by Clare Smith
Then Plinkassian had come along and had offered to take Snap outside for some sunshine and exercise. The boy must have succeeded as he’d heard shouts of alarm and screams of fear which often happened when Snap was around. Plinkassian was turning out to be an absolute godsend, organising things and running endless errands, all of which were urgently needed to make life in this barbaric city bearable.
So far he’d arranged for food and wine to be delivered on a regular basis along with wood for the fire, clean linen, hot bathwater and a myriad of other useful items. Amongst them was a tailor who brought some very dull samples of cloth and who he’d sent away with a flea in his ear. Realising his mistake, Plinkassian had then found him a seamstress with an array of brightly coloured fabrics which she was now busily turning into new robes for him and his apprentice.
Of course Plinkassian's success had partly been due to the writ, signed by the king, saying that he was to be given everything he needed, but all the same, the boy had done well and had deserved the rewards he’d bestowed on him. So far he’d given his apprentice three lessons in reading, which the boy hadn’t enjoyed half as much as he should have done, a tutorial in the basic elements of ignition, which he’d been more enthusiastic about, and his own room.
Plinkassian had never had a room of his own before, which seemed to be very strange, and had been absolutely overjoyed. He felt a bit guilty that the boy had been so grateful to him. After all it was only the small store room below the throne room which was full of chairs, tables, pots, goblets and endless piles of old junk covered in cobwebs.
His apprentice had then disappeared inside the store room for a whole day and when the boy emerged, he’d asked him to help write a list of the things he needed. That had been a pleasant and fulfilling lesson for both of them, and Plinkassian had gone away with the list written in his own hand and a smile on his face. After that he’d come to the conclusion that it was better to teach the boy how to read and write using something he was interested in, rather than learning lists of verbs and their various tenses.
On his way up to the tower he’d opened the door to Plinkassian’s room and had peered in. He was curious to see what the boy had made of the place and had done with the various things he’d ordered. Unfortunately when he’d looked inside, all he could see was a tall barrier of tables and chairs stacked on top of each other and covered with several thick blankets.
Of course he could have gone into the room and stepped around the barrier to see what was on the other side, but that would have been terribly bad mannered. Furno had once tried to come into his rooms to have a nose around, and he’d told the man just what he’d thought about that in no uncertain terms. Apart from that, he wasn’t especially curious, as it was unlikely that a small boy, who could neither read nor write or even speak in a civilised manner, would have anything which would be of interest to a pyromaster of his standing.
Still, when Plinkassian had finished taking Snap for a walk, he would have a word with him about being more open and trusting, particularly with his master who would be sharing all of a pyromaster’s secrets with him. That process would take at least six years, after which he would present the boy to the council for acceptance amongst their sect. Except that wouldn’t happen unless the boy could read and write, speak correctly and conform to all their petty and pointless rules.
The thought of Pyromaster Furno wagging his finger at him and telling him he was a weak minded fool to teach this ragamuffin their secrets made him scowl, and his good mood completely evaporated. He’d show them though. He’d turn the one time ship’s boy into the greatest pyromaster who had ever lived, except for himself of course.
Only he wouldn’t do that gazing out of the tower’s archways whilst the boy ran wild and did whatever took his fancy. With that thought in his mind, he picked up the hem of his sulphur-yellow robe and hurried down the stairs putting aside the urgings of the dragon spirit within him to return to the throne room. He ignored the door to Plinkassian’s room but stopped at his own sleeping chamber.
Bright yellow robes were all well and good when you were visiting somewhere special or wanted to be noticed. However they were definitely not right for the serious task of teaching an uneducated boy how to become a master of his calling. For that he needed sombre robes, although not so dark that they made him look anything like miserable Furno or sullen Flagration, or any other of the dull, old men of his sect.
