Ship of Magic by Robin Hobb
Page 34
Hammersmith Hill was the most shocking change, but it was by no means the only one. To the east, someone had cleared space on a hillside and was building a house. No, Ronica corrected herself, a mansion. It was not just the size of the building that jolted her, but the number of workers employed in its construction. They swarmed over the building site like white-coated ants in the heat of the mid-day sun. Even as she watched, the timber framework for a wall was hoisted into place and secured. Off to the west, a new road cut an arrow-straight path into the hills. She could only glimpse segments of it through the trees, but it was wide and well-traveled. Uneasiness rose in her. Perhaps Davad had been more correct than she had suspected. Perhaps the changes that had come to Bingtown were more significant than a mere swelling of population. And if he were right about that, then he might also be correct in saying that the only way to survive this wave of new traders would be to emulate them.
She turned away from Bingtown and her uncomfortable thoughts. She had no time to think of such things now. It was all she could do to live with her own disaster and fears. Bingtown would have to take care of itself.
CHAPTER FOUR - DIVVYTOWN
KENNIT MOISTENED HIS KERCHIEF IN LEMON OIL AND SMOOTHED IT OVER HIS BEARD AND MUSTACHE. HE regarded himself in the gilt-framed mirror over his washbasin. The oil gave an added sheen to his facial hair, but it was not that effect he had sought. The fragrance of the oil was still not sufficient to keep the stench of Divvytown from his nostrils. Coming to Divvytown was, he reflected, rather like being towed to dock in the musk and stench of a slave's armpit.
He left his quarters and emerged onto the deck. The outside air was as sultry and humid as within, and the stink more powerful. He looked with distaste at the nearing shores of Divvytown. This pirate's sanctuary had been well chosen. To find it, one not only had to know the way, but to be a consummate master of bringing a ship up an inland waterway. The limpid river that led to this lagoon looked no more promising than a dozen others that threaded their way through the multiple islands of the Shifting Shore to the true sea, but this one had a deep if narrow channel that a sailing ship could navigate, and a placid lagoon sheltered from even the wildest storms for anchorage.
At one time, no doubt, it had been a beautiful place. Now mossy docks and piers poked out from every piece of firm land. The lush greenery that cloaked and overhung the river banks had been sheared back to bare mud. There was neither sufficient flow of water nor stirring of breeze to disperse the sewage and smoke of the clustering huts and hovels and stores of the pirate city. Eventually the rains of winter would come, to flush both city and lagoon briefly clean, but on a hot still summer day, the Divvytown lagoon harbor had all the beckoning charm of an unemptied chamber pot.
To anchor here for more than a few days at a stretch invited moss and rot to the hull of a ship; to drink the water from all but a few wells gave a man the flux-and, if he were unlucky, the fever as well. Yet as Kennit stood looking down over the deck of his ship, he saw his crew working well and willingly. Even those in the boats towing the Marietta into harbor pulled away heartily, for to their noses, this stench was the sweet smell of both home and pay. By tradition, their trove would be divvied out on deck as soon as the Marietta was tied up. In a few hours, they'd be up to their navels in whores and beer.
Aye, and before sun-up tomorrow, most of their hard-won loot would have passed into the hands of the soft innkeepers and whore-masters and merchants of Divvytown. Kennit shook his head pityingly and dabbed once more at his mustache with his lemon-scented handkerchief. He permitted himself a small smile. At least this time, in addition to sowing their plunder throughout the town, his crew would spread the seeds of Kennit's ambition. Before sun-up tomorrow, he'd wager that half of Divvytown would have heard the tale of Captain Kennit's sooth-saying at the Others' Island. He intended to be exceptionally generous with his men this day when it came to divvy-time. He would not flaunt it, but he'd take no more than a double crew-share this time. He wanted the pockets of his crew to be heavy with their pay; he wanted all Divvytown to remark and remember that the men of his ship seemed always to come to port with well-laden purses. Let them mark it up to the luck and largesse of their captain. Let them wonder if a bit of that luck and largesse might not benefit all of Divvytown in time.
The mate came to stand respectfully beside him as he leaned on the rail.
“Sorcor, do you see that bit of a bluff there? A tower there would command a long view of the river, and a ballista or two beneath it could defend it from any ship that ever discovered our channel. Not only could Divvytown be warned well ahead of any attack, but it could defend itself. What do you think?”
