“Good morning, Weaver.” Timmy pointed to the winged reptile that had hopped onto the table and was now eyeing Weaver with piercing silver eyes. “Meet Spot.” He patted the dragon on the head. “Spot, meet Weaver.”
Hi.
The elf laughed at Weaver’s expression and lifted the dragon up into her arms. The creature was around six feet long and had teeth that would have looked far more appropriate on a larger animal. “We’re here to open an account for him.”
“I… I see.” Technically, it wasn’t illegal although it was certainly unconventional. Not all creatures had the legal standing necessary to open bank accounts, but dragons were more than intelligent enough to qualify. Of course, few dragons bothered with bank accounts. The vast, vast majority were either content to guard their treasure personally – being a practically invincible, flying emissary of fiery death was great for security – or they were disqualified from having an account due to their conduct, which typically consisted of burning settlements, eating people, and engaging in all sorts of malevolent and tyrannical behaviour. “May I inquire as to his history?”
Timmy handed him a certificate. “Here you go.”
Weaver read through the document carefully. Spot had been personally certified as an upstanding member of Everton society and awarded full citizenship for his deeds in service to the Council by no less than the Supreme Cleric herself. “Very well. This all seems to be in order. Is Spot his legal name?”
“It’s what we usually call him since these losers can’t say his actual name.” The elf sneered. “His real name is…” The bizarre series of noises that followed had to be some ancient dialect of the elves.
“You’ll have to write that down for me although we can draw up documents to make Spot a legal alias too.” Weaver turned back to the dragon. “Now, Spot, before you open an account with us, there are some things you need to know…”
The dragon listened intently and even asked a few questions to help clarify what Weaver was saying.
“Now that we’ve gone over the basic rules, I need a sample of your magic – wait!” Weaver leapt back. “Don’t use your fire!”
Spot huffed and closed his mouth.
“We don’t want to burn the bank down. If you have to use your fire, lower its heat and let me put the crystal in the fireplace.”
“Give the crystal to me,” the elf said. “Spot can’t burn me.”
Spot blew a small tongue of black flame at the crystal. It promptly disintegrated.
“Corruption dragons are powerful indeed. Luckily, I have spares.” Weaver took out another crystal.
“Use your white fire this time, Spot,” Timmy said. “It shouldn’t destroy the crystal if you’re careful.”
“White fire?” Weaver asked. “Ah, right. It was on the certificate.”
“Yes, he’s part corruption dragon and part astral dragon.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of that combination before,” Weaver said.
“We’re trying to keep it quiet, so we’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone,” Timmy said. “We’re going to get another certificate done that doesn’t mention it.”
Once they’d sorted everything out, they trooped down to Spot’s vault. It was next to Katie’s.
“Will you be putting anything into your vault today?”
Spot nodded at Gerald. The bureaucrat’s magic activated, and they were soon standing knee deep in various bits and pieces, ranging from random knickknacks to pieces of treasure and old weaponry.
“He’s got more, but he wanted a place to keep things in case of an emergency.” Timmy chuckled. “Right now, he’s more interested in food than treasure, so we’ll be keeping it here since he doesn’t like people going through his hoard.”
Weaver gulped. “Is it wise to separate a dragon from his hoard?”
“It’s fine. We let him roll around in the castle’s treasury now and then.” Spot’s tail knocked a gold coin into the air, and Timmy caught it. “He’s also worried about not being big enough to defend his hoard yet. Once he does get bigger, I’m sure he’ll want most of it back. I’ll have to find him a cave under the castle, or I could use my magic to extend the rock the castle is built on.” Timmy rubbed his chin. “It might take a while. His father was large even for a dragon, but I don’t know how big Spot will get.”
“Well,” Weaver said dryly. “When the time comes, you can rest assured that we will most certainly not get in Spot’s way when he wants to make a withdrawal.”
Research and Development
(Set After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)
Katie was welcomed to a brand new morning by the merry clapping of cymbals, courtesy of some of her favourite ninja rats. Well, they would be some of her favourite rats once she’d gotten over the unbelievable din they made to wake her up. She had tried to get them to adopt a less obnoxious way of awakening her, but they’d insisted that only cymbals would do. Apparently, she slept like a log, so it was their solemn duty as her loyal and faithful minions to awaken her in the most efficient way possible, which obviously equated to using cymbals. No, the rats weren’t crazy. Her limited human mind simply failed to understand the intricacies of ninja rodent reasoning. Well, it wasn’t like she could call them weird. She lived in a castle filled with zombies built atop lightless chasms of unfathomable doom and despair – and she loved it. If the rats were weird, what did that make her?
Adorably weird – or so her master had said, the last time she’d asked him.
It would have been nice to sleep in since it was a Saturday, and sleep was essential for growth. She was already short. If she somehow managed to not grow much during puberty, her life as a necromancer would become considerably more difficult. Power counted for a lot, and she’d spent countless hours practicing the appropriate demeanour and mannerisms for a legendary necromancer, but having to look up at everyone was not going to help her to intimidate people.
