Silversion

by Rick Johnson

  Loading the captives into the comfortable, luxurious coach, one of the guards handed cups of lemon-scented water to each passenger. “Owner One considers you guests right now,” he said. “Behave yourselves and follow instructions, and it will stay that way.”

  Pulling away from the guardhouse, the coach retraced the route back up the valley. At last it turned through a narrow tunnel cut in the rock to the precise size needed for the coach to pass. Emerging from the tunnel, the coach drove another half-mile before two massive gates loomed. Intricate silver inlays of birds and flowers decorated the twenty-foot-high polished stone gates. Giant letters at the top read: Brimstone Grass Ranch & Mining Company. As the coach approached, a Bison guard, similar to the others, stepped forward from a guardhouse.

  “Coach Number Thirteen, with new guests,” the dragon-wacker said.

  “Entry granted, proceed,” the Bison replied.

  The gates swung open to reveal a lush, highly manicured wonderland of ornate fountains, lawns, and gardens. It was a startling contrast with the mostly dry, rocky terrain of the surrounding mountains and valley.

  The freshly washed driveway was lined with unusual varieties of flowers and trees. Streams and waterfalls flowed beside the road. Teams of gardeners, wearing matching uniforms, tended the plants.

  After passing the gate, the first mile of the driveway curved between beautiful pastures where gigantic tortoises grazed, surrounded by miles of white fence.

  “Trallés,” Tē’d’Tē commented.

  “Trallés?” Pus asked.

  “Purebred racing tortoises. Luxury goods. Symbols of wealth and power. Fancy beasts crave them. They’ve got to have classy clothes, mansions, dragon coaches, princely titles...and, racing trallés...”

  “Well, I never…” Pus chuckled.

  “Never what?” Tē’d’Tē asked contemptuously. “Never heard of such a thing? Why sure you have—maybe not trallés, but you’ve heard of wanting and getting fancy stuff. That’s why we’re here, remember? This is what you want. Owner One just got here first.”

  At the end of the drive, a fabulous fountain, made completely of silver, shot arcs of water high in the air. Behind the fountain, stood a mansion of immense size. Carved balconies, entrance columns forty feet tall, and innumerable porticos dripping with silver flowers, overlooked additional pools and a large lake.

  Just before reaching the end of the drive, the coach pulled onto a side road twisting behind trees at the rear of the mansion. Continuing beyond the mansion, the coach stopped before a line of tiny, neatly painted cottages. “End of the line,” one of the Bison guards said, opening the door of the coach. “The Upper Blue will see you now. Follow me.”

  Stepping out of the coach, Pus and the others followed the Bison guard to a long, low building built in the same style as the cottages, but considerably larger. Opening the door, the Bison motioned for the others to enter. Once they were inside, the Bison waited outside the door, ready to respond if needed.

  Inside, a Cougar sat behind a large desk. Despite being massive, the desk had nothing on it except a vase of fresh flowers and a tea pot. Wearing the same finely-tailored sky-blue linen coat and trousers that the Bison wore, the Cougar was sipping tea. There was no evidence he was doing any other work.

  Rising to greet his visitors, the Cougar extended his paw. “Sit down, my friends,” the Upper Blue said, “may I share my tea with you?”

  “No thanks, you blockhead,” Pus snarled. “All we want is for you to let us out of here. This spiffy place of yours is fine, but I want a place of my own, and you’re slowin’ me down. So, if you’d just excuse us, we’ll be off.”

  “Oh, dear,” the Cougar replied, “did the Bison Guides not explain things to you? It’s very annoying when they forget to orient new guests…”

  “Your thugs explained, all right,” Pus replied angrily. “And it was a dunder-dolt’s explanation, if I ever heard one.” Seeing the Bison guard at the door pull out a snug and hold it at the ready, Pus continued, “But—seeing as how you seem so determined to explain, tell me again. Let’s see if a blockhead makes any more sense than a dunder-dolt.”

