Tooth and Claw (29 page)

She was given her fair share of Berend’s body, and Lamith measured her later at twenty-five feet. Daverak, who, with the children, naturally took the greatest part, grew to an even greater length, reaching almost fifty feet.

She remained in Daverak, helping to run the household, helping to look after the dragonets, caring for Berend’s eggs, and trying to improve the lot of the servants and dragons of the demesne, quietly, without attracting Daverak’s attention. The dragonets
found the loss of their mother hard to understand, and were inclined to cling to her as a substitute. Dignified Londaver visited the day after Daverak’s return and spent a little time closeted with her brother-in-law, but did not speak to her. She was surprised, a week later, on the first clear day after several days of snow, when he paid another call and asked for her.

She went to him in the elegantly appointed Speaking Room, where Lamith had shown him. He was standing uneasily before the mantel, at least appearing to admire the agate inlay. He was a full thirty-five feet long, with dark scales well burnished to a good shine. He was holding a book under his arm. He should have looked magnificent in the Speaking Room, but instead he looked uneasy.

Haner stopped in the doorway, as if she meant to stay only a moment. “Illustrious Daverak is gone to Agornin on business,” she said.

“It’s you I’ve come to see, Haner,” he said.

Haner didn’t want to make it easy for him. “Did you have something you wanted to say to me, Dignified Londaver?”

His green eyes met hers, and for the first time since his first wavering she felt a stirring excitement.

“Haner, you know I love you,” he said. “I told you so on the mountain last time. I consider myself bound to you, whatever you said then. But Daverak—”

“I know. He refuses to make up the dowry now Berend is dead,” Haner said, taking a step into the room. “He told me.”

“I want to marry you, but I just can’t afford it. I explained it to you before,” he said, his voice strained with desperation. “We’ll have to wait.”

“Wait? For what?” Haner asked.

“For one of my uncles to die and leave me some gold, or for some relation of yours to do the same.” He did not sound very
confident of this plan. “Or I could go to Irieth or one of the other cities and seek my fortune—except that it’s a bit awkward doing that when I’m a Dignified, you know?” Londaver shifted his weight uneasily.

“I can’t imagine you going into trade, or into a government office like my brother Avan. The only fortune you could seek would be a rich bride,” Haner said.

“I’ve never met anyone I liked as much as you,” Londaver said, his sincerity plain. “And you’re so clever. I’m not terribly clever myself. But you’re what I need. You could be clever for both of us. I think about what you say, about the stars, and about treating servants well. I agree with you about that, the more I think about it. I’d like to hear more of what you think about things. I don’t want to marry anyone else.”

“Oh Londaver,” Haner said, her heart softening immediately. She took another, involuntary, step towards him.

“Only we have to wait,” he said, putting out a claw to stop her.

“I’ll wait,” she said, staying where she was. “But waiting indefinitely without any fixed thing to wait for is very difficult.”

“You’re completely free to change your mind at any time,” he said quickly. “If someone else makes you an offer. I was thinking I’d tell you that in that case I’d never marry another, which is what heroes say in stories, and really how I feel, but of course you know, I’d have to, because of the family. There’s an obligation, if you’re the heir, whatever you privately feel. But I’d always be sorry.”

“So, shall we tell everyone we’re waiting?” Haner asked.

Londaver thought for a moment, his eyes whirling. “I don’t think so. It complicates everything so.” He sighed. “It’s such a pity I can’t just go off and take the gold of some Yargish town and come back to marry you. Life was so much simpler in those days. I hate the very thought of gold sometimes. But if we married now, we’d
soon be spending our beds. Londaver isn’t a rich place, you know, and we do like to be fair to the farmers and the servants.”

“I admire that,” Haner said, truthfully.

“You’re so wonderful,” Londaver said. “I brought you a book.” He held it out shyly towards her, and she took it, tentatively.

“
The Subjugation of Servants
, by Calien Afelan,” she read.

“It’s a book of my mother’s,” Londaver said. “I thought you’d like to read it, to do with what you were saying.”

“Thank you,” Haner said, deeply touched.

“It’s going to be very hard to wait,” Londaver said, sighing.

