Daughter of the Serpentine

by E. E. Knight

  Ottavia stepped forward. “Congratulations, Vithleen.”

  “Thank you, uhhh. Oh, I know you, I’m just tired.”

  “Ottavia.”

  “Yes, the dancer. Falberrwrath is always going on about you all. Oh, is that . . . errr . . . the one who went after my eggs, back there. Hullo, Ileth, that’s it.”

  Ileth stepped up and bobbed. “Con-congrat—”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “You should rest,” Ottavia said. Ileth silently agreed, Vithleen looked terrible. She was used to seeing Vithleen thick with muscle capable of defying even the winds of a blizzard. She’d had a long vigil over her eggs and survived a poisoning. Ileth hoped she wasn’t ill with parasites on top of everything. Were the grooms combing through her waste?

  “That’s the sixth time I’ve been told that today, dear. When the males start minding me when I tell them to keep away from each other, that’s when I’ll rest. I don’t hold with barbaric notions about instinct, and I’m not losing a hatchling while I have strength to lift my head or push them around with my tail.”

  “Perhaps Falberrwrath could—” Ottavia said.

  “Perhaps not. I won’t have any throats torn out because he decides his daughter needs to hear about the Battle of Broken Bridge. I have him getting me charred cattle skins. Fried good and crisp. I’m so hungry for charred cattle skins right now it’s hard to put into words.”

  The dancers congratulated her once again, bobbed obeisance one by one, and departed.

  “Be a dear and ask where my fried skins are!” Vithleen called after them.

  The feast went off. The commission circulated but did not join; they ate at their lodgings in Vyenn but frowned at the flood of beef and pies and brandy atop groaning tables. Ileth hoped someone told them that this dragon-sponsored feast was extraordinary; she’d never had this much food in her years since enrolling in the Serpentine and could count on her fingers the number of times she’d seen beef served.

  In the days following the feast as the leftovers were consumed down to the last joint, the Serpentine was poked and prodded by the visiting commissioners. If anyone knew the truth of their investigation, they weren’t speaking. There were plenty of guesses, though.

  Some said they were looking for spies, others that they were the agents of some big wheel at the Exchange in Sammerdam looking to put the dragons to more commercial use now that peace had been restored with the Galantine Baronies. Others said that they were looking for waste and excess to further cut funding given by the Assembly. After one more long meeting with the Master in Charge, rumor had it that they were about to depart.

  That night Ileth was taking an extra hour using some cast-off paper from Ottavia’s correspondence to improve her lettering while Shatha read aloud when a page called to them from outside the heavy curtains to their rooms.

  “Stranger in the Dancers’ Quarter,” a page called, rustling the curtain that closed off the Quarter so that the curtain rings clattered. You couldn’t make much noise with your knuckles on the stone of the Beehive.

  Shatha wrapped a towel around her head and went to check. “I’ll call for her, sir.”

  “It’s one of the commissioners, for you,” Shatha said, glaring at Ileth as though it were her fault. She motioned for Ileth to remain where she was and hurried toward Ottavia’s sleeping enclosure.

  Ileth spent the moment it took Ottavia to rise fixing her appearance and putting on her apprentice sash and novice pin, the closest thing someone of her station could come to full uniform of the Serpentine. This sounded official.

  Shatha hurried out of Ottavia’s room and returned to the curtains where the visitors waited outside. Finally, Ottavia appeared, looking much as she always did, cane in hand, save for her hair, bound tightly up with a purple scarf. She shot an accusing look at Ileth, as if she were responsible for Ottavia’s interrupted sleep rather than the commissioner outside.

  She crossed the Dancers’ Quarter and passed to the other side of the curtain. Ileth couldn’t hear much of the words exchanged, other than an “Oh, did he?” from Ottavia.

  The curtain rings made their clattering warning again and Ottavia pointed her cane at Ileth. “You’ve been summoned to an interview with the commissioners. I shall allow it despite the hour, but I’m coming with you. Put on your shoes.”