  “Ha-ha-ha,” the Cougar laughed pleasantly. “A nice little joke. Thank you. I’ll explain in my own way. Please sit down.” After his guests were seated, the Cougar said, “Owner One is very private about his affairs. It’s personal courtesy, you see—he doesn’t want others to be troubled in the least by these activities. He offers every convenience to the unexpected guests who come here, so that their stay is happy and their visit productive for all. His generosity is quite astonishing when you consider it closely. He spares no expense when it comes to the guests who arrive unexpectedly. They are offered two options: either work for Owner One at one of his locations, or be guaranteed an interview with the Skull Buzzards, who will see that they are safely transported somewhere, as they think most suitable.”

  “Why that’s a buzzard’s choice!” Pus exploded, “and no beast with a good set of ears would listen to such insults!”

  “An unfortunate use of words, I’m afraid,” the Cougar said, shaking his head sadly, and opening a drawer in the desk. He lifted out a large glass jar, filled with various kinds of ears floating in a solution.

  “You see, occasionally some guests do get a bit too loud about what they will and won’t listen to,” the Cougar said. “Owner One really prefers that you listen.”

  “Let me talk to this Owner One,” Pus demanded. “I’m sure there’s some kind of mistake. I’m sure if I can just talk to him—”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” the Cougar said firmly. “Owner One is very private and sees only those he wishes to see. Let me assure you, that you are not on his appointment list today. He has chosen this site for his ranch precisely because it is so private. He sees only those he invites. To avoid any unpleasant waste of his time, he employs Bison Guides and the Upper Blue to assist his guests and answer their questions. Now, it would be timely for you to choose which of our guest options suits you best.” Slowly tipping the jar of ears, the Cougar rotated it on his desk, making the contents bob and swirl.

  Realizing that an interview with the Skull Buzzards would likely result in even worse trouble, Pus said, “All right, Smartie-Flunch, we’ll sign on to work for your boss. What do we do and what’s the pay? Do we stay in the cottages next door?”

  “Wonderful!” the Upper Blue said, smiling. “You have such good spirits! I do wish I could offer you a place here at the ranch. Serving at the ranch, however, is very competitive. Owner One takes only the very best for his ranch. Everyone has served many years in Silverpreen before winning a spot here.”

  “What’s Silverpreen?” Pus asked.

  “Silverpreen is the grandest, most glorious city in the world!” the Upper Blue exclaimed.

  “How come I’ve never heard of it?” Pus said.

  “As I said before, the Owners are very private about their affairs,” the Cougar replied.

  “Owners? I thought Owner One contolled everything around here,” Pus said.

  “And he does. I’m impressed that you learn so quickly,” the Upper Blue said. “But the world is a big place, and to have the grandest, most glorious city in the world, you need many Owners.”

  “How many are there?” Pus asked.

  “My, you are inquisitive, aren’t you,” the Cougar said. “Even I don’t know how many Owners there are—being very private about their affairs. All those of us who serve them need to know is how they rank in comparison with each other. Owner One outranks Owner Two, Owner Two outranks Owner Three, and so on. When there’s a question that needs to be settled, the only thing you need to know is which Owner you serve, and where he or she ranks.”

  “So when do we leave for Silverpreen?” Pus wondered. “And you still haven’t told us what work we’ll do or how much we get paid.”

  “You won’t go together, and not all of you will go to Silverpreen,” the Upper Blue replied. “Owner One’s operations are v
ast—silver mining, ranching, trallé racing, preening.[1] You’ll be assigned where you fit best. As a convenience, we won’t be telling you where you’re going. When you arrive at your service location, you’ll be assigned a place.”

  “Convenience!” Pus exploded. “How is it convenient, not knowing what the sam-hill is going on!”

  “Trust me, my friend,” the Cougar smiled. “In a place where privacy is valued highly, too much knowledge can be very inconvenient, while ignorance brings the greatest pleasure.”

  Noob

  Riding in the hot, crowded passenger car of a dragon train, Tē’d’Tē was glad to have a window seat. Having no idea where she was being taken, it helped to see the countryside passing by. Although less than a day had passed since leaving the ranch, the journey already seemed endless. The gentle climb up the valley from the ranch allowed the dragon train to speed rapidly for the first few hours. By noon, however, the train slowed, as the dragons labored on increasingly steep roads through the Dunesback Weir.

