by E. E. Knight
Gruss was the easiest. He was in a well-lit attic in the Masters’ Hall, drawing maps. He quickly covered his work when Ileth entered. She said she was looking for a map tube and they began to chat. He kept his body between his work and Ileth. He squinted as he looked at her.
She complimented him on the light, airy room, and he said he needed good light; his eyesight, never the best to begin with, had gotten worse of late.
“Do you wear lenses?” Ileth asked.
“Not for close work. Long vision is another story, but it wouldn’t do to have the Masters see me with lenses. You’re a girl; how would I look with a monocle?”
Bad eyes. That let him out. “Dashing,” she said to the suggestion of a monocle, feeling like she owed him a compliment.
Halkeff was in the Guard detail, and she found him in the main Guard office deep within the thick Serpentine walls. He was tall, thin, and a bit stooped over, like a buzzard. She caught him lecturing Rapoto, and angrily. He held a short, sharp mounting-hook in his hand, and she wondered if any of the dragons let him dig the point into their scale. “I told you before: you can’t be friends with them and command them. Who cares if they hate you? All that matters is they obey, and you find out who can gut fish and who can’t.” He had the raspy voice of someone who shouts a great deal, and slapped the mounting-hook into his palm as he spoke.
“Stranger in the Guard office,” announced a young apprentice in a badly fitting uniform writing on a chart from a desk under a grille-window.
Ileth gave an excuse that she was looking for Sifler.
“Get out of my sight, Vor Claymass.”
“My savior,” Rapoto whispered, sliding past Ileth, flashing the charming smile of old.
“There’s been some talk of Sifler being sweet on a mystery girl. You’d better not be it,” Halkeff said.
“N-no, he’s teaching me handwriting,” Ileth said. She complimented him on the elaborate knot in his sash, looking for something to engage him. “Does it represent something special?”
“It’s a little tricky, it’s called a no-concern-of-yours knot.”
Ileth decided she didn’t much care for Halkeff. She doubted scaleless Aurue would appreciate that mounting-hook, either.
Vor Rapp took some effort to find as he had a free afternoon. She had to do a good deal of asking.
She finally ran him to ground at the cobbler and leather workshop, wondering if that girl with three suitors from the play had to wear her boots out walking. It was an old building, and the narrow windows didn’t offer much light to work. Vor Rapp was pulled up on a stool and portable bench, putting some new heels on a boot with short, wide-headed nails. His fingers were red from being struck, and he was swearing under his breath. As he leaned over his work she saw his signet ring hanging from a chain where it was safe from his awkward efforts.
“Got something for the workshop apprentice?” he said, just glancing at her. Then he took a second look.
“Ileth!”
“I’m glad you remember me, sir.”
“Of course I remember you, you were . . .” He trailed off. “The tailer of your class.”
“Interesting work?” she said, looking at his little collection of nails. They reminded her of the pins that had held her wound together.
He waited for a moment, as if wondering where she was taking the encounter. “I never apprenticed at anything useful my whole life. There’s no great call for translators of Hypatian poetry. Thought I’d learn cobbling, just to see if I could.”
His voice had a nervous catch to it and he made a great show of lining up another bootnail.
She’d heard the expression smell the fear on him and had always thought it meant a urine odor or something like that. Vor Rapp had greasy sweat on his forehead now. Was he scared of her?
“I have an important question to ask you.”
Vor Rapp looked around as though frightened. “I had nothing to do with it.”
Ileth sensed that he’d supposed his own reason for her visit. Well, if it had to do with her being cut, it meant he felt guilty about it. That was to his credit.
“Be calm,” she said. “I just want to talk about it. As you see, I’m here alone.”
“Such a stupid thing to do. If I’d known he was planning something like that, I’d have tossed him off the Long Bridge. You were entirely innocent.”
“So why did he do it?”
“I can only guess.”
Ileth brushed away some of the tacks and sat on the workbench. “Then guess.”
He shook his head no but started talking. “Dun Klaff threatened Santeel but was afraid to hurt her. She’d go running to her father. I told him he was a fool and that he should just cut her off and let her sweat until she paid what she owed. Threaten her with scandal. I mean, you of all people. You turned out those scale thieves as a fourteen-year-old novice! ‘She’ll remember it every time she looks in a mirror and want to know,’ I told him.”
“Your conscience was troubling you. That’s something. If only it had troubled you enough to act.”
He had the good grace, or perhaps the experience, to look ashamed. “So what’s my fate?”
“That’s up to you. You know the truth about a crime.”
“I told you I had nothing to do with that.”
Ileth just stared at him, letting him sweat.
“Well, thank you for telling me, Vor Rapp. I’m content now. I just wanted to know.”
“Suppose I take all the blame myself? Say I cut you to frighten Santeel.”
Ileth wasn’t expecting that. She had to think for a moment. “Still an injustice. Besides, you weren’t anywhere near. Nobody would believe you.”
“You’re the injured party. You could demand an investigation.”
“For a months-old wound I told everyone was an accident?”
“You’ve heard the story from my own lips.”
“Vor Rapp—no one is ever going to know about this conversation.”
