Dragon In The Needles

by Bruce Leslie

  Meena looked up at the Lump with narrow eyes and a red face. “You don’t tell me what I need to do. I’m not the one to be worried about when it comes to fighting the dragon.” She drank the last of the hot water from her bowl and tossed it to the ground. “The two of you may do as you like, but I’ll be on the horse.”

  Meena attempted to stand up quickly. Halfway up, her legs folded and she fell to the ground, catching herself with her hands. She held herself up, breathing heavily.

  Flynn looked at her as she struggled to pull air into her lungs. “I’m sorry, Meena, but I believe you are out-voted.” He looked up to where the Lump stood. “So you can get us rooms in Bleuderry?”

  “No.” The Lump shook his head. “You and me’ll camp like always, but I can finagle some room and board for her.” He knelt down and placed a hand under her shoulder. “Help me get her to Tilley, she can lie down on the mule. I’ll be fine to walk to Bleuderry.”

  Flynn put his hand under Meena’s other shoulder and the two men helped her to her feet, and over to the mule. They lifted her onto Tilley and placed her flat, her belly against the mule’s back.

  “Just hold on to Tilley’s neck.” The Lump took the mule’s rope in his hand. “I’ll walk beside you and make sure you don’t fall off.” He rubbed Tilley’s nose. “We’ll be there before you know it. Sleep if you can.”

  Flynn poured the water that remained in the pot over the fire to squelch it. He returned the pot to the Lump, then climbed onto Tracer. “I’ll follow you at a walk. Lead the way to Bleuderry, sir.”

  The Lump began walking down the road with a mule carrying a sick young lady beside him. He was followed by a very concerned man on a fine horse. How hard could it be to get a room?

  14: The Crone’s Keep

  The Lump led the mule carrying the sleeping Meena off the road, and into the village of Bleuderry. It was well before sunset and the trip had been uneventful. He had enjoyed the walk. All the riding had made his legs stiff and it was good to get a chance to stretch them for a spell. Meena woke once on the way and asked for some water, but other than that she had slept on Tilley’s back for the entirety of the afternoon.

  The town was built on a clearing in the dense northern forest. There were several modest cottages around the town’s edges with a central, open-air marketplace. Very few people were in the market, and it didn’t appear very well stocked. The center of the town was marked by the inn, easily the largest structure in the town. Behind the inn were two stable houses and several vegetable patches. The absence of any livestock pens told the Lump that the inn must have meat brought in, or else serve primarily game.

  The Lump led the party to the front of the inn, where a large sign over the double doors read The Crone’s Keep in bright, blue letters. The sign had been freshly painted, as there were no signs of fading. “I’ll go in and talk to someone.” The Lump took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair to tidy it. He said to Flynn, “You wait out her with Meena and the mounts.” He put his cap back on and straightened his vest and belt before walking through the doors.

  The inn’s tavern was busy with people. There was a big, open hearth at one end with a healthy fire. Next to the hearth was a staircase that most likely led up to lodging. At the other end was a long, wooden bar with people standing at it. Behind the bar was a doorway to what the Lump guessed to be the kitchen, since three ladies walked in and out of it with bowls of stew. At the center of the large room was a crowded, long high-table surrounded by chairs. Around the periphery of the room there were several smaller tables with four seats apiece, nearly all of them occupied. Some people were eating and drinking, but most of them just seemed to be talking or sitting about idly. There was a man behind the bar serving ale. He had black hair that was slick against his head and a bushy, black mustache. The man wore a white shirt with a few amber stains on it. He didn’t see anyone that looked like a crone, so he decided to speak with the man in the white shirt.

  The Lump walked to the bar. The man behind it was cleaning a mug with a damp, white cloth.

  The Lump took off his cap and held it in his big hands. “Hello sir, I’d like to talk to you about accommodations.”

  The man behind the bar continued wiping the inside of the mug as he spoke. “Three nights in a room…” He put the mug on a shelf and pulled another from below, under the bar. “…with a fire and a feather bed…” He began wiping out the new mug with the same rag. “…now that’s a feather bed with clean bed clothes.” He repeated the motions of putting away one mug and pulling up another. “Two hot meals a day. Oh, and chamber pot service each morning.” After putting his current mug on the shelf he tucked his rag into his belt and looked at the Lump. “All of that for only two silver.” he held up two fingers.

