“It shines too much,” he said.
“Easily fixed,” Djer said, and took it away for an hour. When he returned, it was as black as Auron’s claws.
Auron put it back on, and after a few practice tries, he thrust his extra claw a dwarf-finger’s depth into the side of the ship.
“Ai-yo, wingless,” the elf captain called. “Take care with my ship. I’ll not stand for you splintering my woodwork. Do it again, and I’ll spit you.”
“The Chartered Company’s ship,” Djer corrected.
“It’s my ship from when it leaves the falls until we touch sand at Wallander. Then it’s the Company’s ship again, dwarf.”
Sekyw flushed. “You shouldn’t let him speak to you like that. You’re a Partner, after all.”
Djer sprinkled his beard with river water. “He can say what he wants. I care not. As long as he gets us to the Caravan in time.”
So Djer breathed a sigh of relief when they rounded one of the wandering river’s many wide bends and came upon Wallander with the Caravan still assembling. The captain piloted the flat-bottomed galley past a chain of sand hummocks in the river and threw down her anchor at the landing. Small boats, bearing supplies and trade goods from a southern Caravan from the ivory-rich forests of Bant, rowed back and forth across the river like busy water-beetles. The crew jumped overboard, splashing as they set up the gangplank to the entry port at the ship’s waist.
Slave-laborers with sweat-darkened leather bands at their waists and wrists hurried on board, urged onward by the yells of a dwarvish taskmaster. Auron looked upon his first blighters. They resembled heavy-muscled men but with bigger heads and jaws, longer of finger and toe. They were covered with hair, growing in varicolored patches short and curly on chest and back and longer, almost manelike, at face, forearm, and knee.
“Prisoners taken in wars, or more likely the children of the defeated grown large,” Sekyw said. He made his way from the water, supporting his bulk with a gnarled walking stick. The three watched the unloading then turned and hiked up the trodden-over riverbank. The dwarf in charge of the landing bowed and answered a question from Djer.
“Now you’ll see something wonderful, Auron,” Djer said. “A traveling tower. A marvel of dwarvish brains and engineering.”
They crossed between temporary pens, piles of rugs, rolls of fabric, mirrors, and furnishings of all description. Stacks of arms, suits of armor, shields, and more mundane tools covered the landing, being counted and recorded by apprentice dwarves of the Diadem.
They walked in the shadow of the tower, and Djer pointed to its base. “It moves, friend dragon, on those. A revolving track.”
“A what?” Auron asked. He saw wheels, resting on and surrounded by a line of what looked to be small rectangular shields, linked like warriors standing in close ranks.
“Sort of a road that runs along the wheels in a loop. Driving wheels keep the road moving, and smaller wheels run along it bearing the weight. The tower is lighter than it looks—past the machinery, it is almost all wood within, save for some cables in the upper levels. I’ve never been inside one; I’ve just heard about them.”
“I took this trip when I was apprenticed,” Sekyw said. “I’ll give you a tour, if the tower-baron will let us climb in.”
“I must find Esef, the Partner-in-Charge, first. Say, my good dwarf!” Djer said, buttonholing one of the dwarves counting trade goods. The apprentice took pen from scroll box with a sigh, until he recognized the vest and chain. He grew as animated as if his boots were aflame. Auron looked at the scroll box: by turning a tiny crank, the user could roll the enclosed paper across the writing surface, protecting all but the paper under the pen from dirt or weather.
“This way, sirra, this way,” the apprentice said, leading them to a platform built into the wall. Little houses projected out of the wall; stairs led up to the door on the lofted house. A line of dwarves waited on the steps up, entering one by one after a pause of a moment or two, then descended via a sliding-pole on its own little platform by the door after conducting their business within. Djer, as befitted a Partner, jumped the line and walked right to the door, leaving Auron, the apprentice, and Sekyw waiting. Auron heard a sharp exchange within, followed by quieter words. A bald dwarf with a short pipe gripped in clenched teeth appeared at the window of the wallside house.
Djer joined him. “Auron, come up. Esef wants a better look at you.”
