Exit the Dragon (Newport Pagnall Book 1)

by Heide Goody

  “There are worse deaths than being eaten by a crocodile,” suggested Maegor.

  Pagnell raised the papers with the priests’ demands on it.

  “I will have your calculations for you by tomorrow,” he said and made to go.

  “Don’t forget your broom,” said Maegor.

  “Ah.”

  Pagnell picked up his broom and took to the stairs.

  The thanes were arguing in the throne room again. Pagnell paused to listen.

  “Who do you have your money on?” said Jynn, appearing from the shadows. He was half a head taller than Pagnell and when the man loomed — he was one of life’s loomers — his broken nose and the story it hinted at loomed large with him. Pagnell saw the man’s hand resting casually on the hilt of his dagger.

  Pagnell took a step back.

  “I don’t think… that is, I’m not a betting man.”

  Jynn grinned. “Oh, I think you are a risk-taker, wizard. That’s undeniable.”

  Pagnell took a step sideways towards the throne room. A step back, a step to the side — he was a knight’s move away from being free of this slippery and dangerous man.

  “I think the city is coping admirably without a king,” he said.

  “Someone has to wear the crown,” said Jynn. “The crown looks silly all by itself. You need a man to wear the crown. You need a crown to identify the king. You see the crown and you know where you are.”

  “Er, yes.”

  Jynn nodded at the broom in Pagnell’s hand. “It’s like brooms.”

  “Is it?”

  “You walk around with a broom in your hand, people think you’re a sweep.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You walk around with a broom in your hand and, because people think you’re a sweep, they don’t stop to question who you are or where you’re going.”

  “No?”

  “Oldest trick in the book.”

  “Or I could just have been doing some sweeping,” said Pagnell.

  Jynn gave him a look. “Unlikely though, ain’t it?”

  Pagnell stepped — once, twice — gave the lord treasurer a nod of farewell and fled to his room. There was a red cloak on guard outside.

  Pagnell went inside and bolted the door. He emerged half an hour later with a scroll. “Could you be a good man,” he said to the red cloak, “and tell me who is the most popular bard in the city?”

  “Bard?”

  “Street entertainer, pub singer, whatever.”

  “There’s a lute player who always coins it in at the Crossroads Inn, I suppose, sir.”

  “And is it still standing?”

  “The lute player?”

  “The inn. Well, both.”

  “I believe so, sir. I would say that her songs are sometimes a bit on the vulgar side.”

  “Excellent.”

  “There’s this one, Who Blew the Red Cloak’s Whistle?, and it’s meant to be about a whistle but really, I think, if you think about it —”

  “Yes, yes. Sounds perfect. Go give her that. Bring her back here if you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And a sausage.”

  “Sausage?”

  “Yes. An uncooked sausage, please.”

  “Right you are, sir.”

  The red cloak turned to go but Pagnell gripped his arm.

  “And when you return, you will be on guard here all night long, won’t you?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good-o,” said Pagnell. “As long as I know you’re keeping me nice and safe.”

  “I mean, not all of us red cloaks are even issued with whistles.”

  “That must be a great disappointment to you.”

  Pagnell closed the door, bolted it and then dragged a chair in front of it. He thought about it a little longer and then shuttered the window.

  Chapter 6

  Cunnan walked into the privy council hall. It was a grey and cold morning outside, made greyer by the ash and soot that still predominated in the streets. The hall was cold, being open to the sky and, at his age, having spent most of his life on the mostly single or double storey decks of ships, he did not relish the number of stairs he had to climb each day to reach it. Nonetheless, he was in cheery mood. This might have been because he had spent a very entertaining evening in the local tavern. It might have been because his frequently bad back had allowed him a full night’s sleep for once. Or it might just have been that he had discovered long ago that there was almost nothing to be gained from being miserable and had resolved that cheerfulness should be his default mood.

  “You’re humming,” said Chrindle, as he approached the table.

  Cunnan realised that indeed he had been.

  “Aye,” he said, “a little ditty I heard Lady Forge singing in the tavern. Someone has been busy, I’d say.”

  He looked along the table at Maegor, Pagnell and Jynn.

  “How sharp Brad’s eye! The arrow did fly and struck the dragon true!” sang Cunnan.

  Pagnell waved his hands, pretending to be embarrassed.

  “It was just a little something. A collaborative piece Lady Forge and I knocked up together last night.”

  “You and Lady Forge?” said Jynn, impressed.

  “A commission, if you will,” said the wizard. “Mostly based on an old Yarwish air.”

  “They’ll all be singing The Ballad of Brad Bowman by tonight,” said Cunnan approvingly. “I mean, it’s no Who Blew the Red Cloak’s Whistle? but still —”

  “Red cloaks don’t even carry whistles,” said Chrindle. “They keep asking me if they can have them.”

  “To raise the alarm on the discovering of thieves and such,” nodded Maegor.

  “They tell me people are making fun of them if they say they haven’t got one,” said Chrindle, mystified.

  Cunnan smiled.

  “What?” said Chrindle.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just a cheerful soul.”

