Dawnshard (The Stormlight Archive, #3.5)(3)

Trying not to let the worry crush her, Rysn left the sphere near Chiri-Chiri’s mouth, then forced herself to return to her hunt. She’d already sent a request via spanreed to someone she thought could help with Chiri-Chiri. There wasn’t anything more Rysn could do until he replied. So, she scooted along her bench to resume her work. Then, however, she realized she’d left her pen. She began to scoot back to fetch it.

Immediately, Nikli bounded out of his position near the doorway and scrambled to grab the pen for her. Before she could arrive, the overeager man had the tool proffered.

Rysn sighed. Nikli was her new head porter, the man who carried her between locations when she needed help. He was from somewhere in the western Makabaki region, and though his Thaylen was good, he’d had trouble finding work. He stood out, with his face and arms covered in white tattoos.

He was eager to keep his job, but while she appreciated initiative . . . “Thank you, Nikli,” she said, taking the pen. “But please wait until I ask for help before rendering it.”

“Oh!” he said. He bowed. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said, waving for him to retreat to the side of the room. His attitude wasn’t uncommon. When she’d explained the benches for her office, the initial response had been confusion. “But why?” the carpenters’ foreman had asked.

Ah, to be free of the “but why.”

To everyone else, her actions seemed odd. She was a trademaster, with her own ship and crew. She could order servants to fetch her anything she needed. And she did need help now and then.

The thing was, she didn’t always need help. It was a lesson she herself had been forced to learn, so she didn’t blame Nikli for the mistake. She shook off the minor irritation and refocused on her task, trying to recapture her excitement.

This would be her second voyage as a shipowner. Her first, completed two weeks ago, had been a direct back-and-forth trade deal that had let her and the crew grow accustomed to one another. It had gone . . . fine. Oh, the profits had been good, and the crew appreciated that. The deals she negotiated were their livelihood.

Yet there was something about the sailors, and their captain, that Rysn hadn’t yet figured out. Some hesitance to engage with her. Perhaps they were simply accustomed to Vstim and not Rysn, as her ways were slightly different from her babsk’s. Or maybe they wanted a voyage more engaging, more rewarding, than such a simple trip.

She sifted through her options, eventually settling on three different trade offers. Any of the three could be lucrative, but which to select? She mulled it over for a time, then wrote out a list of pros and cons to each deal, as Vstim had taught her.

Eventually she rubbed her temples, her eyebrow jewelry tinkling softly, and decided to give it a few minutes. Instead she reached for some spanreed communications that had come in recently—from women around the world who, like her, had lost the use of their legs.

Talking with them was exciting and invigorating. They felt so many of her own emotions, and were eager to share with her things they’d learned. Mura, an Azish woman, had designed several interesting devices to help in daily life, demonstrating marvelous creativity. Hooks and rings—with items hanging on pegs—to allow for ready access. Specialized hoops, wires, and curved rods to aid in dressing herself.

Reading through the latest letters, she couldn’t help but be encouraged. She had once felt so isolated. Now she realized there were many people who—despite being strangely invisible to the world at large—faced her same challenges. Their stories invigorated her, and with their suggestions in hand, Rysn had ordered changes to her ship. A fixed seat and sunshade up on the quarterdeck, near the helm station. Changes to her cabin to make moving around and dressing easier.

During the ship’s time in port, the carpenters were doing as she’d asked. Yet there had been so many confused looks. And that same awful question.

“But why?”

Why not stay behind and let an underling do the in-person negotiations? She could negotiate via spanreed for the true contract. Why did she want a station up on the quarterdeck, rather than making the voyage comfortable in her cabin? Why ask about a pulley system to get herself up and down from the quarterdeck, when there were porters who could carry her?

Why, why, why? Why do you want to live, Rysn? Why do you want to better your situation? She scanned the drawings that Mura had sent her. It was a recent design, done by an ardent in Jah Keved, for a different kind of wheeled chair. Rysn used the common type, with small wheels on the rear legs. It needed a porter who could tip the chair back—like she was in a reverse wheelbarrow—and push her where she needed to go. The design had been used for centuries.

But here was something new. A chair with large wheels you could move yourself with your hands. She’d need to have one of these commissioned. It wouldn’t be of much use on a ship—and the streets of Thaylen City were probably too rough, with too many steps—but if only she could get from room to room in her own house, so many things would change.

She wrote a reply to Mura, then revisited her three possible trips, weighing them. A shipment of fish oil, some rugs, or some water barrels. All three were just so mundane. Her ship, the Wandersail, had been built for grander things. Granted, with the war, even simple trips were now dangerous. But she’d been trained by the best in the business to search for the opportunities no one else would take.