“I see,” Thella drawled. Awful man, cleverer than he looked. Readis often said that the holdless survived more by deception than by strength. The “deaf” man would not have passed her outer sentinels if he had not been an accepted spy. She glanced at Dushik, who gave her a reassuring nod. “She has one of those little fire-lizards?”

“Her?” The man guffawed, and more spittle drooled from his mouth. He seemed to sense her disgust and swallowed, mopping at his mouth with the blanket someone had thrown across his shoulders. “Nah! Fire-lizzuds cost ya. The way I heard it, her dad and ma were chased out of Ruatha by Fax. The ma’s still a looker, got big—” Hastily he caught himself, realizing he spoke to a well-endowed woman. “Fax did like a good piece to warm his furs. If the ma was Ruathan Bloodline like she claims, it could be in the Blood for the girl to hear dragons. The Benden Weyrwoman’s Ruathan, you know.”

In the face of her cold silence, he lost all brashness. He gulped down the rest of the klah as if afraid the cup would be dashed from his hand and looked warily about him.

Let him stew, Thella thought, setting her elbow on the armrest and cushioning her chin in the palm of her hand, looking anywhere but at the disgusting messenger. He was right: Ruathans had produced too many dragonriders—far more than any of the other Bloodlines. Lessa was the current insult.

“Tell me again,” she ordered, gesturing for Dushik and Readis to listen carefully. Giron kept on watching, his face blank.

But the man seemed to be telling the truth. He had heard the girl’s younger brother boasting of his sister’s ability, that she always knew when Thread would fall “because the dragons talked to each other about it.”

Giron nodded at Thella as he regarded the “deaf” man with incurious but seeing eyes, very much aware of what had been said.

“I think,” Thella said after mulling over the risks involved, “I think I must speak with this fascinating child. Do you know her name, deaf man?”

“Aramina, Lady Thella. Her name’s Aramina. Her da’s Dowell, and he’s a woodjoiner; her ma’s named Barla; the boy’s Pell, and there’s another—”

She cut him off. “And they’re all at Igen cave site?” At his hasty nod she asked, “Would they be likely to move?”

“They been there a good few Turns. He does work he sells at the Gathers, and makes furniture—”

“I don’t need to know that, my good man,” she said coldly. He had a gargling voice, as if phlegm constantly lodged in his throat; it was not only a disgusting sound but an irritating monotone. “They’re not liable to take off?”

“Where to, lady?” he replied ingenuously, raising both hands in appeal.

She motioned to Dushik and Readis. “I’ll go. Dushik, you must stay here.” She looked at the dragonless man. “Giron, you’ll come with me.” She was annoyed that her words sounded more like a question than an order, but Giron nodded, an odd twitch pulling at his mouth. “You’d know if she can actually hear dragons, wouldn’t you?” she asked him.

Ignoring his silence, which usually meant Giron’s consent, Thella rose and left the room with Dushik. The smell from the informant warming up by the fire was offensive.

“Dushik, take care of him!” she ordered. If deaf men could tell tales, dead men would not. Dushik obliged her, as always.

THELLA WAS NOT pleased when she and Giron arrived at the labyrinthine Igen caverns to find that their usual discreet entrance had been blocked up again. She was angry enough to help Giron destroy the barrier.

“Someone didn’t do a good job,” Giron said as the hardset that sealed the stones crumbled at the touch of his steel.

“I’d skin a stoneman who did such shoddy work,” Thella said through gritted teeth. She was tired, and she had counted on getting safely inside without being caught by the Igen patrol they had seen in the distance.

The site had been excellent for her purposes. A tangle of young sky-broom saplings partially concealed an opening just high enough to permit runners to enter. Inside, the ceiling was sufficient for tall men to stand erect. A small chamber to the right of the entrance made an excellent beast shelter, with water oozing into a pool. There were four other tunnels leading from the entrance, two of them falling into dangerous shafts; the widest led deep into the bowels of the cave system; the fourth and narrowest seemed to end within a dragonlength but, in fact, turned abruptly right and came out at one of the intersecting main passages of the inhabited portions of the cave system.

It was easy enough to get into the vaulted chambers where people congregated during the day without encountering any of Lord Laudey’s guards. Although Thella contacted one of her regular informers, it took all morning before she caught a glimpse of her quarry. She was not impressed.

Aramina was a slender brown girl, her pants rolled to her knees, and traces of mud on her legs and arms. Her clothing was muddy, as well, and as she passed by Thella’s vantage point, the odor of the mudflats lingered about her, along with the stench of the net full of shellfish she carried. A small, muddier boy tagged along, calling, “Aramina, wait for me!” —and Thella had the positive identification she needed.

She saw Giron’s cold eyes following the pair, and the ominous expression on his face made her uncomfortable.

“I’ll want some proof of her abilities,” she said. “She’s of an age to be difficult. Too old to be malleable, and too young to be reasoned with. Find out what you can about her. I’ll see where she squats.” She caught his arm as he turned away. “And be sure you eat before you come back. It looks like some scavenger smelled out the supplies we left here.”

“Snake, more likely,” Giron said unexpectedly, his gaze following the girl as she made her way among those sitting about the wide, low-ceilinged cavern.

Thella went in search of her most reliable source of information. As she made her way to a largish side chamber, not far from the main entrance, she realized that there were more folk living in the caverns than ever before. The place stank of its throng. Thella estimated that there must have been hundreds sitting or standing about. From snatches of conversation she overheard, she understood them to be waiting for the arrival of Lady Holder Doris, who came every morning with three healers to examine the injured or ailing and distribute the day’s ration of flour and root vegetables. The ablebodied apparently added to those supplies, to judge by Aramina’s net. Shellfish from Igen’s tidal flats were very tasty. Those holdless drifters were living better than she, of Telgar’s Bloodline, had in her first Turn of the Pass. Well, if the Igen Lord Holder and his Lady had food to give to beggars, then she would not mind lifting more of their goods in the future, Thella decided, skirting the crowd deftly. No one seemed to take note of her as she ducked down the passageway to Brare’s squat.

“It’s tough times,” the footless seaman told her, and expected her to believe it as he dipped out a bowl of thick fish chowder for her, rich with roots, a variety of fish meats, and even some shellfish. “Laudey’s men search now at odd times—you couldn’t be sure when it’s safe.”

Thella gave a quick glance to position the exits from Brare’s cave. “How recent a custom is this search? What can they expect to find in here?” Brare had been one of her first and most useful contacts. He despised Craftsmen and had few good words for Holders, despite the fact that he was living fairly well off the softhearted Igenish.

“Aye, last few weeks.” He cocked his head and regarded her through slitted eyes, a sly smile on his face. “Aye, since all of Kadross Hold’s grain was lifted one morning during Threadfall. Up Lemos way.”

Thella did not change expression as she thanked him for the chowder and blew on the surface to cool it. “You make a great chowder, Brare,” she said.