“Maybe he deserves to be alone!” Grag kept his voice low. He kept glancing at the knot of gawkers forming around the carriage. He obviously wanted to get away from it. “How can you accept how he thinks, Althea? How can you let him drag your family into this?”

“I don't accept how he thinks. I accept who he is. He is a wrong-headed old fool, but he has been like an uncle to me for as long as I can remember. Whatever he has done, he doesn't deserve this.”

She looked past Grag to see Davad approaching the carriage. Trader Daw was at his side, their arms linked. They seemed to be congratulating themselves. Daw saw the pig first. His jaw dropped. An instant later, he unhooked his arm from Davad's and scuttled off without a word. Privately Althea hoped a slaughtered pig waited in his carriage as well.

“What's this? I don't understand this. Why? Who has done this? Where is my driver? Did the coward run off, then? Look at the leather, it's ruined, it's completely ruined.” Davad flapped his arms about like a flustered chicken. He stepped close to his carriage, peered at the pig, then stepped back. He sent a bewildered look round at the crowd that had gathered. In the back, someone guffawed loudly. Others simply stared. No one expressed horror or disgust. They were watching him, to see what he would do.

Althea's eyes traveled from face to face. They seemed strangers to her, more foreign than Jamaillian New Traders. She did not know Bingtown anymore.

“Please, Grag,” Althea whispered. “I'll stay with him and get him home. Would you take my mother, sister and niece? I don't think Malta should have to deal with this.”

“I don't think any of you should have to deal with this,” Grag said acidly, but he was too well-bred to refuse. Althea had no idea what he said to her mother and Keffria that made them leave so quietly. Young Malta merely looked elated at the prospect of leaving in a finer carriage than the one she had arrived in.

As they walked away, Althea took Davad's arm. “Calm down,” she told him quietly. “Don't let them see you are rattled.” Heedless of the blood, she jerked the door of the carriage open. The stubborn carcass rode in the window still. It was a runty pig; no one had sacrificed good stock to do this. In death, its bowels had relaxed. The stench of pig manure spilled out with it. Althea reminded herself that blood was no stranger to her. She'd seen far too much slaughter in the Barrens to be put off by a bit of pig blood now. Boldly she seized the dead animal's hind legs. A sharp tug freed it from the window. She let it drop to the street. She glanced at Davad, who stared at her wide-eyed. Blood and offal had soiled the front of her robe. She ignored it.

“Can you climb up onto the box?” she asked him.

He shook his head dumbly.

“Then you'll have to ride inside. The other seat is almost clean. Take my handkerchief. The scent on it will help.”

Davad said not a word. He took the kerchief, and climbed ponderously into the carriage, making small distressed sounds the whole time. He was scarcely inside before Althea slammed the door behind him. She did not look about at the gawkers. Instead she walked around the team, had a quiet word with the horses, and then clambered up on the box. She took up the reins. She had not done this in years, and never with a team she didn't know. She kicked off the brake and shook the reins hopefully. The horses started forward at an uncertain walk.

“From sailor to driver. That's the girl for Grag! Think of the money they'll save on hired help!” cried someone in the crowd. Someone else hooted loudly in appreciation. Althea kept her eyes forward and her chin up. She slapped the reins on the team, and they lurched into a trot. She trusted they'd know the way home, even in the gathering dark.

She wasn't sure if she did, anymore.

CHAPTER NINETEEN - Aftermath

YOU RE HOME, DAVAD. COME OUT.

The door was stuck, and Davad wasn't trying to open it. In the gloom, Althea could just see the pale shape of his face. He huddled in a corner of the seat, his eyes tightly shut. She braced a foot against the carriage and jerked on the door again. It popped open and she nearly fell backwards. It wouldn't have hurt her robe. It stank of pig blood, dung and her own sweat. The drive home had been nerve-wracking. All the way home, she had expected to either run the carriage off the side of the road or be accosted by Davad's enemies. Now they had reached his own front door, but no steward or stable boy came to greet them. Random lights shone in the windows of his house, but for all the greeting the master received, it might as well have been abandoned. A single lantern burned feebly by the doorpost.

“What's your stable boy's name?” Althea demanded in irritation.