“It needs pumping out,” the Lodger said.
More investigating was required about what pumping out meant. The Lodger did his best to explain, fighting sleep. It turned out there was a two-man mechanism that “cleared the sump” (whatever that meant) and got rid of wastewater or rainwater that somehow made it down to the Cellars. She and Griff searched until they found the mechanism the Lodger described. Because Griff and his novice didn’t want anything more to do with wash water than they did the Matron’s chastity lectures, they rarely had need of the pump. After some bickering back and forth, they agreed to take turns, two pumping and the third resting. It proved to be hard work, pulling down on a chain handle that was attached to something projecting out of the lift tunnel out on the kitchen level. They were at it for hours, but the sluice cleared with a blast of odor that was worse than all the horrible smells she’d experienced in her life combined. Exhausted, she dozed on a sleeping mat Griff offered her—the Cellars boys seemed to have napping nooks everywhere—as near to the Lodger’s nose as she dared.
She was awoken by Zusya. Ottavia had a request that she visit Ileth and have her report if possible. The Charge wanted an update on how she was getting on with the Lodger, as it had already been a day. It was hard to tell time in the Cellars, unlike the rest of the Serpentine. There did not seem to be any kind of routine; Griff and Zante obeyed their own schedule, it seemed; and every now and then apprentices came down to check and refill the oil lamps and the Guards who strolled through it now and then, seemingly as an excuse to join in a game of Boone with Griff and Zante.
The Lodger was still asleep. She drank from the dragon’s trickle and warmed herself by doing the morning stretches and exercises Ottavia demanded of her dancers. Zusya corrected her form and chirped like a bird about Peak’s departure for the performance and painting studies. She was expected back in time for the Feast of Follies, though if winter came early, she might have to take a series of boats home the long way by river and lake. They went up to drill, filching some pickled eggs out of the dragon kitchen.
Ottavia asked her if the dragon had spoken or eaten. She was pleased that he’d spoken, thrilled that he had questioned Ileth, but disappointed that he still hadn’t eaten. Ileth promised Ottavia that she’d do what she could. Ottavia suggested she get him talking about food and find out his favorite dish.
Someone said the sun was out, so after drill she sat in the air and sun for the time it took to drink a growler of water. She took her old route by outer stair down, unwilling to give up fall sunshine so quickly, and halfway down remembered she hadn’t peeked around corners for Gorgantern. She threaded her way back through the Catch Basin and the kitchens to the Cellars. The Lodger was still asleep when she returned.
She took a candle and went around to check the sores on his other side. They didn’t look any better. Four scales had fallen off. She took them away and examined them closely. They were sort of an orange-red and had a lot of deep fissures. They felt like the bottom of an old cast-iron frying pan. She could scratch them deeply with her fingernail. She doubted that was a sign of good scale health. Maybe she should take them to the physiker.
It occurred to her that with so many scales dropping off, you’d think there would be more about. He hadn’t moved about that much.
She decided to stretch and think about it. Maybe she could beg her Charge for the use of one of those music boxes—a less valuable one—to help when she practiced. It wasn’t nearly as much fun without music, just dull exercise.
Her leg raises were coming along; it was surprisingly fun to tax her tendons and joints in this way. She could hear Ottavia with her endless lengthen and open . . . lengthen and open as she went through the evolutions. She was trying to get her forehead against her knee when she heard the Lodger’s familiar rumble:
“You still. What is your name, human?”
“Ileth.”
The Lodger tried saying her name a few times. It improved each time.
“What are you doing here?” the Lodger asked.
“They told me to keep you company for a few days—”
“No, I understand that you’re here to evoke me or however they phrase it in the Dragonsforge these days.”
She guessed he meant the Serpentine. Was that an old name for it?
She lowered her left leg and turned around. “I came here . . . to the Serpentine . . . to fly.”
“Fly? I understand. I’ve always felt bad that humans don’t know flight. Some try. The devices they come up with! Someday one of you will get it right, that is my firm belief. But you don’t need a dragon to fly. The rocs, oh, perhaps none are over on this side of the Inland Ocean. I forget where I am.”
She shrugged. The biggest bird she’d ever seen wouldn’t support a human. “Not just fly—make a name for myself. Be respected. For doing something admirable.”
The dragon looked her up and down. “A hero?”
“The fables about orphans growing up to be heroes, sir—it doesn’t seem to work in real life. I was told the most I could hope for was being a maid somewhere, or marrying a fisherman with more than one boat. I’ll settle for some flying. Visiting lands where they don’t know anything about me or care about how many names I have.”
The dragon went away for a while, staring off at something only he could see. Ileth wondered how many hundreds of years back the journey took him. Then he came back.
“Have you flown yet, Ileth?”
She shook her head, then, realizing that the dragon might not understand human gestures, said, “No. It’s not for novices. Or dancers, I’m told. Anyway, flight training doesn’t start until you’re an apprentice.”
“Nov—novice? I’m not familiar with the term. It doesn’t matter. You’re small; any dragon would rather carry you than one of those blighters.”
“Fates allow,” Ileth agreed.
“Keep your eye on that young female, Jizara. I know her line. They’ll surprise you. In the best kind of way. With your sort I’d watch the males. Don’t jump at the first offer, unless you have worked with them. They might just want to live as a pet. I’ve seen it many times. Not much of a life.”
“I’ve seen Jizara. Always in a hurry.”
“That sounds like her line.”
“Would you answer a question?”
“I’m an old dragon who’s good for little else, provided I know the answer.”
“Why are you dragons helping us? You used to prey on humans. Or whatever you call it.”
“Why do men join the Dra—your Serpentine? Is everyone here following a dream to fly?”
“Oh, I understand. The reason depends on the person. So it’s the same with dragons?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t think it mattered to dragons if the Republic fell or not.”
“Dragons—I will let you in on a secret. Most of them might be called lazy.”
“Lazy?”
“Easier to have a tasty meal well prepared by others than to hunt. The food here is ample, some of it good. When I have an appetite, I enjoy it. A lone dragon could never hope to eat like this. There are many dangers for a lone dragon, especially one that is tempted by the livestock of hominids.”