The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(79)
Tristaban goes to her bedroom where a dozen dolls watch her from shelves around the room. There’s one appointment she can’t miss and now she has more time than she thought she would. She holds up two peploi, one bright green, one a silvery perse, and asks the dolls what they think.
Livion likes the green too much, they say.
She tosses it aside. At a basin she washes the scent of yesterday’s vanilla from her neck and puts on some shega oil. She’s never worn it around Livion. It’s not for him. It makes her feel weightless, no, unencumbered. And sparkly.
Between two houses across the lane a man in a beard and black shift watches Livion leave the sundeck. Then his attention goes to Tristaban’s window.
7
* * *
By noon the guards are spreading across the city, searching district by district. They start in the Harbor, which runs along the base of the Hill. One group continues up the West Hill to Servants, then to Lesser Silk, where Livion lives amid other juniors, deputies, and senior clerks, and Greater Silk above it. A second group climbs the East Side, from the poorest section, the Rookery, through the workers’ lanes to the workshops, artisans, and petty trading outlets just beneath the Crest. That section is handled by an elite squad of guards drilled in diplomacy while guards search the Upper City clockwise around the Blue Tower.
Workhouse denizens are impressed upon to help, and many workers also join in, trading a day of labor and possibly tomorrow’s employment for the golden ticket of a share of renderings. Armed with kitchen knives and craftsman’s tools, armored in undyed cotton and bellies full of wine, they make so much noise that the guards send them ahead like beaters. And bait. Nothing is biting, though.
By midafternoon, the wine has soured in the workers’ bellies, the temperature has risen, and the guards are quelling fights more than they are searching likely lairs: old buildings, cellars, obscure alleys and nooks, anyplace big enough a cow could crawl into. By dusk, even the guards, anxious to prove themselves every bit the warriors that Herse’s soldiers are, grow discouraged. They and the workers agree that perhaps the search is some grand Aydeni joke.
At the Harbor, Prieve’s men search under the docks and crawl up runoff pipes without any luck. He also has galleys searched, which does more to turn up contraband than any dragon. His patrols return with reports of clear skies and no wreckage from any ship that might have been attacked.
After being shown the bodies, Herse volunteers his force to help the search. Ject refuses them, saying it will be an inside operation. So Herse searches outside his walls, starting with Hanoshi Town, which spreads around the city like beggars around a trash fire. His soldiers take the opportunity to see who is supportive, while Herse sees no downside in finding a dragon. A prize is a prize, and he could make a great deal by killing a dragon. The day brings him no luck either, however.
Only Rego, Herse’s adjutant, finds something intriguing.
He goes to the alley where Omer’s body was found, then to the nearest pier, where three galleys are berthed.
He’s trespassing in Prieve’s jurisdiction, but he won’t wait for official leave to investigate. It’s stupid, having three security districts answerable to the Council, not an overall leader. Herse will change that.
The crew of two of the galleys, Swan Two and Heron House, both out of Meres, haven’t seen Omer, but the first mate of King of Birds, a spicer from the Dawn Lands, might have. His fingers flex. Rego remarks on the number of Aydeni being questioned as spies and how a broader net might need to be cast. The mate indicates that Omer was brokering the sale of some cinnamon with a shipping company so they could pay their port fees, but he never returned with the money. Rego asks which company. The mate’s memory goes slack. Rego points out that paperwork, like receipts for fees and records of people in the system, appears and disappears mysteriously. The mate says, “It sounded like ‘wield.’ ”
Livion returns home at dusk. His neighbors are gathered on the lane. Most belong to shipowners and trading companies, and none are happy to see him. They didn’t appreciate being questioned by guards or having a rabble of workers searching their lane.
A man from Blue Island, Eles’s greatest ally and the Shield’s greatest rival, says, “Getting too big for your boots? Hoping to bag another pair?” His neighbors chuckle. Fortune is a zero-sum game.
Livion unlocks the door and notices Tristaban’s beaded hamondey is not on the shelf by the door. She never leaves home without her bag.
He calls her name. No answer. He calls again as he runs from room to room on the lower floor. He checks the second and the sundeck. She’s gone.
Livion leans over the railing and asks his neighbors, “Did any of you see Trist leave?”
The Blue Islander says, “First he can’t find a dragon. Now he can’t find his partner. Don’t lift your feet, Livion. Your house might disappear.” This gets a bigger laugh than before. Apparently not just the rabble was into the wine today.
The Blue Islander’s partner, exactly the person he deserves, says, “Maybe the dragon got her.”
“That’s not funny,” Livion says. “I don’t think that’s funny at all.” They laugh harder.
Why is he so worried? The city was searched. No dragon was found.
Then again, if a dragon wasn’t found, neither was the person who might have slit his girl’s throat and disemboweled the other maid.