by Timothy Zahn
CHAPTER 26
Draycos's first instinct was to get out of there. To duck out of sight, pull the door closed with the tip of his tail, and come back later when he could deliver his package without being seen. In Noy's feverish state, surely the boy would decide afterward that this had been just a dream.
But the very unexpectedness of Noy's question had nailed his paws to the floor.
And now he was stuck. Because there was no way he could leave a sick child wondering if he was about to die. Especially not when he thought the appearance of a K'da warrior was the omen of that death.
"No," he assured the boy in his calmest voice. "It is not time. Not at all."
The boy blinked. "But—"
"I have brought you some food," Draycos explained. Coming all the way into the hut, he closed the door behind him. "Also some fruit juice," he added. "You must be very thirsty."
The boy stared as Draycos came around the side of the bed, never taking his eyes off the K'da for a moment. "You are thirsty, are you not?" Draycos tried again as he slipped off his backpack.
Noy nodded silently. "It is well that I brought this, then," Draycos went on, choosing one of the bottles and prying off the seal. "I hope you like... I believe this is called grappo juice." He held the bottle toward Noy.
The boy's mouth worked as if he was trying to say something. His gaze had shifted now from the K'da's face to the bottle, and the claws holding it. "Go ahead," Draycos said encouragingly, moving it a little closer to him. "It will be good for you. Drink."
Slowly, Noy took the bottle. Staring down into it, he lifted it to his mouth.
A few drops slithered down the corners of his lips. But most of that first drink made it inside where it belonged. "How does it taste?" Draycos asked.
Noy looked up at the K'da, then back into the depths of the bottle. "A little funny," he said.
"Yes, that is the way of a fever," Draycos agreed. "Foods often do not taste normal."
Noy drank again. Then, all at once, the strength seemed to go out of his arms.
The bottle started to slip from his grip—
Draycos's forepaw snaked out smoothly, catching the bottle before it could fall.
"Very good," he said as he set it down beside the cot where Noy could reach it.
"Perhaps you should rest now. You can drink more in a little while."
"Okay," the boy said. He was starting to sag a little, and his breathing seemed more labored. "Could I have—" He paused, looking around as if searching for something.
"Another drink?" Draycos suggested, picking up the bottle. "Certainly. Allow me to hold it for you."
The boy drank deeper this time before coming up for air. "Still tastes funny," he said, panting a little. His eyelids were definitely sagging now.
"It will taste better tomorrow," Draycos said, wishing he had had more experience with human sicknesses. Too late, he wished he'd thought to bring Jack's comm clip out here with him. Perhaps Uncle Virge could have helped him know how to deal with it. "I will give you one more drink, then I shall let you rest."
"No!" Noy gasped. His hand fumbled for Draycos's forepaw, gripping it with an odd combination of desperation and weakness. "Don't leave me. Please. Don't leave me."
Draycos twitched his tail in surprise. "I must," he said. "I cannot stay."
"No," Noy said. His voice had sunk to a whisper, as if he had already used up all of his remaining strength. "Please."
Draycos reached out with his other forepaw and stroked the boy's sweaty forehead. A bitter memory floated up in front of his eyes: the dead Shontine aboard his ship, the Havenseeker, after the enemy ambush over Iota Klestis.
Friends, companions, and fellow warriors; but there had been nothing he could do for them. Noy, in contrast, was almost a stranger.
But unlike those dead friends, there was something Draycos could do for him.
Something small; perhaps even something meaningless. But something.
"Very well," he told the boy quietly. "I will stay with you, for as long as I can. Lie down, now, and rest."
Noy's eyes were already closed as he sank back down onto his cot. "Don't leave me," the boy murmured again. "I'm scared."
"I will wait with you awhile," Draycos promised, moving the food and juice containers aside so that he could crouch comfortably beside Noy's cot. "And do not be afraid. You have nothing to fear as long as I am here."
Noy shivered once, his eyes moving restlessly beneath the closed lids. Was he becoming delirious? Sliding even deeper into his fever?
