Denizens and Dragons

by Kevin Partner

  “Good grief. Do you know, Clegg, I believe I’m experiencing a new emotion.”

  “What’s that sir?”

  Chortley gave a grim smile. “Pity,” he said, “for my malicious malingerer of a sister. It seems I’m duty bound to see if I can help.”

  “Joy,” Clegg mumbled. Chortley, who hadn’t noticed, laid himself on his bed and prepared for a restless night. Clegg rolled the sergeant against the wall and joined him on the floor. McGuff’s snores filled the little room as Clegg looked up at the grubby ceiling with its arachnid ecosystem. Well, at least one of the three of them would sleep well tonight.

  Chapter 27

  BRIANNA SAT IN THE BACK of the flying machine trying her best to ignore the pounding of her heart and the numbness in her buttocks. The Amy was flying east, further east than she’d imagined existed, let alone visited. In front of her sat Velicity, her chestnut hair flowing in the wind (in contrast to Brianna’s strawberry blonde thatch which was threatening to pull her brains out through her skull) and Gramma. Mother Hemlock, of course, had chosen to sit next to the pilot although, Brianna thought, with grim pleasure, she was probably regretting that by now.

  “Tally ho!” came the cry down the wind. Brianna had promised herself she’d never get back into a flying machine ever again, especially given that her last flight had ended in an ignominious crash onto the roof of a farmhouse. But, she had to admit, Wing Commander Flaxbottom had made some improvements in this latest model. For starters, it was significantly bigger and felt, if not entirely robust, at least that it wouldn’t fall apart in mid-air of its own accord. Padding had been added to the seats but, as Brianna was sitting in the cargo hatch at the back, these had done nothing for her arse ache. And there were more chickens, many more. At the front of the airship was a squad of bigger poultry - male birds with beefier bodies designed to provide extra power. 43 Beneath the wings, a specialised group perched above each of the landing wheels, ready to use their unusually large feet to help bring the plane to a halt.44

  She risked looking over the edge. They were flying just below the clouds, so she could see the countryside which looked as though it was made up mainly of heathland with a side-serving of moorland. Grass had given way to wide tundras of heather interrupted by the occasional stone circle or exposed tomb. Vast lakes passed beneath them as they headed east, with the only sign of human habitation being isolated crofts and, once or twice, a group of buildings huddled together in a pretty poor excuse for a hamlet.

  This was all the fault of Ignis Bel. The bastard had got rid of Chortley by using the age-old technique of telling the idiot what he shouldn’t do. I mean, really. Dealing with men was sometimes like handling a particularly recalcitrant toddler. And then she thought of her man, or at least the person she thought was going to be her man, and her stomach dropped into the wilderness below.

  Yes, Bel. Focus on Bel. Once Chortley was on his way, the morning after they’d arrived at Bel’s cottage, he confided his true intention when he sent the note to Jessie Hemlock. Another portal had been opened up, far to the east. It had been quite deliberately unearthed by forces unknown and was now an open gate to the Darkworld and, beyond it, the Beyond. The gate was in the Clannads, the eastern highlands ruled by the D’Isorderlys - a clan with a fierce warrior reputation and the patience of a dog in a cat hospital.

  Bel, of course, couldn’t go and deal with it. No, he had to remain in his nice little cottage and weave his webs. It was more important, it seemed, for him to be at home to receive messages than it was to actually do anything about what the messages reported. Especially if some other mugs could be sent to do the dirty business. And mother had fallen for it. There was clearly a lot of snow beneath the waterline of the iceberg that was Jessie and Ignis’ past. She shuddered to think what the atmosphere was like back at the cottage - her father and Willy had been left behind. At the best of times, Flem struggled with the supporting role the husband of a witch is forced to play, but being left behind like a spare part to be called for when his wife returns was humiliating - all the more so because this had all been orchestrated by Ignis.

  What a mess. Her fiancé was missing, her country was being destroyed from the inside and someone had opened a gate to the other side. Add to all that the apparent breakdown of her parents’ relationship and the mysterious reappearance of that hobgoblin and the accursed staff and Brianna could be forgiven for wanting to go for a quiet lie down. Given that this wasn’t likely to be on offer any time soon, she settled for nursing her anger until she could find someone to take it out on.

