SIXTEEN
Petitioning Lord Ferdigan—A change of habitat—A different fire in the night—Ascelin—A prisoner—In my defense—Andrew’s offer
We had to choose our words carefully. It seemed quite likely that the colonel had no awareness of the laboratory side of matters; Lord Ferdigan might, but he would not thank us for opening our mouths any wider than necessary. In the end, we persuaded our military overseer to give us time, to continue the project while our suggestion was referred up the chain of command.
But we also knew better than to trust that referral to a third party. “Your title will impress him more,” Tom said.
I shook my head at once. “Were I a man, yes. But he is a military fellow; women are not part of his world, except as distant kin back home that he writes letters to from time to time.” (The exceptions would not be the sort of women he would listen to with any respect.) “You are also a Colloquium Fellow, as I am not. Trust in that, Tom.”
“And in my sex,” he said wryly. “I would accuse you of wanting to dodge politics—I suppose saying that does amount to an accusation—but your points are fair regardless.” He sighed heavily. “Then I suppose I pack my bags for Sarmizi.”
I would have gone with him, but neither of us wanted to leave the House of Dragons unattended. Even though Pensyth had promised to give us time to appeal the decision to the general, it would be all too easy for him to begin arranging the closure, on the assumption that Lord Ferdigan would tell us to follow the orders we had been given. I would stay and keep our work going.
This meant taking in deliveries of eggs, which the Aritat were bringing according to the schedule Tom and I had developed. With the aid of an interpreter, I spent some time discussing improvements to our haulage methods, based on my records of the honeyseeker eggs. I knew making alterations now would bias our data: the more mature eggs would fare better regardless, simply by dint of longer residence in their natural habitat. Unfortunately, I lacked the control data to compare this against (previous eggs having been collected so haphazardly), nor could I afford to sacrifice some of this round simply for comparison. But neither could I wait an entire year to try again with new methods. Healthy eggs, or at least the hope thereof, had to trump proper experiment design.
At least I could use the information they provided to care better for the new arrivals. Qurrat was not nearly so warm as the Jefi would be by now, so we used braziers to warm the egg sands, trying to approximate the temperatures that would prevail farther south. While I waited for those to hatch, I tried to devise an exercise regimen for our adult drakes, on the theory that aggravating them into movement would improve their health and therefore their behaviour. I also kept watch on the ongoing honeyseeker project, as well as observing the juvenile drakes in their growth (and trying a few ill-fated experiments involving proximity between them and the adults)—in short, I tried to do the work of two people, and got very little sleep as a result.
A bare week into this, I said peevishly to Andrew, “Give me one good reason I should not simply sleep here.”
My brother gaped at me. “Here? You mean—in your office?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no room for a pallet; I’d have to roll it up every morning or be stepping on it all day. But there are empty rooms. Surely I could use one.”
“Why would you do that, when you have a perfectly good room in the city?”
I rose from my chair and paced restlessly. Even though I was tired, the whirl of thoughts in my head made it difficult to sit still. “Because it is in the city. I waste too much time coming and going from there. Not to mention the concerns about sabotage. What if the Yelangese take it into their heads to attack me there? Should I endanger Shimon and Aviva, just because they were willing to have me in their house?”
That sobered Andrew. “Even so—Isabella, this is a military post. Well, sort of. My point is, you’d be sleeping down the hall from military men.”
“The same military men to whom I am already entrusting my safety. I fail to see why closer residence should be a problem.” My tone dared him to argue.
Andrew dragged at the front of his uniform, making an exaggerated face. “You realize what will happen if you do this, don’t you? I’ll have to start sleeping here.”
I stopped in my tracks, startled. “You mean—you haven’t been?”
“No. At least, not all nights.” He reddened. “I, ah—made alternate arrangements.”
One part of me very much wanted to ask what those were; the other part very much did not. There are things I feel it is best not to know about the private life of one’s brother. “I am sure I can manage very well on my own.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can. The question is whether anybody else can cope with you managing.” Andrew sighed dramatically. “I’ll talk to Pensyth.”
Unlike my brother, Pensyth was in favour of the arrangement, as it saved him the trouble of sending an armed guard to collect me from the Segulist Quarter every morning. A bedroom was made up for me, with a local girl visiting daily to help out; I took this as a positive sign, since anything that made my circumstances here seem more permanent argued in favour of the programme continuing. In order to encourage this thinking, I slept there the very next night—and that is how I came to be present when the House of Dragons was lit on fire.
* * *
We had men keeping watch, of course, but we had not fortified the place as well as we might. In the small hours of the night someone lofted an incendiary device through one of the broken shutters, and another was set at the shed where we kept feed for the livestock. A third I think was meant for the egg sands, but it caught in one of the spindly trees that remained from the estate’s long-dead gardens, leaving the branches burning like a torch.
By the time I stumbled out of bed, the soldiers were rallying to fight the various blazes. I stared at the dancing flames, a sheet clutched around me as a nod to modesty. Indecision paralyzed me: what should I rush to save? The eggs? Our records? The adult drakes could survive well enough; they were out in the open, away from anything that could easily burn, and were resilient against fire besides, on account of their extraordinary breath. But the juveniles … their enclosures were much closer to the flames, and smoke inhalation could be a very real danger, especially for those whose health was not good.
