The Dragon, the Witch, and the Railroad

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  But at that moment, Ephemera made her entrance, and a grand entrance it truly was.

  Holding her head high, she rattled into the room, each rattle perfectly synchronized with the rattle of the train’s wheels. She paced in a slow, careful shuffle and once she was in the car, spread her arms wide, displaying another shawl Verity hadn’t seen before, the fringes resembling fanning feathers.

  Chapter 14

  Verity at Troll’s Ford

  “Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, it is done. Today is the story of Verity at the Troll Ford made into a song to be entered along with other tales of valor throughout the annals of Argonia. Heed my words and please save your questions until the end of the performance. Thank you very much.”

  Much to Verity’s surprise, the other passengers settled onto the benches, folded their hands, and focused on her aunt, perhaps because, other than the recent incident at the bridge, being on the train was rather boring and they were prepared to be entertained.

  Can you hear the rattle, the clatter, and the roar?

  The northbound at the troll bridge stretching shore to shore

  Some passengers are wading while others cross on board

  Some can pay the troll toll, and others have to ford

  Here’s to Verity the Valiant as she takes a rope in hand

  And braves the raging river, to join land to land

  For pedestrians a lifeline so they can span the surge

  Breaking trail across the water, less likely to submerge.

  Oh can you hear the rattle, the clatter, and the roar

  As every soul a-wading makes it safely to the shore

  Again upon the northbound, we all are safe aboard

  All because that dear young lady strung a lifeline cross the ford.

  Here’s to no pneumonia, no chills, nor fevered coughs

  Hug the stove that warms your chilly bones, restoratives do quaff

  And to that brave young lady, we all shall drink a toast

  To all who didn’t drown today and to Verity the most.

  By the last verse people were clapping in time to the lively rhythm of the lyrics and the combined rattle of the rails and the shells. Verity was quite embarrassed by her aunt literally singing her praises, and thought to take her aside and correct her scansion on a couple of lines and mention that she had never heard a particular word pronounced to rhyme with that other word, but Dame Ephemera raised her arm and spun her finger round to signal to continue. This time, all joined in on the clatter, rumble, and roar part and some had learned enough of the words to sing or at least mumble along. This kept up for three raucous rounds. Tears streamed down some of the cheeks formerly wet by river water. Fond glances were cast her way. She found it agonizing, and then it got worse.

  “Let’s have your verses!” her aunt demanded and the man with the rope volunteered,

  I’ll drink a toast to Verity, a brave and kindly lass

  Who foiled the trolls who’d drown us before they’d let us pass

  Here’s to her dark-eyed beauty, her figure strong and tall

  Here’s to the darling lady who saved us one and all…

  She tried to correct him and tell him that was not exactly accurate since she had only saved those who had been turfed out by the trolls, and not those who paid the toll. Also, she was hardly a beauty, dark-eyed or otherwise, but much as it pained her to listen to the exaggerations if not actual lies, the small crowd was having a lovely time, and flatly contradicting those who were thanking her would be ungracious. They weren’t exactly lies so the pain was not unbearable, but she rather wished they would run out of rhymes and things to sing about since there hadn’t actually been all that much to the incident.

  She had heard of the power of poetry in literature classes, but the lectures had underrated the fervor of folksy doggerel. She tried to think of it as a sociological phenomenon.

  Here’s to that maiden stalwart, a stout and hearty soul

  Who helped us foil the soggy death wished on us by the trolls

  Across that raging river, she waded ’cause she’s tall

  And that is why we’re privileged still to hear my children squall.

  It was the mother, what was her name? Mrs. Hubbard? with the hamper, of course, but even Aunt Ephemera could tell that the audience-contributed verses were deteriorating. She beamed at the audience and plopped down on the nearest bench while someone passed her a flask.

  “You’re her, aren’t you?” the man with the rope asked. “Dame Ephemera, the famous archivist. And them’s your famous shells. I’ve heard tell of you. My gran used to speak of how you kept the memories of our people in them shells.” She was nodding happily in between swallows. Encouraged, the man continued. “I’ve a story for you…”

  He was interrupted by the nasal voice of the starchy woman, Hepzibah Heatherspoon.

  Hear the mighty rush of the engine, hear our mighty dragons scream

  As we leave behind the troll bridge, surrounded by our steam

  We’re off to end our journeys, we’ve lived to tell the tale

  Of how the trolls were foiled and we once more ride the rails.

  Not to be left out, she had contrived to chime into the song without actually saying anything nice about Verity or anyone else.

  While she sang, others began taking seats nearer to Ephemera. Once the man, whose name seemed to be Drover, finished regaling her with his tale, he was immediately replaced by another man, one of the businessmen from first class, who said, “Now, I know you have some kind of official function for the government, Dame Ephemera, but I was thinking if you and I collaborated on making this story something more widely available to the average Argonian, we could make some big money and split the profits.”

  “What an original idea!” Ephemera said.

  Verity felt a social-lie level ping.

