by Laurence Yep
“This is my companion, Winnie,” I said. “And, Winnie, this is Silana Voisin, High Sorceress and runner-up for Queen Bee for … How many years has it been, Silana? I’ve lost count.”
“TOO many,” Silana snapped, and with a tug at the leash, she stalked off with Ermintrude in tow.
“You made her run away without ever touching her,” Winnie said admiringly. “Teach me to do that.”
Putting my paw on Winnie’s shoulder, I steered her in the opposite direction from Silana. “You’re dangerous enough without extra lessons.”
Every instinct screamed to hunt my quarry, to test the air for its scent and to search for tracks or other signs, but of course, I couldn’t be that obvious. Under the guise of my showing the Fair to Winnie, we walked down each aisle—this one filled with booths where you could win all sorts of amazing tiny beasts if you could throw and land Ajax’s battle-ax or Triton’s spear on the bull’s-eye. Winnie dawdled at one, listening to a barker invite her to toss a ball into one of many moving magic bowls to win a crystal-winged bird, dazzling with ever-changing colored lights. I knew she wanted to try, but I nudged her along.
“My dad always won me goldfish playing that game,” she said softly.
“Next year,” I whispered in her ear. “I promise.”
Sadly today we had no time for games, for in the next aisle, a hair-restoring comb had disappeared. Three stalls down, a painting of a clown that told endless knock-knock jokes had vanished. What worried me was that each missing item was larger than the last. “It’s growing,” I murmured to Winnie.
“Then it should be easier to see,” she said.
“You would think so,” I said, frustrated. “But then why hasn’t anyone seen it?”
Even as we hunted the pemburu, the events went on at the Fair. In addition to contests and races, there was also Magical Husbandry and its Best of Show contests—with various categories such as fur, fin, scale, and stone. (And no, I never entered any of my pets, as they deserved far more than blue ribbons.)
Usually there’s a lot of ruckus from both pets and owners, but the noise was much louder than normal because things seemed to be missing—a collar, a brush, a staff, a mirror, and the like—all of them magical.
With all the accusations flying here and there, I wasn’t surprised when a brawl broke out between two owners that sent one bystander, an unassuming juggler, head over teakettle, scattering his Japanese juggling bags every which way.
Watching the fisticuffs, I could feel the crowd grow uneasy and enraged, so I didn’t notice Winnie scrambling underfoot, gathering up the juggler’s tools. But suddenly she stood up, tossed the colorful bags high, and began catching and juggling them herself. Then, as the juggler rose to his feet, she tossed them to him, and he, caught up in the spirit of play, tossed them back.
In a moment, both the quarrelers and the busybodies turned to watch the pair as they did their tricks. Finally Winnie tossed all the balls to him, and the juggler bowed to her as the crowd cheered. Spirits distracted and lifted, the quarrelsome mood had passed, at least for now, without any help from Cullen and his spear.
“Who taught you those tricks?” I asked Winnie as I herded her away.
“My dad. He loved to juggle,” she said, then added proudly, “He was full of tricks.”
And so are you, my pet. As she looked away, I saw how much a part of her he was and how very much she still missed him.
Suddenly a wave of magic spread through the Fair—the accidental result of many enchanters getting ready for the Bee. A magical spell is like a chord of music, but this was like an orchestra warming up: the notes all jumbled together, but the volume loud and large.
Overhead floated a football-size bee, one of the magical constructs used for announcements at the Fair. “The Spelling Bee is about to begin at the Enchanters’ Oval,” boomed the voice. “Who will be the next Queen or King? Come and see.”
If I could feel the magic, so could the pemburu.
Stooping, I swept Winnie into my forelegs. And unfurling my wings, I launched myself into the air.
I had to find that beast fast, before mischief turned into disaster.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
There are tasks you and your pet can do together—and some things you must do alone.
Even if I had been a stranger to the Fair, I would have known where the Spelling Bee was by the large crowd that had already surrounded the roped-in Oval.
