Tooth and Claw

by Jo Walton

  “What good will that do?” Selendra asked. “You’ll just get four of us lost instead of two.” Killed, she thought, but did not say, for the sake of the dragonets. The Exalt would be furious if she got Sher killed, she thought.

  “But if I am there I’ll recognize when we find where that sinkhole connects up to places I have been before,” Sher said, sounding confident. “You wouldn’t know. Besides, I want to see the Majestic’s treasure you’ve found, you can’t keep it all to yourselves. Go into the passage, out of the way of falling stones. Gerin and I are coming down now.”

  36. TREASURE

  From inside the passage it sounded as if Sher was pulling half the mountain down after him.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked cautiously, when the crashing had stopped.

  “My scales may be a little scraped,” Sher replied, casually. “But we are armored for a reason, and no landing on gold can be called a bad landing.”

  Selendra laughed and poked her head into the cavern. Sher set Gerin down carefully, and the dragonet scampered over to where Selendra held the injured Wontas.

  “This gold looks to me like Yargish work,” Sher said, examining a linked chain set with stones.

  “Not from before the Conquest then?” Selendra asked, a little disappointed.

  “Oh, it could well be. More likely, in fact. You remember the knights and princesses in the stories and the Yarge towns the dragons of old were always sacking, before the Yarge turned the tables and attacked back? I’d think this might well be the plunder from such a sack. It’s much too delicate to be dragonsmith work, not to mention too small.” It barely fitted over Sher’s claw.

  “Is it very valuable?” Gerin asked, turning over a golden casket with his claw.

  “Just as gold, I should imagine it’s worth quite a few thousand crowns,” Sher said. “But as romantic antiquities it’ll be worth even more. I’d say you two dragonets can think of yourselves as rich, if you can find a way of getting the gold out.”

  “Which means we need to get ourselves out first,” Selendra said. “Starving to death here and leaving our bones with the treasure might be romantic—”

  “I had no idea you had read so many old stories,” Sher interrupted, smiling.

  “I have a weakness for them,” Selendra confessed.

  “Aunt Sel tells them to us,” Wontas said, smugly.

  “Well, let’s do what dragons always do in the circumstances and take one piece each. Can you walk, Wontas?”

  “I think so,” Wontas said.

  “It’s a front leg you’ve broken. If you were a maiden you’d hardly ever use them to walk,” Selendra said encouragingly, setting him down. He limped into the treasure cave.

  “You use yours,” he said, turning around accusingly.

  “Only underground and on Firstday,” Selendra said, showing him how thin the pad of callus was across her knuckles. He touched a gentle claw to it. “And some fine ladies don’t touch them to the ground even then. I’m sure if you look at the Exalt’s hands she’ll have no callus there at all, or Respected Telstie. You can manage to walk for a little while. Amer will set your leg when we get home.”

  “My mother has callus, and so does any dragon who lives the life Veld gave them,” Sher said. “Gelener Telstie is one of those fine ladies who prides herself on the softness of her hands and the uselessness of her accomplishments.”

  Selendra looked at him in surprise. “I thought she was your promised bride?”

  “Even my mother has given up trying to make me marry an icicle,” he said. “She’ll leave here as pristine a gold as she came. She’s not at all the type of maiden who moves me.”

  “She’s pretty,” said Gerin, looking up from the treasure.

  “Not as pretty as your Aunt Selendra,” Sher said.

  Selendra felt her eyes whirl in confusion, and she could not reply. He was not betrothed to Gelener. He always complimented everyone, she knew that.

  “I’ll try to walk, and I want some treasure,” Wontas said.

  “One small piece then,” Sher said. “How about this chain?” He held up the chain he had picked first and dangled it by his claw. Although there was no light, the jewels seemed to glow red and purple and lilac and evening-water.

  “Rubbish,” Wontas said, dismissing it with a glance and starting to rummage. “I want a real crown, or a sword.”

  Gerin had picked up a cup and was turning it in his claws. “To think Majestic Tomalin might have drunk out of this,” he said, awe in his voice.

  “Selendra?” Sher asked, taking a step towards her and offering the chain.

