Draykon

by Charlotte E. English

  'It's no trinket.'

  'Oh, I am sorry. I understood that it is an item of Ms. Sanfaer's creation?'

  Llandry felt a ripple of annoyance, but the implication of the statement passed Devary by. He sat back comfortably, smiling at Llandry as he opened his travel bag.

  'Certainly; it is all of her own work.'

  'Ah, the famed arts of Glinnery. How I wish I had a little of your creative talent, my dear.' Llandry bristled at the familiar term. She was not fooled: Indren dripped insincerity. It would not be the first time a scholar had looked down on the arts, but nonetheless Llandry felt nettled.

  Devary had found the cloth bundle. He unwrapped it carefully and placed the pendant on the table before Indren. Looking at it, Llandry felt a little soothed. Evidently it was a skilled piece of work, whatever a person's feelings as to the value of the aesthetic.

  Indren studied it without touching it. She drew an eyeglass from the belt at her waist and examined the stone very closely. Llandry's eyes wandered back to Devary's face. He watched Indren's procedures with apparent absorption.

  'An unusual piece.' Indren lifted her head, and Llandry found herself once again subjected to that sharp gaze. 'Where did this come from?'

  Llandry was silent. After a moment Devary stepped in, recounting, briefly, the history of Llandry's gem.

  'Istore,' said Indren, when he had finished. Her lips twisted in a smile that held a mocking hint. 'A romantic name. You have no idea at all, I suppose, what it is?'

  'Elder Ilae Shuly recommended you as a consultant,' interrupted Devary smoothly.

  'Ah, Elder Shuly,' she repeated, with obvious approval. 'There's a sharp mind.' She looked back down at the stone, turning it to the light. 'It certainly doesn't originate from the Middle Realms. If anything I'd say it was from the Uppers, but there's something -' She paused. 'There's something of the Lowers about it, too. I might be inclined to conclude it has its origins in both, were that possible.' She smiled in a small way. 'You should've come to me before, Mr. Kant.' She looked under her lashes at him, with a sort of mock severity that Llandry found quite repulsive. Devary shrugged and laughed.

  'I'm but a poor scholar. How could I guess it would fall under your area of expertise?'

  'Well. Attend me to dinner, and I may be able to forgive you.' She smiled at him, and he gave her a half-bow in response. She looked back at Llandry and the smile faded.

  'You must both come. I will tell you more about this stone tomorrow, when I have had chance to study it further.'

  Llandry felt a prickle of alarm. Suspicion and dislike made her bold, and she spoke up. 'The pendant stays with Devary.'

  Indren's eyebrows rose. 'Oh?' Llandry's words withered away under that mocking stare, but she met the woman's insolent gaze without flinching.

  'You did bring it here to be studied, I suppose?'

  Llandry inclined her head.

  Indren offered her a thin, false smile. 'Very well. If the pendant must stay with Mr. Kant, then Mr. Kant must stay with me. He will be happy to stand guard over me, I am sure: just in case I should try anything inappropriate with your "istore" stone.'

  Devary cast Llandry a quizzical glance, and shrugged. 'Certainly,' he said to Indren.

  'Ms. Sanfaer may amuse herself in the reading rooms, I've no doubt.' Indren was now outright frosty. Llandry was not wounded: on the contrary she was happy to go.

  Llandry was left to her own devices for most of the day. Devary emerged from time to time to check on her, and repeatedly invited her to rejoin them, but she steadfastly refused. She wouldn't be volunteering for any more of the Professor's obvious disdain. It was bad enough that Devary could be close to such a chilly, cruel woman.

  She asked him about it during one of his lamentably brief visits to her reading nook, but he was evasive.

  'We have known each other for some time. She can be difficult, but... well. I must go back, if you are comfortable.'

  'Bored senseless, and therefore, duly punished for my rebellion. It's been hours. Are you making any progress at all in there?'

  Devary drew up a chair and sat down, though he sat on the very edge as if he intended to leave any moment. 'Some of Indren's colleagues have joined us. The consensus is that it is not a stone, as some of your friends have suspected. The current theory under investigation is that it is in fact biological matter.'

