“Bayside, Harborside, up, down,” she said, pointing out the directions with a minimum of tongue-trip.
“Now you’re ready for that meal. We’re heading for Joai’s house. Everyone here needs to know Joai. She’s solved more crises than the dragoneers and dragons combined.”
He spoke a little bit about the peninsula generations ago as they walked. “There’s an entirely different geography you’ll have to learn within the Beehive. For now, it’s enough to know there’s a cave with a wharf at the bottom that leads into the lower sections. We call it the Catch Basin because it’s mostly fish that get unloaded. The Skylake is rich in fish. Most places feed scrap food to pigs and dogs; all our waste goes to the fishermen and trap-keepers. I trust you’ve no objection to fish.”
“My l-lodge was in a fishing town,” Ileth said.
“We would have an impossible task feeding all these dragons without the Skylake and its river traffic down to the Gulf.”
He talked about how the foundations of the Serpentine were laid by an old conqueror who fancied that he’d set up a kingdom on the Skylake. The whole peninsula had been his estate. A few of the old buildings were still in use. But that was long ago, before the Vales were even mapped out or the western coastline properly settled, long before the founding of the Republic.
“Kess in the Archive could correct me, I suppose, and argue that some old cottage or fire pit or who knows what used by trappers or miners is the oldest human structure. There are a few even older points of interest in the Beehive that are supposed to be the work of dwarves, who’d begun turning the place into a warehouse or something, if you’re interested in where ancient history and myth start being knitted together.”
They passed under the loom of Mushroom Rock—from up close it appeared to spread out at the top and lean over the viewer—to a wooden building about the size of a Freesand house. It stood on stilts with chickens running about underneath, leaning tiredly on both the rock and the end of the Bayside wall where it joined the Mushroom. While they walked toward the little house, activity caught her eye. On the other side of the bridge she could see a sort of cobbled plaza bordered by white-painted, rounded stones where a small green dragon was attended by a throng of humans. They appeared to be working it over with brushes and what she supposed was soapy water.
Her guide noticed her interest. “Scale nits, I’m guessing. We never quite manage to eradicate them. They’re most active in summer. Get some sun on them, they don’t care for sun, and they can be washed off easily enough.” A gust of wind banked off the rock as they approached the little house, and she smelled food cooking.
“Joai always has a little soup on for those doing heavy labor, and takes care of any cuts and bruises that happen in the course of the workday here at the Academy. We have a physiker for more serious injuries, but he’s often calling in Vyenn or asked for at some of the outlying farms and such, so most of the time the bandaging falls to Joai.”
He led her up some weather- and weight-warped stairs to a door. The chickens objected to the disturbance. Caseen opened and held the door for her with a brief sort of turn of palm and wrist that reminded her of Falth. The Master of Novices had courtly manners.
She stammered out thanks as she stepped inside, following the smell of cooking. Drool threatened to wash out her mouth, and she wiped at it with the back of her hand. She suddenly felt a terrible yokel. She found the discarded red scarf and wiped her hand and the corner of her mouth.
The building was warm, with a low, sloping ceiling made lower by various foodstuffs held in nets up away from whatever vermin troubled the Serpentine. A woman shaped like a prize turnip was peeling potatoes by a vast hearth that looked more like it belonged to a smithy than a kitchen. Half of the room was taken up by the cooking hearth and implements for food; the other half held chairs, benches, and an assortment of medical devices, bandages, and crutches. Ileth stepped over to get a look at the wound dressings and smelled strong vinegar.
“Joai,” Caseen called across the room, “this is the girl who’s been hanging about the door taking in the view of Vyenn’s lakefront. Since she has no other commission, she agreed to give life as a novice a try. If I left her out any longer I think she’d perish, and a corpse on the doorstep is terrible luck when we’re about to oath in the draft of sixty-six. Give her a pudding, would you?”
“We must do better than that,” Joai said, looking her over like a farmer being offered a pricey three-legged horse. “Her skin is as loose as a boiled chicken’s.”
Everything in the room smelled so good! Rich broth, a roasting-potato smell, pig fats on the grill, toasted herbs . . .
“I’ll send someone over to the Manor to have them find her a room and such,” Caseen said.
“She’ll be washed and fed,” Joai said. She sniffed. “We’ll want to boil those clothes before giving her a bed to lie down in. Where’s that lice comb now?”
“Must jump, Joai. I enjoyed speaking to you, Ileth,” the Master Caseen said, working what was left of his face into a smile. “I hope you’ll sprout wings someday.” He turned to Joai. “How’s that boy, oh, what’s his name. The one with the injured foot?”
She lifted a tub half-full of water with an ease that bespoke great strength and set it down by Ileth. “Gralm. Broken toes, poor dear. I bound them up. He’ll be fine. Just don’t run him up and down the walls, sir.”
“Joai!” he said, mocking a hurt tone. He moved to the door, brought his fists together, knuckles toward her in the same gesture she’d seen the Duskirk boy use, and left.
Joai turned to her and ground her teeth in thought.
“‘A pudding,’ His Honor says. No, you need a good chowder, flower,” the woman said, wiping her hands and tightening the wrap around her hair. “With a sausage roll. But first, out of that stuff. Strip right down to your goose pimples. Throw everything but those shoes into that metal tub there. If you’re shy, the sooner you get over it the better. Have a wash up while I cook.” She indicated a poor man’s bath next to the stove.
Joai advised her on how to mix hot and room water for the tub. Ileth wasn’t at all used to hot baths; the Captain sent his charges down to a secluded cove not so much to bathe but to immerse themselves in the chilly waters of the bay to improve their health. Strengthens the mind, body, and soul. The attitude was generally shared in the Freesand, where a hot bath was considered a decadent indulgence.
But she was in the mood for a little decadence.
Ileth shed her filthy clothes, sheath as well, and climbed into the warm water of the bath. When she finished removing the last dirt of her journey from her scalp, Joai handed her a bundle. It consisted of a long men’s work shirt, an overdress that buttoned inconveniently behind the shoulders, and a belt and thick wool socks. She sorted through a trunk and extracted a couple of worn but clean sheaths.
The new attire had seen better days. The shirt was more patches and stitch than shirt, and the belt looked as though every hole had been used at one time or another, but they were clean and the leather on the belt had been oiled. The overdress had been dyed to cover stains at least once but was of some good channeled material, thick like moleskin. The socks looked tired but willing to do whatever might be required of them. They had a cleverly concealed lace at the top where she could cinch them above her skinny calves. She suspected even with the laces they’d fall down; Ileth didn’t have much in the way of either muscle or shape to her legs to hold them up.