Dragons Deal

by Robert Asprin

  The Krewe of Fafnir wasn't a perfect organization. They had supported Griffen's efforts to change, but mostly because he was at the top of a pecking order that became more evident each time he was with them. Etienne was behind Griffen a hundred percent, not that that seemed to cut much ice with the existing lieutenants. Though they treated him with the respect due the founder, or refounder, and captain of the krewe, on a personal level they were dismissive of someone with so little dragon blood.

  He refilled one of the buckets at the utility sink next to the lavatory and came up in the middle of an argument between Mitchell Grade and Etienne.

  "Who are you tellin' me what to do? Couldn't light a birthday candle," Mitchell snarled.

  "Still tellin' ya what to do," Etienne said.

  "The hound dog telling the alligator? That's rich. You got no authority over me, son. Coming from the back of beyond with no more in common with me than a tree. Back off! You don't get it. You couldn't."

  "Hey!" Griffen protested. "You act like he works for you. It's the other way around, isn't it?"

  "Sorry, Griffen," Mitchell said. "He is just out of his grade here, that's all. I'm making decisions that are fitting to a real dragon, something he can't understand."

  Griffen frowned. "This is probably none of my business, but . . ."

  "Well, you are right! This discussion is none of your business, okay?"

  Griffen drew himself up. He felt scales breaking out on his hands and neck. He pushed up to the big man and looked him square in the eye. "Really? And what if I told you I thought none of you were worth my time?" The time Griffen had been expecting had come, where they would challenge him. If it turned into a fight, he was spoiling for it. What would Mitchell do first? Go dragon, or try to overpower him with influence?

  Instead, Mitchell backed off a pace. "Well, we'd have to take your word for it, Griffen. But you don't, do you? Otherwise, why are you here?"

  Griffen aimed a thumb at Etienne. "Because he asked me! The one you're insulting! A dragon's a dragon!" A roar rose up near them.

  "Fire!" a voice near them bellowed in alarm. Griffen turned around. Wild flames were licking up from the float that he and the others had just been working on. They leaped for the ceiling. The fire alarm began to wail.

  "Water!" Lucinda's clear voice came over the shouting. "Griffen!"

  Griffen looked down. He realized he was still holding a full bucket. He ran to hand the water up to Jacob, who was standing on a ladder beside the sculpture. Mitchell grabbed another bucket and stuck it under the tap. The krewe formed a bucket brigade, pouring pail after pail of water on the blaze. Smoke blanketed the room. The orange tongues of fire flickered, then disappeared.

  "Hold it!" bellowed Jacob. "I think that's it!"

  Griffen and the others halted. They were covered with water and flakes of soot. His eyes stung from the smoke.

  "Damm it all," Callum said. "Did we get it?"

  One of the others reached inside the now-blackened, skeletal framework and felt around. "It's out."

  "We're gonna have to let the fire marshal in to confirm," Terence said. "He'd better not blab about what we've got going on in here. What the hell started it?"

  "I don't know what happened!" Jacob protested. "It was still wet. How could it catch fire like that?"

  "No idea," Callum said. "Never mind, it's over."

  "What a shame," Lucinda said, bringing hand towels to the firefighters. "That's the part you just finished, Griffen. We'll have to do it all over again."

  A hand grabbed Griffen's arm. Griffen turned to blink at Etienne. The captain leaned in and spoke softly.

  "Mr. Griffen, you gotta calm youself down. You gonna cause a lot of damage if you don'."

  "I was only defending you," Griffen said.

  "I can take care of myself, but t'anks, huh?"

  "Yeah." Griffen turned to Mitchell, who was wiping smudges off his own face. "I'm sorry, Mitchell. I don't mean to pull rank. But you see what it feels like to be on the receiving end?"

  "Yeah, I know. Not like it hasn't happened to me other places in my life," Mitchell said. "Ignorant humans--what do they know? I know I wouldn't like it if you decided to walk away from us, but what could we say? You got to make your own decisions about that. Hoping you won't, of course."