  “Me nose is goin’ numb!”

  Brianna was jerked from her angry thoughts by Gramma shrieking above the roar of the wind. The old woman had leant forward to shout into the leather-clad ears of Flaxbottom.

  “Won’t be long now,” came the screamed reply, ululating as Flaxbottom’s head alternated between looking forward and giving Gramma’s lip-reading skills a fighting chance. “Look!” She pointed down.

  Brianna followed her gesture and saw that the landscape was changing. Where it had been heathland and lakes, on the horizon marched granite mountains and mossy valleys. They were heading for the opening of a glen and Brianna could see the sun reflected from a lake at its head, fed by the river running through the valley. It was gorgeous, though she imagined she’d find it even more appealing at ground level.

  Flaxbottom gave a “tally ho” that echoed back from the sides of the glen as they towered above them on either side. In this new acoustic playpen, the poultry began squawking excitedly, with the Stop Cocks beneath the wings harmonising with each other in a poultry version of a barbershop choir. Well, thought Brianna, if there’s anyone in these here hills, they know we’ve arrived. So much for stealth.

  Brianna grabbed the back of the seat in front of her as the Amy tipped forward. She briefly wondered how Flaxbottom knew where she was going but was soon much more concerned with the proximity of the stony ground which was leaping up at them as they passed over the river bank and onto the scree-laden flanks of the glen.

  And then the land was whizzing by impossibly quickly and Brianna transferred her grip to the side of the fuselage, ducking down but keeping her gaze fixed on the blur of green. Then there was a lurch, a bounce and Flaxbottom cried “Brakes!”. Brianna fell forward, banging her head at the sudden deceleration as the Stop Cocks did their job. The ship rolled forward a little further as the aroma of burning leather wafted from beneath the wings, before coming to a halt in a sudden quiet.

  #

  In the living room of the little cottage, silence lay as the three men sat sipping their warm ale with all the bonhomie and animation of a taxidermist's cat. Not a word had been spoken in the hour or so since the women had left aboard the flying machine. The sun had now risen above the treetops lining the lane outside Ignis Bel’s home but it did little to lighten the mood in the dusty parlour.

  With a sudden speed that left Flem grasping for his pint, Ignis stood up and clapped his hands. "Right, time for this nonsense to stop," he said. "We both loved the same woman and you won, let's leave it at that shall we?"

  Flem, who was busy brushing drops of the dark brown beer from the sleeve of his shirt looked up and held the alchemist’s stare. "Well, maybe we can. I thought this were all a ruse for you to get your hands on my Jessie, but if you plan to do that by sending her off on a flying machine then you're either too clever for me to faggle out or too stupid for me to be bothered with."

  Stinky Willie, who'd retreated into the shadows as the two men started talking, decided this was the time to pipe up. "That's all very well," he said, nervously. "But what do we do now? Just sit here and wait for them to come back?"

  Ignis looked at the fat little man as if it was the first time he'd seen him. "No, we're not going to wait here for them to come back. We have a job to do."

  Now it was Flem's turn to get up out of his chair and start pointing fingers. "Now just a minute,” he said wagging his finger dangerously close
to Ignis's face. "We said we'd stay here and wait for our Jessie and the others to come back, that's what we said, that's what we do."

  "Well, you can stay here if you wish to, Master Hemlock," Ignis said, shrugging. "But I don't think I want to be here when they come back, they may find that they're off on a fool's errand."

  A new silence settled on the living room as Flem took to his seat again, the better for cogitating. "Do you mean there's not one of them portals opening in the wildlands?"

  For the first time in days, Ignis smiled. "No indeed. I suspect when Jessie arrives, she’ll discover the portal sealed as it's always been. She'll start off confused, then she'll get angry, then she'll come back. I suggest we are not here when that happens."

  "But why did you do it?" Willie said.

