Tooth and Claw (34 page)

She had read
The Subjugation of Servants
and had, greatly daring, written to the publisher expressing her appreciation. She had received
a letter back from Calien Afelan himself, and since then they had been corresponding. She knew that she should not hold any correspondence without the approval of her guardian. Since Daverak assumed all her mail was from Selendra, he paid no attention to it. She was always careful about taking her letters to the post herself. She did have qualms about the unauthorized nature of her activities, but consoled herself with the thought that Londaver was her proper guardian, and he had given her the book, and would have approved. Whether Londaver would have approved of her going alone through the streets of Irieth to meet a stranger, she did not pause to consider.

She knew better than to arrange to go unaccompanied to the home of a stranger, so she had arranged to meet Calien in a public park by the river. To get there from Daverak House she had to walk for quite some distance. She did not dare fly in the dangerous cross-drafts. She trudged diligently through the dirty city snow, so different from the white folds of country snow she was used to.

Haner had never learned Sebeth’s trick of removing her hat, so she attracted quite a few curious glances as she made her way through the slushy streets. Unaccompanied maidens whose hats proclaim them to be Respected are not a common sight in any city. Twice, red-scaled and motherly looking dragons, out for early marketing with a servant at their heels, asked her if she was lost or needed help. Both times she excused herself and walked on. Three times elderly and indigent dragons came up and importuned her for a crown, which she gave at the first application. Afterwards she had nothing to give, having only provided herself with one crown for her expedition, and could only smile apologetically. She was sorry for its loss when she walked through the little market with its enticing smells of freshly killed swine, still warm, and honeyed pears.

After the market, her way led her past the huge slaughterhouses and stockyards. The dragons working in them were all bound
servants, rushing to and fro with the animals. The snow was churned up here, and more yellow and brown than the gray it had been. From time to time carts passed her, spraying her with the unpleasant slurry. She was growing chilly, and some snow had balled uncomfortably under one of her feet. Fine fresh snow began to fall.

At last she reached the riverside park where she had arranged to meet Calien. She stood looking around for him. She was carrying a copy of his book, which they had agreed as a sign of identification. The park was deserted. Those who worked in the nearby offices and factories were at their jobs already, and those dragons of the polite world who were in Irieth at that season had hardly yet risen. Haner walked to and fro. Here the snow was hard and slippery, except where the newly falling snow covered it with a thin layer of softness. It was white, at least. Haner walked down to the river and contemplated the great Toris, artery of Tiamath. Ice extended from the banks, but the center of the river was dark and fast flowing.

Calien came up beside her as she stood there. “You are the Respected Haner Agornin?” he asked.

She swung around in surprise, and then was further surprised to see that the black-scaled stranger bore the red cords of a priest and was little more than ten feet long. “Respectable—I mean Blessed Afelan?”

He bowed. “I am Calien Afelan. I thought we might walk across the river to the Skamble so I might show you how some of my parishioners live,” he said.

Haner was already tired of walking in Irieth, but she assented. As they walked they spoke of the different conditions of servants in the country and in cities. “I saw some of them working in the stockyards,” Haner said.

“They do not meet the cruelty and abuse they might in a country establishment; the problem here is more neglect.” Calien sighed.
“There are many accidents in the slaughterhouses. They are necessary, of course, a city the size of Irieth needs to have its meat supply organized or we would all swiftly perish. Yet they could be operated with more thought for the dragons who work in them.”

Haner nodded agreement. “I don’t know anything about the cities really,” she said. As he was telling her about conditions in Irieth, Haner could not help thinking of the mystery of how small he was, for a parson and for a dragon of sufficient birth and education to have written and published a book. She dared not ask. If his parish were among the poor, he would likewise be poor, but surely the poor needed to be culled, and died, like everywhere else, and the parson’s share would fall to their parson?

“Blessed Afalen,” she began, and he interrupted her gently.

“I am not a parson but a priest of the True Religion, the Old Religion you would say. So the usual form of address would be Blessed Calien.” He smiled, and Haner tried not to recoil. “I see that I have shocked you,” he went on. “The True Religion is not illegal. It is merely frowned upon by those who have turned away from our faith. For the last thirty years we have even been allowed to defend ourselves in court if we are attacked, though not to bring an action against another.”

