by Rob May
Kal thought about it for at least a second. ‘Okay,’ she said.
* * *
Kal took her glittering knife blade and pried open another oyster shell. She devoured the meat greedily, the salty liquor dribbling down her chin (which was, up until that point, clean and scrubbed after a hot bath) and almost spoiling her plain grey woollen dress.
She noticed Rafe’s eyes on her, and deflected his gaze with a question: ‘So who do you think killed the governor then?’
Rafe spread his palms. ‘Senator Godsword thinks that a dragon killed him.’
Kal acted like she was surprised. ‘A dragon? Why would a dragon want to kill the governor of Balibu?’
‘The Senator told me he’s worried the Dragonites might have finally discovered the secret to summoning and controlling dragons,’ Rafe said. ‘Godsword and the governor were good friends, apparently, so he’s taking the governor’s death as a personal threat: it’s no secret that Godsword wants to stamp out that crazy cult.’
Ben and the governor would have to be close, Kal thought, for the governor to overlook Ben’s gold shipments.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you might get your shot at a knighthood after all. What’s your plan?’
‘I might have a walk up to the governor’s burned-out villa later,’ Rafe replied. ‘You know … to look for clues.’
‘Sounds exciting,’ Kal said. ‘Maybe I’ll tag along.’
The cook, a fat black man in a greasy apron, came over and interrupted them. ‘More shrimp, my friends? They’ve been out of the sea no more than a couple of hours; it would be a crying shame to put them on ice.’
Kal nodded eagerly, and the cook filled her plate.
‘Do you ever stop eating?’ Rafe asked in astonishment.
‘You never know where your next meal is coming from,’ she answered through a mouthful of shrimp.
‘Why are you here, Kal? I don’t think it’s for bird-watching. What is it that you really do?’
Kal decided to be honest. ‘I’m a freelancer,’ she told him. ‘I investigate things and sort stuff out for people who may not want to go through the official channels: the opposite of you, I guess! But that doesn’t mean I do anything wrong or immoral; I just try to fix up complicated situations.’
Rafe nodded. ‘I see. A problem solver, huh?’
Kal gave him a wolfish grin. ‘More like a problem exterminator.’
* * *
The governor’s villa—or what remained of it—stood on a low hill overlooking the harbour. The second storey had completely collapsed, and only a few scattered piles of fire-blackened bricks gave any indication that there was ever a building here at all. The governor’s charred skeleton was lying on its back in the middle of the terrace garden, its arms above its head and its jaw wide open as if frozen in a terrified scream.
‘He doesn’t look like he died a happy man,’ Rafe commented.
‘No,’ Kal agreed. It was after midnight, but the tropical heat was still oppressive. Kal had changed into a loose shirt and leather skirt, but still she couldn’t shake off the prickle of a sweat. She sniffed the air; behind the heady smell of the surrounding jasmine trees and fever grass, there was a hint of something else that Kal recognised …
‘Brimstone,’ she said.
Rafe looked around as if expecting to see a dragon right there behind him. ‘Brimstone?’ he said. ‘I guess that proves it then: a dragon did this.’
Kal knelt down in the rubble. ‘Not necessarily.’ She picked up some broken pieces of terracotta. ‘This fire was set.’
Rafe came over. ‘How can you tell?’
She held up three of the broken pieces, and fitted them together to make a small globe. ‘I’ve seen these before. Filled with petrock and brimstone, they make a very effective firebomb.’
Rafe drew his sword suddenly. Kal looked at him in alarm. ‘Someone is coming,’ he said. ‘More than one person: a large group.’
Kal drew her shortsword; the moonlight glimmered as it caught the edge of the blade. ‘I don’t hear any—’
A group of figures stepped into view from out of the shadows of the ruins, surrounding Kal and Rafe. A dozen black-clad men, their faces wrapped in headscarves that concealed all but their eyes. They all carried swords of various lengths and styles.
‘Keep your back to me,’ Rafe whispered to Kal. ‘Let them come to us.’
