The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  “You couldn’t possibly have held the Four Dragons, I knew that. But I also knew that you weren’t cheating. I’ve been playing a long time, no one can fool me. Yet there the Four Dragons sits. That’s very clever, but it takes magic. I wonder whether your friends know that you have such a neat trick at your disposal. I wouldn’t like them to suspect you, so I mention it to you only in private.”

  “You have already raised suspicion.”

  “True, but we can easily call your friends back and tell them that I was mistaken. And then we could continue our game with no hard feelings. But I’d like an assurance that I’m being given a real chance to win my freedom. Honest play, with no magic trickery.”

  “You are not in any position to bargain with me.”

  That was very true. I wondered briefly what it would be like to be skinned alive. “Not bargaining. Just asking you to give me what I was offered, the chance of freedom before we reach Mesanthia. You’re a man of honour, and you gave me your word.”

  That was a gamble, too, playing the honour coin with a man who made a living from selling his fellow humans into slavery. He watched me, stroking his narrow beard. Then, without a word, he reached across to the pile of unused flats and turned over the top two. The Three Goats and the Four Crowns. Silently, he replaced them. Then he called the others back into the room.

  I had no idea what he planned, but his slight smile told me it was nothing good. The others took their places again, their faces full of curiosity.

  “This scum thought I was cheating,” the slaver said, his voice dripping with scorn.

  “I was quite wrong,” I said, holding up both hands, my manacles clanking. “I apologise profoundly.”

  In my long-ago gambling haunts, a false accusation of cheating was a simple matter of paying half the accuser’s bones to the accused. If the accusation was sustained, bones would flow the other way. I’ve even known people who cheated in order to accuse another player of cheating, and so steal bones. Cheating was just another strategy.

  I guessed that wasn’t the case here.

  “I accept your apology,” the slaver said. “But I have lost interest in the game. Your bones are forfeit, and the woman also. As for the rest—”

  “Wait,” I said. “You can’t keep Shakara. That wasn’t the deal.”

  “New deal. For the rest of your party, we will settle this here and now between the two of us. We will each draw from the unused pile. If I win, you stay as slaves. If you win, you go free.”

  “Shakara?” I said helplessly.

  She shrugged. “I have been offered… an arrangement. It suits me to stay with Krahn Hreth. He will look after me, and frankly, Garrett, your prospects are not so good, whichever way the bones fall here. Besides, this way I shall be able to see Mikah sometimes.”

  Was there a slight wobble in her voice? I’d never put her down as a devoted mother, but then she’d always done a brilliant job of keeping her true feelings hidden. I took in the new dress, and the lack of manacles, and decided she would be fine. What else could I do? Better to rescue four than for all of us to be slaves.

  “Very well.”

  “Good. You may draw first.”

  Demons! For a moment, my mind was blank. Then I remembered – the Three Goats. “Oh, no, after you,” I said politely. And even as I’d got it straight in my head, I wondered if he would magically change them anyway.

  He smiled and took the top flat. The Three Goats.

  Sweating, I turned over the next one. The Five Crowns. Wait – five? I looked at him, his hard eyes meeting mine, and I understood the message – he was choosing to let me go, even though he could have made sure I lost. My sigh of relief was entirely genuine.

  “So are we free now?” I said as I got up to leave. “Perhaps the shackles could come off?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” he said.

  I frowned, puzzling it out, but it made no sense. “Why shackle us for one night more? Why not now? Or wait until Mesanthia?”

  That smile again. He was a cruel man at heart. It amused him to raise my hopes and then dash them again. “Because tomorrow morning we will dock at Drakk’alona, and you will be getting off there.”

  Well, I could see the sense in that. We were no longer profitable goods, so no point in us eating his food and drinking his water. The sooner we were gone, the better.

