The Dragon's Egg Page 3

  Shakara bowed in her northern way, straight-backed, bending only the knees and head. She was getting a little stiff about it these days. That would have amused me, except that she was only six years older than I was. I executed my preferred wide sweep of the arms, bending at the waist.

  When we rose, the Lady waved us to chairs already arranged within the curve of the windows, she to one side, the two of us facing her. I had that magnificent view to my left, but I wasn’t tempted to look at it. I didn’t want her to think I allowed my attention to wander in her presence.

  There were no pleasantries, that wasn’t her way. “I have two people in my guest hall requesting an audience, an older woman and a younger. However, they will tell the Hallmaster nothing of the reason, except that the younger woman is special in some way. There is a long story behind it, apparently, and the older woman says that she will only tell the story to me, because it might not be conveyed truly. The younger woman says nothing at all.”

  She spoke quietly, but then she’d never needed to raise her voice in her life.

  “Master Garrett,” she went on, her eyes turned fully on me, making me sit a little straighter. She was so respectful, always calling me Master, as if I were someone of importance. Not like the commander, who treated me like something nasty he’d stepped in. “You arrived on the same ship with them. Did you talk to them?”

  Since yesterday, I’d not thought of them at all. A strange pair, the woman who’d snubbed me and the girl with eyes too big for her face. I’d come up in the wagons with them, we’d stopped in the outer yard, the two of them had clambered down from their perch and vanished into the guest hall without a backward glance. And they were gone from my mind just as quickly.

  “No, they spoke to no one, apart from the captain, and their cabin girl. They kept to themselves.”

  “Describe them.”

  “The older woman is middle-aged, more than fifty summers—”

  “Forty-eight.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, these outdoors women wear out quickly. A suspicious nature, not open. Not terrified to be on a long journey, so I would say she is used to a position of authority. A kylerander or holder, perhaps, or a craft leader. The girl… odd looking. Very pale, even paler than Shakara, and huge eyes. I would guess ten or twelve by the face, but she is over tall for a child. Taller than me.”

  “That would not be difficult,” Shakara murmured, but the Lady quelled her with a look.

  I was too used to the insult to take any notice. “Simple-minded. The sailors loved her because she talked to the sprites.”

  “Did she indeed? Curious. And apparently she has thirty summers.”

  That was a shock. “Thirty? No, surely not. There is nothing womanly about her at all, in shape or ways.”

  The Lady nodded. “So the Hallmaster said. Would you say she was special, Master Garrett?”

  I took a moment to arrange my answer. “I saw no sign of it, but then I hardly looked at the girl. I only boarded the ship at Greenling Bay, after all. I saw them twice at table, and once on deck. It is not much on which to form an opinion.”

  I never knew quite how far I could go with the Lady, even now. She liked my forthrightness, I knew that, right up to the point when she slapped me down.

  Today her lips quirked. “True enough. I too need a little more to go on before I talk to them myself. I should like to know more of their true purpose in coming here.”

  “Surely it is obvious?” Shakara said. “The mother wants to leave the simple-minded daughter here where she will be safe. But she believes she has to have a reason for you to accept her, so she pretends that she is special in some way.”

  I nodded. I hated to agree with Shakara, but usually in such cases the simplest explanation turned out to be the true one. Not special, just different.

  “Perhaps. The whole coast knows that I will accept such people, if they are harmless and can be useful. However, after the incident two years ago, we must be circumspect, especially with Sister bringing the babes from the homeland. We cannot take risks, not now. So I should like both of you to get to know them, and see if you can find out more about them. I have chosen you two because you both speak the southern dialect. Steward, since they must stay here for a while, they may wish to be useful, so offer them employment within your domain. You can observe them covertly that way. Master Garrett, you may exert your charms on them, and see if that bears fruit.”

  Well, that might be amusing, and liven up an otherwise dull assignment. “How much charm do you wish me to exert, Lady?”

