by Robin Hobb
His father leaned back abruptly in his chair. 'I don't understand you,' he said harshly. 'I don't understand you at all. Do you know what it's taken for me to get this offer for you? Do you know how embarrassed I'll be if you turn it down? Can't you appreciate anything I do for you? This is your golden chance, Sedric! And you're going to turn it down because you "like things to be nice"!'
'Please don't shout,' his mother unwisely interjected. 'Please, Polon, can't we be calm and polite about this?'
'And «nice» too, I suppose!' His father had snarled. 'I give up. I've tried to do my best by the boy but all he wants to do is wander about the house and read books or go out with his useless idle friends. Well, their fathers have the money to raise useless idle boys, but I don't! You're my heir, Sedric, but what you'll inherit if you don't take hold soon, I don't know. Don't look at the floor! Meet my eyes, son, when I speak to you!'
'Please, Polon!' his mother had begged. 'Sedric just isn't ready for this yet. He's right, you know. You should have discussed this with him before you sought it for him. You didn't even speak of it to me!'
'Because opportunities such as this don't wait! They come along, and the man who seizes it is the man who finds a future in it. But it won't be Sedric, will it? Oh, no. Because he's not ready, and it's not «nice» enough for him. So, very well. You keep him at home here with you. You've ruined the boy with your indulgence of him. Ruined him!'
Sedric shifted in the narrow bunk, pushing the uncomfortable memory away. It came back in the form of a new question. Did his father still think he was 'ruined'? He knew that his sire had felt chagrin when Sedric announced he had taken a position as Hest Finbok's secretary. Even his mother, far more patient and tolerant of Sedric's ways than his father was, had winced at the idea of him being employed in such a position. 'It's just not something that you expect the son of a Trader to do, even a younger son. I know that it's an upward path, and even your father has said that perhaps you'll make good connections accompanying Hest on his trading trips. But, don't you know, it just seems as if you could have started your career a bit higher in life than as a secretary.'
'Hest treats me well, Mother. And he pays me well, too.'
'And I hope you are setting money aside from it. For as handsome as Hest Finbok is and as wealthy as his family is, he has a reputation for being fickle in his pursuits. Don't count on him to be someone you can depend on for the rest of your life, Sedric'
In the dark of the deckhouse, he groaned softly as he recalled her words. At the time they had seemed like her usual nattering worry for him. Now they seemed like a prophecy. Had he been a fool to let himself depend on Hest so deeply? His hand crept up and touched the small locket he wore around his neck. In the darkness, his finger caressed the single word engraved on its case. Always. Had 'always' come to an end for him?
He shifted in his bunk, but it was uniformly hard. Sleep would not come to him, only memories and worries. He was being foolish, of course. This was only a minor tiff with Hest. He and Hest had had quarrels before, and lived to laugh about them later. There had been that business in the Chalcedean town, where Hest, in a towering rage, had left Sedric behind at the inn and Sedric had had to dash through the streets to reach the ship before it sailed. He'd only ever struck Sedric once, and to be fair, Hest had been drinking and in a black temper even before they had quarrelled. Hitting someone was unusual behaviour for Hest. He had other ways of expressing his domination and control. Sarcasm and humiliation were more commonly his weapons. Physical force was his last resort, and it meant that his temper had reached a red hot heat.
But his current anger was different. It was cold. In the days after he'd ordered Sedric to accompany Alise on her expedition, Hest had been formal and chilly with Sedric. He'd smiled at him each morning as he handed him a long list of tasks. He treated him in an absolutely correct, master-to-servant fashion. Every evening, he listened to Sedric report how his tasks had gone. He didn't seem to care that he'd given Sedric the responsibility for Alise's journey. He'd expected him to fulfil his regular chores as well.
Thus Sedric had been the one to arrange passage for Hest and Wollom Courser and Jaff Secudus on a ship bound for the Pirate Isles. At the last minute, with great deliberation and a cruel smile, he'd had Sedric write an invitation to Redding Cope as well. The joyous acceptance had arrived less than an hour after the post was sent. Hest had had Sedric read it aloud to him, and then had pleasantly commented how enjoyable a companion Redding Cope was, so affable and full of enthusiasm for any new adventure.
