The Dragon Round (38 page)

“Yes,” Rowan says.

“What I could do with that,” Herse says.

Finally
, Rowan thinks,
someone who's amazed
.

“The boy will tell the Council the rider was Aydeni.”

Herse smiles. “Ayden armed with a dragon,” he says. “That'll put the fear of night into people.”

A roar erupts far ahead. “If our soldiers haven't already,” Chelson says.

Eles, the other councilors, and their
remora—assistants, accountants, and adjutants—are escorted to South by city guards, then led as a unit to the Blue Tower. Why pay for personal guards when you can use the city's? And it's so much more impressive.

Ject, Ravis, and the rest of his own guard take the van. Eles says, “I've gotten reports of disturbances all night and people gathering, and I don't like the way that person is looking at us.”

A scrawny old cabbage dealer with a green headwrap and a thin gray beard peers at them from behind a wagonload of crop. Ject snaps his fingers. Ravis knocks a wave of cabbages over him. The man ducks, crying, “My cabbages!”

“They're worried about the war,” Ject says. “They haven't caused any trouble.”

“What business is it of theirs?” Eles say. “They have no skin in the game.”

As they turn into the plaza, a roar erupts on the other side and chants bleed together into a muddle.

Ject doesn't see anyone from the offices in the tower. That is not a good sign. They're tougher to scare off than squirrels.

“This is outrageous,” Eles says. “The city will grind to a halt.”

“Sometimes,” Ject says, “it's better to let a person rage for a few minutes than beat him into raving for a day.”

“And whose minutes are they using?” Eles says. “Ours.” The others, huddled together, nod. “I want these people at their jobs by seven.”

Ject says, “Of course.”

“And arrest those with no better employment,” Eles says. “If there is war, we'll need the troops.”

Ject looks up to avoid looking exasperated.

A guard stumbles out of the crowd. He pulls himself to attention before his general. Ject says, “Report.”

“A mob for the war just arrived,” the guard says. “They're armed. Those against it are not.”

“Except for fish,” Eles says. “Let's see them defend themselves with those.”

“And at the top of the plaza,” the guard points toward Rego's wagon, “the army is stirring up trouble. They've offered a bonus to volunteers.”

Eles sucks at a hard bony lip and says to himself,
I will not be provoked
.

Ject is silently triumphant. Herse has overplayed his hand, and Ject will take the pot, starting with the money the soldiers are giving away.

For the moment, though, he has to bring some order to the current situation. Chaos is no longer necessary. He tells Ravis, “Blow the general alarm. Then we'll bring the councilors back to South until the plaza is safe.”

Ravis blows. Horns respond from around the plaza. It's a sad scattered sound. The crowd's energy hardly abates.

A riot will still be worth it
, Ject thinks,
even if we take no prisoners
.

To avoid the tower plaza, Chelson's
party approaches the tower from the rear. “Only fools take the front door,” he says.

Chelson leads them down an alley to a small courtyard where several carts are making deliveries at a wide stoop. A cook complains about the filth on some cabbages. When she sees Chelson approach, she stands aside. The cabbage dealer doesn't realize he's there until Chelson is breathing on his shoulder, astounded that someone is in his way.

Chelson tells the cook, “Buy no more from him,” and goes inside.

The cabbage dealer apologizes to no avail. Herse waits until Chelson disappears and says, “Speak to Birming, one of my supply masters. He'll need your cabbages.” The man glows.

The cook approves, but warns him, “Tell your man to make sure there's no filth on them.”

Eles elevates his nose and says,
“We will not go back to South or back to anywhere. We will go to the tower.” He cuts between Ject and Ravis and stalks across the plaza. The guards hurry to catch up, and the rest hurry to stay within their circle. Ject reluctantly follows.

Near the steps to the wide porch in front of the tower they're seen. The tide turns and tips toward them.

Eles mounts the porch as workers lap against Ject's men and are pushed back. The tower guards knock, the doors are unbarred, and as they open Eles says to the crowd, “Get to work, you useless eaters.”

