The Dragon and Rose

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “Here to help?” she asked.

  “Here to find out why you’re all of a sudden interested in the baking business.”

  She maneuvered past him and dumped the debris onto a pile. “I told you, it’s for the mission. They help people. It’s what I’m going to do.”

  “But why here?”

  “This place was cheap.”

  “And why next door to the bar?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  He hadn’t been privy to the discussion between her and Lady Sofia. Sofia had received an influx of cash from Isabel, which was moving her own renovations forward. But he hadn’t gotten any information out of Digger or Monty and guessed that neither of them knew more than he did.

  Isabel had been suspicious of him ever since they had met at the mission kitchen. He had been trying to get a feel for the fel in the city. Diregloom had the largest concentration of his people—fel and even a couple ogres—yet they were all complacent in their toil. Now with no curfew some felt they would receive increased liberty. He had been part of several irritatingly optimistic discussions with fel who believed the edicts would be annulled, at least for the island.

  Meanwhile the snippets of news from the mainland were all grim. Fel were being arrested or killed.

  Inside a small wagon Isabel had fresh wood that was too small to be any part of the construction unless it was shelving. She picked up a few of the pieces as he hovered.

  She adjusted her load and glared. “You going to watch or help?”

  He collected up the rest of the wood and followed her down into the cellar. It was dusty but remarkably spacious. They were also alone and out of earshot of the workers.

  “All your gold treasures that you won, am I to believe you’re spending it all for the mission?”

  “Yes.”

  “Every tencoin and penny?”

  “It’s mine to do what I wish. Are you going to keep blocking the doorway?”

  “And how much did you sell all that jewelry for?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  “But there must have been plenty left. You could have bought this place with pocket change and five more places like it. But I can’t figure out why.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want your help. Get out.”

  But Hellard wasn’t moving. “You won a fortune. I also thought you were going to buy a house for Prince Honeybuns and yourself so you two lovebirds could, you know...”

  Jamie hadn’t been around much, not that Hellard cared. The pureblood noble had no reason to come slumming except to see Isabel.

  Her cheeks flushed. “What Jamie and I decide to do is between us. Now I have work to do.”

  She put the wood down in the middle of the cellar and pointed for him to do the same. She began to pull the wood into place and it soon became obvious that he had been carrying the frames for several beds.

  “What’s all this for?”

  She was attaching two of the pieces into a right angle but the tongue and groove weren’t fitting. She grabbed a chisel and began working excess wood from the groove.

  Hellard gave an exaggerated shrug. “You could have paid for a mansion. Why would you want to live in the basement of a burned-down wreck?”

  She wiped a loose strand of dark hair from her face. “It’s not for me.”

  “For who, then? The old crones who run the mission? They already have a prime piece of property here in Diregloom, not to mention the bughouse on West Island.”

  “Don’t call it that. It’s a hospital.”

  “Yeah, for rich purebloods to lock up their moonstruck family members. So the mission takes some of the gold they’re raking in and sets up a food handout for us as an afterthought, and then you see fit to give them a mountain of coin as if you couldn’t think of anything better to do with it.”

  Her face clouded. “What I choose to do with my money isn’t your concern. You think somehow I should hand it to someone like you? And for what? Starting your fel rebellion? What are you planning? To purchase swords and hand them out to every fel in the city so we can storm the castle and then sail to Bahia and take the duke’s head?”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “It’s insane. We’re never going to win anything for our kind through violence.”

  “I heard you did a pretty good job in the catacombs taking down more than your share of pureblood contestants.”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Neither do we, now.”

  “The mission does more good for our kind than you’ll ever know. These cellars share walls and I need to use mine. Lady Sofia says you’re going to get those trolls out of there?”

  “I’d thought I’d cut them loose near the stockade.”

  She scowled. “Even when you’re joking, you’re not funny.”

  He thought of a good retort but before he could deliver it she ducked past and headed up the steps.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “Shopping. If you want to be helpful, bring my wagon. But I’m done answering your questions.”

  He grabbed the wagon handle and pulled it along. It felt small enough to be a child’s toy. But Isabel was giving him the chance to show himself useful. If she had enough money to buy beds, maybe she still had some of her winnings left. All he had to do was convince her that it wouldn’t take much to start up his own all-fel bandit enterprise within the city.

  An opportunity of a lifetime.

  Chapter Five

  DIGGER FINISHED CLEARING the grave.

  He pulled both bundled sets of remains into the hole. Here they could be retrieved when the family requested it. But until the request came, this was the only solution, as the city watch had no other provisions for storing the dead.

  Working gave him time to think. He couldn’t watch his brother every minute of every day. Up until that night he’d thought the Dragon and Rose might be a safe enough place. But two pureblood patrons having been murdered was too much of a coincidence. The city had scores, maybe hundreds of establishments. Somehow the tourists had found their way to Lady Sofia’s bar.

  So had the killer.

