The Tropic of Serpents: A Memoir by Lady Trent (A Natural History of Dragons) (6 page)

A foolish assumption, and one that was now having some very unfortunate consequences.

“My lord,” I said, collecting my thoughts, “I cannot give you what I do not have. Natalie is not here.”

“Don’t lie to me. Where else would she be, if not here?”

The accusation set my back up. “With her grandfather, perhaps? I take it she spoke to you about her intentions.”

He snorted in disgust. “
Intentions.
It is madness, and you know it. A position as a companion is all well and good for women who cannot do better, but Natalie has perfectly good prospects, so long as she is here to take advantage of them. And you will not want her with you forever. When you tire of her—or get yourself killed, which is entirely possible—what will become of her? No, Mrs. Camherst, I will not allow you to ruin my daughter’s future for your own benefit.” Setting his shoulders, he strode forward.

I slapped my hand against the doorjamb, barring his way with my arm. “Your pardon, Lord Denbow,” I said, with icy politeness. “I do not recall inviting you in.”

This sudden and brazen resistance startled him, but he did not let it slow his tongue. “I am here to collect my daughter, Mrs. Camherst, with your permission or without it.”

“If she were here, I would be glad to broker some kind of negotiation between the two of you. As she is not, you will have to seek her elsewhere. I will not suffer you to rampage through my house regardless.”

He was not so far gone as to try and shove me aside, though he very easily could have done so. His fury thwarted for the nonce, he resorted to persuasion. “Mrs. Camherst, please, see reason. You are determined to put yourself in danger, regardless of the consequence to your family; very well. I have no authority to command you to better sense. But I
can
protect my daughter, and I will.”

“Lord Denbow,” I said, moderating my own tone to suit his. “I have told you, she is not here. I have not seen Natalie in days. Should I see her before I leave, I will tell her you came, and advise her of your concerns. That is all I can promise.”

He deflated visibly, like the punctured bag of a caeliger. “I am sure she is coming here. Please, might I—”

“I will tell her you came,” I said firmly. Had he not attempted to thrust his way into my house, I might have been more tolerant; as it was, I wanted him gone. “If I see her.”

With that, he had to be content. By then the footman was hovering behind my shoulder, looking distressed at the prospect of having to forcibly evict a baron from the premises, but determined to do so if necessary. (Clomers was a very good footman, the best I ever had.) Half-fuming, half-dejected, Lord Denbow returned to his carriage, and so away.

Once he was well down the drive, I deflated a bit myself. “If he comes back, do not let him in,” I said wearily to Clomers; and, having received his stout agreement, I went upstairs to my study.

Natalie was sitting in front of my desk.

I very nearly swallowed my own tongue at the sight of her. While one part of my brain sorted out the contradictory impulses of gasping, shrieking, and demanding an explanation of her, the rest noted certain details: the open window on the side wall, overlooking a fine (and easily climbed) oak tree; the fierce and frightened look in Natalie’s eyes; the small valise on the floor at her feet.

“He locked me up,” she said, sounding almost as if she could not believe it. “We argued for days, and when I told him I was going whatever he said, he locked me up. Him and Mama. I am sorry to have made you a liar.”

“She only lies who tells a falsehood knowingly,” I said, as if such distinctions were at all the most relevant thing at hand.

Natalie drew in a breath, and the unsteadiness of it advertised her distress. “I fear I have made a great deal of trouble for you. I came here intending to go with you tomorrow—but if I do, Papa will be infuriated.”

If she did not, then she would have little choice but to return to her family. And while they might have what they perceived as her best interests at heart, the disjunct there was severe enough to send Natalie up my tree and through my window, and who knows what else before that. Her actions, more than any words, told me that return was simply not to be borne.

Her grandfather might protect her against the worst of it—but a better protection would be to go beyond her family’s reach. “Your father will have to be infuriated in Scirland,” I said, the dryness of my tone covering for any temporary quailing of spirit. “He doesn’t have a visa for Nsebu, and isn’t likely to get one anytime soon.”

Hope kindled new life in her posture. “Do you mean—”

“The ship leaves tomorrow,” I said. “We must think of how to get you on it.”

