Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  Cadoc returned to his drink and the paper, keeping his face carefully neutral. The whiskey left a warm trail down his throat and he flipped back to the dog race section. He again reviewed possible choices for today.

  The street door opened and closed. Soft footfalls approached.

  “Ah, Cadoc. Good evening.”

  He looked up. Waving cigarette smoke away, he said, “Struan. Good evening.”

  The man sat on the stool next to him.

  Cadoc stamped out the cigarette. “I really should give these up. They’re quite expensive compared to cigars and I’ve noticed I’ve lost a step lately. I seem to get winded more quickly with, ah, strenuous activity.”

  Struan stared at him a moment, then chuckled. “Ah, yes. Well, depending on the partner, anyone could get a bit winded after sex.”

  He didn’t correct the man, merely swirled the whiskey in the glass. “I must have missed you last night. I arrived a bit late, but had a drink to drown my losses anyway.”

  “Sorry about that,” Struan said. “What with payroll coming in, I was swamped with paperwork, so I couldn’t make it.”

  Cadoc feigned confusion. “Payroll? Ah, yes, you did mention that you were an accountant.”

  “Today is the company’s payday, so yesterday morning I had to receive the transported funds from the bank, and then I spent the rest of the day, and some of the night, doing all the paperwork.” He shook his head. “I even had some carryover work to do this morning.”

  “Well,” Cadoc said, “I actually won two races today, so let me buy your first drink. You certainly look like you could use one.” He waved the barkeep over.

  Struan smiled. “You are a true friend.”

  The barkeep squeezed half a lime in with the gin, finished making the drink, and poured it into a glass. After handing it to Struan, he gave a brief nod and returned to chatting up a woman at the other end of the bar.

  Struan took a large swallow and sighed. “Oh, but I needed that.”

  Cadoc sipped his whiskey. “What do you think about the riots earlier today?”

  The man frowned. “Those bastards. That’s why I’m so late. Our building was locked up as a precaution, and I, along with everyone, was in a panic as to what would happen. Even after things settled down, it took nearly an hour before anyone got back to actual work.” He lifted his glass. “That’s another reason I really needed this.” He swallowed the rest in two large gulps and waved to the barkeep.

  After Struan’s drink was refilled, Cadoc watched the barman leave. “They seemed to be upset that jobs are still scarce after all those businesses went under.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Struan said, “I sympathize with their plight. But causing riots? How is that going to help?”

  Cadoc shrugged. “Their confidence was shaken, I suppose, and nothing has happened to change that. If even banks can fail, what is there that won’t?”

  “Hmm. That’s true, I suppose.” Struan sipped his drink. “Fortunately, our bank is the largest in Stronghold, First Trust, so it weathered that economic storm with no issues.”

  Cadoc kept the smile from his lips. It had taken a week of slow work, but two pieces of information were now his. Time to try for another. “Banks weren’t the only ones that went under. The economic crisis sent ripples far and wide.”

  “Ripples?”

  He nodded. “Sure. I’ll use an example related to what you talked about: failed businesses. I’ll wager that armored wagon transport companies had to scramble to replace contracts from firms that went under. Those transport companies that didn’t or couldn’t get new contracts went under themselves. Many businesses are interrelated, you see, and what happens to one could impact others, much like ripples in a lake spread out and interact with other ripples.”

  Struan turned to him. “Actually, we did have several transport companies come to us offering lower rates if we signed with them.” He chuckled. “Our owner used those offers to force Fortress Armored to renegotiate our contract.”

  Cadoc sipped his whiskey. Outstanding. He now knew their bank, the day they received the payroll from the bank, and the armored transport company that was used to transport that money.

  Struan raised a finger. “I did caution her not to force them too low, however. It wouldn’t do to starve them out of business.” He frowned. “And after those riots today and our talk now, I’m more certain than ever that I was right to do so.”

  Cadoc made a non-committal grunt.

  “Those criers have been on so many street corners for months now, talking about the job situation here in the city. My sympathy for those people is also a little self-serving, I suppose.”

  “How so?”

  Struan glanced at him. “People without jobs can’t buy as many things. If products aren’t purchased, there’s no demand for shipping. If there’s no shipping, there’s no need for trains and rail lines. And that’s where my company is making the dragon’s share of its money at the moment. Our steel is being used to build locomotives, cars, and, especially right now, the rails for the tracks.”

  Struan frowned. “It’s exactly like those ripples you talked about. In a round-about way, we’re dependent on people and companies having money to spend. We need an end to this economic slump the criers harp on, and soon, before even more companies go out of business.”

  + + + + +

  Millinith lifted her arms and stretched. Faint pops in her back bore evidence to the time spent pouring over the various schedules. She’d decided to work out the riot instigator patrol routes and assignments even though the contract hadn’t been presented yet. Copies of class schedules, along with schedules for the various patrols the guild already had contracts for, were strewn across her desk. All had been consulted to determine which dragonlinked were free and when.

  Renata had offered to help, but Millinith declined the assistance. “I shouldn’t delegate all the drudge work,” she’d told her.

