The Dragon Round (32 page)

“What has a mouth that wide that could also leave a body on top of a roof?”

Livion can't say it. It seems impossible. Ject does. “Your dragon's moved north.”

“Dragons avoid cities.”

“Maybe this one is too young to realize it should,” Ject says. “Hanosh would look like a feeding trough.”

“What really happened to them, though?” Livion says. “He does look devoured.” Dragons, he saw during the first attack, savor the organs. “And our girl, maybe a knife did that. Maybe a claw.”

Ject stands beside him and pats his back. “You've already done the right thing,” he says, “by speaking. However tough that was, it'll be tougher to keep doing the right thing. But you've survived two dragon attacks. Few can make that claim. Your word, on top of what you said at Council, on top of your status, can stop this madness.”

“What if I bring the madness down around me?” Livion says.

“You already have,” Ject says. “I could easily say you're behind these deaths, couldn't I?”

Livion stops at his door to
collect the breath he spent running from South. As he reaches for the latch, Trist's friend Asper opens the door.

She's dressed as usual in a white silk tokar and turban, from which descends a cloud of white veil. Her partner, Gaster, was killed by the plague before the
Comber
returned to Hanosh, and her outfit, worn decades after mourning ceased to be fashionable, has earned her the sobriquet the White Widow. Her inheritance made her extremely wealthy, which Livion considers some recompense. She's lately
befriended Trist. Her relationship with Chelson is cool, given her attempts to make her silent shares in the Shield more vocal, and the scuttlebutt is that she hopes to influence him through his daughter. Livion's more concerned with her influence over Trist, who spends more time at her house than theirs.

“You're here early,” Livion says.

“I spent the night,” Asper says, stepping outside. “I can't approve of what you did at Council,” she says, “but I do think Tabs feels more betrayed than she should. Why did you—”

A whistle's shriek from above cuts her off.

“Because it's true, whatever you heard,” Livion says, “and possibly worse.” He looks up. “She's on the sundeck?”

“Yes. Herse says—”

“I have to see her,” Livion says and slips inside. He flips the door closed. The whistle echoes through the house.

A pergola keeps the sundeck cool with a drapery of grape vines and paper flowers. Tristaban stands at the railing with his whistle.

“That girl didn't show up this morning,” she says. “And she won't come now.” The whistle shrieks again.

Livion feels a pang that her fury at the girl has distracted her from being furious at him. “She's not coming,” he says. “She's dead.” He sits on a bench. “I saw her body. Several bodies. At South. It was horrible.”

“How?” She actually sounds upset, not inconvenienced. “Why did you . . .”

“The Guard wanted to know what I thought.”

“You?” And she's back, the daughter of a shipowner who married a lackey. “Ject is not a friend, Livion.”

“I'm not sure anyone is at this point,” he says. “And I'm worried about your safety.”

Tristaban looks incredulous.

“The girl's wasn't the only body I saw. I saw my informant's too.” He makes room on the bench.

She doesn't leave the railing. “The one who fed you that dragon
nonsense?” Tristaban says. “I guess his lies caught up with him. You can't be the only one he sold them to. Father says Herse is furious. And Herse
is
our friend.”

“There was another maid too,” Livion says. “I saw her wounds. I saw theirs. I've seen them before. It was a dragon, a small one, like the one that attacked Solet.”

“How convenient,” she says. “Herse is right. You and dragons. You had your moment. Now you want more.”

“I don't want anything,” he says, “except for you to be safe.” He gets up. “The maids were found nearby. One was ours. Something is hunting around here. And it's getting closer and closer to you. Ject is organizing a search.”

“During which I'm sure he'll go lane by lane, house by house, to say Ayden didn't attack our ships, it was this dragon.” She pokes her finger at him the way her father did. “He's using you.”

“I don't care,” he says. “So's your father.”

“That's why he pays you!” she says. “You're not Hanosh's hero. You're his.”

