Armed or not, I might die in the field. But I would rather die failing to think my way out of a situation than failing to fight my way out.
“I should like to be able to defend myself,” I said, choosing my verb carefully. “Not to shoot or to kill—because I do not want to become the sort of person for whom that is a standard option when trouble arises. But I know there are ways to make myself a little safer, and learning them might be valuable.”
(Not long after my return from Akhia, I made an offhand mention of this conversation during a public event in Falchester—omitting that it was my brother who made the offer. Owing to the degree of celebrity I enjoyed by then, my words were taken up by a great many people: some of them treating it as a rallying cry, others as a sign of how far our society has fallen. Of the latter I will say nothing, but of the former I will note that there are individuals who have undertaken to teach the simple basics of defense to ladies. I deplore the need for such things … but so long as the need exists, I cannot fault anyone for protecting herself. Especially not when I chose to do the same.)
The fruits of that conversation did not come immediately. I had the House of Dragons to take care of, and there was no privacy in which Andrew could teach me anything, unless we turned my bedroom into a training ground. But even having addressed the issue lifted a good deal of the weight from my heart; and so I was able to resume my work with a much clearer mind.
SEVENTEEN
A history of sabotage—Our chances of success—The future of Dar al-Tannaneen—Six for the desert—Wisdom and the lack thereof
Tom’s news upon his return was mixed.
“We can stay,” he said, putting that first because he knew nothing else he said would leave a mark on my brain until that part had been laid to rest. “Lord Ferdigan was very keen to send you home, on the grounds that it’s all well and good for me to risk my neck, but not so acceptable for you.”
“As if I have not risked my neck without his permission on many occasions,” I said with a sniff. “That is excellent news—but you have the look of a man who has not said everything yet.”
“Indeed.” Tom dropped wearily into his office chair; his had been a strenuous journey, with no time wasted. The chair creaked in protest at this treatment. “The bad news is that we won’t have any additional funding, and may even lose some.”
Lose some? I dreaded to think where cuts might be made. Feed? Labour? We had our premises from the caliph; I had no idea whether we were paying rent to him or the local emir for the privilege, but surely relocating us would be even more expensive. “So much for moving the females and males a sufficient distance apart, I suppose. Why is he tightening our belts?”
Tom rubbed his eyes. “I feel like the sand has scoured my corneas right off. From Lord Ferdigan’s perspective, this isn’t a research programme anymore; it’s a diversionary tactic. And we don’t need a lot of money to be a diversion. In some ways, we’re more effective if we’re strapped for cash; then the Yelangese will think we don’t have a prayer of making real progress.”
We wouldn’t have a prayer of it, at this rate. I went to my own chair and settled into it, much more gently than Tom had done. “Has anyone told you what the Yelangese did while you were away?”
Judging by the way Tom’s hand froze in midair, they had not. It fell to me to tell him of the arson, and the man captured and questioned afterward. “It went further than we realized,” I said. “The sabotage, that is. Do you recall Prima dying? He said someone crept in and gave her poisoned meat in the night, for quite a while. We thought her appetite was failing solely due to ill health; but the ill health was not accidental, and she was getting additional meals besides.”
The tension in Tom’s shoulders said that it was a very good thing none of the saboteurs were in front of him right now. “Then they moved on to poisoning us.”
“They would have started sooner, but we went into the desert. Their leader judged that it would be better to let blame fall on the Banu Safr, rather than continue to risk revealing themselves at Dar al-Tannaneen.” I sighed and sat back. The wicker bottom of my chair sagged beneath me. “What will come of this, I do not know, except that it will not be good.”
Tom’s voice was quiet and grim. “We thought the first act of war would be a fleet of caeligers moving into position. Instead it might be a firebomb thrown through a window.”
The first act of war had been the Battle of Keonga … or the caeliger Suhail and I stole from Rahuahane … or the Marquess of Canlan sending men to break into Frederick Kemble’s laboratory … or myself taking Gaetano Rossi’s notebook from the cellar beneath Khirzoff’s lodge. How far back did the chain stretch? At what point could one circle an incident and say, This is where it began?
For nations, it was the point at which they issued formal declarations of war. And it was indeed possible that the spark which lit that fuse would be the one that set the House of Dragons on fire.
We had come here to further the war effort, but our importance in that regard had been superceded by breakthroughs elsewhere. Our attempt to delay conflict by continuing our work had possibly done the opposite. It was enough to make me question everything we were doing here. “Tom … do you think we can succeed? At breeding dragons, I mean.”
He left off rubbing his eyes and regarded me silently. His skin was as tanned as I think it could be, but still more red than tan; the whites of his eyes were slightly bloodshot. He looked tired. I did not imagine I looked a good deal better. Our lives here were not so hard as all that—they had been harder at many points in Mouleen—but there was also no end in sight. For everything we had learned, we still had no answer to the basic question we had come here to address.
“Eventually, yes,” Tom said slowly. “One way or another, we’ll figure it out. Or someone will. But it will take a long time.”
