by Hobb, Robin
“The dragons were dangerous! They had to go!” This from a man in a heavy canvas jacket and trousers, standing to be heard. “Me and my boy, we ended up running for our lives, right into the excavations, and that little green dragon followed us, knocking out the supports as it came. It wanted our supper, even though it was just bread and cheese in a sack. It ate it sack and all, and might have eaten my boy next, except that we ran while it was eating! I’m here to say, if the dragons are gone, then good riddance. And if there’s any talk of them being brought back, then me and the other diggers will put our shovels down.” He crossed his heavy arms on his chest and scowled fiercely all around.
“No more outbursts!” Trader Polsk spoke severely to the man who had shouted out his tale. He sat down with an exasperated grunt, but the people around him were nodding in agreement.
“They’d have killed somebody if they hadn’t been lured away. They were always a poor bargain,” he added, not as loudly but still getting a glare from the Council leader.
Leftrin took advantage of the prevailing mood of the audience. “Today, good Council and Trader folk, I’m just here to get our rightful pay. The dragons are settled; I’ll never bring them back. So give us our pay, mine and my crew’s, and the keepers’ and the hunters’. I’ve their authorizations with me, all signed with permission for me to get their coin. Some want part sent to their families, one wants all to go to her family, and the rest have authorized me to pick up their full pay.”
“Prove it!” Trader Candral abruptly demanded, and the Trader in green nodded in emphatic agreement.
Leftrin looked at him for a moment in silence. Then he again unslung the leather bag on his shoulder and opened it slowly. As he removed the rolled paper, he observed quietly, “Some men would be insulted by how that request was made. Another man might demand satisfaction of a pup that so insulted his honor. But”—he stepped forward to set the documents on the table and looked directly at Trader Candral—“I think I’ll consider the source.” He did not wait for the man’s response but went on as if his reaction were of no consequence, setting the paper before Trader Polsk. “Every signature is there, for every hunter and keeper and crewman, and Alise’s and Sedric’s as well. Except Warken’s. We lost him to the river. I brought his contract back with me. I think his pay ought to go to his family. He spoke kindly of them. Greft didn’t say much about his folks, and I don’t know if he had any. You can keep his coin, if that’s what you think fair. As for Jess Torkef’s wages, do whatever you want with them. It’s dirty money, and personally, I wouldn’t touch it.”
Candral was pressed back in his chair. “If all those keepers survived, why aren’t any of them here? How do we know they aren’t all dead, and you just come back to claim their wages?”
Leftrin’s face reddened at the foul accusation. He took a deep breath.
“Trader Candral, you speak with no authority from the Council. Captain Leftrin!” Trader Polsk spoke sharply. “Please step back from the table. The Council will look over the documents. We’ve never had any cause to complain of our dealings with you in the past. And we will want to discuss your suggestion that there were improprieties in how Hunter Torkef was hired.” She shot Candral a speculative look.
Leftrin didn’t move. He shifted his stare from Trader Candral to Trader Polsk. “I’ll ignore the insult. This time. But when the Council is looking for improprieties, it might consider that liars are often suspicious of honest men. I’ll even answer the question. The keepers chose to remain with their dragons. Two keepers died, and I suppose if I were the sort of man who’d profit from the dead, I would have told you that everyone was alive and well and then taken their wages as well. And now I’ll step back, just as soon as I’ve received the pay for myself, my ship, and my crew. As agreed upon and signed by the entire Council.”
“I don’t think any of us would have an issue with that,” Polsk warned Candral, who opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. Trader Polsk motioned to a page for ink and paper. But the woman on Polsk’s left abruptly asked, “What of the Bingtown Trader, what of Alise Finbok? Where is she? And the man who accompanied her, Sedric Meldar? Surely they didn’t choose to stay with dragons?”
“Trader Sverdin, those questions should be presented to the Council, to be asked in an appropriate way!” Trader Polsk’s rebuke was unmistakable. Her cheeks were red, and she ran her hand through her hair in exasperation, standing it up in a gray brush.
