by Robin Hobb
“The dragon!” Hest shouted. “She is right alongside us! The dragon is in the river!”
“Idiot!” The Chalcedean cursed him. “What is frightening you? A riverpig? A floating log?” Lord Dargen staggered to Hest’s side and looked down. “There is nothing there! Just water and a coward’s imagining.” He seized Hest’s wrist and with shocking strength dragged him closer. “Look down, Bingtown coward! What do you see? Nothing but black water! I should throw you in so you can see for yourself !” With his free hand, he seized the back of Hest’s neck and shoved him forward so that he leaned far out over the railing. Hest shouted wordlessly and struggled, but even drunk, the Chalcedean had a madman’s strength. Worse, as Hest stared, a gleaming blue eye looked up at him from the depths. The rest of the creature was invisible, cloaked in the black water, but he knew it was the dragon that looked up at him with hatred. And waited.
“It’s there! Look for yourself, there! See the eye, look!” His voice rose and cracked into a woman’s squeal.
The Chalcedean laughed, drunk and guttural. “Over you go, Bingtowner!”
The boat gave a sudden wild heave sideways. The shrieking of splintered wood competed with the harsh cries of the men in the galley and the terrified screams of the hostages trapped belowdecks. Hest clutched at the railing, and a wordless scream escaped him. The Chalcedean staggered free of him, shouting, “Arms! The dragon attacks us. Kill her, kill her now!”
As the boat tipped again, the Chalcedean lord was flung against the railing. For a long moment he clung there, and Hest dared to hope to see him tip over the edge. But the next onslaught from the dragon flung the ship in the other direction, and he slammed against the ship’s house. “Attack!” he roared, fury and fear diminishing his drunkenness.
The door of the galley was flung open, and men poured out onto the deck, weapons in their hands.
“I wish the city would light itself here,” Rapskal complained.
Privately, Thymara agreed with his sentiment even as she recognized the impossibility. Even this magical city had limits. Only certain bands of metal woke to light, and not all of them still worked. How they worked at all was still a great mystery, but she now recognized Elderling magical works when she saw them. And in this part of the city, they seemed to have chosen to use it as little as possible. Almost, she remembered why. She turned away from the memory tug. The statues in the nearby squares were only statues, silent and unmoving. They were of lovingly worked stone, but no shining silver threads of memory gleamed in them.
The keepers had gathered at the well plaza to bend their backs to clearing the debris. Alise was there and, for the first time in weeks, she carried her case of paper and pencils. She seemed to take immense satisfaction in the new supplies that Leftrin had brought her. She clambered through the stack of broken timbers and sketched a copy of the lettering on one. The timbers had been amazingly well preserved, and Thymara had heard her speculate to Leftrin that the thick glossy paint that coated them had something to do with it. Leftrin had grudgingly agreed even as he muttered his disappointment that his work crew was here instead of applying their efforts to reinforcing Tarman’s dock.
Thymara stretched her aching back and tried to see the plaza as Alise did. It was not easy to mentally piece it together. A graceful and lavishly decorated roof of carved wood supported on stout wooden pillars had sheltered the walled well at one time. The roof had been pyramidal, and painted green and gold and blue. It had given way to time and possibly violence. Carson had pointed out that some of the timbers were torn while others had rotted. Mixed in with the timbers were chains and pulleys, the remnants of a windlass that had once cranked up a large bucket from the depths. Carson had directed the keepers to pull the metal parts to the side and to preserve every piece they found. “We may be able to reassemble at least part of it.”
Leftrin had looked at the heaped sections of broken chain and whistled low. “Can the well have been that deep?”
And to that question Mercor had replied, “The level of Silver receded over time. It was indeed that deep.”
The dragons had all gathered to watch them in a hopeful shifting circle. They came and went as hunger drove them away to hunt, gorge, and sleep, but they always returned to the plaza as evening was shifting into night rather than seeking the baths or the sand wallows. Thymara privately reflected that this was the most time any of the dragons had spent with their Elderlings in weeks.