Years, in all likelihood. Science of this sort is a matter of testing theories and methods, seeing the results, refining them and testing again. Some of that process could happen within a single breeding season, but not all. “I’ve been thinking about the mating flights, and the role of temperature in egg incubation. What if it plays a role in conception as well? We know the flights must heat the dragons tremendously—all that exertion in the middle of the day. There are species of pine whose cones do not open and deposit their seeds until a forest fire comes. What if drakes are the same? How are we to breed them without mating flights? Are we to build giant ovens for them to lounge in?” I stopped, shaking my head to keep myself from rambling on more. “We have too many questions. I could be here the rest of my life and never answer them all.”
“That’s scholarship. There’s always more to learn.” Tom sighed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and linking his hands together. “But yes, I see your point. Are you saying you want to quit, after all?”
“No.” My vehemence startled even me. A moment ago I had been considering that, without thinking about it directly; but the moment he asked, my indecision vanished. “I just wonder—when we will say we have done enough.”
For that question, I had no answer. Tom did not have one, either, and we sat in silence for a long time before picking up our work once more.
* * *
The mood at Dar al-Tannaneen had changed. Whatever pretense we maintained, the forward momentum of the programme had faltered, and everyone felt it.
It is difficult to describe the effect this had on me. I was still working with dragons on a daily basis, in a context where I was—albeit slowly, with grudging will—being accepted as a respectable intellectual; these things did not lose their savour. And yet, I think on some subconscious level I had begun to question the worthiness of what I was accomplishing there. Despite what I had told myself about mountains and the climbing thereof, the value of views from partway up the slope even if one did not reach the summit … I had come here to climb the entire mountain. It was disheartening to consider that I might have to surrender that goal.
> We simply had not realized how tall the peak was, and how steep its slopes. Andrew had said it, when I first arrived in Akhia: we expected that our superior scientific knowledge should vanquish this problem, even though it was sufficiently intractable as to have stumped the world for millennia. Breeding large predators in captivity is not easy, even when they are not dragons. How many years was I prepared to spend on this challenge?
I found myself staring at a piece of paper one night, contemplating what I might write to Jake. His summer holidays would begin soon; he wanted to join me in Akhia for the duration. If he came, would it be his one chance to see this country before I departed? Or would it be an acknowledgment that I lived here now, and would for the foreseeable future?
The decision might not be mine to make. Eventually the news of synthesis would become public, and at that point, the Crown would have no reason to maintain us here at all.
I had not yet dressed for bed. Although it was late, and as usual I would need to rise early the next morning, I left my chair and went for a walk around the compound.
Guards still patrolled the site, although the Yelangese leader had apparently been the man Ascelin killed. I nodded a greeting to one, who surprised me by saying, “Is everything all right, Dame Isabella? You and Mr. Wilker are both out late.”
“Tom is up?” I said. “Do you know where I might find him?”
The soldier directed me to the pits that held the adult drakes. Arriving there, I saw Tom leaning against a railing, one knee bent, his foot propped on the lowest bar. He turned as I approached, and did not appear surprised to see me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
I joined him at the rail. “As have I. But let’s hear yours first.”
“The Basilisk,” Tom said. “We managed that voyage without any support from the Crown.”
He and I had known one another too long for me not to guess where his thoughts might be aimed. “A voyage of limited duration and an ongoing research programme are rather different things.”
“True. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” He kept his voice low; Quinta was not far away, a dimly seen shape sleeping in her little cave. We did not want to rouse her. “Between the two of us, we correspond with just about every dragon naturalist in Anthiope. We’re even friends with a few. The army wouldn’t look kindly on other people getting involved just yet, of course—this is still their enterprise. But when they lose interest…”
My mind was already racing down the path he had revealed. We would have to lay the foundations ahead of time—that was certain. If we waited until the army closed Dar al-Tannaneen down, it would be too late; our adults would be slaughtered, our juveniles and eggs disposed of by one means or another, and everything here would have to start from scratch. If we already had interested parties lined up, though …
Then Dar al-Tannaneen might persist beyond this moment, and beyond our involvement.
It was not the peak we had set out to scale. But it was a worthy challenge, and one I could take pride in. If I walked away from Akhia knowing I had helped create something of lasting importance, I could rest a good deal better at night.
“What thoughts were keeping you awake?” Tom asked, when the silence had grown too long.
I shook my head, smiling. “They do not matter now. You have given me a solution already.”
Many people know that the International Fraternity of Draconic Research has its roots in the House of Dragons in Qurrat. I have long made a point of noting that it was Tom, not I, who first had the idea of transforming our military commission there into a collaborative research programme that would bring together naturalists from many countries. But very few people are aware that it began on a quiet night at the edge of Quinta’s enclosure, when neither Tom nor I could sleep for uncertainty of what our future, and that of Dar al-Tannaneen, would hold.
I got very little sleep at all that night, my mind awhirl with notions of who to contact, already composing the letters in my head. It would not be easy, of course—but for the first time in months, I felt that my path ahead was clear.
