The Tropic of Serpents: A Memoir by Lady Trent (A Natural History of Dragons) (23 page)

“It teaches us all,” Akinimanbi said, gesturing around the camp. Following her hand, I saw that Apuesiso and her husband Daboumen had not been spared the pseudo-dragon’s wrath: it had torn leaves from the roof of their hut, smashed their meat-drying rack, broken the new spear Daboumen had been working on. “We have made noise in the world, and so it comes back to us. We are all to blame for letting it reach this point.” Her gaze came back to me, its weight almost palpable. “You know what the noise is, Reguamin. You must root it out, before it kills you.”

Noise,
to the Moulish, was not simply unpleasant sound. It was a disruption to social harmony. And Akinimanbi directed her words to me, as the pseudo-dragon, the
legambwa bomu,
had directed its roars.

Even with my body and spirit exhausted by fever, I did not believe in witchcraft. But I had submitted before to foreign rites, in order to reassure those around me—could I not do the same here?

It depended on the rites in question. The Vystrani might have been Temple-worshippers, but at least they were Segulist. I did not know what might be required of me here.

There was a simple way to find out. I drew in a deep breath, stiffening my weak knees, then went forward so I could talk to Akinimanbi without others listening in. “What would I have to do, to rid myself of this ill?”

She said, “Witchcraft is caused by the evil in people’s hearts. It unbalances the world and makes problems for everyone. Whatever evil is in your heart, you have to let it go.”

I could not contain a weary snort. “It’s that simple? I decide to let go of whatever troubles me, and all will be well?”

Akinimanbi shook her head. “Maybe others resent you. Maybe your brother and sister”—by which she meant Mr. Wilker and Natalie—“or people who aren’t here. Have you done something to offend them?”

“I can hardly mend bridges with people all the way back in my homeland.”

“Apologize to them anyway,” she said. “Here, in camp. We will hear you, and so will the spirits.”

Her advice struck me as oddly Segulist. The New Year lay several months off as yet, but she was urging me to repent of and atone for my errors. Had I not known better, I would have wondered whether sheluhim had come to the Green Hell after all, or some shred of our religion filtered through into the Moulish world. I think, however, that such practices are simply a basic human impulse. If we cannot ask for and receive forgiveness, how can any society survive?

I have never been a very good Segulist, though, and I still did not accept the notion that following Akinimanbi’s counsel would end my misfortune. With all the dreary pessimism of my half-dead state, I told her as much.

Her reply was pragmatic and eye-opening. “Is that a reason to stay silent?”

There was no good answer to that. All the things I feared—giving in to superstition, humiliating myself in front of others, tearing the scabs off wounds I was happier ignoring—did not outweigh Akinimanbi’s point. My spirit was
not
easy; it ached under the weight of all the things I had not said, even to myself. Even if that was not the cause of my woes, would it not be better to lay that burden down?

And—lest you think my motives were purely noble—I suspected that going along with her plan would also remove the barrier that stood in the way of my research.

(Admitting to such mercenary thinking will not reflect well on me, but I do not want anyone thinking I am one of the Righteous. The driving force in my life has always been my passion for draconic research, and although I have tried to be fair in my dealings with others as I pursue that goal, my motivations are not what you could call selfless.)

“Very well,” I said, resigning myself to this fate. “Show me what to do.”

*   *   *

I did not speak of what followed for many years after the fact. It was too personal, not only for myself, but for Natalie and Mr. Wilker, and while I may choose to expose my every flaw here in this text, I have no right to decide the same for them. Before he passed away, however, Mr. Wilker gave me permission to tell others what he said that day, and everything Natalie said became public eventually, in its own fashion. What Faj Rawango and our Moulish hosts said was, to their way of thinking, behind them as soon as the event ended; they do not object to others mentioning it later, so long as it is not done to encourage further discord. Furthermore, it feels contrary to the spirit of the event itself to dishonestly recount what we said. I will therefore set it down with as much precision as memory permits.

