The Cartographer's Daughter

12. The Dragon Lady

My cheeks burn as we walk back to the boat. I try not to limp on the leg that got caught in the rope. Surely this means it's time to show Bami the map still clutched to my chest, but I'm not ready. This map is so important that the Imperials sent their Watchmen to burn down my house to get rid of it. What kind of awful fate will I be dragging Bami into if we use it? But then, we've already crossed a sea on this wild search; it's clear Bami is not turning around until we find it.

There are moments when I think he is more resolved to it than I am. Just when I decide that I'll show him the map when we get to the boat, we're stopped in our tracks. We have company tonight. I hastily shove the disc under my belt at my back, covering it with my tunic. The pirates have already unloaded our small crates of sealed wares onto the beach, and when we show up two of them are rolling our drum of water up the dock. Our rum-loving friend has betrayed us. He lounges in the sand, tipping the bottle up. Half the liquid is already gone. He sees us and holds the bottle up in cheers.

“Ay, that's them comin' up,” he drawls, rolling onto one elbow and staggering to his feet. “Go get 'er, tha's them.” One of the pirates who was formerly hanging his feet off the dock eating our figs now gets up and lumbers off. “These crazy uns,” says the betrayer. “I've seen the likes ‘e you ‘fore. Ye means a lotta troubles,” he mumbles, and wearily drops back onto the sand.

The lumbering fig-eater comes back with a fine woman in tow, with six guards dressed in black behind her. I do not know her name. But I know exactly who she is, formidable enough to be known simply as the Dragon Lady. I have heard the legends.

Standing before us in her uniform of deep purple silk inscribed with gold dragons, she spends a long hard moment looking each of us directly in the eyes. Our crazy-wanderer act shrivels under her gaze and I look back as steadily as I can, determined not to be intimidated, determined not to let her see how difficult it is to keep my injured leg steady. Bami does the same, though towering over her his self-assurance seems much more genuine.

“Why are you here?” the Dragon Lady asks, directing the question at me as her guards flank us and pull off our knapsacks. We do not protest. They open them, spilling the ropes and tools at our feet. I try to ease my breath, grateful that the brass disc is tucked behind my belt.

“To trade,” I say, and her eyebrows lift. I'm not sure whether it's because our cargo is so pitiful or because she's offended I've forgotten to address her by title. “We have fine wool and olive oil from Crete - the quality is world renowned,” I add nervously, gesturing to the hasty bundles Bami and I threw together. Keeping her eyes on mine, the Dragon Lady snaps her fingers at a guard near one of the boxes. He cuts off the band, slices the seal from the box and brings it to her. She flicks her eyes to the seal, my family's dancing bee-headed women. Then she looks back to me.

“Sell the goods in the square,” she orders her guards with her eyes still locked on mine. A few of the men start to take the boxes away.

“No!” I yell, lunging toward the boxes, our precious few items to barter with, but already they've been carted off. Bami grabs my wrist sternly, a wordless warning. Stay put.

“Consider them your payment for taking you on board,” the Dragon Lady says, turning on her heel as the remaining guards grapple Bami and me and tie our hands behind our backs.

As we're marched up the gangplank I'm heckled by the ragtag pirates. Apparently only the Dragon Lady can escape this treatment. They reach out to stroke my face and pull at my sleeve, asking whether my fine hands can handle the rowing. It's clearly just talk, since my fine hands are still wrapped in the dirty remains of my sleeve. I hold my head high and keep my gaze straight ahead, determined not to react.