The Dragon Keeper (14 page)

“Which, as I am not a fool, I have. Stamped, sealed, and signed in purple ink. I also carry letters of recommendation from several Bingtown Traders, attesting that I am a most honest and honorable trader. Even if I am a Chalcedean.”

A drop of sweat had begun to trickle down Leftrin’s spine. If the man actually possessed the paperwork he claimed to have, then he was either a miracle worker or a most adept blackmailer. Leftrin could not recall a time in his life when he had seen a Chalcedean visiting the Rain Wilds legally. They had come as raiders, as warriors, and occasionally as spies, but not as legitimate traders. He doubted that a Chalcedean would know how to be a legitimate trader. No. This man was trouble and danger. And he had deliberately chosen to approach Leftrin and the
Tarman
. Not good.

Sinad set his glass carefully back on the small table. It remained half full. He smiled at it and then observed blandly, “This vessel of yours fascinates me. For instance, it interests me that propelling it once demanded a dozen oarsmen. Now, it is said, you crew it with only six men, counting yourself. For a barge of this size, I find that startling. Almost as surprising that your tillerman can hold his place here at the river’s mouth with apparent ease.” He lifted the glass again and held it to the light as if admiring the small stars.

“I redesigned the hull to make the barge more efficient.” A second drop of sweat joined the first in its journey down his back. Who had talked? Genrod, of course. He’d heard, a few years ago, that the man had moved from Trehaug to Bingtown. At the time Leftrin had suspected that the money he had paid him for his work on Tarman had financed the man’s move. Genrod was an amazing artisan, a master in the working of wood, even wizardwood, and four years ago Leftrin had paid him well, very well indeed, for both his skill and his silence. The results of his efforts had far surpassed Leftrin’s wildest hopes, and he recalled now, with a sinking heart, that more than once Genrod had mourned that his “greatest work must remain secret and submerged forever.” Not money, but Genrod’s egotistical need to brag was what had betrayed Leftrin’s trust. If he ever saw the skinny little wretch again, he’d tie a knot in him.

The Chalcedean was regarding him closely. “Surely I am not the only one who has noticed this? I imagine that many of your fellow Traders envy your newfound efficiency, and doubtless they have importuned you to know the secret of your new hull design. For if you have modified a ship as old as yours, one that, I am told, is among the oldest of the Trading vessels built from the marvelous dragon wood, then surely they will wish to do the same with theirs.”

Leftrin hoped he had not gone pale. He abruptly doubted that Genrod was the source of
all
this information. The carver might have bragged of working on Tarman, but Genrod was Trader through and through. He would not have spoken openly of Tarman’s pedigree as the eldest liveship. This trader had more than one source of gossip. He tried to bait a name out of him. “Traders respect one another’s secrets” was all he said.

“Do they? Then they are like no other traders I have ever known. Every trader I know is always eager to discover whatever advantage his fellow has. Gold is sometimes offered for such secrets. And when gold does not buy the desired item, well, I have heard tales of violence done.”

“Neither gold nor violence will buy what you seek from me.” Sinad shook his head. “You mistake me. I will not go into whether it was gold or violence, but I will tell you that the exchange has already been made, and all that I need to know about you and your ship, I know. Let us speak plainly. The High Duke of Chalced is not a young man. With every year, nay, with almost every week, that passes some new ailment frets him. Some of the most experienced and respected healers in all of Chalced have attempted to treat him. Many have died for their failures. So, perhaps, it is expediency that now makes so many of them say that his only hope for improved health and long life will come from medicines made from dragon parts. They are so apologetic to him that they do not have the required ingredients. They promise him that as soon as the required ingredients are procured, they will concoct the elixirs that will restore his youth, beauty, and vigor.” The merchant sighed. He turned his gaze to the cabin’s small window and stared off into the distance. “And thus, his anger and frustration passes over his healers and settles instead on the trading families of Chalced. Why, he demands, can they not procure what he needs? Are they traitors? Do they desire his death? At first, he offered us gold for our efforts. And when gold did not suffice, he turned to that always effective coin: blood.” His gaze came back to Leftrin. “Do you understand what I am telling you? Do you understand that no matter how much you may despise Chalcedeans, they, too, love their families? Cherish their elderly parents and tender young sons? Understand, my friend, that I will do whatever I must to protect my family.”