The Moulish, of course, have ceremonies for such things. The youths who had made up the
legambwa bomu
rejoined us, as did Mekeesawa, and we all seated ourselves around the central fire of the camp—a significant place, as it is both literally and metaphorically where they come together as kin. Certain leaves were thrown into the fire, creating fragrant smoke, and we scooped this smoke with our hands as if we were hunters departing with our nets. The leaves may have soporific qualities; I cannot say for sure. It is possible that the feeling of quiet contemplation that settled over me was simply the consequence of my choice.

I began by making my apologies to the camp. “We came here not to aid you and act as kin, but to learn about dragons. We want this knowledge for our own people—” I caught my phrasing, stopped, and began again. “
I
want this knowledge for
my
people. They will respect me more if I learn things they do not know. But they will not respect you for knowing it, because you are of a different people. I was going to present the knowledge as my own, even though you helped me gain it. That is not fair to you, and I am sorry.”

Our hosts clapped their hands, to banish the evil in my words. Then Akinimanbi said, “I have been impatient with your ignorance, Reguamin. You try, but you are like a child; I have to spend much of my time telling you what to do or what is going to hurt you. It makes for more work.” She cupped one hand over the bare skin of her belly. “But I carry a child now, and teaching you has prepared me to teach my son or daughter. I should not have resented you.”

Dutifully I clapped my hands, but my cheeks heated with embarrassment. I was a world traveller, a natural historian, and beginning to think of myself as intrepid, even if that sense had taken a beating of late. Being called an ignorant child put me quite neatly in my place.

Mekeesawa spoke next. “My brother left to join another camp because he did not like having you among us. I had not seen him since before the floodwaters rose. I thought about going to visit him, but I did not want to leave Akinimanbi, and she did not want to leave you. Finally I insisted we go, and she agreed—but while we were gone, your troubles grew worse. She might have stopped it, if she had been here. I took that from you; and I was angry at you for being the reason I have not seen my brother, and for claiming so much of my wife’s attention. Forgive me.”

On it went, through Akinimanbi’s grandparents and the others in camp. It was an eye-opening experience; despite living among them all these months, we had not seen the effects of our presence very clearly. Our willingness to do our part, however ineptly, had won us a degree of tolerance; but our ineptitude, and the burden it imposed on those around us, was greater than we had realized. I saw that understanding dawn on Natalie and Mr. Wilker, even as it did on me. They were not the focus of this undertaking, being not the ones supposedly targeted by witchcraft, but the arrangement of it was such that we could not help but all be made aware of some of our errors.

Faj Rawango kept his words simple, because of our Moulish audience. “You made a promise,” he said. “You have not yet carried it out. If you are set on keeping your word, then I do not believe witchcraft will come on you—but if you are reluctant in your heart, it will.”

My promise to the oba. Was I set on keeping my word? I honestly did not know. I should not have made that promise so blindly; I had sworn to give Ankumata something that belonged to another people, without understanding its value to them. I still hoped that, when I learned more, a solution would reveal itself—but what if it did not? Which obligation would I honour: my promise, or the debt I owed to the people around us now?

When it came time for Natalie to speak, she hesitated and looked around the fire. “I—I don’t think I can say this in your language. Not easily.”

Daboumen flapped one hand at her. “Your words are for your sister and for the spirits. They will understand you.”

I confess I felt relief at that. The Moulish might be watching, but what we Scirlings had to say, we would say only to one another. Natalie looked equally glad. In our language she said, “The truth is that I’m not sure
what
to say. I think you were an idiot not to admit you were unwell, but apart from that, there’s very little I resent you for, and far more to make me grateful.”

“Your father would not agree,” I said ironically. “If there is anyone minded to curse me, I think it may be him.”

Natalie shrugged. “Apologize to him if you will, but not to me. While I do not think this is the life for me—I miss my bed too much—it has given me the courage, and I think the freedom, to pursue the life I
do
want.”

“What is that?” I asked, curious.

