Dragons Deal

by Robert Asprin

  "We don't need your help!"

  "Yes, you do," Melinda said, patiently. "Don't be so stubborn! At this moment, I am the best friend you have in this world."

  Louder applause than ever resounded through the ballroom. Matt, at the podium, bowed over his microphone and handed it back to Etienne.

  Lucinda came to lay gentle hands on their shoulders. "That's it," she said. "The tableaux are over."

  Griffen made a face. "I . . . hardly got to see them."

  She smiled. "I know. Don't worry. Y'all had other things on your mind. It was videotaped. You can get a copy from Etienne in about a week. You two need to get in there now." She shooed them toward the ballroom as the orchestra sat down and struck up the beginning of a waltz.

  "Come on," Melinda said.

  "I am not going anywhere with you," Griffen said.

  She lowered her voice. "You idiot, this is the first dance. You are the king, and you have to have the first dance with me, your queen."

  She took his arm. Griffen felt a shock. Besides himself and Val, he had not sensed any dragon that powerful before. She seemed to have an electrical current running through her skin. He wondered if people felt that in him, too.

  Melinda towed him toward the dance floor. She smiled graciously at everyone they passed. Griffen plastered a smile on his face that hurt to retain. Melinda stopped in the middle and stared at him.

  "It's a waltz," Melinda said. She put up her hands. "Hold on to me, idiot!"

  Griffen obediently reached out and put his left hand on her waist and took her left hand with his right.

  "One, two, three, ONE, two, three . . ."

  Normally he was nimble on his feet, made more so by the fencing classes he took with Maestro, but his tension made him clumsy. Melinda was scornful.

  "Straighten yourself up," she commanded him. "Slower! You're skipping the beat. One two three, ONE two three. Get into it. That's better. You hardly look like the dragon of the prophecy when you're tripping all over yourself. And me."

  "Do you believe in that legend?" Griffen asked.

  "Whether I do is not as important as how many others do. Perhaps I believe that this child of my son and your sister is the one." Her light eyes glinted. "We won't know, perhaps not for years."

  They glided together around the floor. The musicians changed key upward a third, and Etienne stepped onto the floor with Regina on his arm. He stopped before them and bowed.

  "May I cut in?" he said.

  "Of course," Griffen said, grateful to be rid of Melinda. He took Regina in his arms and danced away with her. His feet immediately regained their coordination.

  As they swept away, he heard Melinda say, "I've never had an invitation based upon a dream before."

  "Well, look at you, pretty lady. You look like a dream."

  "So that is Mrs. Wurmley," Regina said. "You know her?"

  "She's a, uh, distant relative," Griffen said.

  It took an effort, but he kept his expression pleasant and his conversation noncommittal. Stifling his impatience, he finished the dance, bowed to the lady, and handed her off to another male dancer who approached. Ignoring a woman who gave him a hopeful glance, he marched over to confront Etienne, who had just turned Melinda over to Callum Fenway.

  The krewe captain took another lady and spun her around the dance floor like a dust mop. Griffen had to resort to a brisk stride to catch up with him. The lady in Etienne's's arms looked disappointed when Griffen tapped him on the shoulder but didn't cut in.

  "I need to talk with you."

  "You coul' wait until the end of the dance, but I know you won't." Etienne sighed. He bowed to the woman and escorted her to an empty chair. "Pardon me, but dis is krewe business."

  "I understand," the woman said, with a smile.

  Griffen grabbed his arm and pulled him to the wall near the bus trays.

  "You knew all along!" he snarled. "Why didn't you tell me? My sister was incredibly upset. Of all places to trap the two of them together!"

  Etienne looked at him with disbelief. "Trap? Dis ain't no trap. She won't hurt her here. Fact, she won't hurt her at all. She be a great queen, Mr. Griffen. She got de blood, just like you and Miss Valerie. Not as strong, but stronger than de other ladies in town. She the best person to ask. I knew she would be here, so I asked her, and she said yes."

  "She didn't say anything to me or Val," Griffen said.

  "She knew how you felt," Etienne said. "Everybody do. I asked her to keep it to herself. She agreed."

