The Dragon Keeper (Rain Wild Chronicles #1)

The Dragon Keeper (Rain Wild Chronicles #1) Page 87

“Good day,” she began and then halted, tongue-tied. Was that how one addressed a liveship? Should she call him “sir” or “Paragon”? Treat him as a man or a ship?

At that moment, he twisted his torso and neck to look back at her. “Good day, Alise Kincarron. I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

His eyes were a pale blue, startling in his weathered face. She could not look away from him. He had the coloring of a man but the fine grain of his wizardwood showed in his face. It looked as flexible as skin but obviously was not. She realized she was staring and looked aside. “Actually, my name is Alise Finbok,” she began, and she then wondered how he had known her maiden name at all. She pushed the unsettling thought aside and decided to be both bold and blunt. “I’m so pleased to speak with you as well. I felt shy about coming forward to meet you; I wasn’t quite sure of the protocol. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

Paragon had turned away from her, putting his attention back on the river. He shrugged one bare shoulder. “There is no protocol that I know of for speaking to a liveship, other than what each ship makes for himself. Some passengers come and greet me immediately, before they board. A few never speak a word to me. At least, not intentionally.” He flashed her a knowing grin over his shoulder, as if amused that his words discomfited her. “And some few passengers intrigue me enough that I invite them to come forward for conversation.” He put his gaze back on the river.

Alise’s heart was beating faster and her cheeks were warm. She could not decide if she were flattered or frightened. Was the ship implying that he’d been aware of her and Sedric’s conversation about dragons? He was “intrigued” by her, a high compliment from a creature that should have been a dragon. Yet beneath that giddy feeling of being recognized by such a magnificent being roiled the uneasiness of what Sedric had forced her to recall. This was the Paragon, the mad ship, once better known as the Pariah. All sorts of rumors had circulated about him in Bingtown, but that he had killed his entire crew not once but several times was no rumor but undeniable fact. It was only now, speaking to him, watching how he alone seemed to determine his course up the river that she realized how completely in his power she was. It was only now that she realized just how truly alive a liveship was. This was a dangerous creature, to be treated with both caution and respect.

As if he had read her thoughts, Paragon turned his head and bared his white teeth in a smile. It sent a shiver up her spine. She recalled that his original boyish face had been damaged, chopped to pieces; some said by pirates, while others believed his own crew had done it. But someone had recarved the splintered wood into the visage of a handsome if scarred young man. The youthfulness of that human face collided with her mental image of Paragon as a wise and ancient dragon. The contrast unsettled her. As a result, her words were more stiffly formal than she intended when she asked, “Of what did you wish to speak to me?”

He was unruffled. “Of dragons. And liveships. I’ve heard gossip that you are headed upriver, not just to Trehaug, which is the end of my run, but beyond the deep water and up to Cassarick. Is that true?”

Gossip? she wanted to ask him. Instead she replied, “Yes. That’s true. I’m something of a scholar of dragons and Elderlings, and the purpose of my journey is to see the young dragons for myself. I wish to study them. I hope to be able to interview them and ask them what ancestral memories they have of Elderlings.” She smiled, pleased with herself as she added, “I’m actually a bit surprised to discover that no one before me has thought to do this.”

“They probably have, but discovered it was a waste of time to try to speak to those wretched animals.”

“I beg your pardon?” His dismissal of the young dragons shocked her.

“They’re no more dragons than I am,” Paragon replied carelessly. When he glanced back at her this time, his eyes were storm-cloud gray. “Haven’t you heard? They’re cripples, one and all. They were badly formed when they emerged from their cases and time has not improved them. The serpents were too long in the sea, far, far too long. And when they did finally migrate, they arrived badly nourished at the wrong time of the year. They should have come up the river in late summer, encased, and had plenty of fat and all of winter to change. Instead they were thin, tired, and old beyond counting. They arrived late and spent too short a time in their cases. More than half of them are already dead from what I hear, and the rest soon to follow. Studying them will teach you nothing about real dragons.” He was looking away from her, staring upriver. When he shook his head, his curling black hair danced with the motion. In a lower voice he added, “True dragons would scorn such creatures. Just as they would scorn me.”