Draycos sighed to himself, wishing even harder he'd brought the comm clip. "I will sing to you," he said, for lack of anything better to say. "A song of danger and courage, of fear and victory. Would you like that?"
"Okay," Noy breathed, his lips barely moving.
And so Draycos began to sing.
Quietly, softly, gently. Songs of encouragement, and hope, and strength. Some of them were the old ballads of the K'da that he had learned as a cub. Others were his own songs, created from the joys and sorrows of his own heart.
Songs that reminded him of his people, and of their war against the Valahgua, and of the home they had been forced to abandon. Songs that reminded him of the terrible responsibility that had been placed between his claws.
Noy lay restlessly through most of it, his face and body twitching in his sleep.
Every so often he would wake up, and Draycos would give him another drink of juice. He would then lie down again, and drift back into his troubled sleep.
And Draycos would stroke the boy's forehead, or rest his forepaw comfortingly on his shoulder, and resume his singing. The night was near its end when the twitching and muttering faded away and Noy seemed to settle into a deeper and more restful sleep. His forehead seemed cooler to the touch, too, but Draycos had no idea whether that was good or bad.
What he did know was that it was long past time for him to go.
"I must go now, Noy," he said. "I will come again later."
The boy just swallowed and rolled over. Sound asleep. Draycos moved the food and juice bottles back to where Noy could reach them, and slipped out of the hut.
The trip back to the Chookoock family side of the hedge was uneventful. He reached the frying pan just as the stars were starting to fade into a reddish glow in the eastern sky. "Jack?" he called quietly, his snout pressed to the gap beneath the door.
There was no answer. "Jack?" he called, a bit more loudly. If the Brummgas had come and taken him away...
"About time," Jack's voice came irritably from inside. "Come on, come on—get in."
Draycos shoved the wooden slab inside. Jack's fingers appeared beneath the door, beckoning impatiently. The K'da set his paw on the hand and shifted into two-dimensional form, sliding up his host's arm as he did so.
"Geez, but you had me worried," Jack muttered as Draycos moved to his usual position across Jack's back. "I thought for sure you'd been nailed. What did you do, take the scenic route?"
"Not precisely," Draycos said. "The errand took longer than expected."
"No kidding, Sherlock," Jack said. "You have any idea what time it is?"
"I know it is close to my six-hour time limit," Draycos said. He hadn't realized just how close, actually, until now. The strength flowing into him as he rested against Jack's skin made him realize just how weak he'd been before his return.
With Noy's illness filling his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed.
"So what took so long?"
"I was with Noy," Draycos said. "He was afraid, so I sat with him awhile and—"
"Wait a minute," Jack interrupted. "What do you mean, he was afraid? He saw you?"
"Yes, but do not be concerned," Draycos said. "He was—"
"He saw you?" Jack repeated, sounding stunned. "Oh, that's terrific. That's absolutely terrific."
"It will not be a problem," Draycos insisted, feeling a little annoyed at Jack's reaction. "He was in high fever. If he remembers anything at all,
he will undoubtedly conclude it was a dream."
Jack didn't say anything, but Draycos could feel the boy's hands tightening into fists. "It was necessary," the K'da continued firmly. "He was afraid, and sick, and alone. Would you not have done the same if you were there?"
"Yeah, but I wasn't there," Jack bit out. The words were harsh, but his tone was beginning to calm a little. "I was in here. Freezing to death, and worried sick about you."
"I am sorry," Draycos said, a flash of guilt replacing his earlier annoyance.
"I did not intend to cause you concern. But it was something I had to do."
"Yeah, I know," Jack said with a sigh. "Just one of those K'da poet-warrior things, huh? Like pulling that guy Dumbarton out of the hot dirt on Iota Klestis?"
"Yes," Draycos said. "Interesting that you still remember even the man's name."
"What, you don't?"
