Exit the Dragon (Newport Pagnall Book 1)

by Heide Goody

  “But that’s an impossible task!”

  “We’re not paying for the sacred disposal of my Aunt Mabel’s barn,” said Jynn. “Every hundredth bucket will be checked by our wizard here.”

  “Will it?” said Pagnell.

  “You tell us how much weight of human ashes are in that bucket and we’ll pay for the next ninety-nine buckets accordingly.”

  “That’s outrageous,” said the priest. “We won’t comply.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Jynn. “If only there weren’t a dozen other temples in the city offering exactly the same service as you. I wonder if any of them would be willing to take over your contract with us…”

  Maegor made to deliberately look at Chrindle. “I see the final member of the council is here, so we should be about our official business.”

  The priest, realising he was being dismissed, and with little chance of appealing his case, gathered his miserable bucket of grey porridge and slunk out.

  As the council took their seats, Jynn wrinkled his nose at Chrindle.

  “Are those the same boots you were wearing yesterday?” he said.

  “They’ve been cleaned,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said. “Are you sure?”

  Chrindle sniffed surreptitiously. She couldn’t smell anything. That either meant Jynn was mistaken or she had become so used the stink of the Turge filth that she’d become nose-blind to it.

  “The rebuilding of the city,” said Maegor and unrolled a long map that had been much pored over and annotated in recent days. Chrindle was a soldier and was used to reading maps that were changed and redrawn with each engagement in a war campaign. This map was a history of the battle between the city that was, the city it wanted to be, and the grim reality of the current situation.

  “Rebuilding has already begun along the Street of the Sisters,” said Jynn.

  “And our edicts about non-flammable materials and appropriate fire breaks between buildings are being followed?” said Maegor.

  “They are,” said Jynn. “Though the price of bricks is subsequently going through the roof.”

  “Why?” said Chrindle. “Have they become more expensive to produce?”

  “Hardly,” said Cunnan. “With all this free charcoal for firing the bricks lying around.”

  “No, but as demand for fireproof materials increases, so does the price.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Chrindle. “If I was a brick-maker and more and more people wanted to buy my bricks, I could probably afford to put my prices down and still make a good living. I don’t think the lord treasurer has done his sums properly.”

  “And I don’t think the master of horses knows how the world works.”

  “People are looking to make a quick profit from the needs of others,” said Pagnell.

  “It’s thievery,” said Chrindle.

  “It’s not thievery if it’s honest,” said Jynn. “Honest thievery is called entrepreneurial spirit.”

  “Speaking of which…” said Maegor.

  “Honest thievery or entrepreneurial spirit?”

  “It depends,” said Maegor. “I noticed that the most expensive bricks being sold are those stamped with sigil of the Temple of the Dragon.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I gather from one of my little spies that the Temple of the Dragon will offer you lower insurance costs if you build your house with their bricks.”

  Cunnan frowned as he worked his way through the concept. “The people who are acting like gods will accept smaller offerings in exchange for the same level of protection?”

  “One of their priests tried to sell me life insurance this morning,” said Chrindle.

  “How does that work? If you die, do they promise to bring you back?”

  “We don’t tolerate the undead in Grome,” said Maegor reproachfully.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” said Jynn irritably. “None of it works like that. It’s a simple business proposition, a way of protecting your belongings and livelihood.”

  “By giving money to the dragon god or his insurance salesmen?” said Cunnan.

  “But the dragon is no god,” said Maegor.

  “Believe what you will,” said Jynn, “but if you live in the DPZ then you’d be a fool to not take out some form of dragon insurance.”

  “DPZ?” asked Pagnell.

  “The Dragon Prone Zone.” Jynn stood up and ran his hands over several parts of the city that had been marked out with yellow hatching. “These are the areas most likely to come under dragon attack.”

  “How do you know?” said Maegor.

  “Because these are the bits that have been burned down or demolished.”

