City of Dragons: Volume Three of the Rain Wilds Chronicles (28 page)

“Women and their scribbling,” he commiserated. “Do they never get enough of finding things out and then writing them down? Wasn’t Alise’s letter enough for her?”

Reyn smiled and suddenly relaxed. He picked up his mug of steaming tea and warmed his hands around it. “Malta has always had endless curiosity. She tried to read the note you gave her, but the writing was tiny and the light outside the concourse very bad. The questions she wrote here are just the ones that occurred to her as you were speaking to the Council. As for me, I had no chance even to look at Alise’s missive before Malta dispatched me here, to beg you to come and talk with her.”

Leftrin shifted in his seat and looked down at his hot tea. “Would tomorrow do?” he asked reluctantly. “I’ve been up since before dawn, and I’m soaked and chilled to the bone. And I need to get my crew’s report on the errands I sent them on.”

Reyn sat very still, trying to read the man. He had to bring him back to Malta tonight: if he didn’t, she would immediately start making plans on how soon she could get down to the boat and speak to him herself. Ever since the
Tarman
expedition had left Cassarick to herd the dragons upriver, Malta had been anxious about it. She had always been clever with sifting through gossip to find out things that were going to happen or might happen. In Trehaug, she could tell him which ships were going to arrive and what cargoes they were bringing days before they reached the city. And she had been certain that there was something else going on when the Cassarick Traders’ Council practically drove the dragons and their keepers out of town.

“It wasn’t an expedition to seek haven for them,” she had told him, more than once. “And it wasn’t just an exile, though I believe there are several on the Council who were happy to be consigning them to just that. The dragons were expensive, and messy, and dangerous. And they were in the way of the ongoing excavation. But there was something more beneath the surface, Reyn, something sinister. Something nasty that involves a lot of money and possibly our dear, dear friends the Chalcedeans.”

“What did you hear to make you think that?” he had asked her.

“Just bits of things. A rumor that one of the hunters for the expedition would do anything for money, that possibly he had murdered someone a few years ago to help someone else get an inheritance. And that perhaps someone now on the Council knew that and was either instrumental in getting that hunter on the ship or that the hunter used what he knew about the Council member to get the job on the ship. Oh, just gossip, Reyn, in little bits and pieces. And uneasy feelings about all of it. Selden has been gone far too long, with no real word from him. I know there was that last letter, but it didn’t seem right to me. And why, oh, why has Tintaglia not returned to see what became of the other dragons? Could she be that heartless about her kindred? That once she found a mate and the possibility of having her own offspring, she would abandon the others? Or has something terrible befallen her? Has the Duke sent hunters after her and her mate?”

“Don’t think the worst, dear. Selden’s a young man now, well able to take care of himself. For all we know, he may be with Tintaglia right now. As to why she hasn’t returned, well, maybe Tintaglia thought the young dragons would not need her. Maybe she thought we’d do better at keeping our promise to care for them.” He’d meant the words to be comforting, but after he’d said them, he heard how sad they sounded. Why she was so fixated on the dragons, he was not sure. Tintaglia had saved both their lives and brought them together, that was true. But only after the dragon had repeatedly endangered and tormented them. Did they really owe the blue dragon anything? Sometimes, he would have been very content to simply settle with Malta, to leave behind the exultation and exaltation of being an “Elderling” and be just another Rain Wild couple expecting their first child.

Leftrin cleared his throat and Reyn started. He saw the weariness on the man’s face and felt churlish to be asking such a favor. But it was for Malta, and he had promised he would try. “Please,” he said, and for a moment the word hung alone in the silence.

Someone coughed deliberately. Reyn turned his head to find a young woman looking at the captain. By her rough clothes she was a deckhand, and by the tracing of her features, she was somehow related to Leftrin. And thus, in all likelihood, some sort of cousin to Reyn as well. She didn’t flinch before her captain’s stare. “I could go in your place, if you’re too tired,” she offered. “I don’t know everything you do, but I’ll wager I could answer enough of the Elderling lady’s questions to content her.”