Kal wasn’t happy. Her natural reaction in a big fight would be to start causing chaos; make herself a moving target and stir up some confusion. She didn’t have time to argue, though—the newcomers charged in to attack.
Luckily her instincts were faster than her thoughts. She twisted her body to avoid the strike of an assailant who had appeared in front of her. In the same movement, she whipped her own blade around in a wide semi-circle, forcing her attacker back. She over-extended herself, though, and he lifted his sword for an overhead blow that Kal surely wouldn’t have chance to avoid …
… but then he stopped, sword held high. His belly had split open following the scratch that Kal had given it. The man stood still in confusion as his hot, steaming innards slithered down his legs. Then he collapsed in a stinking pile on the ground.
The next attacker tried to reach Kal by thrusting his sword across the body that lay between them. Kal had found the flow of the battle by now, though. Her body and mind were loose and relaxed, ready to take advantage of her enemies’ mistakes. In an easy, unhurried movement, she sliced her opponent’s sword arm off at the elbow. He screamed and fled into the darkness.
Kal looked around for the next attack. It didn’t come; the ruins were silent once more. She turned around and found Rafe standing over a pile of at least five bodies. His armour was splattered in blood, and his face and hair were dripping red with it too. He looked more like a terrible demon than a heroic knight.
‘My hero,’ Kal said with a smile. She wiped the blood from his eyes. ‘Now let’s see who these fellows are.’
She went and ripped the headscarf off the body that was the least mangled.
Rafe gasped when he saw the face beneath. ‘Good grief!’ he exclaimed.
Kal leaned in for a closer look. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that’s something new!’
III.iv
The Croc
Rafe stared down at the face of their fallen attacker. ‘Sorcery!’ he exclaimed.
Kal looked even closer. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s a mask.’ She took her knife and poked about the face—jabbing around the eyes and under the lips.
‘It’s not a mask,’ she said eventually.
The face was ashen grey, with watery yellow eyes and a flat nose. The ears were large and bat-like, but what had made Rafe react was the teeth: the canines were pointed. Not filed down to a point, but elongated like the fangs of a wolf.
‘He looks like a cross between a human and a goblin,’ Kal said. ‘What do they call them in the old legends—hobgoblins?’ But they both knew that was impossible; there had been many reports of assaults on humans by goblins—and even on goblins by humans—but no offspring had ever been produced.
‘Whatever it is, it’s a monster,’ Rafe said. ‘Monsters inside the walls! And you know who commands the monsters.’
As if in answer, the horizon suddenly lit up. Far out to sea, an orange glow flickered for an instant, then died.
Rafe named his nemesis through gritted teeth. ‘The Dragon! I have to go and rouse the guard.’
Kal put a hand on his blood-soaked steel-plated shoulder. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘The local militia are lazy drunkards, who right now are most likely sleeping with their arms around a bottle of rum. They aren’t going to appreciate being dragged out of bed just because you saw a strange light out to sea.’
Rafe tried to pull away. ‘I have the authority of the Senate behind me! They’ll do what I tell them. I need men on the walls, I need a chain of water buckets …’
‘Rafe, please.’ Kal tried to calm him. ‘People have bee
n seeing things and jumping at shadows for weeks out here now, and yet the town is still standing. We need to separate the rumours from the facts before we raise the alarm.’
Rafe stopped. He ran his hand anxiously through his long hair. It came out bloody. ‘So where do you suppose we go to look for answers?’
Kal smiled. ‘As it happens, I know just the place. But first, we have to get you cleaned up.’
* * *
The Crocodile Casa was a narrow, low wooden building near the docks. The interior (including the card tables, chairs and the long bar that took up all of one wall) was all constructed from bamboo, while fig trees, vines and bright red and yellow jungle flowers provided the decoration. There was a pungent cloud of spicy smoke in the air that mixed with the more natural—but altogether more unwelcome—scent of body odour.
The gaming den was crowded. Kal felt Rafe bristle beside her. ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘Remember the story of Banos and the King of Thieves?’
‘Of course. Banos disguised himself as a robber and lived among the thieves for a year,’ Rafe recalled. ‘He waited patiently for the perfect opportunity to kill the king.’