  “That sounds like quite a bargain.” The Lump forced himself to smile while he spoke. “But, you see, our silver was stolen…”

  “Well, that is unfortunate.” The mustachioed man turned his attention from the Lump to the shelf of mugs behind him and continued to speak with his back turned. “But your misfortune is not my own. The price is two silver.” He extended a finger and it bounced in the air as he began counting the mugs.

  “If I may, sir, I work at a tavern down south.” The Lump dispensed with his false smile and put his cap back on. “One of my friends, she is real sick. She has a fever.” He put his elbows on the bar and leaned forward onto them. “She needs shelter, and maybe some broth.” He saw the man’s head turn around and he forced his mouth back into a smile. “I can work for her keep.”

  The man continued to look over his shoulder at the Lump. “There’s been no shortage of people coming around looking for work lately.” He turned his face back to the shelf of mugs. “Mostly Needlers. They work for very little wages.” He turned back to the bar, put his hands on it, and leaned against them. “I don’t need any labor, I turn away several people every day.”

  “I’ve got a strong back, and I’m quite handy.” The Lump stood up straight and showed his large hands to the man.

  “I can hire six men for two silver.” The man tilted his head and smiled at the Lump. “Six regular backs are better than a single strong one.”

  “I can chop wood.” The Lump pointed at himself with his thumb.

  “People bring in chopped wood to trade for stew and a cup of ale no less than five times a day.” The man shook his head.

  “I can carry and stack stones.” The Lump moved his hands up and down in the air.

  The man laughed. “All our stones are already stacked, and no one’s been bringing any new ones around.” He shook his head again and smiled.

  “I can clean stables.” The Lump leaned forward against the bar to bring his face closer to the man with the mustache.

  “Does this sorry lot look like they own horses?” The man swept his hand through the air in the direction of the tavern’s patrons. “Our stables stay pretty clean on their own lately.” He brought his hands back down to the bar.

  The Lump felt desperation creeping into his chest. “I can cook a little bit.” He clasped his hands together in front of him. “I’m begging you.”

  The man shook his head. “There is no way that the crone is letting you around food.” He pointed at the Lump. “You might can cook a little bit, but you look like you can eat a lot.” He spread his hands. “You’re definitely not going to be allowed in the kitchen.” He leaned against the bar again.

  With his hands still clasped in front of him the Lump said, “I can dig turnips…”

  One of the mustachioed man’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, really?” He stopped leaning on his hands and stood up straight. “How about potatoes? Can you dig those?” He kept his eyebrow raised and waited for an answer.

  The Lump’s eyes opened wide and his smile went from false to genuine. “Really! A potato patch!” He raised both his hands shoulder high. “Yes, sir! I’m your man.”

  “Of course, it’s not just digging.” The man pulled the rag from his belt and sl
ung it across his shoulder. “It needs a good bit of minding.” He leaned on his hands against the bar, this time with his elbows slightly bent.

  “That won’t be no problem, sir.” The Lump leaned against the bar as well. “My aunt Wendy tells me I’ve got a regular green thumb.”

  The man smiled again. “It’s overrun with thistles and weeds.”

  The Lump nodded his head up and down. “Yes, sir, I can pull weeds. Thistles don’t bother me none.”

  Still smiling, the man said, “The ground is hard and packed. Digging those potatoes will be back breaking work.”

  The Lump pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “That’s perfect! My back was made for breaking.”

  The man behind the bar stood up straight and stopped smiling. He rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. “Let’s see…you pull the weeds, get the patch in shape.” He paused and brought his finger to his chin. “You dig a bushel or two of potatoes and bring them to the kitchen.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Lump answered.

  The man brought his eyes back to the Lump and pointed at him. “You know what?”

  “What is that, sir?” The Lump asked.

  “You’re a big fellow.” The man resumed leaning against the bar. “Maybe you can keep watch at the door.” He pointed to the large double doors that opened into the tavern. “At night, when the ale gets the better of people, I could always use a hand to maintain order.”

