The Quest For the Black Dragon

by D.E. Dunlop

  “You really think we should do this?” Tinne pressed again.

  “Yeah.” Ren replied with a tone that insinuated Tinne might be of less intelligence. “Why not?”

  “Well, it’s just not the same as spitting in his ear or giving him a sound paddling or two.” He protested.

  “Three witnesses convicted him of an unmentionable crime against a woman. It’s our civic duty to punish him. If you don’t you’re condoning his actions.” Ren argued.

  “How’s that?” Tinne asked resignedly, referring to the candle light in the distance.

  “Well I can’t really see the target, but I can see the glow.” He replied. He aligned the pipe over his shoulder and pointed it toward the glow. “Light’er up.” He said. Tinne lit a match and set it to the side of the cannon. The pipe flashed and fired a potato deep into the darkness. The sound that followed was a sliding, squishing sort of sound. “Missed.” Ren complained. “Let’s each take three shots and check out the target after each turn.” Ren suggested as he reached for another potato.

  “Alright.” Tinne agreed. He replayed Ren’s argument in his mind. He certainly could not condone the man’s actions so he ignored the screams of protest coming from the other end of the corridor as Ren fired another spud into the night. This one made a loud thwack and the protestor screamed louder. Ren and Tinne responded with peals of laughter that made it difficult for them to load the cannon. Eventually Tinne’s reluctance gave way entirely to the thrill of doing something he shouldn’t. The two took turns shooting the cannon until they guessed they had shot about five kilograms worth. Most of the potatoes erupted against the walls and the ground, but some of them actually hit the prisoner, this, of course, made them laugh even harder and congratulate one another for good marksmanship. When the ammunition was spent they checked the target one last time. The prisoner was unconscious from a direct hit in the head he had received quite some time before. They laughed again and packed up.

  “Where are we going now?” Tinne inquired.

  “Dick’s Place.” Ren answered.

  “Do ya think he’ll still be open?”

  “I should hope so. We practically live there and we said we’d be back.” Ren said.

  “So what were you going to tell me earlier?” Tinne asked after they walked a few blocks in silence.

  “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, come on. Tell me.” Tinne persisted.

  “Ya really wanna know?” Ren questioned.

  “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”

  Ren considered it for a few paces and then said, “Kozlov”.

  “What?” Tinne answered, puzzled by what he heard. “You wanted to tell me about a mythical heirloom of the royal family?”

  “Who says it’s mythical?” Ren challenged.

  “Everyone knows it’s just a myth. No one has ever seen it.” Tinne argued.

  “It’s in the King’s vault.” Ren said flatly.

  “And how would you know that?” Tinne asked in disbelief.

  “I’m a thief. I go places I’m not supposed to.” Ren explained.

  Tinne stopped in his tracks. “You’ve broken into the King’s vault:” Tinne asked under his breath as his friend turned around to face him.

  “Not yet.” Ren smirked slyly. “But next Friday, the three of us…”

  “Wrong.” Tinne protested.

  “Why not?”

  “Just no. That’s all.” Tinne continued.

  “But what an adventure! It’ll be something to tell the grand kids when we’re old and sitting around the fire?”

  “It’s an adventure that will get us hanged!” Tinne insisted, getting more agitated by the minute.

  “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. Surely they won’t hang three kids for getting into mischief.” Ren argued.

  “This is not mischief! It’s treason! And we’re not kids anymore!”

  “Early twenties, late teens, it’s all the same. We’re not meaning any harm.” The plan was set and Ren was unwavering.

  “There’s no way I’m going to help you steal the Kozlov.” Tinne insisted.

  “Quit being such a Saint.”

  “I’m not a Saint.” Tinne said defensively.

  “Fine. What if we just look at it?” Ren bartered.

  Tinne just stared sternly as Ren turned and continued walking. They walked on, silently, toward Dick’s Place. The rain fell gently and steadily.

