“Be back before nightfall,” Miri called. “I don’t want you tumbling into a gorge in the dark. And ask Father Jacob if he has news about the young folk.”
Gythe promised she would with a wave of her hand and walked across the field toward the town.
“Funny how that girl always finds something else to do whenever there is work to be done,” Miri said, sniffing. “You put on the kettle and I’ll haul out the washtub.”
“What’s happening with the young folk?” Kate asked.
“They’ve been leaving home.” Miri placed the small washtub on the table.
Kate, remembering the dilapidated-looking buildings and war-ravaged city over which they had flown, couldn’t very well fault the young people.
She poured the hot water into the tub. The Doctor viewed the preparations with alarm and bolted up the stairs to the deck above. Miri laughed at him. “I occasionally decide the Doctor smells a little too strongly of sardine and I insist on a bath.”
Miri plunged the wooden trenchers into the water and began to scrub while she talked.
“We Trundlers have always been proud that our clans maintain law and order among our people, not counting the occasional blood feud, of course, and in that instance a few cracked skulls and a knife wound or two generally settles the matter. All that’s changed down here, however.
“Dunlow is divided into clans, like Trundler floating cities above. After the war, the clan leaders decided that they would take over running the government. The clans had worked together to fight the blood mages and they wanted to try to remain united.”
Miri handed Kate a plate to dry.
“Lacking an enemy to fight, however, the clans began fighting among themselves,” Miri continued. “Old rivalries and feuds surfaced. If you ask a McPike and a McDougal if water is wet, a McPike would say no just because a McDougal said yes. And so now nothing gets done. The young people have no work and no prospects. They gather in the local taverns and drink fermented goat’s milk and talk revolution. We’ve been hearing reports of parents waking to find their sons and daughters have packed up and left.”
“Where are they going?” Kate asked.
“The center of the rebellion is said to be in Kilean, a town in the western part of Glasearrach near the marshland. The problem is that once the young folk leave, they don’t come back. Their parents never hear from them again. Father Jacob is doing what he can to help rebuild the city and try to settle the feuds, but that takes time and the young don’t want to wait. They want change to happen immediately.”
Kate stacked the trenchers in a cupboard. She and Miri carried the dish tub outside and dumped the water into the ravine. Now that the washtub was put away, the Doctor returned and began rubbing around Miri’s ankles.
Miri sat at her ease, glad to rest. Kate walked the deck, feeling restless and watching the clouds mass overhead. Lightning flickered in the distance. Miri had said the storms that swept the land were not nearly as bad as they had been prior to the war, but this was the second rainstorm since they had landed.
Kate gazed out at the dismal prospect and tried to picture a year in this place. The time had seemed very short when she had first heard Dalgren’s sentence. Now it seemed interminable.
“Do you have any more chores for me to do?” Kate asked.
“I didn’t like the way the helm answered after we came through the Breath,” said Miri. “Sometimes the magic of the Aurora damages the constructs. Perhaps you could take a look.”
Glad to have something to occupy her mind, Kate started to go inspect the helm. Before she could look at it, Dalgren appeared. The dragon circled overhead, searching for a place to land on the rugged, uneven ground. He spiraled down and made a safe, if inelegant, landing, thumping forward onto his chest when his hind leg slipped into a crevasse.
He lumbered toward the boat, moving stiffly. His crest drooped and his injured left leg slightly dragged on the ground. He looked tired and hungry.
“Did you find food?” Kate asked.
“If you could call a couple of tough stringy mountain goats food,” Dalgren grumbled. He looked discomfited to see Miri coming to greet him. “Sorry, Mistress, I didn’t mean to complain.”
“Good evening, Dalgren,” she said, smiling. “I am afraid food is not plentiful for anyone on Glasearrach. We have to learn to live on short rations down here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Dalgren, chagrined. “I am most grateful—”
“I know,” said Miri. “You won’t find life easy here, either of you.” Her earnest glance included Kate. “You will find it rewarding, I believe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Kate.
