Supper was much the same format as the previous evening, although the seating arrangements had been reshuffled so that the Fairbanks had a table to themselves. Everyone was trying to keep themselves sombre in recognition of the tragedy. But not many knew the girl, so they would forget and become rowdy, then abruptly remember and become embarrassed. The Fairbanks had to weather many a side glance of apology. The more informal second course gave me the chance to find more casual conversation mates. There had been mentions of failed bondings with dragons, which sounded like a good back up plan to investigate. But I was hardly likely to be able to gossip about it with the type of people who sat at high tables. I spotted the person who had been my pilot earlier that day, Rider Grovespond, and made my way over.

“Thank the gods it’s Saturday,” he was saying.

That had to be another over-translation. I refused to believe another world entirely named a day of a seven-day week conveniently after a god of time.

> They didn’t. In fact, a more literal translation of their day name was the unimaginative ‘sixth day’. But it was a seven-day week, the most common time interval in societies that use weeks at all.

“It’s not of much help to me,” complained another staff member. “With the bonding and everything that’s been happening, I’ll be working just as hard as normal. Maybe harder.”

We had nothing on the schedule that evening, and I guess I’d just learnt why. If it the local equivalent of Saturday, that suggested even better opportunities for informal conversations. I wondered if they’d have any bar snacks. All at once, I craved potatoes with an intensity I’d never felt towards them before.

“Does Saturday night imply Saturday night relaxation occasions?” I asked. “Or is that not permitted because it’s a school?”

“It isn’t just a school,” reassured Rider Grovespond. “The students aren’t young enough to need constant supervision. We don’t let them join, of course, but there’s an establishment that caters to the adult men Saturday nights. It’s in one of the caves in the old section.”

More than one reason for me to visit, then – a chance to further investigate that cave system.

“Can I come as well?” I asked. “Or would that be inappropriate?”

“Not at all,” said Rider Grovespond. “I’ll tell you what. Meet me quarter-past the first hour at the bridge. A bunch of us will be crossing then.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d enjoy that.”

It wasn’t immediately after supper, so I stopped by my rooms to pick up heavier clothes. I’d discovered a heavier mantle that was intended for outdoor wear in colder weather. It might only be early autumn in this world, but to me it was already quite cold enough. The subdued night-time bells rang for the first hour, and that was my cue to set out. I’d end up a little early, but rather early than late.

“What are you doing?” asked Branneth.

“I’m going down to join some people at the local equivalent of a pub,” I said. After a brief pause, I asked reluctantly, “Do you want to come with? I’m afraid it’s male only, Hero Lilianna.”

“Are you mad?” asked Branneth.

I looked over at Lilianna, but she looked just as confused as I was.

“Hero Lilianna,” I said. “If the gender segregation offends you, I can—”

“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t agree with it, but it’s hardly your fault. You not going won’t change anything.”

“I couldn’t imagine anything more improper,” said Branneth. “Allowing females to enter a place of alcohol! It’s bad enough that they have such a thing for men. And for you, a Hero, to lend your approval to such a thing, is outrageous.”

Tell us what you really think, Branneth. He must have come from some place that frowned on alcohol. I guess I had to give him some grace for the propaganda of his own upbringing. No doubt I had plenty of my own unexamined assumptions that I’d be tripping over. I wondered whether I should mention it might be a translation problem. I suspected it would probably be more of the magic-assisted drinks we’d already been served, rather than alcohol. I tried to think if he’d consumed any already, and whether I should warn him. The interview with House Holder Fairbanks had revealed that it was perfectly possible to overdo them.

“I don’t intend to get drunk,” I said, completely honestly. “I’m going more to see what information I can pick up on that for any other reason.”

“A likely excuse!” he said, with his arms crossed.

I shrugged. He wasn’t my mother, and I wasn’t his. I didn’t owe him any additional consideration.

After a short wait at the bridge, Rider Grovespond joined me with some friends, and a little after that, the flags went up for us to cross the bridge. It should have been more terrifying at night, but it was instead easier. With lanterns lighting the bridge, and the drop to either side completely invisible, it felt just like walking through a wide, open square. The wind was sharp, but not unpleasant. It was nice.

