“And if you manage things cleverly, it never will again,” Ronica said shortly. “Kyle up the Rain Wild River would be a disaster.”

And here was another uncomfortable topic. Kyle. Keffria sighed. “I remember that when Grandfather was alive, he took the Vivacia upriver. I remember the gifts he used to bring us. A music box that twinkled as it played.” She shook her head. “I don't even know what became of that.” More quietly she added, “And I never truly understood why Papa wouldn't trade up the river.”

Ronica stared into the fire as if she were telling an old tale. “Your father . . . resented the contract with the Festrews. Oh, he loved the ship, and would not have traded her for the world. But much as he loved the Vivacia, he loved you girls more. And like you, he saw the contract as a threat to his children. He disliked being bound by an agreement he'd had no say in.” Ronica lowered her voice. “In some ways, he thought ill of the Festrews, that they would hold him bound by such a cruel bargain. Perhaps they saw things differently in those days. Perhaps . . .” Her words faltered for a time. Then, “I suppose I lied to you just now. I speak the way I know I should think: that a bargain is a bargain, and a contract is a contract. But that contract was made in older, harder times. Still, it binds us.”

“But father resented it,” Keffria said, to draw her mind back to that.

“He despised the terms. He often pointed out that no one ever completely discharged a debt to the Rain Wilds. New debts were always stacked upon the old ones, so that the chains binding the contracting families together only got stronger and stronger as the years passed. He hated that idea. He wanted there to come a time when the ship would be ours, free and clear, and if we chose to pack up and leave Bingtown, we could do so.”

The very idea shook Keffria to the foundations of her life. Leave Bingtown? Her father had actually thought of taking the family away from Bingtown?

Her mother spoke on. “And though his father and grandmother had traded in Ram Wild goods, he always felt they were tainted. That was how he put it. Tainted. Too much magic. He always felt that sooner or later, such magic would have to be paid for. And he did not think it was . . . honorable, in a way, for him to bring back to our world the magic of another place and time, a magic that had, perhaps, been the downfall of another folk. Perhaps the downfall of the entire Cursed Shores. Sometimes he spoke of it, late at night, saying he feared we would destroy ourselves and our world, just as the Elder folk did.”

Ronica fell silent. Both women were still, thinking. These things were so seldom spoken aloud. Just as the charts of difficult channels represented a major trading advantage, so did the hard-won knowledge shared by Bingtown and Rain Wild Traders. The secrets they shared were as great a basis for their wealth as the goods they bartered.

Ronica cleared her throat. “So he did a thing both brave and hard. He stopped trading up the river. It meant he had to work twice as hard and be gone three times as much to turn the same profit. Instead of the Rain Wilds, he sought out the odd little places in the inland channels, to the south of Jamaillia. He traded with the native folk there, for goods that were exotic and rare. But not magical. He swore that would make our fortune. And if he had lived, it probably would have.”

“Did Papa think the Blood Plague was due to the magic?” Keffria asked carefully.

“Where did you hear such a thing?” Ronica demanded.

“I was very little. It was right after the boys died. Davad was here, I remember. And Papa was crying and I was hiding outside the door. You were all in this same room. I wanted to come in but I was afraid to. Because Papa never cried. And I heard Davad Restart curse the Rain Wild Traders, saying they had dug up the disease in their mining of the city. His wife and children were dead, too. And Davad said ...”

“I remember,” Ronica said suddenly. “I remember what Davad said. But what you were too small to understand was that he was in the throes of a terrible grief. A terrible grief.” Ronica shook her head and her eyes were bleak, remembering. “A man says things at such times that he doesn't truly mean. Or even believe. Davad badly needed someone or something to blame for his loss. For a time he blamed the Rain Wild Traders. But he got past that a long time ago.”

Keffria took a careful breath. “Is it true, that Davad's son-”

“What was that?” Her mother's sudden exclamation cut off Keffria's words. They both sat up and were still, listening. Ronica's eyes were so wide, the white showed all round them.

“It sounded like a gong,” Keffria whispered into the gathered silence. It was eerie to hear a Rain Wild gong when they had been discussing them. She thought that she heard the scuff of footsteps in the hallway. With a wild look at her mother, she leapt to her feet. When she reached the door and pulled it open, her mother was right behind her. But all she caught was a brief glimpse of Malta at the end of the hall.