*   *   *

We smuggled her on board by way of the workers’ gangway, where her father would never think to look. With Natalie dressed in the clothes of a laborer (yes, trousers and all) and a sack of potatoes on her shoulder, Lord Denbow never had the slightest chance of spotting her.

He was there, of course, and made a great protest, insisting to the gathered members of my family (Paul and Judith; my mother and father; my favourite brother, Andrew; Matthew and Sir Joseph, who was my father-in-law) that I had kidnapped Natalie.

“I have
not
kidnapped her, my lord,” I said, covering my nervousness with irritation. In his distress, he had not yet thought to ask me outright whether I had seen his daughter. If he did, I would have to make up my mind whether to lie, and a sleepless night of pondering that very question had failed to supply me with an answer.

I had kept my word, if only halfheartedly, talking with Natalie of his concerns. The conversation had failed to divert either of us from our course. My one source of apprehension was that I had no opportunity to speak privately with certain individuals, namely, Mr. Wilker and Lord Hilford. The former would be coming with me on this expedition, and the ear not occupied by Lord Denbow’s furious expostulations was being filled with my mother’s insistence that in addition to it being madness for me to go abroad, it was even
more
mad to do so without any kind of female companion. Marriage had provided me with a mystical shield against impropriety, one not entirely lost with widowhood, but she still feared rumour. (In fairness to her, I must say she was right to do so. But I get ahead of myself.)

Lord Hilford, I thought, had guessed something of what was going on, though whether he knew I was actively helping Natalie, I could not say. I did, however, see him draw Mr. Wilker aside upon his arrival, and whatever he said turned Mr. Wilker’s face to stone. That done, Lord Hilford set himself to diverting his son as best he could. They went together to examine my cabin, to satisfy Lord Denbow that Natalie was not there; I hoped she had found a good place to conceal herself until we were well away from shore.

Andrew, to my pleasure and relief, set himself the same task with our mother, and accompanied me on board when the time came, as he had done when I departed for Vystrana. “So, where are you hiding her?” he asked as we crossed the deck.

A heavy step brought my head around. Mr. Wilker had joined us, pacing to my right, leaving me feeling trapped between them. But Andrew was grinning as if it were all a tremendous lark, and the grim set of Mr. Wilker’s jaw told me he would not be surprised by anything I might say.

“She is hiding herself,” I said. “I honestly don’t know where. This was her decision, you know, though I support her in it.”

“Miss Oscott is even less sane than you are,” Mr. Wilker said.

“Then she’s in good company,” I said lightly. That would not be the end of it, I knew; but Mr. Wilker would not go against Lord Hilford’s clear wish, that his granddaughter be permitted her escape. He was too loyal to the earl, and owed him far too much. What arguments we would have—and oh, did we have them—would come later.

Our ship was the
Progress,
the famed steamship that for many years formed the primary link in the Scirling-Erigan trade. Built from Erigan steel and fueled with Scirling coal, it was a symbol of the partnership inaugurated by the Nsebu colony—at least, it was seen as a partnership on our side of the ocean, though the truth was less balanced than that word implies. The bulk of its capacity was given over to cargo, some of which would be scattered through various ports like seeds as we made our journey, the rest traded in Nsebu before the holds were filled once more with iron, gold, ivory, and more. But the
Progress
was the jewel of that sea route, and so it also had passenger cabins, well equipped for the comfort of the dignitaries who occupied them. The three of us were hardly dignitaries, but Lord Hilford qualified, and had arranged for us to travel in style.

We met him emerging from my cabin with Lord Denbow behind him. Or rather, Lord Hilford emerged; his son charged, backing me against a wall. “Enough of this, Mrs. Camherst! You will tell me where my daughter is, or—”

My brother was already stepping to defend me. I was very glad that Lord Hilford intervened, before I had to discover what Andrew would do. “Lewis! Control yourself. Or do you
want
the crew to drag you bodily off this ship? You are making a scene.”

All hail that bane of the upper class,
a scene.
The spectre of being publicly shamed was enough to check Lord Denbow. It was not enough to calm him, but with his momentum broken, the baron knew he could not prevent the ship from departing. And if he attempted to detain me, he would face any number of consequences. He could not decide what to do before his father took him firmly by the arm and dragged him away, not quite by force.

