In the Labyrinth of Drakes (24 page)

I stopped dead in the street, and so did Suhail. His eyes had gone wide. “The Banu Safr,” he said.

“Would they ally themselves with the Yelangese?” I asked.

“Ally? No. Not as you are thinking of it. But take payment from, yes—especially if it gave them the chance to strike at my tribe.” A muscle jumped in Suhail's jaw. “The feud goes back for generations. They do not lack the will to work against us, only the resources.”

The difficulties the Aritat had faced out in the desert took on a new cast in my mind. As did every problem we had faced at the House of Dragons: how many of those had been accident, and how many the result of sabotage? I blessed the discipline of the Scirling army, and the tribal loyalty that meant the most highly placed Akhians at Dar al-Tannaneen were members of the Aritat. Without those forces to bind us together, we might have had a dozen Maazirs working against us.

“Isabella,” Suhail said. “I know you do not think it necessary, but—you must not go anywhere without an escort now. You
or
Tom.”

It was no longer a matter of propriety. Our capture of the Yelangese agent might put a stop to their efforts … or it might provoke them into trying something more extreme. “Yes,” I said, feeling cold down to the bone. “I think that is wise.”

*   *   *

I was not present for the questioning of the prisoners. Such things were considered inappropriate for ladies; Tom, who could have gone, chose not to. “If it's anything like back home, it won't be pretty,” he said, grimacing.

My feelings on the matter swung wildly back and forth. One moment, I did not like to imagine the magistrate beating a confession out of either man; the next, I remembered what they had done, and I felt they had brought it upon themselves. The bag of powder the Yelangese man had tried to spill was confirmed to be arsenic, which would have been lethal in larger or more prolonged doses. Maazir's home, when searched, turned up a cache of money that could not be explained by reputable means; there were people in the market who remembered him going to that building before, several times. We had evidence even before we had the confessions.

Security became a good deal more stringent. I no longer ambled off to the House of Dragons with Andrew in the morning. Instead he came with three other soldiers, all of them armed, and met up with Tom at the Men's House before coming to collect me. It felt excessive, and I said as much—but our escort remained. There were guards at the gate of Dar al-Tannaneen, patrols of the enclosures, and daily checks of the feed for humans and beasts alike.

This state of affairs did not persist for long, however. We had scarcely settled into our new routine when the announcement came that Colonel Pensyth wanted to see us first thing that morning.

“That doesn't sound good,” Tom murmured as we made our way through the streets of Qurrat, bracketed by our guards.

“Andrew,” I asked, “what is this about? Have the Yelangese made some kind of threat?”

My brother shook his head. “If they have, nobody's told me. I just know Pensyth wants to talk to you.”

At least he had the consideration to meet with us right away, so I did not have to fret long. Tom and I were not even asked to sit down in the waiting room before his adjutant escorted us in to see the colonel.

I wasted no time in posing him the same question I had asked Andrew. Pensyth likewise shook his head. “No, not at all. In fact, given the recent … unpleasantness, you may be glad to know that you will not have to worry any longer. I've just received word: we are to close down.”

“Glad” was not the word I would have used to describe my reaction. I sat open-mouthed, staring at Pensyth; Tom was doing the same. “Close down?” I said, a faint and disbelieving echo.

“Yes, Dame Isabella. The dragon-breeding programme is over.”

“But—” All my words seemed to have gone astray. I floundered after them with clumsy hands. “You haven't even given us a
year
! We've scarcely gathered data on their breeding habits in the wild, the incubation of the eggs—let alone tried to apply what we've learned—”

Pensyth made a gesture I think was supposed to be mollifying. “I'm sorry, Dame Isabella. This wasn't my decision: it came to me from Lord Ferdigan in Sarmizi.”

