Blood of Dragons

by Robin Hobb

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll be here, I promise. ’

  As she spun excitedly away, he cleared his throat. Skelly halted to look back at him.

  ‘As your uncle, I’ll remind you that we had no opportunity to speak to your parents or your fiancé. They all still have assumptions about commitments from you. You are not free. Even if I thought it were wise to do so, I couldn’t give you that sort of permission. You know what I’m talking about. I’m responsible for you. But even more so, you are responsible for yourself. Don’t risk either of us. ’

  Skelly’s cheeks had gone red. The smile flattened from her face. ‘I know,’ she said sharply, and then added, ‘Sir,’ as if fearful he would revoke her shore time.

  Leftrin shook his head, then shrugged. ‘Go see your friends. Wander the city. Sa knows, I’m as curious as you are about this place. And if I were a deckhand instead of the captain of this vessel, I’d want to get off and take a good look. But I’m not. So I’ll be staying aboard, and I’ll expect to find you at the galley table when dawn breaks, ready for a day’s work. ’

  ‘Sir,’ she agreed and spun on her heel. In a twinkling, she was down on the dock and hurrying up the street. As they watched, Alum waved a farewell to Tats and Sedric and hurried after her.

  ‘Are you sure that was wise?’ Alise asked, and then wondered at her own temerity.

  ‘I am sure it was not,’ he told her. ‘Come. ’

  Together they began the slow circuit of Tarman’s deck that always presaged bed and rest for them. Bed. No rest tonight, and a sudden shiver of desire rushed through her. A moment later, Leftrin smiled. ‘That’s an odd reaction for a lady to have to a poor sailor checking his knots. ’

  ‘This ship keeps none of my secrets from you,’ she laughed, and walked to the next cleat to inspect the lines for herself. As Leftrin came to join her, she said more quietly, ‘I fear for your niece. While you have been gone, I have watched this place change all the young keepers. Alum is no exception. Skelly may not find him the same young man she left behind. ’

  Leftrin smiled wryly. ‘That is ever the fate of sailors! And if you are correct, the sooner she discovers it, the better. And then she may be glad that she did not break her engagement with her beau in Trehaug. ’ He shook his head and in response to her unasked question, added, ‘There were many things I did not get done there. Did Malta and Reyn tell you the full tale of how the Council received me, and of the dastardly attack on Malta and her babe?’

  ‘I had the bones of it. I do not think Malta wanted to relive it, and Reyn strikes me as a man who always speaks less than he knows. ’

  Leftrin made a wry face. ‘They are private people. Despite their beauty, I think they have lived a life apart. Perhaps because of it. Or it may be caution. They may fear treachery still. Who would ever have imagined Malta the Elderling attacked by Chalcedeans in a Rain Wild city? It speaks to me of a duke who is very determined to get what he wants, and Traders corrupt enough to help him in that insanity. Alise, I know you have feared for the city. But the treasure that seems to be sought most at this time is not Elderling artefacts but dragon flesh. The rewards for it must be very high indeed if two men were willing to murder a woman and a newborn child in the hope of passing off their bodies as dragon meat. The dragons have shown already that they can drive off approaching ships. But what I fear is what will eventually happen if they feel they must continue to defend themselves. Sooner or later, human lives will be lost. Possibly many of them. And if there is war between humans and dragons, where will the Elderlings stand?’

  Alise walked with him in silence as they checked the last three lines. She heard the low murmur of voices and glanced up. On the roof of the deckhouse, Hennesey was standing, a wide smile on his face as he told some sailor story to a strange woman. Her scaled face reflected light from the tethered globes. So. That must be Tillamon, Reyn’s sister. She seemed captured by the mate’s tale. The Rain Wild woman was well bundled against the night’s damp chill. Someone had thought to bring her an Elderling gown. Probably Sylve, Alise thought to herself. In the reflected light of the failing torches, it glimmered copper and bronze. She was smiling up at Hennesey as he concluded his story, and they both laughed aloud at the finish of it. Much as she wanted to meet Reyn’s sister, Alise knew that now would not be a good time for pleasantries.