She blushed and glanced sidelong at Mr. Wilker. “I—do you remember what I said to you before we left Scirland? About things I was not interested in?”

Her reddened cheeks directed my memory. She did not want the touch of a man. “Yes, I remember.”

“While we were in Atuyem, I found out that sometimes co-wives will … provide one another with affection. I have wondered, from time to time, whether
that
is what I want. But I—well. Suffice it to say that I have tested my theory, and proved it false. I enjoy the company of women a great deal, but I honestly do not think I want anything, ah,
more.
”

By now her blush was fierce, despite her oblique phrasing, and Mr. Wilker’s expression far too stiff to pretend he had not caught her meaning. Sometimes a widow’s companion provided her with more than just a friend, though such arrangements were not spoken of in polite society. I wondered with resignation whether
those
rumours had begun making the rounds as well.

“I understand, Natalie,” I said. “And you are welcome to stay with me for as long as you please. If you do not want to join me on expeditions—”

“I honestly think I would like to work,” she said. “At a proper career, I mean. But that is something we can talk of later.”

Given a choice, I would have preferred to go on talking about whatever career she had in mind, rather than continuing with this ceremony. But the Moulish were waiting, and Mr. Wilker had not yet had his turn. Natalie and I clapped; the others followed suit; and now I had nothing left with which to delay.

He sighed. “Where to start.”

“Oh dear,” I said involuntarily, glad all over again that we were speaking Scirling. “That bad, is it?”

Mr. Wilker scrubbed one hand across his face. “No, not
that
bad. But we have never been very good at saying things to one another, have we?”

I had to grant the point. “We resented one another in Vystrana, for certain. I thought you low-class—which was entirely arrogant of me, and I’m sorry for that. But I also resented you for being a man, and not having to justify your presence on the expedition. You were skilled, and that was enough.
I
had to ride my husband’s coat-tails.”

“No coat-tail could have brought you in if Lord Hilford did not think you qualified,” Mr. Wilker said. “Which I did not see at first. But even once you had proved yourself … I mean no slight against the earl, who has been exceedingly generous to me. But my position is far from secure. I feel the necessity, every day, of proving myself to him and to the world, and I have spent far too much time worrying that…” He trailed off, and I could tell he had gone further into the truth than he meant to. But having gone that far, he could not retreat, and so he finished what he had begun. “Worrying that I would lose my place to you.”

Startled, I said, “But you have so much knowledge I lack!”

“Yes—but
you
amuse him. I don’t mean to belittle you by saying that, either. Lord Hilford likes to shock people, and he likes other people who do the same. Getting as far as I have, though, has depended on caution, on never offending those whose toleration and aid I need. I may be a good assistant for him, but I am not what he looks for in a protégé.”

We were indeed headed for territory through which our command of the Moulish language could not have borne us. I said, “I have wondered from time to time which of us faces the more difficult obstacles. A lady can be taken as an exception to the rules, if her breeding is good enough; mine will carry me this far, at least. You cannot escape your own breeding as easily. But I think that, in time, the quality of your work will win you a place in the Philosophers’ Colloquium; they have taken men of your class before, if not often. They have never taken a woman. So there are doors that will open for you, which remain firmly nailed shut for me.”

For the first time, I saw Thomas Wilker unbend enough to grin at me. “Shall we storm them together?”

“That sounds like a splendid plan,” I said, and extended my hand. He took it in a firm grip, the way he might have taken a man’s hand, not a lady’s. The very frankness of the gesture made me say, “You—do not have an interest in marrying me, do you?”

A laugh exploded out of him. “For God’s sake, no. No insult intended—”

“None taken. To be perfectly honest, I have little interest in remarrying.” I sighed and released his hand, returning my own to my lap and studying it as if it were of great interest. “I would give a great deal for Jacob to still be alive. But with him gone … a widow has freedoms a wife does not. I could wish for greater financial security, but apart from that, what would I gain from having another husband?”

“It would provide a father for your son,” he said.