In the Labyrinth of Drakes (10 page)

Such considerations, though, had to wait. “They don't require a great deal,” I said. “Honeyseekers are a good deal more cooperative in that regard than desert drakes! If you can arrange netting around the eucalyptus trees, to prevent them from flying away, that should be all the confinement they need—and really, even that may not be necessary. But I would rather not have to send all the way to Lutjarro for replacements.”

When she smiled, her resemblance to Suhail grew even stronger. “Indeed. Will the eucalyptus trees provide all they need?”

“That and insects ought to be sufficient, but I will tell you what signs of ill health to look for. If they seem underfed, then you can notify me and I will investigate.” I rummaged in a drawer and came up with the notebook in which I had begun to sketch out my plans. “The most important thing is the eggs. You will need to look for them every day; there will not
be
one every day, but I would like them collected at precise intervals after their laying, which means we will need to know when that occurs.”

She cocked her head to one side, curious. “What do you intend to do with them? I understand this is for your research, but I cannot see how it relates to desert drakes.”

“If all goes as I hope, it will teach us something useful about which environmental variations can be tolerated, and which ones cannot; also when such variations can be introduced without causing undue difficulty.” I had an extensive outline of test cases in my notebook, the fruit of my association with other scientific members of the Flying University. Mine was not a field that often suited itself to laboratory-style experimentation, but in this instance a rigorous comparative approach was possible. Depending on how long I was permitted to continue the experiment, I might be able to test every significant variable in a wide range of degrees and combinations.

She followed my explanation with the attentiveness of an intelligent woman who does not know the subject at all, but is willing to give it the necessary thought. When I was done, she said, “Presuming that some of them are healthy … what will you do with all these honeyseekers?”

That was an excellent question. Their bones could be preserved, but they had limited use, on account of their minute size; even a full-grown honeyseeker is rarely more than fourteen centimeters long. “Distribute them as pets, I suppose,” I said with a laugh. “You may certainly have a pair for your own keeping, if you decide you like them. We might make diplomatic gifts of some others.”

“Eucalyptus trees are not so common,” she said. “But we might grow more, and give those along with the animals themselves.”

Mahira departed soon after, on the understanding that I would bring the honeyseekers by the next morning for them to be settled in their new home. I exited the office to find that our closeted state had excited a great deal of speculation around the compound, which I had to quell with actual answers. “The sheikh's sister?” Tom said when I told him. I could hear his unspoken question behind those words.

“Yes,” I said, and smiled. What need climbing the walls, when I had a reason to walk through the front door?

*   *   *

I arrived the next morning to find Mahira in the garden, veiled, issuing instructions to servants who were fixing the last nets in place. They had shifted a trellis arch to serve as a doorway into the eucalyptus grove, and the whole effect was far more elegant than I had envisioned.

My honeyseekers were chattering in their cage, clinging to the bars and poking their delicate snouts out through the gaps. Once Mahira had dismissed the servants, she lowered her veil and bent to study them. “They are smaller than I expected.”

“If they were not,” I said, “they would be a good deal harder to keep.” I opened the cage door and stepped back, beckoning for Mahira to do the same. Honeyseekers are inquisitive and relatively calm, but they would be more adventurous if we were not standing over them.

They crept out of the cage after a minute or two, and quickly found their way to the nearest eucalyptus blossoms. Hicara buried her face in one straight off, as if I had been starving them for a month. “Little glutton,” I said, smiling fondly.

A
MAMIS AND
H
ICARA

We discussed their care for a time, and were nearly finished when I caught a glimpse, through the nets and eucalyptus leaves, of someone approaching. “Are we expecting company?” I asked Mahira.

She did not reach for her veil, nor did she look surprised. “I was beginning to think he would not come.”

The newcomer ducked under the nets of the arch and straightened up: Suhail.

My heart thumped in my chest. I had hoped this arrangement might give me an opportunity to speak with him, but I had not expected it to occur so promptly. “Oh dear,” I said involuntarily, looking about like a guilty thing. “Are we going to get in trouble for this?”

He laughed, though I noted a strained edge to it. Mahira said, “Why should there be trouble, when you are so well chaperoned?”

I supposed if she did not suffice—a woman, related to Suhail, and studying to be a prayer-leader—then no one would. “Thank you,” I said, and tried not to give away how heartfelt it was.

She shrugged. “Husam is being excessively cautious. That will excite far more rumour than allowing you two to behave like rational adults. If anyone needs me, I will be studying over here.” She took a book from the pocket of her cloak and went to sit on a small bench in the corner of the grove, near to where Amamis and Hicara were exploring.

Which left Suhail and myself standing near the entrance, awkwardly not looking at one another. He spoke first, in his lightly accented Scirling. “I am sorry I did not write.”

“Oh, it's quite all right,” I assured him. The words came out too loudly. Moderating my tone, I said, “I am glad to know you are well.”

He nodded; I saw it out of the corner of my eye. His hands were locked behind his back. “My family—my tribe as a whole—we have been having some difficulties of late. For a while now, I should say. Years. I've been rather occupied dealing with that.”

I searched for something to say that would not sound inane, and failed. “Your family seems to be doing well now.”

“Well enough.” He reached out and touched one of the eucalyptus leaves, tugged it free and inhaled its clean scent. “Husam has kept me busy seeing to business matters, mostly here in Qurrat, while he goes to the caliph's court. Until he sent me to the desert, that is.”

