Steampunk Hearts

by Jordan Reece

  “Here he comes, the Shuffle King,” Volos said grumpily as Arden walked through the grass to the cage. “You have no man to call your own and I can tell you why. It is due to the perfume of dragon droppings with which you scent your skin. Yes, the men see your face and think hai! There’s a handsome visage. The men see your muscled arms and think hai! What I would give to have those arms hold me close! But then they come forward to charm you, and they inhale. Hai! I’m sure you see a lot of backsides, but not in the way you want.”

  “Good evening to you too, Volos,” Arden said, passing through the food and cup. “I don’t know why you want this hard-luck meal when you have a treat or two hidden away in your clothes.”

  “This hard-luck meal will spare my treat or two for times of naught. What are they speaking about over there that I am not allowed to hear?”

  “Why are you interested?”

  “Because I am very bored with only the horses for company. Tell me of the men who flee you so that I can be amused. Tell me of what orphaned you, or why you are so stupid that you cannot feel the shackles around your ankles. They may be invisible, yet they are there.”

  “Only one man has fled me, as he flees everyone after he’s had his fun,” Arden said. “My mother died of an illness and my father I never knew. I am not kept a slave, as you seem to think. I am compensated fairly for my work.”

  “A strange liberty when you cannot find your own work, or no work at all. I do not track in the pearls because I am compelled. I could apprentice myself to the metalworker and scandalize everyone by refusing to track, but they cannot force me to do so. This is my choice, which you do not have. Just because you like the trappings of your cage does not make it any less a cage.” The tracker bit into a biscuit and crunched on the dry innards. “But enough. You are too foolish for philosophical conversations. Where are you going?”

  Arden was going back to the others. “I am not inclined to stay for your insults.”

  “Then they must sting.”

  “They are only clumsy flailing. Enjoy your meal.”

  “Oh, you are a hard one. Almost as hard as this ghastly biscuit! It was no illness that killed your mother. It was disappointment that her loins could drop no sweeter fruit than you.”

  That didn’t sting. Arden’s mother had always looked down at him with a shining face. Nor did it sting to be called foolish or smelly, when the first charge wasn’t true and the second was. But as he sat down to resume his meal, what niggled at him was the suggestion that he wasn’t much better off than the tracker. He had had nothing to lose by trading the orphanage for the perindens, yet had his mother lived, had he been identified as a penchant and summoned, had his house been stormed by guards if he refused to answer it, Arden yanked away from his mother and taken all the way to the Routies to manage its dragon problem . . . He did not like to consider this, and he was sorry that the tracker had placed it into his mind. The Routies were far, far from Lighmoon, and he never would have seen his mother again.

  But this was not how it had happened. His mother had gone to the grave, and he worked in the royal perindens. Oh, he had not missed Tolaman! This had been a very welcome respite, and hopefully it would go on for a few more days. Then it would continue as always . . . and for the length of the first lead’s employment or Arden’s life, whichever end came more swiftly.

  He ruminated about the unpleasant first lead as Keth, Master Maraudi, and Dieter talked themselves into tangles about the source of the money, the strange man, and the location where the princess was headed. The tracker was quiet. Stars were twinkling by the time the bedrolls were undone. Dogs bayed in the night and owls hooted; Arden could swear he heard the occasional screech of a dragon. Keth and Master Maraudi settled their weapons right at their sides in case of need.

  Again, Etto slipped under the blanket in Arden’s dream. Then a tongue swept up in heated strokes, unbearably soft, unbearably wet, the agony and ecstasy increasing hand in hand until Arden erupted with a cry. Chuckles came through the fabric as Arden’s heart nearly beat out of his ribcage. Then Etto turned beneath the blanket, Arden shivering as a final kiss was touched to his still throbbing penis, and more kisses were pressed down from his groin to his chest. The blanket lifted and he looked down in surprise to sea green eyes . . .

