Never Deal with Dragons

by Christensen, Lorenda

  “She can do this.” Trian met my eyes as he spoke. “Myrna has practically run the Tulsa office’s Reparations department since you left, Richard. Glask isn’t even a dragonspeaker. Emory doesn’t promote her because he’s incompetent and he tries to hide it.”

  I stared at Trian, trying to figure out what game he was playing.

  “Well, that’s not completely true.” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. It was completely true, but things never boded well for employees who trashed their former employers hours after they were out the door.

  Trian rolled his eyes. “Oh please. I was there for Isiwyth’s negotiation session. All Emory managed to do was run around whining about the mess while Myrna tried to keep the farmer from a total breakdown.”

  Richard looked to me. “Is this true?”

  I hesitated. There had been times, many times, I’d been so angry with Emory I wanted to scream, but he’d been my direct supervisor for a year now, and hadn’t fired me despite recommendations to send me packing from several other department heads after the scandal with Trian and the stolen documents. It seemed a lot like a betrayal to pretend like he’d done nothing.

  But one of the few things I had learned when dealing with dragons was to be decisive and show no fear. I didn’t know why Trian decided to vouch for me now, when he’d had a front row seat to just how stupid I could be, but the job was important, and I knew I could do it.

  “Yes. It’s true. Emory’s position is more of an…honorary title. He attends social functions on behalf of DRACIM, but most of the daily activity, I handle. I’ve also gone through the extensive mediation training required of all DRACIM mediators. I started out in the program on a path to become a mediator, not a secretary. Circumstances…changed my career path slightly.”

  Richard looked to Trian and back to me. No one could miss the undercurrents swirling around the room. I could see the questions in his eyes, about how Trian and I knew each other, and the history that made us uneasy strangers here and now. But Richard wasn’t stupid. He kept his questions to himself.

  Trian shifted on his chair. “She’s fluent in the northern Chinese dragon dialect.”

  “Is that so?” Richard looked at me with new eyes. Despite my burning curiosity at just how Trian knew I’d taken the obscure language class to avoid almost-failing yet another course on dragon script, I resisted the urge to look in his direction.

  “I wouldn’t say fluent, but I could get by.”

  “Well, Myrna, it seems you have a lot of support from Trian, and I trust his judgment. Lord Relobu is pleased to have you on board.” I took the hand Richard offered and smiled. “I imagine you have a few things to tie up at DRACIM, but we’d be pleased if you could report here by the end of the week.”

  “I’ll make it happen.” Emory would be furious, but I had no intention of rotting away as his secretary. I’d figure out some way to make him agree to this. I had to.

  Not to mention, the faster I could get up to speed on the details of Relobu’s problem, the better off I would be. I was going to need a lot of study time.

  But Trian had other plans.

  “She’ll need some combat training. Basic defensive moves for the most part, but it wouldn’t hurt if she had some instruction with a knife as well.” He looked at me. “You still run?”

  Combat training? I swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Good. No less than two miles a day.” Trian glanced at my ribs. “Starting next week.”

  He looked to Richard. “How long until the meeting with Hian-puo’s delegation?”

  “I’ve been pushing to move the meeting up in an effort to get our team safely home, but Hian-puo is adamant. We’re scheduled to meet his representatives two weeks from today, here in Tulsa to discuss the initial demands.

  “It’s not much time, but it will have to do.”

  “Um, Myrna, about your wardrobe,” Richard fumbled with his glasses, obviously uncomfortable. “Hian-puo is a bit more…formal and conservative than Lord Relobu.”

  I grinned and gestured to the pair of threadbare trousers and pleated shirt I was wearing now. “Don’t think this would pass muster, huh?”

  “Well obviously you look beautiful…”

  I glared when Trian snorted but Richard continued as if he hadn’t heard. “…but Hian-puo and his dragons will expect you to be dressed in something similar to what you wore the last time you were here for evening negotiations. How many formal evening gowns do you own?”

