The Dragon Round (21 page)

“Faster,” Rowan mutters.

Flames burst below. Patches of deck darken. The dragon rears its head.

Tuse jams the harpoon home, stops, and scans the galley. Rowan follows his eyes.

The mast is burning like a candle. The sail is about to collapse. The oars are flopping uselessly. Tuse looks at Rowan. He smiles grimly, then hangs the firing rod on its hook, turns to face the dragon, and puts his arms out.

Rowan yells, “What are you doing? Shoot it! Shoot the rider!” Rowan races forward.

Bearclaw says, “Come back, boy!”

He's small, and the captain is huge, but Rowan knows how to tackle. He'll save the captain from his madness and get the key. He runs through the dragon's shadow. Tuse watches it come. The dragon doesn't enflame him, though. Instead, it flips its back legs forward and snatches Tuse off the deck. The captain screams, the dragon lifts and whirls, and they head south.

Rowan leaps onto the foredeck. He quickly finishes loading. He raises the harpoon as high as it will go. The dragon is a hundred yards away and bobbing each time Tuse kicks. Rowan points the cannon more than he aims. A wave lifts the bow and gives him the extra distance he needs. He takes up the firing rod and stabs the touch hole.

The charge sizzles, and the iron bloops into the falling wave.

“Why didn't he fight?” Rowan says. “Why did he leave me?” Then
he spots something shiny hanging on the firing rod hook. It's the key. The captain did fight, Rowan realizes, by surrendering himself.

A half-mile away the dragon dives and just above the water drops the tiny speck that is the captain. Rowan is about to yell for someone to get the galley's dinghy so they can save him when the dragon circles, dives again, and plucks Tuse from the water before continuing south.

The fight isn't over, though. Rowan runs to the hatch with the key. He'll free the rowers, even that weasel Bearclaw. They'll help put out the fires. Then he'll persuade Edral to follow the rider. The rest can have the dragon. He wants his captain.

3

Where they're going Tuse has no idea, and he wonders if Jeryon knows himself. The first time he soared to a thousand feet, Tuse grabbed the dragon's ankles in case he were dropped. By the fourth time he decided Jeryon was looking for his destination. The trip isn't so bad except for the uncertainty, the numbness in his shoulders and arms, the vomit covering his blouse, and the frequent dunkings as the dragon rests its claws. Fortunately, Livion made all the Shield's crewmen learn how to swim, and the waves wash away some of the vomit.

During one dunking he looks north. The pillar of smoke from the
Hopper
has dissipated. He hopes his crew and not the sea put out the fires.

When an island comes into view hours later and the dragon settles into a gentle descent, gliding out of exhaustion, that's when Tuse is most frightened. The water's full of rocks, bars, and reefs and shallow where it's not. The dragon flexes its claws to keep its grip. Blood trickles down his chest from the points where it does. He can't lift his arms anymore. He can clench his fists.

He gave up his body to save the boy. He won't give up his life as easily.

The dragon heads for a beach with more crabs than Tuse has ever seen and a well-worn trail leading into the trees. He braces himself. If he can land on his feet he'll race up the trail and try to disappear into the woods. At the last second, though, the dragon veers to larboard along a cliff face, skirts the northern side of the island, and dives for an opening along the rocky eastern shore. He sees no trails. Spray blasts over one side, craggy oaks loom over the other, and the shadow of the island's great column descends like a pestle into a mortar.

The few crabs here scatter as the dragon drops Tuse heavily in the weeds and lands beyond him. He jumps up and bolts for the tree line. The dragon scuttles in front of him, elbow spikes cleating through the scrub. Its quickness defies its ungainliness on the ground. Tuse cuts left, and the dragon corrals him with a wing. He cuts back the other way, and the dragon's tail hooks him so he falls. Jeryon turns the dragon to face Tuse and dismounts.

Jeryon draws a dragonbone knife with a bamboo handle. Why would the captain fly him here just to slit his throat? He's not the throat-slitting type anyway. Tuse is hardly relieved when Jeryon removes a coil of cord from a saddlebag. He might be the strangling type.

“Hands behind your back.”

“What are you going to do?” Tuse says as Jeryon slides behind him.

“You should be asking, What is she going to do?”

The dragon says, “Eeee!”

“I just want to talk,” Jeryon says.

