In Pursuit of Dragons

by Anne Renwick

  “I married the Laird of Kinlarig. I’m Scottish now.” She’d be damned if she would be dragged back to the Ural Zavód where scientists would tie her to a gurney and biopsy her spine, uncaring of her pain and agony as they sought to unravel the process by which Papa had restored his daughter’s ability to walk.

  “What is this about you working for the Russians?” Aileen cried, falling against her lover’s chest, clutching at the cloth of his shirt and searching his face.

  Dimitri rolled his eyes skyward. Amusement and disdain twisted together as he addressed Ivanov in Russian. “Swept up in a bit of local skirt?”

  “You know as well as I the value of pillow talk,” he answered, still in Russian, ignoring the woman who clung to him.

  Aileen’s mouth fell open, gaping at the foreign words that dropped from his lips. “It’s true, you’re Russian?”

  “Any long-term interest?” Dimitri asked Ivanov.

  He shook his head, his next words the only hint that a cold lump of clay hadn’t replaced his heart. “She’s harmless. Grant her and her grandfather safe passage.”

  “Done.”

  “Speak to me.” Aileen pressed her hands to either side of Ivanov’s face, forcing his gaze to her. “Don’t do this. We have plans. I’m carrying your child! We must marry.”

  “He has a wife,” Dimitri stated bluntly, switching back to English and addressing Aileen directly. “You see the impossibility.”

  “A wife?” Aileen dropped her arms, backing away and pressing a hand to her chest as if the truth sliced through her heart with a rusty, burred edge.

  “It’s true.” Jaw set, Ivanov unhooked a pouch from his belt and held it out. “For the baby.”

  “No.” Aileen sobbed as tears ran down her cheeks. “No, we have plans. Don’t do this to me.”

  Much as she disliked the woman, Natalia’s heart wept. She snatched the purse‌—‌heavy with coins‌—‌from Ivanov, then gently took Aileen’s elbow, drawing her away. “I’m so sorry. Come back inside. We’ll figure out what to do.”

  “All this emotion is exhausting and pointless.” Contempt tugged at Dimitri’s features. “Do we have an understanding, Natalia? Will you agree not to resist repatriation for the chance to save your lover?”

  Luke’s life for hers? The choice was easy. But for her, Luke wouldn’t be ill, wouldn’t be dying. If she cooperated, dosed him with enough dragon’s blood, he could smuggle the dragon eggs to Edinburgh. Someone there must speak‌—‌read‌—‌Russian. With Papa’s notebook in hand, a scientist might be able to undo the damage done to Luke’s liver. Cured, he could later take the young dragonets to his brother, to the refuge in the highlands.

  But only if she sacrificed herself. And Zia.

  Luke would never agree to such a plan.

  Nor would she. Not until all other options were exhausted. She pushed Aileen toward the castle, then lied through her teeth. “We do.”

  “Wise decision.” Dimitri snapped his fingers at the pteryformes, and they rose, stretching their wings and tossing their heads. “Enjoy your final night together, but pack your bags. It’s time to return home.”

  Luke uttered a soft curse as the pteryformes and their riders disappeared into dark clouds that blotted out the moonlight. They’d be back, but for now, a brief reprieve had been granted. He’d half expected Ivanov and Kravchuk to force their way past Natalia and storm the castle, swords drawn. Especially once Aileen rushed out into the courtyard, exposing Natalia’s secret. Kravchuk had been far too interested in her neckline. A bad omen.

  His mistake for stabbing Dimitri in the leg. He should have driven that knife into the man’s heart and given it a violent twist.

  “Aether!” exclaimed William. Natalia’s young student had not gone home. He’d snuck back into the castle and now stood beside Luke, gaping, his hand wrapped about the hilt of a sword. Of late, a rather standard pose here, even within the castle. “That dead man is the one Lady Kinlarig shot full of arrows this morning! Who, exactly, are the men riding pteryformes?”

  Luke wasn’t certain if the young man was shocked or impressed.

  Rathail’s hunter had fallen from a canvas bag and lay motionless upon the ground, a bloody gash at his neck. He was still there, a dark lump in the middle of the courtyard. Natalia had been right to drag Aileen away.