Leftrin didn’t look at her. He stared at Trader Sverdin directly. “Alise Kincarron chose to stay with the dragons. She gave me letters to send to her family. They’ve already been dispatched. As for Sedric, well, seeing as how he didn’t sign anything with the Council, it’s scarcely your business what’s become of him. But I left him alive and well, and I expect he’s still that way.”
Trader Sverdin was undaunted. She leaned back in her chair and lifted her pointed chin as she spoke to Trader Polsk. “We have no evidence that any of the keepers survived. We don’t truly know what became of the dragons. I think we should withhold payment on our contract with this man until he can prove he has fulfilled its terms.”
“That would seem to be the most intelligent route,” Trader Candral swiftly agreed.
Leftrin looked at each Council member in turn, letting his gaze linger. Candral busied himself looking at his nails while Trader Sverdin flushed red and rolled a small scroll back and forth on the table. Trader Polsk looked embarrassed.
“Captain Leftrin, I have confidence in the services you have provided and in your honesty. But with two members of the Council dissenting, I cannot release your funds until we have clear evidence that you fulfilled your contract.”
Leftrin was silent, refusing to let his anger show in his face. Negotiations were best done coldly. Was it safe to leave his papers with the Council? He met Polsk’s apologetic gaze. “I’m entrusting these documents specifically to you, Trader Polsk. They should not leave your possession. Examine the signatures and the dates on the requests the keepers have added. Do what you think is proper with the monies owed to Greft and Warken. I don’t think you owe Jess a penny; he didn’t live up to his contract at all and plotted to kill both dragons and keepers. I suggest you look hard at who selected him. If you read my contract, you’ll see that you clearly owe me my money. You know where I’m tied up. When you choose to send my pay, send it there. And if you don’t choose to send me my pay, then you’ll wait a long time to hear any more details about where the dragons are and what we discovered.”
He turned his back on the Council and pretended to notice Malta Khuprus for the first time. He bowed to her. “Elderling lady, I have a letter for you from Alise Kincarron. And a small token from the city of Kelsingra.”
“You found it? You found the Elderling city?” This in a shout from a Council member who had not spoken before, a jowly man with curling dark hair.
Leftrin glanced at him and then at the rest of the Council. “We did. But before you ask me for details, perhaps you and the rest of the Council should decide if you can believe what I say. I don’t want to waste your time or mine if you think I’m just spinning sailor yarns.”
He turned back to the Elderlings. Malta had stood. Reyn was at her side, not touching her but clearly supporting her. Her face was alight with joy though her mouth was set in a firm line. He offered her a small scroll and a little cloth bag. She accepted it with long, elegant hands. The scarlet scaling on them looked like gloves of the finest reptilian leather. Malta opened the bag slowly and removed from it the hearth tile. She smiled as she looked at it. Then she lifted it high to display it, for only a moment, before returning it to the bag.
Leftrin spoke to her through the uproar of voices that followed her gesture. “If you have questions, I’ll be happy to speak to you. I’m tied up to the Cassarick docks. You can’t miss us.”
Malta inclined her head and said nothing. Reyn answered for them. “This Council has shamed us. I hope you know that we have full faith you
have accomplished your goal. I’m certain we will come to see you as soon as we possibly can. But for now, my wife is weary and needs to go home to rest.”
“At your convenience,” Leftrin agreed. “I think it would be best if I clear out of here quick.”
“Captain Leftrin! Captain Leftrin, you cannot simply leave!” This from the curly-haired Trader.
“Actually, I can,” he replied. He turned his back on them all and strode out of the room. Behind him, the roar of conversation rose to a din.
Day the 26th of the Change Moon
Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
Bird Log, Loft 4
3 female swift birds dead this morning. Eggs gone cold in 2 nests. Salvaged 2 eggs from one nest and put under young female in Loft 6. Noted in breeding log. Moved all birds from Loft 4 to emptied and cleansed Loft 7. Loft 4 to be dismantled and burned as this is the third time infestation has recurred there.
Chapter Ten
KIDNAPPED
“I’ll be fine,” she had insisted. “Go after Leftrin. Find out everything that happened. The scroll he gave us barely brushes the surface of what has befallen them. I’m so tired I can scarcely stand, but I won’t be able to rest until I know everything.”
