The Drache Girl

by Wesley Allison

  “Come on! Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  “Why?” asked Saba. “Cause you’re so jammy?”

  “Huh?”

  “I heard your girlfriend calling you Jammy Graham.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” said Graham. “She’s just my friend—who’s a girl. She’s my friend-girl, not my girlfriend.”

  “How come you’re not working at the dock, Graham?” asked Eamon.

  “Don’t need me till tomorrow. They’re not going to put off any freight today.”

  “Well, why don’t you head back with us anyway,” said Saba.

  “All right, it’s past lunch time,” said Graham. “Hold on a minute though. I’ve got to go make sure that Stinky’s back in his enclosure.”

  Saba and Eamon waited as Graham jogged to the iguanodon barn. A few minutes later, they saw him closing the barn door, and then jogging back to where they waited. He climbed through the fence and stood beside them. Graham was on the short side, not even reaching Eamon’s shoulder. He was a sturdy boy though; no doubt from working on the docks, and muscles stretched the sleeves and chest of his shirt.

  “Kafira. Don’t you have a jacket?” asked Saba.

  “What are you—my mother?”

  “Watch your mouth. Do you have a jacket or not?”

  “Yes. Hold on.” Graham retrieved a light coat from the fence post thirty feet away, and threw it on. Once he had returned, the three made their way southeast from the animal pens.

  “Might as well finish the circuit, right?” said Eamon.

  “Sure,” said Saba.

  “I’m thinking of becoming a cop,” said Graham. “I’ll bet the cops will all be riding dinosaurs in a few years when Stinky and Sparky get big enough.”

  “They look pretty damn big already,” said Eamon. “They need a proper bridle though. You can’t steer them without a bridle.”

  “I can make them go where I want most of the time. I steer them by pressing on their sides with my knees, and talking to them. If they would put me in charge of training them up, I could have them ready in no time.”

  “Doesn’t your dad want you to work in the lumber yard with him?” asked Saba.

  “Sure, but my Ma’s not so keen since Da sliced those two fingers off.”

  “But she won’t mind you being a cop?”

  “Na. Cops never get hurt.”

  The area directly across from the park was reserved as the colony cemetery, though relatively little of it had so far been utilized as such. Though it had been denuded of ninety percent of the trees, there were still several large copses amid a park-like meadow. People used the cemetery in the summer for picnics and outdoor fun almost as much as they did the actual park, especially since it had easy access to a beach just to the east. Snowflakes were falling even more heavily, and a pattern like the waves of the ocean covered the empty spaces between the few trees. Though it was close to noon now, the sun was just a slightly brighter place in the cloudy sky.

  The first building beyond the cemetery was a large workshop built to hold the many inventions of Professor Merced Calliere. It was a two story tall, dark and brooding edifice of stone and wood, more than two hundred feet on each side. It was usually easy enough to tell when the professor or one of his helpers was there working. Most of the machines inside made an ungodly racket. All was quiet now.

  “I wonder where everybody’s at,” said Graham.

  “They’re all at home, snuggling by the fire,” said Eamon.

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” replied Graham, though he sounded as though he didn’t quite believe himself.

  “You know as well as anyone how the weather can change here,” said Saba. “If you expect to be a constable some day, you’ve got to keep your eyes open and your wits about you.”

  They reached the fence marking the boundary of the militia grounds, the snow now so thick that they would not have recognized the border if it hadn’t been graced with a fence. They cut right and made their way down Tenth Avenue, and back up Bainbridge Clark Street until they reached the dockside. The Queen of Expy had at last managed to wallow over to the dock and had been fastened down with huge ropes, though she looked content enough to stay where she floated. A gangplank, that was actually more along the lines of a staircase than anything, now connected the ship with the shore and the first passengers were making their way down it.

  “I wonder if Aalwijn has any hot water left,” said Eamon.

  “Let’s go offer some directions,” said Saba. “See you later, Graham.”