He left her feeling much more fond of him than she had been when he first proposed, but also much less betrothed to be married.

“What did he say, ’Spec?” Lamith asked, when she went back to her new room. Several months of being Haner’s attendant, and a week of being without Berend in the establishment had helped Lamith relax into something approaching familiarity when alone with Haner.

“He said he loves me and we should wait until we can afford to marry,” Haner said, flinging herself down on her gold with a sigh.

Lamith’s familiarity did not extend to saying what she thought of such statements as that, so she contented herself with clucking and taking up a fleece to burnish her mistress’s scales to as bright a gold as she could manage.

Hathor and Avan were strolling together through the Toris quarter of Irieth towards the Courts of Justice. Hathor, with a presence larger than his measurements, was striding confidently along. Avan
walked like a dragon who could only just keep his tail from whipping about uncontrollably.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Hathor said. “This is only a preliminary hearing, to decide whether there is a case to answer.”

Avan tried to smile, but was aware that his eyes were betraying his agitation. “You told me that six times already,” he said.

“Why are you so worried?” Hathor asked, encouragingly. “I don’t understand it. It’s Daverak and his expensive attorneys who ought to be nervous. We have everything on our side.”

“It’s actually going there,” Avan admitted, trying to keep his tone light. “You have been to the Courts so many times. I am a provincial dragon and this is all new to me. The real power.”

“Power, yes, but it’s all contained in ritual. You’re in more danger with your colleagues who want your position at the Planning Office. Illustrious Daverak probably won’t even show himself today,” Hathor said.

“I’m not afraid of Daverak,” Avan snorted. “This is a case of nerves from the stories my nanny used to tell me.”

“You’ll soon get over it when we get there,” Hathor said, attempting to be reassuring but with his complete incomprehension showing in his voice.

Their walk took them past the famous Malnasimen Brewhouse, which was that day belching out a smell of yeast thick enough that they almost needed to cleave the air with their claws.

“I hear there’s a movement afoot to make the brewers move out of town,” Hathor said, in quite another tone.

“What a wonderful plan,” Avan said, almost choking. “Beer is a blessing of Jurale, but brewing is a disgusting process.”

“You haven’t heard anything at the Planning Office then?”

“A petition was circulating about it last year, but if anyone in Planning is taking action I have heard nothing of it.” Avan’s
confidence grew as he spoke, the whirling of his eyes slowed, his tail steadied, and he sped up his walk, making the attorney scurry on his shorter legs to keep up with him. “It isn’t my department, but I believe the Malnasimens have an ancient Charter Grant allowing them to brew from the River Toris. They also say beer is heavy and doesn’t travel well, so unless we want Irieth to drink worse beer at higher cost, we should leave them alone. The other brewers say the same, only without waving their Charter Grants because they don’t have any.”

The lawyer said nothing for a moment, looking at his client speculatively. “So they’ll stay?” he asked.

“My guess is that they’ll still be brewing here, and dragons will still be raising petitions about it regularly, when our grandchildren are fathers,” Avan said. “But that’s a guess, not official word from the Planning Office.”

“Your guesses are as good as gold to some dragons,” Hathor said.

“I wish I didn’t know any of those dragons,” Avan said, bitterly.

Hathor eyed him again, but said no more. Just then, they rounded a corner, and all at once the entrance to the Great Chamber of Justice was before them. It was a huge cavernous entrance, carved all around with hearts, flowers, and other abstract representations of justice. Avan checked his stride.

“Now take a piece of advice from me,” Hathor said, clicking his teeth for attention. Avan swung around to face him, staring into his attorney’s eyes. “Stay calm. Stay confident. You’re so confident talking about your own business, I don’t know why mine should give you pause . . .”

“Lack of familiarity, as I said,” Avan blinked, keeping his tail still only by effort of will. “I know the Judges won’t order me eaten, but they have the power to do so. The law stands to allow dragons
like me redress against dragons who are stronger, but the Judges can order anyone to fight anyone at any time.”