  "I can't tell you how pissed off I am," Griffen said.

  "I know," Etienne said. "But what would you have done different if you knew?"

  Griffen huffed and puffed with fury, but at last common sense overtook him. "There's nothing I could have done. Except walk away."

  "And are you gonna do dat?" Etienne's pale brown eyes studied him. Griffen wanted to grab him by the throat, wanted to jam him through the wall and storm out. But the parade was coming. He wanted to be part of that magic. And he had bonded with his fellow ritual-makers. He couldn't let them down.

  "No," Griffen gritted out at last.

  "'Zactly. So, savin' you months of frettin' is bad how?" Etienne patted him on the shoulder. Griffen flinched back. The werewolf smiled. "Enjoy yourself. This is the chance of a lifetime. Enjoy bein' king, Mr. Griffen. It's all just temporary. And I say, what harm do it do to honor another powerful dragon with the queenship? It's all good for the krewe, and for N'awlins. I know you care about dat." He signed to a waiter, who homed in on them with a tray. He presented Griffen with a whisky. Griffen glared but he snatched the drink and downed it.

  "You even knew to get that set up, too?"

  For a moment, the werewolf-dragon hybrid's eyes looked weary and tired. "Mr. Griffen, I seen everyt'ing that matter. Everyt'ing gonna work out. Go ahead and hate me today, but you'll see."

  At that moment, Griffen did hate him. He hated everything about the krewe, the party, the parade, the fussy decorations, the formal wear, the people--especially the people. With a whoosh, the tray next to him blazed up. Griffen let the orange flames dance for a moment, then extinguished it by clenching his fist.

  "Watch it, McCandles!" Harrison's voice interrupted him from his funk. He glanced up. The bulky figure of the detective in his black-and-white suit made him look like a thirties G-man instead of the street cop he was. He danced by Griffen with long, slow steps. Harrison looked happier than he had ever seen him, but with an expression of sad longing. Griffen would not have hurried the dance, either. The dark lady in his arms had a divine figure, to which clung a swirling dress of purple, gold, and green in narrow stripes that made it look like a pinwheel. She lowered the lorgnette mask in her hand to smile at Griffen.

  It was Rose.

  "I received your invitation," she said. "Thank you. I am glad to have this chance to be with David at such a distinguished gathering."

  "Yeah," Harrison said, holding her firmly to his chest with his outspread hand in the middle of her back. "Thanks, Griffen."

  "You're welcome, anytime," Griffen said, sincerely. His own throat felt thick. He watched them move away, feeling like a matchmaker. He would never have thought of them as a couple, but they were. Griffen desperately wanted to know the history of that relationship, but he doubted he would ever get it from either of them. All he did know for certain was that Harrison had been devastated when she died. It was none of his business, but he would have liked to know just the same.

  Since Griffen never knew when he would see the voodoo priestess's ghost, he had left the cream-colored envelope addressed to her on the park bench on the Moonwalk where they sometimes talked. She had obviously found it. He was glad. It was the least he could do for Harrison.

  He managed to enjoy the rest of the ball after all.

  Forty-two

  Griffen frowned at the map and its multiple overlays that Cos Wrayburn had prepared and spread out on Holly's kitchen table. He followed the four colored lines along St. Charl
es, around Lee Circle, to Canal Street, where three of the lines diverged.

  "Only Aeolus keeps going," Holly pointed out. She poured coffee for all of them from a copper-colored pot. Her kitchen suited her, furnished in sunny colors and sturdy furniture and appliances. "That's east, Air's cardinal direction. We're going in along Rampart as far as St. Ann."

  "I know we turn right on Canal and go south to Tchoupitoulas," Griffen said. "Mitch has been drilling us. We step off forty-five minutes apart, from five fifteen on."

  "So," Cos said, pointing a thick forefinger at the map, "all the routes intersect at the corner of Canal and Rampart."

  "So we release the energy then?" Bert asked.

  "No. That's when we bind it," Cos said. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

  "You think I do a lot of this on the used-car lot?" Bert asked. "Build living sculptures of water out of my hoses?"

  "Get you a lot of customers," Griffen joked.