  The two constables walked down to the base of the ship. There they could point the travelers from the Queen of Expy toward Aalwijn Finkler’s hot tea and cakes, Mr. Kordeshack’s fish and chips, Mrs. Gopling’s smoky sausages, and Mrs. Luebking’s scarves, mittens and knit caps, and of course to Mr. Darwin’s many dinosaur creations. They could also direct immigrants, most of those on board, though not necessarily the first ones off, to the apartments up Seventh and One Half Avenue, and to the militia base, which offered overflow housing and could be reached by just going a little further on that same street.

  Most of the passengers on the ship were understandably anxious to step once again onto solid ground, having been at sea for about two months. They seemed to feel few qualms about that first step occurring in a snowstorm. The first people off the ship who spoke to Saba were a very nice older couple with three children nearly as old as Graham. He directed them to the apartment office, after recommending some of Finkler’s tea and cakes. The next person to come along was a kindly looking older woman, not the type one would be expecting to arrive on a distant shore alone.

  “I’m here to join Professor Merced Calliere and his family,” she said in an ancient sounding patrician accent. “Do you know him, sir?”

  “Everyone knows the professor, ma'am. May I inquire of your name?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I am Mrs. Malgorzata Calliere. I’m his mother.”

  “I wasn’t aware you were expected,” said Saba. “I spoke to the professor yesterday, and he didn’t mention anything about a visit from his mother.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t know, dear. I decided to dispose of my properties and move to Birmisia to be with him and my grandchild.”

  “Well, we should get you to his home as quickly as we can. The temperature is dropping and we don’t want you to catch a chill.”

  “You’re so kind. But what about my luggage?”

  “I’ll see that it’s all taken care of.”

  Glancing around for a friendly face in the growing crowd, Saba spotted Hertzel Hertling listening to Graham as he no doubt detailed his many adventures on dinosaur back.

  “Hey, Hertzel!” he called. Hertzel looked up and then came running over.

  “Do you have your bicycle and cart nearby?” Hertzel’s bicycle, which actually was owned by the Port Authority of Birmisia, was a rather ordinary style two-wheeler, but trailing behind it was a small wagon with a lid. It was not a steam carriage, or even a horse drawn car, but with the lid closed, a person could sit on the wagon and be wheeled fairly quickly though the gravel streets.

  Hertzel nodded. Saba waved an indication that he should get it, and he hurried off to return a minute later with the makeshift rickshaw. Sitting the small and unnervingly frail woman on the back, Saba checked that she was clothed warmly enough for her journey several miles on the back of a bike. He stepped over Mrs. Luebking’s vendor cart and bought a long blue scarf and a pair of blue and white mittens, which he helped the old lady get into.

  “Now Hertzel,” said Saba. “Not too fast. Take her directly to the Dechantagne house. Once she’s safely situated, come back and let me know.”

  Hertzel, who never spoke, nodded again and started off, standing up on the pedals to get the necessary leverage to drive his bike, complete with elderly passenger through the deepening snow. Saba had scarcely finished congratulating himself for solving the task of making sure the professor’s aged mother didn’t perish i
n the snow, when he was confronted by another.

  A large group of people was forming just across the street from the dock, in the circular dispersion pattern that usually indicated a brawl in the center. As often as not, when Saba waded through the individuals to reach the center of such a formation, he found an empty spot, as the rowdies, discovering that constables were on their way, melted into the crowd. This was not the case now though. Four men, obviously just off the ship were facing one twelve year old boy who stood in front of two lizardmen. The two reptiles, rolled their yellow eyes this way and that, and Saba recognized their fear at being so encompassed by humans. The twelve year old boy, and it could only have been one twelve year old boy, had his fists balled up, ready to fight, and his freckled face was red with anger. It seemed that every single voice in the crowd was yelling something, but no single word could be made out.