“You tore off Press's head.”

“She did that,” Jeryon says, “not me.”

The dragon stretches out its neck and licks the tip of Tuse's nose.

Tuse falls on his belly and spreads his arms and legs. Jeryon ties his hands behind his back then he pulls off Tuse's boots and ties his ankles to his hands. Jeryon searches him thoroughly, including, strangely, the hems of his pants. He has nothing.

“You don't have to do this,” Tuse says.

Jeryon removes two waterskins from his saddle and pours them down the dragon's throat. The dragon bobs its head and Jeryon gives it some from a third. Then he takes a long pull himself.

“Can I have some water?” Tuse says.

Jeryon takes another long pull, closes the skin, and replaces it on the saddle.

Tuse compresses his lips. He's been arrested. He's had this conversation before.

Jeryon checks the dragon's injuries. The gashes on its tail and shoulder have partially healed already. Jeryon fetches a crude clay pot from a saddlebag, then he spears a couple crabs who have an interest in Tuse. He whistles twice. The dragon, staring at the crabs, sits up. He drops one and whistles three times. The dragon snaps up the crab, and Jeryon quickly smears something from the pot on its shoulder wound. The dragon says, “Eeee!” and looks at him severely. He gives it another crab and tends to its tail, which the dragon lashes angrily. Jeryon points at Tuse. The dragon shifts its gaze.

Tuse won't meet it. “You said you wanted to talk,” Tuse says. “Say something.”

Jeryon pulls a shega from a saddlebag, sits, and leans against Gray's haunch. He cuts out a seed and sucks it with relish. The dark juice bubbles on his lips.

“Fine,” Tuse says. “I can wait.” The
Hopper
, if it survived, would have followed him.

Jeryon spits the seed, crosses his legs, and leans back. He closes his eyes. The dragon doesn't. It licks some crab off its lips.

Tuse estimates how far he flew and how long it would take the
Hopper
,
damaged with many rowers dead or too injured to work,
to reach the island.
Midnight
, he thinks. His crew should see the island in the moonlight. They might not see the rocks surrounding it. He feels an unusual pang: Has he simply postponed the boy's doom?

Tuse works the cord. One hand free is all he needs. The effort is waking up his arms. He'll stab Jeryon with his own knife or spear then
he'll take the dragon to warn off the galley. He twists and stretches the cord to no effect. Tuse can't wait to see the look on the shipowners' faces when they see what he brings them. He rolls and yanks. He thinks his right is about to be freed, then his left. He yanks and growls and finally blurts, “What do you want me to say?”

Jeryon opens his eyes. He carves out another jewel.

Tuse grinds his forehead into the scrub. “You were right. It's the poth's face I see. In shadows. In strangers. In glass. I saw it in a roll once.” He looks at Jeryon. “Is she all right? Tell me she's all right.”

Jeryon sucks.

“I couldn't stop them. I wouldn't have let her get in the boat. I need to see her. To explain.”

Jeryon spits the seed.

Tuse ducks his head. “That wasn't the plan. It was only supposed to be you. And me, if I didn't go along. I had to go along.”

Jeryon nods to the dragon and flicks some pulp at Tuse. The dragon snaps it out of the air a handsbreadth away from the oarmaster's nose. It swallows, bares its teeth, and slowly withdraws its head.

“I didn't want to,” Tuse says. “I was like their hostage. I argued against the whole thing. But they wanted the dragon. It was Solet's plan, and Livion made me go along with it. I didn't do anything. Was I supposed to die too? I couldn't get you out of the boat. Why should I have gone in? They put a knife to my throat.”

Jeryon carves another chunk of shega. The dragon rears its head.

“And we had to get the medicine home. Could they have driven the rowers the way I did? We made up nearly an hour! How many people didn't die because I didn't get in the dinghy? I have to have some water. My mouth is so dry.”

Jeryon gets up, pulls a skin and a second fruit from his saddle, and sits again. Tuse looks expectantly, but Jeryon returns to slicing his first shega. The dragon sniffs at it. Jeryon waves it off.

“Sure, some people died in Hanosh. A fair amount of the medicine the poth made was destroyed; the pots had cracked. Some of the
shield was ruined too. But that's not my fault. It's yours. You should have run. You were supposed to run. We could have gotten away. We had guild rowers back then. And with the powder? We could have made it. But you fought. You endangered the ship. They were right.”

