In the Labyrinth of Drakes (11 page)

“I will.” (A promise, I should note, that I fully intended to keep. But having given Suhail the original, I could do nothing without one of the copies I had left in Scirland. My duties to the Royal Army meant I would not have much leisure to prepare it for publication, and my employers would not be pleased with me if I spent my time on something so irrelevant to the task at hand. All of which sounds like a justification, I know—but upon my honour, the delay in ultimately publishing the text was not intentional.)

At that point Suhail noticed Mahira staring at us, and spoke in Akhian rapid enough that I caught barely one word in four. I could at least make out that it was an explanation of the paper, and his reaction to it. Rather than try to follow the words, I watched Mahira. She looked pensive, giving little away; but I thought she might be pleased. If she was as fond of Suhail as I suspected, she must be glad to see him receive a gift of such personal value. And she did not seem to disapprove of me giving it.

Suhail tucked the paper into a pocket of his embroidered caftan and laid his right hand over his heart. “I will not forget your generosity,” he said. “But … I should go.”

“Of course,” I said—and then, without thinking, I extended my hand to him.

He retreated a step, smiling regretfully. “You are not
ke'anaka'i
here.”

It was a reference to our time stranded together in Keonga. There I had been considered neither male nor female, but something else entirely: dragon-spirited, the soul of an ancient creature reborn in a human body. Neither Suhail nor I believed in the metaphysical truth of the concept, but the social aspect had been real enough, and it had given us an excuse to bypass many of the constraints of propriety.

But only for a time, and that time was now ended. “Yes, of course—forgive me.” I folded my hands against my stomach and gave him an awkward little curtsey. “I do hope I will see you again. Tom and I will need to go out into the desert, I think, if we are to improve matters here; it would be very valuable to have your assistance with that.”

“All things may be possible, God willing,” Suhail said. It was a ritual phrase, and for all his sincerity, I did not think he was optimistic.

Then he was gone, leaving me with Mahira, who laid her book aside and rejoined me. With surprising candour, she said, “He wanted very much to speak with you.”

And I with him. “Thank you for arranging this,” I said, and was surprised to hear my own words come out melancholy. It was that as much as any sense of duty which made me say, “I should return to my work now. Please do let me know how the honeyseekers fare.”

 

 

PART TWO

In which we venture into the desert, where someone takes an unexpected interest in our work

 

SEVEN

Plans for the desert—Colonel Pensyth is concerned—Akhian politics—Riding camels—My introduction to the desert

“If we are to go into the desert,” Tom said, “we will need a flawless case for doing so. Not just what good it might do here, but an actual plan for how we are to conduct our research.

Such plans are more common nowadays, but at the time it was a startling change from our usual mode of operation, which involved wandering out into the field and seeing what we might discover. (That mode worked far better when the body of existing knowledge was small enough that all one had to do was hold out a hand for new data to fall into it.) Tom and I worked long hours for a full week constructing our plan, for we knew any failed request would only make the next one more difficult: if we wanted to succeed, our best chance would be on our first try.

We might also have stood a better chance if only one of us tried to go. The truth was, however, that the House of Dragons did not require much attention from us on a daily basis. Lord Tavenor had done a good job setting up the procedures there; Tom and I were needed only when crises arose (which they did not often do), or when we altered the standard arrangements. We were reluctant to do much with the latter until we had data to guide our alterations, and so I saw little reason why we both should not go to the desert—except that Colonel Pensyth would not approve. “We shall tell him the truth,” I said. “You know anatomy far better than I, but I am the one who can record it best, with my drawings.”

“And you're the better student of behaviour,” he agreed. “What if we marked this up—made it clear who will be doing what tasks? Some of them could be either of us, but if we divide it all very carefully, we can make it so that the two halves can't possibly be pulled apart.”