  “Rumours are circulating,” said Jynn. “Stories of this Brad Bowman. Friend of a friend saw him kind of thing.”

  “Then it’s working,” said Pagnell.

  “When I was in the tavern, I also heard,” said Cunnan, “that there’s a wizard in the city who will pay a bounty on any dragon bits people might find.”

  “Bits?” said Chrindle.

  “Dislodged scales. Bits of claw.”

  “Or even dragon egg shell?” said Maegor archly, with a look directed at Pagnell.

  The wizard blustered. “I’m a keen scholar. What can I say?”

  “You need these things for some sorcerer’s brew?” said Cunnan.

  “They have their uses,” Pagnell conceded. “Can’t a man honestly seek rare and efficacious materials?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jynn. “Can he?”

  “But if we throw suspicions on every man who tried to make a little profit on the side, we would never get anything done,” said Cunnan.

  “True enough,” said Jynn although Cunnan could see that Chrindle — ever honest, ever dutiful — didn’t agree.

  “Then let us deal with more pressing business,” said Maegor. “A union delegation visited the castle first thing this morning.”

  “The priests again?” said Chrindle.

  “No, but we’ll come to them in good time, I’m sure. These delegates were from the Union of Charcoal Burners and Allied Trades.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “And that would be because they didn’t exist until yesterday. It would seem that, encouraged by the example of the priests, the charcoal burners of Grome have unionised and come to us to plead their case.”

  “What case?” said Jynn.

  “That they have been done a grievous disservice by the dragon.”

  “I think we’ve all been disserviced by the dragon.”

  “Ah, but they claim to have been disserviced — disserviced? Disserved? — doubly so.”

  “Doubly so? How so?”

  “Thus. While
many homes and businesses have been destroyed by the dragon, most

  individuals have only lost their homes and livelihoods to the fire.”

  “But the charcoal burners…?”

  “Have been insulted twice over because the wood buildings and structures of the city —”

  “Have been reduced to charcoal,” nodded Pagnell.

  “The product of their labours is now abundant and essentially free to all.”

  “The market’s been flooded,” said Jynn and laughed. “Oh, it’s funny. Admit it.”

  “Says a man who’s never been in fear of his livelihood vanishing,” said Cunnan and then reflected that much of Jynn’s livelihood probably relied on him vanishing at the right moment, specifically at the moment when his victims realised they had been robbed.

  “What do they expect us to do about it?” said Chrindle.

  “Pay reparations,” said Maegor simply. “Recompense them for earnings lost.”

  Chrindle scoffed. “They want paying for charcoal they would have sold if the dragon hadn’t done their job for them? Fie! And I suppose the red cloaks should be paid for the bandits and thieves they would have caught if the dragon had not done away with them?”

  “I had personally always thought that known thieves should be paid to not make a nuisance of themselves,” said Jynn. “Or to keep their thievery within reasonable levels.”

  Maegor scowled fiercely at that notion and opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal when the wizard Pagnell spoke.

  “The city still needs charcoal.”

  “It does,” said Cunnan.

  “And, as I understand, charcoal doesn’t go ‘off’.”

  “I’m no expert but no.”

  “Then during these times of… abundance, perhaps the crown might be willing to put some charcoal aside, to stockpile it.”

  “And why would the crown want to do that?”

  “Most of the wooden buildings in the city have been turned to charcoal.”

  “Aye,” said Cunnan.

  “And we have already drawn up estimates for the cost of clearing those ruined sites.”

  “Yes,” said Jynn.

  “But if the Union of Charcoal Burners and Allied Trades would consider, temporarily at least, becoming the Union of Charcoal Collectors and Allied Trades then we would get those ruined sites cleared in no time.”

  “But the charcoal burners still want paying,” said Maegor.

  “Charcoal burning is a skill, almost mystical. Charcoal collecting…?” Pagnell made a sad hum of a noise. “Less so. We can agree a price that the crown would be willing to meet for every hundredweight of charcoal.”

  “It’s still an expense,” said Jynn.

  “Ah, but as the charcoal supply is transferred to our care, the abundant product becomes scarcer, the price to the consumer rises and…”

  “… and the crown sits on a mountain of the stuff to be sold off at whatever price the market can bear,” said Jynn, nodding eagerly. “On top of which, we should insist that all members of the union take out dragon insurance to protect them in future.”

  “Dragon insurance?” said Chrindle.

  “It’s a new concept that some clever bloke in the city came up with,” said Jynn and Cunnan wondered if the ‘clever bloke’ in question was Jynn himself. “It works like this. You pay the insurer a premium, an amount of money and, in exchange, he promises that if whatever it is you’ve insured gets destroyed or stolen then he will pay for it.”

  “Why pay the money to another man if you can pay for the repairs or replacement yourself?” said Chrindle.

  “No, you misunderstand. The premium you pay is less than the cost of repairs.”

  “Then why would the insurer enter into the deal? He’d be a fool to take less money than the cost of the works needed doing. Any craftsman who sold his wares for less than they cost to make would be out on the street in no time.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Jynn.

  “You’re not explaining,” Chrindle retorted.

  “It’s very simple.”

  “So it should be simple to explain.”