  To Tē’d’Tē’s surprise, about three hours after entering the mountains, the dragon train stopped. The dragon wacker lit a number of running lamps, and when he started the dragons moving again, the train entered a tunnel. Except for the running lamps, the dragon train ran along in complete darkness. Tē’d’Tē thought it must have been at least an hour. During that time, nothing moved in the tunnel except the dragon train. It was an eerie experience. Darkness does something to us. It changes the way we think. Evokes fear of what can’t be seen.

  Darkness in the closed, echoing space of the tunnel was infinitely worse. The shrieking hisses of dragons—half snarling, half howling—reverberated endlessly. The echoing of their own snarls pricked the primal fear in the dragons themselves, making them even wilder in their fury. There is no sound in the universe like fear-enraged dragons snapping and hissing, their claws scratching across stone as they race in the dark. Add to this, the dragon-master whipping the snarling beasts with his own brand of howling, yelling at the top of his lungs. “AYYYYYIEEEE! FASTER! FASTER! FLY, YOU FANGWORMS, FLY!” Surrounding it all, the hidous stench of dragon breath.

  Some of the passengers on the train, already disturbed by their experience at Brimstone Grass Ranch, came unhinged in the terrifying darkness. By the time light glimmered at the end of the tunnel, many of the passengers were near panic. Just as some began to shriek and wail, however, the train burst into brilliant sunshine.

  Recalling the maps she’d found at Tilk Duraow, Tē’d’Tē was puzzled. Although she no longer had them, she had studied them carefully, and they were stamped in her mind. The maps had not indicated a road running in the direction they were traveling. Nor was there any tunnel shown in the Dunesback Weir. Were the road and tunnel a secret alternative to the dangerous passage through Destoyer’s Gap? If so, why were they not on the official maps? And, why was there no other traffic in the tunnel? Very puzzling.

  When the dragon train emerged from the tunnel, it was on the far side of the Dunesback Weir, having passed beneath the summit. Descending rapidly out of the mountains now, the train passed through a dramatically changed landscape.

  Dry sandstone cliffs and gorges, painted with a prevailing ruddy-red color, dominated the scene. With a blazing sun beating down, the cool early morning start from Brimstone Grass Ranch was now but a memory.

  On the few occasions when the train stopped, the ground was too hot to stand on, and few passengers left their seats. Sometimes, violent winds kicked up choking dust, forcing windows to remain closed, and dragons and dragon-wackers to fight for breath. Riding in a closed car hour after hour, packed elbow to elbow, it was a rare passenger that did not feel tired, grouchy, and ill. Tē’d’Tē managed her churning stomach, but many beasts hunched forward in their seats, moaning, desperately clutching sickness bags.

  None of the passengers—all “guests” of Owner One—knew were they were going, but the desolate landscape and distressing travel left them expecting the worst. Not until late in the journey did Tē’d’Tē suspect that she was bound for the greatest metropolis in Hedgelands. When mansions as grand as Owner One’s, or nearly as grand, began to sprout like toadstools on the mountainsides and cliffs, she was stunned. This was something she had not seen before. First, immense, corpulent homes scattered miles apart. Then, enormous, portly ones, sitting close enough to see one another. And finally, hulking, lumpish ones sitting in clumps, so close together their residents might use the same roads.

  As the dragon train continued on, colossal sky-raking towers came into view—soaring pinnacles of hundreds of micro-villas stacked on top of one another. Silverpreen! Grand, wealthy, corrupt, dangerous, gloriously wild. A constant tumult of commerce and preening—eating, drinking, partying, showing off.

  The entrance into Silverpreen was striking—an extremely narrow, twisting gap in a long sandstone bluff. Coming toward the gap, the barren sandstone bluffs gave no hint of the beauty that lay just beyond. Then, breaking through the gap, the elegant city flowed out below. Dramatic towers rising to dizzying heights, completely surrounded by a beautiful bay. Cut by the sea through the sandstone cliffs, Silverpreen Bay flowed in among the sandstone cliffs from the sea, deep enough to handle large ships. Shining brightly on the face of the rich rust-colored rock, the brilliant sun cast a stunning reflection of the grand towers of the city onto the surrounding water.

