by Robin Hobb
He tried the door but found it blocked from the inside. “Redding?” he called out in annoyance, but got no response. How dare he! So Hest had played a bit of a prank on him, giving him the grisly rebukes to deliver. That didn’t merit him barricading Hest out in the wind and rain. “Damn it, Redding, open the door!” he insisted. He hammered on it, but still got no response. The rain began to fall in earnest. Hest put his shoulder to the door and succeeded in pushing it a handbreadth open.
He peered into the dim room. “Redding!” His cry was cut short by a tanned and muscular hand that shot out to seize him by the throat.
“Quiet,” commanded a low voice that he knew too well.
The door was dragged partially open, and he was pulled into the darkened room. He stumbled over something soft and heavy and fell to his knees. The hand released its grip on his throat as he fell; he coughed several times before he could drag in a full breath. By then, the door had been pushed shut. The only light in the room came from the coals in the small hearth. He could just make out that the object blocking the door was a man’s body. The Chalcedean stood between him and escape. The body on the floor was still. The room stank.
“Redding!” He reached out to the body and touched a coarse cotton shirt.
“No!” The disdain in the Chalcedean’s voice was absolute. “No, that is Arich. He came alone. Your man did not do too badly with him at first. He delivered the parcel, and Arich understood its significance before he died. That was necessary, of course. For him to have died with hope would have been intolerable after his terrible failure. Of course he had questions that your man could not answer, so I had to intrude on their meeting. He was so surprised to see me, almost as surprised as your man. Before I dispatched Arich, he said several things that make me believe that Begasti Cored is no more. A shame. He was cleverer than Arich and perhaps would have held more information. Not to mention that the Duke had so cherished the idea that Begasti would recognize the hand of his only son.”
“What are you doing here? And where is Redding?” Hest had recovered himself slightly. He staggered to his feet and moved back toward the wicker wall of the chamber. The flimsy chamber swayed sickeningly under his tread, or perhaps that was vertigo brought on by the horror of the situation. A dead man on the floor of a room he had paid for; would he be blamed?
“I am doing here my mission for the Duke. I am getting him dragon parts. Remember? That was the whole reason I sent you here. As for ‘Redding’ . . . your man’s name, I take it? He is there, on the bed where he fell.”
In the gloom, Hest had not noticed the mound on the low bed. Now he looked and his eyes showed him details, a pale hand dangling to the floor, the lacy cuff dark with blood. “Is he hurt? Will he be all right?”
“No. He is all dead.” There was absolutely no regret in the man’s voice.
Hest gasped unevenly and stepped back until his hands met the woven wall. His knees shook and there was a roaring in his ears. Redding was dead. Redding, a man he had known his whole life, his on-and-off partner for bed play since they had discovered their mutual interest; Redding who had breakfasted with him this morning. Redding had died here in sudden violence. It was incomprehensible. Hest stared, and his eyes gathered the moment and burned it into his mind. Redding sprawled belly down on the pallet, his face turned toward him. The uneven light from the hearth danced over the outline of his open mouth and staring eyes. He looked mildly startled, not dead. Hest waited for him to laugh suddenly and sit up. Then the long moment for it to be some bizarre prank concocted between the Chalcedean and his friend passed. Dead. Redding was dead, right there, on a grubby pallet in a tiny Rain Wild hut.
Suddenly it seemed extremely possible that the same fate could befall him. He found his voice. His words came out hoarsely. “Why did you do this? I was obeying you. I did all you asked me.”
“Almost. But not quite. I told you that you were to come alone. You disobeyed. See what you caused?” The Chalcedean’s tone was the mild rebuke of a schoolmaster with a pupil who had failed a lesson. “But not all was lost. You and your merchant friend lured them out for me.”
“So, you are finished with me? I can go?” Hope surged in him. Get away from this. Flee. Get back to Bingtown as swiftly as possible. Redding was dead. Dead!
“Of course not. Hest Finbok, fix this in your mind. It is a simple idea. Your man Sedric said he would get us dragon parts. We have not yet received what was promised. Your part is over when you fulfill his agreement, which in reality is your agreement, as he was your servant and speaking on your behalf.” The assassin lifted his hands and let them fall. “What is so difficult for you to understand about this?”
“But I did all you asked. I can’t make dragon parts just appear! If I don’t have them, I don’t have them! What do you want? What else can I give you? Money?”
The Chalcedean advanced on him. The scar on his face was not as livid as he had been, but he seemed more haggard, both hair and beard gone ragged. “What do I want?” He put his face close to Hest’s and his hazel eyes lit with fury. “What I do not want is my son’s hand delivered to me in a jeweled box. I want to take back to my duke the flesh and blood and organs of a dragon so that he will return to me my flesh and blood that he holds hostage. I want him to reward me richly and then forget that he ever saw me or my family. So that I and my family can live in safety to the end of my days. Money will not buy that, Bingtowner. Only dragon’s flesh.”
“I don’t know how to get that. Don’t you think that if I could give you that, I would have done so by now?” Hest’s voice shook. His entire body was shaking. Not fear, but something deeper than fear rattled him. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.