  Ileth, not knowing what would be asked of her or how far they were going, put on her walking boots. She did it quickly. Commissioners of the Republic wouldn’t like being kept waiting.

  Ottavia surveyed her appearance before they passed out through the curtain. “Good enough.”

  “You need—you needn’t come, sira,” Ileth said.

  “Oh, yes I do. Seems once a year I have to squash this sort of thing, and firmly.”

  Ileth had an inkling of what she meant by this sort of thing but followed in silence out to the passage, where a page and a man in plain black waited. She recognized him as one of the group from Deklamp’s office.

  “My orders were to just bring the girl Ileth,” the commissioner said.

  “My duty to my dancers supersedes any orders,” Ottavia said evenly. “Commissioner-General Vor Navarr will understand if I have to speak to him about this unusual request.”

  “He doesn’t care to have the Vor added to his name,” the commissioner corrected. “And he is the one who asked for her.”

  “That is surprising, considering the Commissioner-General’s reputation, but while I will permit her to go out at this unusual hour in the spirit of cooperating with your work, I must again insist on accompanying my dancer. I can’t imagine what one of the Republic’s commissioners wants with a dancer. Is he curious about how her up-work is progressing?”

  Ileth hardly heard the byplay. In her head, she was reexamining the brief encounter with the Commissioner-General, wondering what had brought on a summons. She knew the kinds of powers an ordinary commissioner held when it came to criminals and other threats to the security of the Republic. What could a Commissioner-General order?

  “I will not waste everyone’s time arguing the matter,” the commissioner said. “May we depart, so the hour does not grow even later?”

  The page and the commissioner led them up through the East Stair to the Upper Ring and out. There were faster ways to get to the Long Bridge, but visitors to the Serpentine weren’t insulted by being asked to slip down little alleys and passages or pass through dark galleries. There were many secrets to life among the dragons that were reserved only for those who were oathed in to their service.

  Though the commissioner kept a pace that even the page had to puff to match (he was new and had been well fed at home in his early years, it seemed to Ileth), Ottavia kept up easily. Her cane was more an affectation than a necessity. She stayed silent until they reached the up end, where they stopped at the little red side door where Ileth had spent a hungry, lonely week waiting on fate to see if she would be admitted as a novice.

  The page called down for one of the Guards to open the door.

  “The Commissioner-General isn’t staying in the Visitors’ House?” Ottavia asked.

  “The Commissioner-General often works late. The Gables in Vyenn is more convenient for us; we can all share the upstairs, and our work can be carried on in privacy.” He leaned over and gave the Guard a quiet password and the Guard opened the bolt. Of course the commissioner could have done this himself, but he obeyed the Serpentine’s procedures like any other citizen.

  “I’m surprised he could find so many rooms at the Gables,” Ottavia said. “The summer weather being pleasant.”

  “The innkeeper complained that his bookings are not a third of their usual. He was happy to have a large party.”

  Out on the path, where they had to walk single file along the wall, Ottavia gripped Ileth’s hand and probed the ground with her cane as she walked behind the commissioner. They fell
far enough behind that they could speak.

  “This old trick. An apprentice’s password is only good during the day. You’d be stuck out here all night, the old dog. You spoke to him before, I believe?”

  “About . . . about Fespanarax and the Galantines,” Ileth said.

  “You must have made an impression.”

  They couldn’t talk further, as once they rounded the corner of the Serpentine by the gate, the commissioner waited on them so that they might walk down the road together.

  “It’s a fine night for a walk,” Ottavia said, stepping out with her cane.

  “They say night air is wholesome,” the commissioner agreed.

  Vyenn wasn’t quite so pretty at night. The colorful flower boxes were in shadow, and the few lit windows did little to add cheer to the empty streets. If anything, it made the emptiness lonelier. There was laughter and singing down by the wharf; poor trade wasn’t going to destroy a fine evening for the bargemen.

