by G Clatworthy
I spent most of the next two days going for long walks with Errol, who was looking leaner at the enforced exercise despite regular stops at the Dragon’s Head for bacon sandwiches, hot chocolates and cakes. I also worked on my jewellery, building up my stock. Customers seemed to be few and far between and I rushed through my store of metals and gems in a bid to distract myself. I’d just called Gunther to order more precious metal, when the tell-tale beep of a text message came through. Almost in unison we said “Aloora,” Gunther summarised for me as I fumbled with my phone’s buttons.
“She and the Professor have finished the translation. They’re at the Professor’s office. Come at once!”
“That’s great news!” I glanced at the clock behind my counter. “I’ll close up early and be there soon.”
“Meet you there…bring your order if you like, business continues after all!” Gunther hung up.
I took a few minutes to get ready. I decided not to bring Errol, he was a bit grumpy if he was woken up after a long walk, and this morning we’d romped around Bute Park for over an hour, I’d enjoyed the crisp morning air and Errol had chased some pigeons. I left my goggles on my head by accident and didn’t notice until I was halfway to the University. I took them off to shove in my pocket, got annoyed with the strap dangling out and worried I would lose them so ended up putting them back on my head. I was really decisive sometimes.
I steeled myself as I passed through the University gates, speeding up and glancing from side to side as I crossed the car park. No wyrms appeared and I rushed into the main building. Maybe the pack of wyrms had moved on but I couldn’t help feeling nervous every time I was in that car park. The same security guard was on the front desk as I entered the University building.
“Don’t you ever go home?” I asked with a smile as I signed in.
“I could say the same to you lovely. What are you doing back here again?”
“Meeting Professor Maron.”
“You and half the world it seems,” he grinned with a shake of his head at the Professor’s visitor schedule.
My phone beeped and I saw an impatient text from Aloora asking where I was. “Got to go,” I gave a wave and headed up the stairs.
There was an empty chair for me as I arrived. Everyone else had managed to get to the Professor’s office before me which made me wonder exactly where Gunther had been. His office was by the railway station so he should have been further away than me.
I waved stupidly as I entered. Marco was the only one who waved back. He had a pastel blue scarf wound round his throat, complimenting his dark blue jumper. His chair was pushed close to Lorandir’s, who looked a little worn out. Marco was a demanding patient I guessed.
The Professor clapped his hands together as I sat down. “Excellent! Now our intrepid group is back together, young Aloora and I have a translation to share. Shall you do the honour or shall I?”
Aloora graciously gestured towards the Professor and he held up a notebook with a flourish. It felt a bit wrong that he was about to read an ancient ritual and it was inscribed in a plain white spiral bound notebook, especially as we were surrounded by books and parchments that were probably older than he was.
He spoke in an ancient language that sounded dark and mysterious. I thought I felt magic as he read and pulled my goggles over my eyes in time to see a strange golden red power. It was faint, but it still made the hairs on my neck prickle. The reading was finished surprisingly quickly and the Professor beamed round at us. Marco shuddered. I wasn’t the only one who felt power in the room, even if he couldn’t see it.
“What does it mean?” Gunther was frowning, he was more sensitive to magic than I was.
“Arise, slumbering one” The Professor began dramatically. “Arise o slumbering serpent. Return your power to this world. We channel the power of this dragon and offer the gift of fresh blood. We ask for your protection. We offer you our flesh. Return to this world. Arise slumbering one.”
It sounded like exactly the sort of bloody ritual that a cult would use, although it lost some of its menace in English.
“That’s it?” I asked with some disbelief, it was short for something that had the potential to be so devastating.
Aloora nodded. “It’s short but it could work. Did you feel the power when it was read in Draconic? Even without intent it’s powerful, which means we got the translation right. We were a bit confused by “this dragon”, it could mean the dragon that is sleeping but more likely it’s a reference to the artefact they’re planning on using. The Fang Dagger.”
