A Natural History of Dragons (28 page)

“Come now, man,” Lord Hilford answered him, with poorly concealed impatience. “Your priest there dunked me in the stream; wasn’t that to wash this ‘demon’ of yours away?”

That was when we heard of the disturbances elsewhere in Drustanev. Not in any orderly fashion; despite the fact that Mazhustin had clearly been nominated to speak for them, the villagers called out a dozen accusations, each more panicked-sounding than the last. I was standing behind Lord Hilford, on the bottom step of the stairs, with my robe clutched around me; Jacob drew me back with one careful hand on my arm and bent to speak in my ear. “Isabella—it might be best if you go upstairs.”

“Will that protect me if they decide to break in here and thrash us all?” I whispered back.

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “No—but I would just as soon you not be where they can make an easy target of you.”

Guilt twanged in my heart again. Though Jacob was too polite to say it, the ruins expedition had happened because of me; I was the one who had leapt upon Astimir’s suggestion, and persuaded Lord Hilford to join me. Some out there might remember that. I wondered, with brief bitterness, whether anybody was mobbing Astimir’s house—and then, with much less brief fear, whether they had already dealt with him in some fashion.

It might be better after all if I were not where the villagers could see me. The mayor’s voice pursued me as I went up the stairs. “This creature is beyond Menkem’s strength to conquer. You carry Zhagrit Mat’s corruption with you now, and for the safety of my people, I cannot allow it to remain in my village!”

My toe caught against the edge of the top stair, and I nearly measured my length on the floor. Mazhustin’s words echoed in my ears:
You carry Zhagrit Mat’s corruption with you.

Dagmira was in the bedroom Jacob and I shared, throwing my dresses into a chest without any attempt at folding. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Better if you go now,” she said. “There are donkeys that can carry your things. Some of them, at least,” she added doubtfully, as if thinking of Lord Hilford’s beloved chair.

She seemed willing to arrange the donkeys for us, which was more charity than I expected, given the mood outside. But it was a different favor I needed from her now. I crossed the room with quick strides and addressed her over my shoulder as I rummaged through a pile of my stockings. “Dagmira, do you know how to get to the ruins?”

By her stare, she thought I had gone completely mad. “Why would you go there?”

The object I was looking for fell into my palm, out of the stocking I had concealed it in. “To return this.”

Even in the wan light coming through the louver, the firestone glimmered. Dagmira’s jaw sagged. “Where did you—” She caught herself before the foolish question could make it the rest of the way from her mouth. “You’ve had that, all this time?”

“Is there anything about firestones in the legend of Zhagrit Mat?”

“No. Well, he was very rich, they say.”

It was good enough for me. “This and some drawings are all I carried away from the ruins. A rubbing, too. Unless you think one of those is responsible for this trouble, it must be the stone.”

Dagmira backed away, shaking her head. “I cannot go there. It would only make things worse.”

“You needn’t go
into
the ruins,” I said impatiently. “Just bring me within sight of them—or not even that far, if you prefer. I can find it well enough, if you bring me most of the way. But if we are going to do this, we must do it soon.” I threw off my robe and reached for the nearest shift.

I had not intended to put her friendship to the test in such fashion, not when I was still uncertain whether I could even call it “friendship.” It might only be grudging neutrality. But she had unbent enough to send Iljish with us to the cave, and now, after a moment’s hesitation, she came forward and helped me dress.

“I know a quicker path,” she said. “But it’s hard.”

After the journey to the cave, I no longer felt so daunted by the prospect of a strenuous hike. And even if Lord Hilford managed to talk the mob down—which, by the sound of it, he was making some progress at—the sooner this was settled, the better.

It almost made sense … so long as I did not let myself think about danger from the dragons.

I tore a page from my notebook and scribbled a quick message on it, then nodded at Dagmira. “Lead the way.”

Dagmira’s way was indeed quicker than Astimir’s—and far, far harder. Rather than curving south into the gentler part of the valley, and then back up again toward the ruins, we went at them straight, along a path better suited to deer than women, and very nearly vertical.

