Being drunk always made him dramatic. Kass used to make fun of him for getting philosophical, but he’d at least saved his teasing for after the hangover was gone.
So, what was his excuse for the outburst at breakfast yesterday, and in front of the Head Verder, of all people? He’d been sober and had spent the morning getting off, so the two main culprits for muddle-headedness were right out.
He’d gone about it all wrong. He had to be calm, collected, and rational if he wanted to be heard and understood. Perhaps Innan would back him up again? He vaguely remembered them being helpful last night.
Bartolo, the Head Scout of the Heart Wood and therefore Dagan’s direct superior, arrived with absolutely no fanfare. He went directly to see the Council, no doubt finding their chamber a mess of ancient tomes and exasperated draftee scholars. Gareth, who was having a drink with Hen (who was strictly not interested in alcohol for a few days at least) and Piret, pointed him out as he breezed past them in the Hall.
“I thought he’d be bigger,” Piret said.
Gareth just looked confused while Hendrik snorted into his juice-and-water, a lovely concoction drunk regularly by children and on hot days by all, according to the server.
Moments later, everyone who was not actually on the Council was disgorged from behind the screen at once. Some of the scholars carried scraps of paper or little books they’d been writing in; all of them rubbed their eyes and wandered to the bar almost immediately. Dagan lingered near the screen to discuss something in Innan’s book, but Kajja came to Hendrik as soon as she had a cup of wine.
“It’s so good.” She took a long sip and sighed in contentment. “All the food is.”
“So, it’s not just me.” Hendrik was almost relieved; he was starting to think his gray, drab memories of the Stone City were colored by his affection for Dagan and his dark, chaotic woods.
She shook her head. “There’s so much different stuff to eat and drink, too. This must be what it’s like to live on top of the High City.”
“I don’t even think it’s this good there,” Hendrik admitted. It hadn’t been at the Complex, and the Children of the Blood had the best of everything. “How’s it going with the books?”
“Oh, the Council is conferring with Bartolo so they sent us out. But we’re finding some…interesting things. It’s looking more and more like we don’t have anything completely solid to go on. But there are hints.”
And they want to send people into the mines, into the mouth of a life-sucking monster, based on hints, do they? Hen did not say out loud.
“I really think there used to be more of them,” she added. “The killer gods, or whatever it is. One of the oldest books Marsalis has in there is from about a hundred years after the founding of the City, if the date is real, and it talks about something called The Masters. It’s not that word exactly, I forget how it’s written, but that’s what Marsalis says it used to mean. It says they’re responsible for creating the wastes.”
“That sounds like a fairy tale.” Hen shook his head. “People had to explain the wastes somehow, so they came up with a villain.”
“So, it’s a coincidence that this thing under the See is causing the exact same shit that created the wastes?”
Hen frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Rivers going dry and corrupt or toxic. Springs turning into sludge. Plants withering and animals mass-migrating. Jessica says that kind of migration could devastate the Heart Wood.”
“It’s already started,” Hendrik said darkly.
“Dagan said. Did you really see a bear?”
“Four of them. Three were small. Even they could’ve torn me apart, I think.”
Kajja looked impressed as she sipped at her wine again.
Hendrik watched her for a moment, wondering at who she’d become. That story of hers, her involvement with the resistance, her presence here…
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask about the marriage until last night,” he said suddenly.
She shrugged. “Wasn’t much to ask about. Nothing happened. Thank the stone.”
“You didn’t like him, when you met? What’d you say, he has the personality of…?”
“A hairbrush,” she supplied. “He mostly ignored me and talked to his friends. I felt like another present at his party, sitting there with all the other stuff he didn’t want but thought he deserved.”
Hen winced. “I’m glad it fell through. And I’m glad you’re out of there.”
She shot him a warning glance. “Don’t start again.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I won’t.”
She relaxed.
“Not now, anyhow,” he added.
“Hen…”
“What would you do? In my position?”
“Be grateful for the help. What about Dagan? You let him help you make your way through the forest. The dark forest.”
Hen snorted. “I considered telling him to go away. But he made me want to laugh.”
“Laugh?”
“I hadn’t heard a voice in moons, let alone anything funny.”
Kajja’s expression softened. “You were alone for that long? How did you survive?”
“I stabbed squirrels and fish with sharpened sticks.” The disgusting feeling of scales in his mouth, before he’d realized he had to take them off before eating the fish, came back full tilt. Ugh.