  “Mother do you think they’ll try to break my balls?” Ren sang out tauntingly.

  Tinne ignored him, the water dripping down his face.

  “How do you know it’s there?” Tinne asked.

  “Rykus has seen it.”

  Tinne nodded. Rykus had always been a mutual friend and he knew him to have a special knack for “cat burgling”, as they called it. “Can we get in and out without getting caught?” Tinne asked hesitantly.

  “What do you think?”

  “We’re just gonna look at it.” Tinne insisted.

  “Of course. You have my word.” Ren agreed. “Damn. He’s closed.” Ren muttered as they approached Dick’s Place.

  “How ignorant is that?” Tinne complained.

  They looked around the front lot aimlessly, not really knowing what they were looking for or expecting to find anything.

  “Let’s call it a night.”

  “What time tomorrow?”

  “Whenever. You know I’ll be here.”

  “See ya tomorrow.”

  The two parted ways for the night. The rain came down harder and the lightning tore open the darkness.

  **********

  “Master.”

  “Yes, my son?”

  “How did it start?”

  The fire cracked loudly before the two men. The flickering light alternated between washing them out and causing them to blend into the night. The old man was obviously choosing his words carefully before he spoke.

  “In the beginning was the word. The word was with the Master and the word was the Master. By the word all things were created that are created. By the word the Master created them; the word was made flesh and the word dwelt among men for a time. It went to its own, but its own accepted it not so it went out into the world and gave way to light. The light shone in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.”

  The young man, his long black braids framing his face, nodded pensively and they continued to gaze into the fire.

  Chapter 6

  The Alchemist

  The sun was high and beating down on the land. Tinne rode casually, not in any particular hurry, along the road. The lush maples, poplar and oaks were close and over hung, creating a much-appreciated shade. The sun filtered through the foliage and the birds flitted about. He thought to himself how he loved such times as these, wandering alone rather aimlessly on a peaceful lane. He listened and tried to identify various birds by their song. He recalled his Grumpy telling him the sounds of the birds when he was a child.

  “Many birds say their own names.” Earl said. “Listen there, chickadee-dee-dee-dee.” He pointed out a black-capped chickadee as it hopped from branch to branch.

  Every time Tinne heard a chickadee, whippoorwill or a killdeer he remembered Earl and those grand old days by the big rock at the stream. He thought fondly of those times and often missed them, even if Grumpy turned out to be just a crazy old fool; he often wished he’d not disappeared all those years ago. Things would be different if he were still around. He often said to himself.

  The cicadas buzzed their high pitch hum while remaining invisible, somewhere overhead. The sound of the horse’s hooves fell from the nearby trees as they passed lazily and a pair of red squirrels chased each other up and down and from tree to tree. He was standing at the threshold of that place in which you become lost in your thoughts and all exterior sounds blend together as one soft and comforting voice. He pre
pared to step in, but a noise caught his attention. It was a different sort of noise, like a large animal stumbling in the branches: a racoon perhaps. Tinne stopped beneath the commotion and looked up to sort it out. When he looked up a smallish sort of man, maybe a little more than half Tinne’s size fell out of the tree on top of him and knocked him off his horse. Thinking he was under attack, as is quite likely in these parts, Tinne had his sword drawn by the time he finished rolling out of the fall.

  The stout little man stood in the road, mumbling to himself and dusting off his clothes. His astonishment caused him to step back when he saw Tinne, all dishevelled and sword drawn.

  “Well, I never!” He exclaimed while hastily repositioning his round, wire-rimmed glasses on his round and partially balding head. “A man falls out of a tree and all anyone can think of these days is to dice him up!” He looked Tinne up and down like a bird of sorts, his head changing angles slightly and sharply. “What is it with you young people today, eh? No, ‘Pardon me’ or ‘excuse me’, not even an ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Straight to the chop-chop! ‘Off with his head! Run him through and all that maliciousness!”