  “Including the one from last night? Zero.” It turned out the dragon-resistant coating did nothing for holes made by dragon claws.

  “Ah, well. We’ll need to remedy that.”

  I did a quick calculation of the money I had saved. Emory might have been rolling in the dough, but even with hazard pay, a secretary’s salary wasn’t anywhere near extravagant.

  “Lord Relobu will pick up the tab for your clothes, Myrna.” I stiffened. Trian had whispered the words so Richard wouldn’t overhear, but I was still annoyed and a little embarrassed that he knew what I was thinking.

  A small dragon peeked through the door. “Mr. Green, Lord Nerul’s representatives are here.”

  “Of course, of course. I’ll be right there.” He picked up my resume. “Myrna, Trian, you’ll have to excuse me. I have a meeting over mineral rights to attend.”

  I waved as he stepped from the room.

  There was one thing that was bothering me. “So Richard does a lot of Lord Relobu’s business negotiations, and he practically invented the Reparations department at DRACIM. Why do you guys need an outside mediator? He seems perfectly capable of handling the job himself.”

  “Hian-puo demanded it. And Myrna, I’m serious about the combat training. Despite the protestations from ‘Ol’ Blue,’ I’m convinced the attacker last week was sent by Hian-puo. His insistence on an outside negotiator, coupled with an attack on the very night Lord Relobu wanted to talk to DRACIM—it sounds too coincidental for my taste. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hian-puo has something bigger up his sleeve.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but I plan on going with you to the meeting to find out. Until then, we have no choice but to do the best we can with the information we have.”

  He surprised me by curling me into a quick hug. “Myrna, I’ve missed you. Thanks for doing this for me.”

  “Stop.” I pushed away, uncomfortable with how nice it felt to be close to him again. “This isn’t for you. I needed a job, and there was an opening. That’s it.”

  Trian set me back on my feet and studied my face. Something flashed in his eyes—hurt?—and then he was back to business.

  “Training starts at eight tomorrow morning. I’ll walk you out. And, Myrna? I’m sorry. About the demotion.”

  “It doesn’t matter. No need to walk me out.” Trian made me unbalanced, and I wasn’t fond of the feeling. Even now, I had the urge to wrap myself back against his warm chest, and believe him when he told me the world wasn’t about to crumble. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t reality.

  Reality involved a man I couldn’t trust, and a dragon population on the brink of a war. I didn’t have time to indulge in useless fantasies, especially ones that could be potentially devastating to my heart.

  My feelings for Trian would have to remain where they’d been for the past year: locked in a box in the back of my mind.

  “I’ll be here.” I left the room without a backward glance.

  *

  By ten o’clock Monday morning, Emory had my resignation letter on his desk, and I had Emory’s boss on the telephone. Yes, I felt bad about going over Emory’s head with my situation, but Emory refused to be reasonable.

  After my meeting with Richard and Trian, I’d called Emory to fill him in on what Relobu needed from DRACIM. Despite my attempts to persuade Emory of the opportunities this would open for DRACIM—an entirely new, dragon-to-dragon revenue market—he refused to even consider the project.

 
; Because of Saturday’s attack, he felt it would be too dangerous for our employees to put themselves at risk. I’d tried to explain how Relobu’s invitation had opened the door for humanity to have a seat at the table of dragon politics—perhaps even opening to door for new international laws guiding human and dragon relations, but Emory wouldn’t listen.

  Emory was a coward, and regardless of how well this phone call turned out, I would not be working for him ever again.

  Allan Gosney, Emory’s boss, had the same reservations.

  Perhaps they were right—the dragons would probably chew me up and spit me out in negotiations, but at least I’d end the day trying to make a difference. It was more than I could say right now for DRACIM. I fought for composure as I listened to Allan give me the same excuses Emory had tossed my way.