“And “flesh” is used here in the context of offering servitude rather than literally. It sounds like they want to worship the dragon, which means it’s likely from the ancient dragon cult of Mulath-ta. I thought all of their rituals had been destroyed but somehow this one has survived,” the Professor finished. They both looked proud of themselves, it had clearly taken a lot of work to get this done.
“Well done!” I said. It came out more sarcastic than I meant so I hurried on as Aloora narrowed her eyes at me and the Professor looked amused. “So what now?”
“Excellent question,” the Professor beamed at me, a little condescendingly, I thought. “Now we have to make sure they cannot use it. Without the translation, they won’t know exactly what intent to put into the ritual so we are one step ahead of them. Of course, if we could find their location and put a stop to this whole thing, that would be better.”
Knowing what the ritual meant was a big step forward and Aloora and the Professor were excited at the discovery of a lost Mulath-ta ritual, but it didn’t feel like we were ahead to me. I clamped my mouth shut. For the first time in days, a mood of optimism gripped the group and I wasn’t going to let my cynicism ruin it.
While Marco and Lorandir congratulated the translators, I motioned to Gunther then stood by the door. I handed him my order list. He squinted.
“You need to improve your handwriting,” he remarked bluntly. It wasn’t like him so I guessed he was as cynical as I was about how far this translation put us ahead.
I shrugged, “I can email it.” Gunther nodded.
A thought struck me, “Is there a way I can enchant metal or gems so they can be found by someone?”
He tilted his head, considering. I decided to be honest. “It’s an idea I’ve been having, ever since I saw Espretha’s charm….Lorandir!” I shouted. Everyone turned to look at me then. I felt my face heating so ploughed on.
“Er, the charm you used to find Espretha, can you use it again?”
They all turned to look expectantly at him now. He shook his head and replied somewhat defensively. “I have been trying. She’s shielding her location from me, I think she wants to sever her connection with me, but unless both charms are destroyed, she can’t entirely.”
He sounded so miserable that I was sorry I’d brought it up. “Sorry,” I apologised. He shrugged and turned back to the Professor to discuss the translation again.
“Nice try love,” Gunther patted my shoulder, “I’ll have a think about how you could enchant the metal. It might be able to be done…” He got a thoughtful look on his face and he stroked his well-kept beard. I needed to speak to a master craftsdwarf really, my Dad might know, but I was still avoiding his calls in case he asked about my axe.
I wandered home slowly, still underwhelmed with the translation and depressed from losing my axe. I was re-reading a fantasy novel in my shop, when my phone rang. I didn’t recognise the number and answered warily.
“Hello?”
“Good Morning. Is that Ms Haernson?” The voice sounded clinical and put me on my guard. No one called me Ms Haernson.
“Speaking.”
“It’s Sergeant Davies. I believe we have something of yours. An… axe?” The professional lady on the other end of the phone sounded a bit surprised. “Yes, an axe. Well we’re ready to release it if you’d like to come and pick it up.”
Shock made me less eloquent than usual. “Er…yes…er…ri
ght away…please.”
I took down the address and practically raced out of the door. As I did so, I got a call from Aloora. That was unusual, she normally messaged me on one of her many social media apps.
“We’ve got a lead!” She practically screamed down the phone. “Meet at the Professor’s office.”
“I’ll be there soon,” my voice choked, “I’m picking up my axe.”
I imagined Aloora looking at the phone with a bemused expression before she hung up. I practically ran to the police station. I arrived out of breath with frizzy hair puffing up. I tried to slow my breathing and sauntered up to the police desk.
The officer on duty gave me a look that said he knew I was guilty of something, but couldn’t be bothered to write it up…unless I made his life difficult.
“I’m here to collect an axe,” I didn’t know how to make that sound better so tried my best to look as dwarfish as possible. The officer raised an eyebrow and sighed before pointedly checking his computer. I’d just made his morning difficult. He blinked and read the screen twice. I imagined the report didn’t look good so kept quiet with what I hoped was a bright friendly smile on my face.
