by Paul Barrett
I began to regret offering to buy the drinks. They would be overpriced. The tavern was doing a brisk business. It was nice to see that even rich people drink in the morning.
Crizlyk slipped the large pack from his shoulders. It landed with a loud thud. He stretched his arms. “How come you never take me to places like this, boss?”
“Because you’re not a beautiful flutter,” I said.
Liz raised her eye ridges at that. My upper lip crinkled up, exposing my teeth. I might have blushed. So maybe I had a thing for Liz too. I didn’t care that she was a different race. She was still beautiful. Unfortunately for Criz and me, she didn’t do short. Or dwarves. Or men. She treated me like her little hairy brother and Criz like her smaller scaly brother. Still, I couldn’t help the occasional fantasy about what that forked tongue of hers might be able to do.
She took us to a linen-covered table, and we sat down. Looking around at the rich people in their richer clothing, I felt completely underdressed. No one paid us any heed.
In no time a buxom tavern maid in a low-cut purple outfit walked over to take our orders. Some things were the same no matter where you drank.
“What can I get you, Miss Liz?” she asked, batting her bright blue eyes at Liz.
“Good morning, Ashley. A glass of your Chateau Tallmill with a wedge of orange.”
Only Liz would order wine by name in a tavern. Of course, only taverns like this would have wines with names.
“And for your servants,” Ashley’s eyes never left Liz’s.
“They’re my friends. You will have to ask them.”
“My pardon,” she blurted, revealing her surprise. She turned to me. “For you, sir?”
“How do you like that, Criz? I’ve been promoted from servant to sir. Amazing.”
“Be nice, Spade,” Liz said. “It’s a common mistake here. And no offense, but you are dressed like servants. Criz, especially, could pass for a jester. Or a lemon.”
I kept my thoughts about the wench’s snobbery to myself. I knew Archer didn’t think like the people around us, and I wasn’t going to change the class structure of Mage City single-handedly. I let it go. “A glass of Bushbeater.”
“Whistle Bat Blood for me,” Crizlyk said, ordering his favorite non-alcoholic drink, a concoction more expensive than a dozen ales.
“Not on my gold,” I said. I looked at the waitress. “He’ll have Bushbeater too.”
“I’ll have hot tea,” Crizlyk said. He didn’t drink alcohol, much as I tried to corrupt him. “With lots of sugar.”
With a curt nod, the maid strolled away, the view of her backside as deadly as the front. I turned to Archer. “So are you two…”
“Not at all, much as poor Ashley might want it,” Liz said. “Humans just aren’t my thing.”
“What is your thing? I mean, besides vaginas.”
“And you wonder why you get mistaken for a servant.”
“You’re not answering the question.”
Liz offered her unnerving smile. “And I’m not going to. You’re still not on the list either, sweet as you are. Want to try a different subject, like why you’re here?”
“After we get our drinks.”
As if she heard me, Ashley returned with a glass filled with red liquid, a pewter mug, a delicate bone teacup, and a silver sugar holder. She placed them in front of us with the ease of long service.
“Can I get you anything else?” Ashley’s voice said. Her posture said, “Can I ignore you the rest of the time you’re here?”
“Just some privacy,” I said. “Nothing else.”
“That will be two gold eight.”
I did my best not to reveal my shock. Judging by the smirk on our server’s pretty face, I didn’t succeed. That was easily three times what these drinks would cost in most places. I almost wept as I handed over the coins.
“Next time, I’m just going to send a messenger and have you meet me at my place,” I told Archer as Ashley walked away.
“I can’t wait to hear what is so important that you would shell out good gold for overpriced drinks to loosen me up. As my people say, show me your scales.”
I gave her the lowdown and included everything, even my embarrassing defeat at the hands of the Goon Brothers. She sipped at her wine and sucked on her orange wedge while I laid out the whole affair.