  "Because we have a much more local and pressing problem," Ignis said. "There is a portal, and it is open, but it's notway to the east, it's in the south. In the neighbourhood of Hemlock’s Farm, in fact."

  Flem almost put his back out leaping up from his chair. "You mean the portal at the stones? But they was destroyed by young Bill, I saw the rubble."

  Ignis nodded. "True, my spies tell me that since the hunchback started whispering in the ear of the Fitzmichael woman, masons have been sent to the stone circle to rebuild the doughnut stone. And I don't need to tell you what might come through that if the king gets a hold of young Bill and uses his power to break through the barrier."

  "But I don't understand why you sent Jessie and the others away?" Flem asked.

  "Because if I told them which portal was being rebuilt they'd have tried to destroy it and that would have meant flying across Fitzmichael country, a lot of it. Aggrapella’s paranoia about witches has led to many innocent women being imprisoned and worse," Ignis said, his face darkening. "What do you think would happen if she managed to get her hands on genuine witches?"

  Flem pondered this for a moment. "So you sent them away to protect them? Our Jessie isn't gonna like that, she ain't gonna like that at all."

  "But at least she'll be alive to not like it, I couldn't bear the thought of her, of any of them, including your daughter, being burned or hanged as witches."

  Flem Hemlock sighed and put his hand on Ignis's shoulder. "Perhaps I've misjudged you, Master Bel," he said solemnly. "You've sent Jessie and the others to safety, but that leaves the problem of the doughnut stone – what's to be done about it?"

  "Well, it seems as though that task falls to us," Bel said.

  "But what can we do? We ain't witches, nor wizards neither. How are we supposed to seal a portal?" Willie asked, his face the very picture of panic.

  Ignis gave a grim grin. "We don’t have magic, that's true," he said. "But we three are about as anonymous a group of men as you could wish to not notice so we stand a decent chance of making it to the stones safely."

  "And what do we do when we get there?" Flem asked. "Like Willie says, we ain't got no magic."

  "No, but we do have explosives. Follow me."

  Chapter 28

  BILL SAT IN THE DARK and listened to the Dragon snoring. He’d lost count of the number of days he'd spent here. To begin with he'd kept track of the number of times the door would open so a sack containing some rotten vegetables and even more rotten meat could be slung into the chamber. This would then be followed by a much smaller sack that, it appeared, contained what the elves expected Bill to eat.

  Beryl would lumber forward, and ritually pull the sack along the floor to tip out its contents though it seemed obvious to Bill that she took no pleasure from eating. Bill took equally little pleasure in the leftovers he was given and it was only impending starvation that overcame his disgust.

  But hunger wasn't the greatest of his problems. Beryl, it was obvious, was an idiot and she probably had no idea of the life expectancy of a male tree rat. She was ancient, at least several centuries old, and he could imagine that she believed she'd found a companion to watch over her and her egg. She probably expected him to have the same reptilian patience – she didn't seem the slightest bit concerned that she’d spent hundreds of years waiting for an egg to hatch, she would simply continue to wait until it either hatched or the mountain eroded around her.

  Bill, on the other hand, didn't have geological timescales to play with and, in any case, the Faerie King was on the loose, the two machines he'd rescued were waiting for him and, quite apart from all that, he wanted to go home. And that egg was never going to hatch – because it wasn't an egg.

  He'd realised that as soon as he'd seen it. Even a creature as treasure-obsessed as a dragon was unlikely to give birth to a jewel encrusted cube that looked exactly like the sort of box that might contain the most precious thing a world possessed. And what better protector than a fully-grown dragon with more in the way of maternal instincts than brain cells. It was genius really, no doubt conceived by a Cardinelf when whatever the treasure was had been first threatened. Bury it deep beneath, it would seem, the most holy place in the heart of the Elf kingdom and set a dragon to watch.

  Bill was pretty certain that Humunculus would have worked out where the treasure was kept and that this was indeed the source of power that Sebaceous had mentioned – what else would have been placed under such protection for so long?

