Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts)

by Lisle, Holly

  Kait gave him a cold, calculating look and said, “I ought to be. I’ve spent my entire life training in gymnastics. It makes my . . . work . . . both safer and easier.”

  The curiosity vanished, and the man said, “Ahhh. Practical. I ought to consider having some of our young women trained the same way. They stay small enough that agility would be a real asset even once they become adults.” He looked back to Dùghall. “Now, about the horses . . .”

  She turned away from him, pretending to study the sea, and felt the gorge rise in the back of her throat. Carelessness. She could let it kill her if she chose. Or she could remember that she was only lucky that the people with whom she traveled did not exercise their right to kill her for being the monster that she was. She could reclaim the wary, fearful, life-preserving habits of a lifetime, happily discarded in the last half year, and by so doing choose to survive.

  They spent two days waiting for the arrival of their horses, their clothes, and their supplies, and four days on the road just to reach the outer edge of Calimekka. They spent another three days riding into the center of the city, signing false names to the documents at each gate, providing false identification, working out their stories bit by bit.

  By the time they reached the center of the city, where the Houses of the Families marked the hilltops and the wealthy clustered together in their tall apartments and stately homes, they had discarded their stolen finery and bought more ordinary clothing, and had gone from being emigrating Salbarians and Territory failures returning from colonial disaster to well-to-do foreign traders looking for new markets.

  Thank all the gods for diplomatic training, Kait thought. She spoke accentless Donneabba, the primary language of the Imumbarra Isles, and looked enough like a short, thin Donneai to convincingly act the part of Dùghall’s assistant. Ian turned out to be brilliant in Hmago, the trade language of the Manarkans. Hasmal claimed to be Hmoth by birthright, and his Hmago was perfect, too. Jaim and Trev looked like cousins; they pretended to be from the Veral Territories, since they spoke only the normal Iberan tongues. Yanth, who had skipped language studies as much as he could, could pass for nothing but a Calimekkan when he opened his mouth, so he played the part of the locally hired guard. Valard, too, was unmistakably Calimekkan; he donned scruffy leathers and joined Yanth in pretending to be a mercenary. Ry, tall and golden, with his exotic pale eyes and fierce blade of a nose, might as well have had the Sabir crest tattooed on his cheeks. But he’d dyed his hair with ecchan stain, which turned it a muddy, dismal shade of brown, and he’d changed his walk, slumping his shoulders a bit and shuffling to make himself appear both older and less threatening. His story was that he was back from the Sabir territory in western Manarkas.

  They called themselves the Hawk-Kin Trading Alliance, and split up to work their way through the commercial districts of the city nearest the centers of power, Sabir House, Galweigh House, Embassy Row, and the Great Parnissery. They were hunting for Dragons, but in the week that they’d conducted their search, they’d found no sign, no rumors, no obvious marks of new magic.

  Kait heard from a number of sources, just in passing, that the Galweighs were no more, and that Galweigh House had fallen and lay empty. She thought about that at night when she listened to Ry talking to his lieutenants in the room next to hers. The inn’s walls were thin; sometimes when he slept she could hear him breathing, and she thought about the rumors then, too. If the Galweigh Family was no more, what did she owe to its memory? Had the Sabirs overrun the Galweighs in the New Territories? In Galweigia? In the scattered cities and towns of Ibera? Had those distant Galweighs renounced their interest in Calimekka, or in her branch of the Family? She did not discuss the matter with Dùghall. She had a job to do, and any personal matters would wait until she had successfully completed it. Or died trying.

  She had little success at that job, though, until she entered a gem shop on Amial Throalsday and started selling her story to the gauntest specter of a gem merchant she’d ever seen. “Hawk-Kin Trading Alliance offers you finest goods,” Kait was telling him. She leaned forward on his counter, simultaneously tucking her upper arms against her rib cage to deepen her cleavage, giving him a good opportunity to take a look. She wished she wasn’t so skinny—in general, men in Calimekka preferred plump women—but the stress of being in constant contact with Ry and not following her body’s desires had worn her to a stick-thin shadow of her already lean self. This particular merchant didn’t seem to mind, though. She was taking pains to keep her Imumbarra accent authentic, but from his glazed eyes and quickened breath, she figured she was probably wasting the effort. On him, anyway. His mournful gaze had never reached all the way up to her face.