  Crossing a long causeway into the city, a sign reading ‘Guest Train Station’ directed the dragon train underground. Taking a sharp turn, the train descended steeply to a station under the city. Coming to a stop over a huge metal grate, the dragon-wacker barked, “Passengers stay in your seats until your door is opened!” Immediately, dragon-handlers appeared, dragging gigantic slabs of fresh shark.

  The dragons, smelling blood in the air, knew it was time to eat. Heaving, snarling, claws tearing at the grate, straining at their harness, their frenzy increased as dragon-handlers threw them chunks of shark. Ripping into their meal, the dragons made short work of the immense slabs of shark. Other dragon-handlers walked along as the dragons ate, hosing them down with water. This served to both cool and sooth the weary beasts and to wash the remains of their meal into the sewer.

  With the dragons busily chomping down their meal, at least a dozen Bison guards, much like the ones at Brimstone Grass Ranch, appeared. Opening the passenger car doors, they called out names. One by one, the passengers departed with Bison guards. When Tē’d’Tē’s name was called and she stepped onto the station platform, she noticed she was leaving the station alone with her Bison escorts. Every other beast had left with other passengers. This realization instantly put her on high alert.

  The Bison guards led Tē’d’Tē into a huge underground plaza where thousands of beasts were hurrying every which way. All appeared to be going somewhere, but in chaotic, nerve-wracking disorder. Beasts of every shape, size, and temperament rushed madly in all directions. Often, they seemed to dash headlong at one another, only to swerve at the last second to avoid colliding. Adding to the turmoil were over-loaded delivery beasts, nearly running, their huge loads wobbling dangerously. Beasts in sweaty work clothes of every type. Cooks and café servers, cleaners and dishwashers. Painters and plumbers. An entire army of worker beasts running helter-skelter—somehow knowing where they were going and managing not to crash into the others. It was astonishing. The din of thousands of beasts scurrying about was nearly deafening. No one talked, as it was pointless. Only rarely did angry shouts ring out, when a beast misjudged a movement and crashed into someone else.

  As her Bison guards led her through the chaos, Tē’d’Tē began to understand the method in the madness. Hundreds of hallways completely ringed the plaza, each with a number above it. Beasts burst out of one hallway and, dodging and weaving, crossed the plaza, to enter another. The plaza was so vast, the hallways leading away from it so numerous, and the number of beasts hurrying through them so great, that she guessed that the entire city was served by the system.

 
Things improved only a little once the Bison led Tē’d’Tē into Hallway 406. The wide hallway was still jam-packed, but it was more orderly, with beasts hurrying past each other in opposite directions. But as they walked, Tē’d’Tē grew even more bewildered than in the plaza. The hallway turned many times, and crossed other hallways at odd angles. Once there was a roundabout where several hallways ran together. It was mind-boggling.

  Tē’d’Tē had no idea how long they had walked, when they arrived at a stairway. Stopping, one of her Bison escorts said, “This is where you’re staying, flat number 9CC437T99, up these stairs. Memorize your flat number, you’ll need the number for a lot of things. We expect you to be here at this exact spot tomorrow morning at 6:00 a.m. At that time, we’ll take you to your work assignment. Here’s the key to your flat. Keep it with you at all times. You need it as proof of your flat number. Don’t think about leaving. Everything you need is here. All of the areas we’ve been in are self-contained. There’s no exit to the outside, except through designated worker entrances, which you have to be a Groomie to use. So, we’ll see you here at 6:00 a.m. sharp.”

  “So you’re telling me there’s no way to leave, and no place to hide?” she asked angrily. The Bison gave no response.

  “Where do I go? What do I do now? You just bring me here, point to the strairs, and say ‘see you in the morning?’” Tē’d’Tē fumed.

  “You know your flat number—up those steps. You figure out the rest. You’re on your own. No one’s going to hold your paw. Follow those other beasts, and be back here at 6:00 a.m.” Tē’d’Tē shrugged and plunged into the surging flow of beasts moving up and down the stairwell.

  The stairs were thronged with a vast diversity of beasts. Some were well, if not elegantly, dressed; others were shabby. Some were hustling as fast as they could go; others were dragging one foot after another. As fascinating as it was to observe the crush of beasts surging around her, it was neither pleasant, nor possible, to stand and look. She found herself swept along in the current, desperately watching her feet, to avoid tripping and falling.