  “Well, just because a dragon has burned them down once…”

  “Lightning never strikes the same place twice,” said Cunnan.

  “Not true,” said Pagnell. “I speak from bitter and personal experience.”

  “Oh?”

  “A foolish few days spent in the Spire Mountains. I still get a high-pitched ringing in my ears if storms are on their way.”

  “Statistically,” said Jynn, “if you live outside these zones then there is no evidence that you are in danger of dragon attack. Inside these zones… well, the ashes speak for themselves.”

  “And I suppose,” said Chrindle, getting a feel for how this kind of business worked, “people living inside the DPZ will be required to pay higher dragon insurance.”

  “Because of the greater risk,” agreed Jynn.

  “But this will go down if they use your bricks.”

  “That’s ri— If they use the Temple of the Dragon’s bricks, yes.”

  “But you might be willing to charge them even less if they put iron spikes on their roofs?”

  “I could discuss that with relevant businessman,” said Jynn.

  “Perhaps even offered them insurance protection for free if they were willing to position a giant crossbow on their roof.”

  “Free insurance?” said Jynn, nearly choking on the words.

  “The city gets a free crossbow emplacement. The owners get free insurance.”

  “And what’s in it for me — I mean the insurers?”

  “Tax exemptions,” offered Pagnell.

  Jynn looked at the wizard. “Tax exemptions?”

  “And perhaps guild status so that not every Tom, Dickon and Ary can go into the insurance business.”

  Jynn stroked his stubbly chin thoughtfully. “Yes. Maybe.”

  “Now, this rebuilding of the city,” said Maegor, “allows us to re-plan the main thoroughfares.”

  “Too many straight lines for my liking,” said Jynn.

  “Yes, we’ve already established you like things crooked.”

  “Gives ‘em character.”

  “Yes, well, all of these old alleys, runs and ginnels will be swept away. We shall have wide boulevards, wide enough for four carts to pass with ease.”

  “Waste of space, if you ask me.”

  “Open spaces will act as firebreaks,” said Chrindle.

  “And give people the ability to move about without knocking elbows all the time,” said Cunnan.

  “Over-rated,” said Jynn.

  “We have four new roads running north to south and likewise east to west,” said Maegor.

  “Killing the natural organic character of the city.”

  “It is happening, lord treasurer,” said Maegor firmly. “The only question we have to answer regarding them is what to call them.”

  “Do we get to name them?” said Chrindle. “I thought street names just sort of … happened all by themselves.”

  “They may develop their own nicknames over time as certain trades move into the area, true. Steel Street’s proper name is Lord Jaffleton Way. Similar goes for Silk Street, the Timber Road —”

  “Knee-Trembler Alley,” said Jynn.

  “That is its actual name,” said Maegor. “Garmond ‘Knee-Trembler’ was a much feared general to King Rogar.”

&nb
sp; “Oh,” said Jynn, surprised. “I assumed otherwise.”

  “Nominative determinism,” said Pagnell.

  “What’s that?” said Jynn.

  “If your street name’s going to give you free advertising, it might pay to set up shop there.”

  “But these new roads,” said Maegor, trying to steer the debate back round.

  “Slap some kings’ and queens’ names on them,” said Cunnan.

  “Name one after our new king or queen,” said Chrindle. “Once they’ve decided which of them it will be.”

  “Are kings and queens that popular at the moment?” said Pagnell.

  “Dragon Street?” said Cunnan, running his finger through the most heavily damaged section of the city.

  “Might bring back painful memories.”

  “Perfectly Safe from Dragons Street,” suggested Chrindle. “That’ll reassure them.”

  “That’s not how human minds work though,” said Cunnan.

  “Brad Bowman Boulevard,” said Pagnell.

  They considered this.

  “In recognition of the city’s saviour,” said Pagnell. “And a reminder of the importance of a well-prepared and well-armed citizenry.”

  “That is good,” said Jynn.

  “It sends a positive message,” agreed Maegor.

