Dragons Wild

by Robert Asprin

  One conversation he had was particularly memorable if for nothing else than what it lead to.

  It was with a lanky young man a few years older than Griffen with shoulder-length dark hair and wire-frame glasses who went by the unlikely nickname of Bone.

  It started simply enough, with someone making a comment on the movie that was being shown on one of the bar televisions. Someone came up with the inevitable comparison of the movie to the book it was based on, and the conversation was on. Other books-to-movies were recalled and compared, everyone having their own opinion as to the relative merits of each. By the time it died down, it was clear that Bone and Griffen were the two most knowledgeable on movies, though often their opinions differed widely. Still, they each respected the other’s expertise and were delighted to find a fellow aficionado to interact with.

  Each bought the other a drink or two, and the conversation drifted into their own backgrounds. Griffen had mentioned that he was new in town, but Bone, waved it off.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Most people who live and work in the Quarter are from somewhere else. I came down here from San Francisco, myself. Damn few of the current locals were born and raised here.”

  He paused to take a long swallow of his rum and Coke.

  “What you don’t realize until you’ve been down here for a while,” Bone continued, “is what a small community the Quarter really is. We have droves of tourists that are in and out of here every week wandering through the bars and shops, but they’re just window dressing. In short order, you’ll realize that you know damn near everyone who works in the Quarter by sight, if not by name. Every flower peddler, strip bar shill, carriage driver, street entertainer, and Lucky Dog vendor…you name it, we all know each other and wave ‘hello’ when we pass on the street.”

  “I’ve noticed a bit of that already,” Griffen said.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Bone said. “Let me tell you, I had only been down here for about three months, and one night at about one in the morning, I was cutting up Orleans about a half block short of Bourbon. These three big, football-jock types stopped me and asked how to find Café Du Monde. That was no big deal, and I told them, ‘Straight ahead to the corner, then turn left, then right at the next corner and cross Jackson Square. It’s right there. You can’t miss it.’”

  He paused and grinned at the memory.

  “The thing is, in the time it took me to say that, two of the biggest, ugliest shills from in front of the strip joints came up out of the dark behind them, looked at me over their heads, and asked, ‘These guys botherin’ you?’ The jocks were freaking a bit, but I just said that I was giving them directions to Café Du Monde. The shills nodded and faded back again and everything was mellow. The point is, though, that all they saw was someone from the Quarter getting braced by three big dudes and they were right there to lend a hand. That’s the kind of place the Quarter is. We all know each other. We may not all like each other, but we know each other…and we form the circle with the horns out.”

  “Well,” Griffen said. “It’s always nice to know someone has your back in a fight.”

  Inside, though, he wondered how far that would extend. A part was wondering about whether the support structure of the area would be enough to protect Valerie if something, or someone, hurt him. Deeper, more buried, Griffen felt the need to unburden his troubles on someone who didn’t know enough to judge. Still, if he shared all to someone like Bone, or even part, of what had changed his life lately, it wouldn’t be long before everyone knew. Trust and privacy weren’t the same, especially in the Quarter.

  “Oh, it goes way beyond that,” Bone said. “If a suit came in asking about you, it wouldn’t matter if you were hanging out here five or six nights a week or even if you were shooting pool on the back table. No one would know anything or admit to ever having heard your name. This has been a pirate community for over two hundred years and the people who are drawn to it aren’t real big on authority. Almost everyone has something in their background they would just as soon not have catch up with them, whether it’s an ex after back alimony, a parole officer, or the IRS.”

  Griffen thought about it, and began to realize why Jerome had said the Quarter would be a good place for him to hide out.

  “Another thing, people down here look out for each other. There’s always someone to help you carry your stuff if you have to move, or if you don’t have a place to move to, there’s always someone who will let you crash on their sofa until you raise the money for a new place.”

  Griffen shook his head.

  “Sounds almost too good to be true.”

  Bone stared at him, then set down his drink.

  “For a minute there,” he said softly, “it almost sounded like you just called me a liar.”

  “Whoa there, Bone,” Griffen said, holding up a restraining hand. “If that’s how it sounded, I apologize. All I meant to say was that what you’re describing is a lot different from where I just came from.”

  “And where is that, if you don’t mind my asking?” Bone said, slightly mollified.

  “Up north,” Griffen said. “Michigan to be exact. Little college town named Ann Arbor. Home of the University of Michigan Wolverines…the team that can’t win a Rose Bowl.”

  “Michigan? No kidding?” Bone said, all traces of his earlier annoyance vanishing. “Com’on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Grabbing up his drink, Bone led the way to the other end of the bar where an older man with his long hair in a ponytail sat chatting with a young redheaded woman.

  “Excuse me, Maestro,” Bone said. “I just found another Michigander. Thought you’d like to meet him.”

  The man turned and ran a curious glance over Griffen. At first Griffen figured him for his midforties, then noted the wrinkles around his eyes and added another decade to his estimate.

  “Griffen, this is Maestro,” Bone said. “He’s from your neck of the woods, except he moved down here about fifteen years ago. Maestro, this is Griffen…late of Ann Arbor.”

