The St. George family was a curse to Dragons. St. Georges were faster, smarter, and stronger than other humans. They could see through Serpentine magic.
The true power of the child was not known. But it did not matter, thought the Dragon; the boy will no doubt amount to nothing. His Dragon spies remained on the job. They’d find him.
Or, better yet, he thought, maybe he will come right to me.
Across the City of New York, this was precisely what was going to happen.
Simon St. George was preparing for battle.
Chapter Eight
THE WOMAN WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH A DRAGON
THE BOY AND HIS father had docked the Ship with No Name in New York Harbor and made their way quickly—Simon would say too quickly—through the streets by taxicab to a perch in a giant tree in Central Park. Aldric scaled it quickly, but Simon struggled with the climb. No one could see them because they were so high up, and the tree was deep inside the park, thickly covered in autumn colors.
Aldric St. George had set the area up nicely for their needs long before his trip to the Lighthouse School. Stuck away here and there among the branches were little gunnysacks of food and water, small flashlights, a clock, some books, and below, at the trunk, two comfortable easy chairs that Aldric had salvaged in a trash bin off Park Avenue, and which would serve now as a place to sleep, something Simon found depressing. Lodged in the tree were two old brass telescopes, positioned to see in every direction around the Park.
“What are we looking for?” Simon wondered.
“The signs. He’s been here, you can tell. Lurking.”
“How do you know?”
Aldric’s eyes passed over the people below. “You can see it in people’s faces. Everything weighs heavy on them. Their hearts beat slower. The fire that drives them through life is burning low. Look at them, Simon. Nothing reaches past their sadness—not the landscape, not the movement of the city, not the souls around them…. They’ve lost something and they don’t know what it is. Some haven’t noticed what’s missing inside, but they know enough to suspect that the city has stolen something from them. You can feel their anger. These people don’t want to be alive anymore. The gloom is falling down around them like rain.”
Simon looked. He saw ordinary people, doing ordinary things.
Aldric pointed down. “The cabdriver at the corner, yelling at the woman crossing. The old woman in the gray coat. The priest. Don’t you feel it?”
Quiet filled the tree as Simon tried to sense what his father described. The city was just a city. Finally he had to admit, “All I see are a bunch of ticked-off New Yorkers. I thought that was supposed to be pretty normal here.”
His father frowned. “These are the signs of a Dragon presence. Be alert to them. Now, then: Over there, on the eighteenth floor of that building, is the home of a woman named Alaythia Moore,” said Aldric with a touch of sadness Simon didn’t quite understand. “She lives there alone, and rarely has visitors. She works for a modern art gallery. She is an art curator, and an artist in her own right, I understand, though I’ve never seen any of her work. She’s too shy and private to show off her own paintings.”
Simon started to swing his telescope toward her building, but Aldric stopped him. “No, no, no! You can’t stare in people’s windows! Don’t you have any manners? Watch the street. We don’t bother the lady!”
“Then why exactly are we hanging outside her house?”
Moving to his own telescope, Aldric answered him. “Because she is in great danger. She doesn’t know it, but the Manhattan Dragon has taken an interest in her.”
“The White Dragon?”
“The very one. He is sending his paintings in the mail, for her to display in her gallery. And she has found them to be to her liking.”
“Hmm,” said Simon. “Are Dragons very good at painting?”
“Don’t be absurd,” snapped Aldric. “He uses enchantment to lure the woman in. She can’t help herself. The paintings are magic. He’s fallen in love with her.”
He’s not the only one, thought Simon.
“Is she pretty?” he asked.
“Dragons don’t like ugly women,” answered Aldric, “unless it’s dinnertime.”
Simon laughed. His father didn’t.
“When a Dragon falls in love with a mortal woman, it is a terrible thing,” he told Simon. “Worse if he decides to marry. When a Dragon takes a human bride, he bathes her in fire, consuming her ever so slowly, until she is burned away. It’s an elaborate ceremony, a show of ultimate honor. The beasts have a strange way of showing respect.”
Simon grew somber.
“I don’t know where in this city the White Dragon lives,” said Aldric, scarcely taking his eye off the telescope, “but he’s here. His agents have been sending her artwork, but I haven’t been able to find out where it originates. I’ve been in that gallery, I’ve heard the woman talking to him on the phone. He won’t make a move on her there, with so many people around, and risk destroying his own artwork besides. But sooner or later, the thing is going to come to get her, and we’ve got to be here to stop him.”
They had no idea the White Dragon was just a few buildings away, across the Park.
All they had to do was turn their telescopes around.
Simon sneaked a look through his telescope and found Alaythia Moore’s apartment on the eighteenth floor. It had to be hers. Her home was simple and cozy, but filled with paintings, her own and others. They were leaning against the walls, hanging on the walls, propped up in easels and sitting in chairs, even lying on the floor. It looked like art ruled the house. But there was no sign of the woman.
The day passed slowly. The pale sun snailed across the sky and was nearly on its way to bed, and still there was no woman in the house.