  “I thought you were trying to attack me.” Tinne excused when he realized this little man was no threat at all.

  “Humph! Well, I never.”

  “Are you all right, sir?” Tinne asked, more out of imposed obligation than anything, while he put the sword away.

  “Do I look the part of one who skulks up alongside lone travellers only to take them for plunder like some fiend?” He asked, indignantly, in return.

  “No, sir.” Tinne said. “Can I help you with something?”

  “You might, at least, help me with my trappings.” The man suggested as he looked at a few items lying on the ground.

  Tinne eagerly assisted in the collecting. “What are these? Are they tools?” Tinne asked.

  “Tools? I say! These are various magnifying lenses and specimen containers; fine instruments that a barbarian such as yourself should never have any use for.”

  “Barbarian? Sir, I’m sorry if I offended you, but…”

  “Oh, there’s no doubt. You did indeed offend.”

  “You’re the one who came crashing out of the tree. I’m the one who should be offended. You didn’t excuse yourself or ask if I was okay after landing on my head and knocking me off my horse.” Tinne complained.

  The man looked at him with a slightly puzzled and pensive look. “Quite right.”

  “What?”

  “You’re absolutely right. My most humble apologies, young sir. Please forgive me.” The man said and stretched out his hand. “My name is Ollie Faux. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  The two shook hands.

  “Yes, likewise. My name is Tinne. Apology accepted.” They finished placing Ollie’s belongings into his shoulder bag. “So, if you don’t mind me asking. What were you doing in the tree, anyway?” Tinne asked cautiously.

  “Hunting, my boy, I was hunting…” He replied in the midst of many unspoken thoughts, “yes, hunting.”

  Tinne was puzzled. None of the items they picked up appeared to be of any use for hunting. “What were you hunting for?” He inquired.

  “Why, the truth, of course. What else should anyone be hunting for in the branches of a magnificent oak?” Ollie answered. “Now, if you will excuse me, I really must be going. I really should be about my preparations.”

  “What are you preparing for?” Tinne asked, still using caution so as not to offend this strange and fickle man.

  “I say! All these questions. One should suspect you a spy. I’m preparing for the solstice if you must know.”

  “The solstice? May I come with you? I can give you a lift.” Tinne offered.

  “Well, I never! What interest could you possibly have in the summer solstice?” Ollie replied with a tone that leaned slightly toward indignation, but not quite.

  “Well, I am of the Order of Anon.” He answered sheepishly. “Well, kind of, I suppose.”

  “I say! I say! My word! I really have misjudged you, now, haven’t I?” Ollie replied with complete surprise. “You must accompany me indeed! Come along then we mustn’t tarry.” He was, now gently pushing Tinne toward the horse. “The Order of Anon, you say.” Ollie said as they travelled along by his navigation.

  “Sort of.” Tinne said. “I’ve been in training since I was a young boy, but lately I’ve begun to wonder, you know, about other things. So I’ve, sort of, left the Order to go on my own. You know, to find…”

  “The truth.” Ollie finished the sentence. “Such is the natural way of the Order. Isn’t it?”

  “Well, I was going to say, what’s right for me, but I guess, yeah, the truth.”

  “Have no fear my boy, you wandered under the right tree…Say that’s interesting isn’t it? Turn left here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re of the Order of Anon. I fell out of an oak on to you. The oak is the most important tree to the Order. Not only that, but it’s the day before the Summer Solstice which just happens to be…” Ollie was growing more and more excited with every passing word.

  “I know, I know. It’s the most important day of the year for the Order.” Tinne was, clearly, not as excited as Ollie.

  “Everything happens for a reason, Tinne. Everything happens for a reason.”

  “Okay, so what’s the reason you fell on my head?” Tinne was not impressed.

  “You and I were meant to find the truth together!” Ollie exclaimed.