“Black Slag Mountains, huh?” She daintily wiped her snout with a linen napkin. It was an act for the people around us. She was tougher than most soldiers I knew and could be just as coarse given the right opportunity. She also knew how to be a lady when the situation demanded. That’s why I loved her. “That’s a long trek through dangerous territory.”
“That’s what I told him,” Crizlyk said. He poured a spoon of sugar into his mouth and slurped some tea.
“Who said we were walking?”
“You have horses?” Archer asked.
“Even better. Dragon.”
The ridges over her eyes rose, this time in surprise. “You have enough money to get us a dragon flight?”
I looked at my drink. “Well, I did until I bought this round. Now I have enough for two of us.” I returned my attention to Archer. “I figured either you could p-”
“Don’t say it. I know you would promise to reimburse me, and we both know I’d never see it.”
This is why Liz and I get along so well. She likes me despite actually knowing me. And she doesn’t fall for my bullshit, which I respect. “Then we can sneak you on board if you do your little trick.”
“Which I enjoy doing as much as you like performing your little trick.” Her tone was flat, not irritated, so I knew I was winning her over.
“She can take my place,” Crizlyk said, “and I’ll watch the office.”
“Quiet, Criz. You’re going. Take it like a dwarf.”
Archer tapped her finger against her long, scaly chin. I recognized the gesture well. It meant not entirely decided, but leaning toward yes. “Do dragonflights even go that far south?”
“Only one way to find out,” I told her. “Are you in?”
Her hand dropped to the table with a flat slap. “Of course I’m in. Even though I don’t relish the idea of hours in your pocket as a salamander, I could use a couple of weeks off from showing spoiled nobles the pleasures of the Rimside caverns or taking them on tours of the Basca Cathedral.”
“You’re supposed to tell her to say no,” Crizlyk reminded me. After our last adventure, Archer had made me promise to do that.
I frowned. “I’m supposed to tell you to say no.”
“And I should say no, but this sounds like too much fun. When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible,” I said. I wanted to get as much of a jump on Quinitas as I could.
“Then let’s go.”
That surprised me. Though I was ready, I didn’t think she would be so quick. I expected at least a day’s delay while she got affairs in order. “Don’t you have to leave any instructions at your business?”
Archer laughed, a strange hissing sound that never failed to give me goosebumps. “The place runs itself. All I do is show the richer people around and collect the money. Amriss takes care of the rest.”
“I’m sure he does,” I muttered. Amriss was a gnome, yet another clue Archer’s business wasn’t strictly legal. Gnomes are brilliant inventors who will swindle their own mothers for fun and profit. I’m sure the gray-skinned runt ran Liz’s business liked a well-geared simulacrum, but how much more would Archer be worth if her business partner wasn’t taking at least two gold in ten for himself?
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go catch a dragon.”
6
The Mage City Inter-Kingdom Dragonport sat on the city’s northern outskirts. It was situated on one of the peninsulas created by Gosley’s destructive protection of the city during the war. About seven years old, it had replaced the original dragonport swallowed in said destruction. The old port lay in heaps hundreds of feet below the city. By the time Go
sley enacted the Purposeful Cataclysm, the port wasn’t operating anyway. Most of the dragons were either dead or being used for military purposes.
The new port stretched perhaps fifty by fifty acres. The largest in the world. Made sense. It served the world’s largest city. I didn’t like the port. It was noisy and crowded, like Mage City itself.
I hated dragonflight. However, assuming Siralanna was right and her brother didn’t just have one of his mage buddies teleport him right to Stinkhole, a dragon was the only way I could arrive there before he did. If he did teleport and I went through this discomfort for nothing, I was going to double the flight’s cost on my expense report.
The port was laid out like a half-wheel of ten low stone buildings. A tall stone tower stood in the center, covered in colored lanterns of red, green and blue that changed occasionally. Some strange code for the dragons and their handlers. Beneath the tower, with that spire at its core, sat another single-story building, this one round and connected to the spokes. That was our destination. We followed our fellow travelers, a mix of nobles, merchants, and laborers. Dwarves, humans and all the other races blended as they filed across the narrow tongue of rock that led to the hub. Most had at least a rucksack, and many lugged wooden trunks or small chests. One wizard had a casket-sized box that levitated behind him.
