Marie Brennan: The Tropic of Serpents

He did not go purple as Maitland had; he turned pale instead. “Are you threatening me, Mrs. Camherst?”

“No, Sir Adam,” I said. “I am merely explaining how people back home will see this. If you hear a threat in that, it is only because you fear the inevitable consequence.”

“It is not inevitable,” he said, his voice trembling. “It is something you intend to bring down upon me. It is a threat, Mrs. Camherst, however you try to disguise it with pretty language.”

I sighed. I was weary; I was filthy; I had entirely spent the energy which had sustained me on the way here, and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a month while my various wounds healed. “Very well, Sir Adam. Call it a threat if you must. I gave my word to the Moulish that I would do everything I could to assist them in this cause, and I intend to keep it. Lock me up if you wish; it will not help you, for I have already written down my tale, and made arrangements for it to be shared with friendly ears.”

It was the last inspiration of my tired brain: an utter fabrication, invented on the spot to forestall the house arrest I otherwise saw in my future.

It failed.

Sir Adam strode to the door. “Find a room for Mrs. Camherst. And see that she does not leave.”

But of course I did leave in the end—courtesy of Ankumata n Rumeme Gbori.

I do not know what precisely he said to Sir Adam, but I believe it had something to do with the promise I had made before departing for the Green Hell. He wanted to know why I had failed him, and refused to let a Scirling question me in his stead. It was not freedom; armed guards accompanied me from Point Miriam to Atuyem, and took me back again afterward, too. Still, it was the salvation I needed. Sir Adam’s outburst had stopped me before I admitted that the success of my plan depended on me speaking with the oba, and so he let me go.

This time there was no public ceremony, no hangers-on. The oba preferred to express his displeasure in private. Apart from the guards who stood both outside and inside the chamber, there was only his griot for company, and his sister Galinke.

“The Golden One grants you what you desire,” the griot said, “and in return, you betray him.”

It was not a good sign that the griot spoke to me. This is a thing they do in Bayembe, to underline the exalted status of the oba; he speaks to his griot, and the griot speaks to whatever lowly soul is unworthy to receive the words directly. Mr. Wilker and I had previously been honoured by Ankumata’s friendliness, but I had now lost the privilege.

Galinke sat with her hands folded and eyes downcast. This rebuke was for her as well as for myself; she had suggested me to her brother as a tool, and so she too had failed him. And I, in a sense, had failed her.

My curtsy was as deep and respectful as I could make it. “ Chele, I thank you for bringing me here today. There is more you have not heard, but Sir Adam would not release me to tell you.”

Ankumata gestured at his griot, who said, “Speak.”

I had rehearsed the words all the way from Point Miriam. “You asked me to bring you eggs. Whether you meant me to collect them, trade for them, or steal them outright, I soon discovered that for me to do any such thing would have been a grave insult to the Moulish, and dishonourable repayment for their generosity, without which I certainly would have died in the swamp. My promise was a blind one, and I will know in the future not to repeat that mistake.

“But blind although my promise was, I have found a way to keep it.”

Alert readers may recall that Yeyuama had told Okweme that he would address my intended theft of eggs after I had visited the island. I thought at the time that he was referring to my possible death in the attempt; had I perished, it might well have been seen as proper judgment upon me for my intended crime. But when we debated the possibility of stopping the Ikwunde and the dam alike, he told me his true meaning—which was not at all what I expected.

It is the privilege and responsibility of those who touch the dragons to move the eggs where they are needed. Prior to the island, any attempt on my part to interfere with that process, whether by theft or trade, would have been a blasphemy grave enough to ensure my death.

But after the island… if I wanted to move eggs somewhere, then it was my right to do so.

“The Moulish have agreed to let me offer you eggs,” I said. “I do not have them with me; you will have to wait for more to be laid. But when the time comes, certain men among them will bring you eggs and instruct you in their care. When one of those dragons perishes, they will bring you another—for the ones they supply will be incapable of breeding. This is not meant as a slight against you; it is the unavoidable consequence of swamp-wyrm biology. But if you place those dragons in the rivers above the Great Cataract, you will have a defense like that which has just protected Point Miriam.”

The oba listened to all of this impassively, hiding his thoughts behind the mask of a man who has survived political waters more dangerous than those the Labane tried to cross.

I swallowed and went on. “For this arrangement to work, however, the Moulish will require something in return. They have sheltered your land, at no little risk to themselves, and now offer you a treasure; moreover, what they require is a necessity for that treasure to thrive. I hope your generosity and wisdom will see the value in granting their wish.”

Here I paused, until the griot prompted me to continue. This was the most delicate point, for if I angered Ankumata as I had Sir Adam, I might be locked up and never let out again.

But I could hardly stop now. “The dam,” I said. “The one planned in the west. Its effect on the swamp would be catastrophic for the Moulish and their dragons both. If you wish for the arrangement I have described, then you must not allow the dam to be built.”

Silence fell. Ankumata propped one hand against his leg brace, unblinking gaze never wavering from me. I fought not to squirm under its weight. Eighty percent of the power, Sir Adam had said; that was the dragon’s share of the benefit, and I had no doubt that most of the cost in labor and material would come from Bayembe, not Scirland. It was not a deal that favored the oba. But could he abandon it? And did he wish to?

The next words did not come from the griot. They came from Ankumata himself.

“There is no profit for your people in this trade.”

“We have already had our profit,” I said, “in the safety of those who would have died in the Labane attack.” My mouth was very dry. Surely it was a good sign that he was no longer speaking through his griot, but his words reminded me that my peril came from multiple directions. “As for the rest…” I shrugged helplessly. “I can only do what I think is right, chele. For as many people as possible. This seems better to me than allowing the dam to be built. But perhaps my judgment was incorrect.”

More silence. I do not know whether Ankumata was still thinking, or merely waiting, to make certain no one would think he rushed into his decision.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when he said, “The gift is good. There will be no dam.”

Muscles I had not even known were tight suddenly relaxed. Then my traitor mouth betrayed me, saying, “Are you certain? Sir Adam, I fear, will be angry—”

Ankumata’s eyes gleamed with what I think was suppressed amusement. “Your country has promised assistance in defending Bayembe. I accept the assistance you have provided on their behalf.”