  Griffen studied him. "It was pretty arrogant of me to push my views on you, but I really do feel strongly about it. If you know anything about me by now, I choose the people I hang out with by their merits, not their bloodlines. I'd be an idiot to think I could do better than all of you on this stuff. It's right out of my league. If I'd been in charge, this would be a ten-year project, not two."

  "Yeah, but you're learning," Mitchell said, grinning. "I don't mind learning a little, too. You're gonna be a force to be reckoned with one day, son. I just hope you remember the little dragons who helped you along the way."

  "Where?" Griffen said, pretending to look around with an innocent expression on his face. "I don't see any little dragons here."

  "Man, Etienne, you are good," Mitchell said, slapping both of them on the back. "This boy is a whole lot more than just a hand to wield the scepter."

  "That is what I tol' you, Mitchell," Etienne said, no more perturbed than he had been before. "You gots to learn to listen to me better."

  Mitchell took in a deep breath. "Yeah, I do."

  Griffen breathed a sigh of relief, too.

  Twenty-nine

  Griffen slid into a booth in Yo Mama's Bar and Grill. He ordered a Peanut Butter Burger, a combination he would never have tried anywhere but the French Quarter. It was not only unexpectedly good, but addictive. Griffen often ordered other things off the menu, but always came back to his favorite. He licked the rich combination of oil and meat juice off his fingers as he made notes in a pocket notebook from a sheaf of paperwork on one side of the table.

  He had just come from the last of the four restaurants holding rooms for him. The hospitality directors had all been friendly but harried. They gave him price lists, catering menus, and sample contracts. They were all excellent, top-rated restaurants. It was a hard choice to decide on one of them, but in the end there was one standout, a beautiful white-tablecloth establishment over seventy years old on the edge of the park at the north end of the Quarter. He and Val ate there once in a while and always enjoyed it. It wasn't as fancy as Commander's Palace, for example, but it had an elegance and an easygoing charm. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed.

  The hospitality director was glad that he had finally made up his mind. "I'd do anything for Etienne de la Fee," he said, "but people have been hounding me because they know that room is still open. I will be some glad to be able to tell them it's booked. Come in in the next couple of days and we'll sit down and make arrangements. You need the floor plan?"

  Griffen sifted through the pile of paperwork, ready to say no, when he came up with a layout for the grand private dining room. He had not even thought to ask for one when he toured the restaurant. Etienne must have given it to him. That accurate a gift for foresight made him shiver.

  "No, I've got one. When can we talk? Say, Thursday?"

  "Right. Come after lunchtime. I'll feed you, but let the lunch crowd die down first, okay? We'll be proud to host your king's party. It's an honor, Griffen."

  Griffen courteously called the other three restaurants to tell them their rooms were free and they could rent them out, and thanked them for holding them for him. They each asked him to think of them the next time he was planning a party.

  "I sure will," Griffen promised. "I love your food." It was the truth. Those were the top restaurants in town. He had come a long way from eating only fast food and microwave frozen dishes, Even though there were days when he still did that, too. But New Orleans had vastly expanded his culinary range.

  "Hey, Grifter," Jerome said. He sat down opposite Griffen and accepted a menu from the uniformed waitress. "How's it going?"

  "Not bad, Jer," Griffen said. "What can I
do for you?"

  The two of them never mentioned the New Year's Eve argument aloud, but they had patched up their differences within a day. Jerome reminded Griffen that his choices, however wrongheaded he felt them to be, were final as far as the operation went. With that kind of authority handed to him, Griffen had been very careful to consider what he was doing. He just couldn't see any harm in Peter Sing, and Peter had never caused a single problem.

  "Just remindin' you that I won't be around on February 16. Can't answer the phone, can't help out with crises. That okay with you?"

  "Sure," Griffen said. "Something wrong?"

  "Oh, hell, no," Jerome said, grinning. "That's when my marching society steps off."

  Griffen settled back in the booth. "I've heard a little about them. Are they like a parade?"

  "They pretty much predate parades," Jerome said. "No floats. A few bands and other units go with us, but everyone is on foot. By the way, Marcel's in my group. A few of the others, too. They'll all need that day off. Might as well shut down the operation for the day."