  Llandry was startled. 'As in, from an animal?'

  Devary hesitated. 'Yes. Perhaps. You must understand, this is only an idea. It may be discounted any moment, and another idea brought forward. But it would not be the first time that animal parts have been employed for magical uses.' He stood up, smiling down at her. 'You will forgive the brevity of my visit, but I am needed. We are consulting the university's rarer books - they have collections from the Darklands as well as the Daylands - and the search may take days. It will go faster if I involve myself.'

  'Perhaps I should help?' Llandry hesitated to say it, picturing a roomful of studious strangers with horror. Before she was halfway through her sentence, Devary was already gone.

  ***

  It was growing late, and Llandry was growing very hungry, when Devary finally emerged with Professor Druaster behind him. They both looked tired, but the Professor's eyes were alight with excitement. The two of them talked in Nimdren, probably discussing the istore. Llandry could only wish she could understand.

  Devary's eye fell on her belatedly, and he smiled apologetically. 'Apologies, Llandry, we are being rude. We have made much progress, but there is a great deal still to do. It is time to stop for the day, and find something to eat.'

  They were to go across town for dinner, it emerged, to a popular food garden; its name, the Adriana Gardens, brought a pleased smile to Devary's face as Professor Druaster announced her plan for the evening.

  'How long is it since you were there, Devary dear?' Llandry didn't miss the fact that she was now using his first name.

  'Must be a year. More, even.'

  'Ah! Then you missed out on the fireworks displays; stupendous, truly, and only offered for the anniversary. There are new menus - all your favourites are still available, Devary dear, I put a word in the proprietress's ear about that - and the desserts are particularly fine.'

  The Professor's easy chatter ran on, directed entirely at Devary. Llandry followed them out of the building and watched as Devary handed the Professor into a smart new carriage and followed her inside. Llandry, left to make her own way, was not particularly mollified by Devary's apologetic smile as he realised his oversight. She ignored him.

  Professor Druaster's carriage was a handsome affair, well upholstered and finely made. Its mistress sat back upon the plush seating with a proprietorial air and a satisfied smile.

  'I could hardly allow you to drive all that way in that appalling little gig of yours, Devary.'

  Devary chuckled. 'It's a faithful old thing, Indren. I've had it a long time, and it's never failed me yet.'

  Indren wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. 'Yes, but no doubt it will, Devary dear. Besides, a gentleman deserves luxury.' The smile she offered with this pronouncement sickened Llandry anew, but Devary smiled back readily enough.

  Llandry turned her attention away and looked out of the window as the twilit streets rolled by. She was restored to her favourite blue cloak, the hood shading her eyes and guarding the play of expression on her face. She was not afraid of her disgust being perceived by Indren Druaster: the woman was far too absorbed by Devary. It was Devary's perception of it that she wished to avoid.

  The journey was moderately long given the event, but at last the carriage rolled to a gentle stop. Devary jumped out and immediately made a point of handing Llandry down first. She shook out her clothes, shivering a little in the cool air. The building that rose before her was quite low, only one storey, with balconies clustering around the roofline. The roof itself was flat and open, verdantly decorated with lush greenery that trailed in long tendrils to the ground. Diners sat up high at low t
ables, bathed in the cool moonlight. Llandry could hear strains of music drifting down from above.

  The same scene was repeated at the rear of the building. Indren's party was quickly led to a choice table in a shady alcove, slightly screened from the chatter and stares of the other diners. Llandry took her seat reluctantly, feeling that the evening could not end soon enough.

  She had expected to feel like an intruder, and so she did. Indren was just polite enough to speak in Llandry's own tongue, but she made no attempt at all to include her in conversation, talking exclusively to Devary about people, places and events relevant only to they two. At first Devary was mindful of Llandry's presence, recommending her choices from the menu, addressing remarks to her and frequently offering her a smile. She was soothed and comfortable as long as he remembered her, but as the evening went on he remembered her less and less.