  The Gables had a light on either side of the door. The commissioner took them in and the innkeeper roused himself from a chair before the fire to greet them. The commissioner nodded, Ottavia called him by name and took his hand, and the innkeeper informed them that the Commissioner-General awaited them in a downstairs dining room.

  Their escort went in to announce them.

  Ottavia threw a look at Ileth. She stood close. “The Commissioner-General is either bold in his vices or had enough manners to offer you dinner first.”

  “I don’t . . . don’t think it’s that,” Ileth said.

  They were brought in. Commissioner-General Navarr sat at one end of a well-lit table with several opened letters in front of him, writing on a portable blotter. His commissioner broke precedent slightly in introducing Ileth before Ottavia. Ileth thought it was to put Ottavia in her place and silently looked forward to Ottavia’s retort.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw the sideboard to the dining table. It was piled with little baked goods, bowls of elderberries and cloudberries, and honey-glazed sweets, some of which she didn’t even know the names for, all on neat little saucers that seemed to have been manufactured just to hold the treat. There was a bowl of fine sugar just in case the berries weren’t sweet enough.

  “My correspondence has caught up to me,” Navarr said, smiling at them, leaving the letter half-finished and putting his pen back in the ink. He stood and walked around the dining table. He was still dressed for his visit, though the silver gorget had been removed. “From the description you must be the dancer-in-charge. Ottavia, is it?”

  In this setting, without a crowd of younger men about, he didn’t seem quite so old. Ileth wondered if the white hair was natural. His eyes and teeth were both bright and his hair only a little thinned. He didn’t walk or stand like a man weighed down by age.

  “Sir,” she said with a nod.

  “I asked for an interview with Ileth, alone.”

  Ottavia planted her cane and leaned forward. “You are free to interview her all you like, Commissioner-General. I’m here to ensure nothing else happens to her. Perhaps you are not aware that apprentices aren’t allowed outside the Serpentine at night unless they are on a specific commission. She’ll need me to get back in.”

  “Why would she need to get back in if she’s to spend the night in my bedchamber?”

  “Sir!” Ottavia said.

  “It is not what you were thinking. I prefer when people speak their minds plain, in good simple Montangyan words.”

  “Your joking is in poor taste.”

  “I do not joke. I will speak plainly: I wish to speak to Ileth alone. With her age, her common upbringing, and the fact that she is a dancer I can understand why you assume a carnal motive, but I have no interest in her other than as an instrument of the Republic. You may wait for her beside the fire in the main room if you wish. You can escort her back and save my associate’s legs.”

  “The Commissioner-General must understand my alarm at a summons for a girl her age at this hour,” Ottavia said.

  “If you don’t want people thinking your dancers a troupe of jades, then have them be decent and cover their legs and arms.”

  If Ottavia had been possessed of hackles they would have been up. “Ours is an ancient art. There are reasons for the attire. You cannot blame me for Heem Tyr’s prurient paintings.”

  “If only I had the time to devote to discussions of art that you have at your disposal, madam. The longer you remain in this room, the later it shall be when you do return. I only expect to keep her some minutes; you may reprimand me if the midnight bell sounds and you are not on the road back to the Serpentine. Though I have taken all the rooms in this inn save for that pensioner’s to save complaint. One is not occupied, and you and young Ileth here may have it if you wish to walk back in the morning light.”

  “I think it best that we return tonight.” Ottavia looked at Ileth. Ileth felt confident enough to give a quick nod.

  “Very good, Commissioner-General. I’ll retire to the hearth and await Ileth or the midnight bell.”

  Ottavia went out, as did the commissioner, who shut the door behind him. She sensed that he was standing just on the other side of it.

  “Sit down, Ileth,” Navarr said, pulling out the chair at the head of the table. He went over to the side table and its many platters and dishes. “May I get you something? I am a simple man, but I will indulge my sweet tooth and I found a good bakery on this very street. Almost the equal of Sammerdam, if not Asposis, in the delicacy of its flaking.”

