The Art of Hunting (29 page)

‘I am a victim of Unmer sorcery,’ Granger said. ‘There is a man in Ethugra who might just be able to save my life.’

The dragon was silent for another moment. ‘You do look unwell.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Granger said.

The dragon grunted. ‘My answer is no.’

‘What?’

‘I do not care if you die,’ the beast replied. ‘And I have suffered enough of this life myself. If you release me, I will slay this crew or die in the attempt.’

Granger cursed under his breath. What would it take to convince this cretinous beast to live? He’d already given away a priceless Unmer shield to buy its freedom. And the damn thing
actually wanted to die. His thoughts reeled. How to appeal to her?

‘You are a mother . . .’ he began.

‘I
was
a mother.’

‘You lost a daughter,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry. But if you don’t help me, then I could lose a daughter too. I can’t protect her if I’m dead, and right
now she needs all the protection I can offer.’ The sulphurous fumes down here were beginning to make him feel nauseous, but he could see that the dragon was watching him intently. ‘My
daughter Ianthe is betrothed to Paulus Marquetta. No doubt you’ve heard of him?’

The serpent huffed.

Granger went on, ‘Argusto Conquillas has pledged to kill Marquetta and his uncle Cyr, and anyone else who gets in his way.’ He hesitated. ‘My daughter has refused to stand
aside. She’ll try to save her fiancé.’

The dragon’s voice was a low growl. ‘If Argusto Conquillas decides to kill your daughter, then she will die. There is nothing you could do to protect her.’

‘You don’t know my daughter,’ Granger said. ‘Her psychic powers are on a different level to the Haurstaf. She might actually kill Conquillas.’ He sighed. ‘The
point is that this doesn’t have to happen. I’m on the same side as Conquillas. Ianthe would be too if she wasn’t blinded by Marquetta’s looks. She can’t see that
he’s using her. If I speak to Conquillas I can make him understand that my daughter isn’t his enemy. And I can only do that if I survive.’ He spread out his hands. ‘So will
you help me?’

The dragon considered his appeal for a long time. Finally it said, ‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I have no desire to become embroiled in this mess of yours. Now leave me to die in peace.’

Granger let out a growl of frustration. He had nothing left to offer, nothing to convince the dragon to help him. He raked his memories. Perhaps there was one more thing. He leaned in closer.
‘What if I told you that the prince and his uncle are planning to assassinate Conquillas?’

The serpent yawned. ‘It would be more of a surprise if they weren’t.’

‘They have allied themselves with the shape-shifter Fiorel. He plans to fight Conquillas in an upcoming tournament, disguised as a mortal man.’

‘Fiorel?’ the dragon said, its voice low and suddenly tense. ‘You are sure of this?’

‘Yes.’

A fierce growl came from the beast’s throat. ‘Get me out of this net,’ she said. ‘I must inform Conquillas. If Fiorel is walking this earth, then the situation is far
graver than anyone could have guessed.’ It writhed and twisted against the steel links. ‘Now release me.’

‘Do we have a deal?’

‘I will deliver you to Lord Conquillas. After that we part.’

‘Conquillas?’ Granger said. ‘I need to reach Ethugra.’

‘We must warn my master first,’ the dragon said. ‘Besides, if you are truly a victim of Unmer sorcery, then he is the man to help you. There is very little on the subject he
does not know.’

Granger stood up. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Take me to Conquillas.’

‘Let us hope,’ the dragon murmured, ‘that I can still fly.’

Captain Scalton offered to transfer the ensnared beast by crane to any other vessel of Granger’s choosing, but of course Granger had no such transport. His assault craft was nowhere near
large enough. If Granger had told the captain his real plan, he wondered if the man would have gone through with the deal at all, shield or no. For Granger planned simply to release the dragon from
its net. To this effect he told Scalton that he merely required the beast deposited in the shallows.

Scalton shook his head in marked disapproval of this lunatic plan, but nevertheless ordered his vessel closer to land. They lifted the ensnared serpent out of the ship’s hold by crane, and
deposited her in shallow crystal-green water a mile south of Addle, where the topography of the shore allowed Scalton’s steamer to get in close to land. Then, with thumping engines and loud
and filthy exhalations of smoke and steam, the dragon hunter backed away. Her crew kept the bow harpoon trained on the ensnared beast. Only when Scalton had put a reasonable distance between his
ship and the dragon, did he send out a team of welders in the tender to cut the harpoon from her flesh. Granger watched their gas torches from the shore. The dragon’s tough scale hide was
immune to the effects of fire, and it remained still throughout the procedure, even when the crew yanked the harpoon free of its hind leg.