  The customer at the back of the store was straining to hear, too, though, so she stayed in character. “Goods from secret harbors, from our own places. Top quality, low prices, nothing like you get from anyone else. Best-best stuff. Dream-with-eyes-open smoke, firestones and filigree, fine caberra, worked terrapin-shell and durrwood incenses and perfumes, the best ivory and greenstone you ever see, excellent white nalle pelts. Artifacts and Ancients’ books, too, if you know anybody want that sort of thing.”

  “And how much do I have to pay up front?”

  Kait shook her head. “We small, you small. Right now I looking for big fish.” She winked at him. “You know any big fish you can send me to, if he buys from us then you just give us order and, like magic, the big fish gonna pay expedition cost for you. You no tell, we no tell.”

  The man’s gaze finally rose from her breasts to her face, and he smiled broadly. “Really? You’d do that?”

  “Sure-sure. We got our own ship, got our return cargo mostly ready, but we need big spender to pay supply costs and cover trade expenses. You know what I mean?”

  He nodded. “You need an investor.”

  “Yah. In-vess-tor. Deep pockets, new money . . . somebody who not minding take chances to get a nice return. He get good stuff . . . you not have to worry you tell your rich friends about us. They still be your friends after. But you help us, we help you.”

  “Firestones, you say? And ivory and greenstone? I suppose I know a few people . . . they probably know a few people.”

  “We make meeting, your people and my people, yes?” Kait had given him the bait, which he didn’t take. No interest in books or artifacts from before the Wizards’ War. But she’d heard the spy who was studying the goldwork in the long cabinet across the room catch his breath when she’d mentioned them.

  She thought her best chance to flush the eavesdropper would be to leave, and not to leave any contact information with this merchant. So she told the man, “You think at what I say, you talk your friends. I come back in day, maybe two days, and if they interested, Hawk-Kin and your people meet someplace.”

  He nodded. “Anyplace I could reach you to let you know earlier?”

  She shook her head. “Easier for me find you than for you find me.”

  “Well, then. I’ll look forward to seeing you again.” He said that mostly to her breasts, but Kait suspected he was telling it to the promise of firestones delivered without shipping costs, too.

  She sauntered out into the street and heard the customer slip out the door behind her. She kept her pace jaunty and confident, but allowed herself to do a bit of gawking, the way she’d noticed most tourists did when they came to Calimekka. She didn’t want to go so quickly that he lost her before he worked up his nerve to approach her.

  As she was staring up at the six-story stone apartment buildings that rose above the street-level shops, and admiring the waterspouts carved in the shape of leopards and pythons, his courage fired to the catching point.

  He cleared his throat and tapped her elbow. A light tap, but insistent. She had already begun to learn things about him before she turned—things that made her dislike him. He smelled of deviousness, and he walked like a thief. But when they were face-to-face, she managed a polite smile. She took in his narrowed eyes, the shiftiness of
his stance, and the way his smile never revealed his teeth.

  “I meet you before?” she asked him.

  “We haven’t been introduced. But I heard that you were looking for investors. For a trading run.”

  “You heard that listening, eh, but I not talking to you. No one ever telling you it not a good thing listening to people talking each other? No one ever tell you if you do then you hearing things you not like? Eh?”

  “Sorry I was eavesdropping. And really, I don’t think any large investor would begrudge you giving free shipping to the man who hooked you up with your major investors. That’s not necessarily an everyday practice, but it isn’t as uncommon as you might think. However . . .” He raised one finger and his smile broadened and became even oilier. “However, I believe that I can give you all the investors you need without you having to resort to cutting prices. If you would be willing to talk with me, I can offer more than you might imagine.”