I hurried toward that building, hiking up the sheet so I would not trip over its edge. The air was hazed enough to sting my lungs, though I had not begun coughing yet. I reached the building where we kept the juveniles and wrenched the door open, heart full of fear at what I might find.
The air inside was surprisingly clear, on account of being closed off. It would have been better to keep it that way, but I had no lantern, and did not want to fumble around looking for one. Instead I opened one of the windows, admitting enough moonlight for me to see my charges.
Most of them were awake, roused by the noise outside. They came to the bars of their cages as I approached, poking their muzzles through the gaps, snapping at me as if to ask why I had not brought any food. I knew better than to reach out, the way I might have with dogs or horses; they did not want their heads scratched for reassurance. Trying would only lose me a finger. But I peered closely at them, looking for signs of impending asphyxia, and found none. Even the ones that had not gotten up were only sleeping, occasionally cracking an eye to glare at those who disturbed their rest.
So far, then, they were safe enough. But if the fire spread, that might change very rapidly.
What would I do if it did? Set the juveniles loose? Some of them were relatively harmless—like Lumpy, who could not move fast enough to catch anybody who saw him coming. But the eldest, feisty Ascelin, was a different matter. It was even possible he could fly away, though his wings had not seen much exercise in his life.
Would I risk that in order to avoid suffocating him with smoke? I barely even had to ask myself that question before I had my answer:
Yes, I would.
All o
f that, however, was putting the cart before the horse. Such measures might not even be necessary. If I opened another set of shutters, I would be able to see the fire and make a more educated decision. Before I could move, though, someone else came through the door.
The angle of the moonlight left his face in shadow. All I had to go on was his silhouette, which showed me the hunched posture of a man who does not want to be seen. He froze when he spotted me, and in one hand he clutched something I could not make out. Then he lifted it, and the blade caught the light.
It was a sword.
And not an Akhian scimitar, either. The blade was straight, its style unfamiliar to me. I did not need to know its type, though, to make the appropriate calculations. The cages were large enough that he would not be able to kill the juveniles if they hung well back … but some of them would not, especially if they smelled blood. Oh yes: I had no doubt that this man had come here to kill our immature drakes. He seemed too surprised to find me there for me to think I was his target.
I stood motionless, my back to the cages. I had no weapon with me; I had even dropped my bedsheet during the inspection. Armed with nothing more than my nightgown, I had no chance against that long blade.
He snapped something in a language I did not understand. The sound of it, though, told me what the shadows had hidden.
This man was Yelangese.
I retreated one step, praying Ascelin would not try to get a mouthful of my arm. Of all the juveniles for me to put at my back, he was both the best and the worst, depending on how he chose to act. “Please,” I said. “I just came to make certain they were well—” This in Scirling; I could not have answered him in Yelangese if I wanted to. But the point was not to communicate so much as to delay.
He was not fooled. He came forward, far enough for me to make out his features and see him frowning at me. Another question, no more comprehensible than the first—but I suspect, based on his tone, that he demanded to know what I was doing.
A moment later, he had his answer.
I had, behind the cover of my body, worked free the hook that held the cage shut. Upon his words, I yanked the door open and stood well clear.
For Ascelin inside that cage, the man’s sudden forward leap looked precisely like an attack. And so it was: one aimed at me, but my feisty charge showed no inclination to differentiate.
He got a mouthful of the man’s upraised sword arm, preventing the downward stroke. The man howled and thrashed at him, ineffectually at first, then jamming his thumb into Ascelin’s eye. This indeed persuaded the drake to pull back; but he took a portion of flesh with him, and the sword fell with a clatter. After that it became even more gruesome, and I retained barely enough wit to flee out the door and close it behind me. The window, I prayed, would be too small for Ascelin to climb through.
Our soldiers and labourers soon had the fires under control; the flames had not taken too firm hold before they were noticed. Only the tree was still burning brightly by then, and that only because it was judged a lesser priority. I found Andrew outside the barracks, and brushed away his exclamations over my half-clad state. “I need help with the juveniles,” I said. “One of them, at least. I may have set him loose, and I cannot get him back into his cage on his own.”
“Set him loose?” Andrew repeated, staring. “Why on earth—and in your nightgown—Isabella, what the hell is going on?”
“I will show you,” I said. Which was, more than anything, an expression of shock: the heat of the moment having faded, I was now shaking, and trying very hard not to think about what I had done to that man. No one can witness as many dragons hunting as I have without acquiring a strong stomach; but there is a great deal of difference between watching a gazelle be crunched in a dragon’s jaws and watching a man suffer the same fate. I had seen men killed in such ways before, but I hope I will never become accustomed.
What my brother said when the door to the room of cages was opened, I will not print here. Suffice it to say that it was very foul and very appalling. I waited outside while the men got the young drake under control; this was not terribly difficult, as food made him logy and slow. Once he was back in his cage, I went with Andrew to report the matter to Pensyth.