“Be quiet. You are useless, but you are the only tool I have. I have done here what could be done with these wretched fools. Sinad Arich and Begasti Cored had failed; I was almost sure of that when I was sent to see what delayed them. So I have removed them from my path. I have also removed your Redding; you chose poorly when you selected him as your hands. He vomited when Arich opened his gift. When I entered the room, he very nearly fainted. Then he screamed like a woman when I killed Arich. This is the sort of man you choose as a companion?”
“I knew him all our lives,” Hest heard himself say. He spoke numbly, scarcely able to comprehend that Redding was no more. Redding clambering up on a table to offer a toast. Redding trying on cloaks at their favorite tailor’s shop. Redding, one eyebrow lifted as he leaned close to share an absolutely scandalous bit of gossip. Redding on his knees, lips wet, teasing Hest. Redding on his belly, eyes going dull. All their lives, and now Redding’s life was ended. No more Redding. “I have no idea how to get dragon parts for you,” he said flatly.
“I’m not surprised,” the Chalcedean replied. “But you’ll find out.”
“How? What are you talking about? What can I possibly do?”
The Chalcedean shook his head wearily. “Did you think I didn’t ask questions about you? Do you think I don’t know all about your wife? And your connections here as the future Trader for your family? I brought you here to use you, to find out all that can be discovered of the dragons and your dear little woman. When we know, we will follow them—”
“No boat will carry us up the river!” Hest dared to interrupt.
The Chalcedean barked out a laugh. “Actually, it was all arranged before we departed from Bingtown. Did you think it all a coincidence that one of the new impervious boats should happen to be departing at such an auspicious time for you? That it had but one cabin left for a passenger? Fool.”
“Then . . . you were on the same ship as we were?”
“Of course. But enough of the obvious. We have still a task here tonight, and that is to make things less obvious before we sleep.”
“Less obvious?”
“You have bodies to dispose of. First, you must strip them of all clothing, the better to destroy their identities.” The Chalcedean paused thoughtfully. “And it would be
better if their faces were not easily recognized by anyone.” He drew out one of his nasty little knives as he crouched by Arich’s body. “You can be stripping him while I take care of this one’s face.” He did not turn as he added, “And we must be quick. This is but the first of our tasks tonight. Hest Finbok has some letters to write, notes offering a very profitable association with his family, but one of a most confidential nature. That, I think, will draw our hidden friends out of their lairs and to the edge of the precipice. Just where we want them.”
Day the 26th of the Fish Moon
Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Ronica Vestrit of the Vestrit Traders, Bingtown
To Whatever Incompetent Bird Handler is accepting messages in Cassarick
The patron requests this be posted in the Bird Keepers’ Guild Hall.
Once might be an accident. Twice might be coincidence. Four times is deliberate spying. You have been tampering with all messages sent to me from Cassarick. Messages sent to me from Malta Vestrit Khuprus have been received with seals damaged or missing, as well as a very recent message sent from Jani Khuprus. It is obvious to us that you are targeting messages moving between the Khuprus and Vestrit Trader families.
It is also obvious that you think us both stupid and ignorant of how the Guild employs birds and bird keepers. You will note that this message reaches you attached to the leg of one of the birds from your cote, birds you are personally responsible for. Although the Guild has refused to name you by name, I know that they now know who is responsible for at least some of the tampering. I have filed a complaint against you specifically, citing the leg-band marks of the birds that have arrived bearing damaged messages for me.
Your days as a keeper are numbered. You are a disgrace to the Rain Wild Traders and to the family that bore you. Shame upon you for betraying your oaths of confidentiality and loyalty. Trade cannot prosper where there is spying and deception. People like you do damage to us all.
CHAPTER SIX
Dragon Blood
He looks sick,” the Duke objected.
Chancellor Ellik lowered his eyes silently, humiliated that his duke would publicly disparage the gift he had brought, but he would bow his head and accept it. He had no choice in that, and it pleased the Duke to keep him aware of that.
The private audience room was warm, possibly stifling to some of those in attendance. The Duke had lost so much flesh that he felt cold all the time, even on a fine spring day. Fires crackled in both the large hearths, the stone floors were thickly carpeted, and the walls were draped with tapestries. Soft, warm robes swaddled the Duke’s thin body. Still, he felt chilled, though sweat stood on the faces of the six guardsmen who attended him. The only others in the room were his chancellor and the creature he had dragged in with him.
The chained dragon man, the Elderling who stood before him, did not sweat. He was thin, with sunken eyes and lank hair. Ellik had allowed him only a loincloth, doubtless the better to show off his scaled flesh. A pity it also showed his ribs and how the knobs of his elbows and knees stood out. A bandage was bound to one of his shoulders. Not at all the glorious being that the Duke had anticipated.
“I am sick.”
The creature’s voice startled him. It was not just that he could speak; his voice was stronger than the Duke would have expected it to be, given his condition. Moreover, he spoke in Chalcedean. It was accented but clear enough.
