“Doctor,” Trip said, eyeing the steaming pot, “have you found acceptance here? You’re Cofah and have power. It seems like people here would be mistrustful.”
“Call me Tolemek, and the people here are mistrustful of me. Less so now that it’s been three years and I’ve helped them repel a number of attacks, but I rarely have strangers walk up to introduce themselves and ask if I want to be friends.”
“Does that happen to anybody?” Trip couldn’t recall a time, but then, he lacked Leftie’s looks and charisma.
“To Zirkander, I’m sure. Men ask him out for drinks. Women ask him if he’s monogamous. Older women ask him to speak to their children’s classrooms.”
Trip quirked an eyebrow. That sounded like something Targoson had witnessed directly.
“So, you stay for Captain Ahn?” he asked.
“For her and because I have found a place here. Even if I’m not warmly welcomed by many, some do include me in their lives and seem to appreciate my presence. And King Angulus gave me a state-of-the-art lab and lets me order anything I like in terms of tools and ingredients.”
Targoson—Tolemek smiled. Trip hadn’t seen him do that before. He supposed he would also be excited if someone gave him a workshop full of modern tools and an unlimited budget.
“A lot of what I do is fulfill orders from the army,” Tolemek continued, “but I’m paid fairly for my creations, and they aren’t all weapons anymore.” He glanced at the pot of acid. “Usually. I also have time for my side business. I just purchased a house in a very nice area of town. It’s high up on a hill and overlooks Cas’s father’s estate.” His smile turned a bit smug, as if this was some coup. “We enjoy spending time there.”
“I was thinking of buying the lot across from General Zirkander’s house,” Trip offered, more because Tolemek had brought up houses than because it was relevant. “Someone put a for-sale sign up on it a couple of weeks ago.”
His questions about being accepted were mostly prompted by his upcoming inquest and the ease with which someone’s spurious claims had resulted in him being held. Even now, though he was out here working on his project, two military police were stationed in front of the temple and escorted him to and from the premises. Most nights, he stayed out here with the other dedicated workers so he could avoid the indignity of being walked to the barracks like a criminal.
Trip believed that King Angulus thought him valuable and wouldn’t let this inquest end in a death sentence, but it stung him to the core that it could even be possible. If he hadn’t been a strange-looking sorcerer with skin too dark for a typical Iskandian, would these charges ever have stuck? Did Lockvale’s word—and that of his comrades—get that much more weight simply because he was a noble?
“Most young officers would be horrified by the idea of building a house across the street from their battalion commander’s.”
“I’d like to help out with my little siblings whenever possible, and since everyone who needs training goes to Sardelle’s house, it seems logical.”
“Yes, I was there last summer when Zirkander talked Wreltad and Jaxi into helping him build that bunkhouse in the back for students. Most high-ranking military officers would hire a contractor for such work.”
“Were the swords that helpful?” Trip could imagine dragons allowing themselves to be bribed for food and other pleasures of the bodies, but what could convince a soulblade to move boards and hammer nails?
“Wreltad is Zirkander’s buddy. I’m sure he was helpful. I understand Jaxi helped cut down a few trees and shape the lumber. Via incineration.”
“I suppose if you don’t have a circular saw, fire is a valid method of—” Trip frowned as something plucked at his senses.
He walked toward the open back of the temple, the stone roof supported by columns far enough apart that a dragon could easily fly between them. The surf roared, waves crashing against the rocks nearby, and the men continued to work in the lot. All appeared calm, but Trip sensed a dragon. It wasn’t Bhrava Saruth. He was chatting up—or maybe blessing—a couple of women in the front of the temple. It also wasn’t one of the other Iskandian ally dragons. Trip had grown accustomed to dragons being around lately, so he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t felt another one slip in until it had gotten close.
The newcomer seemed large and powerful. A gold?
Trip peered toward the tops of the cliffs framing the inlet, and his breath caught when he spotted the dragon perched atop the rocks in the distance. Yes, it was a gold. A male. And he was looking down on the yard and the goings on below.
Trip hoped the dragon would think little of the structures humans built, and simply fly off, but even if he did, his presence here couldn’t signify anything good. It suggested the dragon coalition was spying on the city, perhaps preparing for another attack. Even worse, it could mean that they’d heard about Trip’s project and planned to destroy it before it was done.
An alien presence brushed Trip’s mind, and he buried his thoughts deep inside his mental bank vault. He looked out toward the workers and did his best to camouflage them, to hide them and their thoughts, though he doubted he could fool a dragon, especially a gold dragon.
“Trouble?” Tolemek asked, walking up behind him. He looked in the direction Trip was looking. “Ah. I don’t suppose he heard me request dragon blood and wants to help out.”
“That seems unlikely.”
As they considered the gold dragon, it sprang into the air and lazily flew out of sight to the north.
“Hm,” Tolemek said.
“I wonder if we can get some of the other dragons to spend a few days out here, ready to defend my project if it gets attacked.”
“They’ve been scarce since the iron was brought in.”
“True.”
Trip doubted he could count on the tainted iron by itself keeping dragons away, but maybe he would leave a few of the bars out around the project site.
“Only Bhrava Saruth refuses to leave his temple for long,” Tolemek added, “lest he miss the arrival of adoring worshippers.”
Trip sensed unfamiliar people entering the temple from the front—soldiers. More military police. They had to have come for him. He grimaced at the idea of being taken away from the project when there was so much work to do in what he assumed would be a short time.
“Captain Trip,” one of the two uniformed men approaching said.
“Sir.” Trip spotted the pins of a major on his collar. The younger man walking at his side was a lieutenant. Trip realized they were likely from the judicial department, not the police.
“I’ve come to inform you that your inquest will be in three days, early in the morning,” the major said. “Lieutenant Foxlin has been assigned to be your defender.”