  “Quiet!” yelled Saba, and he saw Eamon pushing his way forward on the opposite side of the altercation. “What the bloody hell is going on here?”

  “These four wankers thought they’d gang up on a couple of lizzies,” said Graham.

  “The boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” said one of the men.

  “We was just having a little fun,” said another.

  “Right,” said Saba. “Eamon, take these four gentlemen across the street while I talk to this lot.” He raised his voice. “Everyone else, move along!”

  For a moment, no one moved. Then Saba reached down and unfastened his truncheon from his belt.

  “You heard the constable,” said someone nearby.

  “That’s right,” said someone else. “We’ve all got things to do.”

  The crowd slowly dispersed. Saba looked at Graham, whose face was as close to beet red as a human could in reality be. The two reptiles were different colors. The first was Saba’s height, which put him at about the average for lizardmen. He was a deep forest green color with mottled brown starting just below his chin and spreading down his dewlap to his stomach. The second lizardman was several inches shorter and its skin was lighter green, and relatively smooth. Saba suspected that this one was a female, though he still couldn’t always tell the difference. The only clothing that the two wore were belts and a few odd bits of jewelry.

  “Let’s see your identification,” he said.

  “Come on, Saba,” wailed Graham. “They came down in case any freight was unloaded.”

  “Quiet you.”

  Both lizardmen held out their right arms. Each wore a bracelet, made of string, with a wooden emblem attached. The wooden emblem on the first lizardman’s bracelet said “Cheebie: Serial Number 08719 BL”. The second said “Swoosy: Serial Number 11995 BI”.

  “All right Cheebie. What happened?”

  “Nussing,” said the darker reptile, still looking around anxiously.

  “Come on. You don’t have to be afraid.”

  “Nussing.”

  “And Swoosy here doesn’t speak Brech at all, right? Graham, ask him… her, what happened.”

  Graham spoke to the creature in its own hissing language. The reptile hissed back a single syllable reply.

  “She says those four wankers boxed them in, started shouting at them, then when they tried to get away, they took a whack at them.”

  “Said all that?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Come on, Graham. I may not work with them every day, but even I know a few words of spit-n-gag. It sounded to me like she said “nothing happened”.

  “Maybe that’s what she said, but that’s not what happened. I saw the whole thing.”

  “You know these two?”

  “I know Cheebie. He’s been on my crew.”

  “All right,” sighed Saba. “You two, be on your way. You should head out of town. No unloading today. Do you understand me, Cheebie?”

  The lizardman nodded, then turned and led the other through the snowy street, up the hill toward the south. Saba watched them moving ever so slowly through the cold and had a sudden vision of himself walking home naked in a snowstorm. He crossed over to the other side of the street, where Eamon was talking with the four newcomers.

  “These fellows realize that they’ve maybe gotten off on the wrong foot here in Birmisia,” said Eamon.

  “You lot are planning to stay then?”

  “We’ve come for the work,” said the one who had spoken first before. “We’re railroad men.”

  All four of them looked like the type of men you would see loading trains and trucks back in Brech City, or doing delivery work of some kind. The point was that they were average guys, not some hoodlums escaped Mernham Yard.

  “Look fellows, the boys and I just got off a ship voyage that lasted more than two whole months. We might be a little inclined to get pissed. We might be a little inclined to make rowdy. But we’re not bad. We’re going to be productive members of this colony.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that. You see, Police Constable Shrubb and I have a bet going on how many from each are killed within the first two weeks. Look at your lizardman friends.”

  The group of newcomers, along with Eamon and Graham watched the reptiles, now quite far up the street but still moving at their incredibly slow pace.

  “Now these are our least dangerous problems—our lizzie friends.”

  “Yes, they don’t look too dangerous,” said newcomer number two.

  “They killed more than one hundred and fifteen men the first month we were here. You see, in the summer, they move much, much faster. And when they are out in the woods, they’re not subject to our laws against carrying weapons, not that they really need any with mouths and teeth like those. But they have them, spears and swords, and they can find you wherever you are, because they can move in complete silence and they can see in the dark. And these…these…are the least dangerous things we have to deal with around here.”