The palpable anticipation of the dragons had infected all the keepers. Every one of them, as well as Leftrin’s entire crew, had put aside all other work to labor at clearing the site. Leftrin had insisted that a skeleton crew must remain aboard his beloved liveship, but the crewmen had alternated duties so that each one had spent some time at the well plaza. Big Eider’s incredible strength had been indispensable to moving the larger pieces of timber, while Hennesey and Skelly had sorted usable lengths of chain from short sections. Thymara had marked well how Hennesey grinned as he worked, jesting and good-natured as she had never seen him before. Perhaps it had something to do with how Tillamon, well attired in Elderling dress now, was always the one to bring him water and to stand beside him asking earnest questions as he affably explained all to her. Tillamon was not pretty; her scaling and the wattles along her jaw reminded Thymara more of an armored toad from the rain forest than of a graceful Elderling. But then, Hennesey with his scars and work-roughened hands was not a gem of masculine beauty. And neither of them seemed to care much what anyone else thought of them so long as they were pleased with each other. Tall, slender Alum looked more out of place as he struggled to find tasks in Skelly’s vicinity while enduring the solemn scrutiny of every other crew member. Bellin in particular watched him with measuring eyes and a flat mouth.
And so the long workday had gone, with Alise scribbling and the others sorting and moving broken things. Before long, a round hole, bigger across than a tall man’s height, gaped up at them from the center of the simple plaza. The remains of a brick wall encircled it. The well was wedged full of more wreckage. “Going to have to rig a hoist to clear that,” Swarge observed dourly. “Almost looks like it was stuffed down there apurpose,” he opined, and Carson had agreed, with several colorful profanities added.
It had not just fallen; debris had been deliberately packed into the well until it lodged there. Even after a tripod of salvaged timbers had been erected over the well mouth, the task of removing it included breaking it free before it could be hauled up out of the mouth. As the level of debris receded, Leftrin insisted that any keeper climbing into the hole must wear a harness and have a tender. “No telling when that wreckage could all give way and fall in, Sa knows how deep. Don’t want a keeper or crew hand going down with it.”
And so the hard work of clearing the packed wreckage had begun. From dawn until dark the keepers toiled, and all the while the dragons had watched, pacing eagerly and sometimes crowding so close that keepers were forced to plead, with much flattery, for them to move back and give them all room to work. Even as night stole the colors from the sky, the dragons clustered there. Some merely stood; others prowled as if they expected game to erupt from the well shaft. Spit nosed through the heaped piles of chain, undoing most of a day’s work. Carson heaved a great sigh. “Dragon. Leave off that, unless you want it to take us even longer to solve this puzzle.”
Spit stopped his rummaging and lifted his head. His eyes gleamed. “Silver is everything. In traces we gain it when we drink from the river or eat prey that has done so. It is threaded through the stones and bones of this place and moves deep beneath the earth here.” His words were measured and spoken calmly. “All creatures that live here gain some Silver from what they eat and drink, and once dragons had to be content with that. We knew that the prey of this land and the waters of this land were more rejuvenating to us than anywhere else we hunted. We heard one another more clearly when we hunted here, and we could hear humans as well . . .” His words trailed off, and it felt to Thymara as
if the night darkened around them.
“Spit?” Carson asked as the extraordinary flow of thought dwindled and ceased. He was not the only one staring at the mean little silver. Spit was standing stock-still, staring sightlessly at the crumpled walls of the old well. The silence stretched.
Mercor broke it. “I feel that Spit spoke true. I cannot remember all the events he spoke of, but what I can remember fits with what he said.”
“Give me that!” Carson commanded suddenly. He advanced on the small dragon and peered at him sternly. After a long pause, Spit’s jaws opened slightly. A length of chain dangled from his mouth, and then spooled out to clank to the stones of the plaza. Carson crouched down to examine it but did not touch it. “What just happened?” he demanded of no one and everyone.
Mercor blew air from his nostrils. “There must have been a trace of Silver left on the chain, and Spit found it.”