  The patrols were similar to those for nahual, but instead of the routes being focused on the perimeter of the city, these were spread equally throughout Stronghold. It was people thinking of mayhem they were looking for, after all, not nahual, and dragons had to be closer to people to detect their thoughts than the ten mile range for sensing those beasts. Still, the city maps they’d used for creating the nahual patrols had proven indispensable for planning these patrol routes as well.

  Finally done, Millinith gathered her small, sketched maps—each person’s riot patrol route, stacked them neatly, and shoved the pile aside. They’d get handed out with the route assignments. Time to move on to other chores.

  She eyed the small pile of mail. Renata dealt with general correspondence, that addressed to the guild itself, but any addressed to her personally was set there on the desk.

  The top letter was from her aunt, Caryn. She smiled and set it aside. She’d read it in her room, later.

  The next one bore the return address of the Magic Craft Guildhall in Delcimaar. It was from Adept Oran, the Magic Craft auditor for the Dragon Craft Guild. Brows drawn together, she broke the blue wax seal and opened the letter.

  Guildmaster,

  I hope this finds you well. As we discussed previously, Adept Komako and myself are working together on a paper concerning dragon sentience. We have completed the outline for the paper and are ready to take you up on your offer to spend more time there working with your dragons. Our coach leaves later today, and we should arrive at the Guildhall within the next few weeks.

  Yours in service,

  Adept Sorcerer Oran.

  Millinith pinched the bridge of her nose. It never rains but that it pours.

  What troubles you?

  I’m just lamenting how much work being a Guildmaster really is.

  Oh?

  Do you remember Adepts Oran and Komako?

  I do. They were here for a short time after we bonded.

  They’re going to be returning soon to ask you and the other dragons many questions. I just
hope I have time to help them with their work.

  Their work?

  They are writing a paper, a kind of report, that they hope will prove that dragons are more than animals, that they are people.

  Humor came through the link. Is that not like proving that the sun is bright, that you can breathe air, and that water gets you wet?

  Laughter burst forth from Millinith. You’d be surprised how many people fail to see or refuse to acknowledge the obvious. But yes, they want to prove that water is wet.

  She drummed her fingers on the desk. Itzel’s ridiculous yet on-the-nose point not withstanding, that paper was important. It had to be completed.

  + + + + +

  “Before they eat,” Sharrah admonished. She stood between them and the four trays of meat and scraps. The food was brought to the clutching room each morning and evening by kitchen staff.

  “Aw, but he’s starving!” Terry turned a forlorn face to her. “I already ate dinner and can feel how hungry he is. I don’t feel right making him wait.”

  “Terry,” Sharrah said, “he can wait a few minutes, just like my own little bag of teeth.” She turned to Citlali and shook her finger. “The faster I measure and weigh you, the faster you get to eat, so hop to it!” She pointed to the passage that eventually opened on the landing ledge, but first led to the scale room.

  You are so mean. Citlali, head hanging a little low, padded back toward the passage the four troublemakers had run in from after flying in for their measurements and dinner.

  I am not. Good data is good science. The more we know about you, the better we can care for you. Besides, like I said, you can wait a few minutes to eat. It’s not like we starve you. Sharrah followed Citlali into the passage, as did the candidates that would help with measuring the four young dragons.

  “Come along, Nelli.” Korrie trailed behind Cheddar and Terry.

  Sharrah shook her head. These dragonlinked had to understand that sometimes young dragons didn’t know what was best for themselves.

  A hand took Sharrah’s.

  “Someone has to be in charge.” After the whisper, Cheddar squeezed her hand and smiled.

  She chuckled. “I guess so.”

  Once in the wider part of the passage where the scale was located, Sharrah pulled out her dragon log and the measure tape.

  Renny hurried over. “It’s my turn to help you.”

  Sharrah smiled. There was absolutely no slacking off of interest in measuring dragons, young, or old. She held onto the end of the measure tape and handed him the rolled-up portion.

  Unreeling the tape carefully, Renny stepped to Citlali and waited.

  Gaze on the scamp, Sharrah tilted her head. Go on, pouty, get in the first measure stance. That tasty food is waiting for us to finish, you know.

  With a little harrumph, Citlali stretched her tail out and her neck.

  Stifling a chuckle, Sharrah held the end of the tape to Citlali’s nose and then Renny placed the other end at the tip of her tail. Sharrah wrote down the figure he called out.

  All around, the teams took measurements of the little dragons. Once those were done, the only slightly less grumpy dragons got weighed.

  “There,” Sharrah said, “see? That didn’t end your life, sweetheart.” She patted Citlali on the head.

  Citlali stamped her right forepaw on the floor. Can I go eat now?

  Sharrah, along with plenty of others, burst into laughter. “Yes, you horrible scamp. Go on.”

  Food! Citlali let out a happy bark and raced into the short passage to the clutching room.

  Renny and the other candidates had to pick up their pace to keep up as Citlali and the other young dragons ran off.

  “Anaya wasn’t such a handful when we measured her at that age.” Aeron and Anaya walked in from the passage leading to the landing ledge. Several of the other bond pairs waited in the passage and beyond for their turn to record measurements of their own much larger dragons.