  Shakara snorted in derision, but the Lady answered solemnly, “As much as you care to. Steward, you may leave now.”

  She swished out, skirts swaying. Probably she imagined it was provocative, but I’d never been tempted. I had plenty of better prospects elsewhere, when I wished, and no need to wake to Shakara’s sour face.

  The Lady sat immobile as the door clicked shut, and then the clank of the lifting mechanism sounded. Only then did she rise, and walk across to the window.

  “Pour me some of the green.”

  I went to the side table where the wine decanters were lined up – three kinds of red, a green and even some amber, although she seldom drank that. I poured some of the green wine into a glass, and carried it across to her.

  “I see you have the new wall hanging up,” I said.

  She spun round. “Ah, you noticed. I thought you would. I have never seen a representation of the southern coast before, so tell me, is it accurate?”

  “Yes, very.”

  “Even the ships? They seemed a strange mixture to me, some very large, yet some rather small and slender.”

  “The large ones are to catch whales. The small ones are sword ships, as the locals call them. Light and swift and deadly. For defence, since they have no army to speak of.”

  She raised an eyebrow at that. “Ships for defence? We could do with some of those further north, to keep the raiders at bay.”

  She was right about that. The reports were getting worryingly frequent.

  “Now, you are discreet in front of Steward Shakara, but let us talk freely about these women. Is there anything else you observed about them?”

  “The only odd thing is that I can’t see through the girl’s eyes. The woman is easy, and there is no sign of magic in her. But the girl – nothing.”

  “Curious. She is certainly unusual, and that interests me. But I want you to be careful with these two. I do not want you getting heavy-handed, is that clear?”

  An indignant response rose to my lips, but I swallowed it down. I was good at my work, that was beyond doubt, but there had been one or two unfortunate incidents. I nodded my acquiescence.

  “You really think she might be special?”

  For answer, she strode across to her desk, and unrolled a large map, with the Keep at the top, and every town and kyle marked. “Look, here is Greenling Bay, where you boarded your ship. This port here, Hammer Rock, is where they boarded.” Her finger moved almost to the bottom of the map. “And their kyle is some way beyond that, even.”

  I understood at once. “That is practically at Dragon’s Point.”

  “Exactly!”

  “So far south!”

  She laughed. I’d rarely seen her so excited. “This one has real possibilities. So I do not want you scaring them off, Garrett. On the other hand, sometimes crazy people are just crazy, and dangerous, too, so take it slowly. You are to treat this the same way you would treat any other special investigation. Do you understand?”

  I did. Perhaps this one could be the real thing at last.

  3: The Guest Hall (Shakara)

  Shakara rarely left the Keep. The kitchens, the pantries, the cellars – these were where she spent her days. But the Outer Keep was also part of her domain, and every two or three days it was necessary to visit the guest hall to inspect the stores. A brief visit, no more than that. There would be a meeting with Rythin’s stewards to discuss supplies, th
en perhaps an inspection of the cellars or the linen rooms, and away again. An hour, or two at the very most, and Rythin was careful to shut himself in his writing room the whole time, so there was no danger of encountering him.

  Now the meeting could not be avoided. She would have to see him and talk to him, and all the time suffer his sorrowful looks and reproachful sighs. It was too bad of the Lady to ask such things of her. As if she had nothing better to do than to chase round after superstitious peasants. These two women were nothing but trouble.

  When she emerged from the Keep, the sun was hot on her face. It always took her by surprise, after a day spent in store rooms kept cool by massive stone walls, or in the chill of the cellars, to find that outside it was a pleasant summer’s day. She loved the warmth. It took her back to her childhood, when she had spent every waking hour in the open, and often the sleeping ones, too, curled up on the roof to escape the stifling heat.

  She pulled her scarf over her head to shield her face. That, too, was a legacy of childhood, the need to protect her pale skin from the burning heat of the sun. It was unnecessary here, where her only exposure was a brisk walk across the bridge to the Outer Keep. The guards saluted as she passed by. Such a small thing, that respect, but every time it made her heart sing.