My legs complained mightily after their exertions of the previous days, but I clamped my jaw shut, refusing to let my voice do the same. At least we had packed very light; since I had no intention of sightseeing this time, Dagmira promised we would be back before dark.

I’d thought to ask her about Gritelkin as we went, but I had no breath to spare for it as I picked my way down one side of the valley, then hauled myself back up the other side, puffing like a bellows all the way. I managed only one brief, regretful curse that I had not thought to put on trousers again. Not for the first time in my life, I envied dragons their wings.

Dagmira’s path at least had the virtue of being heavily sheltered by trees, which reduced the risk that we might attract draconic attention. And if my calculations were correct, it would bring us up to the back of the ruins, which suited me entirely. It seemed best to leave the firestone where I had found it, and the less time I spent in that accursed place, the happier I would be.

Just when I thought I might have reached the limit of my strength, Dagmira stopped and turned to wait for me. “We’re nearly there,” she said, while I tried to slow my breathing enough to drink water without aspirating it. “I will not go with you,” she added fiercely, as if I might have forgotten.

I nodded and wiped away the water dribbling down my chin. “I understand. Just show me which way to go.”

“You can see them from up here,” she said, gesturing to a large outcropping of rock. I withheld my sigh; if she was willing to come within eyesight of the ruins, it was more than I had expected, and surely climbing a boulder was not such a large price to pay.

After casting a wary look around for dragons, Dagmira scrambled up it like a mountain goat. I followed with much less agility, splitting one of the seams of my skirt with a noise like breaking wood. I half expected her to frown at me for the sound, but Dagmira, I realized as I achieved a better foothold, was lying flat on the stone, and staring unblinking toward the ruins.

Had she seen a dragon? I eased myself up alongside her, and found that she had not.

We had a fine view of the back end of the ruins, the place where I had fallen through into the little cave below. The slope there was crawling with men: only a dozen at most, but busy as ants on a hill that’s been kicked. We were not so far from them that I could not make out their yellow hair. The Stauleren smugglers were visiting their cache.

“Damnation,” I swore under my breath, in Scirling. Why had they not moved on yet? This would make it a great deal harder to return the stone. Did I dare circle around to the front of the site, and throw it down any old where? But I had no certainty they were not keeping watch, or that there were more men where I could not see.

I opened my mouth to ask Dagmira what she thought, and stopped.

A dozen men there, not just behind the ruins but in them; I could see one man on the same bit of wall I had climbed, who I thought might be Chatzkel, their leader. They had surely been there before. And why in heaven’s name should Dagmira know of a quick path to the ruins—one direct enough to allow an energetic hiker to go and return in a single day—if no one ever went there, for fear of Zhagrit Mat?

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you,” I whispered.

Dagmira flushed and did not meet my eyes. “Children do stupid things. But we all know better than to disturb the demon!”

So none of them had ever carried anything away from the site? Not a firestone, I would wager; that would be unimaginable wealth in Drustanev. Such a tale would be as famous as that of Zhagrit Mat. But I was increasingly unconvinced the stone had anything to do with it.

I was about to press her further when she made a small, startled noise. Following her gaze, I saw a new man moving through the trees, one with dark hair cut to just above his collar, and a fur-trimmed hat on his head. Not Stauleren, and by his finer clothing, not a smuggler of any race. “You recognize him?” I asked, still keeping my voice low. They could not hear us, not at this distance—at least, I did not think they could—but my nerves demanded it.

“No,” Dagmira murmured, still staring. “But—”

She paused. “But?” I prompted.

Dagmira flattened herself even more against the stone, as if newly afraid of being seen. “He’s one of the boyar’s men.”

The fellow in question carried a rifle, but was not pointing it at the smugglers; rather he strolled among them with the attitude of an overseer as they lifted bags from the hole. Small bags, but apparently heavy. What was in them? Not brandy; that much was certain. Opium? I knew almost nothing of it, except that the plant had been brought over from Yelang, and was now grown widely in certain parts of Bulskevo; addicts smoked it, and doctors used it for medicine. But its form was unknown to me. It might be carried in sacks.