“I am certain I will, ma’am,” said Dalgren.
“And that ends my lecture,” said Miri, laughing. “Ah, good, here comes Gythe.”
Miri caught sight of her sister hurrying toward the ship and walked down the gangplank to meet her.
“I truly am grateful for this opportunity to regain my name,” said Dalgren to Kate. “I hope Miri knows that.”
“She knows,” said Kate. She affectionately rubbed his snout with her hand.
Dalgren gave a huge yawn, causing Kate to wave her hand and back away.
“Sulfur fumes,” she said, grimacing.
“I could sleep for days,” Dalgren said. “I came to make certain you were all right after the journey.”
“I thought I’d been cold before, back when I was wrecking in the Deep Breath,” said Kate. “I never knew what cold was!”
A shudder rippled across Dalgren’s body, making his skin twitch. “I was covered in icicles. I don’t want to make that trip again any time soon.”
“We won’t,” said Kate somberly. “We’re stuck here for a year.”
“I’m not complaining,” Dalgren reiterated.
“Neither am I,” said Kate. “They say the Pirate King used to live around here. Maybe I’ll spend my time searching for buried treasure.”
Dalgren rolled his eyes and snorted fire from his nostrils.
“Father Jacob is coming tomorrow at midmorning,” said Miri, returning with Gythe. “He is bringing men to help unload the cargo and he wants to meet with you then, Dalgren.”
“I can help with the cargo, ma’am,” said Dalgren.
“I am certain Father Jacob will find all sorts of tasks for you,” said Miri. “And now you should go get some sleep. Hopefully you’ll find something more to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.” Dalgren said.
He ducked his head and backed away so as not to accidentally take down a mast with a swipe of his tail. Once he was clear of the ship, he spread his wings and made a running leap into the air.
“He really is grateful,” said Kate. “We both are.”
“Tell me that in six months,” said Miri.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dalgren arrived well in advance of the time set for his meeting with the priest. He looked better rested and better fed than the day before. Kate greeted him, but she didn’t have time to talk. She, Gythe, and Miri were working down in the hold to ready the cargo for transportation.
Dalgren asked if he could help. Miri, eyeing his massive size, said he could keep watch and let them know when the priest and his helpers were coming.
Dalgren settled down on the ground to wait. Miri opened the hatch and she and Kate started to descend into the hold. Miri stopped to look around.
“Where is the Doctor?” she asked sharply. “I don’t want that cat down there. Last time he ripped open a sack of flour and made such a mess that I almost never got it cleaned up.”
Gythe pointed to Dalgren.
Kate was mystified. “What does Dalgren have to do with it?”
“The Doctor doesn’t like dragons,” Miri explained. “That means he’ll be hiding under one of the lift tanks, which is where he can stay until we’re finished.”
Dim light filtered into the hold, for the sun was visible in the sky this morning, shimmering faintly and g
iving no heat.
Kate was going to bring a lantern with her to light the hold, for it had no portholes. Miri shook her head.
“Gythe uses her magic.”
Gythe cupped her hands together, as though she were holding a bird. She sang a few words then opened her hands to reveal a globe of bluish-white light. She flung the globe into the air and smiled to see it float upward to hover near the wooden beams, filling the hold with light.
The three of them lowered the netting that held the cargo in place and began to tug loose the ropes that kept it from shifting during the voyage. Shifting cargo could prove deadly to a ship, causing it to list dangerously and potentially sending it plunging into the Breath.
The cargo consisted of sacks of rice and wheat to grind for flour, barrels of salted pork and beef, and sacks of seeds for crops that grew well in low sunlight, such as lettuce, carrots, and spinach. They carried more than food. They had filled wooden chests with books for the school run by Brother Barnaby, Father Jacob’s assistant. The books ranged from the history of Aeronne to primers on magical constructs. Other boxes contained bottles of tinctures and potions and unguents used for healing, as well as herbs and oils and spices for medicine and cooking.
“Who pays for this?” Kate asked.