  The walls of the Outer Keep housed a variety of buildings for the comfort of visitors, but the table room was recognisable by the strong smell of stew wafting from it, and the steady murmur of voices, punctuated now and again by a burst of laughter. Later there would be singing, and perhaps one or two of the travellers would play an instrument. The doors stood wide open. Within moments the noise and smells and bustle enfolded her.

  Rythin looked up as she approached. She could almost hear him sigh as he spotted her. “Shakara,” he said, removing his spectacles and rubbing his eyes. “What is it you want?”

  Not even any pretence there. ‘What a pleasant surprise, Shakara. How nice to see you. How are you?’ But no. He sat there, perched on his dais with the guest book, watching over his territory like a predatory eagle. No, nothing so majestic as an eagle. A vulture, perhaps.

  She stepped onto the dais, and looked down at him sprawled in the big wooden chair. “Good evening, husband.”

  He winced at that. It was still true, technically, although they saw each other seldom these days. Not since the last feast day, and very briefly even then. But he made no response, and perhaps that was an improvement over his previous accusations. He had whined so much, and for so long. If he had reached acceptance, that was surely a good thing.

  “You have two guests here who are of interest to the Lady. She wishes me to offer them some occupation while they await an audience.”

  Sudden interest in his eyes. He sat up, pulling the book nearer, and replaced the spectacles. “Two guests? Names?”

  “I have no names for them, but they arrived on the southern trader yesterday. A mother and daughter.”

  “Ah yes. Here we are.” A stab of the finger onto the book. “Holder Marisa and Mistress Dru. From Cranna’s Holding, in the Kyle With Fifteen Oak Trees.”

  She laughed out loud, then covered her mouth with her hand for a moment. “Oh dear. Is that how they name their kyles in that part of the world?”

  “It is,” he said, looking over the top of his spectacles at her. “It is as serviceable as any other naming system.”

  His tone was mild, but she felt reproved. She always did, with Rythin. He was not much older than her, but his grey hair and querulous manner made him seem more like a father than a husband.

  He pointed. “They are over there, at the end of that third table.”

  Two women in mud-coloured clothing, indistinguishable from all the other visitors of low rank. The wealthy travellers, those who could afford a small copper for the privilege of sitting at a cloth-covered table with proper chairs, wore the vibrant colours of the north, or pale desert tones, or sometimes the muted weaves of the hill people. But the peasants, who were fed and housed for free, all wore brown, like so many dung-beetles.

  Shakara dodged her way through the crowds, her flowing skirts rustling satisfactorily. She was perhaps a shade overdressed for mingling with dung-beetles, and undoubtedly the pale layers of her wrap would need to be cleaned later. Still, it was such a comfort to wear the proper clothes for her rank. She was a princess, after all; there were certain standards to be maintained.

  The older peasant was just about to take a mouthful of soup or stew or whatever tasteless concoction was being served tonight, but she saw Shakara coming and nervously set the spoon down again, adjusting her shawl with scrawny fingers. The younger one glanced up, but didn’t stop eating.

  “Good evening to you, welcome guests,” Shakara said in careful southern dialect, fixing a smile across her face. “I am Shakara lah Mazzalath, senior steward at the Keep. Our most gracious Lady, the Guardian, has sent me to enquire after your well-being.”

  There was definite panic in the older woman’s eyes now. The titles, perhaps, or the mention of the Guardian? But she said nothing. She was a poor specimen, thin and worn, her hair touched with grey, her clothes patched and filthy.

  “You are Marita?” Shakara asked.

  “Marisa. My name is Marisa.” The accent was so thick that Shakara could barely make out the words. “And this is Dru.”

  The one who was special. A strange child – no, not a child, she had thirty summers. Yet it was hard to believe, apart from the unusual height. There was nothing else odd about her, except for the translucent quality of her skin and a certain intensity in the eyes. She watched Shakara fixedly, not blinking, and it was the older woman who looked away first.