When I came home from Dar al-Tannaneen to Shimon and Aviva's house, I sat up for hours more refining my plans for the honeyseeker eggs. The creatures lay these in nests made of leaves, and cement them into place with a mixture of saliva and nectar, which dries to a sticky consistency. I would be leaving some eggs
in situ
as a comparison—a “control,” as it is properly called—and placing the remainder in different situations. Each nest would have an attendant thermometer, and Lieutenant Marton would record the temperature at regular intervals. I even prepared tags for the legs of the resulting hatchlings, with instructions that any who perished or failed to hatch should be preserved for later examination.

“It would be best for all involved if I went away for a time,” I said wryly to Andrew after showing him my plan. “I am starting with the smallest variations, and working my way up to more significant ones; it will be months before I have enough data to draw conclusions. In the meanwhile, I imagine Lieutenant Marton would prefer to have me not looking over his shoulder every five minutes.”

My brother shook his head, browsing through my outline. It went on for pages. I had thought I was being thorough when I conducted the Great Sparkling Inquiry, fifteen years previously, but I had been a mere novice then in scientific methodology. Now that I had a better grasp of the subject, I could be very thorough indeed.

“I never would have thought,” Andrew said, “when you had me steal books out of Father's library for you, that it would lead to
this.
”

That was peculiar, for it seemed to me that my life had drawn a fairly straight line from that beginning to my current position. All the same, I supposed Andrew had a point: it is one thing to think your younger sister may eventually study dragons, and another thing entirely to find her conducting a breeding programme in a foreign country, with the threat of impending war driving her work.

“I hope it will lead me a good deal further,” I said with a smile. “I am not nearly done yet.”

The day after Tom submitted our proposal to Colonel Pensyth, Andrew arrived in the morning with the news that I was to report to the building that housed the soldiers, rather than going directly to my office as usual. I went with him readily enough, assuming that Tom would be joining us there. In this, as it happened, I was wrong.

“Dame Isabella—please, have a seat,” Colonel Pensyth said, gesturing me to a wicker chair in front of his desk.

I did not miss the fact that his adjutant had closed the door behind me. “Are we not waiting for Tom?”

“He is not coming,” the colonel said. “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” I said automatically, my thoughts awhirl.

This much I will say for Pensyth: he did not waste much time on the niceties, which would have only given me anxiety. “I read the proposal Mr. Wilker sent me, and it seems quite sound. But there is one issue, which is the … social situation with the Aritat.”

I sipped my tea, buying myself time to think. By the time I had swallowed, I had not found any reason to be other than blunt; and so I was. “Are you speaking of the unfriendliness between myself and the sheikh?”

“I'm more concerned with his brother.” Pensyth settled back into his chair. I had never gone to school, but I had heard my brothers' stories; I felt like a boy up in front of the headmaster for some transgression. But I was a woman grown, and reminded myself of that fact. I had nothing to be ashamed of in front of Pensyth, nor was I required to accept his judgment in all things.

He said, “Before you came here, Dame Isabella, I read your account of your voyage. Hajj Suhail ibn Ramiz is the man you traveled with, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is.” I sighed and set my teacup on Pensyth's desk, so I could lace my fingers together and grip them tight without being obvious. “Shall we get to the point? You are afraid that I will disgrace Scirland by carrying on with an unmarried man.”

“I would never suggest that.”

No, he would only imply it. I ground my teeth, then said, “Colonel, do you make a habit of querying your men about their involvement with every woman they meet? I assure you that many if not most of them have done far more to merit censure than I have. I know it may be difficult to believe, but dragons truly are my concern here. I have not undertaken their study in the hope of attracting a new husband; indeed, such a thing would be an inconvenience rather than a benefit, as there are few husbands who would accept my life as I have become accustomed to living it. As for scandal outside the bounds of marriage … that would be even more inconvenient, as people question my professional integrity quite enough without such justification to encourage them. So you may lay your mind at ease, sir: I have no intention of disgracing our nation. Not when there are dragons to be studied.”