Simon was getting bored. He opened up one of his father’s old, old books that he’d taken from the ship. The Book of Saint George was filled with information on Dragons. It was mostly out-of-date, though. The book had been written by the original Saint George and the Knights who came after him. There were parts of it in Old English, and some in Latin and a runic language Simon didn’t understand. But it was clear the Dragon of the modern world was very different from the giant monstrosities that had roamed about in olden times. Simon looked at the pictures of the immense flying beasts. Too bad they hardly ever used their wings nowadays, he thought; it would have been amazing to see one fly. It drew too much attention, it seemed, and was too exhausting. The White Dragon was not likely to leap into flight, and it was the last one left.
There was no illustration of the Serpent Queen in the book. He wondered if anyone knew what it looked like.
He paged through the book, munching on a crunchy little food he’d discovered on the ship. Turns out that Dragons’ nails are absolutely delicious when they’re broken up into a bowl and salted and peppered. At first they stung his tongue, but after a bit, he started to like them. Only problem was, they left him with a terrible case of Dragon-breath.
“You’re not at your post,” Aldric rumbled, and Simon scrambled back to the telescope.
“Well, there’s not much happening.”
“There will be,” his father said urgently, “and we’ve got to be ready. You have a mission to fulfill. This isn’t a father-son picnic.”
No, Simon thought, it’s definitely not that. We don’t want to spend all this time getting to know each other. That would be a real waste of energy.
Aldric added quietly, “It will surely be a waste of effort if we both end up dead because we aren’t ready for the Enemy.”
What do you need me for? wondered Simon, but he couldn’t say it out loud. “You seem to have everything under control,” he said at last.
His father leaned closer to Simon and looked apologetic. “I know this isn’t the best way to start things off. I wanted it to be different, but we’re here now. If anything goes wrong, I want you with me. And right now, I need you to use your eyes. I can’t see everyth
ing that goes on. I need you to look for anything unusual.”
“Like what?”
“Beetles.”
“Beetles? You mean, like bugs?”
“Yes, like bugs, insects. They tend to swarm all around whenever a Pyrothrax is present. Haven’t you been listening?”
Simon remembered the beetles that had swarmed over the streetcar back in Ebony Hollow. He had a sinking feeling he’d been close to this Dragon before.
“I don’t see any beetles right now,” said Simon, staring through the eyepiece.
“Not just beetles. Anything strange or out of the ordinary,” said Aldric. “A Pyrothrax can’t contain all his magic—it flows out of him in heavy, invisible waves, like heat waves. Because of this, there are side effects wherever the Dragon goes. Odd things happen to nature. Dogs and animals get frightened or behave in strange ways. The weather can go crazy.”
“How?” asked Simon.
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Well, that’s no help,” Simon complained.
Aldric looked at him in frustration. “I’m not a teacher, I’m a warrior. You seem more comfortable with your nose in a book than a sword in your hand.”
Simon was offended. “Well,” he said quietly, “I would have a sword in my hand, but you haven’t given me one. You seem to be afraid to let me use them.”
“Nonsense,” Aldric groused, and he threw Simon one of the scabbards hanging on the tree trunk. He seemed to regret doing so, as Simon carefully drew the sword. “Be careful not to cut yourself. And watch you don’t cut me, either. And don’t drop it on someone’s head down there.”
Am I supposed to be a Dragonhunter or not? thought Simon, trying not to look too excited. “Dropping it on someone’s head,” he muttered doubtfully. But then, it almost slipped out of his hand.
After a moment, he realized the base of the hilt had a tiny silver heart inside that was beating. Of course, he thought, it’s alive, it’s enchanted. And then it occurred to him, proudly: It’s mine.
“The crossbow is more suited to you,” said Aldric, pointing at Simon’s silver weapon. “You use it at long range. It helps you stay clear of the Pyrothrax.”
“I can’t practice with the crossbow,” said Simon. “I can’t shoot arrows around Central Park. People would have me arrested.”
“At least you can get used to carrying it,” replied Aldric, “so it’s not so heavy in your hands.”
“I like the sword better,” Simon said, and he slashed the sword over Aldric’s head, fighting the evening air.
“You don’t need the sword,” said Aldric. “Most likely, I will do the fighting. I need you to watch for the Dragon’s approach.”
“That’s boring,” said Simon.
“It’s part of the job!” snapped Aldric.
His voice rocked Simon, who immediately put the sword away. He slunk over to his telescope. He knew he’d said too much. He knew his father meant only one thing: Take this seriously.
Neither spoke for quite a while, and then Simon got up his nerve.
“There’s only one Dragon left, right?” asked Simon, and Aldric nodded. “Then, what do you say after this one, you let me go back to Ebony Hollow? If I help you now, you let me get back to school.”
School, he was thinking, was not so bad after all. He could deal with being lonely and not fitting in.
“Fine,” said Aldric, sick of talking. “The one Dragon, and then you go back.”
Simon didn’t answer. He had just noticed that it was starting to rain, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
“It’s the Serpent,” hissed Aldric, rushing to the telescope. “It’s around here somewhere. It’s on the move.”
Of course the thing was close; it was after the woman, and she was just now coming home from work.
“There she is!” Aldric cried.
Simon turned his telescope toward the street to see her. She was very pretty, dressed nicely in a gray dress and a gray coat, with her hair pinned up, and she walked in a slow, thoughtful way.