  “Will she see us?” the peasant woman asked.

  “Will she—? Oh, the Guardian? Yes, in time, but she has many other matters to attend to.”

  “Of course,” the woman said, with a quick half-smile. “She’s a great lady, and we’re nobody. But… we can’t afford to stay long.”

  Shakara lifted an eyebrow. “You need pay nothing. You are guests of the Guardian.”

  “But only for three days. Isn’t that the way it works?”

  “Ah, I see. It is true that travellers may only stay for three days without payment. But you are here awaiting audience. You may stay as long as necessary. Until the Guardian permits the audience.”

  Relief washed over the older woman’s features. “I see! That’s good news, then. How long will it take, do you think? Before she sees us?”

  “I cannot say. It would be quicker if you were minded to reveal something of your story to the Hallmaster, so that he might judge the importance of your case.” The woman’s head drooped. “But no matter. I am authorised to offer you some occupation, if you wish it.”

  That brought only a bewildered look.

  “Work,” Shakara said, her smile slipping. Truly, she was not meant for such tasks as these, and it was wrong of the Lady to ask it of her. But, curbing her impatience, she replaced the smile. “I can find you something to do, to pass the time.”

  “Oh, yes,” the woman said, nodding with enthusiasm. “We’d like that. We’re used to being busy and earning our keep.”

  “Very well. I shall sit with you for a while, and you shall tell me all about yourselves and the chores you do at home, and then I shall know where best to place you.”

  Although she knew already that they would be fetching and carrying in the guest hall kitchen, scrubbing pots and helping with the vegetables. The cooks would be glad enough of the extra hands, and she doubted there was anything more complicated the two women were fit for.

  The woman chattered away quite happily about goats and pigs, or something of the sort. Shakara was barely paying attention. She had her eyes fixed on Rythin, who was smiling and laughing, deep in some flirtation with one of the serving women. What could be more pathetic than a man of that age still imagining that he held any attraction for women? He was an object of ridicule and pity. The priests said that every man should be respected for
the good qualities within him, and it was a tenet she tried to follow as a rule. For Rythin, however, she made an exception.

  She was glad when Garrett arrived to play his part. It was always amusing to watch him trying to be clever. He probably thought he was so subtle, that way he had of moving about the room, chatting with this one and that one, not looking at the two women at all, pretending they were of no interest. Maybe for the peasants it was an effective strategy, but she could see through him as if he were clear glass.

  He found a tray, and fetched stew and bread and a tankard of ale from the serving hatch, and then looked around the room, for all the world as if he were trying to find friends. She could not imagine he had any, not here. He was not a popular man, except with a certain kind of woman. He was too savage for anyone of sensibility.

  With a little start, he pretended to notice the two women for the first time. Oh, but it was so obvious what he was about. He smiled and weaved his way between tables to where the two women sat.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you both again. Are you settled in here, Mistress?”

  The peasant woman gave him a tight, suspicious smile and nodded. Yes, quite right to suspect a man like that. It was amusing, the way her face closed up.

  “I see you’ve already met Mistress Shakara,” he persevered.

  Another nod. The peasant was sharp, she was not going to fall for his little tricks. But he needed to be friends with them, as the Lady wished. Time for Shakara to help out.

  “I am going to find something for Marita and… erm, her daughter to do while they await an audience.”

  “Marisa,” the woman said in apologetic tones. “My name is Marisa, Lady. And this is Dru.”

  “Dru…” Garrett said, turning his attention on the girl for the first time. “Unusual name.”

  “It’s short for Drusinaar,” the peasant woman put in.

  “Drusinaar?” Garrett said. “That’s pretty.”

  “Words from the old language for gift from the sea,” the girl said. “It means I have no mother and no father.” Her tone was as emotionless as if she were talking about the weather.