  Still wordless, she took it and ran it through her fingers. The stones all had tiny holes drilled through them and the gold ran through the holes and then made a loop which connected to the next link. It was knotted, and she teased the knot out. The work brought her back to a proper state of calmness, in which she knew she was being a fool to let herself become agitated, because Sher was almost like a brother and his compliments were a form of teasing.

  “You’re right that it must be Yargish work,” she said, offering it back. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Take it then,” Sher said, smiling. “Beautiful maidens should have beautiful things.”

  She looked up, and her eyes met his. Her heart seemed to be beating faster than usual, and she couldn’t quite draw enough breath. She almost wondered if she was blushing, though Sher was not touching her and had done nothing more than pay her one of his compliments. It was just his way of talking. She should have been used to them by now, she told herself sternly. “Whatever could I do with a chain?” she asked. “It isn’t a hat or a gorget so I couldn’t wear it.”

  “That’s fashion, not a law,” Sher said. “It looks wonderful against your scales. Selendra—” He took a step closer.

  “Besides, it’s yours, all of this is, it’s on your land and therefore yours by right,” Selendra said, taking a step away and almost backing into the wall.

  “If it’s mine I can give it away as it pleases me,” Sher said.

  “But it’s mine, I found it!” Wontas protested.

  “We’ll divide it evenly,” Sher said. “Have you found anything to take? One thing, easy to carry.”

  “I’ve found Majestic Tomalin’s crown,” Wontas said, settling a golden circlet awkwardly on his head.

  “It fits you, fruit-chewer,” Gerin said.

  “So?” Wontas asked.

  “So Majestic Tomalin was a grown dragon, and a crown that fits you would have been too small for him,” Gerin said.

  “Maybe it belonged to his dragonet then. What do you call a Majestic’s dragonets, Aunt Sel?”

  “Respected,” Selendra said, firmly, making Sher chortle.

  “No, come on,” Wontas persisted. “An Exalted’s dragonets are Dignified, aren’t they, so a Majestic’s must be something better than Respected. We’re Respected.”

  “An Exalted’s heir is Illustrious, and an Illustrious’s heir is Dignified,” said Sher, who had been Illustrious before his father’s death. “A Majestic’s heir would be Highness, and the others would be Eminent.”

  “Eminent Wontas,” Wontas said, consideringly. “We still have Eminents.”

  “Are we staying in this cave until spring?” Gerin asked loftily. He had a golden casket in one claw.

  “Wrap the chain around your arm,” Sher advised Selendra, taking up a gold stick thickly encrusted with diamonds. “I don’t know what this was for, but I’ll take it. We’ll talk later.”

  Selendra wrapped the chain carefully. She couldn’t wear it like that, though it looked splendid. Maybe she could have it incorporated into an evening hat, like Gelener’s sequins. Or maybe she’d just sleep on it, like the rest of her gold. She tried not to think what Sher wanted to talk to her about. First, get out of the cave, afterwards worry whether it might be possible that she’d misinterpreted the whole situation.

  Sher led the way along the passage, warn
ing them of pits. With Wontas limping and Gerin burdened by his heavy casket, the easiest way of crossing pits in this new lofty hallway, was for Selendra to lift the dragonets under her arms and fly the few steps across.

  “Do you recognize anywhere yet?” Selendra asked, while the children were lagging a little behind and Sher confidently took the lower fork at a junction.

  “Not a thing, though I will if I come back,” he said. “I’m sure we’re going to make it out, though. I’m following the moving air.”

  There were no more surprises for a long time. The hallways were a maze of passages with occasional rooms wide enough for two or three dragons. One of them had shallow grooves in the floor, as if it had once been a dining room with primitive channels to carry away blood. Another had signs of ancient scorching on one wall. None of them held any further treasure. After a period of time that was hard to measure they came into another treasure cave, only in this one limestone teeth had caught up the treasure fast in their unbreakable embrace. “The rock is taking it back,” Selendra whispered, putting a hand to her chain. They tiptoed through the cave without discussion, all subdued by it.

  “How long do those take to grow?” Gerin asked, several hallways later, but everyone knew what he meant.