I have never been very good at following a path.
* * *
Our second desert trip became the focus of my efforts, to the point where it bordered on obsession. I knew this might be the last bit of work Tom and I were able to conduct in Akhia, and I was determined that it would be as productive as I could possibly arrange.
The Jefi in summer, however, is not a place within human control. “You want to go back out there?” Andrew said, incredulous. “Isabella—you do realize it gets above forty degrees, don’t you? Even as high as fifty, I’ve been told. And there’s no water to be found anywhere.”
“Now that is preposterous,” I said. “There are oases in the Labyrinth.”
My brother made a strangled noise. “Wait. You don’t just want to go into the Jefi … you want to go into the Labyrinth of Drakes?”
“Of course. Why do you think it has that name? There are drakes there, Andrew, and that is what I am here to study. They nest there, they lay their eggs there—”
“—they eat people alive there—”
“It is summer. They will be dozing in the heat. And when else am I to go to the Labyrinth? In the winter it was too dangerous because of the rains, and the risk of flood. This is much safer.”
“Safer” was, of course, a relative term. The Labyrinth is a treacherous place in any season. It is easy to become lost in its winding canyons; there are predators that view travellers as attractive meals, drakes not least among them. Oases exist, but finding them is more easily said than done. On paper that territory belongs to the Aritat, but at that time of year they are elsewhere, in lands that can support their herds of camels. The depths of the Jefi are abandoned to merchants and wild animals, the former tracing carefully defined routes from one water source to another, the latter often haunting the same spots.
We could not take a large group. There is often safety in numbers, but not under these conditions; more people would mean more demand for water, and we could all too easily drain a spring dry, leaving ourselves to die of dehydration. We could not stay long in any one place, no matter what intellectual temptations we found. As soon as our supplies fell to a certain threshold, we must retreat, or face the consequences.
“At least it will be dry,” I said to Tom at one point, trying to make light of the dangers. “Perhaps I will finally get rid of the mold that coated me in Mouleen.”
Tom and I would go; that was certain. Andrew would go as well, despite my protests. “How am I to show my face at home if I don’t?” he demanded. “Mother may not approve of your work, but she would approve even less of me abandoning you to die in it. No, much better that I should die with you than show myself anywhere near her afterward.”
We were not so stupid as to go alone, of course. Our guide would be al-Jelidah, the Ghalbi fellow who had assisted us during the winter. He knew the Labyrinth better than any man living: every sliver of shade, every crack where water might be found. With us would also come Haidar, who had assisted our efforts before. That made our party five, and on Haidar’s advice, we should take no more than six.
I said to Tom, “I want our sixth to be Suhail.”
His expression showed wariness. “Is that wise?”
“I do not care if it is wise. I do not want to see the Labyrinth of Drakes—the site of so many legendary Draconean ruins—without him at my side.”
Tom was sitting on his haunches alongside Quartus’ enclosure when I said this to him. He ran one hand through his hair, then wiped it on his trousers. Even this close to the river, we laboured under a constant film of dust and sand. It mixed with sweat to form a gritty paste that no amount of bathing could dispose of, for no sooner was one clean than the paste built up again. In the Jefi and the Labyrinth it would be worse, for there we would lack the water to bathe in. “You know what they will say about you.”
“They are already saying it. I do not care.”
A tight sensation burned behind my sternum as I said this. My entire life I had gone back and forth between two extremes, the one disclaiming all concern for what people might think, the other carefully weighing the cost. I had spent eight months here in Akhia listening to the second voice. My patience for it was wearing thin.
Tom said, “He might care.”
“For his own reputation? Or for mine?” I put up a hand before Tom could answer that. “He has been in the desert before—in the Labyrinth itself. I trust him to bring us out of there alive. Al-Jelidah I do not know, not truly; Suhail I do. He has saved my life before.”
I gave Tom some time to consider this. It was, after all, not only my reputation I would be endangering, or even Suhail’s. Tom had fought to have me included at Dar al-Tannaneen, when he could have taken the opportunity for himself with far less struggle. What I did here reflected on him, too.
“Ask him,” Tom said at last. “It isn’t our decision to make—not alone.”
“Thank you,” I said in response to his unspoken agreement. “I am sure we can find a way to make this work.”
EIGHTEEN
A perfectly respectable meeting—Obstacles—A solution—“Why?”—Revenge upon my brother—Cautions to the reader—Various reactions—That night
I thought about approaching Mahira for aid. She had assisted us before, arranging that meeting in the garden; she might do so again. But such an approach smacked of the clandestine, which would not serve my purposes at all. There was nothing to be ashamed of in recruiting the aid of an experienced desert traveller. If it was permissible for me to work with al-Jelidah and Haidar, why not Suhail?
Our enterprise had a small stock of official letterhead, which I appropriated for this task. That very afternoon, before I could begin to doubt myself, I wrote a message and sent it to the sheikh’s household, requesting Suhail’s presence at Dar al-Tannaneen at his earliest convenience.