The Dragon Keeper trwc-1

by Robin Hobb

  He felt a small vibration and then that prickle of awareness.

  Someone, a stranger to Tarman, was on the deck of his ship. Leftrin stood silently. From a nearby equipment box, he picked up the large hardwood fid used for mending and splicing the heaviest lines. He weighed the heft of it in his hand, smiled to himself and moved quietly as the cat to the door. He eased it open. The cool air of morning flowed in. In the upper reaches of the forest, birds were calling. In the lower levels, bats were still heading home to roost. He stepped out on his deck and began a noiseless patrol of his vessel.

  He found no one, but when he came back to the door of the deckhouse, a small scroll rested on the deck there. His heart gave a lurch as he stooped down to pick it up. The paper of the scroll was soft and thick; it smelled of a foreign land, bitterly spicy. He carried it back into his stateroom and shut the door. The wax that sealed it was a plain brown blob; no signet press betrayed the owner. He flicked it off and unrolled the small scroll. He read it by the grey light seeping in his small window.

  'There are no coincidences. I've manoeuvred you into place. Lend your support to the one that I've arranged to be there. You will know him soon enough. You know what he seeks. A fortune rides on this, and the blood of my family. If all goes well, the fortune will be shared with you. If it does not go well, my family will not be the only ones to mourn.'

  It was not signed, but no signature was needed. Sinad Arich. Months ago, he had given the foreigner passage to Trehaug, and almost as soon as the boat had docked, the Chalcedean merchant had vanished. He hadn't asked for passage back down the river. Two days later, when the Tarman was loaded with cargo and Leftrin had heard nothing from or about the man, they had departed. The foreign trader had left few signs of his passage on the Tarman. There had been a shirt that Leftrin had dropped overboard and some smoking herbs that he'd appropriated for his own use. The crew never asked what had become of their passenger, and Leftrin hadn't made much noise about his leaving Trehaug that day. The man's papers had been in order and he'd sold him passage up the river. That was what he intended to say if anyone ever asked him about the merchant. But no one ever had, and Leftrin had hoped he had set that misadventure behind him.

  He'd hoped in vain. He wished he'd never heard of that damn Chalcedean merchant, wished he'd found a way to throw him overboard a year ago. Sinad Arich had haunted his nightmares since he'd last seen the man. After all that time, Leftrin had almost believed he'd seen the last of him, that the man had only wanted to use him once and then let him go.

  But that was what it was to deal with Chalced or any Chalcedean. Once they knew you had a weakness, a secret spot of any kind, they'd hook into you, exploit you until you were either killed in the process or turned on them and killed them. He gritted his teeth together. Only a few moments ago, he'd been doltishly happy at the prospect of travelling upriver with the object of his fascination. Now he wondered who else would be travelling with him, and how relentless they would be in their threats. He wondered if he would have to kill someone on this journey, and if he did, how he would do it and if he would be able to keep it concealed from Alise.

  It saddened him. He suspected that if she knew half the things he'd done in his life, she'd have nothing to do with him. He didn't like that he had to conceal part of what he was to enjoy her companionship, but he would. He'd do whatever he must to have what little time with her that he could. He was already at an immense disadvantage with such a fine lady. Here he was, a Rain Wilds riverman with little more than a boat to his name. She couldn't even imagine what a unique and wonderful boat the Tarman was. She couldn't possibly see his ship as his fortune. So he didn't know why she seemed to like him. He worked hard and expected he always would. He had no fine home to present to her. His clothes were rags compared to the garments of her dandified escort; he wore no rings. Before she had set foot on his ship, he'd had little more ambition than to continue doing what he'd always done: carrying freight shipments up and down the river, and making enough to pay his crew, and to have a good meal when his schedule allowed him to overnight in a town. He'd had his chance to make a fortune selling off that wizardwood. He could have been a wealthy man now, with a palatial home in Jamaillia or Chalced. He didn't regret the decision he'd made; it was the only right thing he could have done.

