by Diane Duane
The dragon had its head down and was raking over its hoard with huge claws that broke what they touched half the time. Its tail twitched like a cat's as it whispered to itself in a voice like hissing steam. Its scales rustled as it moved, glowing faintly with the same light as the firefungus, but colder, greener, darker. The dragon's eyes were slitted as if even the pale fungus light was too much for it. It dug in the hoard, nosed into the hole, dug again, nosed about, as if going more by touch than sight. "Four thousand and ssix," it whispered, annoyed, hurried, angry. "It was here sssomewhere, I know it was. Three thousand—no. Four thousand and—and—"
It kept digging, its claws sending coins and bottle caps rolling. The dragon reached into the hole and with its teeth lifted out a canvas bag. Bright things spilled out, which Nita first thought were more coins but that turned out to be subway tokens. With a snarl of aggravation the fireworm-dragon flung the bag away, and tokens flew and bounced down the hoard-hill, a storm of brassy glitter. One rolled right to Nita's feet. Not taking her eyes off the dragon, she bent to pick it up. It was bigger than the subway token the New York transit system used these days, and the letters stamped on it were in an old-time style. She nudged Kit and passed it to him, looking around at the mosaics on the walls. They were old. The City Hall motif repeated in squares high on the train side wall of the platform looked little like the City Hall of today. This station had to be one of those that were walled up and forgotten when the area was being rebuilt long ago. The question was...
(The problem is—) Kit started to say in his quietest whisper of thought. But it wasn't quiet enough. With an expression of rage and terror, the dragon looked up from its digging, looked straight at them. Its squinted eyes kindled in the light from Nita's wand, throwing back a frightful violet reflection. "Who's there? Who's there!" it screamed in the Speech, in a voice like an explosion of steam. Without waiting for an answer it struck forward with its neck as a snake strikes and spat fire at them. Nita was ready, though; the sound of the scream and the sight of many tiny shadows running for cover had given her enough warning to put up the shield spell for both herself and Kit. The firebolt, dark red shot with billowing black like the output of a flamethrower, blunted against the shield and spilled sideways and down like water splashing on a window. When the bolt died away, the dragon was creeping and coiling down the hoard toward them; but it stopped, confused, when it saw that Kit and Nita and Fred still stood unhurt. It reared back its head for another bolt.
"You can't hurt us, Eldest," Nita said hurriedly, hoping it wouldn't try; the smell of burned firefungus was already enough to turn her stomach. The dragon crouched low against the hoard, its tail lashing, staring at them.
"You came to ssteal," it said, its voice quieter than before but angrier, as it realized it couldn't hurt them. "No one ever comes here but to ssteal Or to try," it added, glancing savagely over at another torn and fire-withered orange vest. "What do you want? You can't have it. Mine, all thiss is mine. No one takes what'ss mine. He promissed, he ssaid he would leave me alone when I came here. Now he breakss the promiss, is that it?"
The Eldest squinted wrathfully at them. For the second time that day, Nita found herself fascinated by an expression. Rage was in the fireworm-dragon's face, but also a kind of pain; and its voice was desperate in its anger. It turned its back, then, crawling back up onto the hoard. "I will not let him break the promiss. Go back to him and tell him that I will burn it, burn it all, ssooner than let him have one ring, one jewel. Mine, all thiss is mine, no hoard has been greater than thiss in all times, he will not diminishhh it—" The Eldest wound itself around the top of the hoard-mound like a crown of spines and scales, digging its claws protectively into the gems and the trash. A small avalanche of objects started from the place where it had been laying the hoard open before. Gold bars, some the small collectors' bars, some large ones such as the banks used, clattered or crashed down the side of the mound. Nita remembered how some $10 million worth of Federal Reserve gold had vanished from a bank in New York some years before—just vanished, untraceable—and she began to suspect where it had gone.
