The Dragon Keeper (43 page)

She suddenly felt a bit abashed by how she had spoken to him. “I was repeating exactly what Skymaw was saying,” she excused herself, and felt only slightly guilty for blaming her rudeness on the dragon.

“So, then. You could translate for me? If I wanted to talk to her, apologize—”

“No need for that. I mean, you can speak directly to her. She understands exactly what you say.”

“Yes, she did, and that is exactly how I was getting into trouble with her. But if Alise asks your dragon a question and your dragon answers, you could translate the answer for me? Quietly, off to one side, so we don’t disturb their conversation.”

“Of course. But so could Alise—I mean, the lady. So could any of the keepers.”

“But that would slow down Alise’s work. I was thinking that if someone would interpret for me as the dragon talks, I could get it all down. I’m a very fast writer. And I suppose any keeper could do it.” He glanced at Tats. “But seeing as how she is your dragon, I think you would be the logical choice.”

She liked how he kept referring to Skymaw as her dragon. “I suppose I could.”

“Well then—would you?”

“Would I what? Just stand there while they’re talking, only tell you what the dragon is saying?”

“Exactly.” He hesitated, and then offered, “I could pay you, if you wish. For your time.”

It was tempting, but her father had raised her to be honest. “I’ve already been paid for my time, and it belongs to the dragon now. I can’t sell my time twice any more than I could sell a plum twice. So I couldn’t take your money. And I’d have to ask Skymaw if she would allow you to be near her, and if she would mind if I told you what she was saying.”

“Well.” He seemed taken aback at the thought she couldn’t accept his money. “Would you ask her, then? I’d be indebted to you.”

She cocked her head at him. “Actually, I think it would be Alise Finbok who would be indebted to me. After all, she’s bought your time, for you to do this work for her. And if I make it so you can do it, well—” Thymara smiled to herself. “Yes, I think actually she’d be the one indebted to me.” She rather liked the idea of that.

“So, then, you’ll ask the dragon if I can be around her? And if you can interpret for me what she says?”

Thymara bent down and grasped her fishing spear to either side of her prey. She grunted slightly as she lifted the heavy fish. She nodded toward it as she answered him. “Let’s ask her right now. I think I have something here that might put her in the mood to say yes.”

Year the 6th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

Kim to Detozi

I fear you have taken a simple reminder of the rules as if it were a personal rebuke. Detozi, surely we know each other well enough for you to realize that I was only carrying out the tasks of my position when I reminded you of the rules regarding personal messages. I am not the sort of person who would run to the Council with such a trivial complaint. I merely thought that if I reminded you of the rules, I might save you from embarrassment and nuisance if it came to the attention of someone who was petty enough to enforce them. That was all. Sa’s mercy, I am shocked at how seriously you have taken all this! I will, for the sake of our friendship, ignore the unfounded accusations and cruel allegations of your last missive.

Kim

H
e awoke before dawn, cradled in a warm cocoon of contentment. Life was good. Leftrin lay still in the dark, enjoying it for a few long moments before letting his mind start enumerating the tasks of the day. Tarman was as still as he ever got, nosed up onto the mudbank. Sometimes it seemed to him that his ship grew more thoughtful when it was pulled up on the riverbank, as if he were dreaming of other days and times. He could hear and feel the gentle tug of the river’s backwater current on the aft end of the ship, but mostly all was still. It was quieter than when he anchored or tied up in the river, almost as if Tarman himself were dozing on the sunny bank.

The bedding smelled sweet, of the cologne that Alise Finbok wore, but also of Alise herself. He rolled his face into the pillow and breathed deeply of her scent. Then he grinned at his own foolishness. He was as infatuated as a beardless boy who had just discovered that women were wonderfully different from men. The giddiness that had passed him by as a youth now spun him delightfully, infecting every moment of his day. Thinking of her freckled, speckled face made him smile. Her hair, the color of a hummer’s breast, turned into tiny curls all around her brow when it escaped from her pins. The times she had reached out and taken his arm when something frightened or alarmed her always made him feel as if he were taller and stronger than he had ever been in his life.

There was no future to it. He knew that in every corner of his yearning, aching heart. When he thought of how it must end, he felt despair. But for now, this morning, on the dawn of carrying her off up the river on a journey that might be weeks or even months long, he was happy and excited. It was a mood that hummed through the ship, infecting the crew as well. Tarman would be very pleased to be under way. Leftrin still considered it a ridiculous mission, a journey to nowhere herding reluctant dragons. Yet the pay the Council had offered was excellent, and the opportunity to take his ship and crew beyond the boundaries of what had been explored was something he’d always dreamed about. To have a woman like Alise not only appear in his life, but suddenly be given him as a companion for the voyage was good fortune beyond his ability to imagine.