‘Right. Well think of this as your latest chance to emulate your hero. Be patient. Play the part. Let’s go and get a drink.’
Kal led Rafe to the bar. The man behind the counter looked up with a bored expression that didn’t change when his eyes met Kal’s. She and Rafe had dressed plainly and concealed their weapons. Kal ordered three glasses of sour mash bourbon. She gave one to Rafe, sunk one straight away, and took the other with her as she crossed the busy room to the opposite side, where a girl sat counting gaming chips behind a caged-off enclosure.
‘You’d better tell us what games are running before we decide how many chips we’ll need,’ Kal said to the girl.
‘Sure thing, Miss,’ she replied. ‘We got tables over by the door that you can join for five crowns. Over in that corner are the twenty-crown tables, and we have some fifty-crown and hundred-crown games running up the top end.’
Rafe stepped up to the slot in the cage and slid some gold over to the girl. ‘Let’s play some cards then! Give us five crowns worth of chips each.’ He turned to Kal. ‘My treat. And you can keep whatever you win.’
Kal laughed. ‘You already treated me to dinner!’ She was surveying the noisy action. ‘I think I recognise some of the players at the top table,’ she said to the cashier. ‘Who’s the big guy with his back to us?’
The girl glanced around and leaned closer to the bars of the cage to reply. ‘That’s Gron Darklaw. He’s a strange one, Miss. Hasn’t been coming here long. Buys his chips with chunks of raw gold. Drinks and drinks, but it never shows, except that it seems to make him bet more fierce, like. But he tips us well. He talks of wanting to be our next governor, too.’
‘Interesting,’ Kal said. ‘Is that a hundred-crown table too?’
The cashier shook her head. ‘It’s a private game. They’re playing with around a thousand crowns each.’
‘Give us a thousand chips each too, then,’ Kal said, ‘and we’ll go and see if they’ll let us join in.’
Rafe choked on his bourbon mid-sip. ‘Senator Godsword’s funds don’t stretch that far, Kal’ he spluttered.
She gave him a sharp look that said, I told you not to mention the Senate in here. Then she pulled a piece of paper from the pouch at her belt and handed it to the girl behind the cage.
They had to wait a few minutes while the Croc’s owner was called over. He looked at the note for a time, then at Kal, then finally nodded slowly. ‘If Zeb Zing at the Snake Pit says you’re good for it, then that’s fine by me. She’s an old friend. In fact, she often tells me about you, Kalina Moonheart.’
Kal enjoyed the expression on Rafe’s face as the cashier pushed over two-thousand-crowns-worth of green and black clay chips.
* * *
There were six players at the top table. A dark-skinned girl with long black hair looked up as Kal and Rafe approached. She was either the world’s most conspicuous pirate, or just simply enjoyed dressing like one: she was sporting a red headscarf and a fitted white shirt with a wide black belt. ‘Hi, Kal,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’
The man next to her—a little fat man in a shabby merchant’s coat—sighed. ‘Oh no, Dragon Killer’s here!’
‘Hello, Lula. Hi, Vanrar,’ Kal said.
The big man named Gron Darklaw looked up from his cards and stared suspiciously as Kal and Rafe took their seats. He had a massive build—muscular, not fat—and Kal reckoned he would be almost eight feet tall if he stood up. Shaggy black hair tumbled around his shoulders, and his eyes were pools of darkness.
‘Why do they call you Dragon Killer?’ he growled in a low, flat voice.
III.v
High Stakes
‘Why do they call me Dragon Killer? Maybe you’ll find out tonight.’ Kal had sat down on Gron Darklaw’s left, between him and the fat merchant Vanrar. Opposite her, across the red baize of the round table, Rafe had found a place between the pirate Lula and another fellow. Under Darklaw’s implacable gaze, Kal silently arranged her chips into neat piles.
When she had finished, Darklaw passed Kal the deck. She accepted it with a polite nod and then proceeded to riffle and cut the cards with practiced skill. She dealt out two cards to each player and the game resumed.