  “They’re singing that song in every tavern of the city,” said Cunnan. “People are starting to embellish the legend with their own accounts.”

  “Very good.”

  “Although Lady Forge has a new song that’s doing the rounds. How the Wizard Singed his Sausage.”

  “Really?” said Pagnell. “She wrote a song about my experiments.”

  “Aye, well,” said Cunnan and laughed. “You think it’s about a wizard with a sausage but really…” He hooted with laughter. “Really, it’s not about a sausage at all!” He broke down in breathless laughter and slapped his knee.

  Jynn smirked. Maegor frowned contemptuously. Chrindle had no idea what the man was laughing about.

  “If it wasn’t about Pagnell’s sausage...”

  “It’s not about my sausage,” said Pagnell.

  “It’s clearly a reference to your sausage.”

  “My sausage is not a fit subject for song.”

  “Cos this wizard’s sausage…” panted Cunnan and then could say no more, gripped by uncontrolled mirth.

  “My sausage is of no interest to anyone,” said Pagnell firmly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, mate,” grinned Jynn.

  “Filthy, filthy…” said Maegor.

  “I don’t get it,” said Chrindle.

  “He puts it…” wheezed Cunnan. “He puts his sausage…” But he could barely breathe now.

  “Please, gentlemen,” said Maegor. “The streets! The streets!”

  “First, second, third, fourth street,” said Jynn, perhaps tiring of the debate.

  “That’s just showing lack of imagination,” said Maegor.

  “Maybe,” said Pagnell loudly, trying to avoid looking at the red-faced Cunnan as he finally calmed down. “Maybe we should name them, as many cities do, for the nearest town or city you’d reach if you travelled in that direction.” He looked at the map and thought. “Carius Street, Yelzen Street.”

  “Yelzen’s a thousand miles away,” said Chrindle. “You would pass through many towns before you reached it.”

  “But Yelzen is the one everyone’s heard of.”

  “Red Salka downstairs might disagree with you there. If she becomes queen and discovers you don’t think Castle Grimvale is worth naming a road after then there’ll be trouble.”

  “Fine. Give them all a road. Every petty squabbling thane you’ve got.”

  “But who gets the best road?” said Cunnan.

  “Maybe they could pay to sponsor a road of their choice,” said Jynn, his eyes lighting up at the prospect.

  Maegor not only shook his head at that but his whole body, setting his chains rattling.

  “We’ll have none of that nonsense.”

  “Then no names,” said Pagnell. “North Road, South Road, East Road, East-South-East Road.”

  “Well, that would make sense,” said Maegor.

  “Quite a lot of sense,” said Chrindle. “If you’re walking along North Road then you’re going north.”

  “Unless you’re going the other way,” said Jynn.

  “But then if you’re going south down North Road, you’re heading towards the South Tower, so you know you’re going south.”

  Pagnell’s brow was furrowed. He pawed the map. “That’s the North Tower of the castle surely,” he said, pointing to the tower of the northern corner of the castle.”

  “No, that’s the South Tower,” said Chrindle.

  “What? The most northerly tower of the castle is called the South Tower.”

  “Yes,” said Jynn.

  “Aye,” said Cunnan. “It’s obvious.”

  “Obvious?” said the wizard.

  “Naturally,” said Maegor. “If one is stood in any of the main market squares of Grome and you want to know which way is south then you look for that tower.”

  “South Tower,” said Jynn.

  Pagnell stared agog. “I’ve been looking in the wrong place!” he said, got up and ran out.

  The privy council watched him go.

  “And they say wizards are clever,” said Jynn, tutting.

  Chapter 13

  “The South Tower!” Pagnell hissed to himself as he ran to the northern end of the castle. “The South Tower! Stupid bloody Gromish!”

  He found the tower. It too had not gone unscathed in the dragon queen’s assault on the city but the stairs were whole and he bounded up them at speed.

  “Dragon roost, dragon roost,” he sang to himself under his breath.

