Malta felt a wave of despair rise in her. She could think of nothing to say to Tillamon, but as they moved to the next lift, she quietly took her hand.

As the lift lurched into motion, Reyn began, “Tillamon, I—” but his sister quickly said, “You know, we should not speak of troubling things now. While Malta is with child, she should think only calm and pleasant thoughts.” Tillamon gave Malta’s hand a brief squeeze before releasing it.

It was clear that Tillamon wished to change the direction of the conversation, and Malta was happy to help her. “Look. Down there, through the trees. Is that our boat?” It was a long, narrow craft manned by many rowers, designed to defeat the river’s current as it moved upstream. Aft, there was a small cabin for passengers. A long deck for freight ran down the middle of the ship. At the very back of the vessel, a brawny man leaned idly on the sweep that was also the tiller for the ship. He looked bored.

“That’s the River Snake. And yes, she’s waiting for us.” There was relief in Reyn’s voice. He, too, preferred to think of pleasant things. Perhaps, for a short time, she could allow him that.

Tillamon asked, “Is that one of the new boats I’ve been hearing about? The Bingtown ones that can withstand the river water as well as a liveship?”

“No, she’s Rain Wild made and crewed. But you may get a glimpse of one of the Bingtown ships before we return. I’d heard one was making a tour of the Rain Wild settlements, to show how impervious it is to the acid and also how swiftly it can move, even in shallower channels. That’s what the Jamaillian boat builder is calling them: impervious boats. That one is supposed to make a stop in Trehaug and then go up to Cassarick. You know that’s been a choke point in the movement of goods: the locks we built for helping the serpents reach Cassarick are mostly destroyed now; the winter floods took them out. And the deep draught liveships can’t navigate past that stretch of the river. A freight vessel that can run the shallows and doesn’t melt after half a dozen trips would revolutionize how we trade up and down the river.”

“And they are made in Bingtown?”

“Yes. That one, at any rate. A Pirate Isles fellow came up with the formula for the hull coating, so it will be a joint venture. Some Jamaillian boat builder is financing the undertaking, I’m told.”

“Oh.” Tillamon’s voice went flat suddenly. “So once the ships start plying our waters, there will be more Bingtowners and Tattooed and Jamaillians than ever in the Rain Wilds.”

Reyn looked startled. “I . . . suppose there will.”

“Not an improvement,” Tillamon said decisively, and she stepped off the lift briskly as it halted on the landing platform.