  “Not Mesanthia, then.” I couldn’t quite keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  He cackled. “Mesanthia is too good for the likes of you. Besides – that girl of yours. The one who talks to sea sprites. The sailors thought she would be lucky, but we have had poor wind ever since she boarded. It has taken us forever to get through the straits. You are welcome to her, but we do not want her.”

  ~~~~~

  We were dumped on the quay at Drakk’alona not long after dawn, the four of us. Our manacles had gone, but we had acquired nothing in exchange. The now rather dilapidated clothes on our backs were all that stood between us and destitution. We had no coins, no weapons, no boots and no food. We had not even been allowed our morning porridge. But we were alive, unharmed and free, and Drusinaar still had her glass ball hidden in a fold of her wrap.

  Shakara was still abed with one or other of the slavers when we left the ship, or maybe all of them, and hadn’t even come to see us off. Not long ago, I’d have set that down as indifference, but now I knew there was more to her than I’d imagined. Naturally she wouldn’t want us to see her shed a tear over being left behind. She was very good at hiding behind a cold facade.

  Gods, I hoped she’d be all right. I didn’t like her putting her faith in a man like the slaver, who’d likely sell her off the moment she bored him. But she’d made her choice freely, and she was a survivor. So I told myself, anyway.

  Drakk’alona was a strange-looking place, to my eyes. The harbour was vast, choked with ships of all sizes, their sails in odd shapes and bright colours. Many of them had double rows of oars as well, and I wondered how many strong arms it took to work them. Slaves, most likely. Around the harbour sat lines of dark warehouses of stone or wood. To the east, a headland housed the main part of the city, walled in pink and grey stone. Curved roofs with red tiles peeped above the wall, jostling with sturdy domes and towers. A snaking river with a fine bridge kept the walled city separate from the wharves.

  Inland to the south, more buildings in darker stone or brick. The poorer parts of the city, no doubt. And to the west, on a tall hill, a tower of glowing stone. I eyed it with professional interest. It was the third one I’d seen – the first at Dristomar, on the southern coast, the second at the Western Keep, and now this one, which had been opened once, and now was sealed again. The five known ones were all identical. Seven remained undiscovered.

  Zarin plucked at my sleeve. “Garrett, those people do not look very friendly.”

  Amidst the bustle of the wharves – the wharfworkers and wagoners, the sailors coming and going, a few wealthy passengers striding through the confusion with a train of servants following them like ducklings – I’d not noticed the uniforms. Four men, armed with batons, and with sheathed knives at their belts, were ambling through the crowds. I had to agree with Zarin – they were stern-faced, and definitely not friendly.

  “Let’s get out of sight,” I said.

  “We could ask them for help,” the priest said. “We have been abandoned with nothing. Surely they would help us.”

  I didn’t trouble to answer him, bundling the three of them in front of me and round to a space between two stacks of crates where we were hidden from view.

  “Zarin, what do you know of this place?”

  “Drakk’alona? Nothing. I have never been here before.” He must have caught the irritation on my face, for he went on, “I have read that it is very civilised. Very wealthy. A trading centre.”

  “And many temples,” the priest said.

  Ignoring him, I spoke to Zarin again. “And what is the law like?”

  “The law? They have th
e usual sorts of rules.”

  “I daresay. But what I want to know is, can we live on the streets? What if we steal a loaf of bread? What’s the penalty for that?”

  Zarin looked affronted. “Why should you imagine I know anything about that?”

  “We do not need to live on the streets,” the priest said. “A temple would offer us succour.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Drusinaar, have you read anything about the law in Drakk’alona?”

  “No.”

  “We must find a temple,” the priest said. “There is bound to be a temple to the True Gods here. Or if not I can appeal to the priests of the lesser gods for aid. They will be generous to a fellow devotee.”

  I gave up. “Fine. Go and find a temple. Can you speak the language?” He shook his head. “No, of course you can’t. Zarin, you will have to go with him. We will meet back here at noon, all right? If not today, then tomorrow.”

  “Why not all go?” Zarin said.