“Oh, would you?” Reyn asked, relieved at such a solution. But before she could respond, Leftrin gave a weary groan.

“I’ll come. Let me find something dry to put on. Though doubtless I’ll be just as wet when I get there.”

“May I still come?” his deckhand asked hopefully.

Leftrin glanced at Reyn. “Would your lady welcome two visitors so late at night?”

“I’m sure she would,” Reyn replied gratefully. He smiled at the girl, who grinned back mischievously.

“I’ll get my oilskin,” she announced happily and darted from the room.

M
alta had crossed the last quarter of the bridge on her hands and knees. The rising wind had set it to swaying dangerously and the guard ropes were slick. Once she reached the trunk platform that secured the end of the bridge, she crawled to the leeward side of the trunk and huddled there. She wanted to scream and she longed to collapse weeping and had neither the breath to do the one nor the luxury of time to do the other. “The baby is coming soon,” she told herself, as if speaking the words aloud would make her feel less alone. She drew her cloak tighter around herself and leaned against the tree as another pang moved through her. She was shaking with cold, not fear. There was nothing to fear. Women had babies all the time, and many of them delivered their own children alone. It was a perfectly normal and natural part of being a woman. She was fine. “I’m not scared. I’m just cold.” She clenched her teeth against the sob that tried to force its way out. “I can do this. I have to do this and so I can do this.”

She pushed away the thought that what was normal and natural for another woman might not be so for her. The Elderling changes that had beset her body had had consequences that she had never foreseen. Weeping was uncomfortable now; it enflamed her eyes. She had heard tales of other women who had been heavily touched by the Rain Wilds, women who had died trying to push out a child. But surely that would not happen to her. Her changes had been caused by the dragon Tintaglia, not by chance exposure to the Rain Wilds. Surely her body would be equal to this task.

She lifted her eyes and looked around hopelessly. Night had come, and most of the Rain Wilders had extinguished their lights and gone to bed. Some lights still shone, but in the blowing wind and darkness, she could not discern a path to any of them. Her hands were cold. She hitched up the loose white tunic she wore under her cloak. Her fingers fumbled at the fastening of her trousers as she tried to loosen them. “No dignity,” she complained to the wind. The loose trousers fell around her ankles and she managed to step free of them. She bundled them close to her and then stuffed them inside her tunic to keep them dry. If her baby was born right here, they would be what she would wrap him in.

Another contraction passed through her, and this time she was sure she felt the baby move down with the press of her muscles. When at last her own body stopped squeezing her, she drew a deep breath and made one final effort. “Help me! Please! Someone help me!”

Then she gave a startled shriek as a figure detached itself from the shadows and stepped toward her. In the dim light from a distant lantern, she saw it was a man in a long cloak. She had not heard anyone approach. How long had he been there, watching her? She decided she didn’t care. “Please, please help me get to shelter. I’m about to . . . I’m having a baby.”

The man crouched down beside her. She could see nothing of his face inside his deep hood. “You are the Elderling woman, the dragon woman, yes?”

He had an accent. Chalcedean? Possibly. Then he was probably one of the freed slaves who had come to the Rain Wilds during the war. Most of them had been from Jamaillia, but a few had been Chalcedeans. “Yes. Yes, I’m Malta, the Elderling. If you help me, you will be richly rewarded by my family.”

“Come, then. Come.” With no regard for her travails, the man seized her upper arm and tried to haul her to her feet. She groaned and nearly fell and then managed to stand upright.

“Wait. I can’t . . .”

“You come, then, come with me. There’s a safe place, not far from here. Come.”

It seemed horrid of him to expect her to walk, let alone tug her along by her arm, but he was the only help available. It didn’t matter if he were stupid or just thoughtless; he would help her get to shelter, and once there, perhaps she could ask him to run and get a woman to help her. She tried to lean on him, but he stepped away from her, keeping hold of her arm and tugging her along. Was it distaste for her, or his unwillingness to touch a woman in labor? Let it go. She followed him awkwardly, back across the swaying bridge she had just crossed, around a trunk, and then off across an even thinner bridge. “Where are we going?” she gasped.