After the job was done, one of the welders waved to Granger. ‘Your boss had better send a ship soon,’ he yelled. ‘There’s no refund if the bloody thing dies.’

Granger ignored him. He waited until they were halfway back to the steamer, and then he hopped across the rocks until he reached the netted serpent.

‘Don’t eat me if I stand on you,’ he said.

She grunted.

Granger climbed up one side of the steel net and found the locking clasp that held the draw cable fast. It was tight and would normally have required a hammer blow to open it, but his power
armour made the job effortless. He pulled the clasp open with such force it actually sheared, and the draw cable slackened at once, allowing the neck of the net to be opened like a purse. Chain
steel links slid from the dragon’s back. She moved her tail and forced her back against the heavy mesh.

‘Easy,’ Granger said. He leaped down from the beast’s back and clambered back to shore. He noted, with satisfaction, that the welding team in the steamer’s tender were
crying out in alarm. They suddenly gunned the engine of their small boat, and it took off, leaving in its wake a broad tail of froth.

Finally, the last of the net fell away, and the dragon’s long neck rose, dripping, from the brine. She stretched out her vast gas-blue wings and let the breeze fill them. And then she gave
a violent shudder and the sea seemed to fume and mist around her, rising in smoke-like curls from her aquamarine hide. She gazed after the departing crewmen for a long moment, and then turned her
long bony head to face Granger. ‘What is your name?’

‘Thomas Granger.’

‘I amYgrid,’ the serpent replied.‘I was a daughter of Hanmer of Ashellomen. You know the place?’

‘It’s underwater.’

‘Everywhere is underwater,’ Ygrid replied. ‘I haven’t been there in many years.’ She flexed her wounded leg and grimaced. ‘My father was human once, but said
he could no longer remember what it felt like. I myself have never known.’ She moved forward through the shallows towards him, and then lowered her neck and rested it on the shore. ‘I
have always considered myself to be fortunate in that respect.’ She grinned. ‘You may sit between my shoulders. Grip the riding hoops tightly. You are so tiny that I doubt I would
notice if you fell.’

‘Are you fit enough to fly?’

‘Let us find out.’

Granger climbed onto the dragon’s neck and padded up to the shallow depression between her shoulder blades. There he found two alloy hoops emerging from her hide. The presence of such
metalwork indicated that this was a very old dragon indeed. The Unmer had driven these pins into her bones many, many centuries ago, so that she might carry a dragon lord to war. She was, then, a
war dragon. A veteran like himself. Granger squatted with his knees wide for balance. He looped his kitbag strap through the hoops and then wound it a couple of times around his wrist. He felt
Ygrid’s huge muscles moving under him as she turned from the shore.

‘You are,’ she grumbled, ‘considerably more massive than you appear.’

‘If I’m too heavy for you . . .’ he began.

‘And yet still small enough to eat.’ She stretched out her wings on either side of him.

And then she lifted her head and thumped her wings down against the shallow waters, once, twice, their powerful motions creating a tremendous gale. Brine-scented air buffeted Granger as he clung
to the hoops in her shoulders. Ygrid thrashed her wings again and again and now rose from the emerald sea into a clear blue sky. She turned, her long neck curving to the left before him, her wings
compressing the air with each ferocious beat, and it seemed to Granger that it wasn’t the dragon who was turning against the world, but the world turning around the dragon.

‘We make for Peregrello Sentevadro,’ Ygrid said. ‘The Dragon Isle.’

The harbour at Losoto was full of warships. Briana Marks stood on deck with Acanto as the
Silver Flame
rounded the breakwater. On either side of them the ship’s
oars dipped and pulled through bromic seawater, leaving little spirals of yellow froth in their wake. The docks were crowded three deep with ships of steam and oil and sail, men-o’-war and
frigates and huge iron-hulled cannon ships. A great clutter of mast and funnel. The harbour itself bustled with activity as stevedores saw to the loading or refitting of vessels for war.

