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A brief excerpt from Bee’s dream journals precedes “Trader Akriel.” The chapter opens with Bee dickering with a merchant aboard the ship where she has been captive. Bee offers to indenture herself to the merchant, her situation rehearsed, and the merchant lays out some of her own situation before agreeing to take her on.

The agreement made, Bee assesses her situation again, and she is taken by the merchant, the Trader Akriel, to her own quarters. There, Bee is given instructions and follows them, although not entirely to Akriel’s liking, and the pair begin to settle into a routine. Bee takes the opportunity to learn about her putative owner, and Akriel tests certain of Bee’s skills in order to market her better.

At length, Akriel takes Bee ashore in the port of Sewelsby. There, as Bee notes her surroundings, she takes lodgings and goes about her business, leaving Bee to see to her comfort. Bee accomplishes this, and she makes to greet Akriel upon her return, only to find her ensorcelled by Vindeliar and preceding him, Kerf, and Dwalia. A brief fracas ensues, leaving Akriel dead and Bee recaptured.

Bee wakes to find herself chained and dragged by Dwalia and Vindeliar, who have left Kerf behind as they continue to flee. She begins to offer resistance but is dissuaded therefrom decisively, and she reluctantly accompanies Dwalia as they depart.

The present chapter recalls to me my assertions regarding Bingtown mirroring the early United States; this piece fairly encapsulates them. Akriel calls to mind figures I recall being discussed without irony, “kindly” slavers who were “nice” to the humans they held as chattel and were “dispossessed” in the wake of the Emancipation Proclamation and the 13th Amendment. From that perspective, it is a challenge to read her sympathetically, to feel even as much pity for her death as Bee reports. And for those who might contend that Bee made to indenture herself, for one, she is yet a child, and for another, she is in such exigent circumstances as do not admit of truly free choice–and I have to think there is a parallel there to the also-unironically-discussed indentured servitude of Irish populations in early US history, as well. But I’d have to do some more reading to be as certain of that as I’d like to be to discuss it at any greater length.

So much said, it remains the case that Dwalia is far worse an evil than Akriel represents, with the clear and continued implication that those she serves are yet more evil for accepting and encouraging that service in the manner of its delivery. Akriel is foul, certainly, for trading in human lives without regret, but the rapaciousness with which Dwalia proceeds, coupled with what is attested by the Fool and others about the conduct of the Servants…I suppose I also need to look further into ponerology, which though continues to provide morbid amusement for me even after Halloween has happened. And I think that the Realm of the Elderlings novels could well sustain an extended inquiry in that line; there is enough treatment of evil in a variety of forms and degrees that there would be much to say, I think, although, again, I’d need more background to address it well. Despite the regard in which I’ve been told I’m held more than once, I’m not so good at evil as to have that work ready to hand.

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After a somewhat extended commentary from the Servant Symphe regarding the Fool, “Paragon‘s Bargain” begins with Fitz trying to fill his days aboard the liveship with useful tasks, only to find himself wracked with regrets regarding Bee. Fitz does learn some details about the Rain Wild river and how the liveship operates upon it, and the patterns of his days aboard and of his company’s are related.

An evening comes that interrupts the regular pattern, with Brashen and Althea requiring Fitz to dine with them. They explain their concerns about the Paragon‘s behavior on the trip to him, relating some of the ship’s history and expressing unease at the increasing association between the liveship and Amber. Their talk together is interrupted by upset from the liveship, the visage of which has transformed to something more draconic. The Fool as Amber had administered Silver to the liveship, which surges with power and unrealized desires. Fitz realizes the truth of the ship’s words about its draconic nature, and he and others begin to be overwhelmed by the latent power in the dragons that make up Paragon.

A brief fracas ensues, after which conference is undertaken about events. The Fool as Amber explains the reasoning behind the events; the Paragon has been to Clerres and can return there, willingly in exchange for the opportunity to drink enough Silver to become the dragons that should have been. Brashen and Althea recognize that they will be professionally undone by such an event, contracts they had made broken by the preemption of their vessel and work, and the Fool asserts that Bee yet lives, so that the haste for Clerres becomes important. Fitz is obliged to reveal more of himself and his daughter than he would have done, to his cold anger, and he finds himself confronting the liveship again, if briefly.