“I saw what I saw,” he says. He stands in front of her by the railing. “Look,” he says, “I'm scared. Maybe I didn't see what I saw. But I know what could happen if there is a dragon here.” He reaches for her wrist, which doesn't move an inch. “Do me a favor: Stay home today.”

He does look worried, the way he did when they snuck around behind her father's back. She remembers finding that endearing.

“I have appointments,” she says. “Business. Do you know how that will look?”

“Like you trust me,” Livion says, “the way I trusted you so your father wouldn't catch us.”

“I can't just think about you,” she said. “I have to think about him. And the Shield. And the future. And so do you. It's what you chose when you chose me.”

“Think about them inside today,” he says. “I wouldn't even stay on this deck.” He would say “please,” but she would consider that absurd.

Tristaban looks through the pergola. “What happened to the girl?”

“She had her throat torn open. The other maid was scooped out like an avocado.”

Her wrist shifts against his hand. “I'll rearrange some things,” she says. “I'm tired anyway. I didn't sleep.”

He kisses her knuckles.

“You're going out.”

“To help the search,” Livion says.

“When will you be home?” she says.

“Dusk. Maybe later.”

“I'll see you then,” she says and smiles at him. He feels refreshed and leaves.

Tristaban goes to her bedroom where a dozen dolls watch her from shelves around the room. There's one appointment she can't miss and now she has more time than she thought she would. She holds up two peploi, one bright green, one a silvery perse, and asks the dolls what they think.

Livion likes the green too much, they say.

She tosses it aside. At a basin she washes the scent of yesterday's vanilla from her neck and puts on some shega oil. She's never worn it around Livion. It's not for him. It makes her feel weightless, no, unencumbered. And sparkly.

Between two houses across the lane
a man in a beard and black shift watches Livion leave the sundeck. Then his attention goes to Tristaban's window.

7

By noon the guards are spreading across the city, searching district by district. They start in the Harbor, which runs along the base of the
Hill. One group continues up the West Hill to Servants, then to Lesser Silk, where Livion lives amid other juniors, deputies, and senior clerks, and Greater Silk above it. A second group climbs the East Side, from the poorest section, the Rookery, through the workers' lanes to the workshops, artisans, and petty trading outlets just beneath the Crest. That section is handled by an elite squad of guards drilled in diplomacy while guards search the Upper City clockwise around the Blue Tower.

Workhouse denizens are impressed upon to help, and many workers also join in, trading a day of labor and possibly tomorrow's employment for the golden ticket of a share of renderings. Armed with kitchen knives and craftsman's tools, armored in undyed cotton and bellies full of wine, they make so much noise that the guards send them ahead like beaters. And bait. Nothing is biting, though.

By midafternoon, the wine has soured in the workers' bellies, the temperature has risen, and the guards are quelling fights more than they are searching likely lairs: old buildings, cellars, obscure alleys and nooks, anyplace big enough a cow could crawl into. By dusk, even the guards, anxious to prove themselves every bit the warriors that Herse's soldiers are, grow discouraged. They and the workers agree that perhaps the search is some grand Aydeni joke.

At the Harbor, Prieve's men search under the docks and crawl up runoff pipes without any luck. He also has galleys searched, which does more to turn up contraband than any dragon. His patrols return with reports of clear skies and no wreckage from any ship that might have been attacked.

After being shown the bodies, Herse volunteers his force to help the search. Ject refuses them, saying it will be an inside operation. So Herse searches outside his walls, starting with Hanoshi Town, which spreads around the city like beggars around a trash fire. His soldiers take the opportunity to see who is supportive, while Herse sees no downside in finding a dragon. A prize is a prize, and he could make a great deal by killing a dragon. The day brings him no luck either, however.

Only Rego, Herse's adjutant, finds something intriguing.

He goes to the alley where Omer's body was found, then to the nearest pier, where three galleys are berthed.

He's trespassing in Prieve's jurisdiction, but he won't wait for official leave to investigate. It's stupid, having three security districts answerable to the Council, not an overall leader. Herse will change that.