  Another well-dressed gentleman she had not seen before had been watching the proceedings from a corner of the car warmly situated near the stove, but on the less scenic side of the train. He’d been watching everything with avid interest and had joined lustily in the chorus section of Ephemera’s song. He beamed at Verity and beckoned to her, leaning over and patting the bench opposite his own.

  Since she was the hero of the moment, Verity felt it would be churlish to ignore him, at least until she found out what he wanted. She took the seat. “Yes?” she asked.

  “Pardon my presumption, young lady, but I understood that this is your first trip on this run?” he inquired, sounding as if he traveled it all the time. She glanced at him then looked again, wondering that she had failed to notice him before. He was very elegant and nice-looking, and would have been handsome except that his cheeks were a bit full and he was starting jowls. Otherwise, he was much prettier than she was actually, with eyes the deep brilliant blue of a glacial crevasse—oddly familiar. Where had she seen eyes like that lately? His flaxen hair curled around his ears and over his forehead. He looked a bit like a cherub and also like someone else she knew. Who was it? She couldn’t recall.

  He was nattily turned out in twill trousers and coat with a cap-sleeved, belted brocade waistcoat over an indigo ruffled shirt of the sort she imagined pirates wore when they were not wearing gowns and singing in cabarets. The color intensified the glacial blue of his eyes. The ensemble seemed a bit impractical for someone who knew he might have to wade, though perhaps he was sufficiently well-off that he was always troll-exempt (in which case, would it hurt him to pay the toll for some of the other passengers as well?) but the effect was of pleasant, comfortable affluence. She tried not to stare.

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  Malachy’s Troll Bait

  “You’re the one who took the rest of the waders across, right?” He had a lovely voice, round and smooth as a sea-polished stone. The combination of face and voice reminded her uncomfortably of Sophronia’s handsome but oily cousin, though this man looked older than Briciu, largely because of his pale hair and seeming lac
k of lashes or brows.

  “I carried the rope through the river,” she replied. “I felt obliged to, since I possessed an advantage in the situation that others lacked. My aunt exaggerates my role, I fear.” Though only a little, her own sense of truth corrected.

  “It only takes a couple of trips and you learn to bring troll bait along to distract them.”

  “Oh really? You’re right. I didn’t know about that. What do you consider good troll bait?”

  “Anything flashy or outrageous.”

  “A lot of people can’t afford that sort of thing,” she said.

  “You can though, can’t you?”

  “My parents could have. I haven’t come into my inheritance quite yet though, so…”

  “Besides,” he continued, stepping on the end of her sentence. “It need not be something that costs money. “You can always answer one of their riddles.”

  “I’m not good at games,” she said. “Not at all.”

  “Aren’t you? I quite like them, though I haven’t tried the riddles myself. It’s easier just to buy your way out, if you’ve the means. Seeing the waters earlier, I’m pleased to say I’ve never had to ford.”

  Snow mixed with rain made plopping sounds as it hit the darkened windows.

  “I have to work with trolls occasionally,” he added. “One learns to manage them. For instance, you asked about the food—why they didn’t try to take our food. My organization has given them something they greatly prefer to human food.”

  “Hmmm, sounds a bit like what they give the dragons.”

  “There are similarities, of course, but they’re pretty superficial. The formula is radically different.”

  “Is it—harmful?”

  “Do they look like anyone is harming them?” he asked.

  As Verity sat talking to the handsome man, the crowd around Ephemera gradually dispersed, leaving the older woman looking smaller and somehow a little lost, though she had been the toast of the train minutes before.

  Verity nodded. He held out his hand. “I’m Malachy,” he said, though she wasn’t sure if he was offering his first name, which surely wasn’t proper, or following the custom of using last names without suitable honorific.

  When she held out her own hand to shake his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it lightly. Perfectly proper, if a bit old fashioned, and rather forward for such a casual introduction.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said, intending to inform him of his transgression—because she had to. “Ver—” she began and before she could finish, he nodded and rose to his feet.

  “I know,” he said, winking at her. “Ah, your aunt seems to be free at the moment. Excuse me please. I’d like a word with her,” he said and went to sit next to Ephemera.

  It was very smoothly done. He might have been at a party, shifting from guest to guest to ensure that all of the right people had the benefit of his company.

  She strolled over to the window behind them, bracing herself on the back of Ephemera’s bench. Malachy seemed pleasant enough, but there was something off about his interest in her and greater interest in her traveling companion.

  “You’re the real thing, aren’t you?” Malachy asked Aunt Ephemera.

  “I believe so,” she said, looking down at her hands and body. “I appear to be. Though I don’t usually think of myself as a thing.”

  “I’d heard stories about you—my business holds the papers on many of the historic sites around Argonia. But I thought you were a scholar hiding among your books and recordings in your icy stronghold.”

  “I am these days, as a rule,” she said.

  “I had no idea what a persuasive performer you are! You are not only charming and musical, but thoroughly credible.”

  “Thank you, young man,” she said, and Verity noticed that her aunt omitted returning the compliment. Of course, she didn’t know him, but apparently she too had the feeling that he was somehow not very credible at all.

  “The thing is, Dame Ephemera, we could use someone like you to inform people of the historic innovations our enterprises have brought to Argonia.”