  “That sounds like a deal.” The Lump smiled at the man and continued. “I even have a friend with armor and a big sword that’ll help watch the door.” He looked around at the people in the tavern then back to the man behind the bar. “Even drunkards will think twice before getting rowdy with him looming about.” The Lump stuck his meaty hand out. “Let’s shake on it.”

  The man with the mustache put his own hand forward. “Yes, let’s shake on it and you can get your friend set up in a room.”

  The Lump made sure not to squeeze too tightly when they shook hands. “You can call me Lump, sir.”

  “My name’s Beverly.” The man withdrew his hand and pointed to the kitchen entrance. “I’ll even see if I can get the crone to take a look at your friend with the fever.”

  “That would be wonderful, uh, Beverly.” The Lump looked at the floor then looked back to the man. “That’s not a name you hear every day.”

  “Tell me about it,” the man said, “I’m named after my father’s mum. Taken my share of teasing over that one.” He pointed to the stairs near the hearth. “Just right up there, look for a room with a white owl painted on the door.” He brought his hands back to the bar. “You can get your friend all set up in there.”

  “Thank’s again.” The Lump turned and walked out of the tavern to collect Meena.

  Flynn was standing in the dirt path holding the lead from both the horse and mule. “Did you arrange for her to stay?”

  “I told you I would handle it, didn’t I?” The Lump walked to Flynn and collected his mule’s rope from him. “Silver isn’t the only way to pay for things, you know.”

  “Well, I am certainly glad that you are familiar with this kind of business.” Flynn lead his horse to a wooden rail in front of the tavern and hitched the reins to it. “I wouldn’t know where to begin those sorts of negotiations.”

  The Lump lead Tilley over to the rail, Meena still resting on the mule’s back. “It just comes from living a life without a lot of coin lying about.” He tied his mule’s rope to the rail, then gently shook Meena’s shoulder. “We’ve got you a room, but you’ll have to go up some stairs.”

  Meena opened her eyes. “Yes, that’s fine.” She raised herself up. “I can go up a few stairs well enough.”

  “If you please, we’ll help you up them just the same.” The Lump helped her down from the mule. “We don’t need you taking a tumble down some stairs after we’ve come this far.”

  “I agree with the Lump.” Flynn walked over to the side of Meena opposite the big man. He asked, “So what did you offer in exchange for the accommodations?”

  “Oh, not much really. I’m just going to dig potatoes.” The Lump looked across to Flynn as the two of them helped Meena walk to the tavern’s doors. “Also, me and you are going to help watch over the tavern for a couple of nights.”

  “You mean we are going to help serve the patrons?” Flynn looked at the Lump. “I think I can do that.”

  “No. We’re going to keep them from getting rowdy when their ale is in them.” The Lump smiled at Flynn. “I boasted about your sword and everything.”

  “A position of authority.” Flynn smiled back at the Lump. “I quite like the idea of that.”

  They helped Meena across the crowded tavern to the stairs by the hearth. Flynn backed up the stairs, holding Meena’s hands as she climbed. The Lump followed close behind to catch her if she missed a step. A voice called out to the Lump.

  “Lump! Just one more thing.” Beverly shouted across the room from behind the bar. “You aren’t afraid of snakes, are you?”

  15: The Potato Patch

  The Lump looked up at the cloudy sky and adjusted the large wicker basket hanging from the leather strap around his shoulder. “It’s cloudy, but I don’t think it will rain.” He and Flynn had been given the baskets to hold potatoes from the unruly patch. Flynn left his armor breastplate safely tucked away in Meena’s room, but still had his sword on his left hip. Both men opted to wear their leather riding gloves, and the Lump carried a long, forked stick that he made earlier in the morning. They walked around the side of the inn and made their way to the potato patch.

