In the Labyrinth of Drakes by Marie Brennan Read Free Book Online Page A

prognosis.
    If all we cared about was obtaining hatchlings, then we could have requested that the Aritat mark egg caches and return to collect them when they were nearly ready. But of course that would not solve our actual problem: presuming we could get our captive dragons to breed, we would need to be capable of incubating their eggs to a healthy finish, under artificial conditions.
    The diary in front of me made a useful prop. I picked it up solely that I might drop it again on the desk with a dismissive hand. “He never went out into the field. Oh, he collected reports, and did his best to replicate the natural environment here—but it was all secondhand and guesswork. He didn’t actually know what the usual incubation conditions were, not to the degree that is clearly necessary.”
    It was the way of the gentleman-scholar, which had once been widespread. In some circles it still was, though the practice—or rather, the respect accorded to it—was on the decline. Our predecessors in all fields of science had once been content to work from the scattered observations of non-specialists and the unfounded declarations of ancient writers, rather than from empirical evidence. It was truly embarrassing to think how many centuries had passed during which even our great minds had believed, without a shred of proof, that a spider would not cross a line of salt—to choose but one particularly egregious example. The exact sciences had shed that mentality some time ago; the field sciences, such as natural history or anthropology, had taken longer, and were not yet done shedding.
    Lord Tavenor was of the school of thought which said that a gentleman should not dirty his hands collecting data himself. His information came from travellers, sheluhim, merchants trading in various locales. In this case he had the reports of the Aritat, who undoubtedly were keen observers of the world in which they lived—but they did not deal in the sort of precise measurements that were necessary for scientific work. And Lord Tavenor, it seemed, had not asked them to.
    â€œYou want to go into the field,” Tom said. “We can try—we always planned to try—but I get the impression the sheikh will not be in favour. It’s possible Lord Tavenor asked, and was refused.”
    â€œIf so, he made no note of it here,” I said. Then I softened. “But you may be correct. These diaries are entirely devoted to the eggs themselves, not to conversations he may have had about them.”
    Tom picked up the diary, flipped through it (taking care to leave my pencil in place as a marker), and laid it down again. “At the very least, we’ll want to finish orienting ourselves here before we ask any favours.”
    Which in practice would likely mean sending Tom to ask, though the prospect galled me. To distract myself, I said, “What of the dragons themselves?”
    He sighed. “More of the same, I suppose. Certainly neither the sheikh nor Pensyth had as detailed a description of their natural mating habits as I would like. Though in fairness, I very much doubt Lord Tavenor would have been able to replicate those conditions even if he knew them.”
    Nor would we be able to, however scientific our methodology. Among the dragons capable of flight, mating often involves an aerial dance. Allowing the same here would be a quick way to lose our captive dragons.
    â€œWhat did he try, then?” I asked, for I had not yet touched those records.
    I will spare my readers a full recounting of what Tom described—though interested parties can find the details in Dragons of Akhia, which has a chapter on the efforts carried out at Dar al-Tannaneen. Suffice it to say that Lord Tavenor was a keen horse-breeder (this being part of what had secured him the Akhian post), and he had applied both his knowledge and his ingenuity to the problem, searching for ways to bring together two desert drakes without them