of his tone. “Can I trust you in this? To do what is wisest and best for her?”

“It will not be easy . . .” Keffria faltered. “Althea is used to getting her own way. And Mother—”

“I know. Your mother is having second thoughts about all of this. Her judgment is not the best at this time. She has lost her husband, and fears to lose her daughter as well. But she will only truly lose Althea if she gives into her and lets her go her own wild way. If she wants to keep her, she must force her to come home and live her life properly. But I know that is not how your mother sees it just now. Still. Give her time, Keffria. Give them both time, for that matter, and they will see how right we are and come to thank us. What is it?”

They both turned to the tap at the door. Malta peeked around the corner. “May I come in?” she asked timorously.

“Your mother and I are having a conversation,” Kyle announced. He considered that an answer to the question. Without another glance at his daughter, he turned back to his wife. “I've had time to look over the accountings for the north properties. The tenants on the Ingleby farm have not paid a full rent for the last three years. They should be moved out. Or the whole farm should be sold. One of the two.”

Keffria took up her teacup and held it firmly in both hands. Sometimes when she had to correct her husband, it made her nervous and her hands trembled. Kyle disliked that. “The Ingleby farm is Mother's, Kyle. It was part of her bridal portion. And the tenants are her old nanny and her husband. They are getting up in years, and Mother had always promised Tetna that she would be provided for, so—”

Kyle set his own cup down so firmly the tea sloshed out onto the white cloth. He gave an exasperated sigh. “And that is just the type of reasoning that will bring us all down. I have nothing against charity, Keffria, or loyalty. But if she must take care of some doddering old couple, have her bring them here and put them up in the servant's wing and give them whatever tasks they can still manage. No doubt they'd be more useful here, as well as more comfortable. There is no reason to waste a whole farm on them.”

“Tetna grew up there—” Keffria began again, then jumped and gasped as Kyle's callused palm struck the table in front of him.

“And I grew up in Frommers, but no one will give me a house there when I am old and we are destitute because we managed our wealth poorly. Keffria. Be silent a moment and let me finish what I am trying to say to you. I know it is your mother's. I know you have no direct say in what she does with it. I merely desire that you pass on to her my advice. And with it, the warning that no more monies will be forthcoming to support it from your father's estate. If she cannot force it to yield enough money to keep up the repairs to it, then she will have to let it decay. But no more good money thrown after bad. That's all.” He turned suddenly in his chair and pointed an accusing finger at the door. “You. Malta. Are you eavesdropping on your elders? If you want to act like a spying serving girl, I can see that you have the chores of one as well.”

Malta peered around the corner of the door into the room. She looked appropriately daunted. “I beg your pardon, Papa. I wanted to wait until you and Mama had finished speaking, so that I could talk to you.”

Kyle gave a long-suffering sigh, and rolled his eyes at his wife. “The children must be taught not to interrupt, Keffria. Come in, Malta, as you cannot seem to wait in a patient and seemly way. What do you want?”

Malta edged into the room, then, at a scowl from her father, hastened forward to stand before him. She bounced a curtsey at him and avoided her mother's eyes as she announced, “The Summer Ball is past, now. We had to miss it, I understand that. But Harvest Offering is seventy-two days from now.”

“And?”

“I wish to go.”

Her father shook his head in exasperation. “You will go. You've gone since you were six. Everyone goes who is of a Trader family. Save those like me, who must sail. I doubt I shall return in time to attend. But you know you'll go. Why do you bother me like this?”

Malta stole a glance at her mother's disapproving face and then looked up earnestly at her father. “Mother said we might not go this year. Because of mourning Grandfather, you know.” She took a deep breath. “And she said that even if we did go, I was still not old enough for a proper ball gown. Oh, Papa, I do not want to go to the Harvest Offering in a little girl's frock. Delo Trell, who is the same age as I, is wearing a ball gown this year.”

“Delo Trell is eleven months older than you,” Keffria cut in. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, that her daughter dared bring this to her father as if it were a grievance. “And if she attends the Harvest Offering in a gown, I shall be very surprised. I myself was not presented at the Offering as a woman until I was fifteen, nearly sixteen. And we are in mourning. Nothing is expected of us this year. It is not fitting . . .”

“It could be a dark gown. Carissa Krev was at the Ball only two months after her own mother died.”

Keffria spoke firmly. “We will go only if your grandmother sees fit to go. I doubt that she will. And if we go, you will dress as is appropriate for a girl of your age.”

“You dress me like a child!” Malta cried out. Her voice was tragic with pain. “I'm not a little girl anymore. Oh, Papa, she makes me wear my skirts half up my shin, with ruffles on the bottom, as if she fears I shall run and play through puddles. And she makes me plait my hair as if I were seven, and puts bows on my collars and lets me wear only flowers, no jewelry and—”

“Enough,” Keffria warned her daughter, but to her surprise her husband laughed aloud.