Reyn had smiled worriedly as he looked down into her upturned face. The wet wind blew between them. “How can you be fine if you can scarcely stand? Darling, I’d best see you home first. Then I’ll find the Tarman and talk to the captain. I’ll beg him to come home with me and speak to you there.”
“Please, don’t be silly over me! I’m not some frail little creature. I’ll get back to our room just fine on my own. But you should go now before everyone else thinks of the same thing. This tiny note from Alise only taunts me. There are dozens of things I must know. Please,” she had added when he continued to frown at her in disapproval. They had lingered in the doorway of the Traders’ Concourse where Malta had done her best to pick sense out of Alise’s cramped writing on the scrap of paper Leftrin had given them. In the flickering light of the windblown lantern’s flame, she had scarcely been able to read any of it. She could not stand the suspense and had begged Reyn to take her to speak to the captain immediately. But now, halfway down the walk that led to a lift, she was too weary to go on. Her plan was that she would go back to their rented rooms, and Reyn would persuade Captain Leftrin to come there to talk to her.
Reyn had sighed. “Very well. As usual, Malta, you’ll get your own way! Don’t wait up for me. Go to bed and rest until I get there with Leftrin. I promise that as soon as I come in, I’ll wake you and then you can badger him with questions for as long as you like.”
“You had better,” she had warned him. “Don’t you stay to have a drink or two, or take him somewhere else to talk because you think I’ve fallen asleep! I’ll know if you do, Reyn Khuprus, and then woe betide you!”
“I will,” he had promised again, smiling at her threats, and reached out to pull her hood up more snugly around her face. And then he had left her, just as she had commanded him.
“Not some frail little creature,” she reminded herself now. When the spasm passed, she stood breathing for a few moments. Around her, the threatened storm had arrived. Darkness seemed to fall with the sheets of rain. She had been so sure she could find her way back to their rented rooms. Now dead twigs and bits of moss showered down with the rain, and wet leaves rode the wind. In the distances around her, she saw the lights of treetop homes bob and sway in the onslaught of the wind. If she had been in Bingtown, she could have fixed her eyes on a light and simply made her way toward it. But in a town like Cassarick, things were not so easy. The walkways made a spiderweb through the trees: there was never a straight path anywhere. A nearby light might bring her to the back of a home that faced a different branch, with a sheer drop to the forest floor between her and it.
She looked back the way she had come, wondering how she had managed to take a wrong turn. To do so forced her to turn her face to the wind; she squinted against the driving rain but saw nothing familiar. Was there a man standing at the far end of the last bridge? The wind gusted more rain into her face, but the figure did not budge. No. Probably just an oddly shaped post. She turned her face away from it and looked at the dancing, taunting lights. She was cold, her clothing soaked through. And her nagging back pain had become something else now. When the next terrible contraction of muscle rippled through her body, she could not deny what it was. The baby was trying to be born. Here. On a tree branch in the rain. Of course.
She clung to the railing, digging her nails into the tough and twisted wood, trying to think of anything except the terrible squeezing of her body. Focusing on her clenching hands, she gritted her teeth silently until the pain passed. Then she hunched over the railing, gulping air. Pride be damned. If their child was born here, on this walkway during this storm, what chance would he have? Would she let their baby die because she didn’t want to call out her need to strangers? She drew her breath and forced out a shout. “Help me! Please, anyone, help me!”
The wind and the endless rustling of the leaves swept away her words. “Please!” she cried again, the words crushed out of her as another tearing cramp swept through her. She clutched the railing and set a hand to the top of her belly. She wasn’t imagining it. The child was lower than he had been; he was moving down inside her. She waited, caught her breath again, and shouted again. But the storm was building, not abating. No one else seemed to be out on the walkways tonight. She bared her teeth in an almost smile. Who could blame them?