  And so he knew that, one way or another, he had to escape. This would be risky since, although Beryl was a few lumps short of a coal scuttle, she had very sharp teeth and the ability to dispense liquid flame at a great distance. He'd have to be fast, and very, very cunning. The key was the egg – as long as she believed that it was a dragon's egg, Bill reckoned, she wouldn't incinerate anyone holding it. So he had to get his hands on the egg. But then, assuming he'd managed to do that, there was the problem of escaping from the tunnels and out of reach of some very angry elfs.

  Well, one thing at a time.

  He snapped out of his reverie at the sound of footsteps approaching the other side of the door. He'd positioned himself so that he could hear when their next meal would be arriving but, as soon as he heard them coming, he sprinted into the darkness on the other side of the treasure chest as Beryl's attention was drawn to the opening door.

  An arm appeared, swinging a large sack that arced into the room. The dragon heaved herself from the treasure pile, ambled across the cavern and began her feeding ritual by grabbing the sack and shaking it.

  Bill leapt up the far side of the treasure pile as fast as he could, knowing as he did so that the instant he began climbing, the dragon would become aware of him. He heard a roar echoing around the cavern, but he was already inside the nest, hauling the jewel-encrusted cube out.

  Although it was only the length of his forearm, the cube was so heavy he could barely lift it. But fuelled by the sort of adrenaline the body produces at the prospect of impending incandescence, Bill slid down the treasure pile, hurled himself to his feet and held the cube out in front of him.

  "I have the egg!" he bellowed." Let me go and I won't harm it."

  The dragon, whose mouth had been opened as if it was preparing to incinerate him, closed it in silence. Bill felt her overwhelming desperation and grief, and he felt wretched for doing this to the poor creature.

  He pulled the cube to his chest and, keeping it between him and Beryl, edged his way to the door. All this had been achieved within only a few seconds and he was gambling that the routine he'd been so carefully observing would be repeated.

  The door creaked open, a hand appeared, swinging the small sac that was intended to be his meal.

  Calling the heat into his arms, Bill flung a fireball into the gap between the door and the jamb and winced at the scream that resulted.

  But that was nothing compared to the desperate bellow of the dragon as he darted into the tunnel. It was almost unbearable, and for a moment he paused, and considered returning, perhaps to leave the cube just inside the door for the dragon. Fortunately, his self-preservation circuit engaged itself, accompanied by a mental image of the charred bundle of bones he'd l
ikely become if he ever went back into that cavern. So he ran on.

  There was the sound of crashing, rumbling and falling rocks from behind him. The tunnel lit up with an amber glow as he ran just fast enough to keep ahead of the flame-front that was following him. And if he hadn't known that the tunnel was too narrow for the dragon to pass through, he'd have sworn he could hear the tearing and rending of following claws.

  Bill met no opposition as he tore up the tunnel and exploded, like a cork out of a bottle, through the entrance and onto the grassy hillside. He collapsed on his back, keeping his eyes on the glowing opening to the tunnel, the jewelled cube coming to rest under his arm. No, it was definitely too small for the dragon to get through. Surely.

  “Meester Bill!”

  Sebaceous appeared out of the bushes and ran across the grass to jump onto Bill’s chest. “You are safe, you are alive and you have essscaped!!”

  The little lizard performed a jig of joy, moving so quickly that Bill imagined he’d sprouted extra limbs as Sebaceous whirred around his torso. Eventually, he stopped and, still chuckling to himself, smiled at Bill. “I don’t know how you did it, but that was quite some feat, killing the dragon.”

  “Ah,” Bill said. At just that moment, a subterranean rumble escaped from the tunnel entrance and the gem encrusted box began to vibrate, as if answering a call.

  Sebaceous looked from Bill to the tunnel to the box and back again. “You didn’t kill the dragon?”

  “No,” Bill said, shaking his head.

  “What has you got there?” the lizard asked, nodding in the direction of the box.

  “That? The dragon thinks this is its egg,” he said, then as Sebaceous went to speak. “But it isn’t, the Cardinelf tricked Beryl into thinking it was and she’s sat on it for centuries.”

  “Beryl?”

  “The dragon.”

  “And she thinks you has her egg?”