  She stopped and leaned against the wall of the shop beside her. People hurried by, glancing at her and the man and then looking away. The street was packed, the noise tremendous. She waited with her arms folded tightly across her chest until a peddler hawking his tin wares had rattled by and rounded the corner. Then she said, “So, then. I sure-sure love to fill my hold and get back to sea, but you don’t look like rich man to me.”

  She looked pointedly at his clothes, which were of fair cut and decent cloth, but nowhere near the quality of the clothing she had worn as a daughter of the House. They were painfully new. His hands were callused and bore old stains, though they were raw from scrubbing, and the nails had been carefully cleaned and manicured. He had a new and stylish haircut, something drastically different from what he had worn before; his skin was still pale on his forehead and above his ears and in a broad band across the upper half of his neck.

  He was, she realized, terrifically handsome, and young, and powerfully built. But he didn’t seem completely at home in his own body.

  Interesting.

  He smiled—again, that oily, lying smile.

  “I’ve come into some money. And I intend to make a great deal more. But I’m especially interested in the books and artifacts you mentioned. Things from the . . . the Ancients. And I have a number of wealthy friends who would also be interested in hearing what you’ve found. We’ve decided to, ah, specialize in that area of investing.”

  She smiled and waited.

  “Have you located a hoard? Or even a city? You have a city, don’t you? One that hasn’t been found by anyone else?”

  She kept smiling.

  “Which one?”

  She waited.

  He looked at her, then nodded and chuckled, and looked at his feet. “If I were sitting on an undiscovered city, I wouldn’t say anything about it, either. Well enough.” He returned his attention to her. “Will you arrange to meet with us? Let us make you a fair offer for your services, and a promise to pay excellent prices for your trade goods. I assure you we won’t waste your time.”

  He fit the Dragon profile Dùghall had given her. Her shields were up, which prevented him from sensing her magic—but the same shields also prevented her from telling whether he had magic. That would be the final identifying factor, but she didn’t dare use it. She would have to content herself with the fact that he was a strong, handsome young man who showed signs of having suddenly and recently come up in the world, and who had a dangerous interest in artifacts of the Ancients.

  She gave him an appropriate Imumbarran bow, head ducked and hands palm down at hip level, parallel to the ground. “Our senior traders meet with you. Give me place where I can reach you. You talk with your people, and I talk with mine. And when everyone agree, we set time for meeting.”

  “Your name?” he asked.

  “Chait-eveni.” It was the Imumbarran equivalent of the diminutive for Kait. A name she’d heard often enough to remember and respond to, thanks to visits by a multitude of Imumbarra-raised cousins, but one different enough from her real name to prevent uncomfortable connections. “And yours?”

  “Domagar. Domagar Addo.”

  It was a field hand’s name. A name with not even the slightest connection to Family, to the upper classes, to wealth or power. She said, “I will tell my partners.” She got him to give her an address where she could contact him, then left as quickly as she could.

  Yanth and Valard sauntered into the inn just ahead of Jaim and Trev. All four of them were grim. Ry, alone at the table, beckoned them over.

  “Trouble?”

  Valard waved one of the serving girls over and ordered plantain beer for all of them. When the girl left, he said, “I’d say yes. And I’d say it was trouble we could get out of if you’d take your woman and get the hell out of this city with us.”

  Ry looked from face to face. “What sort of trouble?”

  The four of them were quiet for a moment. Then Jaim said, “We can’t be sure. You’re barzanne—we found notices posted on the doors of the Great Parnissery today, and in the slave markets. There’s no mention of any of us. . . .”

  “But I’m not soothed by that,” Yanth said. “We made cautious inquiries after our families, hoping to at least get news of them. But none of them are in the city anymore, and no one knows where they’ve gone or why they left. Our family homes are empty, the belongings still inside—”

  “You went in?” Ry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Believing that your families were gone and knowing that if they fled Calimekka to save their lives, their homes would surely be watched, you went in? You’re insane, the lot of you.” How fast would Imogene have her soldiers on them? He stared at the inn’s front door. Men in Sabir green and silver probably already had the place surrounded; he and his friends would have to fight their way out, and they were sure to die in the process—

  Yanth rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course we didn’t go in. We didn’t go anywhere near our old homes—we aren’t madmen. But people were only too happy to tell us what they knew.”