Indeed, her mind must have been miles away, because she walked past her own apartment building and would have kept going, but the doorman shouted to her. Simon liked her at once. He almost didn’t notice that the green grass of Central Park was now completely covered in worms.
“It’s the Dragon,” he realized. “We’ve got to warn her.”
His father looked pale. “You mean talk to her?”
“Yes.” Simon was bewildered. “You have to tell her what’s going on, don’t you?”
Aldric looked at the woman. He seemed terribly reluctant. Simon’s thoughts immediately returned to the girl at the novelty shop. It seemed the St. Georges were not very good at dealing with females. Brave in battle, timid in love.
“It would just scare her,” said Aldric. “I’ve tried before. I only got a little out. She seemed to think I was crazy.”
That was logical enough. Simon figured Aldric’s ratty outfit alone would make the woman think twice. He swiveled the telescope to look at her again.
He could now see wisps of hair that seemed to be spraying out rebelliously. Her coat had some odd little shoulder and elbow patches. It was homemade, or a repaired hand-me-down or something. Besides that, she did not seem to notice there was a dollop of paint on her cheek, perhaps from some after-hours painting she’d done. She was half elegant career woman, half out-of-control mess. But she carried a kind of casual strength, like someone who could take on anything.
“Our best strategy is simply to wait,” said Aldric, “and go on the assault when we see the beast.”
As the St. Georges continued their vigil, the woman disappeared inside, entering her apartment just in time to receive a most interesting phone call.
From the White Dragon himself.
It was a pleasant voice. A friendly voice. It sounded like someone you’d want to invite for dinner.
“I was thinking maybe I would invite you over for dinner,” said the woman.
“If you did,” said the playful Dragon, “I would be there in an instant. With my latest work, by the way.”
“You have a new painting?” said Alaythia, bursting with curiosity.
“I’ve just finished it,” said the Dragon. “I think, if I do say so myself, it is my finest yet. That’s no small accomplishment. There are so few artists who move the art form to a new level. I, on the other hand, have a way of doing just that every time I create a new work. It’s because I’m in touch with the animal inside me. All the great artists have to tame the wildness in them. This latest painting is even more beautiful than the others. It may actually change the world. And no one has seen it yet.”
“No one has seen it?”
“You would be the first,” said the White Dragon, who went by the name Venemon.
“I would be honored if you would bring it to me,” said Alaythia. “I’d be absolutely honored. I’ll even cook you dinner.”
“Wonderful,” said the Dragon. “Perfect. Eight o’clock. And maybe sometime I’ll return the favor—and have you over here for dinner.”
Alaythia laughed pleasantly at the idea, and the line went dead.
Outside, Simon and Aldric were going mad pondering what the wretched thing would do if it got its claws into her.
“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into,” said Aldric.
“Where is it?” asked Simon. Already his heart was racing.
Within minutes, a long, white, old-fashioned Rolls-Royce rolled down the street and stopped at the home of Alaythia Moore. Simon was startled. He recognized the car as the one he’d seen in Ebony Hollow. Out stepped several strong men in fancy gray and dull-white suits. They were frightful men, with scarred faces; they had the mean glare of criminals. One of them opened the back door, and a tall man dressed all in pale white stepped out.
His face was covered with a white scarf, his head with a white fedora. He wore a costly business suit and tie, and shoes made of albino alligator skin,
imported from Italy. A long grayish-white coat draped over the rest of his body. People who saw him saw a gentleman. So did the men who worked for him. Aldric St. George looked and saw something else: a modern Dragon.
Beetles poured out of the gutter, wishing they could follow him.
But he had already vanished from view.
The White Dragon was here.
Chapter Nine
THE BATTLE WITH THE WHITE DRAGON
ALDRIC WAS ALREADY RUSHING down the tree with surprising swiftness, but Simon was slipping on the slick branches. “Quickly,” said Aldric. “It’ll tear her to pieces.”
The Knight ran across the swampy grass toward her building. Rain was jabbing the Park, and by now it was nighttime, so Simon had trouble seeing where his father was going. The boy ran as fast as he could, but he was weighted down with the crossbow in his arms and the sword now hanging from his belt.
Wait, he wanted to yell, but he knew Aldric wouldn’t.
He strained to get across the field, slipping on thousands of slimy worms.
Finally, Simon slowed down, slipping past the doorman and the gathering of the White Dragon’s guards, just behind Aldric. They ran into the elevator, the doors whipping shut behind them.
“Eighteenth floor,” Aldric muttered, pushing the number. “When the lift stops, I go first. It’ll be to our right about fifty paces, the door facing east.”
The elevator seemed to take forever. Simon watched Aldric close his eyes, seeming to calm himself. Clearly he had some feeling for this woman. Simon wondered if it would cloud his judgment.
Inside the woman’s home, Venemon, the White Dragon, had just sat down for a cup of hot chocolate. White chocolate.
To her, the Dragon looked like an older, extremely handsome, white-haired gentleman. He had made his magic just right for her. His clothes and scarf simply made the illusion easier.
The Saint of Dragons Page 6