  “I . . . I’ve never had any of these. Which one is the best?” To his credit, the Commissioner-General waited for her to finish speaking without the irritation most displayed about this point.

  “May I select for you? These are very good, it’s called a cinnamon crisp.” He put something before her that looked a little like a rolled-up piece of canvas, brown and dusted with something reddish-brown.

  He took a similar one and sat down at the corner next to her. His letters were far off at the other end. He picked it up with his fingers, took a bite, and smiled at her expectantly until she ate.

  Her mouth came alive. It was delicious. She’d had cinnamon before, at the Baron’s, but that was sprinkled on apples rather than with a sugary treat.

  The Commissioner-General regarded her as she ate. He seemed to take pleasure watching her enjoy the crisp.

  “You present as a girl who needs more friends,” Navarr said. “So many of your compatriots at the Academy come from powerful families who smooth their path. Your path was a rough one. Out of a lodge, living on wit alone, yet you have attentive manners. You waited for me to take a bite to make sure it was to be eaten as finger food.”

  “My . . . my stay in-in-in Galantine lands improved my manners,” Ileth said. Which was true enough. The Baron’s daughter had planted and cultivated manners in her, and Ileth had found it an interesting diversion from the tedium. Even useful, with men like the Commissioner-General.

  “Ah, yes. Your observations there impressed me. Our Republic has need of such talent.”

  Ileth finished her cinnamon crisp with a pang of regret of a pleasure come and gone. While the other delicacies tempted her, she had the sense that the conversation with Navarr would reach a crisis soon, and she didn’t want to meet it with a mouth full of custard.

  “How so, sir?” she asked when it was safe to speak without crumbs flying from her mouth.

  “I have had inquiries made about you, as you have probably guessed. I’ve had a report that letters pass back and forth between you and the Dun Troot household. Now, it so happens I’m familiar with that family; they have royalist inclinations and keep an aristocratic attitude and lifestyle. That is in their right. I know they dote on Santeel, as she is their only daughter. I imagine the correspondence relates to her.”

  “You’ve read the letters?”

/>   “Never! Mail in the Republic by those not in a prison or institution is not opened except on the order of a jury. But who mails to whom is not secret. There has been correspondence between you and a man named Falth in the service of the Dun Troots; the only logical conclusion is that you are either reporting on that Dun Troot girl or, despite Serpentine Academy traditions against servants, quietly acting as her servant and sending requests and requirements to the family.”

  “Maybe I’m earning a fig here and there running her mail to the Post Commissioner. The gate office is a long way from the Beehive.”

  The Commissioner-General frowned but accepted that answer.

  “Tell me why you left your home and risked so much to join the Dragoneers.”

  Ileth fumbled through her explanation that ever since meeting a dragoneer as a seven-year-old, she had a dream of spending her life around them. She hadn’t even known she could grow up to do such things. Annis Heem Strath had expanded the dreams of what her life could be.

  “The rote answer is to serve and defend your people and the Republic.”

  “I-I appreciate the Re-Republic more, after seeing life in the Baronies. At the Lodge growing up, we were more enthusiastic about a full stewpot than politics.”

  “So when you see our own good red-and-white banner, how do you feel?”

  “Like I am . . . like I am home. I m-m-missed it in Galantine lands.”

  He questioned her more about what she saw there, what made her more appreciative of the Republic. She talked about the Baron and his haphazard standards of justice. He could punish, exile, even hang people with very little to moderate him other than his own gentle nature. Yet when the Baron and his friends trampled crops or knocked down fences on hunts and races and whatnot, the people of his barony were just supposed to accept it as a price to be paid, like taxes.

  Navarr liked that answer. “You are a thoughtful young lady, even if you have difficulty communicating some of the unexpected depths. I suspected some precision of mind when I heard your report on your experiences in the Baronies. This interview confirms it.”