Hammersmith Hill was the most shocking change, but it was by no means the only one. To the east, someone had cleared space on a hillside and was building a house. No, Ronica corrected herself, a mansion. It was not just the size of the building that jolted her, but the number of workers employed in its construction. They swarmed over the building site like white-coated ants in the heat of the mid-day sun. Even as she watched, the timber framework for a wall was hoisted into place and secured. Off to the west, a new road cut an arrow-straight path into the hills. She could only glimpse segments of it through the trees, but it was wide and well-traveled. Uneasiness rose in her. Perhaps Davad had been more correct than she had suspected. Perhaps the changes that had come to Bingtown were more significant than a mere swelling of population. And if he were right about that, then he might also be correct in saying that the only way to survive this wave of new traders would be to emulate them.
She turned away from Bingtown and her uncomfortable thoughts. She had no time to think of such things now. It was all she could do to live with her own disaster and fears. Bingtown would have to take care of itself.
CHAPTER FOUR - DIVVYTOWN
KENNIT MOISTENED HIS KERCHIEF IN LEMON OIL AND SMOOTHED IT OVER HIS BEARD AND MUSTACHE. HE regarded himself in the gilt-framed mirror over his washbasin. The oil gave an added sheen to his facial hair, but it was not that effect he had sought. The fragrance of the oil was still not sufficient to keep the stench of Divvytown from his nostrils. Coming to Divvytown was, he reflected, rather like being towed to dock in the musk and stench of a slave's armpit.
He left his quarters and emerged onto the deck. The outside air was as sultry and humid as within, and the stink more powerful. He looked with distaste at the nearing shores of Divvytown. This pirate's sanctuary had been well chosen. To find it, one not only had to know the way, but to be a consummate master of bringing a ship up an inland waterway. The limpid river that led to this lagoon looked no more promising than a dozen others that threaded their way through the multiple islands of the Shifting Shore to the true sea, but this one had a deep if narrow channel that a sailing ship could navigate, and a placid lagoon sheltered from even the wildest storms for anchorage.
At one time, no doubt, it had been a beautiful place. Now mossy docks and piers poked out from every piece of firm land. The lush greenery that cloaked and overhung the river banks had been sheared back to bare mud. There was neither sufficient flow of water nor stirring of breeze to disperse the sewage and smoke of the clustering huts and hovels and stores of the pirate city. Eventually the rains of winter would come, to flush both city and lagoon briefly clean, but on a hot still summer day, the Divvytown lagoon harbor had all the beckoning charm of an unemptied chamber pot.
To anchor here for more than a few days at a stretch invited moss and rot to the hull of a ship; to drink the water from all but a few wells gave a man the flux-and, if he were unlucky, the fever as well. Yet as Kennit stood looking down over the deck of his ship, he saw his crew working well and willingly. Even those in the boats towing the Marietta into harbor pulled away heartily, for to their noses, this stench was the sweet smell of both home and pay. By tradition, their trove would be divvied out on deck as soon as the Marietta was tied up. In a few hours, they'd be up to their navels in whores and beer.
Aye, and before sun-up tomorrow, most of their hard-won loot would have passed into the hands of the soft innkeepers and whore-masters and merchants of Divvytown. Kennit shook his head pityingly and dabbed once more at his mustache with his lemon-scented handkerchief. He permitted himself a small smile. At least this time, in addition to sowing their plunder throughout the town, his crew would spread the seeds of Kennit's ambition. Before sun-up tomorrow, he'd wager that half of Divvytown would have heard the tale of Captain Kennit's sooth-saying at the Others' Island. He intended to be exceptionally generous with his men this day when it came to divvy-time. He would not flaunt it, but he'd take no more than a double crew-share this time. He wanted the pockets of his crew to be heavy with their pay; he wanted all Divvytown to remark and remember that the men of his ship seemed always to come to port with well-laden purses. Let them mark it up to the luck and largesse of their captain. Let them wonder if a bit of that luck and largesse might not benefit all of Divvytown in time.
The mate came to stand respectfully beside him as he leaned on the rail.
“Sorcor, do you see that bit of a bluff there? A tower there would command a long view of the river, and a ballista or two beneath it could defend it from any ship that ever discovered our channel. Not only could Divvytown be warned well ahead of any attack, but it could defend itself. What do you think?”