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  Leftrin halted beside her. His eyes were narrowed and a slight scowl bent his lips. She took his arm and drew him along with her as she approached the galley door. ‘They do as we do, my dear. They take what joy they may find in life as they can. As you well know that Skelly has run off to do tonight, also. The shadows of harsh times creep over us. For in a battle between dragons and men, my love, it is not only the Elderlings who must decide where they stand, but you and me as well. ’

  They stepped into the cramped little galley of the ship. The room was deserted. A single mug, half full of coffee, graced the table. The small room smelled of coffee and cooking grease, tar and people living in close quarters. Alise felt her heart lift. ‘It’s so good to be home,’ she said.

  He folded her into his arms, his hand sleeking her Elderling robe to her body. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, slowly and gently, as if all the time in the world belonged to them. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, she was breathless. Words came in a whisper. ‘Now is all we really have, isn’t it?’

  He tucked her against him, his chin resting on top of her head as if she were an instrument he was preparing to play. ‘Now is enough,’ he murmured. ‘Now is enough for me. ’

  Day the 2nd of the Plough Moon

  Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

  From Reyall, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown

  To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug, and Erek

  Standard message tube, wax applied.

  I am sure you are aware of the unhappiness of many of our patrons. The Bingtown Traders’ Council has now filed a formal petition asking that the Guild accept a Committee of Traders to look into allegations of corruption, spying and the selling of secrets. Messages and even birds have gone missing now. I think it likely we can blame some of the missing birds on the unwieldy message tubes and attachments that we are now being required to use!

  Three of our apprentices have reported being approached by Trader families wishing to breed and use birds of their own to establish private message flocks. I do not need to explain to you how this would undermine the Guild. A whole way of life and livelihood will be lost if this comes to pass.

  We have been directed here to adhere strictly to all rules about messages between bird keepers. Appending an additional message to an official message sent by a client is now cause for dismissal from the Guild. We must do bird counts three times a day, including eggs and fledglings, and any bad eggs or young birds that die in the nest must be witnessed by three bird keepers of journey level or higher before they can be disposed of. Bird keepers in Bingtown are allowed only to touch birds specifically registered to their own coops. Informally helping one another, allowed in the past, is now forbidden.

  Have these measures also been enacted in Trehaug or Cassarick or the lesser settlements? I will tell you that there are rumours that the Guild is sending out ‘testers’, but the gossip does not tell if these are men attempting to bribe bird keepers, or if they are messages designed to tempt those who tamper and spy. It saddens me that I rise to being a full Keeper of the Birds in these distrustful times.

  In happier news, Erek, your Swift Birds appear to be breeding true. Two of the offspring set records this last week in a race back to Bingtown after being released from a ship that was four days out of port. I have submitted the breeding records to the Guild Masters, noting that you were the one who saw the potential and began specifically breeding this line. I hope they will recognize your expertise.

  With respect and affection,

  Reyall

  CHAPTER
NINE

  Passing Ships

  Hest was trapped in someone else’s life. This was not the existence of the heir son of a Bingtown trader! He had never lived in such miserable conditions, let alone travelled in them. He’d lost count of the days he’d been confined below decks. He still wore the same garments he had been wearing when the Chalcedean had abducted him. Now they hung on him, their tailoring a victim of his greatly reduced diet and heavy labour. He knew he stank, but his only option for washing himself was cold river water, and he knew the dangers of using it. The chores the Chalcedean gave him put him out on the deck in the weather as often as not. His hands and face were chapped and sore from exposure to rain and chill and sun; his clothes were fading and tattering. He could not remember the last time his feet had been dry. He was starting to develop sores under his toes, and the wind-reddened skin on his face and hands stung constantly.

