The brooch wasn’t nearly the size of an actual scale, more of a broken chip filed and shaped. Being organic, no two were quite alike, but all vaguely resembled an arrowhead, with an organic ridge running up from the point. The pin looked exceptionally sturdy. She examined the pin closely. It was a bit scratched up. Maybe novices who departed the Serpentine were forced to give theirs up and they were reused.
Their apprentices instructed them to wear it on the left breast where you could feel your heart beat. Ileth managed to pin hers on using just her left hand, keeping her right casually against her side.
And it was done. Galia quickly walked up and down the line and helped anyone having difficulty with their novice brooch, then led the girls up one of the sets of steps out of the amphitheater. One girl asked if she could wash her face and Galia said, “Not until sunset.”
“I’d no idea we were that desperate,” one of the dragoneers commented to his wingmen as Ileth stepped past him. He wore a bright red sash and an intimidating pauldron of bright, blood-red leather and brass on his sword arm’s shoulder.
The purplish-sashed dragoneer who’d helped hand out the brooches, who’d been following several paces behind Ileth, quickly stepped up and tapped the dragoneer across the back of his neck with the end of a heavy gauntlet. The purple-sashed man had obviously shaved in a hurry before the ceremony. There were three half-healed cuts on his face and neck.
The dragoneer whirled around at the tap, bristling. His wingmen squared up behind him.
“Set an example for a change, Roben,” the purple-sashed dragoneer said, in a low, musical voice, as calmly as if he’d been discussing the day’s sunshine.
“You’ll push me too far, one day,” the one he called Roben said. Roben had several gold teeth. “We’ll see which of us is sharper.”
Ileth felt the loom of someone near her. It was the apprentice, Galia. “What now, Ileth,” she said, exasperation hard in her voice, but fell silent when the purple-sash dragoneer motioned her to be still.
Galia moved to stand just behind the purple-sash dragoneer, putting her body between Roben and Ileth.
The dragoneer who had intervened for Ileth hooked his left thumb in his sword-belt and made a show of stroking his chin, smiling. “A threat? At a swearing-in? Roben, Roben, you forget yourself. Not that I blame you. The rest of us forget about you whenever we can.”
One of Roben’s wingmen made a step to move forward, but Roben stilled him with a gesture. “He’s right.” He turned to Ileth. “I am sorry, novice. It was wrong of me to think that, and saying it aloud requires me to beg the forgiveness of you and those who heard.” He quickly swept the surrounding faces with a glance. He raised his voice slightly, so all could hear: “Congratulations on your entry into the Serpentine. Know you’re of the company and welcome. Satisfied?”
The last was aimed at the purple-sashed dragoneer.
“At your service, sir,” the dragoneer said.
Roben and his companions moved on. The dragoneer watched them go, particularly the way they held their heads together, talking. Galia started to say something, but the dragoneer addressed Ileth.
“Congratulations, novice. I was silently calling for a grace on you the whole way. You reminded me of a sprained runner determined to cross the finish line. You must be the one who sat outside the door for five days, as you were the last on the rolls.”
Ileth nodded. “Th-Tha-Thank you, sir,” she said, instinctively making a girl’s obeisance.
“I’m Hael Dun Huss, dragoneer to Mnasmanus.”
He seemed to expect something in return. “Ileth, sir, applicant f-f-from the F-Freesand.”
“You’re a novice now. Your badge proves it, Ileth. Glad to see a northerner sworn in. There’s often too much of Sammerdam and Asposis in these walls.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.
He finally turned to Galia. “Galia, good of you to come to the aid of your novice. Ileth, if no one else has told you, I will; Galia’s one of our finest apprentices. Watch her. Now it’s my turn to ask your forgiveness. Mnasmanus just had a long flight yesterday and I want to tend him.”
He hurried off, holding his sword so its sheath didn’t strike the legs of the others filing out.
Ileth assumed the dragoneer had shared that long and hard flight yesterday, but he didn’t mention it, or even look all that tired. An ideal dragoneer, right out of the poems and songs and tales. As she turned, she saw Galia watching the back of the dragoneer, with amazement, or something like it, in her eyes. Her lips silently formed words that might have been one of our finest.
Hael Dun Huss paid no more attention to the pair but continued on through the press, picking out other novices with a word or two about their homeland as he moved off to the bridge. She watched how well he maneuvered his sword, so the sheath didn’t strike anyone as he navigated the crowd. Odd how much easier she felt from just a few encouraging words. She wondered if there would be trouble between this Dun Huss and the gold-toothed Roben. What if they fought a duel? She knew men fought duels sometimes but knew nothing of the traditions and particulars—there must be questions, accusations, and agreements. Just what she needed in a strange new place. Suppose one of them was killed over her? They’d brought her in without trial; would they throw her out the same way?
No, her imagination was getting the better of her. She’d heard too many romantic tales. It was time to put away these little-girl fantasies.
Galia lined up her novices again. Ileth stepped lively to get behind the Dun Troot girl. “Next stop, the workshops,” the tall apprentice said. “You’ll all get your first work assignments and be issued whatever tools you need. Look after them. You’ll need to have your work clothes cinched and fitted by then, so we have a busy night of sewing ahead of us.”
She moved them off. Santeel Dun Troot decided to reposition her pin and Ileth plowed into her. “Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t your eyes work either?” Santeel asked. She turned away in a huff, her hair flying so that it lashed Ileth’s face.
They walked, the inky quill Ileth had been concealing in her right sleeve now firmly stuck at the back of Santeel’s overdress, just at the buttocks where it waved like a rooster’s tail as she walked.
4
Her first duty, as it turned out, was gutting fish. And no matter how many fine sentiments you wrapped around the word duty in an oath, her duty was a slippery, smelly business.
She reported, so early in the morning that dawn was just a fringe of light behind the Sisters across the lake, to her new station, taking her first trip across the Long Bridge. She wondered how many heroes she’d heard about in stories and songs had walked that bridge under the eyes of sculpted dragon heads and heroic human figures.
She was told to meet the apprentice Gorgantern at the far end of the long bridge yawningly early, and that he was big, easy to pick out in the murky dawn. He was tall and vastly wide, and something about the way the bottom of his canvas pants hung low about his thighs made Ileth think of a trained bear she’d once seen rearing up on its hind legs.
Gorgantern introduced himself at the other end of the bridge by saying, “I’m in charge here, understand?” as he issued her a thin-bladed, sharp filleting knife and an oilskin apron. The knife’s handle had cracked at some point or other and whoever had used it previously decided to just remove the broken part. There was a whetstone and oil she could use to keep the blade in working condition, but fixing the handle would be up to her. Three other new novices, all boys, started with her. Gorgantern led them to the outer stair down to the Catch Basin.