  Whoever had murdered them had expertly taken them down in time to prevent either from making enough noise to bring the watch, escaping, or fighting back. Granted, it was a bad part of the city, both had been drunk, and the girl had at least drawn her sword. But then why not take the blade to sell it? Both bodies had been looted of jewelry and coin, but the boy had a pocketful of scrip, which Digger now carried.

  It was as if whoever murdered them had used his time to commit the atrocities to the bodies rather than go through their pockets. He knew what combat could do to his own thinking ability. But if simple greed was the killer’s motivator, then missing the scrip and leaving the sword were foolish oversights.

  Why else kill them?

  He knew his own anger at the purebloods. There was enough of that percolating in the city.

  What if, like Lord Angel, one or both the victims owed the wrong gangster money? There were more than a few gangs operating in Diregloom, the Karanog now being one of the largest. But a killing like this would be bad for business. You sent a message with a broken nose or arm, not this.

  He tried to dismiss it all. It was the sheriff’s business, or the watch’s. Not his. He had his own to look out for. But the crime would be traced back to the bar once the other tourists came forward to identify their murdered friends. Fel would be blamed. And he stood to receive his own share of scrutiny as the victor of the catacomb games who had taken the lives of more than a couple of purebloods in front of a gallery full of spectators.

  “Such deep thoughts. We wonder, Digger, why so glum?”

  One of the graveyard keeper’s daughters was perched on top of a tombstone. Her sister with the eyepatch was nearby pulling dandelions that were sprouting up near a large monument dedicated to one of the graveyard’s original patrons.

  Digger pushed the shovel out and hois
ted himself to the lip of the grave. “You’d think the city has seen enough violence.”

  The second sister came over and blew the dandelions into the grave. “More pay for you. More money for us. So why do you fret?”

  “Is that what I’m doing? I’m just working here.”

  The first sister had hopped down and was running her hands along his shoulders. “Even as your muscles quiver and your skin sweats, your brow remains stitched tight.”

  “Like a knot,” the second agreed. “A sure sign of a mind weighed with trouble.”

  He stood up and moved away from both and began to fill the grave. The sisters held hands and watched.

  “Poor Digger,” the second sister said. “Perhaps it’s because the sheriff has come here so often asking about you. Is that what makes you so cross with us?”

  Digger paused. “I’m not angry with you. What was the sheriff asking about?”

  “You. Your name. Your brother.”

  “And your shoe size,” the first sister added. “He asked which of our clients are yours. But we said nothing.”

  The second nodded. “Nothing at all. He knows you bring the guests to the common grave. But we didn’t tell him about your trips up to the old places up the hill. No one gets buried there anymore. No gravedigger goes up there.”

  “Except you.”

  “Except our Digger. But he doesn’t know and won’t. Not even our father knows, and we don’t tell him our secrets either.”

  Both of their faces were unreadable. He had never been able to figure them out. He also had thought he had escaped their notice when he had deposited the magister, his guards, the pureblood who had robbed his parents of their restaurant, and most recently Lord Angel and the assassin Digger had killed inside the nobleman’s townhouse into a grave where no one ever visited.

  He kept a neutral expression. Showed nothing.

  The sisters had never pressed him for information like this before or hinted at knowing something that might get him in trouble. But then, the sheriff from Bahia had never come calling at the graveyard before.

  “This could mean trouble for the city,” he said.

  They both smiled.

  The one with the eyepatch dropped the stems down into the hole on the loose dirt. “Trouble. The games. The swings of fortune all result in the same business, from how we see it. It’s how you should see it too.”

  “I wish it were that easy.”

  By the time he finished, the sisters had returned to the rickety cottage near the graveyard gate. As he wheeled his cart onto the cobblestones a crow landed on an extinguished streetlight and cawed. The bird was missing part of its beak and had a twisted foot curled up beneath it.

  “Hello, Stumpy.”

  The crow watched him with its black button eyes and followed. When he made it up to his apartment on the fifth floor of the tenement, it was waiting on the open-air rail just outside his door.

  It cawed.

  He went inside and cracked a walnut, then fed it to the bird before retiring back inside. He washed up.

  If it only were so easy, as the sisters believed. Collect the dead. Take his pay. Let his brother and the city care for itself. It would stand or burn with or without his help.

  Even as he settled onto his flat bedroll, he wanted to believe that.

  Chapter Six

  QUEEN CLAUDIA THREW the twin bedroom doors open and went straight for the heavy curtains. She opened them and morning light spilled in.

  A figure tucked into a pile of pillows and blankets on a four-poster bed stirred. Her nephew Jamie sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes before giving her a dimpled smile. Claudia motioned for a servant who brought in a silver tray loaded with a teapot, a cup, and a platter of rolls, cheese, and cut apples.

  “Rise and shine, my dear. How’s your head?”

  “Groggy.”

  “Well, I hope the tonic you took sent that nasty headache away. Pesky things. I do hate to see anyone suffer so. But we have a day together and I do so hope you’ll be up for it.”

  He sat up and wavered for a moment before steadying himself. Straightening his nightshirt, he stood up, only to sit back down.

  Claudia grabbed an elbow. “Upsy-daisy!”