  He still had nightmares about disposing of Redding’s body. Dragging Arich’s body out along the narrow walkways in the dark and rain and eventually shoving him over the edge had been disgusting and unpleasant work. They had heard his falling body crashing through branches but there had been no final sound. It had made Hest queasy but it paled in comparison to his final parting with Redding. The Chalcedean had made him carry Redding’s body, and they had gone quite a distance, choosing always the tree paths that seemed least used. Eventually they had been balancing along a limb that had no safety ropes at all. Redding’s body was slung across Hest’s shoulders as if he were a hunter bearing home a deer. The familiar fragrance of Redding’s pomade mingled with the smell of the blood that dribbled down Hest’s neck. With every step, his limp burden had grown heavier and more horrific. Yet he had no choice but to lurch along in front of the man with the knife at his back. He suspected that if he had fallen while carrying the body, the man would have thought it of little consequence. The Chalcedean had finally chosen a spot where the narrowing limb of their tree crossed branches with another. Hest had propped Redding there and left him for the scavengers to find.

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  ‘Ants and such will take him down to bones in just a few days,’ said the Chalcedean. ‘If he is found, which I doubt, no one will be able to tell who he was. Now we go back to your room and obscure all sign that you were ever in Cassarick. ’

  He had meant it quite literally. He’d burned the children’s hands in the pottery hearth and destroyed the elaborate boxes that had held them. Redding’s cloak became a sack to hold the precious stones he’d salvaged from the boxes. He’d departed briefly, warning Hest not to leave. Hest suspected that he went to murder the woman who had rented him the room. If he did, he accomplished it very quietly. Perhaps, Hest told himself as he gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering, he had only bribed her well. But he was gone a very long time, leaving Hest alone in the room that smelled of burnt flesh and spilled blood. Sitting in the dimness, he could not shake the image of Redding’s ruined face peering back at him from the crook of the tree. The Chalcedean had slashed it repeatedly, cross-hatching it with cuts until his familiar features were eradicated. Redding’s eyes had stared out from the dangling tatters of his once-handsome face.

  Hest had always thought of himself as a ruthless Trader. Deception, spying, sharp deals that bordered on theft; he had never seen any advantage to being fair, let alone ethical. Trade was a rough game and ‘every Trader needs to watch his own back’, as his father often said. It had pleased him to think of himself as rough-and-tumble, a man hardened to everything. But never had he been a party to murder. He hadn’t loved Redding, not as Sedric over-used that tired word. But Redding had been an adept lover and a jolly companion. And his death had left Hest alone in this mess. ‘I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,’ he had told the dying flames. ‘It’s not my fault. If Sedric had never made his insane bargain, I wouldn’t be here now. It’s all Sedric’s fault. ’

  He had not heard the door open, but he had felt the draught and seen the hearth flames flicker. The Chalcedean was a black shadow against the blackness beyond. He pulled the door quietly closed. ‘Now, you will write a few letters for me. Then, we shall deliver them. ’

  Hest had been beyond questioning what was happening to him. He wrote the letters as he was told, to names he did not recognize, signing his own name to them. In the notes he bragged of his reputation as a clever Trader and directed them to meet him before dawn at the impervious boat that was tied up at the docks. Every letter was identical, stressing discretion and hinting that a great fortune awaited them now that ‘our plans have come to fruition’, and citing names of Traders that Hest had never even met.

  Each letter was neatly rolled, tied with twine, and sealed with a drop of wax. Then the Chalcedean smothered the fire in the hearth and they left the stripped room, carrying the missives with them.

  The long night had become endless as they moved through Cassarick. The Chalcedean was spry but not absolutely certain of their way. More than once, they retraced their steps. But eventually, the six scrolls had been delivered, tied to door-handles or wedged into door-frames. Hest had been almost grateful to follow the assassin down the endless stairs to the muddy road at the bottom of the city. His well-appointed stateroom, a clean warm bed and dry garments awaited him on the impervious ship. Once he was there and alone, surely he could put the night’s events into focus and decide what he must do next. Once there, he would be Hest again and this evil adventure would become no more than an episode in his past. But when they reached the vessel, the Chalcedean had prodded him along at knifepoint, forcing him into a cargo compartment below decks, and then dropping the hatch shut behind him.

