“This determination of yours,” her father said. “I am willing to indulge you in your service here up to a point, accept that there are certain dangers involved in flying about on dragons, and even acknowledge that you have met with more success here than I—than anyone expected.” He looked at the Masters and nodded. “All that is a credit to our Name. But if it became generally known that a Dun Troot was dancing . . . Well. There are lines one does not cross, marks that cannot be erased, debits to character that money cannot pay up. Santeel, if you can’t keep your Name clean, it’s up to your parents to do it for you, in the interest of your brothers and their futures as well as yours.”
Ileth burst into tears and quickly covered her face with her hands. Falth ran forward with yet another handkerchief.
“Young lady,” Santeel’s father said. “I was speaking of and to my daughter. There is no need for you to carry on so. I bear no reprimand for you and would not think of speaking for—” At this he stopped, perhaps remembering that his daughter had introduced Ileth as a girl from a lodge.
“Oh, S-S-Santeel, all y-your hopes. Gone!”
Santeel looked uncertain. “Ileth,” she said, patting her on the forearm. “Don’t cry. I cannot defy my parents. No matter—no matter the reason. The reason. The reason being—”
“He will be so dis-disappointed,” Ileth put in quickly.
“Who will be disappointed, girl?” Falth asked.
“Rapoto Vor Clay-Claymass,” Ileth cried. “I’m n-not s-supposed to say, but it was all arranged. The painter Heem Tyr—” For once the stutter worked in her favor; it made the tears sound more convincing.
“Sir, shall I assume she is talking about—” the clerk began.
“Would those be the Jotun Vor Claymasses?” Santeel’s father asked the Masters.
“One of my apprentices is Rapoto Vor Claymass,” Selgernon said, after a nod from the Charge. “Yes, he is of that renowned Name and line. I have seen him walking about with your daughter a little. In daylight, to be sure.”
“He’s one of our better young men,” the Charge said. “I expect him to remain here as long as we are fortunate enough to have him.”
Selgernon nodded. “He’s working in the Masters’ Hall. Page duty, keeps track of work schedules, that sort of thing.”
“What did she say about the painter?” Dun Troot said. “She did mention Heem Tyr?”
The clerk nodded.
“I believe his paintings sell at fabulous prices,” Dun Troot said, displeasure leaving his face as though rinsed away.
The Charge cleared his throat. “Yes, Heem Tyr was here a few years back to paint one of our dragons. We’ve usually no objection to visitors. We have experts of various kinds visit now and again. There’s an architect here at the moment, as a matter of fact. But Heem Tyr spent a season here. He found the dancers fascinating.”
“I’m sure he did,” Santeel’s mother said, arching an eyebrow. “I met him—years ago, when he had his old rooftop studio.”
“You never told me this,” Santeel’s father said.
“If I listed everyone I’d met in Zland before we courted I should have to have the pages bound as a book, husband. The society there is quite lively.”
“I understand he did several studies of our dancers,” the Charge continued. “I think we have a sketch or two still in the Serpentine. I should have to ask the Charge of the Dragon Dancers. He spoke of coming to do more, but I never heard anything definite. One of our dancers, lovely young girl, ended up engaged to him. She left us before this last solstice.”
“Well, girl,” Dun Troot said, glowering.
Ileth feigned terror and pursed her mouth tightly.
“You aren’t in any jeopardy, young woman,” the Charge said. “You are not giving evidence to a jury. This is simply a misunderstanding, not an inquisition.”
“This was all to be a secret,” Ileth cried. She fell to her knees and clutched at Santeel’s riding skirt, sobbing into it. (It still did smell a bit like sick, up close.) “Rapoto spoke of g-g-getting your picture done alongside his. It was all arranged. And a study of you dancing. He wanted to know if we would write Peak in Zland for him, so that she might get a price for the commission. I’m sorry, Santeel. I’m so sorry. It was to be kept secret. This will ruin everything.”
Santeel managed to look confused, and a little stunned. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again. She patted Ileth on the head, then squeezed her shoulder.
“Oh, come now, girl,” the Master of Apprentices said. “Don’t carry on so. This is easily remedied. There is no injury here.”
Dun Troot paced the length of the room and back, muttering the name Heem Tyr a few times with arms clasped behind him, chin down in thought. He halted, as though an idea had come to him.
“Perhaps, before we make a final judgment, we should see your dancers perform,” Dun Troot said to the Charge. “One should examine all pertinent evidence before making up one’s mind.”
Santeel’s mother sighed quietly.
“Excellent idea, sir,” Falth said. “I’m sure Santeel would not be a member of the company if they were doing anything immoral. She was raised better than that.” Falth added emphasis and distinction to each word of the last as he looked at Santeel.
“Get up, girl. Stop carrying on,” Dun Troot said to Ileth, who was still clinging to Santeel’s skirt as though it were the only thing between her and a headsman’s block.
Ileth shot to her feet at the order as though on springs. “Then Santeel’s hopes are safe?” she asked, covering her stutter with sniffles.
“I—well, let us leave the matter as suspended for now, awaiting reevaluation as necessary,” Dun Troot said. “All shall remain as though we never spoke of her leaving. This is a social call, to drive away the winter doldrums, and see how our daughter is progressing among her new friends.”
“Thank you, Father,” Santeel said. Her father gave her an encouraging smile. There was a gentleness to his eyes when he looked at his daughter. Ileth couldn’t help but feel an empty ache in her chest. Lucky Santeel!
Santeel’s face worked, and for a moment Ileth feared she was going to confess. Instead she turned.
“Ileth, you are my best friend,” she sobbed, clutching at her and burying her face in Ileth’s shoulder. “You are!”
“Didn’t she just say that?” Dun Troot said, nonplussed.
The clerk checked his notes. “Yes, sir.”
“Girls. Come, my wife,” he said, extending his hands to his wife and daughter. “We should spend some time with our dear Santeel. I believe she is taller.” He turned to the Charge as the servant helped him on with his coat. “Perhaps, Heem Deklamp, you might indulge us with a brief tour, as long as we are visiting.”
“With pride and pleasure, sir. You might be interested to know that Santeel lives not far from the dragons. Anyone wishing to threaten the safety of your daughter will have to go through them first,” he said as they walked out the door. “As it is a quarter exclusively composed of young ladies, even I must make a formal request before entry, so we can’t visit until I get her Charge’s approval. But I’m sure there are other points of interest and sights you would find as more than compensating your journey.”
“Like that lighthouse! I saw it once, touring in my youth before I was married, and always wished a closer look. Come along, Santeel,” her father ordered. Santeel hurried through the door the servant held open. Her father and the Charge exited, the Charge already pointing out landmarks.
The Lady of the Name Dun Troot looked Ileth up and down and slowly, then silently applauded, if such subtle motions could be called applause.