  Arden jerked awake, and remained awake for the rest of the night. They were untroubled by man or beast, and were underway again once there was enough morning light to travel by. The day that passed was of no note, the tracker guiding them along roads through small towns and farmland and wooded areas. Embarrassed by the dream, Arden rode closer to Dieter and pretended to be interested in the handsies game. Clouds swept overhead and thickened as the hours wore on, promising rain in the near future. It still had not fallen by early evening, but the dipping of the sun below the horizon was entirely obscured by a blanket of gray.

  They set up camp outside. It had been miles since they passed the last town, and none was visible in front of them. The clearing in the trees had greatly uneven ground, but that was the best of their choices. Dieter took care to secure their horses and goods, as a sign on the road warned travelers of robbers, and Arden collected rocks and sticks so that their beds could lie as smoothly as could be managed.

  “There’s a funny cloud,” Dieter mused with a glance upwards. “And another.”

  Tumbling down from the sky was a large, dense black cloud. A smaller one was coming from the other direction. Then both erupted into screeches and flames directly over the clearing. Dragons. They were flying so densely packed that they had looked like storm clouds. Volos yelled as fire fell down through the bars of his cage. Dieter bolted to the packs and beat out the flames that had just touched down on a flap. Spooked at the sudden noise, the horses pulled at their ties.

  It was the weather that had set them off, Arden thought as he darted through shreds of fire to the center of the clearing. Dragons were always in a worse temper when it rained, and they could sense it coming. Two horses broke free and he pushed into their minds before they could bolt. CALM. Then he shouted, “Keth, get them out of here!” She sprinted for the trees and guided them away fast. Master Maraudi untied the others to do likewise.

  The larger cloud was made up of gray-and-blacks, none of them bigger than a month-old kitten, and the smaller cloud was battle golds. Arden clambered onto a rock as the dragons lowered in their vicious battle. In their minds was a simple catalogue of complaints: the gray-and-blacks had claimed these woods as their own, and the battle golds had moved in on their turf. It was a typically foolish dragon quarrel, just as they were in the perindens. There was plenty of room, but everyone wanted to inhabit the exact same space.

  Master Maraudi fled into the trees with the horses, one jerking free and rearing as a bolt of fire burned down right in front of its eyes. Keth was long gone with the others. A blanket whipping over his shoulder, Dieter was beating out flaming leaves. Volos cried out in pain and smacked his hand to his shoulder.

  Dragons did not think in human words. They hadn’t even the limp grasp of language that mermaids possessed. Moving into their minds, Arden could feel the instinct to compete burning in their veins, the heady rush of fury, every muscle, bone, and scale tensed to battle. The sensation was their word for fight, and it pounded through every little body soaring and grappling and blasting fire all around him. FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!

  Stupid. So stupid. Miles of woods and they both wanted to live in a big oak tree a short distance away. It had enough branches for twice the amount of dragons here, and there was a nearly identical oak right next to it. FRIENDS.

  FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!

  FRIENDS.

  They grabbed onto one another with their talons and reeled back to incinerate their opponents; they ripped and wrenched and shook each other viciously. One exploded all on its own. Arden shoved into their minds, peeling them off the enemy and forcing them to fly in circles around him.

  FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!

  FLY.

 
FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!

  FLY.

  More forgot their warring and joined the whirling tornado of dragons around Arden. His hair and shirt rippled with the wind they created, all going in the same direction, battle golds aside gray-and-blacks, the impulse to fight fading to the excitement of flying fast. They were racing friends, competing for the fastest but all in good fun. There were so many that Arden spread out his arms to widen their circle and give them more room.

  FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!

  “Arden! Arden!” Volos shouted in desperation as a clutch of dragons continued to battle over his cage. Yellow-orange fire spurted from their mouths and several flew through the bars at the top. He ducked down and covered his head. Arden stretched his mind to theirs. COME TO ME.