“The people of Dunlow,” said Miri. “When we make our return voyage, we haul blankets and clothing made from the merino wool for which the Trundlers of Glasearrach were once famous. The woolen goods fetch high prices in the world Above and we are able to provide these people with the means to earn a living, maintain their pride.”
Dalgren gave a trumpeting hoot that was so loud and unexpected even Kate jumped. The Doctor shot down into the hold, his eyes wild, every hair standing on end.
“I hope that means Father Jacob is coming and not that the world is ending!” Miri gasped. “Look now! See what that dratted cat has done! Gythe, clean up those seeds he’s spilled, then come greet our guests.”
“You go,” Kate told Gythe. “I’ll clean this up.”
Gythe thanked her with a flashing smile and started to run up on deck.
“Don’t leave that cat down there!” Miri called irritably.
Gythe grabbed the Doctor and carried him to the deck above. Kate scooped up the seeds from the deck and stored them in another sack. When she was finished, she came on the deck in time to see a group of men dressed in shabby clothes gathered around the gangplank. Several other men remained seated on wagons drawn by sturdy little shaggy horses. She presumed the man in the cassock, talking to Miri and Gythe, was Father Jacob.
He was certainly not what Kate had expected.
His cassock had seen better days. It was rumpled and worn; the hem was frayed and covered in cream-colored dirt while the same dirt stained the area of the knees and his sleeves. The top button near the clerical collar was missing. The collar itself was no longer white, but a dingy gray.
Kate searched for a resemblance to Alan, but saw little. Father Jacob was perhaps in his early fifties, and thin, but then so was everyone on Glasearrach. He was well-built with broad shoulders. He wore his iron-gray hair in the traditional tonsure, but it was ragged and unkempt. He gave Gythe a fatherly hug and smiled at Miri, who was scolding him on the state of his clothes.
“You look as though you have been crawling around in the mud, Father!”
“That’s because I have,” Father Jacob answered with a chuckle. “I’ve come from the construction site. I’ve been helping to lay bricks for the new houses.”
“You lay bricks?” Kate asked, startled.
She had never known a priest to get his hands dirty.
Father Jacob turned to her with a smile that crinkled the lines around his eyes and deepened the lines around his mouth, almost as if he knew what she was thinking.
“Father, this is Mistress Katherine Gascoyne-Fitzmaurice,” said Miri.
He started to hold out his hand, then noticed it was covered in dirt. He wiped it on his cassock, causing Miri to mutter and shake her head. Father Jacob offered Kate his hand again.
“I am Father Jacob Northrop.”
Kate was entranced by his eyes, finding it hard to look away. They were gray-green in color, piercing and intense, surrounded by a web of lines. He seemed to see through her body to her soul. She supposed that must be a job requirement for a priest, but the feeling of intrusion made her uncomfortable.
“Mistress Katherine,” said Father Jacob, shaking hands. He had a firm grip.
“Please call me Kate, Father. I know your brother, Alan,” Kate added, flustered, trying to avoid his gaze. “I knew him from the Aligoes. When he was a Rose Hawk.”
“Indeed!” Father Jacob said, his eyes warming. “How is Alan? I hope he is well. Is he still a privateer?”
“He is now a captain in the Royal Navy, Father,” said Kate.
“Good for Alan,” said Father Jacob. He released her from his scrutiny with a smile. “I must write to congratulate him. And now, Mistress Kate, please introduce me to your friend.”
Dalgren held himself at rigid attention, sitting back on his haunches, his neck stiff, eyes staring straight ahead, his wings at his sides. The Bottom Dwellers who had accompanied the priest kept their distance, arms folded, eyeing the dragon askance.
“This is Dalgren, Father,” said Kate.
“No, I am not,” Dalgren stated, his voice grating. “I do not have a name.”
Father Jacob regarded the dragon with interest. “Miri wrote to me about the trial and your sentence. I know the history of the Battle of the Royal Sail. I am friends with Father Antonius, whose magic kept the fortress from crashing to the ground after the navy fired on it. Do you think you deserve the sentence that was handed down by the council?”