The next afternoon, they had departed. Cope had waved a cheerful farewell to Sedric as the ship slowly moved away from the dock. This was Hest's first venture at making trading contacts in the formerly dangerous Pirate Islands. It was also a journey that he and Sedric had been discussing for nearly a year. Hest well knew how Sedric had anticipated such a trip. And he'd not only chosen other companions for it, he'd directed Sedric to book his passage on a ship that offered its passengers every comfort that a civilized man could cherish. While Sedric listened to men snore and fart in the darkness around him, Hest and his friends were probably sipping good port in a softly lit card parlour on the southbound ship. Sedric shifted uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck. Then he worried that the tickling had been a bed bug. Or a louse. He felt his neck but his fingers encountered nothing. Then he surprised himself by yawning.
Well, he was exhausted. Alise had seen to that. He'd packed all their possessions hastily, and then arranged porters and then they had all but run from the Paragon to the Tarman. He'd barely glimpsed the fabled treetop city of Trehaug, let alone had time to wander through any of its bazaars. Trehaug was the prime city in all the Cursed Shores for a trader to find Elderling goods at a reasonable price, and he'd had to race past it without even a glance because Alise feared she wouldn't get to see her smelly, deformed dragons.
He yawned again in the darkness and resolutely closed his eyes. He would get what sleep he could in such foul conditions, and try to face the morrow with good graces. If all went well, he'd be with Alise when she wangled an invitation to visit the dragons and attempted to speak with them. She'd as much as said that she'd want him right there, to transcribe conversation and make notes and even to help with the sketches she planned to do. He'd be right there, among them, helping her collect her information. If fortune favoured him, that wouldn't be all he'd be collecting. He hugged himself in the dark, and then gingerly pulled the blanket over himself. Nights were chill on the river, he decided, even in summer. Nights were as cold as Hest himself. But he'd show Hest. He'd show him that he didn't plan to live his life as only Hest's secretary. He'd show him that Sedric Meldar could do some bartering of his own, that he did have ambitions and dreams of his own. He'd show them all.
Thymara sat on bare earth and stared at the flames of the cook-fire. 'Did any of us think we'd be doing this, a month ago? Preparing to meet dragons and escort them up the river? Or even imagine this, sitting around a fire down here on the ground?' she asked of her new circle of friends.
'Not me,' muttered Tats, always at her side. Several of the others laughed in assent. Greft, seated to her right, just shook his head. His dark ringlets danced, as did the fleshy growths that fringed his jaw. When he had first joined their group, he'd been veiled. No one had commented. It wasn't uncommon for heavily-touched men or women of the Rain Wilds to prefer a veil, especially if they were in the lower levels of Trehaug and might encounter the shocked gapes of someone strange to the city. When, on his second night with the dragon keepers, he'd finally appeared among them unveiled, even Thymara had stared. Greft was more heavily marked than anyone she'd ever seen. At twenty, he had more wattles and growths than she seen even on the oldest folk of the Rain Wilds. The nails of his hands and feet were smooth but iridescent and they curved like claws. His eyes were an unnatural blue and at night they unmistakably glowed. Every part of his exposed skin was heavily scaled. His mouth was lipless and his tongue was blue. He
moved with quiet competence, and his maturity and steadiness were attractive to her. In contrast to the boys in the group, he seemed reliable and more thoughtful.
Tonight Greft was just as quiet as the rest of them. Anticipation warred with nervousness. Another day's travel and they'd finally meet the dragons.
The committee had provided them with sturdy canoes, well sealed against the river's acid wash. They'd given them two guides, a man and woman who always cooked, ate and slept separately from their charges. So far, food had been provided for them, and some few of the keepers had even found time to try their skills at hunting or scouting for fruit and mushrooms along their journey's path. But they had discovered that their blankets were barely warm enough for sleeping on the ground, and that the mosquitoes and stinging gnats were just as thick at river level as they'd always been told. They'd learned that down here under the trees, nights were darker, starless and longer than any they'd known in the treetops. They'd already learned to conserve potable water and to gather fresh rainfall at every opportunity. They'd exchanged names and stories.