Ject watches a small silver fish—a boops, he thinks—arc, glistening, and hit him squarely in the eye.

The crowd on each side of the issue laughs as Eles wipes fish smear from his face. They laugh harder as he wheels around and leads his
party to the brass doors. Eles surveys the crowd as the Council enters. His expression suggests the crowd has overplayed its hand.

As Ject enters, Eles says, “We won't require your testimony today, General.” And he signals for the tower guards to shut the door behind him, leaving Ject outside.

Ject looks up now in total exasperation. He notices the huge Hanoshi ravens aren't circling the dome or perched on the edge. That can't be a good sign either. Nothing drives them off. He wonders what might have and realizes something.

“Ject?” Ravis says.

“When we looked for the dragon,” Ject says, “we didn't search the cupola.”

2

Herse and Rowan stand in the waiting area outside the council chamber while the Council conducts some last-minute horse-trading over who will get what shares of the army contracts. After seeing Eles close the door on Ject, Herse is feeling confident. Rowan looks less so.

“You'll do fine, son,” Herse says.

“It's not that,” Rowan says. He's reluctant to be too familiar with the general, but he's Herse. Rowan was raised on stories of his exploits on the ballcourt and how he used to go into the crowd after big wins, especially against Aydeni teams. His interest in a ship's boy is encouraging.

“It's my father. He's a supply master. Birming.”

“I thought I recognized you. You used to wait for him outside camp.” The boy nods. “Steady man, your father,” he says. “Like yourself, I understand.”

Rowan's spine stiffens.

Herse got the basics of Rowan's story from Chelson as they walked
to the tower. The boy saw scores of men die horribly. Herse knows what that's like from fighting bandits. You can't get the images out of your eyes, like the glare that persists after you look at the sun. As much as Herse wants to ask about the dragon and how Rowan survived, he'll wait until after Council. When they grill him on this, he needs Rowan's emotions to be fresh and raw.

“Have you seen him yet?” Herse says. “Or your family? You have a sister, right?”

“A sister, yes,” Rowan says, “and no. There's been no time.”

“I've kept him busy the last couple days too. Right after Council, we'll change that.”

“It's not that either,” Rowan says. “When we go to war, what will happen to him?”

“He'll do his job,” Herse says. “I've always counted on him.”

“Will he die? Like Tuse?”

Herse says, “I was younger than you during the last war. Do you know why it was fought?” Rowan shakes his head. “Tolls. Tolls. My father went, though. Many fathers did. Not for the owners. For their neighbors.”

“What happened to him?”

“He fought,” Herse says. “He was no soldier. But a sword's a tool, and he knew tools. He could make anything. Build anything. He showed me the sword he made. It was nearly as impressive as his saws. Or his uniform.” Herse listens at the chamber doors for a moment. “He looked taller in it, more solid. Nicest clothes he ever had. Same's true for most of our men. You should have seen them on parade.”

“What's parade?” Rowan asks.

Herse looks sad. “I don't imagine you'd know. Parades were like parties the city threw itself, some people marching, some watching them march, and everyone in fancy or fantastic clothes. Sugar cakes and salted knots sold on every corner. A hundred songs blooming across the city. My mother nearly swooned when Papa marched by. I thought she was scared of what would happen to him. I was scared
myself, but when I got older and put on my first military uniform, I realized she'd swooned because he'd looked so good.”

Rowan can't imagine his parents looking at each other like that. They don't hold hands. They don't hug. That's why his father sent him away. That's why he happily went.

“A war will bring that back,” Herse says. “We'll have parades again.”

“Did your father die?”

“Yes.” At Rowan's expression he adds, “Many years later with a beer in his hand and a pipe between his lips.”

They smile. The chamber door opens. The tower guard says, “They'll have the boy now.” Herse pats Rowan on the shoulder and gives him a gentle shove toward the arc of cold faces.