Mage City was segregated in most areas, but at the dragonport all were equal. Class and race didn’t matter. If you had the Gosleys, or any other accepted currency, the Draconic Guilds would get you where you wanted to go. Or at least to the nearest major city.
We reached the hub and walked through the opening, as wide as four castle doors. The noise grew as hundreds of people queued before the counters lining the walls, each manned by a representative of the various Guilds. Painted banners hung above each counter, giving the name of the particular Guild. They used to have the names carved into the wall, but Guilds changed hands and were absorbed or fragmented with such regularity that the banners proved easier.
“You set?” I asked Liz as I put my hand in my jacket pocket. She nipped me once with her sharp teeth, her signal for “yes.”
Crizlyk’s eyes darted over the crowd. “I’m not,”
“You’ll be fine,” I said. “Once we’re on the dragon you can drink enough to pass out.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Then I’ll drink enough to pass out so I don’t have to listen to you whine.”
I looked for the line with the most goblinoids since it would be the cheapest. It would also be the one with the most dragons going south. I spotted it at the far curve of the building; a Guild called South Gap Reds, so named because they exclusively flew red dragons. I took my place in line behind a human dressed in robes and holding a satchel. A large gold medallion hung around his neck. Traveling charm salesman. He looked back at me and opened his mouth to spew his patter. A growl and a shake of my head changed his mind.
Thirty minutes passed as the line inched along. Occasionally the windy thunder of a dragon taking flight echoed through the stone. Liz shuffled around in my pocket. I passed the time wishing for a drink and getting irritated. Crizlyk looked around, twitching like he had bugs crawling through him. Anytime a goblin looked his way, he flinched.
“Calm down,” I said. “No one is going to screw with you while I’m here.”
The smell of cheap jasmine perfume and cheaper ox musk fragrance crawled up from behind me and slapped me for attention. I turned to find a couple of hobgoblins walking up, a wooden packing chest carried between them. Hobgoblins are bigger, stronger, and marginally smarter than their goblin cousins. They also have body odor that could murder a vulture. This natural odor blended with their liberal perfume application to create a scent usable against battle-hardened troops. I did my best to breathe through my mouth. Crizlyk flicked his tongue at the strange smell and turned the color of a lime. An interesting contrast to his lemon-colored outfit. I thought he was going to faint, but he held himself together.
Rather than the usual browns and grays favored by their kind, these two wore bright colors of the latest styles. A red tunic with bloused sleeves and green twill pants on the male. A lavender gown and clamshell necklace on the female. They looked ridiculous. They were Wanters, part of the Fringes who dressed to blend in, hoping the citizens of Mage City might treat them better. It was an effort doomed to fail. I couldn’t fault them for trying, though. Losing my Clan had given me some empathy for outcasts.
They sat the chest down. It had iron bindings, and the outline of a goblet burned dark into the side.
The female gave me a canine-filled smile guaranteed to frighten small children. “Hello,” she said in a voice that rumbled deeper than mine.
Empathy or not, I didn’t have any particular fondness for hobs. I grunted a reply and turned forward, hoping to end the conversation.
No such luck.
“What’s your name?”
I chose to ignore her, but she must have been talking to Crizlyk because he answered.
“Crizlyk.”
“We’re going to Slagbottom for vacation and a tour of the Salusa Slag Pits. Where are you going?”
I turned around. “This is a dragonport, not an interrogation chamber, so save the questions, sister.”
Her smile dropped like a curtain and the male, most likely her bondmate, bristled. His large, furry ears twitched in agitation against his stringy black hair. “You’re rude,” he grumbled.
“Rude is asking personal questions to people you just met when they’re not interested in talking. So piss off.”
