Ship of Magic
‘As addictive as morphine’ THE TIMESFrom the author of the classic Farseer trilogy, Ship of Magic begins an epic tale of pirates, sentient ships, magic, sea serpents, slave revolts, dashing heroes and bloody battles.On the northernmost point of the Cursed Shores lies Bingtown, a bustling hub of exotic trade and home to a proud merchant nobility famed for its extraordinary vessels.Only Bingtown liveships can negotiate the perilous waters of the Rain Wild River and plunder the riches found upstream, but such vessels are made from the most precious commodity in the world – a material with the ability to become sentient – and so are extremely rare.The fortunes of one of Bingtown’s oldest families rest on the newly awakened liveship Vivacia. For Althea Vestrit, the ship is her rightful legacy. But the fate of Vivacia – and the Vestrits – may ultimately lie in the hands of the dark and charming pirate, Kennit, who lusts after such a ship and has plans of his own . . .
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Ship of Magic
Book One of The Liveship Traders
Robin Hobb
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by Voyager 1998
Copyright © Robin Hobb 1998
Cover Layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015. Illustrations © Jackie Morris. Calligraphy by Stephen Raw. Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com (background)
Robin Hobb asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780006498858
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2011 ISBN: 9780007383467 Version: 2018-08-16
Contents
6 - THE QUICKENING OF THE VIVACIA
11 - CONSEQUENCES AND REFLECTIONS
This one is for
The Devilâs Paw The Totem The E J Bruce The Free Lunch The Labrador (Scales! Scales!) The (aptly named) Massacre Bay The Faithful (Gummi Bears Ahoy!) The Entrance Point The Cape St John The American Patriot (and Capân Wookie) The Lesbian Warmonger The Anita J and the Marcy J The Tarpon The Capelin The Dolphin The (not very) Good News Bay And even the Chicken Little But especially for Rain Lady, wherever she may be now.
MAULKIN ABRUPTLY HEAVED HIMSELF out of his wallow with a wild thrash that left the atmosphere hanging thick with particles. Shreds of his shed skin floated with the sand and mud like the dangling remnants of dreams when one awakes. He moved his long sinuous body through a lazy loop, rubbing against himself to rub off the last scraps of outgrown hide. As the bottom muck started to once more settle, he gazed about at the two dozen other serpents who lay basking in the pleasantly scratchy dirt. He shook his great maned head and then stretched the vast muscle of his length. âTime,â he bugled in his deep-throated voice. âThe time has come.â
They all looked up at him from the sea-bottom, their great eyes of green and gold and copper unwinking. Shreever spoke for them all when she asked, âWhy? The water is warm, the feeding easy. In a hundred years, winter has never come here. Why must we leave now?â
Maulkin performed another lazy twining. His newly bared scales shone brilliantly in the filtered blue sunlight. His preening burnished the golden false-eyes that ran his full length, declaring him one of those with ancient sight. Maulkin could recall things, things from the time before all this time. His perceptions were not clear, nor always consistent. Like many of those caught twixt times, with knowledge of both lives, he was often unfocused and incoherent. He shook his mane until stunning poison made a pale cloud about his face. He gulped his own toxin in, breathed it out through his gills in a show of truth-vow. âBecause it is time now!â he said urgently. He sped suddenly away from them all, shooting up to the surface, rising straighter and faster than bubbles. Far above them all he broke the ceiling and leapt out briefly into the great Lack before he dived again. He circled them in frantic circles, wordless in his urgency.
âSome of the other tangles have already gone,â Shreever said thoughtfully. âNot all of them, not even most. But enough to notice they are missing when we rise into the Lack to sing. Perhaps it is time.â