"I remember the incident, certainly," Draycos said. "But I had not made a point of the name. Certainly none of it was of any large importance in my mind. It was a very minor act of mercy, as such things go. One of many that a K'da warrior does as a matter of course."
"I guess maybe it's because it was the first time I saw you do something like that," Jack said. "First time I saw anyone do something like that, come to think of it."
"And it turned out all right," Draycos pointed out. "We escaped safely."
"I still think it was a waste of effort," Jack said. "Even if we ever run into him again, which we probably won't, the guy sure isn't going to walk up and thank you."
"Reward and gratitude are not the point of such deeds," Draycos said. "The point is to do what is right, without thought of benefit or reward. Speaking of benefits, did Lisssa ever return?"
"Oh, she returned, all right," Jack said with a snort. "Over and over again, like burps from a bad meal."
Draycos frowned. "I do not understand."
"First she brought a blanket that didn't fit under the door," Jack explained.
"She took it back and brought another one. That one she managed to stuff in.
Waste of time—the thing wasn't very warm."
"Where is it?" Draycos asked, looking around.
"Back there behind the mesh," Jack said. "I didn't want room service tripping over it if someone actually decides to feed me."
"So she came here two more times?"
"Actually, she came three more times," Jack said. "The third time she brought more of those pancake things. I saved some, if you want them."
"Thank you," Draycos said, lifting his head part of the way off Jack's shoulder and nudging aside the shirt with his snout. Jack offered him a pancake, and he scooped it into his mouth with a flick of his tongue. It was dry and rather chewy, but he was too hungry to care. "I am surprised she would take such a risk so many times."
"You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full," Jack said. "Yeah, I've been wondering about that, too. Especially since Her Thumbleness is probably running her ragged during the day. She ought to be dead on her feet, not scurrying around like a mouse with insomnia."
"With what?"
"Sleeplessness," Jack said. "Can't sleep, so you get up and play cards or something."
"Ah," Draycos said. "Perhaps Doloms do not need much sleep."
"Maybe," Jack said. "That doesn't explain why she wants to play hide-and-seek with Brummgan patrols. Especially after that big speech she gave me way back when about having to look out for yourself."
"Perhaps she is one of those who speak one way but secretly act another," Draycos suggested.
"Don't say it," Jack warned.
"Do not say what?" Draycos asked.
"You're talking about me, right?" Jack growled. "I talk tough, but then I send you out to get fruit juice for Noy?"
"I was not even going to mention you," Draycos protested. "Truly."
"Yeah," Jack said, not sounding convinced. "Speaking of which... how is he?"
"I do not know," Draycos said. "He drank one and a half bottles of fruit juice, and appeared to be sleeping better when I left him. But I do not have any experience with human illnesses."
"I should have given you the comm clip," Jack said, shaking his head. "You could have called Uncle Virge. Well, maybe we can both get out there tomorrow night.
Anyway, all that juice should have helped. Thanks for doing that."
"It was my pleasure, and my duty," Draycos said. "And speaking of food...?"
"Oh, right." Jack held up another pancake. "Here."
Draycos had just finished the last one when he sensed the approach of distant footsteps. "Someone is coming," he warned Jack, listening hard. "Three Brummgas, from the sound."
"Oh, good," Jack said sourly. "Room service has finally showed up."
A minute later the door was unlocked and swung open. "You," the lead Brummga rumbled. "Come."
"Wha—?" Jack mumbled, sounding as if he had just been startled awake.
The Brummga didn't bother to repeat the order. He merely reached in and hauled Jack out. "You will come," he said, setting the boy down around the side of the frying pan and giving him a shove toward the house. "The Panjan Gazen wants you."
CHAPTER 27
As Jack had expected, the Brummgas took him in through the kitchen door. Also as expected, the kitchen was bustling with slaves preparing breakfast.
Not quite as expected, though, the Brummgas did not take him directly to Gazen.
Instead, they turned him over to Heetoorieef. "I have been told to make you presentable," the Wistawk informed Jack coolly. "A breakfast has been prepared for you, as well. Do you wish food or a cleaning first?"
