scratched his beard, then shook his head. ‘I think the danger has passed. It’s hard to say. The rain is dirty and smells sooty. It’s black when it hits the deck. So, somewhere, something is happening. I’ve only seen a true white flood happen twice in my life, and each time it was only a day or so after the quake. It’s common enough to have the acid in the river vary. But my feeling is that if we were going to be hit with white water, it would have happened by now.’
‘Well. That’s a relief then.’ She groped for something more to say, words that would keep him in the galley, talking to her. But she knew he had his work, and closed her mouth on such silliness.
‘I’d best be about my work,’ he said reluctantly, and with a girlish lurch of her heart, she was abruptly certain that he, too, wished he could stay. Such knowledge made it easier to let him go.
‘Yes. Tarman needs you.’
‘Well, some days I’m not sure Tarman needs any of us. But I’d best get out there and put my eyes on the river.’ He paused and daringly added, ‘Though I’d just as soon be keeping them on you.’
She ducked her head, flustered by his compliment, and he laughed. Then he was out of the door, and the river wind banged it shut behind him. She sighed, and then smiled at how foolish she had become about him.
She went to dip her pen, then decided she needed the blue ink if she were to make a note on the page of Leftrin’s interpretation. Yes, she decided, she wanted blue, and she’d credit him for the theory as well. It pleased her to think that scores of years hence, scholars would read his name and know that a common river captain had deduced what had eluded others. She found the small ink bottle, uncorked it and dipped her pen. It came up dry.
She held the bottle to the light. Had she written that much on her journey? She supposed she had. She’d seen so much that had given her ideas or made her revise old thoughts. She thought of adding water to the pigment that remained and scowled. No. That would be her last resort. Sedric, she recalled, had plenty of ink in his portable desk. And she hadn’t visited him since morning. It was as good an excuse to check on him as any.
Sedric came awake, not suddenly, but as if he were surfacing from a deep dive into black water. Sleep sleeked away from his mind like water draining from his hair and skin. He opened his eyes to the familiar dimness of his cabin. But it was different. The air was slightly cooler and fresher. Someone had recently opened the door. And entered.
He became aware of a figure hunched on the deck by his pallet. He heard the stealthy pawing of thieving hands on his wardrobe chest. Moving by tiny increments, he shifted so he could peer over the edge of his bed. The compartment was dim. Outside the light was fading and he had not lit a lamp. The only illumination came from the small ‘windows’ that also ventilated his room.
Yet the creature on the floor beside his bed gleamed a warm copper, and seemed to cast back light that had not struck it. As he watched, it shifted and brilliance ran over a scaled back. She scrabbled at the wardrobe chest, seeking for the hidden drawer that held the vials of her stolen blood.
Terror flooded him and he nearly wet himself. ‘I’m sorry!’ he cried aloud. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I did not know what you were. Please. Please, just let me be. Let go of my mind. Please.’
‘Sedric?’ The copper dragon reared up and abruptly took Alise’s shape. ‘Sedric! Are you all right? Do you have a fever or are you dreaming?’ She put a warm hand on his damp brow. He pulled back from her touch convulsively. It was Alise. It was only Alise.
‘Why are you wearing a dragon’s skin? And why are you rummaging through my possessions?’ Shock made him both indignant and accusing.
‘I’m … a dragon’s skin? Oh, no, it’s a robe. Captain Leftrin loaned it to me. It’s of Elderling make and completely lovely. And it doesn’t irritate my skin. Here. Feel the sleeve.’ She offered her arm to him.
He didn’t try to touch the shimmering fabric. Elderling made. Dragon stuff. ‘That still doesn’t explain why you’ve sneaked into my room to dig through my things,’ he complained petulantly.
‘I haven’t! I didn’t “sneak”! I tapped on your door and when you didn’t answer, I let myself in. The door wasn’t latched. You were asleep. You’ve looked so weary lately that I didn’t want to wake you. That’s all. The only thing I want from you is some ink, some blue ink. Don’t you keep it in your little lap desk? Ah. Here it is. I’ll take some and leave you in peace.’
‘No! Don’t open that! Give it to me!’
She froze in the act of working the catch. Stonily silent, she handed it to him. He tried not to snatch it from her but his relief at keeping it out of her clutches was too evident. He swung it onto the bed beside him so he could conceal it with his body. She didn’t say a word as he opened it and slid his hand in to grope for the ink bottles. Fortune favoured him. He pulled out a blue one. As he offered it to her, he ventured a half-hearted apology. ‘I was asleep when you came in. And I am out of sorts.’
‘Indeed you are,’ she replied coolly. ‘This is all I need from you. Thank you.’ She snatched it from his hand. As she went out the door, she muttered for him to hear, ‘Sneaked, indeed!’
‘I’m sorry!’ he called, but she shut the door on his words.
The moment she was gone, he rolled from his bed to latch the door tight, then dropped to his knees beside the hidden drawer. ‘It was just Alise,’ he said to himself. Yes, but who knew what the copper dragon might have told her? He worked it open clumsily, the drawer jamming, then forced himself to calm as he carefully lifted the flask of the copper dragon’s blood. It was safe. He still had it.
And she still had him.
He’d lost count of how many days had passed since he’d tasted the dragon’s blood. His dual awareness came and went like double vision after a blow to the head. He’d be almost himself; morose and despondent, but Sedric. Then that overlay of physical sensation and confused memory would wash through him as her baffled impressions mingled with his thoughts. Sometimes he tried to make sense of the world for her. You are wading through water, not flying. Sometimes the water lifts you almost off your feet, but this is not flying. Your wings are too weak to fly.
Sometimes he encouraged her. The others are almost out of sight. You have to try to move faster. You can do it. Move to your left, where the water is shallower. See? It’s easier to walk now, isn’t it? That’s a girl. Keep going. I know you’re hungry. Watch for fish. Maybe you could catch a fish and eat it.
Sometimes he felt vaguely proud of himself for being kind to her. But at other times, he felt his life had become an eternity of caring for a rather stupid child. By dint of effort he could sometimes block most of his awareness of her. But if she felt pain or her hunger grew too strong or if she were frightened, her dim thoughts burst through into his. Even when he could avoid sharing her dull mental processes, he could not escape her constant weariness and hunger. Her desolate Why? echoed through every moment of his day. It did not help that he shared that same question about his own fate. Worse was when she tried to make sense of his thoughts. She did not understand that sometimes he was asleep and dreaming. She broke into his dreams, offering to kill Hest or trying to comfort him with her company. It was all too strange. He was weary, doubly exhausted from his interrupted sleep and by his sharing of her dismal endless struggle.
Life aboard the barge had become very strange for him. He kept to his compartment as much as he could. Yet there was no solitude for him. Even when