He chose the deep red robes, which had the burning buildings embroidered around the hem and a small cape the colour of dark smoke across his shoulders. It was one he rarely wore, despite the effect being quite dramatic, as he preferred lighter colours, but it seemed appropriate for what he had planned. Carelessly he left his yellow robes on the floor knowing that Plinkassian would put them away and took a quick look around the room.
His apprentice had done a good job of making the dark room with its heavy furniture pleasant for him by the addition of a bright bedspread and matching cloth on the dresser. He’d even managed to acquire a rug for the floor to cover the blood stains which had been impossible to remove. The best thing though was the tapestry which now hung on one wall. It was very old and rather dark, but showed three magnificent dragons in flight.
The tapestry fascinated him and he was tempted to go and have another look at it, but he had other more pressing matters to deal with, so he turned and hurried down the next flight of stairs. He stopped when he reached the door and went into his work room which had been a bed chamber when they had first arrived. That had annoyed him because the room had been completely unsuitable for his needs, but Plinkassian had quickly arranged the removal of all its contents which had made him feel much better.
When the room was empty, Plinkassian had carried in a number of tables and chairs from the store room and had arranged them just where he wanted them. They were poor quality things and not at all what he’d been used to, but they did well enough to hold his apparatus and scales, and the assorted boxes and jars of elements which he used in his experiments. There was also a large table which held his parchments and quills and had become the place where he taught Plinkassian to read and write.
There would be no lessons today though. Today he wanted to take the boy down into the barred cell beneath the Dragon Tower where the ten barrels of Devil Fire was stored. It was an evil place which smelled of blood, dried sweat and fear, but there were scratches on the walls which prisoners must have made and he thought that learning to read those would interest the boy.
At the same time he could check the barrels of Devil Fire for leaks, and take a small sample of one barrel to use for demonstration purposes. That would be useful just in case the people here thought they were better than him and needed to be convinced of his superiority. He’d just selected a suitable container when there was a knock at his door and Plinkassian poked his head around the corner. It was excellent timing as now he wouldn’t have to go looking for the boy.
“Where’s Snap?”
“’E’s outside wiv the bloke who wants terseeyer.”
“There is no such thing as a bloke.”
“Well this one is an’e wants tersee yer but I wouldna let ‘im in wivout yer knowin’ so Snap’s guardin’ the door.”
Kallawassian sighed in irritation; he didn’t want to see anyone just now except for Plinkassian of course. “Tell him to go away.”
“I fink yer aught terseeim, ‘e looks right important an’ ‘as them there funny guards wivim.”
“Tell him I’m too busy and to come back later, a lot later.”
Plinkassian bit his lip and shuffled his feet not wanting to argue with his master and then decided to take a different tact to get his point across. “’E says ‘e’s ‘ere in the king’s name and as the king pays fer all we got then I finks yer should see’im.”
Kallawassian couldn’t help but be impressed by the boy’s persistence and supposed he had a point. “Very well then, show him in but only him and bring Snap too in case our visitor ov
erstays his welcome and needs to be shown out in a hurry.”
Plinkassian gave a brief bow and hurried away giving Kallawassian time to kick the discarded robe under the bed, hide the container he’d been holding and sit behind the large table so he looked important. As an afterthought he opened one of his leather-bound ledgers in which he kept an accounting of the elements he used and picked up the quill with the impressively long, scarlet feather. By the time the boy returned with his visitor he’d created an image of a learned man of superior intellect.
“This ‘ere is Mirralet,” said Plinkassian in way of an introduction.
Mirralet glared at him and clipped him sharply around the ear. “It’s Lord Mirralet, boy, and don’t you forget it.”
He smiled ingratiatingly at the foreigner across the table and noted the quill which was far too long to write with and the lack of an ink pot. So the man was a fraud as well as a foreigner; he’d thought as much.
Kallawassian didn’t bother to stand or greet his visitor, who had annoyed him already by having the audacity to touch his apprentice. The man, who had the effrontery to dress in a pyromaster’s black robe, reminded him of Combust, who was also an arrogant bastard and thought he was better than everyone else. Well, he wasn’t going to stand for that, not from a mere lord.