  “Years,” Sher said. “Decades. Centuries. You were talking about Majestic Tomalin, didn’t you think how long ago he lived?”

  “Thousands of years,” Wontas said. “Thousands and thousands. Aunt Sel, is magic real?”

  “Of course it is,” Selendra answered, surprised. “If not for magic, how could we fly, big as we are? If not for magic, how would we grow larger from eating other dragons but not from eating beef and venison?”

  “Not that kind of magic,” Wontas groaned. “The other kind, the story kind. Spells, and wizards, and mountains eating dragon gold, and rocks coming to life and dancing?”

  “I have never seen any of that,” Selendra said. “The Church teaches that Camran cast out the wizards, so there must have been wizards at some time.”

  “Were they Yarge or dragons?” Gerin asked.

  “This is a ridiculous conversation to be having lost under the mountains,” Selendra complained.

  “We’re not lost,” Sher said. “Look!”

  Far ahead, and from somewhere below them they could see a dimness in the dark that must signal an opening to the outer world.

  10

  The Choice of Associates

  37. A THIRD DINNER PARTY

  Avan’s friends, like Avan himself, could be found in Irieth in season and out of season. Avan had been enjoying himself since his return to town. Having beaten Kest in a fair fight, his position in the Planning Office was for the moment unassailable. His work—the affair of the rebuilding of the Skamble which Liralen had handed to him on his return—required a great deal of research before he could make a decision or take any action. As Liralen knew this, Avan was freed of many of the usual chores of his office. He often had the satisfaction of asking Kest to take care of some tedious routine business, and seeing Kest accept his superiority in doing it. As for his social life, it was just as full and interesting as would excite no reproach in a dragon whose father had died not two months since. He declined some invitations and accepted others, and made sure those he declined were the prominent but tedious affairs which were attended mostly to be seen, and those he accepted were the more amusing smaller parties. He did not dance, save with the most beautiful maidens. His life, in short, would have been as happy as possible but for two things.

  The lawsuit, begun in such bravado, was proving slow and expensive in execution. Hathor shook his head over every fresh deposition. Selendra had written asking to have her name removed from the writ, because she could not endure to be separated from Haner. Penn had written in a passion which Avan could not at all understand, refusing to give any evidence at all. “Our best hope was for you all to stand together,” Hathor said, wrinkling his snout. Avan had, naturally, told Penn he need not make a deposition if he did not wish to, but he could not understand what “religious scruples” might prevent him.

  The second piece of grit in Avan’s golden bed that winter was Sebeth. She remained as beautiful and captivating as ever. She continued to share Avan’s desk every day and his bed most nights. But there was a sadness about her since the day Kest had insulted her that nothing seemed to ease. She worked with more than her usual enthusiasm, but she did not tease Avan as she had done. When he asked she said that she was happy and nothing was wrong. Bonnets in the latest style did not cheer her, nor did parties out on the frozen river with a group of friends, none of whom could have put the word Respectable before their names. Avan wondered if some other lover for whom she had really cared had left her, but did not ask. He tried to be gentle and caring towards her and hoped at least to provide some support.

  Exalt and Exalted Rimalin had been out of town for a little while in Leafturn and Freshwinter. Avan had received an invitation to join them at Rimalin. He had been far too busy even to consider it, he had sent them polite and genuine regrets. Then he received a note saying they were in Irieth and asking him to dine that evening. He had Sebeth dash off an immediate acceptance and set off for their town house with a light heart. He had been looking forward to discovering what investment opportunity the Exalted Rimalin had discovered, and he always enjoyed meeting Ketinar, Exalt Rimalin.

  Servants showed him in, through the fashionable front hall, inlaid with pebbles and semiprecious stones, into the Speaking Room, where Ketinar came forward to greet him. She was a dark red, having survived three well-spaced clutches, and though her headdress bore sparkling citrines and garnets, proving her a lady in the forefront of fashion, nobody would have called her beautiful. Her face had an animation that made beauty irrelevant. Her eyes may have been too close to her snout, but they sparkled more than the jewels nodding among the lace on her forehead.

  “I haven’t seen you in an age,” she said to Avan in welcome.

