“That’s scholarship. There’s always more to learn.” Tom sighed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and linking his hands together. “But yes, I see your point. Are you saying you want to quit, after all?”
“No.” My vehemence startled even me. A moment ago I had been considering that, without thinking about it directly; but the moment he asked, my indecision vanished. “I just wonder—when we will say we have done enough.”
For that question, I had no answer. Tom did not have one, either, and we sat in silence for a long time before picking up our work once more.
The mood at Dar al-Tannaneen had changed. Whatever pretense we maintained, the forward momentum of the programme had faltered, and everyone felt it.
It is difficult to describe the effect this had on me. I was still working with dragons on a daily basis, in a context where I was—albeit slowly, with grudging will—being accepted as a respectable intellectual; these things did not lose their savour. And yet, I think on some subconscious level I had begun to question the worthiness of what I was accomplishing there. Despite what I had told myself about mountains and the climbing thereof, the value of views from partway up the slope even if one did not reach the summit… I had come here to climb the entire mountain. It was disheartening to consider that I might have to surrender that goal.
We simply had not realized how tall the peak was, and how steep its slopes. Andrew had said it, when I first arrived in Akhia: we expected that our superior scientific knowledge should vanquish this problem, even though it was sufficiently intractable as to have stumped the world for millennia. Breeding large predators in captivity is not easy, even when they are not dragons. How many years was I prepared to spend on this challenge?
I found myself staring at a piece of paper one night, contemplating what I might write to Jake. His summer holidays would begin soon; he wanted to join me in Akhia for the duration. If he came, would it be his one chance to see this country before I departed? Or would it be an acknowledgment that I lived here now, and would for the foreseeable future?
The decision might not be mine to make. Eventually the news of synthesis would become public, and at that point, the Crown would have no reason to maintain us here at all.
I had not yet dressed for bed. Although it was late, and as usual I would need to rise early the next morning, I left my chair and went for a walk around the compound.
Guards still patrolled the site, although the Yelangese leader had apparently been the man Ascelin killed. I nodded a greeting to one, who surprised me by saying, “Is everything all right, Dame Isabella? You and Mr. Wilker are both out late.”
“Tom is up?” I said. “Do you know where I might find him?”
The soldier directed me to the pits that held the adult drakes. Arriving there, I saw Tom leaning against a railing, one knee bent, his foot propped on the lowest bar. He turned as I approached, and did not appear surprised to see me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
I joined him at the rail. “As have I. But let’s hear yours first.”
“The Basilisk,” Tom said. “We managed that voyage without any support from the Crown.”
He and I had known one another too long for me not to guess where his thoughts might be aimed. “A voyage of limited duration and an ongoing research programme are rather different things.”
“True. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” He kept his voice low; Quinta was not far away, a dimly seen shape sleeping in her little cave. We did not want to rouse her. “Between the two of us, we correspond with just about every dragon naturalist in Anthiope. We’re even friends with a few. The army wouldn’t look kindly on other people getting involved just yet, of course—this is still their enterprise. But when they lose interest…”
My mind was already racing down the path he had revealed. We would have to lay the foundations ahead of time—that was certain. If we waited until the army closed Dar al-Tannaneen down, it would be too late; our adults would be slaughtered, our juveniles and eggs disposed of by one means or another, and everything here would have to start from scratch. If we already had interested parties lined up, though…
Then Dar al-Tannaneen might persist beyond this moment, and beyond our involvement.
It was not the peak we had set out to scale. But it was a worthy challenge, and one I could take pride in. If I walked away from Akhia knowing I had helped create something of lasting importance, I could rest a good deal better at night.
“What thoughts were keeping you awake?” Tom asked, when the silence had grown too long.
I shook my head, smiling. “They do not matter now. You have given me a solution already.”
Many people know that the International Fraternity of Draconic Research has its roots in the House of Dragons in Qurrat. I have long made a point of noting that it was Tom, not I, who first had the idea of transforming our military commission there into a collaborative research programme that would bring together naturalists from many countries. But very few people are aware that it began on a quiet night at the edge of Quinta’s enclosure, when neither Tom nor I could sleep for uncertainty of what our future, and that of Dar al-Tannaneen, would hold.
I got very little sleep at all that night, my mind awhirl with notions of who to contact, already composing the letters in my head. It would not be easy, of course—but for the first time in months, I felt that my path ahead was clear.
I have never been very good at following a path.
Our second desert trip became the focus of my efforts, to the point where it bordered on obsession. I knew this might be the last bit of work Tom and I were able to conduct in Akhia, and I was determined that it would be as productive as I could possibly arrange.
The Jefi in summer, however, is not a place within human control. “You want to go back out there?” Andrew said, incredulous. “Isabella—you do realize it gets above forty degrees, don’t you? Even as high as fifty, I’ve been told. And there’s no water to be found anywhere.”
“Now that is preposterous,” I said. “There are oases in the Labyrinth.”
My brother made a strangled noise. “Wait. You don’t just want to go into the Jefi… you want to go into the Labyrinth of Drakes?”
“Of course. Why do you think it has that name? There are drakes there, Andrew, and that is what I am here to study. They nest there, they lay their eggs there—”
“—they eat people alive there—”
“It is summer. They will be dozing in the heat. And when else am I to go to the Labyrinth? In the winter it was too dangerous because of the rains, and the risk of flood. This is much safer.”
“Safer” was, of course, a relative term. The Labyrinth is a treacherous place in any season. It is easy to become lost in its winding canyons; there are predators that view travellers as attractive meals, drakes not least among them. Oases exist, but finding them is more easily said than done. On paper that territory belongs to the Aritat, but at that time of year they are elsewhere, in lands that can support their herds of camels. The depths of the Jefi are abandoned to merchants and wild animals, the former tracing carefully defined routes from one water source to another, the latter often haunting the same spots.