The Elderling coughed as if to illustrate that he spoke the truth, the light sort of throat clearing one did when afraid that coughing hard enough to clear the mucus would hurt more than it was worth. The Duke was familiar with that sort of cough. The creature drew the back of one slender blue-scaled hand across his mouth, sighed, and then lifted his eyes to meet the Duke’s stare. When he let his hands drop back to his sides, the chains on his wrists rattled. His eyes were human, in this light, but when he had first been brought into the chamber, his gaze had seemed lambent like a cat’s, gleaming blue in the candlelight.
“Silence!” Ellik spat the word at his creature. “Silence and on your knees before the Duke.” He expressed his frustration with a sharp jerk on the dragon man’s chain, and the creature stumbled forward, falling to his knees and barely catching himself on his hands.
The dragon man cried out as he slapped the floor and then, with difficulty, straightened so that he was kneeling. He glared hatred at Ellik.
As the chancellor drew his fist back, the Duke intervened. “So. It can talk, can it? Let it speak, Chancellor. It amuses me.” The Duke could see that this did not please Ellik. All the more reason to hear what the dragon man would say.
The scaled man cleared his throat but still spoke hoarsely. His courtesy was that of a man on the crumbling edge of sanity. The Duke was familiar with that sort of final clutching at normality. Why did desperate men believe that logic and formality could restore them to a life that had vanished?
“My name is Selden Vestrit of the Bingtown Traders, fostered by the Khuprus family of the Rain Wild Traders, and singer to the Dragon Tintaglia. But perhaps you know that?” The man looked up into the Duke’s face hopefully. When he saw no recognition there, he resumed speaking. “Tintaglia chose me to serve her, and I was glad to do so. She gave me a task. The dragon bid me go forth, to see if I could find others of her kind or hear any tales of them. And I went. I journeyed far with a group of Traders. I went for love of the dragon, but they went in the hope of gaining her favor and somehow turning that favor to wealth. But no matter where we went, our search was fruitless. The others wanted to turn back, but I knew I had to go on.”
Once more, his eyes searched the Duke’s impassive face for some sort of sympathy or interest. The Duke allowed his face to betray no interest in the tale. The dragon singer’s voice was more subdued when he went on. “Eventually, my own people betrayed me. The Traders I traveled with dismissed our quest. I think they felt I had betrayed them, had led them on a foolish venture that had used up their money and gained them nothing. They stole everything I had, and at the next port, they sold me as a slave. My new ‘owners’ took me far to the south and displayed me at markets and crossroads fairs. But then, when my novelty waned and I began to get sick, they sold me again. I was shipped north, but pirates took our vessel and I changed hands. I was bought as a freak to be displayed to the curious. Somehow your chancellor learned of my existence and brought me here. And now I have come to you.”
The Duke had known nothing of that. He wondered if Ellik had, but he did not look at his chancellor. The dragon man held his attention. He spoke persuasively, this “dragon singer.” His voice was rough, the music gone from it, but the cadence and tone of his words would have been convincing to a less susceptible man. The Duke made no response to him. Desperation broke into his voice on his next words, and the Duke wondered if he were younger than he appeared.
“Those who claimed to own me and sold me were liars! I am not a slave. I have never committed any crime to be punished with slavery, nor ever been a citizen of any place where such a punishment is accepted. If you will not free me on my own word that my imprisonment is unjust, then let me send word to my people. They will buy my freedom back from you.” He coughed again, harder this time, and pain spasmed across his face with each rough exhalation. He barely managed to remain kneeling upright, and when he wiped his mouth, his lips remained wet with mucus. It was a disgusting display.
The Duke regarded him coldly. “Now I know your name, but who you are does not matter to me. It is what you are that brings you here. You are part dragon and that is all I care about.” He considered his options. “How long have you been ill?”
“No. You are wrong. I am not part dragon. I am a man, changed by a dragon. My mother is from Bingtown, but my father was a Chalcedean, Kyle Haven. He was a sea captain. A man just like you.”
The creature dared to knot his fists as he advanced on his knees. Ellik jerked on the leash he held, and the Elderling gave a wordless cry of pain. El
lik spurned him casually with a booted foot, pushing him over on his side. The creature glared up at him. The chancellor set his boot on the chained Elderling’s throat, and for a moment the Duke recognized the warrior Ellik had once been.
“You had best find some courtesy, Elderling, or I will teach you some myself.” Ellik spoke severely, but the Duke wondered if it was truly out of respect for him, or if he wanted to silence the creature before his “gift” could deny his bloodlines again. It didn’t matter. The fine scaling, the blue coloration, even the gleaming eyes proved he was not human. A clever lie, to pretend his father was Chalcedean. Clever as a dragon, as the saying went.
“How long have you been ill?” the Duke demanded again.
“I don’t know.” The Elderling had lost his defiance. He did not look up at the Duke as he spoke. “It is hard to tell the passage of time from inside a dark ship’s belly. But I was already ill when they sold me, and sick when the pirates took the ship I was on. For a time, they feared to touch me, and not just because of my appearance.” He coughed again, curling inward where he lay.
“He is down to bone,” the Duke observed.
“Such, I believe, is their natural shape,” Ellik suggested cautiously. “To be long and thin like that. There are some few images of them in old scrolls that depict them that way. Tall and scaled.”