Jeryon notices a bit of pulp in his lap and flips it at Tuse. Again the dragon snaps it out of the air. Spittle flecks Tuse's face. Its breath smells like scalded fish oil. Jeryon takes a drink of water. Tuse concentrates on the skin to avoid looking at the dragon.

“You know I'm right,” he says. “And what do you have to complain about? You landed here, right? This is where you've been living. It's like a paradise, this island: food, fresh water, no responsibilities, no shipowners breathing down your neck. You had a woman. She was no—”

Jeryon raises an eyebrow.

Tuse takes a different tack. ”And you got a dragon. No one has that. You've lucked out. If you'd gone back to Hanosh without the render we took, you'd have been fired. You wouldn't have been able to find a job piloting a skiff. We did you a favor, really, giving you a chance. Don't you know that?”

Jeryon lowers his eyebrow.

“I didn't think their story would hold water, of course. You were a hero. You saved the ship. You saved those men in the water. You saved the city. You killed the dragon. I told everyone how you did that. I wouldn't say you drowned. They did. I wanted you to be remembered well. I thought the Shield should name a galley after you. They didn't care, though. All they did was rename themselves—the Golden Shield Trust—to claim the glory you should have had. They were as wrong as Solet. No justice at all.”

Jeryon sits up so sharply the dragon jerks, alarmed. Jeryon holds up a hand to calm it.

Encouraged, Tuse goes on. “We thought they'd ask questions about you and what happened, but they only cared about the dragon. They even off-loaded the render before the medicine. They made a
fortune. They bought more boats and more companies. They bought two seats on the City Council. They practically run the city now.

“Blood money. I hinted at what really happened, even if it risked me ending up in a gibbet, but they were only too glad to trade you for the render. Solet and Livion too. Solet sold them on the idea of hunting dragons. They gave him three galleys to do it. And he's been successful. He just set out to bag one roaming the coast between Yness and Hanosh. This one could set him up for life.

“Livion made out best. He married the daughter of a shipowner, Chelson, and that got him his own command. Now he's in the Castle. He was given shares. He's an owner now. He's set. And here we are.”

Jeryon nods at Tuse. So does the dragon.

“I never wanted to be silent. I never wanted a command. I'm no good at it, and everyone knows.” Tuse widens his eyes. “I got what I deserved.”

Jeryon's mouth twists. His knuckles whiten as he grips his knife.

“Listen.” Tuse tries to get on his knees. “If you want justice, leave me here. That would be fair. I should have been here with you from the start. You have a dragon. Take the poth and go. Just leave me here. Give me the captain's chance. It's only fair.”

Jeryon stands and sets the waterskin in a fountain of seagrass and the shega on the skin. He licks his knife clean and tucks it away. He flips one of Tuse's boots with his toe. “Nice boots,” he says. He scratches under the dragon's chin and heads inland.

The dragon watches him go, then turns back to Tuse, its mouth slightly open.

“Don't leave me here! Not with that.”

Jeryon pushes into the trees.

Tuse can't help himself. “They're coming,” he yells. “They know what a dragon's worth. They're
coming, and you'll pay.”

Jeryon turns around. “I used to think that too,” he says, and dissolves into the greenery.

When he doesn't return, Tuse stares at the waterskin and shega.
The dragon lays its head on the scrub and watches them too, as if daring Tuse to try and grab them before it can. Tuse won't chance it. The dragon waits.

4

In the morning, Tuse's shivering wakes him. Or he thinks he wakes up. He doesn't remember falling asleep. He only remembers the dragon's eyes glowing in the moonlight and not seeing the
Hopper.

Scrub crunches. He hopes it's not the crabs. They won't come near the dragon, but the way they goggle at his fingers and toes is unnerving.

Jeryon carries a spear across his shoulders. At either end a huge blue crab dangles, their bladelike claws tied together to form a loop. If that's what lives on this island, Tuse isn't sure he wants to be left here.

When the dragon sees Jeryon, it stands up and stretches. It flings out its wings and flaps them to get the grit off. It twists its neck this way and that, then does the same with its tail. Jeryon dumps the crabs before the dragon. It folds its wings and, almost primly, sits. Jeryon whistles three times, and the dragon eats. Not primly.