The assembly laughed with him.
“But I must get Novice Ileth to the Master.” He bowed and most of the audience bobbed back.
“Your attention to duty does you credit, sir,” Santeel said.
“I hope it’s nothing serious. I don’t know what we’d do without our Ileth,” the Matron said, in a tone that suggested life would go on were she removed.
He stepped ahead and opened the heavy Manor door for Ileth. Not a few rapt looks—and one jealous one—followed them out. The babble began even before the Matron closed the door behind.
“Glad that’s done,” Rapoto said. “I always feel like a bull at auction when people ask about the family holdings.”
For him, it was done. She would have to return. She couldn’t get it right. Either none of the other girls her age paid attention to her and she felt invisible, or too much attention was paid and she felt despised. Quith liked her only because she was someone to pass gossip. But she couldn’t expect Rapoto to understand that.
“It’s been an odd day,” Ileth said, when they were out of earshot of the house and going up to the graveside Masters’ Hall. “If you’d . . . told me this morning that I’d be-be-be hearing a discourse on apples tonight . . . I’d have laughed.”
“Laugh away,” he said. “I can’t stand the things.”
“No?”
“I’ve had to pick them and taste them and judge them and talk about them my whole life. My father is a great believer in getting us out to our trees and hives and working alongside our people. Of course, it’s not just fruit. It’s who we are, how the family rose; well, that and mining. Mining money allowed my great-grandfather to buy a lot of land in Jotun. The apples were just something to do with the land at first. I’m here to get away from them.”
“Let’s not go-go on about apples or our families, th-then,” Ileth said, hoping he wouldn’t notice she’d added to the list of forbidden subjects.
“You talk, then.”
A rarity, that. Someone asking her to talk. “You d-don’t mind my . . . stutter?”
“No. You can’t help it, after all.” He walked in silence for a moment. “When the words come, they’re interesting enough. I don’t mind waiting.”
She quickened her pace. They walked together in silence. Now that someone wanted to listen to her talk, her wits failed her. What did men like Rapoto talk about? Mining profits? Business of the Assembly? Would the negotiators ever make peace with the Galantines?
“You said . . . you said you were two years a n-novice.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Kept flubbing jobs. Somehow things always go wrong for me. In the bakery I killed all the yeast. Thought it was some bad water in a dirty bowl. In the garden I thought the young carrots were weeds—they’d not put them in nice rows, you see, it was more like a patch. I shot wingman Dun Leckert in the foot with a crossbow. He was cheery enough about it, though, said he was grateful I remembered to notch my bolt with the bow pointed down.”
The few lights in the Masters’ Hall resolved out of the fog.
At the Master’s, in the now-familiar office, her interview was friendlier than the one that morning. Had it been just that morning? It felt like weeks ago. Caseen carefully set down the pencil he was using to make a margin note in a volume he had open on his desk and inquired about her wound. She assured him she’d bled more at the fish-gutting table thanks to her slippery knife.
The subject changed to the expulsion. He reassured her that Gorgantern had left the service of the Serpentine and said he hoped she was a little wiser for the experiences of the morning and potential consequences to threats spoken in anger. He relayed that Gorgantern had been defiant in front of the jury (not that a different attitude would have changed the outcome). He’d used some bitter words about a conspiracy against him but hadn’t threatened anything.
“A grudge is an unpredictable thing. I’ve already warned Galia. We on the jury thanked him for his years and offered our help in obtaining him a fresh start elsewhere. He refused. We will put a wingman or two in Vyenn to keep an eye on him while he remains within an easy walk of the walls and try to discreetly find him a situation on the other side of the Vales, perhaps Jotun. That apprentice Rapoto offered his family’s aid, do you—oh, yes, he brought you here, didn’t he? My, I shouldn’t work so late. As I was saying, the Master of Apprentices is just down the hall writing letters to do just that now. Gorgantern has friends among the fishermen, and they bring their boats right into the Beehive, as you well know. The Serpentine is far from impenetrable, especially to one who has lived within our walls as long as that one. It’s hard to know what a mix of wounded pride and resentment might bring out of a man like Gorgantern. Keep around at least two or three others for the next few days. The Manor will be watched at night. I don’t expect anything to happen; he knows he would be flogged for just setting his oversized foot inside the walls, but I want you alert.”
Ileth gulped. She imagined those massive hands on her throat. She knew the strength in Gorgantern’s fleshy arms. But she wanted to seem worthy of her present company. “Sir, it’s . . . it’s hard to imagine Gorgantern sneaking about.”
“Would you like me to ask for a volunteer from the wingmen to walk with you for a few days? We have a few who’ve been at swordplay since they could walk.”
“May I give you an answer to-tomorrow?”
“Certainly. In happier news, I’m hoping to move you up in the Beehive. You’ve worked the bottom of it, so we’ll switch you to the top. There’s always work for you nimble young things in the lighthouse. Fascinating contraption. It uses dragon-crystals, quite rare and valuable. They need a lot of polishing and turning on sunny days. It’s a good view from up there and you’ll find the air stimulating. You can help the lookout log weather. I used to keep myself fit by climbing up to it every day, but I hardly go nowadays. Introducing you up there would give me an excuse to make the climb again. How does that sound?”
“Fine, sir.”
“Well, get along. Seems Rapoto is anxious to escort you home. I see him hanging about outside the door.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, and Ileth,” Caseen called after her.
“Sir?” she said, turning around to face him.
“No more duels. Get some sleep.”
She bobbed out her obeisance in acknowledgment.
“That took a while,” Rapoto said, when they were safely away.
She laughed. “He warned me against Gor-Gorgantern. Thinks Gorgantern is capable of doing something desperate.” She passed on the warning against dueling too. “I don’t want to be thought combative.”
“Interesting thing for someone who trains to saddle up a dragon to say. Perhaps now they’ll be afraid to tease you about fish.”
“How d-do you know I’m teased?”
“A would-be dragoneer should be skilled at acquiring valuable intelligence.”
She laughed. It was good to laugh.
“In the north they’ll put one of your . . . your eyes out for g-gathering intelligence by peeking through windows.”
“Why are you here, Ileth? I can’t make it out. Not hunting a husband, no family pressure, and as jobs go it doesn’t even pay. Do you have a father to avenge or something?”
She wondered if he was mocking her. It was hard to tell with these Names just how much was pose and how much was purpose. “I’m determined to make a new start here.”
“You’ve only just arrived. How much newer could you be?”
She took a deep breath of the night air. It turned into an exasperated sigh.
“Ileth, you’re not a fire-breather, obviously. Your manners aren’t what most here are used to. I find it difficult to avoid issuing a challenge to you to a duel myself with the way you cut precedence when we go through a door—that’s an insult in my social strata—but you are not a fire-breather, any more than I am.”