“Only a tiny bit,” Spit admitted blissfully. “I smelled it. And I took it while the rest of you were standing and staring like cattle.” His satisfaction was poisonous.
“Now there’s the Spit we know,” Carson muttered, and then he and the other keepers dodged away as the other dragons surged forward to investigate the well wreckage. But their snorting and shuffling of the chains and broken timbers evidently yielded nothing to them. They dispersed slowly, going back to their watch, and Thymara knew that every keeper shared her wonder. If a tiny amount of Silver could work so great a change in Spit, even temporarily, what would a flowing supply of it do for the dragons? And what would they be willing to do for it?
Sintara had visited the work site no less than three times. She had spoken little to Thymara but radiated approval at how hard the girl was working to clear the well. Thymara resented how the dragon’s enthusiasm could warm and energize her, but she could not resist it. She knew she worked harder when the blue queen was watching over her. She was not the only one. Even Jerd had come to lend a hand with an enthusiasm she seldom showed for hard labor on a chilly day. Thymara had avoided her, preferring to work alongside Tats and Rapskal. It warmed her in a different way to see how easy they were with each other now. Tats had evidently been sincere about setting his jealousy aside, and Rapskal had never shown signs of feeling any. Could it be that easy? she wondered, and she found that she hoped so. She had been able to relax and be more herself. When they paused in late afternoon to eat a simple meal that blessedly included hot tea with sugar and hardtack as well as their perpetual smoked meat, Jerd had strolled by behind them and made a smiling remark that the three of them seemed to have found something to enjoy together.
Thymara had let it go by and told herself that she was proud of having done so.
But with night coming on and the cold rising from the earth to chill her hands and face, she wanted only to go home. Yes, home, she affirmed to herself. Her cozy room with her small hoard of personal items was home now. Clearing the well would have to wait for tomorrow and daylight, she thought to herself, but the others did not seem to share her desire for rest. Carson and Big Eider and Leftrin had moved to the well’s edge and were staring down into it.
“Too dark to work any more tonight,” Leftrin declared.
“I’m too cold to do more right now,” Tats called up from the depths.
Kase and Boxter were on the line for the hoist. As they pulled him up to the lip, Nortel and Rapskal were standing by to grasp his harness and swing him to sure footing. Even through his Elderling scaling, his face was red with cold and his hands looked like claws: Rapskal had to untie the knots of his harness.
As Tats stepped clear, he added, “I think we’re nearly there. That last chunk of timber you hauled up, the one with the piece of chain attached to it? After you hauled it out of the way, I felt around and there was a partial hole. There’s still some clearing to do, but I think there’s only two more chunks blocking it. After we jerk them out, we’ll have a clear way to the bottom of the shaft.”
“Was there Silver at the bottom?” Veras asked eagerly. Her nostrils were flared, and the spikes around her neck stood out like a ruffle. Jerd stood by her queen dragon, her face echoing the question.
“Can you reach it?” Sintara demanded. She pushed to the front of the circle and, ignoring Leftrin’s shout to be careful of his hoist, stalked over to peer down the hole. “I can’t see it,” she said after a few moments. “But I think I smell it!”
“The wreckage smells of Silver. That’s all.” Spit was pessimistic as always. “All the Silver wells have gone dry, and we are doomed. I’m glad I took what I found on that chain.”
Heeby gave a mournful call, and Rapskal dropped the harness he had been holding to run to her side. “No, my beauty, my darling. We are not giving up. Far from it!” He spun back to face the men standing by the shaft. “Can we not lower a light of some kind? To give the dragons an answer tonight?”
Despite the deepening night and the cold, the attempt had been made. It had taken several tries. The first torch they dropped landed on the blockage and rested there, burning and blocking their view of anything below it. But by its light, they dropped two more torches, and one fell through the gap.