And somehow, in the few days that they'd been together, they'd become close.
Now Thymara looked around at the circle of faces gleaming in the firelight and wondered at her good fortune. She'd never imagined that there would be so many people who would call her by her name, take food from her hands without flinching at her claws, and speak openly of what it was to be so deformed by the Rain Wilds that not even one's siblings could look at one easily. They'd come from every layer of the canopy, from Trader families and families that scarcely recalled which Trader bloodline they'd originally sprung from. Some had lived hard-scrabble lives and others had known education and meals of red meat and redder wine. She looked from face to face and named them to herself, counting them off as if they were jewels in a treasure box. Her friends.
There was Tats beside her, her oldest friend and still her closest. Next to him was Rapskal, still chortling at some joke he'd made himself, and beside him, shaking her head at the boy's endless and unfounded optimism, was Sylve. The young girl almost seemed to be enjoying his attention and endless chatter. Kase and Boxter were next, both copper-eyed and squat. They were cousins and the resemblance was strong. They were inseparable, often nudging each other and laughing uproariously over private jokes.
That was something she was discovering about the boys her age. The pranking and foolish jokes seemed constant. Right now, silver-eyed Alum and swarthy Nortel were laughing helplessly because Warken had farted loudly. Warken, long-limbed and tall, seemed to be relishing the mockery rather than being offended by it. Thymara shook her head over that; it made no sense to her that boys found such things so funny, and yet their sniggering brought a smile to her face. Jerd, sitting among the boys, was grinning, too. Thymara did not know Jerd well yet, but already admired her skills at fishing. She had at first been shocked when she realized Jerd was female. Nothing about her solidly built frame suggested it. What hair she had on her scaled skull she had cut into a short blond brush. Both Thymara and Sylve had tried to befriend Jerd, and she had been affable enough, but seemed to prefer male company. Her feet and solidly-muscled legs were heavily scaled and scarred. Jerd went barefoot, something that few Rain Wilders would ever consider doing on the ground.
Next to Jerd were Harrikin and Lecter. They were not related, but Harrikin's family had taken Lecter in when he was seven and both his parents died. They were as close as brothers, yet the one was long and slim as a lizard while Lecter reminded Thymara of a horny toad, squat and neck-less and spiny with growths. Harrikin was twenty, the oldest in their group, save for Greft. Greft was in his middle twenties. In bearing and manner, he made the rest of them seem like boys. And Greft, with his gleaming blue eyes, closed the circle of her friends. He saw her looking at him and canted his head questioningly. A smile stretched his thin mouth.
'It's strange to look around this circle and realize everyone here is my friend. I've never had friends before,' she said quietly.
He ran his blue tongue around the edges of his mouth, and then leaned closer to her. 'Honeymoon,' he warned her in his raspy voice.
'What do you mean?'
'Happens like this. I've worked as a hunter a lot. You go out with a group of fellows, and by the third day, every one of them is your friend. By the fifth day, things wear a bit thin. And by the seventh day, the group starts to fragment.' His eyes roamed over the firelit circle. Across from them, Jerd was in a friendly tussle with two of the boys. Warken appeared briefly to win it when he dragged her over to sit on his lap. But an instant later, she shot to her feet, shook her head at him mockingly, and resumed her place in the circle. Greft had narrowed his eyes, watching the rough play and then said quietly, 'Two or three weeks from now, you'll probably hate as many as you love.'
She pulled back a bit from him, his cynicism chilling her. He shrugged at her, sensing that he'd almost offended her. 'Or maybe not. Maybe it's just for me that things always seem to go that way. I'm not the easiest fellow to get along with.'
She smiled at him. 'You don't seem hard to get along with.'