  “Now lad, we didn’t mean…”

  “That’s Police Constable Colbshallow. And if any of you cause any trouble again, I’m putting you in lock up and not letting you out until the governor herself insists.”

  “All right Constable.”

  The four men headed back to the ship and went back up the gangplank. Saba turned his attention once more to Graham. The problem wasn’t that Graham thought he was cock of the walk. The problem was that he knew he was cock of the walk. He was a twelve-year-old who knew everybody and knew everything that went on in town. He had few enemies and many friends, including a sorceress’s apprentice and a dragon, not to mention a couple of constables.

  “What are we going to do with you?”

  “Oh, come on, guys. My Ma says I can’t get in any more trouble.”

  “I am sorry Graham, you know what they say—‘punishment follows swift on guilt’. You must face your punishment like a man. You’re going to have tea with Eamon and myself.”

  Graham’s face brightened. He was clearly hoping for Finkler’s Bakery, though tea at the Dechantagne’s would be so good that it would be worth all the associated washing. “Where are we eating?”

  “We’re having tea at my house,” said Eamon, proudly.

  “Is Dot cooking?”

  “Yes she is.”

  “Cruel and unjust punishment!” wailed Graham. “I’m only a wee child. I don’t deserve to die.”

  “Come on you,” said Saba leading Graham by the scruff of the neck.

  The home of Eamon and Dot Shrubb was a small cottage just southwest of the Town Square. Other nearby houses, including Zurfina’s tower a quarter mile away, might have been bigger, but none looked cozier, as smoke rose from the chimney creating a picturesque view. Snow covered the roof and formed little piles at the tops of the green shutters. Even the little plank fence had snow draped over every flat surface. During the summer, the small yard was filled with flowers, but now everything was billowy whiteness.

  The three young men stepped inside the door one after another, stamping the snow from their boots and doffing their coats
and helmets. Graham, who was hatless, shook the flakes of snow from his sandy brown hair. The warm air smelled of blueberry muffins and the small table was set with dishes for three. Dot, her coppery red hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, wearing a bright blue dress with a white apron over it, was moving through the tiny kitchen area, filling a tray with all the necessities. She didn’t turn around when the three entered and seemed unaware of their presence.

  Eamon reached over to the window next to the door and pulled the curtain aside, flooding the room with light. Dot, noticing the change, turned around and smiled at her husband.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello Sweetyspot,” said Eamon, taking three steps to transverse the house and kiss his wife on the cheek. “I brought one more mouth to feed.”

  “Fine,” said Dot, gesturing for her guests to sit down and then bringing the loaded tray to the table.

  She set out a plate with a dozen large blueberry muffins, a small tub of fresh butter, a plate with a little stack of sausages, and a small bowl with slices of pineapple. Even Saba, who often dined at the Dechantagne household, recognized how dear fresh fruit was this time of year.

  “Wow, pineapple,” said Graham.

  “Courtesy of that Mirsannan Freighter,” said Eamon.

  “The Meninia Impertinenta?” asked Saba.

  “Yep. The first mate gave me a couple of nice pineapples while I was walking the dock…” he trailed off. “I probably should have given you one of them.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Saba. “I don’t have a wife at home.”

  Dot set a fourth place for Graham, and then they all sat down to enjoy their afternoon meal. Despite what Graham had implied about Dot’s cooking, everything was delicious. Of course, it did turn out that she had purchased the muffins from Mrs. Finkler, and all she had needed to do for the pineapple was to slice it, but the sausages were done just right. When they finished, all that remained were a few crumbs on otherwise empty plates, and cups of tea, with which they chased away the last memories of the outside chill.

  “Thank you, Dot,” said Saba. “That was delicious.”

  “You need a wife,” said Dot.