As I angled down to the ground, the announcer said excitedly, “Wait! Here’s the Queen Bee herself making a dramatic appearance.” It was Koyuske, a turtle-like kappa with a fringe of seaweed-like hair around the bald dome of his head. The red sash of a judge had been draped over his shell. “Has she decided to be a late entry?”
Koyuske was up in the judges’ box. I hovered nearby. “Sorry, everyone!” I shouted. “We’re just here to watch. But I lost track of the time and didn’t want to be late.”
This year, there were about thirty contestants listed on the entry board—twenty more than usual. Perhaps it was because with me gone, more enchanters thought they had a chance of winning.
While the others paced, muttering and waving their hands, Silana was using Ermintrude’s back as a bench and yawning, as if bored. “Can you see any of these amateurs beating me?”
I looked around. “That’s strange. There are usually some powerful enchanters competing every year, but all I see are newcomers.”
Silana smiled slyly. “Yes, it’s odd, isn’t it?”
I knew Silana all too well. “Or did you bribe the usual contestants to stay away this year?”
Silana shrugged. “Bribery isn’t against the rules.”
“It isn’t?” Winnie asked, puzzled.
“When I and my friends started the Spelling Bee,” I explained, “we decided that it would be in the anything-goes spirit of San Francisco. So there were no rules. As the Bee grew, we had to put in some minor procedural guidelines after a contestant forgot one year that the Bee is simply supposed to be fun and you weren’t allowed to maim or kill your competition. But other than that, entrants are free to do what they want before and during the contest.”
Ten years ago, five trolls had tried to kidnap me before the Bee. I had laid them out quickly enough, and Silana had cheerfully admitted to hiring them. I had told her it had been an insult to hire a mere five trolls and not to be so cheap the next time she tried to kidnap me. Trouncing her that year had been extremely satisfying.
“First up is Nynniaw the Wise,” announced Koyuske, “with his Green Magic.”
Clutching his cauldron of holly leaves, the druid strode into the Oval. There was a scattering of applause, but it wasn’t very enthusiastic. Still, Nynniaw began an incantation in a pleasant, lilting voice, a charming spell of power that made even the grass in the performers’ area begin to sway.
I laughed. “You’re still being too cheap, Silana. You should have bribed him too.”
As Silana began to scowl, Nynniaw’s lilt turned to a frightened screech.
The pemburu had felt the power too—and was here to take it.
“Cullen,” Koyuske called, “help us!”
I will say this for Silana. She might be treacherous, but she’s no coward. When all the other enchanters stood frozen in fear, she ran toward the Oval, black cloak flying behind her. Ermintrude sprang after her.
“Stay here,” I said to Winnie as I unfurled my wings. But she grabbed hold of my foreleg and wrapped her four limbs around it so she stuck to me tighter than a leech.
“I’m going with you,” she said stubbornly. “I’ve got the book.”
I didn’t have a second to waste pulling her off me, so I swept over the stunned audience and into the Oval. I flew lower then so Winnie’s feet could touch the ground. She let go as I rose slightly and hovered.
Nynniaw was on his knees, trying to hold on to his cauldron as it pulled away from him. But there was no sign of the pemburu itself.
Winnie raced in front of me
and pointed. “Something’s underground.”
I whirled around and saw the small mound next to the cauldron.
Of course! That was how the pemburu had been sneaking about the Fair unseen. With a stroke of my wings, I sped ahead of Winnie.
But Silana had heard Winnie, too, and began moving her ivory wand and chanting even while she kept advancing.
“Silana, stop! You might hit Nynniaw!” I shouted.
“My aim is perfect,” she yelled back to me. And with a flick of her wrist, Silana sent a bolt of lightning at the mound.
Fortunately Nynniaw’s reflexes were as good as his magic. He let go of his disappearing cauldron and fell backward just in time. The grass on the mound flared into flame for a brief second as the lightning hit the spot. The smell of ozone was thick in my nostrils.
“Top THIS, anyone!” Silana cried in triumph.
But the next moment, her eyes widened and her shout became a howl. Lightning continued to fly from her wand into the ground, but it no longer charred anything. “Something’s eating my magic!” Try as she might, she could not control her wand.