At this point Ject can't recall
if he really believed the dragon story. “We have to check the cupola,” he says.

Ravis looks dubious, but that's as far as he'll go.

They stride off the porch with as much dignity as possible with the crowd jeering Ject. At the edge of the plaza he stops a half squad of guards just arriving. They're from Quiet, not the best men, certainly not as capable as those from their opposite tower, Riot, and more used to soothing silk than wading into a seething mob of drunks in the Rookery. He relieves them of their crossbows and hip quivers and sends them to South to help with processing.

One, Isco, looks too relieved.
He will profit from a post in the dungeon
, Ject thinks.

The general gives the weapons to his own men. “We're going up top.”

Oftly, the newest member of the detail, looks dismayed. “Will we still get a share of the arrested?”

“If we bag what's up there,” Ject says, “the boys down here will want to share with us.”

Ravis holds up a hand. He presses his middle three fingers together
and flaps his pinky and thumb. The men stand a bit taller. They'll get new boots from this.

Ject quickly directs several sergeants to form up two ranks like plows along the west side of the plaza, then he leads his own men to the tower's rear entrance. A huntsman with a bag of turkeys nearly leaps off the stoop, having seen how Chelson treated the cabbage dealer.

Inside Ject pushes past the cook and says, “We're going up top.” He spies a scullery looking out the door to the kitchen stairs. “Keep your people down here.”

“What's the—”

“Guard business.” Ject and his men march into the entry hall, where several tower guards stand behind the brass doors. Several more stand before the outer doors to the council chamber's waiting area. They look through the windows, hands on their pommels. Their sergeant, Chevron, brings them to attention.

Ject says, “Put two men on the back door. Keep the main ones closed.”

“Yes,” Chevron says. “Can we assist—”

“If you hear our horns, come running. That'll make up for your men locking me out.”

Herse listens at the chamber doors,
but can't make anything out. He paces the waiting area. He never realized how tight it is, the long room locked between two sets of doors with two lines of iron benches, the dim light letting the walls teeter over him. He could use some air. His job's done anyway.

He knocks on the outer doors. A tower guard opens one just in time for Herse to see Ject and his men disappear up the public stairs. He notes crossbows, and he wonders where they are going in such a hurry, especially with a confrontation heating up outside and Ject the one who threw the soup together and put it on the fire. Certainly he can't be thinking of shooting down into the crowd. Herse has to see
what the city general is up to. Besides, he can't go back into the waiting area.

Taking the owners' stairs would expose him as much as following Ject up the public stairs, so he descends to the entry hall and heads for the service hallway. The tower guards give him dirty looks. As Ject goes, so do they. There's no point in reminding them that the city expects they will do their duty. He looks forward to the moment when they, like the rest of the guards, are under his command.

Herse closes the door behind him and, using a key copied long ago, enters the closet that serves as the tower's armory. He selects a dirk, a crossbow, and a half-dozen bolts, makes sure the hallway's clear, relocks the door, and runs to the servants' stair.

Above the company floors Ject finds
a locked door. He sends Oftly to the cook, who sends him to the tower seneschal, who has much to do, so much to do.

“I have much to do,” the seneschal says as Oftly releases him in front of Ject like a cat presenting a rat.

“The door,” Ject says. “And any above.”

“Why?”

“Guard business.”

The man produces an enormous key ring with dozens of keys. He considers each slowly then flips it over the top of the ring. He says, “I thought you'd come to investigate the thefts we've suffered.”

“What thefts?” Ject says.

“Meat. Drink. Two nights ago. I had to beat a scullery. Do you know what our tower contract costs? How are we to make a profit—”

“How much meat?”

“Two roasts. A belly.” Another key flips over. “The meat was shifted to disguise their disappearance, but I knew.”

Is that enough for a dragon?
Ject thinks.
Do dragons steal? Could the dragon have an ally, some misguided girl who thinks it's her friend?
He
should speak with the scullery. For the moment: “Open the door, and I'll look into it.”