  “Eh?”

  Ephemera sounded tired to Verity. She had been very happy and buoyant in earlier exchanges, but now her posture drooped and she seemed to be trying to catch up.

  “You’re wondering what innovations. Am I correct?”

  Ephemera made a gesture with her head that might have been a nod, but also might have been her attempt to keep herself from falling back to sleep.

  “Dragon fodder, for one thing. It has had a huge impact on society, but because most people don’t interact with the dragons a great deal, they’re not aware of how complex are their needs if they are to continue functioning smoothly in their various occupations. The dragon fodder facilitates that. We’re also trying it experimentally on other frequently troublesome animals. You of all people must be aware of how drastically the food supply has dried up in these modern times. The applications are almost limitless, but we could use someone like you to explain all of the beneficial effects to people so that someday they too may want to try it.”

  “Is that what’s making those trees run past the windows?” she half-murmured, not responding to his little speech.

  Verity looked down at her. Ephemera’s expression was perfectly serious. “I hope I didn’t have that much to drink, sir.”

  Ephemera started to stand up and walk forward, but the car lurched and she caught hold of Malachy’s head instead. “Oh, I do beg your pardon. Are we having earth tremors? I could swear the floor just moved.”

  Malachy looked to Verity, who shrugged and gently guided her aunt back to their compartment.

  “Are you the bouncer?” Ephemera asked her in a slightly whiny voice.

  Verity gave her back her shawl and settled her into the compartment for the nap her aunt evidently needed. Once she dropped off, Verity returned to the saloon car, thinking to discover more about Malachy and his associates. What did held papers on mean?

  But as she stepped across the connection between cars, the train whistle blew, and with a chuff and hiss of steam, it stopped, and Malachy stepped down from the platform and disappeared beyond the sign declaring Hide-in Valley, the Hide family, proprietors.

  Unless she was mistaken, and she was sure she wasn’t, the man she had just met was the relative for whom her old nemesis Malady Hide had been named.

  Chapter 15

  All You Can Eat: Hide-in Valley Fodder Farms

  “Hide-in Valley Breeding and Fodder Farms,” the conductor’s cry came to Toby’s hiding place with a ghost of its original robustness. Toby nudged Taz, and slid open the boxcar door. Toby jumped and rolled. Taz uncurled herself and stepped down in a leisurely fashion, both of them taking shelter in the ditch on the far side of the tracks from the station.

  Station was a bit of an exaggeration. There was a sign that said Hide-in Valley Farms and another spur of track.

  Toby knew that Hide-in Valley Farms was where the grain and beans used in the production of dragon kibble were grown. A flat car uncoupled onto the side track was stacked with containers of the secret ingredient imported duty-free from Frostingdung. Toby had once asked what this essential additive was and Mr. Marsters said it was bonding agent that combined the other foods into the digestible form preferred by dragons. It was much more convenient to carry around than a dead caribou, was easily produced (once the imported ingredient was supplied) and lasted the dragons a good long time so they could work many hours without needing to feed again. Dragons preferred it to prey, he’d been told throughout his working life.

  Unbeknownst to the engineer in charge of the little switch engine, Toby hitched a ride on the empty cars it towed out to the farm. Their trip from the iron mine had been largely uneventful. He’d been anxious when the train stopped at the troll bridge, but trolls didn’t even bother with the freight cars and concerned themselves only with the passengers.

  This time, Taz flew beside and above him until they r
eached a woods full of spindly trees adjoining a field wearing a prickly beard of sticks and stems left from the harvest.

  Toby jumped from the train as it slowed. By the time he reached the farmyard, three men in overalls were unloading the freight car. The little feeder engine was just sighing to a stop. The dragon powering it was only a bit bigger than Taz. The wrangler unhitched it and led it toward Toby.

  Toby nodded and kept walking toward the men in overalls, but the dragon stopped and began snuffling around him. He smelled Taz, Toby thought. He reached out and patted the strange dragon on the head, realizing it was probably not one of his better ideas, but the dragon held himself very still until Toby took his hand away.

  “Hanuman likes you,” the wrangler said. “You spent much time around the beasts?”

  “Some,” Toby admitted. “Has yours always powered the engine?”

  “Since he was big enough, yes. I’m Colm, and you’ve met Hanuman.” Colm looked beyond and around Toby, as if searching for the dragon he instinctively knew belonged there. “What brings you here?”

  “Looking for work, food, a bunk. Tried mining but didn’t care for it.”

  Colm shuddered. “No wonder. Surly lot, iron miners. Probably all want to go back to digging for gold and diamonds, like their granddads.”

  “Very surly,” Toby agreed.

  “Ah well, it burns some of them, you know, the iron, but digging’s what they know, so they do it, anyway.”

  “Burns them? How? It’s cold out of the ground and cools before they handle it again.”

  “It’s them as have magical lineage,” Colm told him. “Iron will raise blisters on ’em. I’ve seen it meself. But it’s the only ore anyone cares about now, with the railroad using so much of it and of course, the Dungies have always set great store by it. Me, I prefer working here with the plants and the land, making food for Hanuman and his friends.”