“Is this about Daverak’s letter? Because I can assure you that it helps our case to be able to prove his intimidating tactics. He may have threatened to strip you of everything down to the bones, but it demonstrates that he’d have threatened your sisters similarly, and thus coerced their withdrawal from the writ. Don’t worry.” Despite himself, Hathor allowed a shade of impatience to show in his voice.

“It’s not that, truly,” Avan said. “But look at that.” He gestured towards the gateway. “It’s designed to be intimidating, and it intimidates me.”

“It’s designed to intimidate wrongdoers and dragons bringing suit lightly,” Hathor said. “You’re neither. But it’s important that you make a good impression on the judges. Be calm. Above all, don’t look guilty or worried. Keep your mind on the streets of Irieth and the importance of brewers. When you were talking about that, anyone could have seen you were in the right.”

Avan laughed. Hathor nodded to the guard at the gate, who recognized him and raised the bar deferentially. The two dragons entered and descended.

The Court lay deep underground in an enlarged natural cavern, rare in Irieth. Hathor led Avan past carved depictions of the execution of Justice. Here, a judge held up a still bleeding heart, there a Yarge and two magnificent dragons conferred over a flower. Avan knew it was ridiculous to twitch at the sight of them. He had been so steadfast throughout the whole process, it was ridiculous to want to turn tail now.

Hathor left Avan to sit in an alcove just outside the great circular justice chamber while he bustled forward to consult with the court scribe and the other attorneys. Avan tried to think about his work as Hathor had suggested, but found his eyes straying to the
imposing might of the chamber. Liralen had approved the plan for the Skamble enthusiastically, soon it would pass the Board. Was that one of the judges coming in? No, only another scribe. He sat restlessly and in time came to be more at ease with the place through sheer boredom.

Hathor came to fetch him after a small eternity of time, and led him past more guards to a slab about a quarter of the way around the room. “You don’t have to do anything but answer that you’re here,” Hathor reminded him quietly. “If you do address the judges, the term is Honorable, just as if they were ancient heroes.”

They were facing a flight of granite steps topped by three huge steps, with another threatening carving of hearts surrounded by flowers and coils of fleece set over it. Equidistant from them across the chamber was another stone slab, where three attorneys stood, all strangers to Avan. A scribe in a long fleecy wig waited patiently in front of the steps. There was an entrance behind the steps, as well as the guarded passage behind them. The roof was very high up, high enough that Avan wondered if it was a natural cavern after all. Hathor nudged him and he hastily returned his eyes to the chamber.

The three judges were filing in at last. They took their places on the top three of the great steps. One judge was black-scaled, one was bronze, and one was a rusty bronze that was almost green. They wore huge piled rolls of white on their heads, the famous justicewigs. Avan trembled before them for a moment, seeing the naked power of the law that could order him dismembered and eaten. It was all very well for Hathor to say that he was in more danger in the office, there his own teeth and claws counted for something, here they were nothing before those of the judges, and the guards who would carry out their wishes.

Hathor set out three wigs of his own on the slab before them. The other attorneys bustled their wigs onto their heads. All the
wigs seemed to be different styles. Avan, who had never had much to do with the law, didn’t recognize any of them.

“The Respectable Avan Agornin in civil suit against the Illustrious Daverak of Daverak, concerning the intentions of the deceased Dignified Bon Agornin,” the scribe intoned suddenly, a paper clutched between his claws.

“Are they here?” the central, bronze, judge asked.

Hathor settled the smallest and most tightly rolled wig on his head and rose. “The Respectable Avan Agornin is here,” he said, indicating Avan, then sat again.

“Are you the Respectable Avan Agornin?” the central judge asked Avan.

Avan rose and bowed. “Yes, Honorables,” he said, his voice coming out much more faintly than he had intended. Hathor put out a claw to pull him down again.

Across the echoing chamber a young dragon in an identical small wig to Hathor’s rose. “The Illustrious Daverak of Daverak is not here, but contests the case and is ready to appear at another hearing if there is found to be a case to answer.”

Hathor rapidly replaced his wig with the central fleecy wig and rose again. “Query, Honorables,” he said.

“What is it?” the black-scaled judge on the left asked, his voice bored.