Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave (23 page)

"Yes, but do not be concerned," Draycos said. "He was—"

"He
saw
you?" Jack repeated, sounding stunned. "Oh, that's
terrific. That's absolutely terrific."

"It will not be a problem," Draycos insisted, feeling a little
annoyed at Jack's reaction. "He was in high fever. If he remembers
anything at all, he will undoubtedly conclude it was a dream."

Jack didn't say anything, but Draycos could feel the boy's hands
tightening into fists. "It was necessary," the K'da continued firmly.
"He was afraid, and sick, and alone. Would you not have done the same
if you were there?"

"Yeah, but I
wasn't
there," Jack bit out. The words were
harsh, but his tone was beginning to calm a little. "I was in here.
Freezing to death, and worried sick about you."

"I am sorry," Draycos said, a flash of guilt replacing his earlier
annoyance. "I did not intend to cause you concern. But it was something
I had to do."

"Yeah, I know," Jack said with a sigh. "Just one of those K'da
poet-warrior things, huh? Like pulling that guy Dumbarton out of the
hot dirt on Iota Klestis?"

"Yes," Draycos said. "Interesting that you still remember even the
man's name."

"What, you don't?"

"I remember the incident, certainly," Draycos said. "But I had not
made a point of the name. Certainly none of it was of any large
importance in my mind. It was a very minor act of mercy, as such things
go. One of many that a K'da warrior does as a matter of course."

"I guess maybe it's because it was the first time I saw you do
something like that," Jack said. "First time I saw
anyone
do
something like that, come to think of it."

"And it turned out all right," Draycos pointed out. "We escaped
safely."

"I still think it was a waste of effort," Jack said. "Even if we
ever run into him again, which we probably won't, the guy sure isn't
going to walk up and thank you."

"Reward and gratitude are not the point of such deeds," Draycos
said. "The point is to do what is right, without thought of benefit or
reward. Speaking of benefits, did Lisssa ever return?"

"Oh, she returned, all right," Jack said with a snort. "Over and
over again, like burps from a bad meal."

Draycos frowned. "I do not understand."

"First she brought a blanket that didn't fit under the door," Jack
explained. "She took it back and brought another one. That one she
managed to stuff in. Waste of time—the thing wasn't very warm."

"Where is it?" Draycos asked, looking around.

"Back there behind the mesh," Jack said. "I didn't want room
service tripping over it if someone actually decides to feed me."

"So she came here two more times?"

"Actually, she came three more times," Jack said. "The third time
she brought more of those pancake things. I saved some, if you want
them."

"Thank you," Draycos said, lifting his head part of the way off
Jack's shoulder and nudging aside the shirt with his snout. Jack
offered him a pancake, and he scooped it into his mouth with a flick of
his tongue. It was dry and rather chewy, but he was too hungry to care.
"I am surprised she would take such a risk so many times."

"You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full," Jack said.
"Yeah, I've been wondering about that, too. Especially since Her
Thumbleness is probably running her ragged during the day. She ought to
be dead on her feet, not scurrying around like a mouse with insomnia."

"With what?"

"Sleeplessness," Jack said. "Can't sleep, so you get up and play
cards or something."

"Ah," Draycos said. "Perhaps Doloms do not need much sleep."

"Maybe," Jack said. "That doesn't explain why she wants to play
hide-and-seek with Brummgan patrols. Especially after that big speech
she gave me way back when about having to look out for yourself."

"Perhaps she is one of those who speak one way but secretly act
another," Draycos suggested.

"Don't say it," Jack warned.

"Do not say what?" Draycos asked.

"You're talking about me, right?" Jack growled. "I talk tough, but
then I send you out to get fruit juice for Noy?"

"I was not even going to mention you," Draycos protested. "Truly."

"Yeah," Jack said, not sounding convinced. "Speaking of which . . .
how is he?"

"I do not know," Draycos said. "He drank one and a half bottles of
fruit juice, and appeared to be sleeping better when I left him. But I
do not have any experience with human illnesses."