'I'm not, for the right people,' he agreed with her. His smile said she was one of the right people. He extended a hand toward her, palm up, an invitation perhaps. 'But I have my boundaries. I know what is mine, and I know that it's my decision whether to share it or not. And there are some things that a man just doesn't share. In a group like this, with so many youngsters, that's going to seem harsh or selfish sometimes. But I think it's only sensible. Now, if I've hunted and been successful, and I've got enough for myself and some left over, then I don't mind sharing, and I think I've the right to expect the same of others. But you should know I'm not the sort that will short myself for the sake of being nice to someone else. For one thing, I've learned it's seldom appreciated. For another, I know that my ability to hunt is based on my strength. If I weaken myself to be a nice fellow today, perhaps all of us will go hungry tomorrow if I'm too slow or distracted to kill my quarry. So I protect my own interests today, to be in a better position to help everyone tomorrow.'
Tats leaned across her lap to speak to Greft. She hadn't even realized he'd been listening to him. 'So,' he asked conversationally, 'how do you tell the difference between today and tomorrow?'
'Beg pardon?' Greft said, sounding annoyed at the interruption. His affability evaporated.
Tats didn't move. He was practically lying in her lap. 'How do you tell when it's today and when it's tomorrow, in terms of sharing what you have? At what point do you say to yourself, well, I didn't share yesterday, so I was strong and hunted and got some meat today, so I can share this meat today. Or do you just keep thinking, I better eat it all myself so that I'll be strong again tomorrow?'
'I think you're missing my point,' Greft said.
'Am I? Explain it again, then.' There was challenge in Tats' voice.
Thymara gave Tats a small nudge to get him to move. He sat up, but somehow he was closer to her. His hip pressed hers now.
'I'll try to explain it to you.' Greft seemed amused. 'But you may not understand. You're a lot younger than I am, and I suspect you've lived by a different set of rules than we have.' He paused and glanced across the fire. Harrikin and Boxter had risen and were in a good-natured shoving match. Hands braced on each other's shoulders, feet dug into the mud, each strained to push the other back. On the sidelines, the other keepers shouted encouragement to the combatants. Greft shook his head, seeming displeased with their light-hearted play. 'Life seems different when you haven't had to deal with people thinking that you don't have the right to exist. When I was young, no one thought I was entitled to anything. I begged when I was small, and when I was a bit older, I fought for what I needed. And when I was old enough to provide for myself and perhaps do a bit better than that, some people assumed that they had the right to share in whatever I managed to bring down. They seemed to think I should be grateful that they allowed me anything at all, even to exist. So unless you'
ve lived under rules like that, I don't think you can understand how we feel. I see this expedition as the chance to get away from the old rules, and live where I can invent rules for myself.'
'Is your first new rule to always take care of yourself first?'
'It might be. But there, I told you that you probably couldn't understand. Of course, to balance that, there's something I don't understand about you. Why don't you explain to us why you're going upriver? Why are you discarding your life in Trehaug to set out with a bunch of rejects and misfits like us?' Greft made his question seem almost friendly.
Across the fire ring, Boxter triumphed. Harrikin crashed to the mud and then rolled away from him. 'I give in!' he cried out, to a chorus of laughter. Both came back to take seats by the fire. The laughter died down, and quiet fell as everyone became aware of Tats and Greft staring at one another.
When Tats spoke, his voice was deeper than usual. 'Maybe I don't see it that way. And maybe I didn't have the favoured life that you imagine I did. Maybe I do understand you wanting to get away from Trehaug to a place where you can change the rules to suit yourself. Maybe most of us here are thinking to do just that. But I don't think the first rule I'll make is "me first".'
A silence fell after Tats spoke, a silence that was bigger than the three of them. The fire crackled. Mosquitoes hummed in the darkness around them. The river rushed by as it always did, and somewhere off in the distance, a creature hooted shrilly and then was still. Thymara glanced around the circle and realized that most of the dragon keepers had focused on their conversation. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and trapped sitting between Greft and Tats, as if she represented territory to be won to one side or the other. She shifted her weight slightly away from Tats, and felt cooler air touch her where his body had been against hers.