“Give us a chance, at least.” Tom sounded as if someone were strangling him. “Six months, even. If we cannot show substantial progress by then…”

He trailed off. Pensyth sat behind his desk, impassive. Unyielding. We would not have six months; we would not have six
days
. Even in my most cynical moments, I had not imagined they would pull the rug out from under us like this. The grand opportunity, the posting that might have been the pinnacle of my career: done. Ashes. Had Pensyth been within reach, I might have slapped him.

Tom recovered before I did. His voice heavy, he said, “What are we expected to do?”

“Naturally we'll have to wrap things up here,” Pensyth said, with a jovial aspect that said he was relieved we hadn't protested more. “Might as well collect the bones from the adult specimens. You can return the eggs to the wild if you like, or dissect them—it doesn't much matter. The juveniles might pose a bit of a problem, I suppose. But don't worry about tidying up the site itself; the sheikh's men will take care of that.”

Bile rose in my throat at his cavalier suggestions. All our dragons, dead: not to learn anything, not because it was necessary, but simply because we no longer had a use for them. As if they were rubbish, to be disposed of by the least troublesome means, what little value possible extracted from them in the process.

I didn't hear the next few things Tom said, or Pensyth's responses. All I could think about was Lumpy. Ascelin. Saeva and Quartus and Quinta. Every dragon under our care, every living creature toward whom I had a responsibility. Soon they would be dead, and I would be on a ship back home.

The conversation ended. Tom led me from the office, one hand on my arm, and to the devil with what people might say. He took me up onto the wall that surrounded the compound; I think he wanted to make certain I was far away from anyone else when I finally exploded.

But I could not explode. I was too devastated for that. I sagged against the hot stone of the wall and said dully, “I was right. They had already decided this was a failure, but they didn't want to blame Lord Tavenor. So they brought us in to be scapegoats.” Tears threatened, burning my eyes. I tensed my jaw and forced them back. “I thought they would at least give us a year.”

Gazing out over the buildings and enclosures of Dar al-Tannaneen, Tom shook his head. The wind lifted his hair, laid it down again in disarray. “This doesn't make sense.”

“Oh, it makes every bit of sense,” I said bitterly.

“No, I mean—” Tom stopped, hands gripping the edge of the wall. Then he turned to me, suddenly animated. “Pretend for a moment that the Akhians have gotten tired of us being here, and want us out. What do we do? Not you and I, but the Scirlings as a whole. The army.”

“Apparently we go.”

He chopped one hand through the air. “No. If it's the Akhians who want us out, we argue. Try to prove our worth. Even if it's just a stalling tactic—look, this enterprise, this alliance, has given Scirland a military foothold in Akhia. We're stronger than they are right now, but we need their dragons. If they decide they'd rather bow out of the whole mess, we don't just accept that; we fight it. Pensyth would be demanding we come up with something to prove our worth. But he isn't.”

“So it's Scirland instead,” I said. “As I thought.”

“But that doesn't make any more sense.
Think,
Isabella. Perhaps this is a waste of time, and the Crown no longer believes we'll succeed. Even so—why pull out? It gains them nothing, and loses our excuse to be here in Akhia, with a Scirling military garrison. What benefit could they possibly get from this?”

None. There was no reason to close us down, except that we were no longer worth the resources spent to maintain our presence here. And however small our chance of success …

A small chance was better than none. They would only recall us to Scirland if they didn't
need
us anymore. If they had found a different solution to the problem.

On a breath that did not carry beyond the two of us, Tom said,
“Synthesis.”

The artificial production of dragonbone. Not just the substance itself—we'd been able to do that for years—but its structure, the microscopic lattice that gave it its tremendous strength. We were trying to breed dragons for their bones, so we could build caeligers and other devices that would allow our nation to maintain its power in the world, to meet the Yelangese and defeat them. But if our people could make the necessary material in a laboratory, it would be a damned sight easier than what we'd been attempting at Dar al-Tannaneen.

Someone at home had figured it out. We had synthetic dragonbone, and Tom and I were no longer relevant.