Returning to his cabin, Fitz finds that the Silver he had been given remains intact, and he returns to Brashen, Althea, and Amber. More difficult discussion follows, and Fitz is convinced, at last, that his daughter yet lives.

The present chapter makes use of the deus ex machina trope, and pointedly. It’s not the first time the Realm of the Elderlings novels have engaged in it–examples present themselves here, here, and here, among others–and it’s not necessarily a bad thing that it happens, as I’ve noted elsewhere. I am somewhat struck by it in the present chapter, however, because it appears to contradict earlier in-milieu assertions, and without enough cause to excuse it. That the Silver the Fool-as-Amber administers would have powerful effects upon the Paragon is to be expected; the substance is repeatedly asserted to be singularly potent, and the wizardwood of which the liveship is made is itself more than moderately magically active. That it would have transformative effects is not beyond expectation, either; it is noted earlier in the Realm of the Elderlings works that the dragons were themselves enhanced by access to it, that enhancement doing much to explain their possessiveness regarding it.

The notion that it could restore to life creatures long dead from their reshaped and incomplete cocoons–because that is what wizardwood is, and it surpasses expectation that every scrap of both cocoons made into the Paragon is present within the vessel–is, to my reading, too much, however. I find myself wondering if the bargain that has been struck is an authorial oversight or a lie on the part of the Fool-as-Amber. In the former case, it would be an unfortunate lapse, one that diminishes the quality of otherwise excellent work. In the latter case, it would seem to be a substantial deviation of character behavior, and while that might be explicable as a result of urgency, it is still strange to consider against more than a dozen novels that don’t exactly lack for urgency in their events; it still comes off as a weak point in the writing, which is always sad to see.

I’ve spent a lot of time reading Hobb’s writing. I’ve spent a lot of money to get to do so. I point both of these out as support for the idea that I am fond of Hobb’s work; I return to it again and again for reason. I do not make comments against it because I dislike it; I make the comments that I do because, despite my overall enjoyment of and appreciation for the work, there are places where it does not do as well as others, and it would be dishonest of me to ignore them.

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This is another chapter that discusses sexual assault and torture.

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After an excerpt from Bee’s dream journals, “Full Sails” begins with a return to Bee as she remains Dwalia’s captive. She assesses her situation aboard ship and her confinement, noting overheard conversations and plotting to escape Dwalia and her company. Part of the plot involves accommodating Vindeliar, who reveals more of Clerres’s organization and beliefs. Bee almost exposes herself to his magics in a moment of inattentive compassion, but she masters herself and learns more of the limitations of his abilities.

As Bee considers further what she has learned and overhears yet more, some news of the Pirate Isles and what faces merchants traveling through them, Vindeliar makes to join her. Bee presses the man for more information, and he reluctantly admits that the Unexpected Son is a potential threat to Clerres. Vindeliar comes to believe Bee is using the information to change things unacceptably, however, and soon has Kerf restrain her, taking her below. In confinement, she challenges Dwalia again, only for Dwalia to relate what she did do the Fool and what awaits Bee in Clerres.

The ship on which Bee travels as Dwalia’s captive, beset by weather, pitches, knocking Vindeliar unconscious. Bee attempts to suborn Kerf and attacks Dwalia. Vindeliar regains consciousness, however, and resumes control of Kerf, who removes Bee from Dwalia. In the ensuing fracas, Bee escapes into the bowels of the ship.

The present chapter is helpful in laying out more of the structure of Clerres. The detail that the Servant in the north tower passes down a name is of interest–although it must be noted that the character providing the information, Vindeliar, is not wholly reliable as a narrator. The novels in which he appears make clear that his perceptions and understandings are sharply limited and curated, so it is not necessarily the case that what he says can be taken entirely at face value, even aside from Vindeliar being Bee’s direct captor, whose words should not be trusted for that reason alone.