He took another deep breath of her fragrance, hugged his pillow, and sat up. Time to face the day. He wanted to make an early start, yet he would wait for the delivery of the supplies he had specially ordered in the hopes of making her more comfortable. He scratched his chest, chose a shirt from the hooks near his bunk, and pulled it on. He still wore his trousers from yesterday. Barefoot, he padded out of his stateroom and into the galley. He stirred the embers in the small stove and put yesterday’s coffee to reheat. He wiped out a coffee mug and set it on the table. Outside the small windows of the deckhouse, the world was hesitantly venturing toward day. The deep shadows of the surrounding forest still cloaked the boat and shore in dimness.

He felt a small vibration and then that prickle of awareness. Someone, a stranger to Tarman, was on the deck of his ship. Leftrin stood silently. From a nearby equipment box, he picked up the large hardwood fid used for mending and splicing the heaviest lines. He weighed the heft of it in his hand, smiled to himself, and moved quietly as the cat to the door. He eased it open. The cool air of morning flowed in. In the upper reaches of the forest, birds were calling. In the lower levels, bats were still heading home to roost. He stepped out on his deck and began a noiseless patrol of his vessel.

He found no one, but when he came back to the door of the deckhouse, a small scroll rested on the deck there. His heart gave a lurch as he stooped down to pick it up. The paper of the scroll was soft and thick; it smelled of a foreign land, bitterly spicy. He carried it back into his stateroom and shut the door. The wax that sealed it was a plain brown blob; no signet press betrayed the owner. He flicked it off and unrolled the small scroll. He read it by the gray light seeping in his small window.

It was not signed, but no signature was needed. Sinad Arich. Months ago, he had given the foreigner passage to Trehaug, and almost as soon as the boat had docked, the Chalcedean merchant had vanished. He hadn’t asked for passage back down the river. Two days later, when the
Tarman
was loaded with cargo and Leftrin had heard nothing from or about the man, they had departed. The foreign trader had left few signs of his passage on the
Tarman
. There had been a shirt that Leftrin had dropped overboard and some smoking herbs that he’d appropriated for his own use. The crew never asked what had become of their passenger, and Leftrin hadn’t made much noise about his leaving Trehaug that day. The man’s papers had been in order and he’d sold him passage up the river. That was what he intended to say if anyone ever asked him about the merchant. But no one ever had, and Leftrin had hoped he had set that misadventure behind him.

He’d hoped in vain. He wished he’d never heard of that damn Chalcedean merchant, wished he’d found a way to throw him overboard a year ago. Sinad Arich had haunted his nightmares since he’d last seen the man. After all that time, Leftrin had almost believed he’d seen the last of him, that the man had only wanted to use him once and then let him go.

But that was what it was to deal with Chalced or any Chalcedean. Once they knew you had a weakness, a secret spot of any kind, they’d hook into you, exploit you until you were either killed in the process or turned on them and killed them. He gritted his teeth together. Only a few moments ago, he’d been doltishly happy at the prospect of traveling upriver with the object of his fascination. Now he wondered who else would be traveling with him, and how relentless they would be in their threats. He wondered if he would have to kill someone on this journey, and if he did, how he would do it and if he would be able to keep it concealed from Alise.

It saddened him. He suspected that if she knew half the things he’d done in his life, she’d have nothing to do with him. He didn’t like that he had to conceal part of what he was to enjoy her companionship, but he would. He’d do whatever he must to have what little time with her that he could. He was already at an immense disadvantage with such a fine lady. Here he was, a Rain Wild riverman with little more than a boat to his name. She couldn’t even imagine what a unique and wonderful boat the
Tarman
was. She couldn’t possibly see his ship as his fortune. So he didn’t know why she seemed to like him. He worked hard and expected he always would. He had no fine home to present to her. His clothes were rags compared with the garments of her dandified escort; he wore no rings. Before she had set foot on his ship, he’d had little more ambition than to continue doing what he’d always done: carrying freight shipments up and down the river, and making enough to pay his crew and to have a good meal when his schedule allowed him to overnight in a town. He’d had his chance to make a fortune selling off that wizardwood. He could have been a wealthy man now, with a palatial home in Jamaillia or Chalced. He didn’t regret the decision he’d made; it was the only right thing he could have done.

Yet he wondered at how small a life he’d been willing to settle for. He wished in vain that he’d foreseen that some day such a woman might walk into his life. If he had, perhaps he would have saved the sort of wealth that might impress her. But what could he have acquired that could compare with whatever her rich husband in Bingtown offered her?

He looked at the little scroll again. He wondered if he should have killed the Chalcedean merchant and dropped him over the side before they ever reached Trehaug. He didn’t think of it casually; he’d only killed one man, long ago, and that had been over a game of chance gone wrong, with accusations that he was cheating. He hadn’t been, and when the fellow and his friends had made it clear that they’d kill him before they let him walk off with his winnings, he’d beaten one man unconscious, killed another, and fled the third. He didn’t feel proud that he’d done so, only competent that he’d survived. It was another decision that he refused to regret.