  “It’s like… It’s like…” Jynn waved his arms about in search of inspiration. “Gods! It’s like the gods!”

  Cunnan steepled his fingers and leaned forward, interested.

  “Let’s say you were a trader and you had a ship due in,” said Jynn. “It’s out at sea and there’s tell of storms. You might go down to the temple and make an offering to Pedlo the crab-limbed god of the sea.”

  “Oh, no,” said Cunnan. “That’s a basic error. I always make my offerings to Diamé, goddess of good fortune and propitious outcomes. Covers all bases.”

  “Not Lekki? If it’s storms you fear then the god of lightning would be my go-to god.”

  “Regardless,” said Jynn, “you would make an offering of food, a sacrifice —”

  “I always make an offering of coin,” said Cunnan.

  “Do you?” said Chrindle.

  “In my experience, you give someone a gift, they might not want it. Give them money and they can spend it on what they like.”

  “Point is,” said Jynn, “you’ve made some sort of outlay — it’s cost you — but it’s not as much as the value of the cargo on your ship.”

  “Of course not. That would be foolish.”

  “And maybe the ship wasn’t going to sink in a storm anyway, but you made an offering to the gods nonetheless. The gods are happy, your ship comes in and everyone’s happy. See?”

  There were careful and thoughtful nods around the table.

  “So,” said Pagnell slowly, feeling his way through the concept, “the insurer is like a god.”

  “If you will,” said Jynn.

  “The people who want to protect their businesses or goods —”

  “Or whatever you like.”

  “— make an offering to the insurer, as they would to a god?”

  “As you say.”

  “Because although the insurer isn’t a god, they have the wealth to pay reparations if the business or goods are destroyed. Because instead of holy power they’ve just got lots and lots of money.”

  “Correct.”

  There was a nervousness in Pagnell’s expression and as he looked at Chrindle and Maegor, that nervousness spread.

  “So, basically, you’re saying — you are saying — that the wealthiest people in society can fulfil the same roles as gods?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “And in a manner of speaking you are. And, these wealthy people, offering this stand-in god service, are you one of them?”

  “I might be,” said Jynn with a modest shrug.

  Pagnell moved his chair several feet further up the table from Jynn. On the other side of Jynn, Chrindle did likewise.

  “What?” said Jynn, laughing.

  Pagnell pointed up at the open sky. “I’m not sure how good Lekki’s aim is.”

  “It’s not sacrilege,” Jynn argued. “It’s just business.”

  “I’d check that out with a priest first,” said Maegor.

  Jynn sighed irritably. “It’s supply and demand. I’m just meeting a need, going where the market forces take me. Speaking of which, I’ve had some wealthy and influential friends complain to me last night.” He gave Chrindle a firm stare. “Someone’s been spreading rumours that dragons are attracted to gold.”

  “The wizard told us!” said Chrindle. “The master of dragons said.”

  “I said they like gold,” said Pagnell.

  “They were specifically drawn by its gravity, you said.”

  “Those were not the words.”

  “Whoever is to blame,” said Jynn, “gold has suddenly lost its lustre, metaphorically at least. If the gold in your pocket increases your chances of being frazzle by dragonfire then people will be all the keener to use it to settle their debts and far less inclined to take it as payment, preferring silver or copper or other mediums of currency.”

  “Do
es it matter how people pay for things?” said Chrindle. “Money is money.”

  “Except when gold is losing its value. The gold in your strongbox isn’t what it once was.”

  “It’s shrinking?”

  “So to speak.”

  “Thieves?”

  “It’s not thieves!”

  Chrindle narrowed her eyes. “And these wealthy friends of yours, are they also in the god-faking insurance business like yourself?”

  “What? Why?”

  “They ape the gods and their treasure hoards start magically shrinking…”

  “It’s not the gods!” snapped Jynn.

  “The gods do move in mysterious ways,” said Maegor.

  “Especially Pedlo,” said Pagnell and mimed a little sideways waddle, complete with hands as crab claws.

  “Have none of you even a basic grasp of economics?” said the much put-out lord treasurer.

  “No, but none of us have had our gold cursed by the gods,” said Chrindle smarmily.

  Chapter 7

  In late afternoon, the mass of baked human effluent that plugged the River Turge caused the river to burst its banks. A lake of water, brown and soupy began to grow in the west of the city. The members of the privy council had an unparalleled view from their lofty hall.

  “Someone needs to do something about that,” said Cunnan.

  “Let them bloody drown,” muttered Jynn who had been in a sulk for much of the day.

  “The garderobes in the castle would get blocked from time to time,” said Maegor. “A good flushing with water would see them clear.”

  “I think its an excess of water that’s the problem here,” said Chrindle.

  “Or a good poke with a long stick. The turding stick.”

  “Nice to know it has a name,” said Pagnell.

  “Wielded by the finest turdsmen in the castle.”

  Pagnell contemplated this.

  “And there wouldn’t happen to be a Union of Turdsmen we could get out there to shift that blockage?”

  “It would hardly be a large union,” said Maegor.

  “Don’t hold with garderobes myself,” said Jynn.