I am reminded as I reread the chapter of the idea of the butterfly effect. It’s a common enough concept that I don’t think I need to elucidate it here, but, as I have looked back over the bits of this rereading, I find that I have not noted it earlier, and I really ought to have done so. The Fool, as memory serves, remarks at many points throughout the Realm of the Elderlings novels that small changes end up making big differences; a metaphor used at one point (where, exactly, escapes me at the moment; there are many conversations between Fitz and the Fool) is a small rock put in the path of a wheel that forces the wheel’s path to shift (with admitted unpleasantness for the rock). That is, the Fool makes much of small changes exerting ongoing effects–the butterfly effect, in brief.

There’s enough related imagery in the novels to further the reading, of course. There is, for one example, Bee’s whispered verse to Fitz in “My Own Voice” in Fool’s Assassin, and there’s Nettle’s handling of Tintaglia at the end of Golden Fool; both associate Fitz’s daughters with butterflies, their wings making storms happen far away and later on. The life-cycles of the dragons are strangely mimetic of butterflies (and, admittedly, other insects), and I recall that the Fool seems to employ such imagery from time to time. I’ll admit that I wasn’t reading for such details and that I probably ought to have been…but I doubt this is the last time I’ll work through the Realm of the Elderlings novels, so I may well return to it again.

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Following some commentary by a Bingtown Trader about the origins of the liveships, “The Liveship Paragon” begins with Fitz considering his own image on the figurehead of the eponymous vessel. The Fool as Amber claims to be able to explain, something about which Fitz expresses doubt before returning to his contemplation of Trehaug as he approaches it aboard Tarman. The liveship barge docks alongside what had been the Ludlucks’ ship, and Amber, the Paragon, and the ship’s crew exchange greetings.

As the Paragon makes to take Fitz and his company aboard, Fitz examines the figurehead closely, his magics taking in the liveship and his thoughts returning to his journey to the Out Islands with Thick. Perseverance finds himself rapidly integrated into the ship’s company as Fitz and his other companions are taken into conference with Brashen and Althea, with whom introductions are made. After a brief talk, in which Spark is easily accommodated, Althea is called away by ship’s business, leaving Brashen to give something of a tour of the vessel to his passengers. Fitz learns some of the crew’s background and histories, including some of the tensions ensnaring the Vestrit family, and he finds himself uncomfortably the focus of the ship’s attention.

Afterward, Fitz returns to conference with Althea and Brashen, and more of the liveship’s history is rehearsed to him. He accepts rebuke for his carelessness, and he confides in the Fool his increasing propensity towards error. The Fool offers some comfort, but Fitz continues to berate himself for his perceived follies. The Fool, however, accepts the finality of their quest together.

There is more to say about chronology in the present chapter. The Paragon asks Amber “Where have you been for the last twenty-odd years?” (214), a reasonable question that offers a useful but inexact report of the time that passed between the end of the Liveship novels and the present chapter. The question of Fitz’s age emerges again, as well (229), giving some explicitly inexact indication of how many years have passed (note this and this). There is some use in having a general sense of time, of course; there is also some use to the author in keeping things general. Fandom can be…difficult…as I’ve noted in passing. (I’m minded of Jeffrey Ford’s “The Fantasy Writer’s Assistant,” as well; it’s a good read, worth the time.) Pegging down exact dates for events in the main narrative invites readers to look for places where they do not line up, and even if verisimilitude would suggest that keeping track of specific dates is not always doable, such misalignments are hooks upon which complaints can be hung easily. Avoiding them reduces some negative commentary by denying the opportunity for it to arise.

The actions of the liveship Paragon in the present chapter also bring to mind some of the earlier work I’ve done, looking (in perhaps less detail than deserves to be done, but there’s only so much that fits into a conference paper) at sites of memory in the Elderlings corpus. I make the argument, among others, that the liveships themselves function as ongoing memorials, but in a particularly fraught fashion. The Paragon, given the circumstances of the ship’s construction and the treatment of the last Ludluck crew aboard (for information about which, see the Liveship Traders novels, my rereading of which begins here), is even more fraught than the rest of the liveships, and the fact that decades do not seem to have eased the ship’s being may have uncomfortable implications. (I had the sudden thought of comparing the liveships, generally, and the Paragon in particular, to the creature in Frankenstein. If someone’s beaten me to it, please let me know.)

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