  The indignity had astonished him. He’d stood, arms crossed sternly on his chest, and waited in silence, certain that the Chalcedean would return at any moment. As time passed, the discomfort had infuriated him. He groped his way around the freight compartment but found only rough timber walls with no hope of egress. The hatch was just out of his reach and when he climbed the short ladder to push at it, he found it secured. He pounded on the hatch but could achieve no real force, and his shouting roused no one. He had paced, cursing and roaring until he was exhausted. Eventually he had sat down to wait for the Chalcedean, but awakened to darkness. How long he had been held there, he did not know.

  Time passed. Hunger and thirst afflicted him. When the hatch was finally lifted, the wan daylight flooded down and blinded him. He immediately started up the ladder.

  ‘Out of the way!’ someone shouted at him. And other men were pushed pell-mell down the hatch. Three landed well, cursing and trying to fight their way back to the ladder even as others were being forced down. Hest recognized some of them as his fellow passengers from the trip up the river, and others as members of the ship’s crew. Some were Jamaillians who had invested in the boat’s construction, the last a pair of Bingtown Traders. The men who looked down at them, mocking and threatening, were unmistakably Chalcedeans, with their embroidered vests and the curved knives they favoured.

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  ‘What’s going on?’ Hest demanded, and one Trader shouted, ‘It’s a mutiny!’ while another said, ‘There were Chalcedeans hiding below decks for the whole voyage. They’ve taken over the ship!’ The cargo hold was crowded with men, at least ten of them. One was holding his shoulder and blood seeped between his fingers. Several of the frightened and confused merchants bore signs of a struggle.

  ‘Where’s the captain?’ Hest asked through the shouting and taunts.

  ‘In on it!’ someone shouted at him, as angry as if it were his fault. ‘Well paid to let these bastards on board and hide them. Claims they invested just as much as we did, and paid him more on the side!’

  The hatch cover began to slide shut. Men surged toward the ladder, shouting defiance and pleas, but in moments, the light was gone.

  If being alone and locked below deck was bad, then being crowded in with two dozen strangers in
the dark was worse. Some were irrational with anger or fear. Others argued heatedly about exactly what had happened and who was at fault. Some of them were not former passengers but Rain Wild Traders ‘tricked into coming down to the ship by a false message’. Hest kept his mouth shut and was grateful for the darkness that kept him anonymous.

  The Chalcedeans who now commanded the ship had apparently killed at least three crewmen in taking over the vessel, and possibly four, as a woman who had come aboard had been flung over the side bleeding but still alive. Hest suddenly grasped the full ruthlessness of the assassin and the gravity of his own situation. When one of his fellow prisoners speculated that they’d probably all be dead before long, someone roared at him to shut up but no one contradicted him. Two of the men climbed the ladder and exhausted themselves trying to force the heavy hatch open while the others shouted encouragement and suggestions. Hest had retreated to a corner of the compartment and put his back to the wall.

  While they were pounding, a new motion started. It took Hest a moment to deduce what it was and in that second, one of the crewmen shouted, ‘You feel that? They’re shoving off. We’re under way. Those bastards are kidnapping us!’

  A roar of voices rose, the angry cries underscored with wild wailing from one man. The victims pounded on the walls and shouted, but the rhythmic rocking of the ship only increased as it picked up speed in its battle with the current.

  ‘Where are they taking us?’ Hest demanded of everyone and no one.

  ‘Upriver,’ someone responded. ‘Feel how she fights the current. ’

  ‘Why? What do they want from us?’

  His question was drowned in the outcry the others raised as they realized they were being carried away from any hope of outside aid.

  The swearing and the shouting went on for a long time, to be replaced gradually by angry discussion and then muttering and the sound of someone weeping harshly. Hest felt dazed by his situation. He crouched in his spot in the darkness, smelling sweat and piss. As time trudged by and moving water whispered past the sides of the vessel, he wondered what had become of his organized and genteel life. None of this seemed possible, let alone real. How furious his mother would be when she heard of this outrage to her son!