  Yet he wondered at how small a life he'd been willing to settle for. He wished in vain that he'd foreseen that some day such a woman might walk into his life. If he had, perhaps he would have saved the sort of wealth that might impress her. But what could he have acquired that could compare with whatever her rich husband in Bingtown offered her?

  He looked at the little scroll again. He wondered if he should have killed the Chalcedean merchant and dropped him over the side before they ever reached Trehaug. He didn't think of it casually; he'd only killed one man, long ago, and that had been over a game of chance gone wrong, with accusations that he was cheating. He hadn't been, and when the fellow and his friends had made it clear that they'd kill him before they let him walk off with his winnings, he'd beaten one man unconscious, killed another and fled the third. He didn't feel proud that he'd done so, only competent that he'd survived. It was another decision that he refused to regret.

  So now as he contemplated retroactive murder, he did it only in a 'what if' frame of mind. If he'd killed the merchant, he would not be standing here now holding this threatening scroll, he wouldn't have to wonder which of the people that would be accompanying him on his journey was a traitor to the Traders, and he wouldn't have to speculate on whether Sinad Arich had really had a finger in his winning this sweet plum of a contract. And, he thought, as he reduced the scroll to shreds of fibre and dropped them out of the window, he wouldn't be worrying if he'd have to do something that might cause Alise to think less of him.

  'Time to get up!'

  'Get up, pack your stuff, rouse your dragons!'

  'Get up. Time to get on your way.'

  Thymara opened her eyes to the grey of distant dawn. She yawned and abruptly wished she had never agreed to any of this. Around her, she heard the grumbles of the other rousted keepers. The ones doing the rousting were the men who had accompanied them from Trehaug to here. Their duties would come to an end today and apparently they could not wait for them to be over. The sooner the keepers rose, woke their dragons and began their first day's journey, the sooner the men who had brought them here could turn around and go back to their homes.

  Thymara yawned again. She supposed she'd better get up if she wanted anything to eat before the day started. She'd never known just how much and how fast boys could eat until she'd had to share a common cook-pot with them. She sat up slowly, clutching her blanket to her, but the chill morning air still reached in to touch her.

  'You awake?' Rapskal asked her. Ever since they'd left Trehaug, he'd slept as close to her as she would allow him. One morning she'd awakened to find him snuggled up against her back, his arm around her waist and his head pillowed against her. The warmth had been welcome, but not the awakening to sniggers. Kase and Boxter had teased them relentlessly. Rapskal had grinned rakishly but uncertainly; she suspected he wasn't quite sure what the joke was. She'd resolutely ignored them. She told herself that Rapskal's need to be near her had more to do with a kitten's desire to sleep close to something familiar than any amorous intent. There was no attraction between them. Not that she would have acted on it if there had been. What was forbidden was forbidden. She knew that. They all knew that.

  But she wondered if they all accepted it as deeply as she did.

  Greft had strongly hinted that he did not. He was going to make his own rules, he'd said. So. What about Jerd? Would she keep the rules they had all grown up with?

  As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she tried not to notice who slept adjacent to whom, nor to wonder what any of it meant. After all, everyone had to sleep somewhere. If Jerd always spread her blankets next to Tats, it could simply mean that she felt safe sleeping beside him. And if Gr
eft always found an excuse to try to engage her in talk when the others were getting ready to sleep, it might mean only that he thought she was intelligent.

  She glanced over at him now. He was, as usual, among the first to rise and was already folding his bedding. He slept without a shirt; she'd been surprised to discover that a lot of the boys did. Jerd, who had brothers, was surprised that she didn't know that, but Thymara could not recall that she'd ever seen her father half-clothed. She watched Greft as he scratched his scaled back. She knew that feeling of relentless itching. It meant that the scales were growing thicker and harder. She watched him bend his spine slightly so that he could ripple the scales up and scratch beneath them. If he was self-conscious at all about how heavily the Rain Wilds had marked him, he didn't show it. This morning it almost seemed as if he were showing off his body.