  “I’m not keen to ask for charity. You throw yourself on someone’s mercy in a strange city, there’s no knowing how that will end up. I don’t like putting myself in other people’s hands. If we can live on our wits for a day or two, just while we work out the system here, we’ll stand a better chance of keeping out of trouble.”

  “At least let us take Dru with us.”

  I shook my head. “I have plans for Drusinaar.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  I grinned widely. “Better that you don’t know.”

  Zarin grunted, and the Lath looked disapprovingly down his nose at me. They ambled off together, and I wondered whether I would ever see them again.

  “Now, Drusinaar, we are going to find ourselves some money. I have a little game in mind. Will you help?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go. Walk nice and briskly, don’t stop, don’t speak to anyone, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  I set off towards the lower part of the town behind the warehouses. A wide street lined with shops and inns and table houses led away from the wharves. The street sweepers were out, a long line of them working their way along the road and the raised footpaths, but the street was so immaculate I couldn’t tell which parts they’d swept already and which they hadn’t. I’d never seen such a clean place. There was no debris, no dirt, no rats, not so much as a cabbage leaf dropped by accident. There were even street lights here, still with lamps glowing behind clean glass.

  How depressing. I hated clean, well-lit places. It meant efficiency, regulation, enforcement of rules. It meant order, and my business thrived on chaos and shadows. Much easier to disappear into streets piled high with rubbish. Much easier to fool a bones player in a dark corner of a rowdy ale house.

  Apart from the street sweepers, there were a few other people about. A bakery was open, the yeasty aroma of warm, fresh bread mocking me. Two men were setting up a food cart in an open square. Small groups of workers bustled here and there, making their way to stalls or counters or desks or craftshops. But we were not out of place. Many of them were almost as ragged as we were, and strode about barefoot. So long as we kept walking purposefully, we would attract no attention.

  I turned down a smaller street, the shops narrower. Even here, the doors and shutters were freshly painted, and the glass in the windows was clean enough to see your face in. There were fewer passersby here, and after a while I ducked down a narrow alley leading to the backs of several shops.

  A quick look behind us. No one about, no one watching. Good. The alley was empty. Even better.

  Quietly, I crept down the alley, stretching my senses to detect where people lurked inside the shops. My ability only worked over short distances, but it was enough. The first shop had people upstairs. In the second, someone was below ground – fetching supplies from the cellar, most likely. We passed on by. Then one where I could detect something, but I wasn’t sure what.

  “Drusinaar, your ball can detect people, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any people in this building here?”

  “Yes. Two people sleeping.”

  Aha! Asleep. No wonder I only got a fuzzy impression. We moved on.

  Eventually we found an empty shop, I got her to unlock the door, and we were inside. It was glorious. If I’d found her fifteen years ago, I could have taken up thievery for a living and I’d never have… Well, no point agonising over the past. Now was all that mattered.

  “Stay beside the door. If I tell you to run, or you see anyone coming, run away as fast as you can, all right? Down to the wharf, and wait for me behind those boxes. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  That was another thing about Drusinaar – no arguments, no questions, no sudden attack of conscience. She did exactly what she was told. So long as it wasn’t about her glass ball or a point of law, that’s to say. Very restful, it was.

  I scouted round for coins, but found none. There was half a stale loaf in a pantry, which we shared, and a few valuable ornaments, which I left, since I knew no one here to sell them to on the quiet. I’d never done much thieving, not being the light-footed, agile type, but I’d always lifted the odd piece here and there, when the opportunity presented itself. No point being too picky about the law. If you’re breaking one, you might as well break all of them. There was a knife, but no sheath, so I left that, too. The second empty shop was even less productive, but the third was better. A money box, locked but that wasn’t a problem, gave us some coins at last. Mostly small stuff, little bronze wedges, parts of a round coin, but it was better than nothing. It was in a velvet bag, but I left that. No point taking anything that might be identified.