"Mine" hissed the Eldest. "I have eight thousand six hundred forty-two cut diamonds. I have six hundred—no. I have four hundred eight emeralds. I have eighty-nine black opals—no, fifteen black opals. I have eighty-nine—eighty-nine—" The anxiety in its voice was growing, washing out the anger. Abruptly the Eldest turned away from them and began digging again, still talking, its voice becoming again as it had been when they first came in: hurried, worried. "Eighty-nine pounds of silver plate. I have two hundred fourteen pounds of gold—no, platinum. I have six hundred seventy pounds of gold—"
"Nita," Kit said, very softly, in English, hoping the Eldest wouldn't understand it. "You get the feeling it's losing its memory?"
She nodded. "Lord, how awful." For a creature with the intense possessiveness of a fireworm to be Unable to remember what it had in its hoard must be sheer torture. It would never be able to be sure whether everything was there; if something was missing, it might not be able to tell. And to a fireworm, whose pride is in its defense of its hoard from even the cleverest thieves, there was no greater shame than to be stolen from and not notice and avenge the theft immediately. The Eldest must live constantly with the fear of that shame. Even now it had forgotten Kit and Nita and Fred as it dug and muttered frantically, trying to find something, though uncertain of what it was looking for.
Nita was astonished to find that she was feeling sorry for a creature that had tried to kill her a few minutes before. "Kit," she said, "what about the bright Book? Is it in there?"
He glanced down at the dark Book, which was straining in his backpack toward the piled-up hoard. "Uh-huh. But how are we going to find it? And are you sure that defense shield is going to hold up at close range, when it comes after us? You know it's not going to just let us take something."
(Why not trade it something?) Fred asked suddenly.
Nita and Kit both looked at him, struck by the idea. "Like what?" Kit asked.
(Like another Book?)
"Oh no," they said in simultaneous shock.
"Fred," Kit said then, "we can't do that. The—you-know-who—he'll just come right here and get it."
(So where did you get it from, anyway? Doubtless he could have read from it anytime he wanted. If you can get the bright Book back to the Senior wizards in your world, can't they use it to counteract whatever he does?)
Nita and Kit both thought about it. "He might have a point," Nita said after a second. "Besides, Kit—if we do leave the dark Book here, can you imagine you-know-who getting it back without some trouble?" She glanced up at the mound, where the Eldest was whispering threats of death and destruction against whoever might come to steal. "He wouldn't have put the bright Book here unless the Eldest was an effective guardian."
Even through the discomfort of holding the dark Book, Kit managed to crack a small smile. "Gonna try it?"
Nita took a step forward. Instantly the dragon paused in its digging to stare at her, its scaly lips wrinkled away from black fangs in a snarl, but its eyes frightened. "Eldest," she said in the Speech, "we don't come to steal We're here to make a bargain. "
The Eldest stared at Nita a moment more, then narrowed its eyes further. "Hss, you're a clever thiefff," it said. "Why ssshould I bargain with you?"
Nita gulped. Wizardry is words, the book had said. Believe, and create the truth; but be careful what you believe. "Because only your hoard, out of all the other hoards from this world to the next, has what we're interested in," she said carefully. "Only you ever had the taste to acquire and preserve this thing."
"Oh?" said the Eldest. Its voice was still suspicious, but its eyes looked less threatened. Nita began to feel a glimmer of hope. "What might thiss thing be?"
"A book," Nita said, "an old book something like this one." Kit took a step forward and held up the dark Book for the Eldest to see. This close to its bright counterpart, the dark volume was warpi
ng the air and light around it so terribly that its outlines writhed like a fistful of snakes.
The Eldest peered at the dark Book with interest. "Now there is ssomething I don't have," it said. "Sssee how it changes. That would be an interessting addition.... What did you ssay you wanted to trade it for?"
"Another Book, Eldest. You came by it some time ago, we hear. It's close in value to this one. Maybe a little less," Nita added, making it sound offhand.
The dragon's eyes brightened like those of a collector about to get the best of a bargain. "Lesss, you say. Hsss ... Sssomeone gave me a book rather like that one, ssome time ago, I forget just who. Let me ssseee..." It turned away from them and began digging again. Nita and Kit stood and watched and tried to be patient while the Eldest pawed through the trash and the treasure, making sounds of possessive affection over everything it touched, mumbling counts and estimating values.