“Name?” I gave it to him and without being prompted, held up my driver’s licence. I didn’t own a car but at times like this I was very glad my parents had insisted on me learning and getting the proper paperwork. Dwarves and humans alike respected paperwork, well, most of the time.
The officer studied it, checking the flat-haired young woman in the picture against the fluffy-haired red-faced one who was at his desk. I gave him a smile and he decided it matched.
He called another officer over to watch the desk then walked to get my axe. It was in an evidence bag and still had dried blood on it when he brought it back. He placed it carefully on the desk and gave me a form to sign. I read it through carefully then signed with a flourish. I reached up to take the bag tentatively, watching the officer’s face for any sign he might change his mind. He just nodded then went back to the computer. I grabbed it, ripped the bag open and only just stopped myself from hugging the axe, which given it was large, double-headed and razor sharp would just have looked odd. I walked out of that station a lot happier than I had gone in.
I practically skipped on the way to Professor Maron’s office, I even stopped for a doughnut from one of the many Gregg’s shops in the city. I got excellent if somewhat nervous service, possibly due to my wide grin or the axe I’d shoved into my jeans, or both.
I arrived in time to see Marco and Lorandir walking up the university steps, arms linked. I shouted and ran over and gave Marco a hug. Seeing the shock on his face, I laughed and spun him round. Then I hugged Lorandir for the joy of having my ancestral axe back, I didn’t try to spin him round though and he hugged me awkwardly in return. I caught them exchanging looks as if I’d gone mad but I didn’t care. I was ecstatic and couldn’t hide the bounce in my step or my massive smile as I signed in and rushed up the stairs.
I saw Gunther and pulled the axe from my trousers. “I got it back!” I exclaimed, waving it a little too enthusiastically. He grinned back at me, nodding, he truly understood the importance of the weapon.
“I am glad to see you have your axe back young half-dwarf, I knew Chief Inspector Marbles would come through. Perhaps we could put it away now? I just got a concerned call from the security office.”
I turned to look at the Professor, “You? You got my axe back?”
He shrugged elegantly, “I merely spoke to the Chief Inspector. He’s very interested in dragons you know, I met him at some university event. I told him our suspicions too of course but really his hands are tied without more evidence. Your axe on the other hand…”
“Thank you. I can never repay you enough,” I crossed the room, stepping over piles of books and papers to reach him. I offered him my hand, then grasped his wrist in a traditional dwarfish greeting of comrades when he reached out to shake hands. I hugged him for good measure. He seemed very pleased with that and twirled his moustache delightedly after I released him.
“It seems we have two reasons to celebrate. The return of your weapon, and…a lead!”
I had practically forgotten the lead Aloora had mentioned.
The Professor’s optimism and my buoyant mood seemed to lift everyone and I beamed as the Professor filled us in. He had been contacted by one of his PhD students about a tricky translation in Draconic. When pressed, he had disclosed that he had been offered money for translating it quickly and had the impression it was important so wanted to check his reading of it with the Professor before going back to his clients. Professor Maron was wily, he’d managed to get the time and location of their meeting point to exchange the translation. I didn’t fully understand why they weren’t emailing the translation, but maybe cults were paranoid about the internet.
The Professor had also put some doubts in the student’s mind about the meaning of the runes so the intent wouldn’t be as clear as if the cult had a direct translation. It sounded strangely nuanced to me, but Aloora was nodding along. So all we had to do was be at the appointed meeting place – The Goat – early and try to stop whoever met them.
Chapter 14
The meeting time was one p.m., and I was nervous. I was waiting in Marco’s small car with Lorandir in case the student was meeting Espretha and her magic-wielding companion. The others were already in The Goat, I hoped acting normally, but Marco had seemed very excitable this morning. I was a bit leery of how he’d manage to fit in amongst the supernatural patrons, but he’d insisted on going saying he wanted to see the décor of the magical pub in person.