  Her mind flitted back to his words the night he had all but driven Tats away. Greft wanted to make his own rules, he'd said. And he had already begun to do just that. She was a little surprised at how easily he had made himself the leader of their group. All he had to do was behave as if he were. All the younger ones had fallen in with him immediately. Only a few remained outside his spell. Tats was one of them. She suspected that if Greft had not made his move so quickly and so definitively labelled Tats as an outsider, Tats would have moved up to a position of leadership. Tats, she thought, probably knew that as well. Jerd was another one who regarded Greft with suspicion, or at least reservation. It's because we are both female, Thymara thought to herself. It's because of the way he looks at us, as if he's always evaluating us. She'd even seen it the first time he looked at Sylve; she'd almost seen him dismiss her as too young.

  It was oddly flattering yet a bit frightening to have him look at her. As if he could read her thought or feel her gaze, he suddenly turned his head. She looked down, but it was too late. He knew she'd been staring at him. From the corner of her eye, as he stretched yet again and rolled his shoulders, she saw him smiling at her. She spoke to Rapskal before Greft could start a conversation with her. 'Are you awake? We're supposed to start our journey today.'

  'I'm awake,' the boy said. 'But why do we have to start so early? The dragons aren't going to like being made to move before the day warms up.'

  Greft responded before she could. 'Because the good people of Cassarick are very much looking forward to us being gone. Once we've moved the dragons out, they'll put docks along the shore here. They'll probably repair or perhaps properly build the locks they attempted to build for the serpents. Done right, it would allow them to bring larger ships here from Trehaug. Improved shipping could mean that they could better exploit whatever they can dig out of the old city. And with the dragons gone, they'll feel safer about coming and going and digging deeper and closer to this place. To answer your question more directly, Rapskal, it's about money. The sooner we take the dragons out of here, the sooner the Traders can stop spending money on dragons and make more money from the buried city.'

  Rapskal greeted his words with the furrowed brow and slight pout that meant he was thinking hard. 'But… why do they have to make us wake up so early? Will one morning make that much difference?'

  Greft shook his head, muttered something uncomplimentary and turned away from the boy. A shadow of hurt flickered across Rapskal's face. And Thymara felt a moment of absolute dislike for Greft. It startled her in its intensity.

  'Let's get something to eat before we have to get going,' Thymara suggested quickly. 'This will be the last day that they feed the dragons for us. Beginning tomorrow, we're going to have to provide for them. And hope they can do a bit of providing for themselves.'

  Rapskal's face brightened at her words. It took so little to make him happy. Her words didn't have to be kind, even, just not cruel. She tried not to wonder what his early life had been like that mere neutrality seemed like friendship to him. She began folding her blankets up with a small sigh. Of course, even neutral comments attracted Rapskal. Talking to him directly had probably earned her a full day of his close and chattering company.

  'I've been worrying about how we're going to feed our dragons. I think the dragons can find some food for themselves. Dead stuff should be easy for them, and maybe big fish, too. Or big dead fish, that might be easiest of all for them. My Heeby likes fish, and she doesn't much care if she gets it alive or dead.'

  'Heeby. Is that her real dragon name?' Tats had suddenly appeared behind Rapskal. He had his pack already loaded and on his back. He'd shaved, too. So he'd been awake for a while. He didn't shave often, only about once a week. Thymara had seen him do it once since they'd left Trehaug. He didn't seem very confident of his technique; he crouched with a small mirror balanced on his knee and scraped carefully with a folding razor. It had surprised her to see him shaving; she had realized then that she still thought of him as more boy than man. She glanced over at Rapskal. She supposed that she thought of all of them as boys still, with the possible exception of Greft. Rapskal, she realized, was probably close to her own age. Not a boy at all, really. Until he spoke.

  'No. I don't think Heeby had a name before I got here. But she likes me and she likes the name I gave her, so I think it's going to be all right.' Rapskal suddenly halted where he stood. Then he smiled indulgently. 'Rats! I thought about her too loud and waked her up. I'd better eat fast and get over there. She's hungry. And I got to tell her again that today is the day we're going up the river. She forgets stuff pretty easy.'

  He crumpled his blanket up and stuffed it into his pack, then looked around the area where he'd slept. He snatched up his extra shirt, pushed it into the top of his pack, and then said, 'Time to eat,' and headed off to the main campfire. Tats and Thymara watched him go.