  “Well,” Cheddar said, “these new babes get a lot more attention than Anaya did. The candidates dote on them too much. Though, why they do is understandable. Young dragons are entirely too . . .”

  “Cute?” Aeron chuckled. “That they are.” He removed his logbook and measure tape. “Who was helping me tonight?”

  Jemma walked over with two step ladders. “I am.”

  “Excellent.” Aeron took one of the short ladders and handed her the rolled-up end of the measure tape.

  “Don’t you worry Anaya,” Jemma said as she spread the step ladder open. “There are many of us that dote on you no matter how big you get.” She then climbed the ladder and held the tape at the end of the much longer tail.

  Anaya let out a happy chirp.

  Thinking back to when Anaya was hardly bigger than Citlali, Sharrah smiled.

  And speaking of . . .

  She narrowed her eyes and headed for the clutching room.

  The little terror was fine. Citlali chomped down the last of the meat scraps and grabbed a bone. Various unpleasant cracking noises came from her direction as she gnawed and chewed on it.

  Sharrah chuckled. She’d been so worried about bonding a dragon. A worry that turned out to be unfounded. She loved Citlali, yes, would do anything for the little troublemaker, but that hadn’t ended Sharrah’s love for Cheddar, hadn’t taken over her life. Citlali was like a best friend to her, or maybe a daughter, or a sister. And like her actual sister, that little dragon could at times be an enormous pain in the ass.

  Her smile faded a little. How had the wedding gone? It would have been nice if her family could have been here for the bonding to Citlali, but her sister’s wedding had been that same week. And, as she had feared, the letters began soon after.

  Your little sister already found someone. When are you going to get married?

  Sharrah shook her head. Her mother would never understand, it seemed. There was more to life than getting married. Marriage wasn’t the be-all and end-all of everything.

  She glanced at Cheddar. His lips were curved in a little smile as he watched his bond-mate eat.

  Sharrah sighed quietly. That young man was amazing. And the way he looked at her? Good gods. No one should have the power to affect anyone like that. So no, she certainly wouldn’t mind getting married. She just wasn’t in a race.

  What was marriage anyway? As far as she could tell, it was just a ceremony. Did she need that to be happy? Did they need that to care more about each other?

  Still, ceremonies were important, she supposed. Much like getting a rank pin, there was something to be said about having a physical representation of your success at a task.

  Sharrah pressed her lips together. That made marriage sound cold and dispassionate, which wasn’t how—

  Aargh! She shook her head. This was why she hated thinking about marriage and especially relationships. They were messy and confusing and not measurable at all! There wasn’t a metric you could use, a scale or gauge or, or a ruler you could slap on a relationship. There was just . . . love.

  The only way she’d found to measure that incredible but unquantifiable emotion was with something else that was difficult to put a number to: the way she felt. The pounding of her heart when she saw him, the tightness in her chest when he was away, the happiness that filled her when he smiled, and the way her very skin felt alive when he touched her—those were the only metrics she really needed. They told her in no uncertain terms that she was in love with this young man.

  She was certain he felt the same way, too. She knew it from his expression when he saw her, the way he listened to her, the way he always tried to support her, and so many other little signs.

  There was just too much on her plate right now! She had enchanting shifts, lessons, all kinds of things they were learning about dragon biology, and there was now her bond-mate, too. Oh, and there was that terrible shortcoming of their nahual-sense that they just learned about.

  Ten nahual. Ten! That’s how many had been found the first time the ear
ly routes had been flown at night. If not for Chanté’s theory, those deadly things would still be out there.

  Sharrah sighed. Her sister had been all about getting married for years and years. Memories of that girl going on and on about those plans returned—dresses, food, venues, music, and only the gods remember what all else. All written in a rather large, entirely too decorated, notebook.

  Sharrah shuddered. No, she had neither the desire nor the time right now for any of that.

  Citlali belched and ran a claw between her teeth to remove a stubborn piece of meat. You worry too much.

  Sharrah watched the little pig and chuckled quietly. Perhaps. But tell me that again after you’ve met my mother.

  Excitement surged through the link. Will I get to meet her soon?

  Sharrah drew her brows together. I’m afraid you might.

  Chapter 11

  Minday, Diamy 1, 1875.

  Early Morning.

  Coatl stared at the large, vertical ring constructed from wood scraps. Ten feet high, just about a wing-length, it rose up from a very big base. The ring was wide enough that he could walk through it with perhaps three feet of room to spare on either side. If he could walk through the center of it, anyway. There would need to be a ramp up to the middle for that to happen, however.

  “This is perfect!” Fillion stared at it while excitement pulsed through the link.

  The ring creaked now and then in the stiff morning breeze. Each creak increased Coatl’s unease. He turned to Fillion. It does not look very strong.

  This is merely to prove that my idea will work and is fun to watch.

  Coatl looked at the ring again. Perhaps some of his discomfort came from the fact that they were at the place where they had learned the limitations of their ability to sense nahual. The line of neatly arranged piles of earth was behind them.

  “It took longer than I’d have liked,” Renny said, “because I had to convince them to let me have the scraps. Then I had to haul it out here wagon-load by wagon-load before I could even get started.”