  For a moment, Maestro’s features froze and his eyes swept Griffen from head to foot. Then he smiled and extended his hand.

  “How’s the team this year?” he said as they shook hands.

  “Too early to tell,” Griffen said. “Ask me again in August.”

  As he spoke, he wondered about the subtle reaction his name had gotten from Maestro. The answer was quick in coming.

  “The name’s ‘Griffen,’ right?” Maestro said, still smiling. “Do you by any chance know a guy named ‘Mose’?”

  Griffen hesitated. Jerome had warned him not to let anyone know where he was living, but nothing had been said about keeping his purpose in town a secret. Still, he wasn’t wild about his name being recognized already. If Maestro were a threat…or an assassin, but no. Bone had known him, that made him a local, with all the many levels that “local” implied in these parts.

  “Actually, we haven’t met yet,” he said cautiously. “But he’s one of the main reasons I’m down here. If everything works out right, I’ll be working with him.”

  “I thought the name sounded familiar.” Maestro nodded. “Bone, can I talk with you for a second?”

  “Sure,” Bone said. “Back in a second, Grif.”

  The two men moved to the wall, where Maestro spoke to Bone in quiet undertones. Griffen was sure he was the subject of conversation, but had no idea as to what was being said. He hadn’t often been cut out of a conversation like that. Like he was an outsider who had no business being there. Though at least part of that was true. He was just starting to build up a bit of indignation, and paranoia, when a voice distracted his thoughts.

  “So, new in town?”

  It was the little redhead that Maestro had been speaking with. She was about Griffen’s age with medium-length auburn hair that she had back in a hair clip.

  “I thought I had seen you in here a couple times this last week. I’m Lisa…well, Fox Lisa. The
re are so many of us named Lisa in the Quarter we need nicknames so people know which Lisa they’re talking about…like guys named Joe or Robert.”

  He had noticed her before, but only in the passing awareness any man has for an attractive woman in the room. This was the first time he had seen her up close, much less spoken with her, and the effect was startling.

  She had a slender build and a heart-shaped face with clear blue eyes that sparkled when she smiled, as if she were harboring an unspoken joke. She also had a nose piercing and several visible tattoos.

  Griffen knew he was in trouble. She was just the kind of woman he was drawn to. She also looked like five kinds of bad news, including the fact that, if she wanted to, she could probably wrap him around her little finger. He decided to set things straight before his fantasies went any further.

  “Griffen,” he said, shaking her hand. “Have you known Maestro long?”

  Meaning: Are you with Maestro?

  “Oh, I run into him here and there. We’re just bar buddies.”

  Meaning: No, we’re not attached.

  He waited a moment for her to elaborate or clarify. Instead, she took a sip of her drink and smiled at him.

  Big, BIG trouble.

  Griffen chided himself, remembering that he was already plunging into a brand-new situation, one potentially fraught with unknown dangers. This really wasn’t the time for him to get involved with a new flame, however tempting.

  “I heard you talking with Bone,” Lisa said, stepping into the silence. “It sounds like you’re as big a movie buff as he is.”

  “It’s an old passion of mine,” he said with a shrug. “Things are always clearer and more easily resolved in movies. I guess the romantic in me is drawn to that.”

  “Well, I happen to have one of the biggest collections of videos and DVDs in the Quarter.” Lisa smiled. “And my apartment’s only a block and a half from here. Maybe we could watch a movie together.”

  Griffen felt his resolve weaken.

  “That would be pleasant,” he said. “When did you have in mind?”

  “Actually,” she said, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, “I was thinking about right now.”

  For a moment Griffen was taken aback, then he remembered that this was the Quarter, where people would go to a party or head for a different bar at two o’clock in the morning. Then he realized that Lisa was inviting him back to her apartment.

  Looking into her bright eyes, his resolve crumbled and he smiled.

  “As I said, that sounds pleasant.”

  They never did get around to watching a movie.

  Fourteen

  The place Jerome took Griffen and Valerie to was one of those small houses on a side street in the Quarter. It was set back slightly from the street and had its own fence and gate with room to park two cars in front of it.

  Even in his brief time getting to know the neighborhood, Griffen knew that he was looking at expensive property, even though it did not look particularly pretentious. Parking was at a premium on these streets, with people paying ninety to a hundred and fifty dollars a month for an enclosed, secure parking place. A home like this one, with its own secured parking, meant money.

  Jerome punched a code into the keypad mounted on the pedestrian gate, and led Griffen and Valerie up onto the porch. He knocked once, lightly, then opened the door on his own. Apparently they were expected.

  While speculating about this meeting, Griffen had found himself wondering the most about exactly what Mose would look like. His visions of the man ranged from a ponderous fat man to one that was skeletally thin. If this was a movie, that would be how the role was cast. Powerful crime leaders should look dominating…or, at least, impressive.

  The man sitting in the easy chair of the small living room they stepped into was nondescript. In fact, he looked so ordinary that Griffen would not have looked at him twice if they passed on the street. Medium height and build with short-cropped white hair, he could have been a doorman or cook, or maybe a shop owner. Even his dress, consisting of a plain sports shirt and a pair or khakis with his feet shoved into a pair of slippers, was unremarkable.