I had moved the pine air freshener out of the way and had used my goggles to try to see who might be in the pub but it was tricky as we couldn’t park directly outside and instead were on double yellow lines on the main road, Castle Street. I couldn’t see any elvish auras but had spotted a group of goblins going in and a pixie, who looked shiftily from side to side before heading down the side street that led to The Goat. Lorandir’s forest green aura was glowing brightly in the passenger seat next to me and, combined with the pungent pine scent, was giving me a headache so I quickly gave up on the goggles.
He was looking moodily out of the window and kept flexing his legs, his tall frame fitting uncomfortably into the tiny Volkswagen. Car horns kept blaring as they passed us on the road, we were halfway on the pavement with the hazards on and the warning triangle set up behind us to give the illusion that we had broken down, but we were still blocking the Saturday afternoon traffic. One van driver rolled down his window to yell. “You can’t park there love!”
I shrugged and gave him a winning smile. “Just waiting for recovery,” I mouthed. Then I made a rude gesture, careful to keep my hand below the window in case he saw and came back. Mature, I know. Lorandir snorted at my childish behaviour and I responded by cranking the volume up on the radio. Unfortunately it was stuck on BBC Radio 4 because Marco believed it helped him learn English and the radio had broken after he had tuned it in. I quickly turned it back down as the presenter began a detailed discussion about the best way to dress a chicken for the oven on The Food Programme.
A blue Ford pulled up behind us, put on its hazard lights and the driver got out, to more beeps from the traffic. I held my breath, but it didn’t seem like they were coming over to offer to help.
“You should get out and pretend to look at the engine,” I told Lorandir. He gave me a look.
“You’re the dwarf, you look at the engine,” typical elvish stereotyping. I rolled my eyes.
“It’s raining. I’m not getting out!” We left it at that.
I texted Aloora for news. She sent back a bored emoji. For something to do, I looked up the sunset times in Cardiff on my smartphone’s browser, then set my phone alarm for 18:21. I was scrolling through alarm sound choices, annoying Lorandir who glanced my way irritably, before settling on the standard setting.
A few minutes later Aloora called. I muted the radio, now ta
lking about how to get the perfect roast potatoes. It seemed like a complex series of steps involving fluffing potatoes, allowing them to cool and then roasting in goose fat. There was another chef on the line who was arguing with the method and claiming that dripping was in fact the best roasting fat to use. They had just started a debate about cooking times when I put her on speaker.
“He got away, running out now! Hoody! Follow him!”
“There!” Lorandir pointed out of the window at a tall figure in a black hoodie running to the car that had parked behind us.
Schiztz. The Ford tried to pull out into the traffic without indicating and I pulled out too. I thought I’d managed to block the car but it pulled out further and got round us, to the sound of many angry horns sounding. The driver tried to pull off but was stuck in Cardiff traffic. It was the slowest car chase in history as we moved along Castle Street. Lorandir’s hand twitched and I knew he was thinking about jumping out of the car. A gap opened up and I zoomed into it, waving a hasty thank you to the driver who had unwillingly let me out. At least we were moving.
I focused on following the car. I’d seen in films that you had to let other cars get between you if you were following another vehicle so it wasn’t too suspicious so I let a red sports car out.
“What are you doing?” Lorandir exclaimed, exasperated.
“That’s how you tail someone in the films,” I replied, squinting through the windscreen, “Just keep an eye on the blue Ford and tell me if it turns.”
He muttered something under his breath but watched the car intently, while I concentrated on staying behind the sports car and not letting anyone else in between us. I got the finger from a van driver for my trouble and resisted the urge to swear at him under the dashboard as I blinked out through the windscreen, the rain getting heavier. Marco’s windscreen wipers staggered back and forth across the glass as I struggled to see in the downpour. He really needed to get his car serviced.
