“Oh, what a story! I’ve seen all the notes you take and the sketches you make of the river. You’re as much a documentarian as I am. As for what I’m writing, I’m filling in the detail on a conversation that I had with Ranculos last night. Without Sedric to help me, I’m forced to take my own notes as I go along and then fill in afterward. Finally, finally, the dragons have begun to share some of their memories with me. Not many, and some are disjointed, but every bit of information is useful. It all adds up to a very exciting whole.” She patted her leather-bound journal. It and her portfolio case had been new and gleaming when she left Bingtown. Now both looked battered and scarred, the leather darkening with scuffs. She smiled. They looked like an adventurer’s companions rather than the diary of a dotty matron.
“So, read me a bit of what you’ve written, then,” he requested. He moved efficiently about the small galley as he spoke. Lifting the heavy pot off the small cookstove, he poured himself a cup of thick coffee before taking a seat across from her.
She suddenly felt as shy as a child. She did not want to read her scholarly embellished treatise aloud. She feared it would sound ponderous and vain. “Let me summarize it,” she offered hastily. “Ranculos was speaking of the blisters on my hands and face. He told me that if they were scales, I would be truly lovely. I asked if that was because it would be more like dragon skin, and he told me ‘Of course. For nothing can be lovelier than dragon skin.’ And then he told me, well, he implied, that the more a human was around dragons, the greater the chance that she or he might begin the changes to become an Elderling. He hinted that in ancient times, a dragon could choose to hasten those changes for a worthy human. He did not say how. But from his words, I deduced that there were ordinary humans as well as Elderlings inhabiting the ancient cities. He admitted this was so, but said that humans had their own quarters on the outskirts of the city. Some of the farmers and tradesmen lived across the river, away from both dragons and Elderlings.”
“And that’s important to know?” he asked.
She smiled. “Every small fact I gather is important, Captain.”
He tapped her thick portfolio. “And what’s this, then? I see you write in your journal all the time, but this you just seem to lug about.”
“Oh, that’s my treasure, sir! It’s all my gleaned knowledge from my years of study. I’ve been very fortunate to have had access to a number of rare scrolls, tapestries, and even maps from the Elderling era.” She laughed as she made her announcement, fearful of sounding self-aggrandizing.
Leftrin raised his bushy eyebrows. It was ridiculously endearing. “And you’ve brought them all with you, in there?”
“Oh, of course not! Many are too fragile, and all are too valuable to subject them to travel. No, these are only my copies and translations. And my notes, of course. My conjectures on what missing parts might have said, my tentative translations of unknown characters. All of that.” She patted the bulging leather case affectionately.
“May I see?”
She was surprised he’d ask. “Of course. Though I wonder if you’ll be able to read my chicken-scratch writing.” She unbuckled the wide leather straps from the sturdy brass buckles and opened the portfolio. As always, it gave her a small thrill of pleasure to open it and see the thick stack of creamy pages. Leftrin leaned over her shoulder, looking curiously as she turned over leaf after leaf of transcription. His warm breath near her ear was a shivery distraction, one she treasured.
Here was her painstaking copy of the Trehaug Level Seven scroll. She had traced each Elderling character meticulously, and reproduced, as well as she was able, the mysterious spidery drawings that had framed it. The next sheet, on excellent paper and in good black ink, was her copy of the Klimer translations of six Elderling scrolls. In red ink she had marked her own additions and corrections. In deep blue she had inserted notes and references to other scrolls.
“It’s very detailed,” her captain exclaimed with an awe that warmed her.
“It is the work of years,” she replied demurely. She turned a handful of pages to reveal her copy of an Elderling wall hanging. Decorative leaves, shells, and fish framed an abstract work done in blues and greens. “This one, well, no one quite understands. Perhaps it was damaged or is unfinished in some way.”
His brows arched again. “Well, it seems clear enough to me. It’s an anchorage chart for a river mouth.” He touched it carefully, tracing it with a scaled forefinger. “See, here’s the best channel. It has different blues to show high and low tidelines. And this black might be the channel for deep-hulled ships. Or an indication of a strong current or tide rip.”