Still, he indulged in one final accusation, shot over his shoulder. “You will ruin her life.”

“I have not ruined my own, Lord Denbow,” I called after him. “Trust your daughter to find her own way.”

*   *   *

Natalie emerged when we were out of Sennsmouth harbor, and once she was properly attired, I called Mr. Wilker in.

He shook his head at the sight of her. “I would ask whether you have any notion what you’ve just done. But you’re the earl’s granddaughter, and I know you’ve inherited at least a portion of his intelligence. So I will only ask you, in God’s name,
why.
”

“Because I had to,” Natalie said.

I understood her meaning, but Mr. Wilker clearly did not. Yet we required some degree of comity, or this expedition would be doomed before we arrived in Nsebu. “Mr. Wilker. I am sure you endured hardships of your own, gaining your education, forcing those of higher station to accept you as their intellectual peer. Why did
you
do it?”

“This will rebound on her family,” he said, ignoring my question.

“And were there no consequences for your own family, when you left Niddey for university?”

It was a guess, but not a blind one; I knew Mr. Wilker was the eldest son of his line. His indrawn breath told me I had struck my mark. Belatedly—as usual for me, I regret to say—I wondered whether his sensitivity on this matter was
because
of his own experience, rather than in spite of it.

“When you came to Vystrana, it was different,” he said, as if appealing to me for reason. “You came with Jacob, and with his blessing.”

“Are a woman’s wishes only fit to be considered when blessed by a male relative?” I asked sharply. “If so, then take Lord Hilford’s for Natalie, and let us be done with it.”

He flushed, and left soon after. It was not the last time we argued the matter, but my words had lodged under his skin like a barb, and their effect became apparent in due course.

PART TWO

In which we arrive in Eriga, where we achieve both success and scandal, and embroil ourselves in various conflicts

FIVE

Sea-snakes—The port of Nsebu—Faj Rawango—Half-naked men—Nsebu and Atuyem—We are no threat

Even at the reliable pace of a steamer, the journey to Nsebu was not short. We stopped in various ports for trade; we battled foul weather; once three boilers broke down in concert, and the
Progress
made no progress at all until they were repaired. We were at sea for a month altogether, and to alleviate my boredom (for we soon completed the plans for our research, and there are only so many hands of whist one can play without going mad) I began observing the sea life.

Fish and whales, sharks and seabirds; the latter held the most interest for me, as I had not lost my childhood partiality toward wings. But despite its lack in that regard, I was most captivated by the great sea-snake we saw one afternoon near the end of our voyage.

We were entering Erigan waters, crossing the latitude known as the Tropic of Serpents, so named for the large numbers of sea-snakes found there. This was the only one we got a good view of, and all the passengers (and half the crew) crowded to the rails to observe it. “People argue about whether they should be considered dragons,” I said to Natalie, watching the great coils rise above the water’s surface and slip away once more. “Your grandfather doesn’t believe the Prania sea-snakes should be, but I wonder about these beasts. There are so many creatures around the world that seem partially draconic in nature, but they lack wings, or forelimbs, or extraordinary breath. I think sometimes that Sir Richard Edgeworth’s criteria may be wrong—or rather, too strict.”

“Another thing to study,” Natalie said, amused. “Will you ever be done?”

I smiled into the sun, one hand holding my bonnet against the firm grasp of the wind. “I should hope not. How dreadfully tedious that would be.”

*   *   *

Four days later, with all the passengers lined up at the rail once more, the
Progress
steamed past the rocky outcrop of Point Miriam and into the deep harbor of Nsebu.

Because the geography of this region will be of great relevance later, I should take a moment to describe it now. The land of Bayembe lies on the northern side of the Bay of Mouleen, mostly along a plateau lifted above sea level, but beneath the mountains that form their northern border with the Talu Union. Their eastern border and part of the southern are ocean; the rest was, at the time, the disputed territory between the Girama and Hembi rivers, and the edge of the great, sunken swamp of Mouleen, whose streams spill into the bay at a thousand points.