  They had been seated barely twenty minutes before a stranger approached the table. Her curvaceous silhouette and sinuous walk made her femininity quite clear as she swayed up to Devary. Their conversation was conducted in Devary's native language, the fluid Nimdren tongue which sounded so beautiful when he sang. Llandry didn't understand a word, but that it was an intimate conversation was clear enough. The woman flirted aggressively with him, ignoring Indren Druaster's obvious contempt and apparently failing to notice Llandry at all. Devary's manner to her was a little reserved, she was thankful to note, but still he bore with her impolite behaviour with much more grace than Llandry thought reasonable. At last the woman departed.

  Several other diners visited their table over the course of the meal - most of them women - and Llandry was obliged to watch the same scene play itself out again and again. In between interruptions, Indren Druaster continued to monopolise Devary's conversation, often slipping into Nimdren. Devary glanced often at Llandry and she sensed that he wished to include her more, but he would not stir himself to interrupt Indren. Mortified, Llandry could not summon any appetite no matter how many temptingly fragrant dishes were placed before them, and at last she abandoned the struggle to let it all pass her by. She stood up, raising her hood.

  'I'm going for a walk,' she said. 'It's beautiful here.' She did not wait for their response but set off immediately, aiming for the garden that lay behind the restaurant.

  'Don't go too far, Llandry,' she heard Devary say behind her. She did not need to go far: merely out of sight and hearing would be enough.

  Peace enveloped her as she reached a pretty grove of trees. The babble of the food garden receded into near silence and the heat and bustle was replaced by coolness and a soft breeze. She sighed, turning her face up to the winds.

  These terrible, bold women. All of them had trouble written across them in every particular. She felt that none of them - most especially including Professor Druaster - would be a good choice for any sort of dalliance. She couldn't decide whether Devary saw it or not. If he did, why did he tolerate their intrusive attentions?

  She did not need to ask herself why they flocked to Devary. It was that damned chivalrous courtesy; his understated warmth and gentleness; certainly his handsome features and winning smile. He offered them little gestures: a kiss of the hand; a special smile; the gift of a flower; a gently solicitous question or remark. None of these things were particular in themselves, but together they amounted to a distinct appearance of special interest. They were so easily caught by it; they received a little and offered everything in return.

  Simultaneously the worst and best of it was that Devary seemed entirely unconscious of the effect his manner had on the women around him. Perhaps he wasn't. Llandry would prefer to believe him unaware; the possibility that he cultivated it made him appear a wholly different person to the man she'd known in Glinnery. She was sharply reminded of her own lack of experience with people. There was no way she could decipher what Devary's behaviour meant.

  Distant diamond stars twinkled through the shady, moon-silvered canopy of the trees, so very far away. She took a few deep breaths of heady twilight air, feeling gradually more refreshed. A gust of wind ruffled her hair, and the ghost of a smile crossed her face as the peace of the woods filled her and she finally began to relax.

  A sudden, sharp cracking sound rent the air, emanating from behind her. Footsteps sounded, loud and close. Before she could turn, hands grabbed hard at her, bruising her flesh. She cried out as much with surprise as with pain; her twilight reverie dissolved and a surge of fear filled her. She struggled hard, kicking and shouting. A hand closed over her mouth, cutting off her protests, and she was lifted and dragged backwards.

  Chapter Twenty

  Eva kicked against the dark waters that threatened to swallow her, cursing the skirts that tangled around her legs. She fought her way grimly to the surface, thrusting the bag upwards ahead of her. She broke the surface, gulping air, praying that the leather of her satchel would be sufficiently waterproof to keep the book safe. She began treading water, turning slowly in circles. Water met her eye in every direction, an unbroken horizon of green-touched blue. The shortig hound - Bartel - paddled gamely not far away, but there was no sign of Tren.

  Several long moments dragged by. Fear clutched at her, punching through her composure. Could he even swim? She ducked her head below the water again, staring uselessly into the dark ocean. She couldn't see him.

  At last, after an agonisingly long wait, a small explosion rent the water nearby and Tren's sodden figure appeared. He gasped for air, spluttering, spitting out water. Once his lungs were filled a stream of curses emerged, fluent and unceasing. Eva swam towards him and grabbed his shirt.

  'No drowning,' she chided.

  'Is it time to go home yet?' he said at last, shivering.