  “I haven’t been here since before my father’s death,” Avan said, and hastened on before she could speak. “And thank you so much for the letter of condolence you sent me, it was a comfort in a dark time.”

  “It’s good you could come tonight. Rimalin especially wanted to see you. We’re very thin of company in Irieth at present. Everyone is out of town, most of them off drearily chasing down venison with their bare claws, or with bare steel if they are female.”

  “So what brought you away from that delightful pursuit?” Avan asked.

  Ketinar laughed. “I truly don’t find it delightful, after the first day or two it’s about as exciting as picking blackberries. But we came up to town because Rimalin has some business, which concerns you as well.”

  She clearly wanted him to ask about it, but he resisted for the time being. “I find I am the first to join you,” Avan said, looking into the empty room, which was usually crowded in all seasons.

  “You are our only guest tonight,” Ketinar said. “When Rimalin finally comes up, we’ll be able to eat. We do have some fairly fresh venison, brought up from the country. Be sure to admire it, for Rimalin caught it all himself.”

  Rimalin joined them presently, and the venison was duly eaten and admired. After dinner, in place of the usual sponging, Rimalin suggested that Avan might like to join them in their bathhouse.

  “I didn’t know you had your own bathhouse,” Avan said. “I’d be delighted.”

  “It’s only big enough for three, so we don’t usually use it for company,” Ketinar said.

  She led the way down into the family part of the establishment. A servant with a pike clutched in his claws stood barring the way down, but he stepped aside with a smile as Ketinar waved him away. The lower parts of the cavern were gorgeously appointed in marble with statues and ornaments in gold and silver. The water in the great bath was steaming slightly and was lightly scented with cedar and sage.

  “What a delightful scent,” Avan said, wondering what it cost. Sebeth would li
ke it. If he could buy her some it might bring the sparkle back to her eyes.

  “It’s one of Ketinar’s extravagances,” Rimalin said, fondly. The three of them took off their hats and slipped into the water.

  “It seems a shame to talk business in such comfort,” Rimalin said after a moment of basking.

  Avan stared up at the ceiling, marble inlaid with jasper and amethyst in scale patterns. This was luxury at a level he could only envy. “It is very comfortable, but I am listening,” he said. He was in fact consumed with curiosity.

  “Old Eminent Telstie is dying,” Rimalin said. Avan raised his head in surprise. This was not at all what he had expected. “Oh yes, he’s not so very old, for an Eminent, but his fire came early and it’s burning him out. He’s not expected to last until summer. He has no surviving children. His heir was expected to be his elder nephew, but I heard they’d quarrelled. It can’t be his younger nephew, he’s a parson. The elder nephew won’t hold it unless the will is nailed down. He’s young. You know how it is with Eminents. The father is a parson, too. The nephew hasn’t been brought up as the heir to an Eminent should be—old Telstie wasn’t expecting him to need to be, he had plenty of children, but they all perished one way or another. But there’s also a niece—the one we saw in Hathor’s that day. Pretty thing, remember? She has just as good a claim on the Telstie estate as her brothers, or would if she were married to a rising dragon like yourself.”

  “But why would she be?” Avan asked, his expectations entirely confounded by the turn the conversation was taking. “I can’t afford to marry. And I’d have to fight her brother.”

  “He’s no bigger than you are,” Ketinar put in. “And if you were married to Gelener Telstie and the Eminent’s choice, her brother probably wouldn’t even challenge.”

  “She has seventy thousand crowns of her own, even if the other affair didn’t come off,” Rimalin said.

  Lulled by the warm water and the rich scents Avan almost began to consider it. To be an Eminent was like something out of a dream. His father had been born on the Telstie estate, and from what he had heard it was a wide demesne, in which he could soon grow large enough to defend his position. Then, like cold water down his scales, he remembered Kest’s insulting name for Sebeth: “Little Eminence.” A dream indeed, and not something in his reach, and to reach it he would have to marry a stranger and give up Sebeth. He might have given her up to save someone very dear to him, Haner, or Selendra, but not for this insubstantiality. “I don’t even know the maiden,” he protested. “She wouldn’t consider me for an instant.”