"I wish it would hurry up," Kit whispered. "I can't believe that after we've been chased this far, they're not going to be down here pretty quick. We didn't have too much trouble getting in—"
"You didn't open the wall," Nita muttered back. "Look, I'm still worried about leaving this here."
"Whaddaya want?" Kit snapped. "Do I have to carry it all the way home?" He breathed out, a hiss of annoyance that sounded unnervingly like the Eldest, and then rubbed his forearm across his eyes. "This thing burns. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Nita said, slightly embarrassed. "I just wish there were some way to be sure that you-know-who wouldn't get his hands on it anytime soon."
Kit looked thoughtful and opened his mouth to say something. It was at that moment that the Eldest put its face down into the hole it had been digging and came up again with something bright.
The Book of Night with Moon fell with a thump onto a pile of gold and gems and made them look tawdry, outshone them in a way that seemed to have nothing to do with light. Its cover was the same black leather as that of the dark Book—but as one looked at it, the blackness seemed to gain depth; light seemed hidden in it like a secret in a smiling heart. Even the dim green glow of the firefungus looked healthier now that the Book lay out in it. Where page edges showed, they glittered as if brushed with diamond dust rather than gilding. The Eldest bent over the bright Book, squinting as if into a great light but refusing to look away. "Aaaaaahhhh," it said, a slow, caressing, proprietary sigh. "Thisss is what you wisshed to trade your book ffor?"
"Yes, Eldest," Nita said, starting to worry.
The dragon laid its front paws on either side of the Book. "Ffair, it is ssso ffair. I had fforgotten how ssweet it was to look on. No. No, I will not trade. I will not. Mine, mine..." It nosed the bright Book lovingly.
Nita bit her lip and wondered what in the world to try next. "Eldest," Kit said from beside her, "we have something more to trade."
"Oh?" The dragon looked away from the Book with difficulty and squinted at Kit. "What might that be?"
(Yeah, what?) Nita said silently.
(Sssh.) "If you will take our book in trade for that one, we'll work such a wizardry about this place that no thief will ever enter. You'll be safe here for as long as you please. Or forever."
(What are you talking about!) Nita said, amazed. (We don't have the supplies for a major wizardry like that. The only one you could possibly manage would be one of—)
(The blank-check spells, I know. Nita, shaddup!)
The Eldest was staring at Kit. "No one would ever come in again to ssteal from me?" it said.
"That's right."
Nita watched the dragon's face as it looked away from Kit, thinking. It was old and tired, and terrified of losing what it had amassed; but now a frightened hope was awakening in its eyes. It looked back at Kit after a few seconds. "You will not come back either? No one will trouble me again?"
"Guaranteed," Kit said, meaning it.
"Then I will trade. Give me your book, and work your spell, and go. Leave me with what is mine." And it picked up the Book of Night with Moon in its jaws and dropped it off the hoard-hill, not far from Kit's feet. "Give me, give me," the Eldest said. Warily, Nita dropped the shield spell. Kit took a couple of uneasy steps forward and held out the dark Book. The dragon shot its head down, sank teeth in the dark Book, and jerked it out of Kit's hands so fast that he stared at them for a moment, counting fingers.
"Mine, mine," it hissed as it turned away and started digging at another spot on the hoard, preparing to bury the dark Book. Kit stooped, picked up the Book of Night with Moon. It was as heavy as the dark Book had been, about the size of an encyclopedia volume, and strange to hold—the depth of the blackness of its covers made it seem as if the holding hands should sink right through. Kit flipped it open as Nita and Fred came up behind to look over his shoulder. (But the pages are blank,) Fred said, puzzled.
(It needs moonlight,) Kit said.
(Well, this is moonlight.) Nita held up the rowan wand over the opened Book. Very vaguely they could make out something printed, the symbols of the Speech, too faint to read. (Then again, maybe secondhand moonlight isn't good enough. Kit, what're you going to do? You have to seal this place up now. You promised.)