  “That your families have fled Calimekka.”

  Jaim said, “As best anyone can tell, yes.”

  The darker possibility—that their families were dead—Ry left unspoken. His friends would have already considered it, and they would deal with it in their own ways. While hope remained, however, he and they would act as if the happiest outcome were also the only outcome.

  Valard said, “You could take Kait with you and we could leave. Follow our families wherever they went, start a new life there. There’s nothing for you here anymore—you’re forsaken and cursed now, and this city is dead to you.”

  The shock of being barzanne for certain, instead of just considering the possibility of it, burrowed into Ry’s gut like a knife. Taking Kait with him and leaving Calimekka would be both easiest and safest. The city could never be his home again. Nevertheless, he shook his head. “I stay. If you want to go after your families, I release you from your promises to me, and I wish you good speed and good health. But I won’t take Kait from Calimekka against her wishes, and as long as she is here, I won’t leave.”

  His friends glanced at each other and nodded, as if he only said what they expected. “I told you,” Jaim said. “He’ll stay here until they catch him and skin him and march him through the streets.”

  “Then I stay, too,” Yanth said.

  “And I.” Trev nodded.

  “I’m not going to abandon you fools here without me,” Jaim said. “You wouldn’t survive a week.”

  They all looked at Valard. “Which leaves me.” He looked at the door of the inn, and Ry saw a dark, dangerous hunger flash across his face. “I want to be away from here,” he said. “This isn’t the city I know anymore—it’s full of secrets and ghosts.” He looked back at Ry and slowly smiled, but the smile couldn’t erase that ominous strangeness from his eyes. “We’re all friends, though,” he said. “So I’ll stay.”

  Ry said, “Thank you. We’ll do what we have to do here, and f
ind your families as soon as we dare.”

  And while he smiled and bought another round of beer and sat talking about the day’s many failures, he watched Valard out of the corner of his eye and wondered when his old friend had become a stranger.

  Chapter 28

  A week to the day from Kait’s meeting with Domagar Addo, the traders met with the would-be investors. Dùghall had chosen the site, and he and Kait went in early by separate routes, carefully shielded.

  The Bradenberry Inn squatted at the base of Palmetto Cliff, nestled into the bones of the Galweighs’ mountain, positioned directly beneath Galweigh House. As she walked up the street toward the inn, Kait looked up at her old home with both longing and regret. Galweigh House, the part built into the face of the cliff, soared toward the clouds, a gleaming white fortress sparkling with semiprecious stones and mosaics of colored glass that blazed like gemstones in the midday sun. It was an Ancients’ artifact made a part of the mountain, haunted by the horrors of its past; it was a treasure house locked away above the rest of the world; it was like a beautiful woman who flaunted her riches but held herself in haughty disdain over the heads of the poor and the powerless. And if the rumors were true, it lay empty, home only to vermin and ghosts. She longed to climb up to it, to walk through its gate and enter its great hall and run through its corridors. She longed to touch its walls and call out the names of her mother and father, her brothers and sisters—and she longed to hear their voices shout her name in greeting.

  But she wouldn’t make that climb—only dust and the ghostly whisper of the wind and the echoes of her voice would greet her if she dared return.

  Ahead of Kait, the translucent half-arch of the Avenue of Triumph rose from the center of Celebration Square to the western end of Palmetto Cliff Road, looking like a thread spun by a spider to connect the mundane world with the magical House above. Behind her, the obsidian Path of Gods switchbacked up the cliff face, ugly and solid and imposing.

  She was as close to home as she dared to get. She might never step inside Galweigh House’s translucent white walls again, might never again sleep in her own bed, might never watch the sun rise through her window or reclaim her belongings. She had to assume that everything she had lost was gone forever. So she indulged herself with only that one wistful look at the white balconies stepped down the cliff face, and then she returned her attention to her task. She reached the inn and pushed through the thick, carved mahogany doors into cool dimness.