"I should have given you the comm clip," Jack said, shaking his
head. "You could have called Uncle Virge. Well, maybe we can both get
out there tomorrow night. Anyway, all that juice should have helped.
Thanks for doing that."

"It was my pleasure, and my duty," Draycos said. "And speaking of
food . . .?"

"Oh, right." Jack held up another pancake. "Here."

Draycos had just finished the last one when he sensed the approach
of distant footsteps. "Someone is coming," he warned Jack, listening
hard. "Three Brummgas, from the sound."

"Oh, good," Jack said sourly. "Room service has finally showed up."

A minute later the door was unlocked and swung open. "You," the
lead Brummga rumbled. "Come."

"Wha—?" Jack mumbled, sounding as if he had just been startled
awake.

The Brummga didn't bother to repeat the order. He merely reached
in and hauled Jack out. "You will come," he said, setting the boy down
around the side of the frying pan and giving him a shove toward the
house. "The
Panjan
Gazen wants you."

As Jack had expected, the Brummgas took him in through the kitchen
door. Also as expected, the kitchen was bustling with slaves preparing
breakfast.

Not quite as expected, though, the Brummgas did not take him
directly to Gazen. Instead, they turned him over to Heetoorieef. "I
have been told to make you presentable," the Wistawk informed Jack
coolly. "A breakfast has been prepared for you, as well. Do you wish
food or a cleaning first?"

"I think I'll go with the cleaning," Jack said, watching as the
Brummgas stomped their way out through the kitchen, the slaves
scattering out of their path as they went. "It's okay—I know the way to
the bathroom."

He started toward the stairs to the slave quarters. But
Heetoorieef stepped into his path. "I have been ordered to keep you in
the kitchen until you are called for," the Wistawk said. "There is a
cleaning facility over here."

The "cleaning facility" turned out to be a slightly oversized sink
with a spray nozzle. Standing beside it, Jack cleaned himself up as
best he could, trying to keep out of the way of the hurrying slaves.

After the common shower rooms at the Whinyard's Edge training
camp, and the even more open showers back in the slave colony, he knew
he should be used to this by now. But he wasn't. Here, especially, it
felt like he was taking a bath in the middle of a city park.

Though again the rest of the slaves seemed to have developed the
knack of turning off their eyes to such things. No one even seemed to
notice his full-sized dragon tattoo. Or if they did, they didn't
mention it to him.

Heetoorieef had left a pile of clean clothes by the sink. Not a
clown outfit, this time, or even the artificially cheerful household
slave uniform. These were normal, everyday street clothes.

That all by itself was ominous, especially coming off of a night
in the frying pan. Had Gazen decided to take Jack up on his offer to do
some burglary for him?

Or was this a subtle signal that Jack had already been sold?

He was nearly dressed when the outer kitchen door was again flung
open. He looked over and saw a half dozen Wistawki slaves stagger
inside, with two Brummgas in the rear herding them along.

His first thought was that the whole lot of them were drunk. His
second thought was that they were so utterly fatigued that they were
asleep on their feet.

It was only as the first one nearly tripped and turned halfway
around that he spotted the bright red lines crisscrossing his back.

The bright red of fresh blood.

Jack caught his breath, his eyes darting to each of them in turn.
All six of them had been savagely whipped.

Heetoorieef was just passing by. "Heetoorieef," Jack hissed,
grabbing the other's arm and jerking his head toward the bleeding
Wistawki. "What happened?"

Heetoorieef looked toward the others, his alien face unreadable.
"They are thieves," he said. "They stole from the slaves' food locker."

Jack felt something catch in his throat. Oh, no. "You're sure it
was them?"

"The Brummgas are sure," Heetoorieef said. "That's all that
matters."

"But—" Jack broke off. "Suppose they're wrong?"

"And what if they are?"

"What do you mean, what if?" Jack retorted. "They'd have beaten
them for nothing."

Heetoorieef turned his eyes onto Jack. "And what if they did?"

Jack stared up at him. "Don't you even care?" he demanded.

The Wistawk looked away. "They are slaves," he said, very quietly.
"I am a slave. Come, your food is ready."