“Even if I do nothing? Even if I tell Dun Klaff you know everything?”
“I’m making no promises about Dun Klaff.”
“If I remember right, the last time you ‘acted’ there wasn’t enough left of old Gorgantern to fill a bucket.”
He meant that as a compliment, she supposed. He really wasn’t good with people. But he was trying. Trying counted for a lot in her esteem.
“I’ll let you get back to your boots,” she said.
What happened that night Ileth only heard the next day, from Ottavia. Before morning drill Ottavia pulled her aside.
“Ileth, I have some shocking news. The accident you suffered at that bridge business, it was no accident. The person who wounded you was discovered. Two Guards fought a duel last night. Hael Dun Huss himself told me the particulars.”
Well, if Ottavia expected her to be shocked, she did her best to look it. She reached up and touched the scar. “How . . . you mean it was not an accident?”
“It’s a very ugly business, and it concerns the dancers. Our poor Santeel. It seems she’s been taking snuff of a highly stimulating nature.”
Ileth decided it was best to just nod.
“Yes, well, youth will try things for the novelty and experience. It appears this Dun Klaff character sold her a good deal of it on credit. I spoke to Santeel; she said he wanted to be paid off with, well, with intimacies Santeel was too well bred to relinquish as payment of a debt.”
Ileth hadn’t known that piece of the puzzle, but she wasn’t surprised.
When Ileth first met Ottavia, she thought she combined maiden, mother, and crone all in one aging dancer. She was full mother as she spoke: “Dun Klaff threatened her with . . . I can’t believe I’m saying this about a young man who went to Blacktower . . . threatened her with disfigurement. She defied him and told him to do his worst. Gods! Why don’t you girls
bring these troubles to me? I’ve been in the world. I’ve seen debauchery on rooftop gardens in Zland that few of you can imagine, and as a young dancer I was invited to certain private salons in Sammerdam—well, Ileth, there’s very little I haven’t seen or dealt with one way or another. All of human radiance and misery, as the poet said. Had Santeel only confided in me!”
“Santeel can be very private,” Ileth said. “Her family Name.”
“I must finish my story. It seems this Dun Klaff wounded you during that ritual at the bridge for being the last of your draft. He had a piece of sharpened dragon scale. As you probably know, dragon scale doesn’t make a very good blade as it can’t keep an edge, but in a pinch it can be sharpened. He had it concealed in his palm, and then when one of his confederates knocked Santeel and a few apprentices into you and you all fell with him just behind you, he took his chance in the confusion and slashed you. He tossed the piece of scale off the Long Bridge a moment later.”
Ileth remembered Dun Klaff carrying the blanket over his hand, standing next to her at the rail of the bridge as he gave her back the blanket. From that height he could have jumped off himself and she wouldn’t have heard the splash.
“Another of the Blacktower youth, one who hews closer to the ideals I thought they engraved into the boys there, found out about it. Confronted him. They quarreled, began fighting with swords, if you can believe. Their fellow Guards broke it up, but the Master in Charge himself went into the barracks and held an inquiry.”
Ileth came close to confessing the whole thing but wanted to hear the rest.
“This is where it becomes difficult. Dun Klaff won’t admit to anything, as there’s just one witness against him and that Heem Beck, another Blacktower failure, it seems, is backing him up, probably because he was the one who shoved Santeel into you. All Dun Klaff has offered to do is resign from the Serpentine rather than face a jury. I’ve just spoken to the Master in Charge and he told me that, as you were the most injured in this, I was to ask if you would be satisfied with that, or would you rather put him before a jury of dragoneers.”
“What do you think I should do?” Ileth asked.
“There was blood drawn with intent. I think he should face a jury. There may be other women he has ensnared and used who might be encouraged to come forward. As I recall, just discharging that big fellow from the Catch Basin almost cost you your life.”
A jury would be a bad business for Santeel. Her father would certainly take her away.
Ileth thought of Santeel’s words below the lighthouse. They’d arrived at the Serpentine the same day; they might both leave the same way, pulled out by their fathers. “It would probably be the subject of talk at the Assembly.”
“I fear you’re right. We need a victory they can praise at the Assembly, not another embarrassment to be passed about in salons and gardens.”
Ileth wondered just how much Ottavia spoke to her friend Dun Huss. She sounded so like him at times.
“Let him leave. What’s a scar? A colorful story from my apprenticeship at the Serpentine.” She could have added that she’d seen a couple of young noblemen with scars on their faces in Galantine lands. There they’d considered it a mark of distinction, a proof of courage. It turned out she had Galantine blood in her from her mother; why not keep that tradition?
“I didn’t want to mention this before so it wouldn’t influence you, but the Charge said he’d be put out the gates in his ordinary clothes. As restitution for your injury, Charge Deklamp said his Serpentine clothing, uniform, sword, flying rig, all of that would go to you. You could probably sell it all in town for a good price.”
“His Guard uniform, you say?”
“That would be with the rest, I suppose.”
“I’ve always liked those hats.”
“They don’t let women serve as Guards, Ileth. You are coping with enough responsibility as is.”
“Still, I want that hat.”