  'Nonsense; we've hardly seen the sights.'

  Tren gazed at the miles of water that surrounded them. 'All right, I've seen them. Now let's go home.'

  Eva spotted a length of broken tree branch sailing by, and grabbed it. It was completely sodden with water, as if it had been submerged for days, but at least it floated.

  'That's not going to be big enough,' she murmured. 'Hold this.' She thrust the bag at Tren. 'Don't let it get wet.' Her hands free, she pulled and tugged at the length of wood until it expanded, widening. She climbed onto it, dragging the shortig with her, and lay down, exhausted.

  'Pass me the bag,' she said. It landed beside her and she clutched it protectively as Tren climbed laboriously onto her makeshift raft beside her.

  'I like that trick you have there,' he said. 'Why don't you show me how to do that?'

  'It's not me doing it. It's just the way it works down here. Everything's more... fluid, I suppose. Malleable.'

  'Think between the two of us we could mould this ocean into a beach?'

  She laughed. 'Sadly there are limits to everything.'

  Tren devoted himself to the task of shivering, and didn't reply.

  'Should only be a couple of hours before the next change, if I remember rightly,' she said, wrapping her arms around herself. 'Then again, the meadow revolved away faster than it should have. It might only be an hour before the next change.'

  'Only an hour,' Tren repeated. 'Great.'

  Numinar Wrobsley's words echoed in Eva's thoughts all of a sudden. He'd said that his suppliers of rylur weren't picking any up, something about increased dangers. Instability. Perhaps this was what was meant: the cycles were whirling so fast that there was scarcely time to collect anything before one found oneself, say, drowning in a vast ocean of freezing water.

  'You're making the raft shake,' said Tren. Eva realised she was shivering so violently her whole body shook in spasms. She hadn't felt so completely bone-cold in her life; it made the settled chill of the Summoners' Halls seem like summer.

  'Speak for yourself,' she muttered. Turning onto her side, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying uselessly to conserve her body heat. 'You're the sorc. Can't you light a fire?'

  'Light a fire without fuel, while floating on a sodden raft in th
e middle of the ocean. It'll burn for about three seconds.'

  She sighed deeply. 'I suppose so.' She paused for a moment as a particularly strong shiver wracked her. 'I wonder if it's more pleasant to freeze to death than to drown?'

  'You are a bundle of joy.' He inched across the raft until he lay directly behind her, his arms sliding around her waist. She found herself pulled close to him. Cold as he was, he still radiated some heat.

  'Sorry about this,' he said. 'Desperate measures.'

  'Don't get any ideas.'

  'I don't wish to ruin your dreams, but a violently shivering woman stinking of seaweed isn't my idea of the perfect romance.'

  She snorted. 'You're certainly no flatterer.'

  'An hour, you said?'

  'About that, yes.' She paused. 'Probably.'

  'Probably.' He sighed. 'I wonder if Vale knows we're down here.'

  'No. It's too soon,' she replied. 'What made you think of that?'

  'Oh, just wondering if Fin made it back to Westrarc yet.'

  'Thinking of Mrs. Geslin?'

  'Among other things.'

  She was silent for a moment, picturing the worn face of Edwae's mother, drawn with anxiety, surrounded by dependent children. She imagined Tren there, breaking the news to her, comforting her distress.

  'I think you made the right choice to come here, Tren.'

  'You fought pretty hard against it at the time.'

  'How far would you have got by yourself, do you suppose?'

  'Not far,' he admitted.

  'You'd probably be drowning right now.'

  'Steady. Mind the ego. I concede that you were perfectly right.'

  She smiled. 'We'll visit Mrs. Geslin on our way back to the city.'

  Tren sighed, pulling her a little closer. 'Who knows when that will be.'

  A miserable hour passed - maybe more, it was hard to tell in the Lowers - and the watery green light remained steady. Eva was forgetting what it felt like to be warm, dry and comfortable. Her stockings stuck damply to her icy legs; her skirts were a heavy, clinging mass weighing her down. Her hair had come loose from its bindings and lay over her neck like a mantle of ice. She was grateful to Tren for trying to warm her (and himself), but it was a largely ineffectual gesture.