  We made our way back to the wharf by a different route. The streets were regular, so it wasn’t difficult. Every second building fringing the warehouse area was an ale house or a pie shop or a cheap inn. Like everything else in Drakk’alona, they were all clean, well-painted and superficially respectable. Experience suggested this might be deceptive. Now that the sun was well up, some were doing good business, so we loitered outside, watching who went in and out. Then I picked the place with customers most like us – shabby but not disreputable. At least, I hoped we didn’t look disreputable. I put on my most honest, open face, and Drusinaar – well, she was without guile – and we went in.

  It was dark inside after the brilliant sunshine outside. A rough wooden counter ran the full length of one side, while patrons sat around big square tables, hunched over bowls and platters and tankards. Ale at this time of day! Perhaps that was normal here, but no kyle ever allowed it, nor did the Keep.

  I saw no one serving, so I walked up to the counter. An elderly man appeared. “Hursh? Cran-forish ba-loisen?”

  “Erm – do you speak Low?”

  “Aye. Little. Crannish-lor? Beer? You want?” He made drinking motions with one hand, then pointed to a customer cradling a steaming beaker, and then another with a tankard.

  “Oh – no. Soup? Or broth? Something with meat in it.” I shaped a bowl with my hands, and pretended to eat.

  “Aye. Chowder. Slice?” He pointed to a plate on a nearby table. A flat kind of bread.

  “Yes, please. How much?”

  He understood that well enough. He held up eight fingers. Almost half our haul, but we had to eat. I counted them into his hand.

  “Ghai-faren,” he said, pointing to a table. We sat.

  Before long, a girl appeared with a tray, sliding it along the counter, before disappearing without a word. No one else claimed it, so I guessed it was for us. Two bowls of hot fish soup, two rounds of fried flat bread and a wooden dish of dates. It’s a strange thing, but being free makes everything taste better. The food we’d eaten at the slaver’s table was undoubtedly better quality, but I’d rarely eaten anything that tasted as good as that chowder and bread.

  A middle-aged woman materialised at our side. “You have everything you need?” Her accent was strong, but it was serviceable Low. As serviceable as mine, anywa
y.

  “Thank you, yes. Tell me, Mistress, what would it cost for a room at an inn round here?”

  “The two of you? Sharing?”

  “Yes.”

  “She your wife?”

  “Niece. Somewhere plain. How much?”

  “Couple of rounds – like this.” Bronze coins. “That get you room and food. One night. More for bath. Cheaper – no good. Red Sun three doors down is good.”

  “Thank you.” I gave her a tiny coin for the information, and she smiled, bowed and swished away. She wore the very full skirts and tight bodice that seemed to be the fashion here.

  “There you are, Drusinaar,” I said. “We just need to get a few more coins and we can stay at an inn like respectable people.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Come on, it must be nearly noon. Let’s go and see if Zarin and the priest are back yet.”

  But they weren’t. Our spot behind the boxes was undisturbed. We waited there for a couple of hours, but they didn’t come.

  15: The Temple of the Secret God (Zarin)

  Zarin and Lath Ambattan had not taken a hundred steps before they rounded a wagon and found themselves almost face to face with the men with batons. They still looked unfriendly, but the Lath said, “Ah!” with relief in his tone.

  “Friend Zarin, ask them the way to the temple.”

  Zarin hesitated. There was something to Garrett’s approach. Tangling with officialdom in a strange city, without knowing the consequences, was risky. But the Lath was walking straight up to them, innocence shining from every pore. And although they were stern-faced, they showed no overt hostility.

  So Zarin scurried after the Lath, and made a bow. He had no knowledge of the languages that might be in use in Drakk’alona, but he was sure that they would know Low Mesanthian. Surely every part of the northern coast was familiar with it? He spoke slowly and clearly. “Good day to you, gentlemen. Can you direct us, if you please, to the nearest temple of the True Gods?”

  The men looked at each other. One of them shrugged. “I am very sorry,” he said, in careful Low Mesanthian. “I do not know of such a temple. There is a temple to the One just beyond that inn. The building with the golden… erm, rounded roof. Or there is a temple to the Sea Goddess a little further away.”