“I have never met anyone of your faith,” Haner said, entirely flustered.

“I will leave you if I cause you distress,” Calien said.

“No,” Haner said. “No, stay. Why does it matter, after all. You are trying to make a difference for those who are helpless to improve their own condition. It speaks well of your Church, and badly of mine, that it is you who is doing this. I want to visit the dragons you want to show me. I want to do what I can to help, even if it is very little.”

Calien smiled at her in approval, and led her on. “Every voice
raised against the subjugation of servants is a help,” he said. “A voice such as yours can do inestimable good, especially if you become mistress of a demesne.”

“I was thinking about the way they do it at Londaver,” Haner said, stepping aside to avoid the plume of slush sent up by another passing cart.

“Ah, Londaver,” Calien said, looking at her shrewdly. “Exalt Londaver is one of my strongest supporters.”

“Her son lent me your book,” Haner admitted, caressing the book she held. “But while what they do there, or my father did at Agornin, is better, and kinder, I wonder if even that goes far enough. If I become mistress of a demesne, I think I would free all the servants.”

“And how would you run your demesne then?” the priest asked.

“As you say in your book, free dragons coming together for mutual benefit,” Haner quoted.

“I should very much like to see it tried,” Calien said, and guided her onwards.

When at last she returned to Daverak House she was cold and exhausted. She was not expecting to find Daverak pacing the hall, waiting for her. “Where have you been?” he demanded.

“For a walk,” she said.

“I am not a fool, Haner, and I’ll be obliged if you don’t treat me like one. You have been to collude with your brother Avan.”

“I have not!” Haner was indignant. “Where I have been is my own business, but it had nothing to do with Avan.”

“The two of you have doubtless been getting your stories against me straight with each other,” Daverak said, flame billowing around the edge of his words and melting snow on Haner’s scales.

“If you must know, I have been seeing someone about the rights of servants.”

Daverak laughed. “Your servant tried to lie to protect you. There was hardly anything to her, but I won’t tolerate insubordination from servants. Nor will I tolerate it in poor relations for that matter.”

“You ate Lamith?” Haner asked, appalled.

“Was that her name? Yes. Now, in Court. You will tell them you knew nothing of your father’s will or his intent.

“It is the truth and I said I would say that,” Haner said, backing away a little.

“Go to your room!” Daverak bellowed, and the flame singed her tail as she fled.

“You are insane,” Haner said, slamming the door of her sleeping room. “I will tell the truth, and I am telling the truth now when I say I haven’t seen Avan.”

“You’ll not take his side, I’ll see to that,” Daverak said, and she heard a series of blows against her door. At first she had cowered at the far side of the cave, afraid he was breaking in to eat her. Then she realized that he was piling up something on the outside, to make it impossible for her to get out. She was still clutching the book.

“Londaver,” she thought, and the thought was like a prayer. Then she did pray, the most simple of children’s prayers, quick to the tongue. “Camran the truthbringer, Jurale the merciful, Veld the just, help me now.” The blows to the door continued. When silence fell at last, nothing she could do could open it.

Since she had accepted Sher’s proposal, since the night before that when she had not slept, since the afternoon before that when the Exalt had said she was not good enough for Sher, Selendra had
been living on her nerves. Everything had the clarity of midnight. Her greatest joy and her greatest dread both were that she saw Sher every day, for a large part of every day. He did not try to press her physically, though every day he reminded her verbally one way or another that she was not yet fully his. She liked him, indeed, she loved him far too much to want to hurt him, and she was beginning to see that it wasn’t possible to carry out her plan without hurting him a great deal. It was also too late to withdraw. She had to go through with it, which meant she had to act, and act well.

It wasn’t all bad. She would wake at night with her heart hammering and feelings of terrible love and guilt beating at her. But there was much to enjoy. She could torment the Exalt whenever she had the opportunity. Thus far despite all Sher had tried, the Exalt had not unbent towards Selendra at all. So Selendra took a perverse delight in forcing her to acknowledge her position of Sher’s intended, as the future Exalt Benandi. Besides, Sher’s intended had access to pleasures, simple and complex, which Selendra had always wanted. She was going to Irieth, and there she would attend a rout-party, with the added joys of forcing the Exalt to arrange it and present her. She would also go to the theater, a treat she had always before been denied. She swore she would enjoy what she could now, and leave later for later. She avoided Felin’s eyes as much as she could.