Acanto smiled. ‘Do you suppose word of an Unmer invasion has reached our good emperor?’

‘I sent word of it myself,’ Briana said. ‘Although, to tell you the truth, I’m actually surprised he’s got round to doing something about it.’

‘Not a man of action, then?’

‘Depends on the action,’ Briana replied. ‘I mean, if it were bathing . . .’

‘The man’s a walking cliché.’

‘He doesn’t do all that much walking.’

The coxswain gave a shout and the oarsmen raised their oars and held them above the water. The
Silver Flame
glided to rest in the lee of a privateer frigate. Acanto ordered the anchor
dropped and the tender launched.

‘I do believe,’ Acanto said, gazing at the various ships’ flags, ‘that the emperor has mustered every single pirate clan.’ He grinned. ‘I wonder if they are
all lodging in one place?’

‘That’s one party I intend to miss,’ Briana said.

‘You are averse to thieves, rapists and looters?’

‘I’m averse to ships’ captains in general.’

The tender motored them across the harbour, heading for a small quay next to the dragon cannery. None of the large hunter ships was presently in dock, and Briana could see up the cannery’s
massive blood-stained loading ramp to where the steel hooks clustered at one end of the overhead conveyor. With the presence of so many warships, the normal merchant traders had been forced to
unload at one small section of the docks, leaving their associates to queue in the open water beyond. Come nightfall, the shore taverns and lodges would be seething with frustration and bitterness
directed at these strange and lawless crews. Blood would certainly flow.

‘Are you staying ashore?’ she asked Acanto.

‘I might dine ashore,’ he replied.

‘I recommend the Solus Tavern,’ she said, pointing to a large white building in the centre of the bay. Scores of foreign revellers packed the street outside, drinking and singing.
Crews hollered curses at other crews. A few had already succumbed to the booze and were slumped unconscious against walls.

‘The place with the large group of cut-throats outside?’

‘It’s popular,’ she said.

Acanto clicked his tongue.‘Anyone would think you’re trying to get me killed.’

She smiled.

They landed at the quay, where Briana bid farewell to Acanto. Actually she had grown quite fond of him. He planned to remain in Losoto for at least three days in order to restock his ship,
although he admitted it might take considerably longer than that, given this hellish congestion. If she needed him, he would probably be around.

Briana left him and hailed a horse carriage to take her to the palace. Moments later, she found herself relaxing to the sound of hooves as they meandered up the Yanda Promenade with its
countless trinket traders on either side. The quantity of goods on display was so great that it seemed as if the shops themselves had burst, outpouring their wares upon the cobbles. At one
crossroads she was able to look out west upon the flooded districts of the capitol, where grids of once noble town-houses had been abandoned to rot under the rising brine. They looked like
buildings steeped in tea. Further along the coast would be the Unmer ghetto, where three of her peers yet worked for the emperor. She could sense them in the back of her mind, but chose to ignore
their chatter and keep her own thoughts veiled from them. They were expecting her, and yet she saw no reason to announce her arrival. She did not want her presence here broadcast through psychic
channels.

Of course such discretion might be superfluous, for the future Unmer queen might be looking through her eyes at this very moment. ‘If you are a passenger, dear Ianthe,’ she said
quietly, ‘then you’ve seen the force arrayed against your lover. For his sake, keep him in Awl. At least until he’s all grown up.’

‘Beg your pardon, miss?’ the driver said.

‘Oh shut up,’ she replied.

The carriage continued to wind its way up the hill. It left the harbour district and reached the birch-lined avenues wherein the master merchants and Losotan businessmen displayed their wealth
in grand palazzos. Orange leaves whispered in the wake of the turning carriage spokes. White stone porticoes flanked black iron doors and black ironwork surmounted white stone balconies. Everywhere
one looked one saw precision: in the manicured kerbs and balustrades and in arched blue glazing; in alloy beehive doorknobs and gleaming gold bootscrapers; in the birches themselves, placed like
rows of flaming spears.

Utterly soulless
, Briana thought. She found herself beginning to hate this place, without knowing precisely why. And then it dawned on her. She despised the
conformity
of it
all. Hu’s palace had been called the mouth of Losoto in wry reference to its occupant’s phenomenal degree of consumption, among other things. If the palace was the mouth, then these
buildings must surely be its teeth. Tall and white and uniform. Cleaned regularly.