(I'm gonna do what I said. One of the blank-check wizardries.)
(But when you do those you don't know what price is going to be asked later.)
(We have to get this Book, don't we? That's why we're here. And this is something that has to be done to get the Book. I don't think the price'll be too high. Anyway, you don't have to worry, I'll do it myself.)
Nita watched Kit getting out his wizards' manual and bit her lip. (Oh no, you're not,) she said. (If you're doing it, I'm doing it too. Whatever you're doing...)
(One of the Moebius spells,) Kit said, finding the page. Nita looked over his shoulder and read the spell. It would certainly keep thieves out of the hoard. When recited, a Moebius spell gave a specified volume of space a half-twist that left it permanently out of synch with the spaces surrounding it. The effect would be like stopping an elevator between floors, forever. (You read it all through?) Kit asked.
(Uh-huh.)
(Then let's get back in the tunnel and do it and get out of here. I'm getting this creepy feeling that things aren't going to be quiet on ground level when we get up there.)
They wanted to say good-bye to the Eldest, but it had forgotten them already. "Mine, mine, mine," it was whispering as garbage and gold flew in all directions from the place where it dug.
(Let's go,) Fred said.
Out in the tunnel, the firefungus seemed brighter to Nita—or perhaps that was only the effect of looking at the Book of Night with Moon. They halted at the spot where the tunnel curved and began with great care to read the Moebius spell. The first part of it was something strange and unsettling—an invocation to the Powers that governed the arts of wizardry, asking help with this piece of work and promising that the power lent would be returned when They required. Nita shivered, wondering what she was getting herself into, for use of the Speech made the promise more of a prediction. Then came the definition of the space to be twisted, and finally the twisting itself. As they spoke the words Nita could see the Eldest, still digging away at his hoard, going pale and dim as if with distance, going away, though not moving. The words pushed the space farther and farther away, toward an edge that could be sensed more strongly though not seen—then, suddenly, over it. The spell broke, completed. Nita and Kit and Fred were standing at the edge of a great empty pit, as if someone had reached into the earth and scooped out the subway station, the hoard, and the Eldest, whole. Someone had.
"I think we better get out of here," Kit said, very quietly. As if in answer to his words came a long, soft groan of strained timber and metal—the pillars and walls of the tunnel where they stood and the tunnel on the other side of the pit, bending under new stresses that the pillars of the station had handled and that these were not meant to. Then a rumble, something falling.
Nita and Kit turned and ran down the tunnel, stumbling over timb
ers and picking themselves up and running again. Fred zipped along beside like a shooting star looking for the right place to fall. They slammed into the wall at the end of the track as the rumble turned to a thunder and the thunder started catching up behind. Nita found bare concrete, said the Mason's Word in a gasp, and flung the stone open. Kit jumped through with Fred behind him. The tunnel shook, roared, blew out a stinging, dust-laden wind, and went down in ruin as Nita leaped through the opening and fell to the tracks beside Kit.
He got to his knees slowly, rubbing himself where he had hit. "Boy," he said, "if we weren't in trouble with you-know-who before, we are now..."
Hurriedly Kit and Nita got up and the three of them headed for the ledge and the way to the open air.
Major Wizardries:
TERMINATION AND RECOVERY
WITH GREAT CAUTION AND a grunt of effort, Kit pushed up the grille at the top of the concrete steps and looked around. "Oh, brother," he whispered, "sometimes I wish I wasn't right."
He scrambled up out of the tunnel and onto the sidewalk, with Nita and Fred following right behind. The street was a shambles reminiscent of Fifth and Sixty-second. Corpses of cabs and limousines and even a small truck were scattered around, smashed into lampposts and the fronts of buildings, overturned on the sidewalk. The Lotus Esprit was crouched at guard a few feet away from the grille opening, its engine running in long, tired-sounding gasps. As Kit ran over to it, the Lotus rumbled an urgent greeting and shrugged its doors open.