  As with the tower at the southern end of the castle — he wondered if it was called the North Tower — there were many rooms on the floors of the South Tower at the northern end of the castle. He popped his head in rooms, scanned for dragon signs and ran on. If he definitely had the right tower then he felt the dragon’s nest would be in a most obvious place.

  As he ran, his toes stumbled on the stairs. Fat ridges of stone ran along and down the steps. He put his fingers to them. They were cold and smooth, like a fat worm that had been petrified in the act of slithering downstairs. He pressed on. The weird worm ridge was joined by another and a third and then, as Pagnell inspected the steps again, he realised they were warm.

  Melted stone.

  The dragon had blasted this tower with fire several days ago, sending rivulets of molten stone running down the stairs. Only now was it cooling. He trod more carefully.

  The top levels of the tower steamed. His feet were warmed through his boots. When he bent to touch the floor it was uncomfortably hot.

  Around the final bend and the wall had been melted away completely, stone solidified once more but with the appearance of a dried mudflow, of day-old custard. From here, Pagnell could see the entire city, the walls and the plains of the kingdom beyond. Winter was coming and the fields were bare. Pagnell was not afraid of heights but he had a very healthy respect for them. He cleaved as close as possible to the inner wall of the spiral staircase without actually burning himself against it. There would be no point in coming up to this eyrie only for a rogue blast of wind to send him toppling off the side.

  The top of the tower was a blasted ruin. The floor a concave hollow melted by dragon fire. It hissed in the rain. There was a small mound of rubble at its centre. Pagnell would have crawled over but that would have set fire to his knees. His feet were starting to complain at the heat already.

  He whipped off his coat and his jerkin. He tied one around his left foot and the other about his right and moved in a pathetically timid crouched shuffle to the centre of the exposed roof. The rubble was hot. Fearing he might run out of clothing soon, he slipped off his over-shirt, bundled it arounds his hand and carefully prised stones away.

  The dragon
egg was a perfect ovoid, as big as a prize-winning marrow and the striking yet delicate blue of a clear spring morning.

  “Oh,” breathed Pagnell, “the teeth we’re going to clean with you!” And then he giggled because even wizards are not beyond the occasional giggle.

  He laid out his over-shirt, rolled the egg into it and tied it securely before lifting it up and beginning the long journey down. Once he was safely at a spot where there were actual walls, he stopped to take the jerkin and coat off his feet. The floor was still hot but there was more danger of him tripping over his bound feet than burning himself. As he leaned on a window ledge for support, he looked out and saw a commotion in the courtyard below. Crowds had gathered. There were flags and banners. And was that the sound of bugles and drums rising up on the wind?

  “We’ll be glad to be out of this place, won’t we?” he said to his egg and continued down the stairs to investigate.

  Chapter 14

  Newport Pagnell entered the throne room at pretty much the same moment as the privy council and the leading edge of the band of cityfolk, who had all but stormed their way inside. The thanes, who had spent the past handful of days alternating between feasting and arguing, drinking and debating, groggily sat up and tried to look like the nobles they were supposed to be.

  “What’s going on here?” demanded Maegor.

  “We have come to proclaim the new king,” said a small nasally man in golden priestly robes.

  “The new king will be proclaimed when he — or she! — king or queen will be proclaimed when the thanes of Grome have determined which of them should take the throne.”

  The thanes tried to nod sagely at this but were generally ignored by the crowd who booed Maegor’s words.

  “It is we who have come to proclaim the king,” said the priest.

  “Any proclamations will be given by me,” said Maegor stiffly. “As master of seals, it is my duty to make royal —”

  “Master of seals?” said the priest. “You mean, like…” He honked and flapped his hands together.

  “Not that kind of seal!” snapped Maegor but the crowd were all doing it now.

  “Does he train them to balance balls on their noses?” someone shouted.

  “He’s fat enough to be a seal anyway!” shouted another.