“To an inn. Come. Come now.” He dragged at her forearm insistently.

She jerked her arm free of him and sank to her knees as another pain took her. He stood over her, saying nothing. When she could speak, she gasped, “There aren’t any inns in Cassarick. Not . . .”

“Brothel, inn. A place to stay. I have a room, you will be safe, you make the baby there. Better than out in the rain.”

That was true. But despite the desperation of her situation, she liked this man less and less by the minute. A brothel. Well, at least there would be women there, and probably women experienced in dealing with her plight. She let him take her arm again and staggered to her feet. “How far?”

“Two bridges,” he said, and she nodded. Two bridges. Two more than she could possibly manage.

She drew her breath and firmed her jaw. “Lead me there.”

L
eftrin was not a man to move quickly, Reyn had decided. Especially when he was feeling inconvenienced. Or possibly just exhausted. He had drunk his tea and then disappeared to change into dry clothing. When he finally emerged from his stateroom, he looked more ragged than when he had gone in. Reyn was beginning to understand exactly how much the expedition had endured. And while it stirred his sympathy for the man and his crew, he did not release him from his word. Leftrin’s niece and deckhand, Skelly, was already cloaked and booted and obviously ready for a late-night adventure on shore. But Leftrin drank yet another cup of tea and borrowed a knit hat and a waterproof from one of his crew before he finally stood and announced that he was ready to leave.

Reyn had hurried them from the docks and to the lift, where he rang the bellpull half a dozen times before there was any indication that the tender was on his way down. The man scowled at him, obviously displeased to be called out on such a stormy night, until Reyn gave him a handful of coins that was as much bribe as payment and made him promise that when Leftrin and Skelly wanted to return, they would be able to find him awake when they knocked on the door.

Reyn had never liked lifts. He’d always rather do the climb than endure the sickening lurch and sway and the unpredictable hitches and halts along the way. He clenched his teeth and hoped the man was good at minding his line and pulleys. Neither Leftrin nor Skelly said much. Leftrin was huddled in his borrowed waterproof, while Skelly grinned and peered out at the night as if fascinated by every detail. Suddenly, Reyn was glad she had come along. He suspected that Malta would get more out of interrogating the girl than quizzing the reticent captain.

Once the lift halted, he’d been eager to unlatch the safety net. “Along here,” he’d told them as they trooped out of the lift basket after him. “I’m sorry it’s so dark. There’s little to rent in Cassarick; the town is too young yet to offer the sort of inns and taverns that Trehaug has. We’ve had to take whatever temporary lodging we could get for this visit. Mind the guide ropes. They’re set lower than they should be. Across that bridge, a loop or two up the trunk steps, one more bridge, and we’ll be there. And I do thank you for coming. Very sincerely.”

As they finally drew near to the rented cottage and Reyn saw the darkened windows, he scowled to himself. If Malta had decided she was too weary for this and gone to bed, he’d be embarrassed to have dragged these two so far through the storm. But the scowl was more for the worry he felt. If Malta had given up on them and gone to sleep, it meant that she was far wearier than she had indicated when they’d left the concourse.

He pushed the flimsy door open and ventured into the darkened room. “Malta?” he said quietly into the darkness. “Malta, I’ve brought Captain Leftrin for you . . .”

His words tapered off as he felt the emptiness of the chambers. He could not have explained it to anyone. He simply knew that she was not there and had not been there since he had left. He stepped to the table and ran his fingertips lightly across a jidzin centerpiece there. The Elderling metal responded to his touch by bursting into life, giving off a ghost light, bluish but penetrating. He lifted it and it lit the room. Malta was not there. Cold flowed through him. He heard himself speak in a deceptively calm voice.

“Something’s wrong. She isn’t here, and it doesn’t look as if she’s been here.”