‘It’s Spit!’ Hennesey shouted the news from the afterdeck. ‘Look at that little bastard fly! Can you see him, Tillamon? He’s silver, so when he’s in front of the overcast, he’s a bit hard … there! See him? He just broke out from those clouds. He’s one of the smallest and, to start with, one of the stupidest of the dragons. Looks like he can fly now but even if he’s smart enough to get off the ground, he’s still a mean little package of trouble. When we get to the village, you’d best avoid him. But Mercor, now there’s a dragon you’ll enjoy.’

Tillamon, her shawl clasped around her shoulders, shaded her eyes with her free hand and nodded to every word. Her cheeks were pink with the chill wind and excitement. And perhaps with something more? Hennesey had seemed more garrulous and social of late. Leftrin glanced at Reyn a bit warily, wondering if the Elderling had noticed that the mate was perhaps just a bit too familiar with the lady. But if Reyn had noticed, his objection was drowned by the sudden shrill wail of his son.

‘Damn the luck,’ he said quietly, and left the captain’s side.

The effect of the baby’s crying on the crew seemed a palpable thing to Leftrin. He wondered if it was because it also seemed to distress the liveship. A shivering of anxiety, probably undetectable to some of the crew members but definitely unnerving to him, ran through the ship. Almost as if in response, Spit dipped one wing to circle overhead, dropping lower with each revolution. Of all the dragons that could take an interest in their arrival, Spit was his least favourite. He was as Hennesey had described him: dim-witted when they had first taken the dragons on, and mean since he had acquired a mind of his own. His temper was uneven, and it seemed to Leftrin that he was the most impulsive of the lot. Even the larger dragons seemed to give him a wide berth when he was in a foul mood.

As he watched, Spit left off circling above Tarman and sped off downriver. Leftrin hoped he’d spied some prey and that he’d hunt, kill, eat and leave them alone. But in a moment, he heard distant shouts and realized that Spit was now circling the Bingtown boat that still stubbornly shadowed them. Leftrin smiled grimly. Not the sort of prey he’d had in mind for Spit. Well, they’d been curious as to what had become of the cast-out dragons that had left Cassarick in mid-summer. Let them have a good look at what one of them had become.

Spit descended another notch, tightening his circle so that no one could mistake the object of his interest. Leftrin watched in amusement tinged with alarm as the distant deck of the pursuit vessel suddenly swarmed with human figures. He could not make out what they were shouting. From the very beginning of their pursuit, they had kept their distance from Tarman, never hailing the other ship nor coming close to tie up beside them in the evenings. They had enacted that quarantine, not Leftrin, but he had chosen not to challenge it.

Now, as Spit circled ever closer to them, he regretted the decision. Regardless of their eventual intent, they were fellow Traders and humans. He wished now that he knew who captained the Bingtown vessel and the temperament of the crew. He wished he had seized an opportunity to caution them against provoking the dragons. They were no longer the earthbound beggars they had been.

‘I never thought they would follow us this far up the river. I was sure we would lose them along the way.’

Hennesey had joined him on the roof of the deckhouse. When the baby had begun to wail, Tillamon had hastened to see if she could be of any help to Malta, leaving the first mate to recall his duties to the ship. Leftrin glanced over at him. He’d known Hennesey since he was no more than a scupper plug on the ship when Leftrin himself had first come aboard to share that lowly status. Was there a light in his eyes that had never been there before? Hard to tell. Right now, he stared raptly at the drama unfolding downriver.

‘Who could have predicted this? No one.’ Leftrin wondered if he were trying to evade responsibility. For onto the deck had come a man who now assumed the unmistakable stance of an archer. They were too far away for a warning shout from him to carry to the men on the deck or the circling dragon. They could only watch disaster unfurl.

‘Oh, don’t do it …’ Hennesey groaned.

‘Too late.’ Leftrin could barely make out the arrow that took flight but he tracked it by Spit’s response. The dragon evaded it easily and then shot skyward, beating his wings hard to gain altitude.

The fools on the Bingtown vessel cheered, thinking they had warded off the dragon’s attack. But as Spit reached the top of his arcing flight, he trumpeted out a wild summons. A strange thrill shot through the liveship; Leftrin saw Hennesey feel it as much as he did. Before either man could comment, distant answering cries came from all directions. Then, in less than a breath, half a dozen dragons, including gleaming Mercor and shimmering Sintara, hove into view. Some came from the city, some simply seemed to appear in the sky as if the clouds had hidden them. Kalo, black as a thundercloud and as threatening, shot toward the circling, keening Spit.