  "We may have to shut down on a few other days during the parade weeks," Griffen said. "You're not the only one to tell me you need the day off. I can't believe how many of the people who work with us are involved in a krewe or a marching society. Or bands. Kitty said she is supposed to play saxophone in five parades. Five. I feel out of breath just thinking about it."

  "Oh, yeah, boss-man," Jerome said, holding up his cup for the waitress. She poured coffee for him and Griffen. "We really get into it here. History of celebratin' Fat Tuesday goes all the way back to the very beginning of the colony of New Orleans. For me, I started up with the marching society after Mose made me into a functional being all those years ago. I still go out with 'em. You ought to come out and hang with us. It's a lot of fun. Plenty of drinking, bawdy songs. It's a great time. May not get back until after midnight."

  "Sounds good to me," Griffen said. "A day off wouldn't do me any harm. I hate to ask this, but how much?"

  "Bring your own costume and your own throws and booze, and you're in," Jerome said.

  "I love this city," Griffen said, with a laugh. "Hey, I could use your advice. I have to plan this king's party."

  "Fancy parties are beyond me," Jerome said. "I'd end up reading Emily Post and Miss Manners to cram for the exam, but I never made one up myself."

  "The girls are coming to help me plan. Trouble is, every time I come up with a good idea, it seems to cost a fortune. I've tried calling Mose to see how he handled all the expenses thrown at him, back in the old days, but he's still avoiding me. I hope he's okay."

  Jerome waved his coffee cup. "He's fine. I'll tell you what he told me when I didn't know to trust my own judgment. Say no first, then think about it. If you still love an idea later, do it. If you decide against it, someone else had better come up with a damned solid reason why you need to cover it. I'll help in any way I can, you know that, but the final word still has to come from you."

  "And that's the big problem," Griffen said. "I have a tough time saying no to myself."

  "So show me your plans," Jerome said. "I'll be happy to stick my two cents in."

  "Wait until the girls get here. Val has to start work at four, and Lisa gets off at two, so I told them to meet me here."

  The three women arrived in a group, giggling together over the contents of a paper bag. Mai sat down beside Griffen before Fox Lisa could get into the long seat. Instead, the redhead slid in beside Jerome.

  "Shove over," Val told Mai.

  "Pull up a chair," Mai said. Val shook her head. She sat down on the bench seat and pushed in until the smaller woman was jammed between her and Griffen.

  "That's better," Val said.

  "Thanks for coming," Griffen said.

  "We could have done this at the Irish pub later on," Mai said. "In much less discomfort."

  "I don't need everyone weighing in with their ideas," Griffen said. "I need some help, but not that much."

  "So, what do you have so far?"

  "I have a location and a few ideas." Griffen showed them the catering sheets from the restaurant.

  "Nice place," Fox Lisa said. "I used to bus tables there a few summers ago while I was in school. Good people. The kitchen's clean as a whistle. Elegant but not stuffy."

  "What are you serving?" Val asked.

  "That's what I need some help deciding," Griffen said. "Don't go too crazy on me. Take a look at what they want per person for banquets."

  "Hokey smoke, Bullwinkle!" Val exclaimed. "I thought they were expensive in the regular dining room!"

  "What about sole stuffed with shrimp?" Mai asked. "That sounds delicious."

  Griffen winced. It was the most expensive thing on the menu. Trust Mai to go straight for that. "Try to keep the cost reasonable, okay?"

  "Forget the expenses, this is your party! When are you ever going to be king again?"

  "Always," Griffen said, with a straight face. "That's what I want to be called from now on. Griffen Rex."

  "Y'can't be called 'Rex' in this town, pal," Fox Lisa said. "Not unless you actually are. That's taken."

  He laughed. "Okay, King Griffen."

  "Very well, Your Majesty," Mai said. "What price range are you hoping for?"