* * *
—
Santeel was in good spirits when Ileth visited the next day. She had a clean, albeit tiny room with a window and a tile floor in the annex behind the physiker’s. Ileth had no experience with hospitals, but they’d always been described to her as noisy, smelly halls where sick people staggered in and corpses were carried out. The apprentice who took her to Santeel told her that the current practice was to have seriously ill patients and the injured all separated, if possible, as it prevented the spread of pestilence.
“This is nice,” Ileth said. “Is there any pain?”
“It feels more like a bad itch. The physiker says that is a good thing, it means the break is closing.”
They circled round the food and whether Ileth should bring her anything on her next visit. Santeel said the book she wanted to read had already been delivered. Ileth finally told the story of Dun Klaff’s dismissal.
“I should have exposed him as soon as he threatened me. But then my father would have found out and home I would go. He wouldn’t stand for any woman in his family taking snuff. I can just hear him. You know the kind of women who take snuff? Toothless old crones who sell tonics and silver polish to buy cat’s meat for their dinner. I can’t leave now, not when I’ve come this far. I’d sooner throw myself off Heartbreak Cliff.”
“Don’t speak so.”
Santeel reached for her and Ileth took her hand. “You know it’s just dramatics, Ileth.”
“That old dragon with the stripes told me that words are filtered thoughts and can become actions.”
“You know, if I’d been sure, absolutely sure your injury was a warning to me, I would have gone straight to the Master in Charge. I figured he’d say something like you’ll be next soon after it happened, but he never did. He seemed so tender to you there at the bridge, concerned. I’m sorry. Maybe the gods made me pay for my silence with a broken leg.”
Ileth tried to cheer her. She didn’t care for Santeel in despair; it was very unlike her. “You paid him back with that raid. It was a smashing success.”
Santeel sighed. “Not a perfect success. I failed with Rapoto.”
“You—you failed how?”
“Oh, I gave him a line about Dun Klaff pressuring me, which was true enough. I thought he might, well, not exactly fight a duel, but rattle him, anyway, because if he’s doing it to me he’s doing it to others. Turns out Rapoto suspected, maybe even knew more than he let on. He told me I’d walked into the fix, and it was up to me to get out again.”
“Ottavia said something odd about him using the debt to try to extract . . . favors from you.”
Santeel made a face. “That he did. I told him to go stick it in a stump.”
“I thought it was go cry on a stump.”
“He wouldn’t get a foreskin full of splinters from crying.”
Ileth laughed. “Santeel!”
Santeel relaxed into her pillow. “I’ve been among the dancers so long I’ve become obscene about everything. They’re such an earthy bunch. I mean to say we’re such an earthy bunch.”
The verbal slip might mean Santeel was already reconciling herself to not being able to serve as a dragon-dancer.
“How’s life in a hospital?”
“The first day I was very cranky. I missed my morning infusions. Or . . . you know.”
Santeel could be free with her tongue, flicking it about like a lash, before she had her morning tea, but in the weeks since Ileth had come back from Galantine lands Santeel had been one giant raw nerve.
“The snuff,” Ileth said.
“Yes. Done with that forever.”
Ileth, not able to just sit beside a bed talking, felt the need for occupation. She offered to brush out Santeel’s hair, and Santeel accepted with a smile. As Ileth worked they talked.
“Threadneedle says I have the makings of a great physiker. That Gift is interesting, much more expert on the su
bject. He doesn’t flatter me like Threadneedle.”
“Oh?”
“He says . . . how did he put it? He says you need a certain hardness to be a healer. You have to be able to pain someone briefly so they may heal properly. As I have very recent proof of when they set this leg.”
“Bad?”
“They wanted to give me dragon blood, did you know that? Said otherwise I may have a limp for the rest of my life.”
“Did you take it?”
“Of course not! I’ve seen the jars in the attic. Suppose I have children?”
Ileth had heard Amrits mention some jars. “The jars?”
“Oh, you haven’t worked with the physikers yet. Ugh. Don’t have breakfast on the day you get told about the uses and dangers of dragon blood.”
All Ileth knew about dragon blood was that there were harsh penalties, including being put out the Serpentine’s gates in your sheath, for anyone who tried to acquire or sell dragon blood. You could filch the odd scale to make a hairpin or belt hook and that was ignored, but dragon blood would bring a judgment out of her Directist copybooks.
“I’ve always been interested in what’s going on inside bodies. When I was little, I used to look at this old illuminated text—hand-lettered, art panels, hinges on the cover, expensive I suppose. It was a cyclopedia, a little bit of all the sciences. It had this page that was a picture of a woman sitting in a chair and there was this windowlike opening to her belly; it had an oval frame with gold leaf and everything, and she had a little sort of tower with balconies and many doors inside her where a baby grows and there were all these little people milling about, a hidden city of tiny people. It looked like a street festival. I think that’s what I told my mother and she said a husband invites one of the little people out. It made me feel rather bad for the baby, actually, like he had to leave a nice party because he was called away.”
Ileth laughed. “I was told there was a little garden inside me waiting for seeds.”
“Let me guess—and once a month it rains!”
“Yes!”
“I heard that one too. One of my friends from the music circle in Sammerdam. She had a Galantine governess.”