Kal’s own cards were the Three of Swords and the Seven of Pentacles. She folded them without a second thought, and settled down to watch the game and the players. Kal’s approach was to sit quietly and let the action, and the conversation, come to her.
Rafe had no such restraint, and was already making moves and making friends. After winning a handful of small pots, he turned to his neighbour, Lula. ‘Is it true that Balibu is being terrorised by a dragon?’ he asked her.
‘It is true,’ Lula said. ‘I’ve seen it myself. I was out in my skiff a few nights back and I saw a flash of dragonfire on one of the small uninhabited islands out to sea. I sailed in to see what I could see, and all of a sudden it came right at me: an enormous black winged beast! It scraped the top of my mast, I swear. I couldn’t get back to shore fast enough!’ Lula emphasised the end of her story by firmly placing a stack of ten chips in front of her with a thud. It was a strong bet.
Gron Darklaw had been listening silently. Now he took a long sip from his goblet of red wine and spoke. ‘Dragons will fight tooth and claw to defend their nests. You were right to back down.’ With both hands, Darklaw pushed forward three tall towers of twenty chips each. It was a massive bet of three hundred crowns.
Lula swallowed hard and threw her cards away. Darklaw dragged down the pot with a cruel smile.
* * *
The game continued, and an hour later Darklaw finally broke one of the other players completely in a hand that played out right down to the last chip. Darklaw’s clutch of wands beat his opponent’s three knaves and, as the poor man staggered away from the table, Darklaw was stacking up a pile of chips worth almost three thousand crowns.
Kal was doing well, and with careful play had almost doubled her own stack. But she was losing chips rapidly to Darklaw, who would often jump in to punish her bets with massive raises that she could never justify calling. He was staring at her now in a predatory way, his large tongue licking the rim of his goblet. Kal turned away and looked over at Rafe, whose fortunes had risen and fallen several times over the evening.
‘A long-enough lance would bring a dragon down,’ he was telling Vanrar the merchant, ‘but even better would be if you could lay your hands on one of the weapons of the gods. A dragon would happily lay down and present its neck to you if you wielded, say, the Blade of Banos.’
Vanrar smiled as he glanced at his cards and made a small bet. ‘Oh yes, the Blade of Banos. The last time I was in Amaranthium and made Senator Godsword a reasonable offer for that old thing, he claimed to have lost it! But as far as killing dragons goes, the gods didn’t have access to half the exciting war machinery that we do now.
A ballista could put a bolt through that dragon’s neck before it could cough up even a puff of smoke.’
Gron Darklaw made a raise, which Vanrar called without much thought. Lula, who had the deck, dealt out three cards on top of the table, the highest of which was the Queen of Cups. ‘Are you not afraid,’ Darklaw asked the merchant, ‘that killing one dragon will prompt an attack on humanity by all the other dragons in the world, as well as all the terrible beasts—goblins, trolls and the like—that dragons have dominion over?’
‘You mean like what the Dragonites are always banging on about?’ Vanrar said as he made another bet. ‘Oh no, of course not! That’s all just foolish superstition, if you ask me. The Dragonites would have us burn humans alive in the streets as sacrifices to appease the Great Big Dragon in the Sky, or whatever they call him. When I think of a dragon, I don’t think of some divine beast that we must all tip-toe around and be in awe of; I think of the holds of my trading ships stuffed with gleaming claws, shiny scales and succulent dragon hearts that will sell for millions!’
Darklaw had called the bet, and Lula dealt another card onto the table. Vanrar took one more look at his own cards then pushed the remainder of his chips forward. ‘So no, Mister Darklaw,’ he said, ‘I am not afraid of dragons.’ When Darklaw called the bet, Vanrar proudly turned his cards face-up: a queen to match the one on the table, and a king. ‘I have a pair of beautiful queens. What do you have?’
Darklaw turned over his cards, one by one. The first showed a picture of a blue and gold creature, talons raised and tail coiled around a sword blade. The second showed a similar creature in red and silver, this one holding a pentacle in its claws.
‘I have a pair of beautiful dragons,’ he said with a wicked grin.
* * *