  Tinne let the last statement fall. He was starting to wonder what kind of nut had fallen on his head. He considered the idea of leaving Ollie on his doorstep and going on to meet Ren and Ezbieta at Dick’s Place. His curiosity, however, got the better of him. He wondered what sorts of things or tidbits of knowledge this strange little man had collected. He obviously knew something about the Order of Anon, which many did not. They entered into the city and Ollie lead them to his quaint little home. His house was lowly and set back from the road. The lawn was sunken and accessed from the walk by way of a few stone steps. Inside the home was fairly dark, despite the time of day. The darkness was the result of books and various articles of curiosity being stacked all around the room in no apparent order.

  Ollie carefully cleared some amber glass bottles and some canisters from the table and pulled out a chair.

  “Have a seat, sir. I’ll put on some tea. You will have tea?”

  Tinne preferred coffee to tea, but didn’t want to offend his host and really didn’t dislike the taste of tea so he graciously accepted his offer and took a seat at the table. Ollie disappeared into the mass of trinkets, antiques and foreign items.

  The two men sat and discussed various aspects of the solstice and planned their own unique ceremony to observe it. They based their celebration on some traditional aspects of the Order and some esoteric understandings Ollie had picked up in his studies. They discussed their heritage and past. Tinne left out the bit about the Story Teller’s because he thought Ollie would consider him a fool. Tinne learned his new friend, besides being entertaining in his ways, was an alchemist of sorts. Almost lost in the hoard were many and various types of scientific instruments and devices. There were glass tubes, burners, maps, compasses, boilers and the like.

  The sun had almost set; leaving them in dark shadow by the time they finished with their preparations.

  “I say! I say! How inconsiderate of me. We must eat. Forgive me.” Ollie rambled off as he raced into the lake of treasures once again, leaving Tinne to contemplate this new circumstance. Ollie returned a short while later with bread and meat and some wine. They laughed and joked and shared knowledge of myth and lore late into the night.

  On his way home Tinne was surprised with himself. It was very unlike him to share so much about himself, especially with a total stranger. “Perhaps it’s because we share commo
n interests.” He thought to himself.

  **********

  “Hey, schmongie.” Ren saluted Tinne with his usual insult as Tinne came through the door. “Where’ve ya bin? It’s been like, two days.”

  “I’ll tell ya in a minute. Need coffee? Ezbieta, tea?” Tinne replied as he approached the table and checked out the status of their cups.

  He brought back a round of tea and coffee and took his usual seat at the table by the front window. The sun shone brightly through the pane as Tinne relayed his adventure with Ollie and his stockpiles of books and antiquities.

  “That Ollie guy’s whacked out, man. He’s crazy.” Ren said.

  “I thought you said you’ve never met him.” Tinne replied.

  “I haven’t. I’m just going by what you’ve told us. I mean, falling out of a tree while you’re looking for the truth? Come on, he’s gotta be crazy.”

  “Does he have any books on spell craft?” Ezbieta asked.

  “He’s got books on everything. We’ll have to see him some time.” Tinne offered.

  The three friends sat telling jokes and reminiscing about adventures had and to come, just as they always had. The hours passed and the sun shifted in the sky.

  “Tell me a story, schmuck.” Ren ordered.

  Tinne stared at Ren blankly. “You know I hate it when you do that.” He said.

  “Do what?” Ren mocked. “Call you a schmuck?”

  “Just tell me to tell you a story out of the blue. I hate telling them and anyway, my mind goes blank when you do it.” He explained for, probably the fiftieth time.

  “Oh, you hate a lot of things. I stopped paying attention to the list.”

  “But, I thought you said your great, great grandfather apprenticed you to be a Story Teller.” Ezbieta said, looking to Tinne from the book on her lap.

  “If you’ll recall, I also said he was just a crazy old fool.”

  “Oh, come on. He couldn’t have been that crazy. You and I never would have met if he hadn’t asked my dad to train you in the arts of the sword.” Ren defended.

  “Whatever.” Tinne said, rolling his eyes with sarcastic exaggeration.