Burnt grass and blackened earth erupted upward when the pemburu’s head appeared, its mouth twitching as it swallowed the lightning. Its body swelled even as it climbed out of the hole. The lobster-like creature was about the size of a small pony as it stood on its many legs, hissing and spreading wide its pincer claws.
Silana stumbled forward. “Help me! My hand’s stuck to my wand!”
With a growl, Ermintrude leapt toward the pemburu, her mouth opening to reveal rows of fangs—and she vanished.
“Noooooooooooo!” Silana wailed.
A few of the contestants had worked up enough nerve to come into the Oval, and there were many more enchanters in the crowd. Even Nynniaw had begun to draw a magical diagram in the dirt as he started to chant.
Putting a paw on Winnie’s head, I shoved her down against the grass with me as the first spells began flying.
More magic smashed against the pemburu—some of it was visible as lightning, but the rest could only be heard or smelled.
Of course, the magic only fed the pemburu, so it kept growing and growing until it was the size of an elephant. Its armor of overlapping plates made it look like an ancient Japanese warrior. And it was still expanding. I gave up any idea of using my fire on it.
“Stop, you idiots,” I yelled. “Your magic is only feeding it and making it larger.”
The more sensible enchanters halted their spells, but others either hadn’t heard me or were too worked up and continued to shoot magic at the pemburu until it was the size of three elephants.
They only gave up when Koyuske began booming over the announcing bees, “Cease and desist. Give Cullen the Hero room to work.”
Cullen strode across the field, shaking his spear angrily. “I am Cullen of the Spear,” he announced, already working up the Rage. “Why are you trying to ruin the Fair? I hate monsters like you. You take. You destroy.”
Winnie pulled the sketchbook from her bag. “Stop him, Miss Drake. We can catch that thing.”
“I’m afraid it’s too large to fit into the book now,” I said. There were limits to how much magic you could cram into a small volume of space.
“We can’t let Cullen take on that thing with just a spear,” Winnie said. “He needs a machine gun at least.”
“That spear is a weapon of power,” I told her, “and, in Cullen’s hands, far deadlier than any gun.”
“Does that mean the spear is magic?” Winnie asked.
Immediately I reared up. “Cullen, stop! Go back!” And Winnie added her voice to mine.
When Cullen turned his head and I saw his dazed eyes and his mouth twisted into a scowl, I knew the Rage had already claimed him.
“Cullen, that thing eats magic,” I warned. “Your spear will be just a snack.”
A little spark of consciousness must have remained because he nodded jerkily. But instead of retreating, he raised his spear and jammed the blade deep into the dirt. From his belt, he pulled a knife. The words rasped from him as he grinned. “Then it’s cold steel.”
What could that puny knife do against the pemburu’s armor? But when Cullen was in the Rage, he knew only one thing: Attack!
“Stop!” I yelled, but Cullen gave himself completely to the Rage. Howling his war cry—“Nemain! Nemain!”—he charged. Flowers flew from his beard as he ran.
It would take a dragon to make Cullen halt now, and I broke into a gallop. I was still fifty feet away when he reached the pemburu. The monster swept a claw toward him with a sound like a wind rushing through the trees. As the pincers closed with a loud clack, Cullen threw himself to the grass, rolled beneath them, and then bounced back to his feet.
A cheer went up from the crowd. Everyone had stayed to watch as if this was all being staged for their entertainment.
Cullen’s arm shot forward like a piston, but the knife’s tip simply skidded across the pemburu’s plates with a screech like a fingernail on a blackboard.
Cullen danced back and forth as he dodged the pemburu’s claws. He tried to thrust his knife between the plates, but the pemburu twisted its body and the trapped blade broke. The next moment, a blow from a claw sent Cullen sprawling on the ground.
A groan went up from the crowd then, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Silana and some of the magicians beginning to edge away. In a few seconds, the panic would spread to the crowd, and someone was bound to get trampled as everyone tried to escape.