Conflicting emotions warred within my heart. Synthesis would obviate the need to slaughter dragons for their bones—perhaps. Scirland would not need to kill them, at least. But we would guard the secret of the process jealously, far better than Tom and I had guarded the notes taken from Gaetano Rossi's laboratory. Every other nation would still be reliant on natural sources to supply them. If my country launched an aerial armada, others would be forced to reply, by whatever means they could.

And even though I had hoped for that success ever since we discovered preserved dragonbone in Vystrana, I could not help resenting its effect now. Whatever the reason, it was still robbing me of my place here. I doubted the Crown would be announcing its achievement, not any time in the near future—which meant Tom and I would be going home in disgrace, the naturalists who had failed to breed dragons. I would leave behind this place, my work … Suhail.

Unless …

“What are you thinking?” Tom asked warily.

“I am thinking,” I said, choosing my words with care, “that sending us home like this is very foolish.”

Tom cocked his head to one side, frowning. I elaborated. “Not simply the loss of what scholarly advances we might make here—though yes, that as well. But it did not take you long at all to guess why our work was no longer needed. Who is to say another will not make the same leap?”

“The Yelangese.”

“We certainly know
they've
been keeping watch on us. Other nations may guess as well. Sending us home is as good as sending up a banner that proclaims,
Scirland has found a solution.
”

Tom leaned back against the edge of the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His energy had subsided, leaving him quiet and grim. “They won't be able to stop it—not short of serious action, at least, that would amount to a declaration of war. But it would give them time to prepare.”

Our military minds would want to keep this a secret as long as they could, so as to get the advantage over our enemies. I had no particular interest in supporting that aim; wars, to me, were a thing that made my work more difficult (although honesty prompts me to admit that they have on occasion also facilitated it: viz. our presence in Akhia). In this instance, however, our goals might align. “If we were permitted to stay here and carry on our work, it might mislead them for a while longer.”

He stared at me. Then he said, enunciating each word with distinct clarity, “That would make us bait.”

I had not thought of it from that angle. Weighed the benefit of a smokescreen against the cost of maintaining it, yes; considered the associated risk, no. “We're already bait, Tom. Had we not met with Pensyth this morning, everything would be as it was yesterday: the two of us working to breed dragons, and the Yelangese trying to stop us.”

“There's a bit of difference between swimming in shark-infested water because you're trying to retrieve something from the bottom, and staying in just because you're already there and haven't been eaten yet.”

“We are still trying to retrieve something from the bottom. All that has changed is whether anybody on shore cares whether we—Oh, hang the metaphor.” I pressed my fingertips to my temples. The removal of poison from my diet had improved my health, but the sun was bright, and I had left my hat behind in Pensyth's office. A headscarf alone did nothing to shade my eyes. “Look, the Yelangese have been rather less dangerous to us than some of the other things we've faced. Poison, at least, may be watched for. Diseases and storms come regardless of caution. Do you want to stay here or not?”

He pressed his lips together, still staring at me. Then he turned and went back to his previous pose, hands braced against the edge of the wall, looking out over the compound. This time I joined him.

It was a steep mountain we had set ourselves to climb, trying to breed some of the largest and most dangerous predators in the world. I had entertained any number of doubts as to whether we would succeed—and still did. But to think only of that obscured the fact that there were splendid views to be had from partway up the slope, and satisfaction to be found in attaining the tops of various ridges, even if they were not the peak itself.

It was, apparently, my turn to wander off down the twisty byways of metaphor. In simple terms, we had done a certain amount of good work at Dar al-Tannaneen, and could still do more. Even if we failed to reach our main goal, that should not be permitted to overshadow everything else we might achieve.

And there were creatures down there in the compound whose lives depended on us. One could certainly argue that the lives of the dragons had not been improved by our interference; but having interfered, I could not simply wash my hands of them.

“Yes,” Tom said quietly. “I want to stay.”

I put one hand over his, pressed until he turned his hand palm-up and gripped mine in return. “Good,” I said. “Now let's go talk to Pensyth.”