  The two men followed a dirt path between the stables through several vegetable patches that were organized in neat rows and enclosed by a long wooden fence. When they made it to the end of the path there was no mistaking that they had found the patch that needed minding. Before him, the Lump saw a large rectangle of waist-high weeds. The patch was easily twice the size of the turnip patch back in Windthorne, and filled with gnarled, woody vines bearing thorns. Tall, green, leafy stalks rose up amid the thorns. Occasional flowers with pale violet petals and a yellow bud in the middle could be seen in the wild growth. The one thing he didn’t seem able to see was anything bearing a resemblance to potatoes.

  The Lump held his forked stick up. “I’ll go in there and fish out that snake, then we can get down to pulling weeds.” He turned away from Flynn and carefully stepped into the overgrown patch.

  The Lump parted the thick vines with the stick and stepped in farther. He poked at the ground and stared at it intently. He shifted around the mass of vines some more and jabbed at the soil. His jaw dropped as he saw the ground become a writhing mass of scaly, black tubes.

  The Lump jumped back and ran out of the thicket at full gallop. “Son of a hammer-toed witch!” When he got to Flynn he put his hands on his knees and caught his breath. “By Sol! That filthy patch is infested.” He pointed back at the collection of weeds and snakes alleged to contain potatoes. “Snakes, why’d it have to be snakes?” He stood upright and took his hand off his knee. “Those things give me the willies.”

  Flynn looked at the Lump with a wrinkled forehead. “What are willies?”

  The Lump made several small circles in the air with his free hand. “You know, willies - like heeby-jeebies.”

  “I see, heeby-jeebies.” Flynn looked at the Lump, forehead still wrinkled. “Does this mean we’ll not fulfill our duties?”

  “No, Meena needs that room.” The Lump bit his lower lip and shook his head side to side. “We’re going to have to go in there and get rid of those snakes.”

  “At once then.” Flynn drew his sword with both hands and stepped toward the patch.

  “Now, hold on!” The Lump held out his meaty hand to stop Flynn’s progress. “What are you planning to do? Challenge the stinking things to a duel?” He held his forked stick in the air. “You need a stick like mine.” He placed his stick on the ground and walked toward the fence, beckoning at Flynn to follow. “Besides, Wend
y says that if you cut off a snake’s head, it will continue to chase you until the sun goes down.”

  Flynn tilted his head. “I don’t think that’s what happens.” He placed his sword back in its scabbard.

  “No, it’s probably not.” The Lump reached up and grabbed a branch from an apple tree near the fence. “But why take any chances?” He pulled his small sword from its loop and hacked off the branch and laid it on the ground. He knelt down and hacked it two more times, then stood and gave it to Flynn. “Here you go, just like mine.”

  They walked back to the potato patch. When they arrived at the edge they stopped and stared at it for a moment.

  The Lump took a deep breath. “So, Flynn, use your stick to pin one of their heads to the ground and I’ll grab its tail.”

  “What will you do then?” Flynn asked.

  “Just watch and see.” The Lump grinned at Flynn and the two stepped into the patch.

  Flynn parted the growth with his stick and poked at the soil a few times. A snake slithered toward him and he jabbed the fork of his stick down, catching it behind its head. “Here, Lump! I’ve got one!”

  The Lump plunged his hand down into the weeds and grabbed the rear of the squirming black snake. “Raise your stick!” When the stick was raised he pulled the snake up into the air and spun it twice around his head before heaving it over the fence.

  The black snake sailed through the air. Its body was four feet long and spiraled end over end as it flew toward the footpath on the other side of the fence. When it landed a scream rang out. “It’s raining snakes! Must be the end times! Sol save us!”

  The Lump’s eyes grew wide and he bared his teeth. “Maybe that wasn’t the best plan.” He trotted out of the patch again with Flynn close behind.

  “I believe it’s a good thing that black snakes don’t have venom.” Flynn stood at the edge of the patch with his forked stick in one hand, resting his other hand atop the lid of his wicker basket. “What now?”

  The Lump took off his leather cap and rubbed his head while he considered the question. “Seeing as we have two baskets…” He put his cap back on his head. “…and they have good lids on them…” He lifted the lid on his empty basket and looked into it. “…I figure your basket will be for potatoes, and mine will be for our nasty friends in there.” He closed his eyes tight and breathed. “Here goes, let’s hope our third try is charmed.” He opened his eyes and stepped back into the patch.