  The fighting stopped; the fires quenched. They quit the cage and beat their wings eagerly to take part in the race. Now the only ones still engaged in assault were the king of the gray-and-blacks and the queen of the battle golds high above. Arden ordered them sternly to be friends and he brought them down to spin in the tornado. He could barely see through it now, only occasional gaps opening up between the dragons to show him the clearing. Around and around and around . . . the burning in their veins had stopped and the rush was for the flight, not the fight. He slid an image into their minds of the two grand oak trees, gray-and-blacks sitting side by side with battle golds on the branches and all of them watching for bugs. FRIENDS.

  Now when they looked at one another in the tornado, they didn’t remember the fight at all. Everyone was part of one big flock, and perhaps it had always been that way. Arden swirled his arm over his head and the tornado lifted, widening yet the dragons staying together to race. Up and up they went until the very last of them were circling just above the tips of his fingers. They thought about their trees, their nice oak trees and the grubs that would be pushing out of the soil with the rain. The top of the tornado bent in the air to continue the race onto home. With deafening screeches of happiness, they rose over the top of the trees and were gone.

  “Good . . . good Dagad above,” Dieter said, his chest heaving from terror. He spied another smoking patch of leaves and dashed over to stamp it out. Volos inspected his shoulder with a ginger touch.

  Arden jumped down from the rock and came back through the clearing. A soft mist alighted on him. The rain would start soon. They had to move under the trees for a little protection this night, and the cage had already been unhitched. It was too heavy to move without a horse, all of which were out of sight.

  “Are you burned?” he asked.

  “You wouldn’t want your prize pet to be damaged,” Volos said sarcastically, although his voice was trembling. The fabric over his shoulder was blackened.

  “Very well,” Arden said. He wasn’t going to argue about it, or demand to see anything, and he definitely was not going to play in the tracker’s mind like he just had the dragons’. He went to his belongings and withdrew the cloak as the rain began to come down in earnest. Having stamped out the burning leaves, Dieter checked for others and realized the rain would take care of them.

  Master Maraudi came back through the trees and shouted, “We’ve found a little cave this way. Dieter, get the bags and come along.”

  “What about the tracker?” Arden asked. “We need a horse to-”

  “Just leave him there. He can’t get out and no one can get in. We’ll collect him in the morning. Hurry up, Dieter!” The rain had quickly grown to stinging. “Just walk straight east and you can’t miss it.” Master Maraudi turned to go. Hanging their packs all over his body, a very lumpy Dieter rushed after him.

  “Are you coming?” Dieter shouted.

  “I’ll be right along!” Arden said. It did not sit well with him to leave Volos this way. There was no material either atop the cage or on its sides. The rain would blow right through, and he was hardly dressed for weather less amenable than an early autumn day.

  Arden had one arm in his cloak, the warmth of it already a welcome caress. Peeling it off, he went to the cage and poked it piece by piece through the bars. He did not expect thanks, because Volos was right to not thank him. Detaining this man refuted every scrap of decency that Arden showed. The flapjacks, the cloak, inquiries about his shoulder, all of it meant nothing, and Arden had been made party to an unsavory business indeed.

  He wanted to hear more of these pearls and the tracker’s family, it was a world that Arden knew nothing about, but it was wrong to ask these questions of a man who did not fully have a choice in answering them. And Arden wanted to tell him of squashy, hateful Tolaman, of orphaned, desperate Leefa who was touched in the head, of his old friend Otas falling off the wall in his moment of triumph, and of how much Arden disliked dragons, but it was wrong to tell these stories to a man who did not fully have a choice in receiving them.

  This was not how they should have met. This was not how they should be getting to know one another, with bars between them.

  Cautiously, Volos took the cloak. The rumples in his hair were getting saturated and straightening with the weight. Wincing at the pain from his burn, he pulled the heavy material over himself and drew up the hood. Then he sat down and leaned on the bars. Thunder grumbled like a giant, hungry belly above.

  “I am sorry to leave you like this,” Arden said awkwardly. “I am sorry you were caught by Lord Zamin’s men.”

