City of Dragons
Page 62

Crossing the darkened rooms was a challenge. When finally she reached the ground floor and saw gray evening through the fallen doors, she burst into a run to be out of the building. Her footsteps echoed on the floor, and the terror she had not allowed herself to feel till now suddenly gained control of her and she fled as fast as she could from the Elderling tower, out into the streets and down to where Heeby would be waiting for her.
Day the 25th of the Change Moon
Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick
To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
How dare you imply that I am the source of the lice problem! It is just as likely the birds could have picked up these pests when they overnighted in the forest during one of their flights. You may hide yourself behind the Guild inspectors, but I know who lodged this complaint and provoked these unjustified and inconvenient inspections of my lofts and cotes! You and your family have never forgiven the fact that a Tattooed came among you and rose by diligence and hard work to be a bird keeper. This is how you people welcome us to the Rain Wilds and “equality,” with lies and sneaking accusations! You scale-faced, boy-chested lizard-bitch! I will be bringing grievances of my own to the Council, beginning with how you and Erek and your nephew have conspired against me and slandered me ever since I assumed this post! You may think you can end this vendetta now, but I will not be finished with you until your cotes are emptied and your bird keeper papers retracted!
Chapter Eight
OTHER LIVES
It was their second day without rain. Sedric would have felt more blessed if the day had warmed a bit, too. Cold rain chilled them almost every day now. He had wondered aloud once, “Why on earth did Elderlings settle here? Why build a city in such a rainy place instead of choosing a beach by a warm sea? Dragons love sun. Why did the Elderlings settle here?”
Carson had given him a piercing look. “A very good question. Sometimes, when Spit is dreaming and his thoughts push into my mind, I feel like I’m on the edge of knowing why. There was definitely a reason and an important one for Kelsingra to be built where it is. I feel it in his memories. Dragons coming to this city were filled with fierce anticipation. I share it in his dreams and I almost know why. Then the knowledge flits away from me. But I’ve wondered the same thing myself.”
Small comfort. Well, at least today there was no rain. Sedric reminded himself of that and tried to find some gratitude in his heart. It was hard. On days when it didn’t rain, Carson rose even earlier to take advantage of the better weather. Sedric had awakened that morning to the sounds of a hammer tapping gently on the outside of the cottage, right by the bed. He glanced up at the framed opening in the wall above their bed. The sound came from there.
At one time there had been glass in the windows of the cottage, and perhaps even shutters. The stone walls were well made, as was the stone hearth. The roof had been long gone when they’d chosen the cottage. Carson had rebuilt it, with rough-hewn timbers to support it and branches and grass bundles from the meadow as thatch. When they had first moved in to the cottage, they had curtained the empty window frames with extra ship’s blankets. But as the days and nights grew colder, they had reclaimed the blankets for their bed and Carson had pegged hides up instead, which not only had blocked the rain and wind but also kept out daylight. The crudely tanned leather had contributed to the endless smell of dead animal that permeated Sedric’s life. Carson had promised, several times, to try to find a better solution. The stiff hide was now moving in gusts to the rhythm of the tapping hammer. Why Carson had to do this at the crack of dawn, Sedric didn’t know.
He rolled from the crude pallet they shared and wandered over to the hearth. The fire had burned low. He added a couple of logs even though he knew it meant that he’d have the task of hauling more firewood in. Then he felt the garments they had washed out and hung up not last night, but the night before. The shirts were dried, but the seams and waistbands of the trousers were still damp. It was almost impossible to get anything completely dry during the days of constant rain. With a sigh, he pulled on the driest clothes he could find and then rearranged the rest of the laundry in the hope that it would dry by nightfall. He longed to be able to fold it and put it away. Living in a small cottage that smelled like hides and required him to dodge dangling socks at every step was severely affecting his spirits. He longed for cleanliness and tidiness: it was hard to find peace in the middle of disorder. He had always felt this way. He’d always had to tidy his workroom before he could settle to his tasks. The tapping outside the window had continued and was becoming more urgent.