Desperation vied with cold ruthlessness in the Chalcedean’s eyes. This was a dangerous man. He had come, empty-handed, to Leftrin’s vessel, but the Rain Wild Trader now perceived he had not come without weapons. Leftrin cleared his throat and said, “We will now set a reasonable price for the grain, and then I think our trading will be done.”

Sinad smiled at him. “The price of my grain, trading partner, is my passage up the river and that you speak well of me to your fellows. If you cannot procure what I need, then you will see that I am introduced to those who can.

“And in return, I will give you my grain
and
my silence about your secrets. Now what could be a better trade than that?”

BREAKFAST HAD BEEN delicious and perfectly prepared. The generous remains of a meal intended for three still graced the whiteclothed table. The serving dishes were covered now in what would be a vain attempt to keep the food at serving temperature. Alise sat alone at the table. Her dishes had already been efficiently and swiftly cleared away. She lifted the teapot and poured herself another cup of tea and waited.

She felt like a spider crouched at the edge of her web, waiting for the fly to blunder into her trap. She never lingered over meals. Hest knew that. She suspected it was why he was so frequently late to the table when he was home. She hoped that if she sat here long enough, he’d come in to eat and she’d finally have the chance to confront him.

He deliberately avoided her these days, not just at the table but anywhere that they might be alone. She did not agonize about it. She was glad enough to be left to eat in peace, and even gladder when he did not disturb her in her bed at night. Unfortunately, that had not been the case last night. Hest had stridden into her room in the small hours of the morning, shutting the door with a firm thump that had wakened her from a sound sleep. He’d smelled of strong tobacco and expensive wine. He’d taken off his robe, tossed it across the foot of the bed, and then clambered in beside her. In the dark room, she saw him only as a deeper shadow.

“Come here,” he’d said, as if commanding a dog. She’d stayed where she was, on the edge of the bed.

“I was sound asleep,” she’d protested.

“And now you’re not, and we’re both here, so let’s make a fine fat baby to make my father’s heart rejoice, shall we?” His tone was bitter. “One is all we need, darling Alise. So cooperate with me. This won’t take long, and then you can go back to sleep. And wake up in the morning and spend the day giving my money to scroll dealers.”

It had all fallen into place. He’d been to see his father, and been chided yet again for his lack of an heir. And yesterday Alise had bought not one but two rather expensive old scrolls. Both were from the Spice Islands. She couldn’t read a word of either of them, but the illustrations looked as if they were intended to depict Elderlings. It made sense to her; if the Elderlings had occupied the Cursed Shores in ancient days, they would have had trading partners, and those trading partners might have made some written record of their dealings. Lately she had turned her efforts to seeking out such old records. The Spice Island scrolls had been her first real find. Even she had blanched at the cost of them. But she’d had to have them, and so she had paid.

And tonight she would pay again, both for their childless state and for daring to expand her research library. If she had not stayed up so late poring over her latest acquisitions, she might have simply accommodated him. But she was tired and suddenly very weary of how he treated this portion of their married life.

She said something she’d never said before. “No. Perhaps tomorrow night.”

He’d stared at her. In the darkness she’d felt the anger of his gaze. “That’s not your decision,” he said bluntly.

“It’s not your sole decision either,” she’d retorted and started to leave the bed.

“Tonight, it is,” he said. With no warning, he lunged across the bed, seized her by the arm, and dragged her back. With the length of his body, he pinned her down.

She struggled briefly but as he dug his fingers into her upper arms and held her down, it was quickly apparent that she could not escape him. “Let me go!” she whisper-shrieked at him.

“In a moment,” he replied tightly. And a moment later, “If you don’t struggle, I won’t hurt you.”

He lied. Even after she had acquiesced, her head turned to one side, her eyes fixed on the wall, he’d held her arms tightly and thrust hard against her. It hurt. The pain and the humiliation made it seem as if it took him forever to accomplish his task. She didn’t weep. When he rolled away from her and then sat up on the edge of her bed, she was dry-eyed and silent.