I could not repress the urge to ask, “How many months ago was this?”

His smile was ironic. “Not long before your predecessor left.”

Meaning the sheikh had probably learned of Lord Tavenor's impending departure, and the likelihood of me coming in his place—or if not me, then at least Tom, who was thoroughly tainted by association. But I could not say that, and so I turned to what I thought would be a lighter topic. “What have you been doing in the desert? Seeking out Draconean ruins?”

It was the wrong thing to ask. Suhail's expression became shuttered. “No. Fighting the Banu Safr. One of the rebellious tribes.”

The phrase meant nothing to me at the time, and I did not pursue it; Akhian politics were not what interested me just then. “I am sorry. I hope there has not been much bloodshed.”

“Not until recently.”

I thought of the bad news that Suhail had brought with him on his first arrival, and felt sick at heart.

“What of you, though?” Suhail asked, with the air of a man making an effort to be less grim. “It seems you have done well.”

I gave him an abbreviated version of the events that had brought Tom and myself to Akhia, and spent a pleasant moment in tales of Jake's exploits at Suntley. Suhail seemed more like himself as I went on, and even laughed at an incident involving the school fish-pond. He was the one, after all, who had taught my son to improve his swimming—though I doubted he had intended it to be put to such ends.

But I recognized the look in Suhail's eyes. I had seen it in the mirror for two long years when I was growing up: the period I referred to as the “grey years” in the first volume of my memoirs. For the sake of my family, I had sworn off my interest in dragons, and the lack of it had leached all colour from my life. As it happened, my good behaviour was ultimately rewarded, and I did not regret the path I had taken to my present point. Suhail, on the other hand …

I could not say this to him. I knew too little of his situation; it would be the height of arrogance for me to barge in, thinking I knew what was best for him simply because I had once experienced a similar thing. Perhaps a marriage was being arranged for him, with a wife of good family who would not mind her husband gallivanting off to study ancient ruins. Or perhaps Suhail did not begrudge his brother the aid their tribe required. His circumstances might be of limited duration, a thing for him to endure for a little while before returning to the life he loved. All of these might be possible—and none of them were my business.

One thing
was
my business, though, and it had been tucked into my sleeve since that first encounter in the courtyard, waiting for the moment when I might deliver it. And if it brought a spot of colour into Suhail's own grey years, that would ease my mind a great deal.

I pulled the paper loose from my sleeve and tried to smooth it out into a more respectable-looking packet. “Here. This is for you.” When Suhail eyed it warily, I said, “It is nothing inappropriate. You could post it in the town square and no one would think anything of it.” Indeed, most of them would have no idea what it was.

He took the paper and unfolded it the rest of the way. This took a fair bit of unfolding; it was thin tissue, and quite a large piece when stretched to its full extent. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mahira watching in curiosity, and not bothering to hide it.

Suhail saw what I had given him, and his hands trembled. “It is the stone.”

The Cataract Stone, as it is known these days, though it had not yet been given that name anywhere outside of my own head. I found the engraved slab during my exploration of the Great Cataract of Mouleen, but had not known its significance at the time. The stone, as most of my readers no doubt know, contains a bilingual inscription: the same text, rendered in both Draconean and Ngaru. The former was at the time unintelligible to us, but the latter could be translated; the Cataract Stone therefore served as a key to the code, a way to decipher the Draconean language and unlock its secrets at last.

“Someone went back to the waterfall,” I said, forgetting that I had not told Suhail where the stone lay. “He took a rubbing for me. I wanted you to have it.”

He looked at me, startled, and then studied the paper more closely. “This is an
original.
Isabella—” He caught himself. “Umm Yaqub. Even now, I would have heard if this had been published. How long have you been sitting on this?”

My cheeks heated. I almost dug my toe into the ground, as if I were a child caught out in a prank. “A little while.” Suhail waited. “All right, I've had it for more than a year.”

He made an inarticulate noise: half laugh, half horrified roar. “For the love of—you know better than that! To keep private something this important—”

“I haven't been a
complete
fool,” I said tartly, well aware that I had been at least a
partial
fool. “There are several copies of that, and my will contains instructions that they should be released to the scholarly community if I die. I would never let such important data be lost! But…” My face was still hot. I looked away, and found myself meeting Mahira's eyes, which did not help at all. She was staring at us both with open curiosity. “You are the one who made me see the importance of the inscription. Without that, I would never have known to ask someone to go back and take a rubbing. And I cannot translate it; I can barely learn languages spoken today. There are other scholars of my acquaintance who have worked on the problem of Draconean, but none with your dedication, and none with any connection to the discovery of this stone. I thought it only right that you should be the first to work on the text.”

He stood silent through my explanation. I finally dragged my gaze back to his, and lost my breath when I did. Yes, these had been grey years for him—and I had just poured a torrent of colour into them. He looked fully alive, as he had not since he strode into the courtyard that first day.

I might have cast my professionalism to the wind when I kept the rubbing secret, hoping someday to give it to him … but I did not regret the decision at all.

Suhail folded the paper carefully along the original lines, cautious lest he smear anything. It had been painted with a fixative, but care was still warranted. “I cannot bring myself to complain any further,” he admitted. “This is a gift beyond price—thank you. But promise me you will make the text public now.”