  "I can use them to wash the vehicles on my lot, maybe." The king of Nautilus laughed.

  Griffen didn't laugh. He had the Scepter of Fire in his hands. Holly had shielded the little white-painted house and overgrown garden with wards as soon as the three others had come inside, and let them take the heavy gold wands out of the metal-bound chest. Griffen felt the warmth grow in his solar plexus like the return of a happy memory.

  "It'd be good if we all knew our capabilities on parade day," Holly reminded them. This was their third practice session. Every time Griffen touched the long-handled object, he found it hard to let it go. The sensation that went through his body was like the twanging of harp strings or guitar strings. The vibration went on and on.

  "Has anyone had any, uh, element-related incidents outside?" Griffen asked. "Maybe it's my imagination, but fires seem to start around me more easily than usual."

  Cos let out a gusty breath. "I thought it was just me," he said. "I left some footprints in concrete the other day."

  "So?" Bert asked.

  "It was dried hard. And the plants around my house are just busting out like crazy. They don't know it's February."

  Bert looked at them all sideways. "You all don't believe what you're sayin', do you? I'm a man of faith! The things been happening around me are coincidences--just coincidences."

  Holly nodded. "It could look like that. What are you talking about?"

  Bert seemed to find it embarrassing to put his thoughts into words. "Well, I get wet when it rains, same as everyone, but the moment I step inside, I'm dry as a bone. And I never get thirsty anymore. Never. Doc says there's nothing wrong with me."

  "It's the scepter," Cos said. "I, too, am a man of faith, but I see nothing more than the Hand of God working through us."

  "It's uncanny, though," Bert agreed. "Only, I do agree that it's benevolent, whatever its source."

  "I know I'll find it hard to pass on the scepter to next year's king," Griffen said. "It really makes me feel connected to all of nature, not just things associated with fire."

  "Learn to let go," Holly said. "Practice thinking about it. I know it's hard. I feel it myself."

  "Never felt nothing like that," said Wrayburn. "It's a test. God wants me to do my job and walk away. I can do that."

  "You are every inch Antaeus," Holly praised him. She looked at Griffen in concern. "It's Griffen I'm worried about. We three have been preparing for ages. You didn't even have any reading material."

  "I'll handle it!" Griffen said, disliking being singled out. "And if you say I'm too young . . . !"

  The wineglasses on the table began to hum, then dance on the surface. Holly grabbed for the stemware and held it steady.

  "What's going on?" Cos asked. "Is there something that the scepters caused? Is it you?" he asked Griffen.

  "No!" Griffen protested.

  "No," Holly said. "I doubt that's him. He's not radiating that kind of destructive energy. You'd be able to feel it yourselves, sitting that close to him. Let me concentrate. Something is attacking the wards." She squeezed her eyes shut. "It's coming from outside, not inside."

  Griffen felt pressure on his chest, like invisible walls closing in on him. He swiped at the air, but there was nothing solid to push aside. Cos fingered the collar of his polo shirt.

  "I'm choking. What's happening?"

  "Are we under attack?" Bert asked. "From who? And what?"

  "No idea," Holly said. Even she looked shaken. "It's some kind of external force. It's trying to get in. It doesn't feel elemental, it feels malign."

  "How in God's name would you know that?" Bert asked.

  "I do know," Holly said. "Just like you would know the word of God when you heard it. This isn't the time for an argument, Bert."

  "Let me out there," Griffen said, even though fear planted a cold hand on the back of his neck. "I'll take care of it."

  Holly knew what he was talking about. "No! We must not break the wards. They are giving us more protection than you can. We'll ride this out."

  "What if they don't hold?" Griffen asked.

  "We can hope they do."

  "What can we do?" Cos added.

  "Pray," said Bert. "Pray hard."

  "I agree," Holly said. "Guys, I'm going to do something a little premature and use some of the energy we're raising to protect us.

  "You can't do that!" Cos said. "It's too soon."

  "The energy will still be there," Holly said. "But we might not. Don't you feel that?"

  "'Course I do," Cos said. He put a hand on his chest. "Feels like . . . asthma attack."