“Good God, woman,” the colonel said when I was done explaining. “I heard the story of what you did in Keonga, but—damn me, I didn’t think it was true.”
I flinched. He sounded horrified, not impressed; and well he might be. What I had done here was not admirable, however effective it might have been. The man’s screams were echoing in my memory, and I had grown very cold.
Fortunately Andrew noticed this latter. “God, Isabella—here, let me fetch you a blanket.” Pensyth and I sat in silence, him staring at me, me trying not to meet his gaze, until Andrew came back with one of the scratchy blankets from the soldiers’ quarters. I clutched this around me gratefully, more for warmth than modesty. Desert nights could be chill, even in summer, and all the heat had long since gone out of me.
“Sir,” Andrew said once I was covered, “Wardinge says we got one of them. Problem is, he doesn’t speak Scirling or Akhian.”
His words roused me from my half-trance. “Colonel, if you do not have anyone who speaks Yelangese…” Pensyth made a gesture which I interpreted as admission that he did not. “The sheikh’s brother does. Suhail ibn Ramiz. And I imagine the Aritat will want to be involved in this investigation.”
I also imagined Pensyth would like to keep them out of it—but he didn’t stand much chance of that. His jaw tightened, and he looked over my shoulder to Andrew. My brother must have nodded or shrugged, because the colonel said, “Thank you. For that and for your … quick thinking in defense of this place. I’ll have Captain Hendemore escort you back to your room.”
Ordinarily I would have objected at being shuffled out of the way, but not this time. I took the blanket with me, and curled up tight beneath my covers until sleep finally came.
* * *
Despite my disturbed night, I woke early, out of habit. And it was a good thing I did, because no matter what had happened in the night, the business of the House of Dragons must go on.
The labourers were feeding the drakes. We tried to approximate their schedule in the wild, supplying them with meat every three days; it just so happened that this was one of their days. I tried not to look at the bloody flesh as the men dropped it in the scales, focusing all my attention on the needle and the notes I made. It was important to know how much each beast ate—even if I would have been happier not recording that Ascelin had no appetite today.
I saw when Suhail arrived, accompanied by a number of other Akhian men, but made no effort to join them. I had no wish to observe the prisoner’s interrogation, and trusted that I would learn the results in due course. When the bare minimum of my duties was done, I went and sat on one of the walls, letting the hot summer breeze ruffle my scarf and the sun sink into my bones.
Andrew found me there. “Are you trying to roast yourself?”
“It is the one place in Dar al-Tannaneen I will not be interrupted,” I said. “Or when I am—as now—I can see it coming, and prepare.”
He settled next to me, back against the stone of the parapet. “What’s on your mind?”
It was a peculiar relief not to have him ask whether I was all right. We both knew I was not, and needn’t pretend. “What Pensyth said last night. About what I did in Keonga.”
“The battle, you mean.”
I was sitting with my knees drawn up to my chest: not a very ladylike pose. I wrapped the fingers of one hand tight around the other and looked away. “After you cut that man’s throat outside the Banu Safr camp, it bothered me a great deal. Seeing you kill someone. The more I think about it, though … no one died when I used the sea-serpent to bring down the caeliger. But in Vystrana I provoked the rock-wyrms into attacking the boyar and his men. In Mouleen we put fangfish into the water to slow the Labane, and last night I let Ascelin out of his cage to savage that man.” br />
Andrew—ordinarily the most voluble of my brothers—held his peace while I marshaled the words and got them out. “I have not killed anyone directly. But time and time again, I use dragons to do the work for me.”
“They aren’t weapons,” Andrew said. “They’re animals. Doing what they do. You just … make use of that.”
“Is it any different? It might even be worse. A sword or a gun is made for killing, and does not care if its owner uses it thus. These are living creatures. They have other purposes besides murder—and they are not mine to use.”
Andrew picked at his fingernails. “You keep putting yourself in dangerous situations, Isabella. You have to defend yourself somehow.” He hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. “Do you … want me to teach you how to shoot a gun?”
I had not expected the offer. I had not expected anything at all; I was simply wallowing in the realization of my own deeds, without much thought for what I would do going forward. Andrew spoke with the air of a man who knew he would be banished from family holidays forevermore if word got out of what he’d done … but he was willing.
Was I?
I tried to envision it. Myself, with a rifle over my shoulder or a pistol at my hip. I did frequently end up in dangerous situations—and when I did, I was dependent upon those around me for defense. If not dragons, then other people: Andrew, cutting that man’s throat. Dagmira, smashing a jar over Gaetano Rossi’s head. The Moulish, threatening Velloin and the Yembe hunting party. Even the “pure” of Mouleen did not shy from the need for hunting or defending their land with force; they simply refrained from the act themselves, for reasons of religion. Was it any more moral to have others fight on your behalf?
I did not think it was—and yet. Had I been carrying a weapon during my various misadventures, who knew what might have gone differently? My enemies might well have treated me more harshly, because of the threat I posed. I might have treated them more harshly. There is a proverb that says, To a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail. If I had a gun, it would shape my thinking; the violent response would always be there. A possibility—sometimes a tempting one. It might result in more death; and one of those deaths might be my own.