  “No one you wish to meet,” Luke said, sagging against the wall. In the short time Natalia had been gone, not only had his body temperature soared, but William had entered the laboratory claiming McKay had ordered him to deliver coal, a task that would take him conveniently close to the fireplace and a certain not-so-mythological dragon.

  But Luke was too feverish, too worried to protest. He hadn’t even been able to stop Aileen from rushing from the room, intent upon confronting her lover. Every last ounce of his attention had since been fixed upon events unfolding in the courtyard. Now, with the danger aloft and out of sight, William was full of questions.

  “It is real,” the young man whispered, halting a respectable distance away from Zia, awestruck. “From what I heard in the pub, I thought it would be bigger.” Question after question poured from the boy’s mouth. The dragon, it seemed, was not at all a well-kept secret. Not after Rathail’s hunter had arrived and begun asking questions. “And its wings are puny. Not a chance it can fly. Can it at least breathe fire?” He stepped closer, peering at the fireplace. “Are those eggs buried in a treasure hoard?”

  No point in denying what William could see with his own eyes. Besides, he wielded a sword with skill, and his loyalty to Natalia might yet be useful. If Luke could no longer assist her, perhaps William could. Though the thought of setting such a young man against the likes of Ivanov and Kravchuk troubled him. “It’s female,” Luke answered, blinking. “She can’t fly, not really. Only males‌—‌which are twice the size‌—‌spit fire. They’ve a kind of thermite in their crop.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. His arm throbbed, and he was burning up. “Eggs, yes.”

  William glanced about. “Where’s the other dragon then?”

  “There isn’t one. Not here.”

  He tugged an ear. “But she laid eggs.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  The door cracked and William‌—‌clutching a sword‌—‌dropped into the en garde position. With a glance toward Luke, he lifted his blade. “Who goes there?”

  “William?” Natalia stepped into the laboratory, frowning. “I thought I told you to go home. It’s not safe here.”

  “I came back to help you save the dragon.” William lowered the sword. “To warn you that the man you shot an arrow into had gone missing.” He glanced at the window. “He’s dead now, but he spent most of the day in the pub convincing the villagers that you don’t deserve to be Lady Kinlarig, that they ought to help him chase you and the beast from the castle.”

  Wonderful. First Rathail’s hunter. A pair of Russians. And next a mob of villagers carrying torches and pitchforks? The room tipped, and Luke eased himself down onto a bench, focusing his gaze on the floor in the event it decided to rush up at him.

  Natalia crossed the room and knelt beside him to press a palm to his forehead. The level of worry in her eyes rose to a new level. “They want me to surrender Zia and my father’s notes.” She swallowed. “And myself.”

  “Not happening.” Luke caught her wrist and pinned her with his gaze. “Don’t even think to try it.”

  “Er.” William shifted from foot to foot. “Can I…‌ pet the dragon?”

  “Yes. Carefully.” Luke dug the lump of sulfur from his pocket. “Approach her slowly, let her taste your hand, then offer her this treat. If she hisses, back away quickly. If she spits venom, it will hurt. Badly.”

  “Venom? Fearsome!” William took the sulfur, then set about winning the friendship of the dragon. A few minutes later, they were fast friends. He knelt upon the carpet, stroking Zia’s head while the dragon basked in his worship, eyes closed, a low, rumbly sound vibrating deep in her throat. The d
ragon shifted forward, resting her chin on his knees. William flashed them a grin.

  “I gather there won’t be a wedding for Aileen and Ivanov?”

  Natalia followed his gaze to the pouch of coins tied to her belt. “A poor substitute for promises. Aileen’s intended has left her in,” she cleared her throat, “a difficult situation.”

  “A bairn on the way?” William asked bluntly, all ears.

  Natalia winced, but nodded. “She’s a bit distraught at the moment. When her senses return, I’ll give the money to her.” She glanced at Luke. “These developments complicate our situation.”

  Understatement of the year. “We need to send her and McKay away. Far away. In a manner that will not link them to our…‌ quest.”

  “I could take them with me to Edinburgh, drop them off at your townhouse,” William offered.

  “With you?” Luke asked.

  “Fencing and ancient swordplay techniques are all the rage.” William puffed his chest. “Lady Kinlarig is allowing me to take a collection of weapons to the city. I’ve plans to open a fencing studio.”