“Say what you want and get out, I’m a busy man who doesn’t like to waste my time.”
Mirralet bristled and almost hissed at him. “Lord Cavanagh, who is head of the council and speaks for the king, has asked me to show you around the Enclave and tell you when the best time would be for you to do your work.”
Work! Didn’t this upstart know that what a pyromaster did wasn’t work but artistry? “I have more important things to do than to wander around the place with you so make an appointment with my apprentice and come back some other time.”
“Lord Cavanagh will not be pleased about this, just wait and see.”
Kallawassian put his quill down and rocked lazily back in his chair, an attitude that had always outraged Furno. It was obviously having the same effect on Mirralet, but he hadn’t finished yet. “This Cavanagh is your master is he? Well go and tell him that if he wants to speak to me he should come himself and not send his lackey. Now go, I have the important task of teaching my apprentice to count up to ten to occupy me and have no more time to listen to you.”
With that he gave a dismissive wave, picked up his quill and concentrated on the figures in front of him. Plinkassian took that as being the end of the interview and opened the door for the Passonian to leave. Snap must have thought it was time for him to go too because when Mirralet took a step forward to protest, it scuttled from behind Plinkassian on its short, powerful legs hissing loudly. Mirralet gave it one look and made a hasty retreat through the door, whilst Plinkassian followed him with Snap close behind to make sure he didn’t come back.
By the time he returned, Kallawassian was propping himself up on the edge of the table with a goblet of wine in his hand and looking very pleased with himself.
“I don’t fink yer should’ve done that, ‘e weren’t right pleased and that ain’t good.”
Kallawassian laughed. The boy didn’t know anything about men like Mirralet. “There’s nothing to worry about, boy, just you wait and see.”
*
Cavanagh sat inside his coach and stared out at the three creatures which stood guard outside the Dragon Tower’s door. Mirralet had told him about two of them but hadn’t mentioned the bird, which was busily pecking at the spaces between the cobbles. It was big and black and had a sharp pointed beak, but apart from that it looked fairly harmless.
The lizard-like creature was another matter. Even from here he could see that it had large jaws, and as some of its teeth were exposed he guessed it could kill a man without much effort. The long tail, enclosed in what appeared to be scales, and the spiky ridge which ran down the length of its backbone would also be powerful weapons and would make the ugly beast difficult to dispatch.
The boy was a different matter entirely. Despite the long and garishly coloured robe he wore, it was easy to see that he was small for his age and as thin as a string bean. He would be easy to kill, but that wasn’t his intention. From what Mirralet had told him following his disastrous visit to the Pyromaster, there was some level of connection between the boy and his master. That was unusual in such a relationship, and he intended to use it to his advantage.
Unlike Mirralet, he didn’t intend to barge in and then act like an arrogant fool. His approach was going to be much more subtle, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would be completely successful. After all he’d managed the fractious and argumentative king for the last five years, and compared to that a mere foreigner should be nothing. Just in case there was a problem, he’d brought a few things with him which weren’t bribes, as bribery was frowned upon at court, but would ease his way through the door.
The items were in the basket beside him, but having seen the size of the lizard creature and discovering there was a bird as well, he wasn’t sure if he’d brought enough. Still, it would have to do, as thanks to Mirralett’s failure, time was running out. He used his staff of office to knock on the roof of his coach and then waited for his servant to let down the steps and open the door.
Carefully, so as not to spill the contents, he handed the servant the basket, climbed out of the coach and retook the basket whilst dismissing the man with a wave of his hand. If he was going to play the part of the humble petitioner, confidant and friend, he didn’t need a servant in tow. He approached to a safe distance and gave the boy one of his most winning smiles, but the boy looked back sullenly, pulling at the neck of his brightly coloured robe as if the thing was strangling him.