To be fair, being short hadn’t hurt Spot in the intimidation department. He was six feet long, but he wasn’t very tall. Yet all he had to do was growl at someone, and they’d be petrified, unable to move, think, or even speak in fear of drawing his attention. However, he did have several important advantages. First of all, he was a fire-breathing dragon with large, pointy teeth and claws that could tear through steel like it was paper. And, well, he was a fire-breathing dragon with large, pointy teeth and claws that could tear through steel like it was paper. What other advantages did he need? Just those were more than enough.
Despite her desire to grow taller, and she had to end up taller than her master, if only so she could tease him for once, sleeping in on a Saturday was not something she did very often. She had important things to do, so she made up for it by going to bed earlier on a Friday evening. Some people liked to go out on a Friday evening, perhaps for a drink or some time with their friends at a local inn or tavern. She was a ten-year-old necromancer. She was too young too drink, and all of her friends lived in the castle.
Since their arrival and subsequent decision to join the winning team – namely, Katie and her master – the rats had proven to be excellent minions and loyal friends. They were also exceedingly intelligent, maniacally cunning, and wonderfully creative. Moreover, they loved to show off the fruits of their labour. Her master had astutely pointed out that knowing what they were up to was in everyone’s best interests since they were now taking missions to earn a pardon. The rats had a knack for creating useful things. The shaped charges the demolition rats had recently created were perfect for blowing holes in walls and doors. But they also had a tendency to create things that were somewhat less than perfectly safe. The new lake not far from the castle was a perfect example of what happened if certain rats were left without appropriate supervision for too long.
Each Saturday, Katie would look over some of the projects the rats were working on. It made them happy, and it gave Katie a chance to flex her intellectual muscles while also minimising the odds of the cas
tle getting blown up in some horrible rodent-related accident. And the less she thought about what would happen if the castle were destroyed, the better. The things that lived underneath it would most likely go on a terrifying rampage and usher in the apocalypse. Even if they didn’t, Sam might bring about the apocalypse himself once he realised his supply of cake had been destroyed.
Katie washed her face and put on some of her more fire-resistant robes and an especially durable cloak. She’d learned the hard way that the rats, not just the demolition rats, often came up with explosive ideas. After losing several robes and cloaks in the span of a month, she’d switched to more durable clothing. She would also wait until afterward to bathe. Otherwise, any ash or soot that got on her would linger for hours.
Rembrandt hopped onto her shoulder as she finished washing her face and adjusted his eye patch. She wondered if he still had an eye under it or if he’d lost it completely. She’d never seen him without it, and it seemed rude to ask. The sword-wielding rat gave a few quiet squeaks as he began to fill her in on anything important that had happened while she was asleep. The only event of consequence related to Spot. He’d noticed the dragon flying away from the castle not long ago. Katie giggled.
Avraniel slept in a lot. Years of being a criminal on the run had taught her the importance of resting when she could, or so the elf claimed. A better explanation was that she couldn’t be bothered to get up until she wanted to eat breakfast. With Avraniel sleeping in and Chomp, the three-headed dog, most likely doing the same, it was little wonder Spot had gone for a flight. Knowing him, he’d fly around for a while, find something to eat in the forest, and then come back with whatever unfortunate animal had caught his attention. Last time, he’d brought back a bear. Katie had been surprised he could carry it, but he was a dragon. The usual rules regarding a predator’s size relative to its prey clearly did not apply to mighty winged reptiles capable of spewing fire that could melt solid rock. To be on the safe side, Spot always took a few rats with him as well, so she wasn’t worried about him running into any trouble. The rats would make sure he didn’t do anything too crazy, like set the whole forest on fire, and if Spot somehow managed to find something he couldn’t beat in a fight, the rats should be able to distract it long enough for them to make an escape.
From his perch on her shoulder – it was one of his favourite spots when he wasn’t in one of her pockets – Rembrandt spoke to the other rats, issuing orders and taking in reports. Katie, likewise, paid careful attention, fascinated by the sheer amount of information the rats were able to gather. Her master had ordered them to set up outposts in nearby settlements, and they had expanded their operations to include larger towns and cities. No one looked twice at a rat, and there were so many good hiding places. Her master had even surreptitiously purchased property in key locations throughout Everton that some of their servants and the ninja rats occupied. It gave the castle eyes, ears, and teeth in places that would normally be beyond their reach.
There was a definite hierarchy amongst the rats, and Rembrandt was near the top of it. As a warrior, he was one of their strongest, which was why he usually came along on missions to ensure her safety. He was also one of the first rats she’d befriended. He had hopped onto her shoulder not long after the rats had settled in and announced that he would be personally seeing to her safety. Her master had shrugged and told Katie to get used to it while calmly explaining to Rembrandt that he would hold him and the rats personally responsible for any harm that befell her. Rembrandt had scowled right back at her master and informed him in an equally calm manner that he would not make any mistakes whatsoever when it came to her safety.
Since then, she had derived many hours of amusement from watching Rembrandt and her master argue with each other. It reminded her of how her master and Councillor Arthurs acted. The difference was that Councillor Arthurs appeared to be a fairly blunt and straightforward person whereas Rembrandt had a cunning streak a mile wide, which impressed her master although Rembrandt had yet to truly outwit him. As easy-going as he could be, her master was not easy to get the better of.