Dalgren had not expected the question. He shifted his head to look down his snout at the priest. His claws dug into the ground.
“I deserted the Brigade, Father,” he said, his voice grating. “I admitted my guilt. I broke my oath.”
“One could say that the navy broke its oath to you,” Father Jacob remarked. “You were doing your duty, guarding those who had placed their lives in your care when they surrendered. Why did you desert? Was it cowardice?”
Kate stirred in anger, but she kept silent. Dalgren would not appreciate her interference. The Trundler men were watching and listening. A few scowled, but more appeared to be curious to hear what Dalgren had to say.
He was clearly startled by the question. He thought it over in silence, then breathed out pale smoke. His rigid defensive posture relaxed. His claws uncurled, his jaws parted slightly.
“If I had stayed in the Brigade, they would have ordered me to kill again and I could not do that. I had seen too much death already. My choice was to either desert or disobey my commanding officer. I deserted.”
He lifted his head, his crest flared. “I realize now I should have stayed to fight for my beliefs, as did Captain de Guichen and the others. I will work hard to earn the right to bear my name again.”
“Good,” said Father Jacob, smiling. “Since the name you lost is your dragon name and none of us could pronounce that anyway, I believe we could call you by the name you go by among humans. Would that be correct, Master of Dragon Lore?”
He glanced at Miri.
“Indeed it would, Father,” she replied.
Dalgren gave a faint smile, his lip drawing back slightly, barely showing the tips of his fangs.
“If the Master approves, then so do I, Father.”
“Welcome, Dalgren,” said Father Jacob. He rubbed his hands. “And now, let us get to work unloading this ship.”
The Bottom Dwellers greeted Miri and Gythe as old friends, but their smiles vanished when they turned to Kate. They rebuffed her attempts to be friendly and shouldered her out of their way when she offered to help.
“You are an outsider,” Miri explained. “The Bottom Dwellers don’t trust strangers, especially those from Above. Give them time to come to know you. You’re going to be here
a year.”
Kate thought that over and sighed.
They loaded the cargo into the wagons. Miri and Gythe were going to go back to the city with them to help store and distribute the supplies. Father Jacob asked if Dalgren would like to pay his respects at Droal’s Cairn, a memorial dedicated to a dragon who had died during the war.
“Come with us, Kate,” said Miri, as they were leaving the Noafa. “I know these people don’t seem very friendly, but they will warm up to you.”
Kate shook her head. “I’ll stay here. I need to make those repairs to the constructs.”
“But you don’t have to do that right now,” Miri protested. “We’re not going anywhere in the ship. Besides, Gythe is the one who should be making the repairs.”
Gythe made a face and pointed at Kate, who laughed. “Gythe is right. I don’t mind the work. Gives me a chance to practice using the seventh sigil. Tell Father Jacob that I’d like to talk to him about it, when he has time.”
“I’m sure he will make time,” said Miri. “He likes nothing better than to talk about magic.”
Gythe thanked Kate with a wave and ran off to climb onto one of the wagons where she laughingly settled herself among the sacks and barrels. The driver looked back to see what had become of Miri.
“We will be home before nightfall,” said Miri, hurrying down the gangplank. “Don’t let that cat trick you into feeding him!”
Kate promised she wouldn’t and stood at the rail to watch the procession. The wagons led. Father Jacob and Miri and the others followed on foot, while Dalgren soared overhead. He dipped his wings to Kate, then flew lazy circles to keep pace with the wagons.
“He looks happier than I’ve seen him in a long time,” Kate remarked to the Doctor.
The cat was not interested. He yawned and licked his paws, then followed Kate as she went over to inspect the brass helm. The cat insinuated himself between her and the helm and began to purr loudly.
“Absolutely no sardines,” Kate told him. “You heard Miri.”
She rubbed the Doctor’s head to ease the disappointment, but the cat would have nothing more to do with her. He stalked off in ire, heading down to the galley in the faint hope that Gythe had mistakenly left the butter on the table.
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