  Griffen went down the options. The five of them hashed over the set menus and glanced at the a la carte lists. With an eye on Jerome, Griffen said no to everything that sounded too costly until the others justified it as reasonable. In the end, they picked out four entrees: fish, meat, fowl, and vegetarian, plus a soup, salad, and dessert that played to the strengths of the chef.

  "That's great," Griffen said, putting the papers in a heap. "Now all I have to work on is the theme."

  "Well, what about the parade theme?" Mai asked. "Why don't you use that? It's ready-made for the krewe. Could that work into your dinner?"

  Griffen opened his mouth, then closed it again. "You almost got me," he said, as Val laughed uproariously. "I nearly told you."

  "But what is it?" Fox Lisa asked. "We've been trying on those costumes, but none of us can guess from the design."

  Griffen shook his head. "I'm sworn to secrecy," he said, mysteriously. "Look, I have my own idea for the party." He flipped open his small notebook and showed them a series of crude sketches. "I'm not much of an artist, but here's what I thought: I want to line the walls of the room with movie posters on easels, only all the titles will have dragon themes." He eyed them speculatively. "Like Gone With the Wing."

  "Ohhhhh," moaned Fox Lisa. "Not puns!"

  "Why not?" Jerome asked, laughing. "How about Goldbusters? Who y'gonna call?"

  "I thought of The Wyvern of Oz," Griffen said.

  "Two Gremlins of Verona," Val threw out. "Wait, those aren't dragons."

  "Hatching Can Wait," suggested Jerome.

  The others laughed at each new suggestion. Griffen wrote them down as fast as he could. When they finished, he had over twenty that he thought were funny.

  "These are going to be great. I'll choose about six or eight of these," he said.

  "Who's doing it for you?"

  "One of Steamboat's cousins is an artist," Griffen said, naming a fellow barfly in the Irish pub. "He'll draw them up for me and get them printed. Everyone's going to get a miniature poster as a favor, an eight-by-ten print at their place setting."

  "That's really clever," Fox Lisa said. "It won't be too expensive, and it's unique. I thought you were going to give everyone a picture of you in your regalia."

  Griffen struck a pose. "You think they'd like that better?"

  "Oh, well, there's another one for your movie titles," Val said, laughing. "The Dragon Who Would Be King. You'll have to have your face on the poster."

  "Goldfinger," Fox Lisa suggested. "That already sounds like a dragon name."

  "No, Goldwinger!" Mai said.

  Jerome leaned back and shook out a cigarette. "You know you don't have to try this hard, Grifter. They're already impressed to death with
you."

  "I want to get it right," Griffen said, feeling the need intensely. "Like Mai said, when will I get another chance?"

  Jerome grinned at him. "You're on your way to becoming a pillar of the community. Good job, Grifter." He flicked his lighter. Instead of the inch-high flame, a gout of fire gushed upward. Jerome dropped it on his plate. It didn't go out. The flames seemed to consume what was left of his sandwich and fries as if they were made of tissue paper.

  "Put it out," Mai ordered him.

  "I didn't do that!" Jerome said.

  "Not you. Griffen."

  "Me?"

  "You started it. I felt it. Put it out. Now! Concentrate."

  Griffen stared at the flame, feeling silly. The waitress had hoisted a fire extinguisher from behind the counter and headed toward them. Go out, he thought. Go out now!

  The flames died away into a pool of congealed ketchup. Griffen regarded it with confusion.

  Jerome headed off the waitress. "It's okay!" he called. "Sorry about that. I gotta give up smokin'. Maybe this was God's way of reminding me. Sorry!"

  "What just happened?" Griffen asked.

  Mai smiled. "It looks as if you have a new addition to your secondary powers," she said. "What were you thinking before that happened?"

  "I just . . . I just want what I'm doing to work out right," Griffen said.

  "You were feeling something deeply. Try it again. Start a fire, right there, but in a small way."

  Griffen looked at the charred hamburger. Burn, he thought. Just a little.

  He almost jumped out of his skin when smoke started curling up from the blackened bun.

  Out! Go out!

  Just as swiftly, the smoke died away.

  "Now, that is one useful talent," Jerome said. "You never have to carry a lighter again, Grifter."