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We didn’t end up going into the old section proper – behind the stairs leading up was another door I hadn’t noticed when we’d come down. A query revealed that while everyone agreed that the cave systems probably all connected, no-one had found a route from this one to the funicular. The path zig-zagged twenty or so meters before we went through another oddly shaped door. The air was hot and confining, and my mantle immediately came off. I looked up, but the top of the cave was lost in shadows. The lanterns reflected against the walls, making the whole place glow with warmth. It was an oval area, with crude wooden tables down each side, flanked by similar benches. Another door carved to the shape of the gap at the back. I didn’t see any obvious bar, but everyone had glasses, and different coloured pitchers were scattered about. They did not have any snacks. I realised with a sinking feeling that this might require money, and I obviously didn’t have any. The people here were calmly sitting and chatting. I looked at this very tame and civilised gathering of people and thought again of Branneth’s horrified indignation. It made me wonder what else would offend him. Playing cards? Dancing? Singing aloud?

> There are cultures in which all three things would indeed be considered licentious. However, I suspect His Devotion, Saint Percival the Investigator, is being unfair here. He vastly underestimates the influence of his own presence on the liveliness of the others present.

Seated at one of the tables already was House Holder Fairbanks. He wasn’t drowning his miseries at a deserted table. He was in the middle of a bustling group and holding court. And it was precisely the bunch I most wanted to talk to. The dragon breeders that might have some accidental tips on how to fail a bonding. My escorts went along with my non-verbal cues to join the table, and we were shortly involved in the discussion. Someone poured me a drink without a word – I would have to remember and find out how the system worked so I could contribute later. House Holder Fairbanks had apparently just told everyone that, after the race, the winner had announced they were going to put the dragon to breed. They were debating the various people bidding to become breeding partners and price of the resulting dragonets.

“Pity to lose the racer though,” said Rider Gravespond. “I never had a chance to see them fly.”

“Can a dragon never race again after breeding?” I asked.

“No,” replied Rider Gravespond. “The bond breaks as soon as they hit maturity. They aren’t safe amongst humans from then on.”

It was easy to lead the conversation from there into failed bondings. There were many horror stories everyone was eager to share. Dragons who had a taste for human blood. Dragons who were throw-backs to their wild cousins and wouldn’t accept harnesses. Riders who trapped dragons in too small enclosures, or the wrong light conditions, and the dragons went insane. Riders who ignored dragons long enough for the bond to fray. Riders who fed their dragons too little or too much or the wrong thing and the dragons got too ill to sustain the bond. But nothing, nothing at all, that I could use. I accidentally picked up my drink with my bad arm and hissed involuntarily.

“Is that from earlier?” asked Rider Gravespond. “You should have gone to a healer right away.”

“It’s just bruising,” I said.

I got back a confused look. Of course. Magic healing. Why wouldn’t it be able to treat a bruise as readily as it did broken bones, or whatever else? The whole area had stiffened up. It ached at the slightest movement and throbbed at the slightest contact. If something could fix it, I was entirely on board with that. I was about to ask where to find the academy’s healer, when I remembered that Minister Greenfield was a certified healer. And I had been looking for an excuse to see him privately. Wasn’t this perfect?

Someone interrupted to ask what had happened, and Rider Gravespond retold my story of ‘heroics’ with the expected amount of exaggeration. I downplayed it, as expected of a humble hero. Considering it had been entirely based on my own misunderstanding of the danger involved, it wasn’t hard. The reminder that I had almost got myself killed – and had got myself injured – through outright stupidity was not pleasant.

At another table, someone said drunkenly, “Just go in and set their camps on fire. The empire isn’t really going to care. They’ll just tell us never to do it again, and we’ll agree, and it’ll already be too late for the Cammions.”

He was hushed, with a few glances my way. I pretended I hadn’t heard anything and got ready to leave instead. I had more plans for the night, now.

Memo to Self

Stuff to avoid

· Becoming a dragon rider Joining the official dragon rider forces

Information gathering

· Find out about alternative occupations and opportunities

· - Speak to Minister Greenfield in private

· - - Find out when he is due to leave before he leaves in four three days tonight, to fix injury

· Investigate other countries and cultures to see if they’re a better fit

· - Determine just how far heroic independence goes

· - - Legally, very far: complete diplomatic immunity

· - - Practically: assistance can be withdrawn

· Track down itinerary [no point]

· Check safety / security of funicular

Opportunities

· Sneak out when harvesting night flowers [7 6 days]

· - Walk out down dry river bed towards Cammions

· Deliberately failed bonding [not an option]

Preparations

· Beg, borrow or steal clothes of a different colour

· Delay the bonding ceremony as much as possible

· - Extend investigation

· - Imply maximum psychic pollution

· Acquire or fake travel documentation?

· Find way to transport food and water

· - Talk to House Holder Fairbanks about food [done]