He sat in the quiet dark for a time, and then she felt him stand and heard the whisper of fabric as he donned his robe again. “If we are fortunate, neither of us will have to go through that again,” he said dryly. What had stayed with her the rest of the night was that she had never heard him sound more sincere. He’d left her bed and her room.

Unable to sleep, she’d spent the rest of the night thinking about him and their sham of a marriage. He’d seldom been so rough with her. Sex with Hest was usually perfunctory and efficient. He entered her room, announced his intention, mated with her, and left. In the four years they’d been together, he’d never slept in her bed. He had never kissed her with passion, never touched any part of her body with interest.

She’d made humiliating efforts to please him. She’d anointed herself with perfumes and acquired and discarded various forms of nightdress. She had even tried to instigate romance with him, coming to his study late one evening and attempting to embrace him. He had not thrust her aside. He’d risen from his chair, told her that he was quite busy just now, and walked her to the door of the room, and shut her out of it. She’d fled, weeping, to her room.

Later that month, when he’d come to her bed, she had shamed herself again. She’d embraced him when he mounted her, and strained to kiss him. He’d held his face away from her. Nonetheless, her hungry body had tried to take whatever pleasure it could from his touch. He hadn’t responded to her willingness. When he had finished, he had rolled away from her, ignoring her attempt to hold him. “Alise. Please. In the future, don’t embarrass us both,” he’d said quietly before he shut the door behind him.

Even now, her face reddened as she recalled her failed attempts to seduce him. Indifference was bad enough; but last night, when he had proven that he not only could but would force her if he wished to, she’d had to recognize the ugly truth. Hest was changing. Over the last year, he’d become ever more abrupt with her. He had begun to deploy his little barbed comments against her in public as well as in private. The small courtesies that any woman could expect from her husband were vanishing from her life. In the beginning, he had taken pains to be attentive to her in public, to offer his arm when they walked together, to hand her up into her carriage. Those small graces had vanished now. But last night was the first time that cruelty had replaced them.

Not even the precious Spice Island scrolls were worth what he had done to her. It was time to end this charade. She had the evidence of his infidelity. It was time to use it to render her marriage contract void.

The clues were small but plain. The first had come as an invoice mistakenly placed on her desk instead of his. It was for a very expensive lotion, one she knew she had never bought. When she had queried the merchant about it, he had produced a receipt for its delivery, signed in Hest’s hand. She had paid the bill, but kept the papers. In a similar fashion, she had come to discover that Hest was paying the rent on a cottage half a day’s ride from their home in an area of small farms, mostly settled by Three Ships immigrants. And the last was the item she had noticed last night; he wore a ring she had never seen before; she had felt the bite of it as he had gripped her arms so cruelly tight last night. Hest enjoyed jewelry and often wore rings. But his taste ran to massive worked silver; this ring had been gold, with a tiny stone set in it. She knew with certainty that it was nothing Hest would ever have bought for himself.

So now she understood. He’d married her only to keep his family content, so that they might show to the world their son’s proper Trader wife. The Finboks would never accept a Three Ships girl into their family, let alone recognize her child as their heir. The lotion, she was sure, had been a gift for his mistress. The ring he now wore was her pledge to him. He was unfaithful. He had broken their contract, and she would use his broken vow as a way to free herself from him.

She would be poor. There would be a settlement from his family, of course, but she didn’t deceive herself that she could live on it as she did under his roof. She would have to retreat to the little piece of land that had been her dowry. She’d have to live simply. She’d have her work, of course, and—

The door opened. Sedric entered, laughing about something and speaking over his shoulder to Hest. He turned and saw her and smiled. “Alise, good morning!”

“Good morning, Sedric.” The words came out of her mouth, a reflexive pleasantry.

Then, as Hest glared at her, annoyed at still finding her at the breakfast table, she heard herself blurt out, “You’ve been unfaithful to me. That voids our marriage contract. You can let me go quietly, or I can take this to the Traders’ Council and present my evidence.”