Numbly, Jack followed, not even bothering to fasten his shirt all
the way up. He felt sick to his stomach, sicker than he'd felt about
anything that had happened since he'd arrived in this place. Sicker
even than he'd felt watching two innocent bystanders get shot back on
the Vagran Colony, right after he'd first met Draycos.

Because this one was his fault. One hundred percent his fault.
He
was the one responsible for that stolen food, not them. That whipping
should have been his, not theirs.

In the old days, Uncle Virgil would have had a good laugh over
seeing someone else get nailed for a job he and Jack had pulled off.
Uncle Virge would probably be less openly cheerful, but even he would
congratulate Jack on his good luck at avoiding the blame.

Draycos, in contrast, probably felt every bit as sick as Jack did.

The worst part was that there was nothing in the universe he could
do to fix it. Even if he jumped up on the table right now and announced
his guilt to the Brummgas, it wouldn't make any difference. The slaves
would still be bleeding, the skin of their backs still torn.

For almost three months now Uncle Virge had been warning Jack
against Draycos and his K'da warrior ethic. He'd told Jack over and
over again that he should stick with looking out for himself, and not
worry about other people.

Jack had mostly ignored him, following Draycos's lead and letting
the dragon make most of the moral decisions. And up to now it hadn't
really cost him very much.

But the guilt now twisting through his stomach was a cost he
hadn't counted on. Maybe a cost he wasn't willing to pay.

A small table and chair had been set up near the slaves' food
locker, with a bowl full of steaming breakfast stew waiting. "There,"
Heetoorieef said, gesturing toward it. "Your meal. The
Panjan
Gazen commands that you eat."

Of course Gazen would command it. Jack was a slave, too, after
all. Commands, hotboxes, and whippings were all part of the package.
"Sure," he muttered.

He sat down. Whatever appetite he'd brought in with him this
morning had vanished like Alice down the rabbit hole. Even if it
hadn't, he would have felt awkward helping himself to a hearty meal
with the rest of the slaves still hard at work around him.

Still, this might be the only decent meal on today's schedule.
Maybe on the whole week's schedule, the way Gazen played things.
Whether he had an appetite or not, he needed his strength.

Besides, the aroma rising with the steam had already set his
stomach growling. Giving up, he picked up the spoon and carved out a
small bite.

"Wait," Draycos's voice whispered from his shoulder.

Jack froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth. "What?" he whispered
back.

"Let me smell it more closely," Draycos said. He shifted lower on
Jack's chest, and the end of his snout rose from the skin.

Jack moved the spoon to the protruding snout, pulling the edges of
his unfastened shirt forward a little with his free hand to help hide
the dragon from view. "Well?"

Draycos's only answer was to keep sniffing. "Come on, come on,"
Jack said impatiently. This had better not be something stupid, like
the kettlespice balance not being quite right. "What, is it spoiled or
something?"

"No," Draycos said. "It is poisoned."

Carefully, Jack lowered the spoon back into the bowl. "You sure?"

"I am positive," Draycos said. "I cannot identify the exact type.
But I am certain it
is
a poison."

Jack took a deep breath. So that was how Gazen planned to do it.
"A squatter poison," he said. "Bet you aces to deuces it's a squatter
poison."

"I do not know that term."

"It's a type of poison that gets into a person's system and then
just sort of sits there," Jack explained bitterly. "Sometimes for
years. They're mostly used for big-animal control, like that touring
show with the reconstructed dinosaurs."

"What do you mean, it sits there?" Draycos asked. "Where does it
sit?"

"All through the tissues," Jack said. "Muscle fibers, lungs, maybe
the heart lining. And as long as you take a daily dose of the right
antidote, you're fine."

"And if you do not?"

"Then you're dead."

For a moment Draycos was silent. "That is how Gazen plans to keep
you under the control of your new buyer," he said. "But can you not
find your own supply of the antidote?"

"Sure," Jack said. "Problem is, I don't know which squatter poison
it is. The wrong antidote could kill me all by itself."

"What then do we do?"

"We start by going hungry," Jack said, picking up the glass of
water beside the bowl and holding it close to his chest. "Take a sniff.
Anything here?"