She did not lower her voice. ‘I have no need of caution among old friends. Guide me, Fitz.’
I did so reluctantly, and held my breath as the figurehead closed his hands around her ribs as if she were a child. I stood staring as Paragon lifted her in his huge hands. They were the colour of a man’s hands, swarthy with many days outside, but I could still see the grain of the wizardwood he’d been carved from. Of all the Elderling magic, the living figurehead most astonished me, but also created the most unease in me. A dragon, I could understand. It was a creature of flesh and blood, with the same needs and appetites of any animal. But a ship of living wood, something that moved and spoke and apparently thought, but had no need of food or drink, no drive to mate, no hope of progeny? How could one predict the actions or the desires of such a being?
From my position as the last person standing on the docks beside Paragon’s ladder I could hear Amber’s voice, but she pitched her words to the figurehead and I could not make them out. He held her like a doll and looked intently into her face. Having been blinded himself, would he feel sympathy for her? Could a ship carved out of a dragon cocoon feel sympathy? Not for the first time, I confronted how little of his life the Fool had shared with me. Here, he was known as Amber, a clever, tough woman who had lent her fortune to rebuild Bingtown and help former slaves build new lives in the Rain Wilds. For this portion of our journey, that was who she must be. Amber. A woman who was still a stranger to me.
‘Fitz?’ Lant leaned over the Paragon’s railing. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Yes.’ I climbed up the rope ladder—never as easy a task as it seemed—and stepped onto Paragon’s deck. He felt different to Tarman. Much closer to human. Wit and Skill, I sensed him as a living creature. For now, his attention was focused on Amber. I had a few moments to look around.
It had been a long time since I’d been on a ship of this size. I thought back to my journey to the OutIslands and Thick’s protracted seasickness. There was an experience I hoped never to repeat! Paragon was smaller than that ship, sleeker and, I suspected, more sea-worthy. Paragon was very well kept. The decks were clear, the lines neatly stowed and even while the ship was tied to the dock, the crew was well occupied.
‘Where are Spark and Perseverance?’ I asked Lant.
‘Exploring, with the permission of Captain Brashen. You and I are invited to join the captain and Lady Althea in their stateroom for refreshments and conversation.’
I looked toward the bow, where Paragon still held Amber. I was reluctant to leave her literally in the ship’s grasp, and equally reluctant to offend the folk offering us free passage to Bingtown. There was a lengthy journey ahead of us, down the Rain Wild River and then along the uncertain and boggy coast of the Cursed Shores until we reached Trader Bay. I wished to be on good terms with all. I doubted the Fool would have any caution around the figurehead. Obviously Amber had long ago made her decision to trust him.
‘Fitz?’ Lant nudged me.
‘I’m coming.’ I glanced back at Amber. I could see her face but not his. The wind off the river was rustling her skirts and stirring the bits of hair that showed around her scarf. She was smiling at something he’d said. Her arms rested easily on top of his hands as if they were the arms of a comfortable chair. I decided to trust her instincts, and followed Lant.
The door into the captain’s stateroom was open to the spring day and I heard lively voices. Spark laughed at something. We entered, to see Leftrin gripping the back of Per’s collar and holding him almost off the floor. ‘He’s a rascal and a lackwit, so see you work him hard!’ he announced. Just as my muscles tightened, Leftrin laughed and gave the grinning boy a half-shove, half-toss toward a well-muscled man of middle years. The man caught my boy by the shoulder and grinned in return, showing very white teeth in a neatly trimmed beard. He slapped Per on the back. ‘Running the rigging is what we call it, and yes, you can learn it. But only if Clef, Althea, or I authorize it. We’ll tell you when we want you up there and exactly what we want you to do.’ The man glanced up at Leftrin. ‘Does he know any of his knots?’
‘A few,’ I interjected into the conversation. I found I was smiling at Captain Trell.
‘Oh, more than a few,’ Leftrin objected. ‘Bellin had him working on them in the evenings, when you were closeted with your lady. We’ve given him a good start on being a deckhand. But Trell is right, lad. If you venture into the rigging, go the first times with someone who knows what she’s about, and listen! Listen exactly and do exactly and only what you are told. Do you hear me?’
‘I do, sir,’ Per was grinning from one captain to the other. If he’d been a puppy, he’d have been wriggling all over. I felt proud and a bit jealous.
Trell advanced toward me, hand out, and we exchanged a Trader’s handshake. His dark eyes met mine, a frank and open gaze. ‘I’ve never had a prince on board but Leftrin tells me you’re an easy one to deal with. We do our best, but Paragon is a ship, and we live as that dictates.’
‘I assure you, I’m not a grand noble. I spent a fair amount of time pulling an oar on the Rurisk during the Red-Ship Wars. My gear was under my bench, and half the time, that was my bed as well.’
‘Ah, you’ll do well then. I’d like to introduce Althea Vestrit. I’ve tried to make her a Trell, but she persists in being a Vestrit, stubbornness being the hallmark of her family’s women. But if you’ve met Malta, you’ll know that already.’
Althea was seated at a table laden with a fat steaming pot, cups, and little cakes on a platter. The pot was Elderling made; it had a gleaming, metallic finish and was embellished with snakes. No. They were sea serpents, for tiny fish were also there. The little cakes were studded with seeds and bits of bright pink fruit. Althea half-stood and leaned over the table to extend her handshake to me. ‘Don’t mind him. Though my niece did get more than her fair share of Vestrit “character”, as we call it.’ The calluses on her hand rasped against mine. Her smile made lines at the corners of her eyes. Her dark hair was threaded with grey and was bound back from her face and braided into a tight queue down her back. Her grip was the equal of any man’s, and I felt she took my measure as much as I did hers. She sat down again and said, ‘Well. It’s a strange pleasure to see the man who wears my ship’s face—though doubtless you think of it the other way. Please, come to our table, and have a cup of coffee and tell me how it felt to see the figurehead Amber carved to match the man who held her heart.’