"I think I'll go with the cleaning," Jack said, watching as the Brummgas stomped their way out through the kitchen, the slaves scattering out of their path as they went. "It's okay—I know the way to the bathroom."
He started toward the stairs to the slave quarters. But Heetoorieef stepped into his path. "I have been ordered to keep you in the kitchen until you are called for," the Wistawk said. "There is a cleaning facility over here."
The "cleaning facility" turned out to be a slightly oversized sink with a spray nozzle. Standing beside it, Jack cleaned himself up as best he could, trying to keep out of the way of the hurrying slaves.
After the common shower rooms at the Whinyard's Edge training camp, and the even more open showers back in the slave colony, he knew he should be used to this by now. But he wasn't. Here, especially, it felt like he was taking a bath in the middle of a city park.
Though again the rest of the slaves seemed to have developed the knack of turning off their eyes to such things. No one even seemed to notice his full-sized dragon tattoo. Or if they did, they didn't mention it to him.
Heetoorieef had left a pile of clean clothes by the sink. Not a clown outfit, this time, or even the artificially cheerful household slave uniform. These were normal, everyday street clothes.
That all by itself was ominous, especially coming off of a night in the frying pan. Had Gazen decided to take Jack up on his offer to do some burglary for him?
Or was this a subtle signal that Jack had already been sold?
He was nearly dressed when the outer kitchen door was again flung open. He looked over and saw a half dozen Wistawki slaves stagger inside, with two Brummgas in the rear herding them along.
His first thought was that the whole lot of them were drunk. His second thought was that they were so utterly fatigued that they were asleep on their feet.
It was only as the first one nearly tripped and turned halfway around that he spotted the bright red lines crisscrossing his back.
The bright red of fresh blood.
Jack caught his breath, his eyes darting to each of them in turn. All six of them had been savagely whipped.
Heetoorieef was just passing by. "Heetoorieef," Jack hissed, grabbing the other's arm and jerking his head toward the bleeding Wistawki. "What happened?"
Heetoorieef looked toward the others, his alien face unreadable. "They
are thieves," he said. "They stole from the slaves' food locker."
Jack felt something catch in his throat. Oh, no. "You're sure it was them?"
"The Brummgas are sure," Heetoorieef said. "That's all that matters."
"But—" Jack broke off. "Suppose they're wrong?"
"And what if they are?"
"What do you mean, what if?" Jack retorted. "They'd have beaten them for nothing."
Heetoorieef turned his eyes onto Jack. "And what if they did?"
Jack stared up at him. "Don't you even care?" he demanded.
The Wistawk looked away. "They are slaves," he said, very quietly. "I am a slave. Come, your food is ready."
Numbly, Jack followed, not even bothering to fasten his shirt all the way up.
He felt sick to his stomach, sicker than he'd felt about anything that had happened since he'd arrived in this place. Sicker even than he'd felt watching two innocent bystanders get shot back on the Vagran Colony, right after he'd first met Draycos.
Because this one was his fault. One hundred percent his fault. He was the one responsible for that stolen food, not them. That whipping should have been his, not theirs.
In the old days, Uncle Virgil would have had a good laugh over seeing someone else get nailed for a job he and Jack had pulled off. Uncle Virge would probably be less openly cheerful, but even he would congratulate Jack on his good luck at avoiding the blame.
Draycos, in contrast, probably felt every bit as sick as Jack did.
The worst part was that there was nothing in the universe he could do to fix it.
Even if he jumped up on the table right now and announced his guilt to the Brummgas, it wouldn't make any difference. The slaves would still be bleeding, the skin of their backs still torn.
For almost three months now Uncle Virge had been warning Jack against Draycos and his K'da warrior ethic. He'd told Jack over and over again that he should stick with looking out for himself, and not worry about other people.
Jack had mostly ignored him, following Draycos's lead and letting the dragon make most of the moral decisions. And up to now it hadn't really cost him very much.