By the time I reached the end of this increasingly frosty diatribe, Colonel Pensyth was staring wide-eyed at me. He even looked embarrassed, which perversely softened my feelings toward him. (I expected him to be angry.) When I finished, he shut his slackened mouth and seemed determined not to open it until he was absolutely certain what was going to come out of it.

“Well,” he said at last, shifting in his chair with a creak of wicker. “That is good to know. Because I agree with you and Mr. Wilker: it would be very good for you to gather more data, and that means going to the desert. Since that is where the sheikh's brother is … well.” He cleared his throat, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

Given what I had just said to Pensyth, I took great care not to show any excitement at the prospect of seeing Suhail again, out from under the eye of his brother. “I am very glad we are in agreement, Colonel. When should Tom and I be prepared to depart?”

“As soon as I can get you out there, I suppose. But that may be a while yet.” Pensyth rose, locked his hands behind his back in the military manner, and began to pace. “Dame Isabella … how much do you know of Akhian politics?”

I blinked, not following his change of subject. “Within the country? Very little, I fear.”

“Do you know what I'm referring to when I say ‘rebellious tribe'?”

That was the term Suhail had used, in the garden. I had forgotten, and not inquired about it after. “I have heard it, but nothing more.”

Pensyth said, “There are two kinds of Akhian—in a manner of speaking. They divide themselves into ‘the people of the towns' and ‘the people of the desert.' City-dwellers and nomads, essentially. But they're all of the same stock: trace the city lineages back, and you find they all come from the desert. Call themselves by the same tribal names; those in the towns send their boys out to the sand for a few years so they won't forget their roots. That sort of thing.

“But over the last century or so, those two groups have begun to split farther apart. So when the current caliphate got into power, they decided to tie city and desert together. The tribes are all ruled by sheikhs in the towns, now—people like Husam ibn Ramiz. They get some benefits in exchange. But there are tribes that don't like the arrangement, and refuse to be ruled by city men.”

“The rebellious tribes. I see.” I thought back to what Suhail had said in the garden. “And one such group is the … Banu Safr, I believe?”

Judging by the sharp look Pensyth shot my way, I might have been better off concealing my knowledge. He no doubt wondered where I had obtained it. “Yes, the Banu Safr. Old enemies of the Aritat, and therefore enemies of the caliph, because his dynasty took power with Aritat support.”

All of this was information Tom ought to know—but I feared that if I said as much to the colonel, I would lose this moment of agreeable candour, in which he was speaking to me like a human being rather than a female-shaped problem. And since I had already shown some awareness of the topic, I might as well continue. “There's been trouble with them, I understand.”

“A hell of a—Your pardon, Dame Isabella. Quite a lot of trouble. Which is why I bring this up. I read what you and Mr. Wilker submitted, and I understand that you think you can make a valuable contribution in the field. But the Banu Safr have staged several raids on the Aritat in the last few months, and men have died. You must see my concern.”

I was busy biting my tongue over his phrasing, that I merely
thought
I could make a valuable contribution. I had to collect myself to say, “I have been in the middle of armed conflict before, Colonel. More than once.”

“All the more reason for you to exercise caution, I should think.”

“And I so shall.” I rose and crossed to the wall, where he had hung a large map of Akhia. “Can you show me where we are talking about? I know that Aritat territory is in the Jefi, but not its specific borders.”

Pensyth exhaled sharply. “Borders, I can't give you. I'm sure they have them—they defend them very strenuously against their enemies—but it isn't the sort of thing that gets marked on paper. At least not any paper I've seen. But here.” He came and pointed to a part of the basin between the Qedem and Farayma ranges. “This section, roughly speaking, is Aritat territory. And here is where the Banu Safr run.”

“Where have our dragons been coming from?”

This time his exhalation was more of a snort. “You have the records of that, Dame Isabella—not me. If it isn't specified there, I don't know. But I do know that this—” He tapped an area at the foot of the Qedem. “This area is absolutely lousy with dragons, so I would guess around there. They even call it the Labyrinth of Drakes.”