  Holly took his hand and squeezed it. "Lend me your power. Concentrate on putting the force of your element into my hand."

  "This doesn't seem right," Bert said, even though his face was gray. "Need to save power . . . for the parade."

  "Don't you want to live to ride those floats?" Cos asked, his head beginning to droop.

  "God will protect us if He finds us righteous," Bert said.

  "Sometimes we have to help ourselves to get His help," Holly said. "Don't be a self-righteous fool. Remember that story about those footprints in the sand?"

  Bert gave her a crinkle-eyed grin. "I always thought the man in the story was the . . . biggest idiot ever born. All right. I just wish . . . I could breathe."

  "You will, soon," Holly promised. Her voice was the strongest of the four of them. Griffen marveled at that, but Air was in her power. "Lend me your power. Let's do it now."

  "All right," Cos said. "Do what you know."

  Griffen was full of admiration for the other two men. Humans were more resilient than he would ever have guessed. These men, who didn't officially believe in magic, were putting their lives in trust to a wiccan, whose practices were condemned by their own churches. They were handling the whole supernatural thing a lot better than he did when he found out he was a dragon. Unlike Harrison, who had been in love with a voodoo queen, these were adherents to more formal sects. He admired them, but he was concerned for his own involvement.

  "Holly, I don't know if I should," Griffen gasped out. "I'm afraid of setting everything on fire."

  She turned intense eyes to him.

  "It'll be all right," she said. She laid the Scepter of Air on the table with its top at the center. Griffen, feeling as if he were in a dream about drowning, dropped his with a thud and pushed it with clumsy fingers until it touched hers. Bert's head was sagging. He needed both hands to put his scepter in place. Cos made a mighty heave and put his point forward with the others. Then he dropped back in his chair with his eyes closed.

  Holly tossed back her long blond hair, tilted her face to the sky, and let out an eerie wail. It resolved into words. "We ask thy aid. Let that which others send to us return to them threefold! Lend us thy will. We ask this for the good of all, according to the free will of all. Let all that comes to us return to the giver threefold! Let it happen now!" She let her hands fall on the junction of the four scepters. Griffen felt something rise from it like a hot burst of steam. He squeezed his eyes sh
ut. The howling of a hot wind swirled around them. Grit tore at his skin; rain lashed it. Griffen's heart pounded. He felt it tearing him and the others apart.

  Suddenly, it stopped. He panted for breath.

  He opened his eyes. Nothing was there but four people sitting around a table in a small kitchen with gingham curtains. No water or sand dripped from the walls. The cheerful copper-colored clock above the stove clacked.

  "That was scary as hell," Cos said. "But that pressure's gone."

  Bert regarded her severely. "I don't agree with what you just did."

  Holly was outraged. "What? I sent the power back to where it came from."

  "But the threefold stuff, that's punitive. You're hitting back more than we were attacked!"

  "If you listened, you heard me say that all good things shall also be returned threefold. And I am not the one doing the meting out of justice. That is the universe's job. I am just asking. Just what you do when you pray. And it seems to have worked, thanks to all of you."

  Cos cleared his throat. "Hard to argue with that," he rumbled. "Got to ask my preacher."

  "But why did that happen?" Griffen asked.

  "I don't know," Holly said. "We might never know. It could be a function of our power-raising, or from someone who doesn't want us to do it."

  Griffen immediately thought of Stoner, but how could he know about the scepters? They hadn't been out of their box in six decades.

  "We'd all better get going," Cos said. "Just in case it starts again."

  Holly held her hands over each one of them. Griffen felt as if she had just sprayed a suit of armor on him.

  "You'll be protected for a while," she said. "But be careful." She smiled at Griffen. "See you all at your king's party."

  "Yeah, Griff," Bert said, shaking his hand. "Lookin' forward to it."

  Griffen kept all his senses sharp as he went home.

  Forty-three

  Griffen, black bow tie crisp as a potato chip, shook hands with each person who entered the dining room. Val stood beside him, smiling and gracious in her blue dress with her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders. By tradition, the queen of the krewe would have been next, but Val threatened to boycott the whole party if Melinda was closer than three feet.