  “Perfect.” Luke straightened on his bench, trying to ignore the dull, vague pain that was settling in beneath the right side of his ribs. The infection must be triggering a relapse. He dragged in a steadying breath. “Pack a crate full of weapons, load it into the steam wagon. As pteryformes are nocturnal, you’ll leave at dawn. When they catch up to you‌—‌and they will‌—‌you answer any questions they ask. Cooperate without a fight. Do I make myself clear?”

  Though he nodded, William asked the obvious question. “But what of you? You can’t stay here, alone to fight those men and their beasts. You’re ill. Lady Kinlarig wields a sword, and the dragon is amazing, but she’s not…‌ well, she’s too small to put up much of a fight. I mean, if you were caught off guard, like the laird, but…‌” The young man trailed off, realizing that he’d said too much.

  “We have plans,” Natalia said. Pain rippled across her face, and she glanced at the dragon eggs. An egg cracked open would provide the membranes she sought, but likely at the expense of the dragonet within.

  “No,” Luke said. “There will be no sacrificing.” Nothing beyond another dose of dragon’s blood. But one thing at a time. He turned his attention to William. “Better for you not to know too many details. There are crates in the cellar.”

  The boy nodded and gently pushed at Zia’s head until‌—‌with a sigh‌—‌she pulled away. He stood.

  “Take whatever you want from the great hall,” Natalia dropped her hands onto William’s shoulders and steered him toward the door. “But remember to focus on that which you’ll need to open a studio.” She ruffled his hair. “No stealing any crossbows.”

  “Aww.” The young man flashed her an unrepentant grin.

  “Off with you. Don’t worry about Aileen. I’ll speak with her and ensure she agrees to our plan. Soon.” She closed the door behind William, turned about and fell backward against it. Exhaustion pulled at her features. “Care to share your brilliant plan?”

  “There’s an abandoned boat in the weeds. A simple motor with a propeller. A bit rusty, but‌—‌”

  “You want to head up the river, toward the Trossachs?” She pushed off the door, frowning. Crossed the room to sit beside him upon the bench. “They’ll follow us, attack us en route. Even if Zia donates more of her blood, not only are you sick‌—‌and looking worse by the moment‌—‌this plan of yours will carry us far beyond any laboratories.” She lifted his hand, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “Any hope for a cure…‌”

  Gone.

  Zia let out a low chirr, then stood and stretched her wings, pacing in circles about the room. Something was wrong. His eyes darted to the windows, searching the dark night outside. Nothing. He listened, but could hear nothing. William would be deep in the cellars, gathering packing materials. Was that what the dragon sensed?

  “How long since she last ate?” Hunger, another possibility. “She’s not left that nest unguarded since I’ve arrived.”

  “And rarely before that.” Natalia stood and headed back toward the door. “Perhaps she simply needs to go out. Zia?”

  But the dragon ignored her, continuing to pace the flagstones, lifting her nose and flicking her tongue. Sampling the environment as if searching out something amiss. Then Zia stopped, motionless but for the flicking of her forked-tongue. Sensing something, she darted forward, stopping before Luke’s makeshift nest.

  “Zia, no!” Natalia dove for the rejected egg at the same time Luke leapt to his feet, trying to ignore the slight tilting of the room as he too lunged forward.

  But they were both too late. Zia already gripped it between her jaws. With the flick of her head, she threw it aside.

  Crunch.

  With an anguished cry, Natalia scooped the broken egg from the floor into her hands. Within the fragments of shell curled a tiny dragonet, a significant yolk sac still attached. She lay still, unmoving. There was no first breath of atmospheric air. No rise and fall of the ribcage. Not so much as a twitch of her toe. Far too young, far too small to have had any hope of survival.

  “I’m sorry.” Luke lifted the tiny creature free from the shell, checking and rechecking to be certain there was nothing to be done.

  Natalia looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “Is she‌—‌”

  He shook his head. “Dead.” But only recently. “Zia sensed something. Remember, this dragonet wasn’t developing at the same pace as the others, as the viable ones.”

  “Insufficient heat?” Guilt threaded through her voice.

  Tempting to lie by way of comfort, but Natalia wouldn’t appreciate such an instinct. “Possibly,” he admitted. “But there could have been any number of causes. Things go wrong in development all the time.”

  Silent, they stood for a long moment, watching as Zia resumed her sentinel position, guarding her three remaining eggs.

