City of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles #3)

City of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles #3) Page 139

“We’re on a river, man. The ship scarcely rocks at all. It’s not as if we’re contending with waves.” Hest rolled onto his back to stare at the low ceiling. These new ships might be impervious to the river’s acid, but the shipwright had given far too little thought to passenger comfort, despite being Jamaillian. The captain had explained to him that they were intended for the swift transport of freight, but even so! It vexed him to know that the captain and the first and second mates on the New Glory had more luxurious accommodations than he did. Doubtless they cared not at all how he suffered. There wasn’t even a common area for sharing meals or a friendly game of chance. He and Redding had been forced to take their meals in their tiny room. For entertainment, one could stroll a bit on the deck, and that was it. Much of the ship was off-limits to passengers. They’d have to change that if they wished to build a brisk passenger trade in the future!

“No. I mean, yes, you’re right. I’m just not accustomed to the floor moving at all.” Redding waited for a response, and when Hest gave none, he smiled too brightly and said, “Well, I suppose this will be our final meal on this part of our adventure. We should dock before nightfall. I’m quite looking forward to seeing Trehaug. I hope the weather clears a bit, and we finally get a chance to socialize. This is my first visit to the Rain Wilds, you know.”

“Don’t anticipate great things and you won’t be disappointed,” Hest observed sourly. He swung his long legs off the bed and stood up carefully. “Don’t expect the weather to clear. It’s rained for days, and I expect it will continue to rain. As for touring Trehaug—hah! Rain Wild cities are scarcely worthy of the name. There are a few buildings of substance on the big low branches and then residences that are strung about in the trees like random fruit, but there is little of the conveniences of civilization. They look down on the folk of the Six Duchies and the other northern countries, but in truth, the Rain Wilders are just as backward and provincial. The only reason to come here is to buy Elderling artifacts and magical goods. It’s the only thing that keeps these cities alive.”

Hest wandered over to the small table and perched on a chair. As soon as he was seated, Redding plopped into his own chair and took up his napkin. Plainly he was famished, as he was at every meal. He licked his lips and gave an anticipatory wriggle as he eyed the covered dishes. The man wallowed in his pleasures with no pretense of disciplining his appetites. His blatant greed and venality had initially intrigued Hest after years of Sedric’s careful manners and public restraint, but of late, Redding’s obsequiousness and unsubtle pleas for gifts and bribes had begun to chafe. The man had absolutely no shame. As a result, he was actually more difficult to manipulate than Sedric had been. Implied threats of pain seemed to motivate him best. But even that amusement was beginning to pall. The man had proven a poor replacement for Sedric. Bringing him along had been merely a matter of realizing that there was no one else available at such short notice and knowing how much it would irritate his father when he saw Redding’s passage billed to his account.

Hest poured himself some tea and lifted the lid on a dish. He shook his head. Why did they even bother to cover the food? It wasn’t hot, and it was exactly the same thing they had offered him every day of his journey. A loaf of brown bread sweetened with molasses had been sliced and buttered. The other dish on the tray held slices of smoked ham, a wedge of indifferent cheese, and half a dozen little sausages. He didn’t uncover the third dish. It would be boiled potatoes. He was so bored with the food he could scarcely bring himself to put it on his plate, but Redding seemed to have no such problem. He served himself quickly, as if fearful that Hest would eat more than his share, and then immediately filled his mouth. Hest sipped his tea. Warm, but not hot. And useless to complain about it.

Well, they would dock in a few hours and he would find a decent lodging in Trehaug. One more day to be finished with all this horrid mess that Sedric had left him. In Trehaug, he’d have a good meal and a proper sleep, and then finally he’d take on his unwelcome errand from the nameless Chalcedean assassin. His gut tightened whenever he thought of the man. The pain, the ignominy, the humiliation . . .

The poison had dropped Hest. Ched had not come, despite his feeble cries for help. But someone else had. The Chalcedean had entered the room as if he owned it and stood over Hest with a smile. “I’ve come to watch you die,” he’d said and pulled one of Hest’s armchairs around to where he might sit in it and watch Hest squirm on the floor. After that, he had said not a word. He’d watched Hest vomit until it seemed there was not a drop of bile or even moisture left in his body. He’d witnessed Hest begging for help until he could no longer form words.