Ship of Magic (Liveship Traders, #1)

by Robin Hobb

Like a dog called to heel, Gankis made his way back to the captain. His brown eyes shone with a youthful sparkle, and he clutched the treasure in both hands as he leaped nimbly down the man-height drop to the beach. His low shoes kicked up sand as he ran. A brief frown creased Kennit’s brow as he watched Gankis advancing towards him. Although the old sailor was prone to fawn on him, he was no more inclined to share booty than any other man of his trade. Kennit had not truly expected Gankis willingly to bring to him anything he found on the grassy bank; in fact he had been rather anticipating divesting the man of his trove at the end of their stroll. To have Gankis hastening toward him, his face beaming as if he were a country yokel bringing his beloved milkmaid a posy, was positively unsettling.

already phenomenal writing from ms. hobb

“Wintrow,” he chided softly. “Refuse the anxiety. When you borrow trouble against what might be, you neglect the moment you have now to enjoy. The man who worries about what will next be happening to him loses this moment in dread of the next, and poisons the next with pre-judgment.”

Prudent men never trusted their luck. But Kennit had long ago decided that a man had to trust his luck in order for it to grow.

Good luck works best when it is not surprised.

she would not cry because he was not worth her tears, only her anger. Only her anger.

Great-grandma had sailed the Vivacia for thirty-five years, past her seventieth birthday. One hot summer day she had simply sat down on the foredeck, said, “That’ll do, boys,” and died.

I know a diva when I see one

You can’t force a man to fight well for you….”

“Could I but live to sail again, you’d be my choice for first mate.”

Crying and throwing up

“Drowning,” he strangled out. “Drowning on a dry deck.”

Wintrow found himself smiling into the night. “We become what?” he asked of her. She turned to face him, the chiseled planes of her wooden face catching the reflected gleam of the distant lights. She smiled up at him, lips parting to reveal her perfect teeth. “We become us,” she said simply. “Us, as we were meant to be.”

It was not that she was a better-tempered person, she decided detachedly. It was that her anger had learned a terrible patience. What good was wasting words on a petty and tyrannical second mate? He was a little yapping dog. She was a tigress. One did not waste snarls on such a creature. One waited until one could snap his spine with a single blow.

As she was finishing her wine, it came to her in a sudden rush that her father was still dead, and he was going to be dead for the rest of her life.

There was no organization to their ship’s defense, merely a band of men trying not to die. They failed at that.

“Because I can see that you go through life athwart it. You see the flow of events, you are able to tell how you could most easily fit yourself into it. But you dare to oppose it. And why? Simply because you look at it and say, ‘this fate does not suit me. I will not allow it to befall me.’ ”

He was just a man, like any other man. No. He was stupider than most.

!!!!!!!!!!!!

Home. Kennit tried the word out in his mind. No. It didn’t fit. Port. Yes.

“Oh! You’re alive!” “Yes,” Kennit agreed. In her next breath, she exclaimed angrily, “Do you think you’re taking Etta out of here?” “Yes,” Kennit called over his shoulder up the stairs. “What about all these dead men?” she shrieked after him as they strode out of her house. “Those you may keep,” Kennit replied.

“I know little of your Sa, Wintrow. But I know much of the Vestrits. What you are born to be, you will be, whether it be priest or sailor. So step up and be it. Let them do nothing to you. Be the one who shapes yourself. Be who you are, and eventually all will have to recognize who you are, whether they are willing to admit it or not. And if your will is that you will shape yourself in Sa’s image, then do so. Without whimpering.”

“You are a Haven,” he pointed out with quiet pride. Wintrow met his gaze. There was neither defiance nor the will to injure, but the words were clear. “I’m a Vestrit.” He looked down to the bloody handprints on Vivacia’s deck, to the severed forefinger that still rested there. “You’ve made me a Vestrit.”

“This finger will never wear a priest’s signet,” he said. To some he might have sounded drunken, but to Vivacia his voice was broken with sorrow. “Will you take it, sir? As a token of your victory?”

f you kyle

He bent his head and kissed her cheek. Then her arm came up around his neck and she turned her mouth to the kiss.

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh HELLO

As her foot touched the dock, she looked around her with new eyes. Candletown. A hell of a place to be with nothing but a handful of coins and a sea-bag.

A woman of many talents. And intelligent, too. He’d probably have to kill her soon.

I do not keep him in ignorance, Malta. His ignorance is a fortress he has built himself and defended savagely.”

you still owe me a question.” Althea was inclined to feel generous. “Ask away, then.” Ophelia smiled, and a bright spark of mischief came into her eyes. For a second she bit the tip of her tongue between her white teeth. Then she asked quickly, “Who is that dark-eyed man who gives you such…stimulating dreams?”