  Then Natalia gasped.

  “Luke.” He looked up to see her staring down at egg remnants‌—‌fluids, blood vessels and membranes‌—‌in her hands. Not in horror, but in wonder. “Stem cells. If the dragonet died recently‌—‌and not due to disease or congenital defect, then I’m holding stem cells. This is a chance to turn misfortune and death into something good. This means we don’t need to wait for the other dragonets to hatch. If there are viable stem cells here, I can collect them.” She spun on her heel and strode to her workbench.

  Quietly, he followed her, laying the tiny dragonet upon a stretch of cotton batting. Perhaps they could spare a few moments for a quiet burial before they departed. He touched her arm. “The others leave at dawn. If we’re to have any hope of evading Ivanov and Kravchuk, we need to depart at the same hour. That’s less than twelve hours to arrange our escape. That can’t possibly be long enough.” All laboratory procedures seemed to require long, drawn out protocols with carefully timed steps. “If I’ve any hope of accompanying you, wouldn’t dragon’s blood be the better approach?”

  “There’s time,” she insisted, fetching a beaker from a shelf filled with glassware. Natalia carefully placed the egg remnants inside, then turned to the shelves, lifting down bottles of various reagents. An intense fire lit her eyes. “And if this works, it will work fast. Your fever, your liver…‌ any minor complaint will be remedied before the sun rises.”

  “That fast?” His heart leapt beneath his ribs. Unbelievable. Yet he couldn’t help but hope…‌

  “I need three hours.” Keeping her eyes on her task, she pipetted a clear liquid into the beaker, rinsing the inside surface of the shells, collecting any and all tissues from their surfaces. “To collect all the cells, then to isolate the amniotic stem cells.” She swirled the contents of the beaker. “These cells‌—‌according to Papa’s notes‌—‌are highly mitotic, undifferentiated and immunoprivileged. Chances are the stem cells will colonize and proliferate not just inside your liver, but within additional tissue, in locations we are not specifically
targeting. Because there will only be a tiny number of them, I suggest you take the anti-rejection medication to guard against any xenogenic immune response.”

  Wonder at her brilliant mind filled him, overflowing. But he didn’t follow. “Perhaps in simpler words?”

  She glanced up at him. “I’m going to collect the cells and inject them into your liver. They might all die, but with luck, they’ll grow and spread inside of you. The medication will help keep your body from rejecting them, even though the temporary suppression of your immune system is likely to spike your fever even further. As to the stem cells, I can’t predict the side effects, but they’re likely to be…‌ interesting.” Her wobbly smile wasn’t reassuring. “I doubt you’ll acquire the ability to breathe fire, but…‌”

  He was to become a human Petri dish. Wonderful.

  But this might be his only chance to attempt such a stem cell treatment. If his liver managed to repair itself, he could live with a few patches of scales upon his skin so long as it meant he could spend his life with her.

  “Here.” Natalia paused, rummaged in a drawer, tossing one item after another aside‌—‌a broken pocket watch, a small radial clamp and a snap tinder lighter‌—‌before she pulled out a packet of pills and shook one free. “Take this. It’s a sulfated purine derivative, a bit hard on the liver and, given the infection festering inside your wound, I don’t want to risk more than one dose to suppress the immune system while the stem cells colonize the tissue.”

  Risk. Everything was happening so fast. He had two choices. Decline and pray his body fought off the bacteria infecting his arm. Or accept the risk, take a leap of faith, and hope for a miracle. What real choice was there? He took the pill from her and washed it down with a gulp of cold tea.

  He had little to lose and everything to gain.

  Chapter Nine

  Rubbing her aching neck and rolling her shoulders, Natalia straightened, triumphant. She let the lightness in her chest bubble upward into a broad smile. Papa would be so proud. The isolated, pluripotent dragon stem cells now floated in a swirl of specially-formulated liquid media‌—‌one containing vitamins, inorganic salts, amino acids and glucose‌—‌recovering from several rounds of fractionation, digestive enzyme assaults, and differential density spins in the fuge. The cells needed a few minutes to rest‌—‌according to her father’s notations‌—‌but time ran short. A glance at her timepiece informed her that if they were to abandon Castle Kinlarig at dawn, they would need to attempt this most basic of stem cell transplants within the next hour.