  Perhaps the only noteworthy feature about him was his face. His milk-chocolate-colored skin was lined with deep smile wrinkles, and his dark eyes twinkled with vague amusement, as if he were waiting for you to catch onto a joke.

  Griffen found himself liking the man before a single word had been spoken.

  “Mose,” Jerome said. “This is Griffen and Valerie McCandles. Grif, Val, this is Mose.”

  “Griffen. Miz Valerie,” Mose said, half rising from his seat. “Been looking forward to meeting you both. Just make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you anything? A drink? Some coffee?”

  “Coffee would be fine,” Griffen said, taking the lead as they seated themselves on the sofa. “Val?”

  She nodded.

  Mose nodded to Jerome, who disappeared into the depths of the house.

  “Well, before we start talking about our setup here in the Big Easy,” Mose said, “I expect you have some questions about being dragons. As I understand it, this is all pretty new to you.”

  “Very new,” Griffen said. “Questions? Oh, only a couple dozen off the top of my head.”

  Mose smiled.

  “Fire away. I probably can’t answer them all, but maybe we can make a start of it.”

  Jerome reappeared with a tray laden with coffee, cups, and the condiments including a small plate of croissants. The conversation paused while they all helped themselves.

  “Well, for openers,” Griffen said, settling back, “everyone keeps talking about our ‘secondary powers’ starting to show as we come of age. What can you tell us about these ‘secondary powers’?”

  “Not much,” Mose said. “Don’t think I’m trying to hold back information, though. It’s just that the powers have been diluted over the centuries, and now it’s hard to separate what’s fact from what’s brag or legend.”

  “You mention centuries,” Valerie put in. “If you don’t mind my asking, just how old are you, Mose?”

  The old man laughed.

  “There them that say everyone calls me ‘Mose’ because I’m as old as Moses. Truth to tell, I’m not that old…and they’ve been calling me ‘Mose’ even when I was young. Say I’m over a hundred and fifty years old and you’ll be in the right neighborhood. But don’t start asking me about the old days or I’ll never shut up. Nothing as boring as an old man talking about how things used to be. You’ve got to realize, though, that a lot of what you learned as history to me are memories…and I got lots of memories. Mostly these days I try to keep focused on the here and now. That’s enough to keep me busy.”

  He cocked his head at Griffen.

  “But you were asking about the ‘secondary powers.’ Again, it’s hard to tell for sure, because even those that have some tend to try to keep them secret. Draws less attention that way.”

  “My uncle Malcolm lit a cigar just by blowing on it,” Griffen said.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that some can do that,” Mose said. “Of course, Mal is a half blood. Folks like Jerome and me who are lesser bloods don’t have as many powers.”

  He picked up a cigarette lighter from the coffee table, lit it, then held his hand in the flame as he continued.

  “I’ve always been good with fire. I could hold my hand here all day and it wouldn’t burn me. I’d feel some heat, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

  He extinguished the flame.

  “Dragon skin is one of the secondary powers that pops up in varying degrees. I don’t burn and I don’t bruise. Now, if you was to stick me hard with a knife, I’d bleed like a human…but even then, it wouldn’t penetrate too far. It would be like trying to stick a human through a thick leather coat. You could get through, but not as easily as if you were just dealing with bare skin.

  “Some say that the closer to pure-blood you are, the tougher your skin will be. I’m not sure you could get through Mal’s ski
n with a knife at all. A true pureblood is supposed to be able to shrug off bullets. Of course, even though the skin doesn’t break, I’m not sure what it would do to the bones underneath if you got hit with a big enough caliber.”

  While he was considering trying the flame trick, Griffen mentally decided holding off testing whether or not he was bulletproof for as long as possible.

  “There are all sorts of things some say dragons can have as secondary powers.” Mose continued. “Dragon skin and breathing flame are both pretty well-known and documented. Size changing and shape-shifting are talked about, but you don’t actually see it very often.”

  “How do those work, exactly?” Valerie said. “I mean, is it like the Human Torch from the Fantastic Four? Do you say ‘flame on’ or ‘shape-shift’ to trigger it?”

  “As I understand it, it’s kind of like your voluntary muscles,” Mose said. “I mean, the dragon skin, if you get it, will always be with you. As to the others, once you discover you have it, you have to train it and learn control.”

  “How do you do that?” Griffen said.

  “Like I say, it’s like a muscle you just learned you have. Imagine if you were just learning to use your arm. With a little practice, you can learn to make it reach out without thinking of exactly how you’re doing it. You also learn how far it reaches, how fast, and how strong it is.”

  “And with exercise,” Griffen said, “you can make it stronger.”

  “To a degree,” Mose said. “But it’s more complex than that. Sticking with the arm example, if someone hits you unexpectedly, your arm will flinch away without your thinking. Boxers and karate artists learn to control that reflex. If you develop some of the stronger secondary powers, you have to learn to control them as well. An unthinking flinch with a secondary power can not only be noticeable to the humans around you, the actual immediate effects could be disastrous.”

  “I can see where that could be a problem,” Griffen said, winking at his sister.