A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 (20 page)

This was Willem’s first patrol stint. They’d been on it, now, for perhaps an hour. He pulled out the pocket chronometer and glanced at it. Make that an hour and a quarter. As he tried to tuck it back in the pocket on the jacket, the chronometer slipped and fell.

Shit!

Luckily, it dropped between his legs and sat there. He picked it up and carefully slipped it back in its pocket. Five pocket chronometers had been lost in the last few months. The devices were not inexpensive. He really needed to come up with a way to secure them better. Perhaps a chain, like some of the men used, could be attached via a clip to a ring on the jacket? The time-keeping devices were invaluable for making log entries and for making sure they didn’t miss a scheduled patrol. Still, a chain could get caught on something, especially during a fight. Perhaps it would be better if they started using those chrono-bracelets that were getting popular. Having the things secured to their wrists would make it difficult to lose them during a battle or drop them while in flight.

Willem spent several minutes going over ideas on how to incorporate the devices into riding gear. The patrol was boring in and of itself, and doing so kept his mind occupied. Even so, he eventually exhausted designs for glove flaps, leather straps, and snap-covers. Then he could do nothing but think again on his problem.

He’d been a bit out of sorts since they found that his, Aeron’s, and Polandra’s schedules seemed to have been deliberately assigned so that, at least for the next two weeks, the only free time the three of them had together was after diner. Not the best time to try to explore. Aeron and Polandra, however, both had the end of the afternoon and the evening free tomorrow. That’s when they decided to go back to the South.

Willem honestly couldn’t blame them. His enchanting shift would end just as they wanted to leave, so he would not be able to go. He’d be much too exhausted. Enchanting always made him tired, much more so than Aeron or anyone else he’d asked about it. If he went with them, it would just be his luck to fall asleep in the saddle. No, better to stay.

Once again, Aeron and Polandra would go on a trip by themselves.

We are to look for bad people?

Balam’s question pulled Willem from his morose thoughts.
That’s right, love. People trying to damage those metal tracks down there.

I still do not understand why they are called tracks. An animal or person did not leave them, did they?

Willem’s brows raised.
No. Those are not tracks in that sense, though they were placed there by human workers.

Why did people call them that, anyway? The double-rails below didn’t look like any animal tracks that he knew of. Nor did single-rail tracks. He’d seen those in the caverns under Caer Baronel, used by the moss-carts for hauling moss around. Aeron had taken him and Sharrah down there a couple of times to visit the Live Caverns, and they’d passed a few cart tracks along the way.

The Live Caverns, as Aeron called them, were filled with plants and animals, almost all of which gave off different kinds of light. They were some of the most amazing places Willem had ever seen. The most fascinating one, at least for him, was the cavern with the lake. Aeron called it Lake Wonder, and it was a wonder indeed. There were incredible miniature ponds, made somehow as water from the lake overflowed along its edges. Small fish lived in those ponds, some even jumped, flipped through the air, between the little oases of water. And there were more fish, some quite a bit larger, that lived in the lake itself, along with various aquatic plants.

They really should take everyone to see those incredible caverns sometime. Of course, that meant Polandra would likely go along, too.

Why would people want to damage those tracks?

Hmm?
Willem glanced at the tracks ahead of them.
Greed, more likely than not.

Greed?

The desire to want more and more and more of something. Money, in this case.

Humans use so many words. What is money?

Did dragons ever trade things? One dragon gives another some food, maybe, in exchange for something else?

I do have memories of things like that.

Okay. We use money for trade. Say there is someone who wishes they had a cow.

Cows are delicious.

Willem chuckled.
Yes, they are. Now, let’s say the person who wants a cow does not have anything that the farmer who has a cow will trade for. What the person can do is give the farmer an agreed-upon amount of money in trade. The farmer can then use the money to trade for something she wants. As long as everyone agrees on what the money is worth, then everyone can trade using the money. A cow might be traded for, say, two hundred marks, and a goat for fifty. Everything gets a money price based on its relative value and people trade money for the items.

I see
, Balam said. He seemed to be slowly digesting what he’d heard.
How, then, does damaging the metal tracks let someone get more of this money?

Money can be earned with tracks. The people we work for get money with the tracks we protect. If the bad people have their own tracks, too, then they also can earn money the same way. Now, if the people we work for earn half of all the money that can be made with tracks, that means the bad people can only get what’s left: the other half. But if the bad people damage the tracks below, that means the bad people can then get all of the money.
Willem knew he’d oversimplified it, but the core idea remained.

It is as if there are two farmers
, Balam said,
and the bad farmer kills the cows of the good farmer. Everyone who wants cows will have to buy them from the bad farmer.

That’s it, exactly, in a nutshell.
Willem leaned down and proudly slapped Balam’s neck.
You really are the most clever dragon on Lethera.

Balam rumbled.
I do not like bad farmers. They are not nice.

Neither do I, love. Neither do I.

Perhaps these patrols for the Continental Transportation Company weren’t as much of a waste of time as he’d previously thought. As much as he disliked Lord Eldin, the ‘bad farmers’ who’d taken to destroying the company’s tracks shouldn’t get away with it.

Another perk of these patrols, he supposed, was the different scenery down here. The trees were not the same as those up toward Caer Baronel. Nearly every one they flew above had shed its leaves for the winter. The land itself was a big contrast, as well. It was mostly flat. There were even areas where grassy plains stretched for miles and miles. Though, there were some hills here and there, too. The map he’d been given showed there were some where their patrol ended, a town called Pellucid. It also showed a large lake there. It might be fun for them to all go swimming in the lake once springtime rolled around. Unfortunately, Polandra would probably look just as nice as Renata in swim clothes.