  “After I find her for you lot,” Volos said as rain flattened Arden’s hair to his scalp, “pay me with one minute. Consider it. One minute of inattention outside this cage, Arden, that’s all I ask. I will give you a blow, or you can give yourself a blow, so you can tell a story of a struggle if that is what you judge the wisest course. Do this as a good man.”

  “You don’t ask this of the others,” Arden said. “You see in me the weak link of the four.”

  “No. I see the one who is the most like me, whether or not he sees it about himself. It is not right to keep me for my tracking; it is not right to keep you for your penchant. Our abilities do not diminish us to others’ baubles. Stay in bondage if you like. This is what you know. I cannot fault you as one who grew up in chains. This is a poor home, yet it is yours. But do not consign me to the same fate.”

  When Volos was brought to the perindens, there would be nothing but misery for him. And the hands to dish out that misery would often be Arden’s under the command of the first lead. Arden had to follow the first lead’s orders. He had no choice. But he would not be able to starve or beat Volos, he could not starve or beat Volos, for wanting nothing more than to be free. This was an impossible situation to be in. Right now, Lighmoon and the perindens were at a comfortable distance, but it would not be that way forever.

  Drawing the cloak tighter as the rain increased, Volos said, “I will stand upon the goddess rocks when I get home and tell the wind to thank you for your kindness. It will carry the message to your ears. I thank you now just to consider this minute you might grant me, once your task is finished. Do not give me your answer yet. Take the question with you and give it over to your heart. Now go to that cave, Arden, and quickly. It will soon be too dark for you to walk.”

  “How is your shoulder?” Arden asked. Something had changed between them, and he was asking the question as an equal. In his head, all he could see was a boy shackled in the back of a wagon and crying for his mother as he was carted off to the Routies for the rest of his life.

  He would have run away. Dagad above, of course he would have run. If they’d caught him and dragged him back, he would have bided his time and run again. He wouldn’t have cared that the king wanted someone to control dragons. Penchant be damned, he would have fled for home.

  Volos lowered the cloak to show where the dragon had singed him. “It stings, but it is not a severe burn.” After raising the cloak, he extended his hand. “And I was wrong about one thing.”

  “What is that?” Arden asked, taking the hand.

  “That there is no beauty here. For to see you on the rock with your arms out, a th
ousand dragons whirling around and around you from grass to sky, that was beautiful. It is the most beautiful thing I have seen low the Cascades. Thank you for giving it to me. Good night.” Drawing Arden’s hand into the cage, he kissed the back of it.

  “You can’t say that,” Arden said smartly, his blood quickening at the touch of those soft lips. The tracker let go of him. “You are not a prophet.”

  In the shadows under the hood was a slight smile. Arden returned it and went to the trees, a shock of lightning splitting the sky.

  ****

  The storm was heavy, but blew out by morning. They left the cave for the clearing, where the tracker remained. Dieter cried out in wonder at the glistening scales in the grass left from the dragons’ battle. After returning the packs to the horses, he darted around to collect them and came back only at a second, irritated call from Master Maraudi. Beaming, the boy said, “These are worth money, they are! Healing penchants pay for them, love penchants too, and jewelers. And see this one!” He pinched one out from his handful and held it up. A battle gold had dropped a scale that hadn’t been singed to ugliness. The gold gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight.

  “Shocking this may be to you, but you were not brought along on this search to collect dragon scales,” Master Maraudi said. “Mind your duties.”

  Arden got his cloak back from Volos, who lay down on his stomach and swiped for the scales as he was pulled over the grass. Then he settled back with several black scales and turned one over in his fingers. Arden collected fallen scales in the perindens regularly and had no need to do so here. They weren’t worth all that much, but Dieter could buy himself tons of freaks or a sack of candy with what he had, and the lovely gold one he could have set in a necklace to impress a girl or keep for himself.

  “Careful with him,” Master Maraudi warned about Volos after calling Arden up to ride beside him. “Good to give him the cloak; we don’t want him taking ill. But don’t let him pretend to be friendly, play on your pity, and hoodwink you. Lord Zamin told me all about his tricks.”