The Rain Wild Chronicles: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Robin Hobb
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the boat to look out for itself and avoid dangers in the river. She liked the boat’s eyes. They looked old and wise, like the eyes of a kindly old man over his sympathetic smile. She hoped they would actually help guide the ship as they tried to find a way up the Rain Wild River. They were going to need all the help they could get to carry out their mission.
She found her fishing spear and decided to try her luck, even though it looked as if the other keepers were already patrolling the shallow bank for any unwary fish. Rapskal had had a small success. He’d speared a fish the size of his hand. He did a victory dance with the flopping creature still stuck on the end of his spear, and then turned to his little red dragon. She had been toddling along behind Rapskal like a child’s pull toy. ‘Open up, Heeby!’ Rapskal demanded, and the dragon obediently gaped at him. Rapskal tugged the fish off the spear and tossed it into the dragon’s maw. The creature just stood there. ‘Well, eat it! There’s food in your mouth, shut your mouth and eat it!’ Rapskal advised her. After a moment the dragon complied. Thymara wondered if the creature were too stupid even to eat food put in its mouth, or if the fish had been so small the dragon hadn’t noticed it.
She shook her head at them. She doubted that any large river fish would linger there in the sluggish warm water under the open sky. She turned her back on the dragons and her friends and headed toward the far edge of the clearing, where the trees tangled their worn roots right out into the river. Coarse sword-grass grew there, and grey reeds and spearman-grass. The rising and falling of the water level had left fallen branches and dead leaves tangled and dangling from the clawing tree roots that reached out into the river. If she were a fish, that would be where she would take shelter from the sunlight and predators. She’d try her luck there.
Clambering out on the twisting roots was both like and unlike her travels through the canopy. Up there, a fall could mean death, but the layers of branches also offered a hundred chances to grip a limb or liana and regain her life. Down here, there were gaps in the matted tangle of roots under her feet. Below, the river flowed, grey and stinging, at best threatening to give her a rash, at worst eating through skin and flesh down to the bone. There was also the chance of crashing through completely into water over her head, and worse, coming back up under the tangled roots. The trees were still under her feet, as they had always been, but the dangers were different. Somehow that made it hard to remember that she was sure-footed and made for the Rain Wilds.
The third time her booted foot slipped on the roots, she stopped and thought. Then she sat down and carefully unlaced both boots. She knotted the laces together and slung them around her neck and went on, digging the claws of her toes into the bark. She found a likely place. The foliage overhead cast a dappling shade over her. A thick twist of root gave sheltering debris a place to cling even as it provided her an opening over the river. The grass and fallen branches filtered the silt-laden river water here, so it was almost translucent. She sat down where her shadow would not fall on the water, poised her fish spear and waited.
It took time for her eyes to learn to read the water. She could not see fish, but after a time she could see shadows, and then swirls in the sediment that showed a fish had passed. Her shoulder began to ache from holding her spear at the ready; the spear itself seemed to weigh as much as a tree trunk. She pushed the ache out of her mind and focused her whole being on reading the swirls in the sediment. That would be the tail, so the head would be there, no, too late, it’s back under the root. Here it comes, here it comes, here it – no, back under the root. There he is, he’s a big one, wait, wait, and—
She jabbed down with the spear rather than throwing it. She felt it hit the fish and pushed hard and strong to pin it to the river bed. But the water was deeper than she had thought and suddenly she had to catch herself on the root to keep from tumbling in while the fish, a very large one, wriggled and jerked on the end of her spear, trying to free itself. She fought to keep her balance while keeping the fish on the spear.
Someone grabbed her from behind.
‘Let go!’ she roared and pushed the butt of the spear back hard, thudding it solidly into whoever had seized her. She heard a whoosh of exhaled breath and then a faint curse. She didn’t turn, for the thud had nearly dislodged her fish. She flipped up the spear end, bracing the butt against her hip and was astounded at the size of the fish she levered out of the river. Thrashing wildly, the fish actually drove the spear deeper and then through its own body. Her prey was nearly half the length of her body and it came sliding down the spear shaft toward her.
‘Don’t lose him. Keep hold of your spear!’ Tats shouted from behind her.
‘I’ve got him,’ she snarled, irritated that he would think she needed his help. Despite her words, he reached past her shoulder and seized the other end of the spear. Between them, they held it horizontally while the fish struggled wildly. Then Tats produced a knife in his free hand and whacked the fish soundly on the head with the back of the blade. Abruptly it was still. She breathed a sigh of relief. It felt as if her shoulder had nearly been jolted from its socket.
Still gripping her end of the spear, she turned to thank him, and was astonished to find they were not alone. The Bingtown woman’s friend was sitting on a hummock of root, his hands clasped over his mid-section. His face was red save for where his mouth was pinched tight and white. He gazed at her with narrowed eyes and then spoke in a tight voice. ‘I was trying to help you. I thought you were going to fall in.’
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
‘I saw him going into the forest where you had gone and thought he was following you. So I came to see what he was up to.’ Tats was the one who answered her question.
‘I’m able to take care of myself,’ she pointed out to him.
Tats refused to take offence. ‘I know that. I didn’t interfere when you thumped him. I only helped you with the fish because I didn’t want to see it get away.’
She made an impatient noise and focused on the stranger. ‘Why did you follow me?’ Tats gripped the spear to either side of the fish, grinning. She let him take the weight of it but watched closely as he set her catch down on the matted roots.
‘You knocked the wind out of me,’ the stranger complained, and then managed to take a fuller, deeper breath. He uncurled slightly and some of the redness went out of his face. ‘I only followed you because I wanted to talk to you. I’d seen you with the dragon, the one that Alise is interested in. I wanted to ask you a few things.’
‘Such as?’ A blush betrayed her. He probably thought she was some half-savage Rain Wilds primitive. She was starting to think she had misjudged him but she wasn’t going to apologize just yet. Actually, she was beginning to hope she had misjudged him. Earlier she had noticed how polished he was. She had never seen a man dressed so well as this one was. Now that his colour was settling, she realized he was extremely handsome. Earlier, when he had been talking with the Bingtown woman, she had thought him stuffy and horribly ignorant of dragons, not to mention arrogant and rude when he spoke to her. His beauty had just seemed a part of the insult, the power that gave him the authority to look down on her. But he’d followed her and actually tried to help her. For which she’d thudded a spear butt into his belly.
But now he made up for many of his sins when he gave her a rueful smile and said, ‘Look, we got off to a bad start. And I don’t suppose I made things better when I startled you. I was insulting when I first spoke to you, but you must admit, you weren’t exactly courteous to me. And you are now one up on me for nearly impaling me on the dull end of a fishing spear.’ He paused, took a deep breath and his colour almost became normal. ‘Can we begin again, please?’
Before she could reply, he stood, bowed at the waist to her and said, ‘How do you do? My name is Sedric Meldar. I’m from Bingtown and ordinarily my daily work is to be a secretary to Trader Finbok of Bingtown. But for this month, I am accompanying Trader Finbok’s wife Alise as her chronicler and protector as she seeks to amass new and exciting knowledge about dragons and Elderlings.’
Thymara found herself smiling before his speech was halfway out. He spoke so formally yet in a way that let her know he was mocking the formality and the grandness of his work. He