How much farther do we have to go?

Willem glanced down at Balam’s head. There seemed to be a pattern to the timing of the dragon’s questions.
I know what you’re doing.

Balam acknowledged nothing.
Will the patrol be over soon? I would like to get something to eat, after.

You’re being an absolute best-friend. Thank you.

Balam flew without comment for two wing-beats, then he looked back, eye a red-gold in the light of dusk.
It is you he is in love with.

Willem let out a breath in frustration.
I know. I just wish . . . I just wish I could spend as much time with him as Polandra does.

A feeling of confusion, a gentle twisting as of a small dust-devil, came through the link.
You spend more time with him than anyone other than Anaya.

I mean time on adventures. Time doing exciting things.

Is it that you want to do exciting things with him, or is it that you think he will start liking Polandra because he has adventures with her?

Willem frowned. Which was it? He stared at Balam’s unblinking eye.
I think it is both. More the latter, yes, but both. My happiest memories are times spent with him doing crazy, stupid, and sometimes dangerous things. I’m scared of how he’ll feel about others who spend those kinds of times with him.

Balam turned his gaze forward again.
Are you jealous of Anaya?

Anaya? No.

Are you jealous of Sharrah or Fillion?

No.
Willem wasn’t sure what he was getting at.
Why?

They are other people in his life, people who have spent those kinds of times with him, yet you do not worry about them.

He’d actually been worried about Fillion at one time.
They’re different.

Aeron loves them.

He does?
Willem grunted and nodded.
Of course he does. He’s got a big heart.

But he is not in love with them.

Intellectually, he understood this.
I know. Really, I do. It’s just jealousy and fear. I’ve been trying to work through them, but I have a ways to go, it seems. You’re going to have to keep helping me with that, at least for a while.
Balam’s rumbling acknowledgment thrummed under Willem’s thighs.

Ahead, a few early stars presaged the coming of night. Soon, the sky would be awash in twinkling lights.

I want a cow. I do not have money, though, so a deer will do. I am getting hungry.

Willem’s lips curved in a faint smile.
The patrol is nearly done. We’ll catch you something after.

+ + + + +

The low lamps along the hallway cast arcs of light across the beautifully inlaid marble floor and up the walls. The next lamp was on the left, the one after on the right, then on the left, and so on, down the passage. Tapestries hung on the walls in those lit half-circles.

Cirtis glanced at the one they were approaching. It depicted a dragon being killed in a courtyard of Bataan-Mok, Daelon’s Plaza. Manisi stood along the sides of the plaza and around the platform. The executioner stood near the center of the stone platform, next to the poor creature, axe raised.

Cirtis frowned. Such a waste.

The faint whisper of cloth came to him along with the echo of footfalls, bare feet slapping the cool floor. He doubted Lonato, his pesan, could hear the sound of the robe moving. The boy followed, one pace behind, on the left. Cirtis’s acute hearing had been problematic as a child, but it had been instrumental in his rise to Capu.

As they arrived at his rooms, he nodded to the two guards. The one to the left of the door bowed and opened it, while the other guard pulled on the cord. It would announce his arrival to the steward, Anais. The gong could be heard faintly, though not felt, as he entered the short front hallway.

Lonato took the side passage to his own small quarters.

Once Cirtis reached the front room, the sitting room, he used hand-language to let Anais know that dinner could be served, then he continued deeper into the rooms.

It was almost certain that Anais could hear. Stewards were supposed to be deaf, were only selected from those villagers who were. Secrets unheard could not be repeated. Cirtis had noted subtle clues, however, which led him to believe that the steward was not deaf, or at least, not completely. Tonight, that hypothesis would be tested.

Cirtis dropped off a few things in the office and took the short passage to the bedroom. He removed the heavier robe that was his uniform and opened the wardrobe. Several of the same robes hung within, symbols of his position, and from below them, he selected an a’sano from among the rest of the folded skirts. After putting it on, he sat on the bed to wait a few minutes, giving Anais time to set out dinner. It also gave him time to mull over his conclusions.

Patience and perseverance would have been needed to select children, train them how to pretend to be deaf, and then get them into the Corpus Order. With as many stewards as he suspected were planted this way, it would have taken years, decades even, and absolute secrecy. Discrete inquiries led him to believe that Nesch Takatin knew nothing about stewards who could hear. There was suspicion about them reading lips, but nothing else. And if the Nesch knew nothing of it, neither did the Observers. That left only one group of people it could possibly be. Those same qualities—patience, perseverance, and secrecy—could have allowed a few Laminae to escape the hard purge, giving them a chance to rebuild, a chance to embed themselves into the Order wherever they could.

Cirtis stood. He sent off a quick prayer to Ulthis for assistance as he left the bedroom.

Dinner had been laid out on the low table at one end of the sitting room. Anais stood at her customary spot, to the side, back against the wall, eyes staring ahead. Cirtis took a seat on a pillow and filled his plate from the selections available.

Lonato entered, lips now colored a deep red. The color went remarkably well with his skin tone.

There weren’t many things that men did differently than women, but typical choice in lip color was one. The boy wished he’d been born a girl—felt he was one, trapped in a boy’s body— and lip color was one thing Cirtis could allow, at least in his rooms. He sympathized with someone who felt uncomfortable in their person, who wished they could change. And tonight, it would also give him a chance to test his theory again before plunging ahead.