  'I think Rapskal and Heeby are pretty well matched,' Tats observed with a smile. He stooped down and picked up a stray sock Rapskal had dropped. 'I wish he weren't so careless,' he added more soberly.

  'Give it to me. I'll make sure he gets it.'

  'No, I've got it,' Tats replied easily. 'I'm headed that way anyway. You're right. We'd better enjoy our last easy meal.'

  Thymara put her neatly-folded blanket into her pack and did a quick check of the campsite. No. She hadn't forgotten anything. All the others were beginning to stir. Greft, she noticed, was first in line by the porridge pot. She'd watched how he ate; he'd be fast, and get a second serving before some of the others had even had a first one. His bad manners annoyed her even if she wondered if she were a fool for not copying him. A couple of the boys had started to do so, over the last day or so. Kase and Boxter imitated him in most things, she'd noted. It made her uneasy to see them trail after him now, food bowls brimming. When Greft sat down to eat, they squatted to either side of him. She was surprised to see that Nortel had a black eye and a bruised face. 'What happened to him?' she asked.

  'Got in a scuffle with one of the other lads,' Tats said briefly. 'What's going to become of the unclaimed dragons?' Tats' question distracted her from staring at Nortel.

  'What?'

  'There are two dragons that don't have keepers. You must have noticed.'

  Food bowls in hand, they fell into line behind Nortel and Sylve. The girl immediately turned to join the conversation. 'The silver one and the dirty one,' she filled in.

  'I think if he were cleaned up a bit, he'd be copper,' Thymara mused. She'd noticed them. She'd almost chosen one of them when it looked like Skymaw was going to refuse her. 'They're both in bad condition,' she added, and then forced herself to voice what she knew they were all thinking. 'Without keepers to help them along, they won't last long on this journey. I'm not even sure they'll follow us when we leave. Neither one looks very intelligent.'

  'You're right about that. I saw the silver snuggling up to the barge last night, as if it were another dragon. It's not there this morning, so maybe it figured it out. Still. Not very intelligent. But I doubt that the Cassarick Council will allow us to leave any dragons behind,' Tats said. 'If we did, I suspect they'd both be dead w
ithin a week. Somehow I doubt they'd continue feeding them once we were gone.'

  'That's mean,' said Sylve. 'They've been stingy and cruel to these dragons for a long time. My poor Mercor says he can't remember a time when dragons were so badly treated by humans or Elderlings.'

  Nortel nodded wordlessly. The man dishing the porridge glopped a scoop into his bowl. Nortel held his bowl steadily there until the man grudgingly added a bit more. Sylve stepped up to take her place, holding her bowl over the cauldron of porridge. It bobbed as it received its load.

  'Well,' Tats said reluctantly, 'If we just let those two tag along after us and don't do anything for them, we'll be letting them die just as surely as if we left them here to be starved.'

  'They aren't fit to survive,' Alum observed. He was in line behind Tats. 'My Arbuc may not be bright, but he's fast and physically healthy. That's why I chose him. I thought he had the best chance of surviving the journey.'

  'The midwife said I wasn't fit to survive,' Thymara said quietly as her bowl was filled with porridge. She trailed after Sylve to a pile of hard bread rolls set out on a clean towel. Each girl chose one and then moved on.

  'We live in a hard land. A hard land requires hard rules,' Alum said, but he didn't sound quite as certain as he had a few moments before.

  'I'll take on the copper one,' Tats said quietly. The keepers were settling into a circle to eat. 'I'll clean him up a bit and get some of the parasites off him before we leave this morning.'

  'I'll help you.' Thymara hadn't noticed Jerd, but there she was, sitting down carefully next to Tats. She balanced her chunk of bread on one knee, then held her bowl in one hand and her spoon in the other to eat.

  'I'll take the silver,' Thymara declared recklessly. Somehow she didn't think it would sit well with Skymaw. She suspected the dragon would be jealous of any attention she gave the creature. Well, let her see how it felt, she thought, almost vindictively.