Blinking rain off her lashes, she lifted her head. There were fewer lights than there had been. People went to bed early in winter. Well, this path had to lead somewhere, to a house or a shop or a trunk walk. All she had to do was follow it. She glanced back the way she had come, hoping to see someone, anyone. Somewhere, back there, she’d taken a wrong path. She should go back. The wind gusted, twigs and leaves flew into her face, and she turned her back on it. It didn’t matter. She’d go where the wind was pushing her and bang on the first door she came to until they let her in. No one would turn away a woman in labor. She gripped the railing with both hands and edged doggedly along it. It would turn out all right. It had to.
Reyn hurried down the walkway in pursuit of Captain Leftrin. He muttered angrily to himself as he slipped, recovered, and hurried on. He had taken too long arguing with Malta. Even now, he longed to turn back and see her safely home before he went down to the Tarman. She hadn’t insisted on going with him, and that was a frightening clue to how tired she was. He gave a futile glance over his shoulder, but in the rising wind that shook debris and water from the trees, he could scarcely see the bridge he had just crossed, let alone spot Malta on her lonely way back to their rooms. He lifted both hands to dash rain from his face and then forced himself to a run. The sooner he spoke to the captain, the sooner he could get back to his wife.
The walkways swayed in the growing wind. He moved swiftly, traveling with the easy familiarity of the Rain Wild born, but worried again for Malta. She had adapted well to her new home in the trees, but the weight of the child had made her balance more uncertain in the last few weeks. She would be fine, he told himself sternly as he reached a trunk. There was a huddle of folk waiting for the lift. Impatiently, he moved to the inside of the platform and began a hasty descent down the long winding stairway that wrapped the tree’s immense trunk.
He was winded and soaked through long before he reached the leather way on the ground at the foot of the pillar tree. He saw no one else in the area. The storm and the approaching night had driven everyone else inside. He hoped that it had discouraged all those who had been hurrying after Captain Leftrin as he left. He didn’t want to compete for the man’s attention. He had to persuade Leftrin to come back with him for a private audience and the chance to go over the long list of questions that Malta had scribbled down during the meeting. He knew his wife’s temperament well
enough to know that she would not let Leftrin leave until he had answered every one of them!
Reyn hurried through darkness, his way unevenly lit by lanterns along the platform road. The river was up; the floating docks had risen on their stout tethers until the pilings that anchored them were scarcely taller than Reyn was. The moored boats shifted and complained about the wind and rushing water as they rubbed and bumped against the dock and tugged at their lines. The Tarman was long and wide; he would be tied to the outside moorage. Most of the lamps that were supposed to illuminate the docks at night had surrendered to the wind and rain. Reyn had to go more slowly as he made his way along the dock and then onto the moorage gangways.
Luck favored him. He arrived in time to see someone holding a hooded lantern as Captain Leftrin clambered from the dock onto his ship’s deck. “Captain Leftrin! Please, wait! You know me. I’m Reyn Khuprus. I need to talk to you.” The wind snatched at his words, but Leftrin paused and glanced over his shoulder, then lifted his voice to shout, “Come along, then, and welcome aboard! Let’s get out of this storm.”
Reyn was only too willing to follow him. He clambered over the liveship’s railing and followed the captain across the deck. The ship’s galley was warm and snug. A long table dominated the room with benches to either side of it. At the end of the room, a fat iron stove pulsed heat out into the small room. String bags of onions and tubers hung from the rafters, adding their own aroma to a room that smelled of men working in close quarters. Hanging lanterns burned yellow, and the smell of a savory stew bubbled out with the steam from a great covered pot on the stove. The woman who had held the lantern for Leftrin took Reyn’s cloak and found it a hook where it dripped alongside the captain’s.
“Hot tea!” Leftrin proclaimed, and despite Malta’s parting threat, Reyn nodded in appreciation. He was glad to see it was already brewed and waiting in a fat brown pot on the galley table. A mug was quickly set out for the captain, and one for Reyn joined it as the captain poured. Through an open door, Reyn could see the interior of the deckhouse. It was lined with tiered bunks. On one, a big, well-muscled man was scratching his chest and yawning. A smaller fellow lithed himself past the yawner and angled in through the door like a cat to slide into a seat at the table. He gave Reyn a curious glance but then fixed his attention on the captain. Without any ado, he began his report.