An entirely new explanation for the haunting incidents was taking shape in my mind. This one had very little to do with ancient demons, and a great deal more to do with the note I had left on the smugglers’ crate.

I pounded my hand against the stone, cursing my stupidity. I had honestly forgotten about that note. A lie is most plausible when the teller believes it; I had so rehearsed the false tale of how I hurt my ankle that it had all but painted over the truth in my memory. Now that I remembered—

Dagmira’s hand landed atop my own, trapping it. “Stop that!” she hissed. “Do you want them to see us?”

No, I most certainly did not; the smugglers might think of something worse to do than strange sounds and alien footprints. Gritting my teeth, I wriggled backward down the boulder until I could no longer see the men, then turned and dropped to the ground. The breeze through my split skirt felt very cold indeed, and woke up my mind. Jacob and Lord Hilford should hear of my theory first, before I went babbling it to anyone in the village; but that meant securing Dagmira’s cooperation. “Never mind returning the stone,” I said. “I must tell my companions about this, as soon as possible. But I must also ask you to keep silent, at least until we have had a chance to confer.”

She gave me a withering look. “We know better than to talk about the smugglers’ business. Or the boyar’s.”

Did that apply also to Reveka, I wondered, with her smuggler for a lover? But it seemed a great many things could go on in Drustanev without anyone talking about them. My skirt flapped annoyingly; I tore it the rest of the way, then knotted the free ends, so that it was kilted up like some hoyden’s dress. At least it would be easier to move in, and there was no one here to see.

The valley gaped before me, looking nearly as steep as the ravine of the dragon graveyard. Sighing, I put myself to it. Even the steepest path was preferable to going anywhere near those men, and I could not wait to tell what I had seen.

NINETEEN

My theory — Keeping watch in the night — A stroll around the village — Incriminating bottles — A surprise encounter — The truth of Zhagrit Mat

I half expected Jacob to rage at me when I returned, and went into the workroom alone so I might have a modicum of privacy while he did it. My husband, however, did not move from his seated position at the table. Wearily, not raising his head from his hands, he said, “I suppose they could not make an easy target of you if you were not here at all.”

“Was there violence?” I asked, glancing around. The other men were not there, but I saw no signs of a disturbance, nor were our things packed to leave.

“No,” Jacob said, sitting up at last. “They’re in the sauna,” he added, seeing my curiosity. “They should be back soon. Did you dispose of your stone?”

I dropped into the chair opposite him. “No, and for good reason—but I should wait until the others return, so as not to repeat myself. What happened after I left?”

Jacob sighed. “Hilford promised we would all attend a service in their tabernacle, next Sabbath. It was like pulling teeth for him to agree; he scarcely has any patience with our own religion, let alone anyone else’s. But the general consensus was that this trouble came about because we are all heathens. Hilford bargained Mazhustin down from conversion to a simple service, which I call quite a feat.”

I had not considered the religious aspect, when I realized that smugglers and village children went to the ruins without bringing back a demon. But the spell of our various terrors had been broken; I found it far more likely that they had a human origin than a supernatural one. Impatience made me bounce in my seat, wishing the other two men would return. Jacob raised one eyebrow at this, mouth lifting at last into a hint of a smile. “You seem excited.”

“Does it have anything to do with what this girl says you have to tell us?” Lord Hilford came into the room, Dagmira between him and Mr. Wilker like a prisoner being marched to the bar. He would be feeling none too charitable toward the locals, I imagined, after this morning’s strife.

“Yes,” I said, rising to rescue Dagmira. “I think our problems may actually be quite ordinary.”

I outlined the situation in broad strokes, partly for the sake of brevity, and partly because I spoke in Vystrani, so that Dagmira might understand me. She confirmed my observations readily. And she alone was not astonished when I admitted the truth of how I’d hurt my ankle; that girl was too clever by half. Of the note, I said, “I didn’t see any better solution; they would know
someone
had been there, and if I made it clear it was the mad Scirling woman, they might not see any danger in it. Chatzkel had been agreeable enough, when we met before. But it seems I was wrong.”