The crew of two of the galleys,
Swan Two
and
Heron House
, both out of Meres, haven't seen Omer, but the first mate of
King of Birds
, a spicer from the Dawn Lands, might have. His fingers flex. Rego remarks on the number of Aydeni being questioned as spies and how a broader net might need to be cast. The mate indicates that Omer was brokering the sale of some cinnamon with a shipping company so they could pay their port fees, but he never returned with the money. Rego asks which company. The mate's memory goes slack. Rego points out that paperwork, like receipts for fees and records of people in the system, appears and disappears mysteriously. The mate says, “It sounded like ‘wield.' ”

Livion returns home at dusk. His
neighbors are gathered on the lane. Most belong to shipowners and trading companies, and none are happy to see him. They didn't appreciate being questioned by guards or having a rabble of workers searching their lane.

A man from Blue Island, Eles's greatest ally and the Shield's greatest rival, says, “Getting too big for your boots? Hoping to bag another pair?” His neighbors chuckle. Fortune is a zero-sum game.

Livion unlocks the door and notices Tristaban's beaded hamondey is not on the shelf by the door. She never leaves home without her bag.

He calls her name. No answer. He calls again as he runs from room to room on the lower floor. He checks the second and the sundeck. She's gone.

Livion leans over the railing and asks his neighbors, “Did any of you see Trist leave?”

The Blue Islander says, “First he can't find a dragon. Now he can't find his partner. Don't lift your feet, Livion. Your house might disappear.” This gets a bigger laugh than before. Apparently not just the rabble was into the wine today.

The Blue Islander's partner, exactly the person he deserves, says, “Maybe the dragon got her.”

“That's not funny,” Livion says. “I don't think that's funny at all.” They laugh harder.

Why is he so worried? The city was searched. No dragon was found.

Then again, if a dragon wasn't found, neither was the person who might have slit his girl's throat and disemboweled the other maid.

A quarter hour later he knocks
on the wicket in Asper's gates in the Crest. A house guard hands him off to a footman, who leads him into a treelined and torchlit courtyard. Livion's entire house would fit into it. The courtyard surrounds a black-bottomed pool that reflects the house. The footman installs him in a corner with granite benches where he can watch a school of bronze orfe dart through second-story windows.

It would be a pleasant retreat but for the figures of emperor snakes worked discreetly into the tiles and torch holders surrounding the pool.

Asper flows in and greets him warmly. She says, “I spoke sharply to you this morning. I hope you understand: I had a long night.”

“I'm looking for Trist.”

“I haven't seen her all day,” Asper says. “Maybe she's at her father's.”

“I was going to check there next,” he says and stands, a little wobbly. “If she were here, it'd mean she hadn't left me. If she's there—”

“Here. Sit,” Asper says. “This can't have been an easy day for either of you.” She sits on the bench.

Livion doesn't know what to make of this. He sits anyway. She gestures for her footman to leave.

“You're not alone,” she says. “I believe you about the dragon. It makes sense. And we're not alone. Other owners, in the Shield and out, they believe too.” She laughs. “I heard it from their wives. They'd like to say publicly that war is bad for business, but they don't want to look soft, which is also bad for business.” She touches his arm. “Will there be war? Chelson won't tell me anything. I need to know.”

Livion thinks of Herse's hand on his shoulder. Maybe she and these silent owners could protect him if he helped them find their voice. “Yes,” he says.

She compresses her mouth. “I thought so,” she says. “Tabs is special to me. I hope we can be friends too.”

Livion says, “Me too.”

“Go,” she says. “And when you find her send me word so I know she's all right.”

Outside Livion watches the people on the street ignore him: Asper's neighbors, servants, peddlers. It's a ghost night, the Dawn Landers would call it. When you feel lost in sight of all.

Once Asper hears the wicket close
behind Livion, she goes through the main hall to the stairs. In a guest room Tristaban is lying on a couch, soft and half-asleep. “You should have been home hours ago, Tabs,” Asper says. “At least in the dark no one will see you leave.”