Auron had no desire to slink past the waiting dwarves on the stairway, so he swarmed up the pole. It was an easy climb that left him barely puffing despite his healing lung. He entered the room; it was larger than it looked. The office projected out from the other side of the wall, as well, though the heavy shutters were down to keep the wind from blowing papers scattered on a desk and pinned to the walls.
Esef had a marking pencil tucked behind one ear and an etching stylus behind the other. Either the pipe or one of the marking implements occupied his hand as he signed scroll box after scroll box.
“By my beard, I’m happy to see another Partner here, even if he’s new to the vest,” Esef said. “So you’ve brought a guardian for the expense wagon? A young dragon, the letter from Emde said.”
Djer told the story, jumping over parts whenever Esef’s attention wandered to the scrolls presented by dwarves still coming in and out of the house.
“He looks alert enough,” Esef said, lifting one of Auron’s scarred lips to look at his teeth. Auron muzzled his temper, but couldn’t help his griff. They descended and rattled against his crest. If only Blackhard could have seen this, how the wolf would have grinned.
“Very well. I’ll terminate the contract with Hross’s bull-backs. Pay ’em for the time so far and see them off on the boat you came in. You may have to dicker a bit on traveling expenses, but be generous. We use Hross on the river and in the southlands, as well.”
Djer opened his mouth to add something, but Esef’s attention had already turned to the next dwarf in the door. Djer rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Auron. “Let’s go,” he said.
When they slid to the sand at the base of the pole, Djer patted Auron. “I thought the Partners did nothing but play ten-pins and down flagons with their cronies.”
“Not all sweetmeats and cakes, eh, Djer?” Sekyw said. “If you want my advice—”
“I’ll ask for it in writing. At the reading of my will, in the by,” Djer grumbled under his breath as he turned away.
The men were easy to find. They already stood guard around the expense wagon. Auron’s latest conveyance was a high, short wagon with oversize rear wheels and extra-thick axles. Four mighty men in leather vests, arms bulging from cut-off sleeves, lounged around, laughing and fighting with wooden practice-swords. A man that reminded Auron of a scarecrow in a field, all wide-brimmed black hat and thin limbs, was inspecting the contents of a breadbox.
“Five loaves a day, of this quality,” the scarecrow said to the white-aproned dwarf.
“One loaf feeds a dwarf for a day, and you want meat, nuts, and fruit besides?” the commissary said.
“No need for that now, no need,” Djer said in Parl, interrupting. “I beg your pardon, but are you Hross?” he asked the scarecrow.
“That I am, my young . . . Partner, is it?”
“Djer. I’ve only just joined the Caravan. We’ve hired another to guard the expense wagon, and since your contract doesn’t begin until we set out, we’ll no longer need your services. Thank you just the same. You’ll be paid at the bargained rate for your time so far and given—”
“What’s this?” the scarecrow said, wispy eyebrows crashing together. “Who’ve you hired? There’s none east of the mountains as traveled and trustworthy as the men of House Hross.”
“House Hross, from what I know, has the best of reputations. But you are expensive, and this dragon will do as good a job, for much less.”
The scarecrow stared at Auron, pupils shrunk to pinheads. “I see no dragon. I see a scaleless lizard.”
“Nevertheless, he owes us a favor, and he’s only one mouth to feed, whereas—”
The men protested in their own guttural tongue. They elbowed each other and pointed at Auron, laughing. After further words, the men grew agitated. One, a gap-toothed fellow with furry knuckles, spat on Auron. The man took a step forward, shifting weight to one leg so he might kick, but another long-haired man held him back in a brief struggle. The one with the long hair said something as he reseated a silver circlet about his head, pulling the hair from his eyes.
“You’d trust that thing over men of skill and honor?” the scarecrow said.
“That I do, Hross. I’m sure you’ll be able renew your contract next year,” Djer said. “The Company will pay for you to get back down the falls, of course.”
“But that’s two hundred—over two hundred—days without pay. My men and I won’t stand for it.”
“I don’t see that you have a choice.”