So now as he contemplated retroactive murder, he did it only in a “what if ” frame of mind. If he’d killed the merchant, he would not be standing here now holding this threatening scroll, he wouldn’t have to wonder which of the people who would be accompanying him on his journey was a traitor to the Traders, and he wouldn’t have to speculate on whether Sinad Arich had really had a finger in his winning this sweet plum of a contract. And, he thought, as he reduced the scroll to shreds of fiber and dropped them out of the window, he wouldn’t be worrying if he’d have to do something that might cause Alise to think less of him.

“TIME TO GET UP!”

“Get up, pack your stuff, rouse your dragons!”

“Get up. Time to get on your way.”

Thymara opened her eyes to the gray of distant dawn. She yawned and abruptly wished she had never agreed to any of this. Around her, she heard the grumbles of the other rousted keepers. The ones doing the rousting were the people who had accompanied them from Trehaug to here. Their duties would come to an end today, and apparently they could not wait for them to be over. The sooner the keepers rose, woke their dragons, and began their first day’s journey, the sooner the escorts who had brought them here could turn around and go back to their homes.

Thymara yawned again. She supposed she’d better get up if she wanted anything to eat before the day started. She’d never known just how much and how fast boys could eat until she’d had to share a common cook pot with them. She sat up slowly, clutching her blanket to her, but the chill morning air still reached in to touch her.

“You awake?” Rapskal asked her. Ever since they’d left Trehaug, he’d slept as close to her as she would allow him. One morning she’d awakened to find him snuggled up against her back, his arm around her waist and his head pillowed against her. The warmth had been welcome, but not the awakening to sniggers. Kase and Boxter had teased them relentlessly. Rapskal had grinned rakishly but uncertainly; she suspected he wasn’t quite sure what the joke was. She’d resolutely ignored them. She told herself that Rapskal’s need to be near her had more to do with a kitten’s desire to sleep close to something familiar than any amorous intent. There was no attraction between them. Not that she would have acted on it if there had been. What was forbidden was forbidden. She knew that. They all knew that.

But she wondered if they all accepted it as deeply as she did.

Greft had strongly hinted that he did not. He was going to make his own rules, he’d said. So. What about Jerd? Would she keep the rules they had all grown up with?

As Thymara rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she tried not to notice who slept adjacent to whom, nor to wonder what any of it meant. After all, everyone had to sleep somewhere. If Jerd always spread her blankets next to Tats, it could simply mean that she felt safe sleeping beside him. And if Greft always found an excuse to try to engage her in talk when the others were getting ready to sleep, it might mean only that he thought she was intelligent.

She glanced over at him now. He was, as usual, among the first to rise and was already folding his bedding. He slept without a shirt; she’d been surprised to discover that a lot of the boys did. Jerd, who had brothers, was surprised that she didn’t know that, but Thymara could not recall that she’d ever seen her father half clothed. She watched Greft as he scratched his scaled back. She knew that feeling of relentless itching. It meant that the scales were growing thicker and harder. She watched him bend his spine slightly so that he could ripple the scales up and scratch beneath them. If he was self-conscious at all about how heavily the Rain Wilds had marked him, he didn’t show it. This morning it almost seemed as if he were showing off his body.

Her mind flitted back to his words the night he had all but driven Tats away. Greft wanted to make his own rules, he’d said. And he had already begun to do just that. She was a little surprised at how easily he had made himself the leader of their group. All he had to do was behave as if he were. All the younger ones had fallen in with him immediately. Only a few remained outside his spell. Tats was one of them. She suspected that if Greft had not made his move so quickly and so definitively labeled Tats as an outsider, Tats would have moved up to a position of leadership. Tats, she thought, probably knew that as well. Jerd was another one who regarded Greft with suspicion, or at least reservation.
It’s because we are both female,
Thymara thought.
It’s because of the way he looks at us, as if he’s always evaluating us.
She’d even seen it the first time he looked at Sylve; she’d almost seen him dismiss her as too young.

It was oddly flattering yet a bit frightening to have him look at her. As if he could read her thoughts or feel her gaze, he suddenly turned his head. She looked down, but it was too late. He knew she’d been staring at him. From the corner of her eye, as he stretched yet again and rolled his shoulders, she saw him smiling at her. She spoke to Rapskal before Greft could start a conversation with her. “Are you awake? We’re supposed to start our journey today.”

“I’m awake,” the boy said. “But why do we have to start so early? The dragons aren’t going to like being made to move before the day warms up.”

Greft responded before she could. “Because the good people of Cassarick are very much looking forward to us being gone. Once we’ve moved the dragons out, they’ll put docks along the shore here. They’ll probably repair or perhaps properly build the locks they attempted to build for the serpents. Done right, it would allow them to bring larger ships here from Trehaug. Improved shipping could mean that they could better exploit whatever they can dig out of the old city. And with the dragons gone, they’ll feel safer about coming and going and digging deeper and closer to this place. To answer your question more directly, Rapskal, it’s about money. The sooner we take the dragons out of here, the sooner the Traders can stop spending money on dragons and make more money from the buried city.”