Katie made her way from her chambers to the large courtyard the rats used to show their work to her. Depending on how dangerous it was, the courtyard also gave them easy access to some magically protected rooms and the walls of the castle. On her way there, many of the rats greeted her. Some even snagged a ride by latching onto her cloak or her robes. She couldn’t help but giggle. Compared to her, the rats were small, so scurrying around the castle, which was very large, must have gotten tiring. Rembrandt watched the other rats like a hawk, and he gave a sharp gesture when he thought enough of them had grabbed on. He had insisted that she wasn’t a form of transportation, so this was a great privilege for the rats, not something they should expect.
Most of the time, if a rat was tired and needed to get somewhere, it could simply wait until a zombie walked past and climb aboard. And speaking of privileges, it hadn’t escaped her attention that only Rembrandt and a select number of other rats got to sit on her shoulder for more than a few seconds at a time. It was, she supposed, the favoured position for any rat that was assigned the duty of being her bodyguard since it offered an excellent view of her surroundings, and it would be easier for a rat to react to an attack from her shoulder than from inside one of her pockets. As she walked, she glimpsed a familiar rat out of the corner of her eye and used her shadows to scoop him up.
“You’re one of the rats that helps look after the plumbing, right?” Katie gave him a warm smile. “You’ve been doing good work. It’s been working much better since all of you started helping.”
The rat preened and puffed out his chest while striking a pose with his plumbing wrench. Katie grinned. Her master was good when it came to plumbing. Indeed, he had a bizarrely diverse skillset for a necromancer, most likely because his master had been a total cheapskate who had either refused to hire or had scared off tradesmen before foisting all of the maintenance work onto Katie’s master. However, the rats had made a big difference. They could get to almost every part of the castle with ease and there were a lot of them, so they ran regular patrols to check and maintain the castle’s plumbing. They could fix any minor issues thanks to their own skills and the seminars her master had run to teach them more. If they couldn’t fix something, they could report it and get it fixed before it became a major problem.
Katie had spent the first several years of her life in a village. She couldn’t remember it particularly well, but she had visited her family a few times since becoming her master’s apprentice. Setting aside her family’s less than stellar opinions of necromancy and shadow magic, the lack of plumbing was a major issue. She could put up with it when she went out on missions since there really was no helping it, but there was nothing quite like having access to a proper shower and a flushing toilet. They beat buckets and holes in the ground any day.
When she reached the courtyard, an elderly rat came forward to greet her. He looked positively ancient, and she quickly used her shadows to lift him up onto her other shoulder. Rembrandt might be able to leap incredible distances and scramble up her clothing with ease, but she’d rather save this rat the trouble. Based on his clothing and the staff he carried, this rat was a cleric. From what she could tell, the clan’s clerics spent much of their time mediating between the different groups within the clan and maintaining peace and order. The rats could get rowdy at times. She’d once caught them holding a mock battle, complete with catapults, nets, and what appeared to be some kind of golem. However, the clerics kept them from doing anything too foolish. The clerics also tended to have magic suited for healing and defence, which was important given how ambitious the rats could be when it came to their experiments.
Katie giggled as she remembered one of the demonstrations from the previous Saturday. The rats had attached explosives of some sort to a specially made glider. The result was incredible. The glider had shot off into the distance like an arrow, propelled by the explosives. U
nfortunately, the rat on the glider had lost control of the contraption as the sheer force of its acceleration shook it to pieces shortly before it exploded. Thankfully, the protective magic one of the clerics had woven around the rat saved him from suffering anything worse than some bumps, bruises, and some scorched fur. Katie had used one of her zombie falcons to catch him before he hit the ground, and the rats had conceded that the idea needed more work. However, the possibilities were tantalising. What if they removed the pilot and simply added more explosives, which would detonate on impact? Or what if they could refine the design, perhaps changing the explosives to ‘explode’ in a slower, more controlled fashion to make the glider easier to steer and less likely to fall apart? They’d either have a deadly projectile, or they’d have a way of moving through the air with incredible speed.
“So,” Katie began as the rat cleric wove some protective magic around her. “Who’s going first?”
The first group to approach was one she knew very well. They specialised in developing protective clothing and equipment. The rats’ fur was much more durable than the fur of normal rats, but there was still ample need for protective equipment. For example, the rats made use of protective suits when they worked with volatile substances, such as acids, poisons, or other chemical agents. They had also spoken to Katie about upgrading her clothing. Although her master had already ensured her clothing surpassed the standards for durability and toughness set by most necromancers, she still relied heavily on her magic to protect herself. Against the more dangerous opponents they’d begun to face, she needed every advantage she could get.
The rat at the front of the group pointed to the other side of the courtyard where they’d set up a human-sized dummy. Katie raised one eyebrow. This ought to be interesting. The rat nodded at the dummy, which had a scrap of cloth pinned over where its heart would be, and the other rats brought a crossbow forward.
The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company Page 21