“Come here, Malta. No, wipe your tears and come here. So,” he went on when his daughter had come close enough to be pulled onto his lap. He looked down into her face. “You think you are old enough to dress as a woman, now. Next you'll be wanting young men to come calling.”

“Papa, I'll be thirteen by then,” Malta began but he shushed her.

He looked over his daughter's head at his wife. “If you all go,” he began carefully, “would there be so much harm in letting her have a proper gown?”

“She's but a girl!” Keffria protested in dismay.

“Is she?” Kyle asked. His voice was warm with pride. “Look at your daughter, Keffria. If she is a little girl, she's a well-fleshed one. My mother always said, “A boy is a man when he proves himself to be one, but a girl is a woman when she desires to be one.'” He stroked Malta's plaited hair and the girl beamed up at him. She gave her mother a pleading look.

Keffria tried to conceal her shock that her husband would side with her daughter against her. “Kyle. Malta. It is simply not seemly.”

“What is unseemly about it? What will it hurt? This year, next year, what difference does it make when she graduates to long skirts, so long as she wears them well and they look becoming on her?”

“She is only twelve,” Keffria said faintly.

“Nearly thirteen.” Malta sensed her advantage and pressed it. “Oh, please, Mama, say yes! Say I may go to the Offering and have a proper gown this year!”

“No.” Keffria was determined to stand her ground. “We shall only go if your grandmother does. Otherwise, it would be scandalous. On that I am firm.”

“But if we do go?” Malta wheedled. She turned to her father again. “Oh, Papa, say I may have a proper dress if Mama allows me to go to the Offering.”

Kyle gave his daughter a hug. “It seems a fair compromise,” he suggested to Keffria. To Malta he added, “You shall go to the ball only if your grandmother does. And no teasing or nagging about it. But if she goes, then so you shall, and you shall have a proper gown.”

“Oh, thank you, Papa,” Malta breathed as if he had granted her a lifelong wish.

Something so like anger that it dizzied her coursed through Keffria's blood. “And now, Malta, you may go. I wish to speak to your father. And as you believe you are old enough to dress like a woman, you shall show me you have the skills of one. Finish the embroidery that has been on your loom for three weeks now.”

“But that will take me all day!” Malta protested in anguish. “I wanted to call on Carissa, and see if she could go with me to Weaver Street, to look at cloth . . .” Her voice dwindled off as she saw the look on her mother's face. Without another word, she turned and scampered from the room.

As soon as she was out of sight, her father let out a burst of laughter. There was nothing, Keffria thought, that he could have done that would have affronted her more. But when he caught sight of her face, instead of realizing his error, he but laughed the louder. “If you could see your face,” he managed at last. “So angry to have your daughter get around you! But what can I do about it? You know she has always been my pet. Besides. What harm, truly, can it do?”

“It can attract to her an attention that she has not been taught to deal with as of yet. Kyle, when a woman goes to the Harvest Offering in her first ball gown, it is more than an extra length of cloth to her skirts. It is an announcement that she is presented to Bingtown as a woman of her family. And that says she is of a courtable age, that her family will consider offers for her hand.”

“So?” Kyle demanded uncomfortably. “We do not have to say yes.”

“She will be invited to dance,” Keffria went on inexorably. “Not by the boys her age, with whom she has danced before. For they will still be seen as boys. She will be seen as a young woman. She will be dancing with men, both young and old. Not only is she still an indifferent dancer, but she has not been taught the skills of conversing with men, nor how to deal with attentions that are . . . unwanted. She may invite improper advances without being aware she is allowing them. Worse, a nervous smile or a silly giggle may make it seem she is encouraging them. I wish you had spoken to me before you had allowed her this.”

In the blink of an eye, Kyle went from discomfort to irritation. He stood abruptly, flinging his napkin to the table. “I see. Perhaps I should simply live aboard the ship, to avoid inconveniencing you while you determine the fate of our family! You seem to forget that Malta is my daughter as well as yours. If she is twelve and had not yet been taught dancing and manners, perhaps you should rebuke yourself for that! First you sent my son off to be a priest, now you behave as if I shall have no say in how my daughter is raised either.”

Keffria was already on her feet, grasping at his sleeve. “Kyle! Please! Come back, sit down. That is not what I meant. Of course I want you to help raise our children. It is simply that we must be careful with Malta's reputation, if we want her to be seen as a properly raised young woman.”

But Kyle was not to be appeased. “Then I suggest you see to her manners and her dancing lessons, instead of sending her off to work embroidery. As for me, I have a ship to attend to. And a young man to straighten out. And
that
through a decision I had no say in at all.” He shook her off as if shooing away a fly and stormed from the room. Keffria was left standing with her hand clutched over her mouth.