  “Myrna, I agree with you. If DRACIM felt like we could branch out into dragon-to-dragon arbitration and still guarantee the safety of our employees, of course we’d be all over the idea. But you were attacked last weekend, and I can’t in good conscience sign off on that.”

  “This attack was a random occurrence. Relobu’s chief of security has already told me he’ll be personally supervising the session.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line.

  “Myrna—”

  “Allan. I’m quitting if I don’t get this assignment. I’m serious. I can’t work for Emory any more.”

  He sighed. As regional director for all of DRACIM North America, Allan Gosney knew just how much work came through Emory’s office. And just how much work Emory actually handled personally. Once, at a party, Allan had one too many drinks and let it slip that Emory would be gone in an instant if Allan had anything to say about it, reinforcing the rumor that Emory had political friends who’d maneuvered Emory into the position, and kept him safe from the pesky performance reviews the rest of us were beholden to.

  “Do you know what it will cost the company if you’re injured on the job?”

  I did a silent fist-pump in the air. I could almost taste the victory.

  “I can sign some papers. If I get hurt while on this job, DRACIM doesn’t owe me a dime. And I have the perfect person to fill my old position.” Sara Reiner had joined DRACIM just under six months ago as an entry-level secretary for one of Emory’s mediators. I’d worked with her on a couple of cases and found her to be surprisingly competent—not to mention an excellent identifier of bullshit—for a recent graduate of the DRACIM training program. She’d handle Emory, no problem.

  And when this case was complete and I was entitled to my own secretary, I’d save her from the endless frustration of working for Emory Glask.

  “How long is the assignment?” Allan, resigned, asked from over the line.

  “I’m not sure, but it’s a simple diplomatic negotiation. I can’t see it taking more than a week, two tops. They want me for some basic Relobu orientation classes over the next two weeks, but I can do those after office hours.” The orientation classes were mostly combat training sessions with Trian, but I didn’t think mentioning that fact would help my odds of having Allan sign off on the deal.

  “Okay, okay.” I could practically hear him tearing out his hair. “But do your best to make it one week. The future of DRACIM is at stake here.” Allan hung up the phone before I had a chance to reply to his wry request.

  I was officially a DRACIM mediator again. This time when I picked up the phone, I called my roommate.

  Chapter Six

  “Owww! That hurt!” I rubbed hard at the spot where my sparring partner had thumped me with a meaty fist. I looked down at my arm and sighed. He’d unerringly found the one injury-free area I had left. My entire body was a gruesome canvas covered with bruises in varying stages of healing—blue, purple, green, yellow—I carried them all. When I’d mentioned wanting to view Lord Relobu’s art collection, I’d had no idea I might be referring to myself.

  Stick me in a frame and charge for viewing.

  “Sorry.” Plob, an aging dragon recruited by Trian to help with my defense lessons, took an obliging step backward and looked to Trian. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her—it’s just muscle memory.”

  I tried to give Plob a reassuring smile, but I winced instead and took a moment to be grateful his muscle memory didn’t include claws.

  Trian shrugged, totally unconcerned with the fire spreading through my arm. “You did fine, Plob…it’s supposed to hurt. That’s why it’s called an attack.”

  He glanced my way. “If you’d have redirected his ‘attack,’” Trian made finger quotes in the air as he described Plob’s halfhearted attempt to strike, “with your left wrist like you were shown, Plob wouldn’t have even made contact.”

  I took a brief moment to imagine the look on Trian’s face when I “made contact” with his teeth. Unfortunately, my arms were so tired I probably couldn’t raise my fist above my waist, much less hit my teacher hard enough for him to feel it. So I settled for sucking a couple of deep breaths into my oxygen-starved lungs while Trian spoke.

  Trian approached the dragon and motioned for Plob to lower his head. “This spot,” he pointed just behind one of Plob’s enormous horns, “if hit with enough force, will blind most dragons long enough for you to get away or find help.”