The hobgoblin took a step forward and towered over me with his fists clenched. My hand dropped to my wand, which I had not packed away yet. As usual, Crizlyk cowered behind me.
I kept my voice low. “Unless you want to spend your vacation in the hospital or eternity in the Necropolis, I suggest you drop it and move on.”
The hobgoblin looked like he was going to leap. I tightened my grip and eased the wand halfway out of its holder. His small black eyes darted to my hand and back to my face. He was deciding if he could make it before I drew. I inched it out further.
The female put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. He nodded and looked at me. “I think you’re next.”
I took a step back and damn near tripped over Crizlyk, who fell to the floor. I didn’t want to pull my eyes from the hob, but I couldn’t get a flight with my back to the chit counter. “Crizlyk, stand up. Watch tall and smelly here. If he breathes wrong, howl like a frightened child.” Directions I knew the sauro could follow.
I stepped up to the counter, which was low enough for me to see over. Another reason I chose a goblin-friendly Guild. The gob behind the counter wore a dark red vest and stared at me with flat black eyes and a frown.
“Destination?”
I glanced back at the hobgoblins behind me. They hadn’t moved closer. They looked around the port, studying the floor, ceiling, and anything other than me. Their too-casual attitude set off an alarm. I try not to be paranoid. I am consistently cautious. I turned back and leaned in close to the goblin. “Two for Stinkhole.”
“Don’t go there,” the goblin said, taking a step back as if I was the one with breath like a sewer.
“I’ll go there if I damn well want to.”
The gob gave me a look that said he thought he deserved a better fate than this. “We don’t go there. Closest port is Slagbottom.”
“How far is that from Stinkhole?”
“Twenty miles.”
I did some quick math. Not my most adept skill. If Quinitas was indeed using a Ziploon, he would reach Stinkhole by tomorrow afternoon. A dragonflight ride and a quick march over the hilly goblin country at first light would put us there tomorrow noon, barring complications. It was going to be a close thing. “Any of the other dragon guilds go there?”
“Don’t know,” the goblin snarled. “I don’t work for them.”
And I could waste half a day and miss all the early flights trying
to find out. “How much?”
“Six Gosleys.”
I winced. It couldn’t be helped. We needed to get there before the elf. I shelled over the coins and looked at the lonely Gosley left in my ruddy palm. “If those two behind me ask where I’m going, tell them somewhere else.”
“Why?”
I shrugged as I flipped the last coin to him. Even though it had never really been my money, it still hurt. “You don’t have to, but they were saying something about hating to have to use a dragonline run by ankle pissers.”
I smiled as the clerk’s pointed ears went flat and he gave me a grim nod. Gobs and hobs have a love-hate relationship. The shorter goblins are sensitive about their height, but look up, in more ways than one, to the more intelligent hobs. With any luck, my lie would see my new misinformed and boarding the wrong flight.
“Portal seven. Dragon takes off in an hour.” The gob pointed at my hip. “Surrender your weapon.”
A standard precaution that I hated. I pulled the wand out of my belt and tucked it into the pack. The gob handed me two stones marked with runes and took our luggage, grunting as he lifted Crizlyk’s pack. He dropped both into a hole in the floor. I hoped my charges didn’t accidentally fire.
Ticket stones in hand, I headed for the portal where our dragon waited. I felt vulnerable without any weapons. No one else was supposed to have any either, which offered some comfort. And I still knew how to use my fists. Crizlyk followed behind, sulking.
“It’s a big adventure, Criz,” I growled at him. “Your first flight.”
“If the great Bru wanted me to fly, he would have given me wings.”
You couldn’t argue with logic like that.
We entered the large corridor leading toward our portal. I noticed six guards dressed in dragonport uniforms, dusty gray with a silver dragon emblazoned on the chest. They had the passage blocked off except for a narrow area where people lined up to squeeze through. As passengers passed, two guards ran varnished brown wands over them, starting at the head and going to the feet.