Thymara had lain on her belly, part of a circle of keepers peering down the hole, as the first burning torch fell. It briefly lit the gleaming walls. The shaft was perfectly circular and smooth: she saw no sign of individual bricks facing it. The flames made a shimmering reflection as they fell. And fell. Thymara was impressed with how deep her fellow keepers had descended to clear the blockage. She glanced over at Tats. “I couldn’t go down into the darkness like you did. I just couldn’t.”
Rapskal was on the other side of her. “Surely you could,” he asserted quietly. His words irritated her, but she could not think why. Usually, when he said she was stronger or braver than she thought she was, she felt flattered. But not tonight, looking down into blackness.
“I could, perhaps, but I wouldn’t,” she countered, and he was silent.
When the third torch fell through the gap Tats had seen, it seemed to fall forever. But it did not go out.
It was keen-eyed Hennesey who said, “There’s something silvery down there. But not much, I don’t think. I see what might be a bucket turned on its side. But it’s not floating and neither is the torch. Looks like it’s resting on the bottom. The bucket is what I can mostly see. It’s huge.”
“Why so large a bucket?” Thymara wondered aloud.
“Big enough for a dragon to drink from,” Rapskal asserted quietly.
In the uneven, flickering light they studied what they saw at the bottom of the shaft. Carson summed it up: “Looks like the well filled up with sediment and went dry, and then someone broke the mechanism and dumped it down there, blocking the shaft. If there’s any Silver down there still, it’s not standing visible. I’m not sure this is worth our time.” He gave a weary sigh and stretched. “My friends, I think we should give this up.”
“Clear the rubble away.”
“It can be dug deeper again. Elderlings can go down that hole.”
“Can any of the Silver be brought to the surface?”
The dragons trumpeted their anxious queries. Thymara felt their longing for the precious stuff. It was like a thirst for water, only deeper.
“NO!” Spit’s furious roar drowned out all others. “Must have the Silver! We must! Kill you if you stop trying!”
Mercor slowly moved until he stood between Spit and the keepers. He favored him with a long black stare. The small silver dragon lowered his head until his muzzle pointed at the ground. He hissed low, but he also stepped back.
“Dragons don’t just want the Silver. They need it,” Thymara said quietly. The knowledge had simply risen in her, some common bit of Elderling lore. But her words were spoken into the shocked lull that followed Spit’s outburst, and all seemed to hear them. The keepers waited, bewildered by the intensity of the dragons’ response until at last Mercor spoke, his words measured and slow. As he often did, he ignored Spit�
�s outburst.
“Once, there were places in the river where the Silver ran just beneath the water. And dragons could get what they needed for themselves. There were seasons when it ran shallow, and sometimes, after an earthquake, one place would lose its Silver, but we would scent it out in another. It was precious stuff, and the best seeps were protected jealously by the strongest drakes.”
He was silent for a time, as if he sought the most ancient of memories. Kalo made a deep chuffing sound, a territorial warning. Thymara had never heard any dragon make such a sound before but instantly recognized what it was. Baliper, who so seldom spoke, added, “Many a bloody battle was fought for a Silver seep. Dragons were less touched by humans then. We were different creatures.”
“A savage time,” Mercor agreed, but he sounded almost wistful for such conflict. “We made few Elderlings then . . . only singers, I think. But some settled here, brought by their dragons. They made a little village. They did not go near the seeps or know of Silver. It was not for them. But then, after a quake much stronger than any we recalled, Silver rose in one of the human-dug wells. The first humans who discovered it died from touching it. But the dragons that ate their bodies became powerful of mind. It was a pure, true flow of Silver, much better than any we had ever tasted. All learned to drink long and deep of the pure Silver pulled up from that well. We began to speak with humans and to use the power of the Silver to shape them into forms more suitable to attend us. They became true Elderlings. From dragons, they gained the power of the Silver, and they built this place, a city for dragons and Elderlings to share. When another quake closed that well, our Elderlings found other sources for us. Some lasted a long time, while others failed quickly. I do not have a memory of how or when this Silver well was dug. But I do have ancestral recollection that once this well near brimmed with Silver.