  “And if the dragon doesn’t have horns to mark the spot?” Dragon physiology varied much more widely than humans, and as a rule there was no rule when it came to their appearance. Large, small, scaled or finned—it all depended upon the type of DNA running through their veins.

  Most of the records from the early failed experiments had been lost, so not even the dragons were completely sure what creatures composed their ancestry. Reptile, almost definitely, as all dragons were heavily scaled. Their clawed feet and ability to fly suggested avian, but they also had a dash or two of mammal, because they carried live young. It was quite the potpourri mixture.

  There were employees of DRACIM whose sole job was to track down and catalog the different strains of “dragon” flying—or crawling—around the earth. I remember thinking their jobs had to suck—pawing through stacks of hundred-year-plus research papers and trying to build a family tree with bad phone connections, a horrible postal system and an entire species indifferent to their origins—but right now, I’d love to have a cheat sheet of the major characteristics and their weaknesses. Like, say, whether all dragons could be blinded by a tap on the head.

  “I still don’t understand why I have to do all this. I thought Richard said I’d be assigned a security team. I thought you said you’d be leading my security team. Are you really expecting Hian-puo to order me attacked?”

  I’d heard the dragon lord was half crazy, but most of the stories focused on how badly he treated his fellow dragons. I hadn’t heard a thing about his human employees or coworkers. The DRACIM office closest to Beijing was severely understaffed compared to Tulsa. The only number I could find connected me to the mailroom, and when I’d called and asked for someone who could give me some background on the Chinese dragon court, all I’d managed to get was a promise from the guy in there that he’d “look into it.”

  He’d given me an extension number to a guy who’d had dealings with some of Hian-puo’s generals, but when I dialed the number, all I received was an automated message telling me the line no longer had service. I’d tried dialing back the postal guy, but no one picked up. So I was going into this meeting blind. Not my favorite option.

  Trian interrupted my thoughts. “Basic combat training is standard for all Relobu employees. Though Lord Relobu aims to support human and dragon equality, the bare fact remains that there are a lot of dragons who just don’t respect equality without proof. In a dragon’s mind, might makes right. This is the first meeting Hian-puo has allowed with humans in attendance. We have no idea what to expect, and I want you prepared. To answer your question, if the dragon doesn’t have horns, try this instead.”

  Plob twitched involuntarily as Trian ran a hand over the soft scales at the base
of the dragon’s neck. “For humans, a strike to the neck would cause difficulty breathing, but for a dragon, it has the potential to kill. With fire and poison breathers, this is the most likely spot to disable. If the organ is popped, the dragon would suffocate or drown almost immediately.

  “Most of Hian-puo’s guards are capable of flight, and the gas chamber is required for lift. This chamber connects to the lungs—if you damage it, you interrupt breathing. At the very least, it will give you time to run. And for the venomous, releasing the poison into the body will prevent it from being aimed at your back as you scramble for the door.”

  “Assuming I’m able to move at all after all this torture. At this rate, I’ll likely be lying in traction at the hospital.” My ribs were feeling much better, but I was pretty sure these training sessions would be just as hard even if I were in perfect health.

  Trian didn’t even blink at my attitude. By this point he had heard it all before.

  “Thank you, Plob, for your help. We’re finished with sparring for the day.” The bearded dragon nodded in response and limped out of the room.

  Yes. Limped. And not because of any damage I’d done.

  He smiled. “Time for katas. Use the knife. I want you to feel comfortable with it in your hand.”

  I groaned. I abhorred katas. At first they’d been fun. Trian had taught me a few basic moves, then had me practice by stringing them together as uninterrupted movement while he watched, correcting me when my inborn clumsiness started to show. But now every muscle in my body screamed in pain. With running, my legs took most of the torture; the rest of my muscles for the most part just came along for the ride. But katas—I’m pretty sure they were invented to torture muscles I didn’t even know I had. By the end of a session, the small dagger felt as if it weighed more than I did. And based on his smile, I was positive Trian knew it.