“Good morning, young sir, it must be hungry work standing there caring for your master’s pets and guarding his door.”
“’Spose so,” said Plinkassian, pulling at the collar of the idiotic robe which was rubbing his neck. “Only Peck and Snap look after themselves mostly.”
“For all of that it is a most responsible job keeping unwanted visitors away from you illustrious master.”
“Nah, it’s boring. Nowt comes ‘ere wiv Snap doing ‘is fing.”
Cavanagh hesitated whilst he tried to work out what the boy was saying. “Then perhaps Snap deserves a reward.” He undid the cover from over the basket and pulled out a dish of bloody meat. “Do you think your companion would like this?”
“Yeh, an’ Peck too, but I don’t fink yer aught’er give’umit, it could be poisoned or summut.”
“Would I anger your master by doing such a thing? In any case, wild creatures always know when food is bad for them and won’t touch it if it is poisoned.”
He didn’t know about that. The rats on board ship always ate the poison put out for them. It didn’t matter though as Snap was already pulling him towards the meat and Peck was perched on the edge of the dish helping himself.
“And what about you, Master Plinkassian, what about some sugar snap?”
“Dunno what it is, ain’t never ‘ad it.”
“Then you are in for a treat.”
Cavanagh searched around in his belt pouch and pulled out a smooth brown stick which he held out to the boy. Plinkassian took it and cautiously licked the end. The stick was sweeter than the spoon of honey he’d once stolen from the Captain’s private supply and had a slightly bitter taste which made his mouth water and crave for more. He bit the end off and crunched it between his teeth sighing with the sheer pleasure of the wonderful taste.
“I can see that you like it, so if you would do me the smallest of favours, I will give you the other piece which I was saving for myself.”
“Watcher want me ter do ‘cause I ain’t goin’ ter do owt which ‘urts me master.”
“I have no intention of hurting your master, Plinkassian. I just want to introduce myself and make sure he has everything he needs for his comfort. If you tell him that Cavanagh, the King’s envoy, would like to speak wit
h him, if it is convenient and he’s not too busy, I would be most grateful.”
Plinkassian watched as the man patted his belt pouch although he didn’t pull out the other stick of sugar snap. Cavanagh was the name the arrogant lord had mentioned, but this man wasn’t anything like him, so perhaps his master wouldn’t mind talking to him. After a week of sitting around this place he must have been getting bored too. Making his mind up, he gave a nod, handed Cavanagh Snap’s leash and ran inside.
He guessed the Pyromaster would be in his work room but before he went inside he straightened his robe, finger combed his hair as straight as he could and thought about what he was going to say. He’d quickly learned that Kallawassian was more willing to listen to him if he dressed tidily and tried to speak correctly, although it was a nuisance to do both. Still, if it worked it would be worth the effort.
When he was ready he knocked on the door and entered when he was invited in, bowing deeper to his master than he normally did. “There’s a man at the door called Cavanagh, who says he’s the Kings envoy and would like to speak with you if you’ve got the time and ain’t doing anyfing else.”
Kallawassian almost smiled at the boy’s efforts to speak correctly. He had a long way to go yet, but at least he was trying which pleased him no end. “What did this gentleman want with me?”
“He says that he wants to tell you who he is and make sure yer all right and got all yer need.”
“Is he alone?”
“Yeh.” Plinkassian stopped abruptly knowing that wasn’t what he meant to say and tried again. “Yes, master, except for the carriage he got out of, but he ain’t got no servants or guards wiv ‘im.”
“I see. Well in that case, and as I’m not busy you may show him in.”
Plinkassian smiled and dashed off so quickly that the draft of his passing ruffled the parchments on the table closest to the door. The boy’s enthusiasm surprised him and he wondered what it was about Cavanagh that had excited him so much. Perhaps the man had a wooden leg like the sailor they had seen on the dockside, or looked peculiar and made jokes to make him laugh.