  She led him into the bathroom. The servant hurried past and began to fill the tub.

  “Not too hot,” Claudia said. “It’s bad for his blood and skin. And easy on the perfumes. Tepid is best, won’t you agree, Jamie?”

  “Yes, Aunt Claudia.”

  “Will you need Wilhelmina’s help in scrubbing?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She left him to care for his washing. She checked his sheets and examined the tray on a side table. It appeared Jamie had eaten at least half his duck breast and drank all his tea. She had worried so after his bouts of headaches following his injuries in her games. With Angel gone, she relished the idea of her brother’s oldest staying with her. Count Barca’s letter to her sat on her writing desk, an angry, importunate missive demanding Jamie’s return, as if he weren’t an adult who could make his own decisions. The latter paragraphs had gone into detail about her subverting both his sons’ faith, corrupting their minds, and being responsible for Jamie’s disappearance.

  Her invitation to Count and Countess Barca would be delivered sometime that day.

  But the morning was filled with a taxing schedule. She wanted Jamie at her side for as much of it as his delicate constitution could stand. While he lacked the business acumen of his younger brother, there was a novel tenderness to the youth and absolutely none of Angel’s deviousness. Jamie was a budding flower full of vim, with no thorns, no poison, but maybe, with her ministrations, he might eventually grow some balls.

  For with Jamie, she might gain access to his lovely fel maiden who he pined for. The unblemished sheets confirmed that he had spurned the advances of her most seductive chambermaid.

  This Sprite, as Jamie called his Isabel, was a puzzle. She had used her winning tokens to purchase as many of the low-end catacomb prizes as she could, almost cleaning out two display cases’ worth. And then her agents said she had gone to pawn them off, only to head straight for the mission.

  While altruism might have been the girl’s motivating force, Claudia was suspicious and kept her spies on the girl. Where the girl had gone the night after her victory had pleased Claudia to no end. Isabel had visited a bar called the Dragon and Rose.

  And now with her spy’s report, it was starting to make sense. Her vanished champion patronized the bar. Claudia had worried he might slip away to some unknown corner of Loom Island. It turned out one of her other contestants worked at the bar as a chef and had been among the pardoned fel who had survived the games. The pieces were starting to fall together. The bar, her champion, and sweet Sprite. Her plans could go forward. Now she just needed her nephew princeling to hurry up with his bath so she could get to work.

  THEY RODE IN HER CARRIAGE out to Fountain Street and soon were passing through the Stockade Square. From there the driver took them towards the fel districts. She was amused to see Jamie become more and more uncomfortable as the posh townhouses and boutique businesses were replaced with shabby apartments and a few wretched storefronts. There was something about the poorer districts that Claudia enjoyed. Her people persevered. They got up in the morning, on time, and manned her factories and rolled up their sleeves to work.

  At the top of the hill where the street ended the carriage came to a stop. Rochus held the door open as Claudia and Jamie stepped out. From here the castle wall lay to one side and the dilapidated fence of East Hill Cemetery to the other. A wide field thick with patches of grass and golden poppies ran the crest of the ridge that overlooked the ocean. Gulls and cormorants bobbed in the air above large rocks rising from the swirling waves.

  A small group of townsfolk were gathered in the middle of the field and were staring.

  Claudia wrapped her shawl around her neck, as the breeze was chilly. “Have you been up here yet, Jamie?”r />
  “No, Aunt Claudia. It’s quite the view.”

  They strolled past the townsfolk. They were all gray-haired but for a pair of toddlers playing on a blanket. One crooked man had a small dog on a leash. One of the women was packing up when Claudia approached.

  “We were just leaving, my lady,” the old woman said.

  “Nonsense,” Claudia said. “This park is for all to enjoy. Tell me, mother, are you a worker?”

  The woman kept her head low. “Past my working years. I care for my grandchild.”

  On closer look both children appeared to have green skin. Claudia crouched and gave one of them a smile. The dog barked at her but the man tugged the leash and got it quiet.

  “So delightful. Such beauties.”

  Claudia motioned for Rochus and he handed her a purse, from which she took a few scrip notes.

  “Here. These are for you. Have a blessed day.”

  “Thank you, lady. May the Divine One watch you.”

  “He does. And you.”

  She took Jamie’s arm and they strolled to the edge of the cliff where they could watch the tide covering and receding from a narrow beach. More birds were perched on the guano-encrusted rock face.

  “What do you think about this place?” she asked.

  “As a park? It’s peaceful. I’m sure the citizens of Loom Island enjoy having a place to relax and enjoy themselves.”

  “Oh, not that. I mean as a property I plan to develop. My wall will have a new gate letting out here and an extension of the perimeter of the castle to surround much of this space running just past the edge of East Hill.”

  “The people will lose their park.”

  “The sandstone beneath our feet is perfect for my expansion. And then there’s the crypts not far from here which run this direction. I envision three main tunnels, three more game chambers. The galleries will be smaller, but I want the action to have more flow. The audience will follow along as the contestants face each challenge.”