‘How can you possibly know that?’ Greft demanded.

Leftrin gave him a chill smile. ‘My liveship just told me so.’

Greft gestured to the dragons gathering on the shore. ‘And will they agree?’ he asked him snidely. A dragon’s sudden roar broke the relative quiet.

‘Did you see that?’

Thymara had. She had been on her way back to the vessel, having given Sintara a hasty scrubbing with cold river water. She was soaked and cold. She didn’t believe the dragon had wanted or enjoyed the washing; she suspected that Sintara had used it as an excuse to flee the snorting males and their aggressive display. She had spoken very little to her keeper through the whole process, and Thymara had kept her questions to herself. Sylve, she decided, would be her best source of information. She had an uneasy feeling that there was something more to the increase in her scaling. Harrikin had dropped a careless remark about his scaling and his dragon, but had become very quiet when she wanted to know what the connection was. And Sintara had been no help at all.

So, cold, wet, still half-frightened, and with her injured back hurting more than it had in days, she had begun her dash back to the boat. She hoped to get on board and cosy up to the fire in the galley stove before the day’s travel began. It was her turn to be in one of the remaining keeper boats, and she wanted to be warm again by then.

Instead, she had seen the boat suddenly heave itself up as if a wave had risen up under it. She had heard the cries of those on board. All the dragons had turned at the sound; she heard Mercor trumpet in surprise. Ranculos roared a response as he looked all around, seeking a source of the supposed danger. The ship suddenly settled again, sending a little wash of water out from his sides.

She had halted an arm’s-length away from Sedric. She hadn’t realized he’d come ashore. He turned to her and repeated, ‘Did you see that?’ His damp sleeves were rolled back to his elbows and he carried a ship’s bucket and a scrub brush. She suspected he had borrowed them without asking to aid in his grooming of his copper. She hoped Captain Leftrin would not be angry at him.

‘I did,’ she replied. At that moment, the ship again lifted, lurched and rocked and then re-settled.

‘Is one of the dragons behind the ship? Are they pushing it?’

‘No.’ Mercor had overheard her question as the golden dragon arrived to stand near her. ‘Tarman is a liveship and a most unusual one at that. He moves himself.’

‘How?’ she demanded, but in the next instant she had her answer. The ship rocked from side to side and then, with tremendous effort, heaved himself up. For a moment, she had a glimpse of squat front legs. Then they bent and the ship settled once more in the shallow water and mud. She stared in astonishment and then her gaze wandered to the ship’s painted eyes. She had always thought they looked kind. Now they seemed determined to her. Water had splashed up over them in his latest effort. She stared at him, meeting his gaze and trying to decide if she looked at more than paint.

A moment later the ship gathered himself and again lifted, shifted and dropped. He was unmistakably moving his bow.

‘He’s trying to free himself,’ Sedric suggested shakily. ‘That’s all’

‘I don’t think that’s all,’ Thymara muttered, staring. ‘Nor I,’ Mercor added.

Ranculos had come closer. This time, as the ship lifted, he flared his nostrils and lifted the fringes on his neck. ‘I smell dragon!’ he proclaimed loudly. He lifted his wings slightly and craned his head about.

‘You smell the ship. You smell Tarman,’ Mercor corrected him.

Ranculos lowered his head and extended his neck. With his wings slightly lifted, he reminded Thymara of a courting bird as he approached the liveship, nostrils flared.

Mercor spoke in a voice that seemed resigned to foolishness. ‘Tarman is a liveship, Ranculos. His hull was made from a dragon’s case, one that never hatched.’ He paused, watching the ship again gather itself, lift, and then shift the direction of its bow as it lowered itself again. ‘But that old case has a more recent overlay. Part of him comes from the case of a dragon who would have come to be from the same tangle of serpents we came from. Tarman is as much one of us as a being of his kind can be.’

‘A being of his kind? A “being” of his “kind”? And what is that, Mercor? A ghost trapped in the body of a slave?’ The silver eyes of the scarlet dragon flashed as Ranculos raised his head high, rearing up briefly on his hind legs. Arbuc trumpeted shrilly, echoing his feelings while Fente lashed her tail and rumbled a growl.

Baliper spoke. ‘He is wrong. He smells wrong, he exists wrong. It is wrong for humans to ride on a dragon in any form, let alone for them to enslave the ghost of one. We should tear him apart and eat him. The memories trapped in his “wood” should come back to us, for they belong to us.’ He snapped open his scarlet wings and reared back briefly in a show of size and aggression.

‘I think not.’ This came in a roar from Kalo. The great blue-black dragon, largest of the drakes, waded forward through the gathered dragons, forcing the smaller ones to step aside or be trodden on. When Baliper did not give way, Kalo shouldered him roughly aside, sending him crashing against Fente. The little green queen screamed in fury and struck at Baliper, lightly scoring his shoulder with her teeth. In turn, the red clapped his wing at her, sending her sprawling into the mud. At this threat to Fente, a yell of outrage from Tats reached Thymara’s ear. He stood on board Tarman, eyes wild with panic as he stared down at the conflict that threatened to engulf all the dragons.

‘Stop!’ Mercor cried out, but the golden went unheeded.

‘Stop or I’ll kill you all!’ Kalo roared.

A stillness froze them. The immense drake turned his head slowly, surveying the gathered dragons. A few of the keepers stood among them. Sedric had moved closer to Thymara. Sylve huddled by Mercor’s front leg.

Fente began to get to her feet.

‘Don’t!’ Kalo warned her. He opened his jaws wide and displayed to all of them the bright green poison sacs inside his throat. They were swollen and full, pulsing with his anger. ‘I am not Spit, to show my power before I need it. Oppose me now and I’ll let you feel the strength of my venom.’

The dragons were still. Kalo closed his jaws, but the spiny ruffs on his throat still stood out. He spoke slowly. ‘I do not recall all that a dragon should. And I recall much that a dragon should not. Kelaro I was, of Maulkin’s Tangle. And I followed Maulkin, a great golden serpent, without question.’ His silvery gaze suddenly fixed on Mercor. The golden dragon looked puzzled for a moment, then bowed his head in assent. ‘Kelaro I was, and Sessurea was a companion to me.’ He looked now at Tarman. ‘I was the stronger, but sometimes he was the wiser.’ His gaze moved over the gathered dragons. ‘If we tear that wisdom to pieces and share it amongst us, will any of us have the whole of it? Will any of us know what Tarman seems to know? Open your mouths and your nostrils, dragons. There is more than one way for a dragon to communicate. Or a serpent.’

Thymara was shocked to discover that she had taken Sedric’s arm and was holding it firmly. Something was happening here, something that frightened her. There were shrieks and shouts from the barge as it once more heaved itself high. For an instant, she clearly saw the squat powerful front legs and had a glimpse of the folded and flippered hind legs. A waft of stench, not unlike the smell she recalled from the day the dragons had emerged from their cases, enveloped her. Her eyes stung and she put her shirtsleeve over her mouth and nose, gasping for breath. Then, the barge wheeled, and Tarman’s bow slapped down onto the river. As his powerful hind legs pushed him away from the delta of river mud, a wave of dirty water washed up onto the beach.