She found the journey tedious, although she rose up above the train with Sher as often as she wanted. The dragonets were soon bored, and required entertaining. It was better than the journey from Agornin, but trains, as she told Sher, were inherently dull. “We’ll fly everywhere once we’re married,” he assured her. They arrived at Irieth late at night, so late that they did nothing but find the rooms assigned to them and fall asleep. It was not until morning that Selendra even noticed how grand her sleeping cave was, or realized that the gold she had slept on was part of the Benandi
treasure. Almost every piece bore a crest. This was no guest room, but the great room of the mistress of the demesne. Sher must have insisted that his mother give it up to her. For a little while she imagined that she could truly marry Sher and enter this room by right. If only she could blush! She ground her teeth at the thought of Frelt.

She was disappointed, at breakfast, by the staleness of the meat. “It’s impossible to get good beef in Irieth,” Penn told her.

“We usually manage better than this,” Sher said, chewing hard.

“I usually send the servants down to the slaughterhouses late at night to be able to buy the meat as soon as it is on sale in the morning,” the Exalt said. “We arrived too late last night. They went down, but they were too far back in the queue to get anything good. It will be better tomorrow. Now, how do you intend to amuse yourselves today? I will be busy addressing cards to invite our friends to the rout. Selendra, dear, can you write? Would you care to help me?”

Selendra did not in the least want to spend the day addressing boring rout cards, but could not say so now that her maidenly skills had been insulted. “Of course I can write,” she said. “I have been writing for father for years.”

“That’s settled then,” the Exalt said, smiling, knowing she had won a battle. “What will the rest of you do?”

“It’s snowing so I can hardly see my tail,” Sher said. “I don’t doubt it’ll stop in an hour or so, by which time you’ll doubtless have finished with Selendra and I can take her out to see the sights. Would you like to come with us, Felin? I’m sure we can take in a milliner’s establishment on the way.” Selendra smiled gratefully at Sher. The Exalt looked a little sour.

“I ought to look after the children,” Felin said, regretfully.

“I can watch the children, dear,” Penn said.

“But they want to see half of Irieth,” Felin protested.

“I can take them to the Church of Sainted Vouiver, that provides enough sights for any number of dragonets, and will be good for them,” Penn said, in a determinedly cheerful way.

“Take Amer with you,” Felin suggested.

“If you think so,” Penn said, getting up and wiping his chest. He bowed to Sher and to the Exalt. “Shall I see you at dinner?”

“Yes, and be on time, because I’m planning to take everyone to the theater afterwards,” Sher said.

Selendra bounced up as if she were just growing her wings, almost leaving the ground in her excitement. “The theater?”

“Nothing unsuitable for my sister, I hope?” Penn asked, trying to smile and not quite succeeding.

“Nothing unsuitable for anyone. Etanin’s
The Defeat of the Yarge
.” Sher smiled amiably at the company. “I have taken space enough for all of us including the dragonets.”

“It’s a classic,” Penn said reassuringly to Felin, who had made a motion of protest with her tail. “Etanin is a great poet. It’s educational. We acted it in school.”

“Historical,” Sher said, nodding at Felin. He stood suddenly, brought his tail forward, and raised his arms in a careful pose of horror. “Why then, ’tis treason!” he said, in an appalled tone. He crouched down low, his wings flat on his back and his tail stretched out behind him and spoke in a low confiding voice. “Do you say treason? That I’ll not deny. But you mean treason to the Yarge, our lords, while I say every day they are our lords is treason to our own, our dragon-nature. You say we took an oath that we’d be true, but what is truth when keeping oaths makes lies, makes twisted souls, makes claws bent into hands—” he bent his claws alarmingly. “Scales
shaken off,” he shuddered, “wings bound upon our backs—why, living thus is treason to ourselves.”