Neither magic nor brute force could defeat the pemburu. I might be able to capture it if I could swell to an enormous size, but because I was surrounded by spectators, I couldn’t grow too large without crushing someone.
And then I realized we were all making the same mistake. We needed to stop the pemburu, not beat it in a battle. And size was the key to ending the threat.
As I pounded over the last fifty feet of grass, I began to work my spell.
“Come back!” Winnie shouted.
The pemburu whirled at her cry and saw me. Immediately its huge claw slashed through the golden haze that surrounded me, and the pincers snapped shut where my head had been.
I heard Winnie give a cry of agony. “Miss Drake!”
The pemburu had struck too late. I’d already shrunk to the size of a fly. As the haze cleared, the monster now seemed as tall as a pagoda.
The giant pemburu whipped its eyestalks about frantically as it tried to find me, but I was too small now—a speck, but a dragon nonetheless. Behind me, I heard Winnie crying as if her heart was breaking. I wanted to shout to her that I was all right, but she would never have heard my tiny voice.
Growing desperate, the pemburu began to swing its claws back and forth, churning up the air and tumbling me about as if I was being blown by the winds of a mighty hurricane.
I landed hard against one of its armor plates, which now seemed as big as a truck. I tried to dig my claws into the smooth surface but wound up slipping and sliding across it. So instead, I let my momentum carry me to the edge. Grabbing the lip in my forepaws, I curled my body and inserted myself neatly in the crevice between two overlapping plates of its armor.
The pemburu went wild then, spinning and twisting as it searched for me. Now I felt as if I was in a ground-shaking earthquake, bouncing up and down between the plates like a rubber ball. Its legs must have kicked up the field into a cloud of dirt because the dust puffed into my hiding space.
I had to stop the pemburu before it began rampaging and hurt someone, especially Winnie.
So I edged deeper into the blackness. Somewhere ahead was its soft inner flesh, and buried within that was its heart.
As the poet once sang, Deadly is the darkness. Deadlier is the dragon in the dark.
When I bit into the pemburu’s heart, it died and all the magic it had devoured suddenly devoured it, and so its vast body disappeared with one great BOOM! I wound up plopping on my back on the ground, stunned. It was so silent at first that
I thought the crowd had fled. I would have liked to catch my breath, but I heard Winnie shouting, “Miss Drake, where are you?” She sounded so sad and scared that I immediately panted out the transformation spell and began to grow to my normal size again.
Clipper was there with a conscious Cullen. So was Britomart, who had been holding Winnie at a safe distance from the pemburu, but when Winnie saw me, she broke free. “I thought you were dead.”
“At times … so did I,” I puffed.
With a leap, Winnie wound her arms around my neck and hugged me. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“I don’t … intend to,” I said. “Now let go … of me. I’m a mess. You’ll … ruin your clothes.”
“You’re a corker, Miss Drake, a corker,” Cullen said, shaking his head in admiration as the crowd roared and roared.
In all the years I had been winning the Spelling Bees, I’d never heard anything like that. At first, I thought they were cheering in relief because the pemburu was dead.
But then Nynniaw began to chant, “Miss Drake.” The other enchanters picked it up and soon the whole crowd was shouting my name rhythmically.
“Take a bow, Miss Drake,” Clipper urged.
“I’d rather take a bath,” I growled back.
“Oh, don’t be such a grouch,” Winnie scolded.
So I nodded to the crowd and managed to lift a foreleg in a feeble wave.
Winnie put her hands beneath the knee joint to keep my foreleg up. “You’re going to have to do that for your fans on all four sides.”
“You’re enjoying … bossing me around far too much,” I complained.
“Yup,” Winnie agreed. “Now let’s try to turn.”
I managed to acknowledge each part of the crowd around the Oval. “There. Satisfied?”
Suddenly Koyuske’s voice boomed over the announcing bees. “Attention, everyone. We all know how much Miss Drake has already done for the magical community. Today, we are even deeper in her debt for saving us from a monster that was proof against magic and weapons. So for this tremendous feat, I think Miss Drake deserves to be the Queen of the Fair yet again. What say all of you?”
