12 Days of Christmas: A Christmas Collection

by Laura Greenwood

  Beside her, a small cat-sized dragon appeared. It was not so much black as the colour of a starless, smokeless night sky. It was like looking into a well, into infinity, into mystery. The dragon let out a few sparks, broke wind and flew off to do aerobatics above them.

  ‘No change there then,’ said Dorissa.

  ‘No, he’ll never have any manners,’ said Menilly, ‘why doesn’t Thought appear?’

  The space next to her sister was empty yet not vacant. Menilly could see the tiles and the edge of the window frame through a small dragon shaped blur.

  Dorissa hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t think she can anymore. Five years of having to keep out of sight does that to you.’

  Menilly reached out. She could feel Thought, smooth and warm, nuzzling her hand. A spark and a little smoke appeared and diamond eyes glowed then dimmed.

  ‘Dorissa…’

  ‘Dora. Everyone calls me Dora.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. Listen to me…’

  Next to Menilly, the invisible Thought radiated Dora’s cold fury. Whisper, who had been flying out of sight above the smoke, came down with a soft landing to nuzzle the blurred absence. Something sparkled in his eyes and there was a shiver.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Dora, ‘something’s wrong. Where’s Endrin? Is Endrin ill?’

  ‘Dorissa, Endrin’s run away. I woke up yesterday and found a note. He’s come to the city to be anonymous, just like his wonderful big sister Dorissa. He says he’s going to leave on the first ship that will take him abroad.’

  Dorissa stood, leaning on the parapet as if looking down into the fog, she could pinpoint their brother. Her hands shook.

  ‘How could you let him go?’

  ‘I came down with a fever. Everything went wrong then, everything.’

  ‘Why didn’t you let me know? I would have come back to help.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t. Dorissa, what did we do to make you leave us? Or was it me? We used to sleep top-to-toe in the same bed, you and me, play the same games. We learnt to work with our shadow dragons, we kept the same secrets, we learnt the same forbidden language. We fought and argued and pulled each other’s hair.’

  ‘You make it sound so magical, Menilly, but you’re fooling yourself. You’ve forgotten how we had to hide the shadow dragons, the secrets, the language. You’ve forgotten the kids who used to take our things and throw things at us; “trolls, dragon whisperers, gold diggers”; the teachers who punished us for nothing; the shopkeepers who accused us of theft.’

  ‘It was all right once we learnt how to share our thoughts and fears with Whisper and Thought.’

  ‘Oh it was wonderful. A child got too close and suddenly its hand blistered. A teacher raised the cane and the cane caught alight. We were so popular, I can’t imagine why I’d forgotten how much fun it was.’

  ‘We had each other and we had Mother and Father.’

  ‘And then we had Endrin and we didn’t have Mother anymore.’

  ‘You can’t blame Endrin.’

  Dorissa sighed. ‘I’m not, but you know how hard it was without Mother. We didn’t even know if a shadow dragon would come for Endrin. He might have taken after Father too much. And then when Misty did arrive, we had to train them both, even though our own training hadn’t been finished.’

  ‘We did what we could.’

  ‘We could have done with some help. When Father died, it wouldn’t have been so bad if Mother’s people had welcomed us with open arms but what a surprise, they despised us as much as the valley people had. A foot in the vale, a foot in the snow. I don’t know how you could bear to stay and give them all the pleasure of treating you like dirt. “Yes madam, yes sir, I’m not as good as you so I will be honoured pay me less for teaching your brats than I’m worth.” I tell you, at least here, no-one cares.’

  ‘So if they don’t care, why don’t you use your real name?’

  ‘You don’t understand, Menilly, you never did. I need to be anonymous, untraceable. It’s the only way to do my work.’

  ‘What, finding domestic posts for lost girls? I don’t understand how you went from being a governess to running a business. Where did you get the money? What did you do?’

  ‘It’s not quite like that. It’s a sort of… franchise. I’m employed by someone to do it. He has contacts. He can help us find Endrin.’

  Menilly, stood up on the slimy tiles, her feet braced against the crumbling brick behind the plaster facade, said ‘then you’ll help me look?’

  ‘Of course I will, what do you take me for? But it’s no good trying now. It’s not safe enough at night. There’s nothing we can do till morning. Honestly. Sit down Menilly, or at least, come inside and sit down.’

  ‘We can’t…’

  ‘We’ll have to. You have to trust me. I care about him as much as you do.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him since he was seven.’

  ‘I send him presents.’

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  Dorissa said nothing, but stepped back through the window and held it for Menilly until she came through.

  Whisper and the absence of nothing which was Thought followed and curled up on the bed. Whisper coughed out some yellow fog and then some blue sparks.

  ‘We can’t just leave Endrin,’ argued Menilly, ‘I’m already a day behind.’

  ‘I know this city,’ said Dorissa, ‘there’s nothing we can do till morning. And besides, Misty will protect him. Misty’s not much of a dragon, but he won’t let anything happen to Endrin.’

  ‘Misty’s dead, Dorissa. Misty’s dead. That’s why he ran away. They killed his shadow dragon.’

  4

  By the River

  Endrin had never seen anything like the River Tymis.

  Until now, he’d only know the river Sotour, where in summer, you could wade or fish or mess about in flat bottomed boats, provided you kept aware of the currents and hidden depths. In summer, rivulets trickled down from the mountain and joined into the swift waters, running over stones through the town. In Spring, the Sotour itself was deep enough to swim in if you cared to risk the current, but only just. The water was clear, sometimes cloudy, but only with ice. It tasted new and sweet. It could be forded in places so that a wagon and cattle could cross without using the bridge. When there was a drought, people crossed it too. Boats were moored downstream, ready to take produce a little further to where the river was deeper and bigger barges could take the goods onward into the city. Barge work was getting scarce now. Now it was quicker to take produce by steamway.

  In autumn, when heavy rains came, the rivulets trickling down from the mountain became waterfalls. Storms and flash flooding brought boulders down to crash into the bridge. Sometimes the town’s cellars filled with water.

  In midwinter, the Sotour froze over, and if you knew the way, it could be crossed on nailed boots or skated on.

  Now, the Sotour seemed a long way away.

  It used to take a week to get to the city by coach; even longer if the roads were very muddy or the snow heavy. Nowadays it was a day’s trip from the village to the furthest outreach of the steamway and then a few hours into the city.

  Two days ago, Endrin had left a note for Menilly and in the early hours sneaked under the covers of a wagon. At the steamway station, he had stood straight and closed his face as if he travelled this way every day, handing over more coins than he’d ever handled before to buy a third class ticket to the city. And now he was here.

  He’d looked for work, bought a little food, kept his wits sharp. He recognised gangs of lads. They loitered about, apparently unconnected, but he knew what they were from their watching and glances and secret gestures. Some eyed up Endrin’s potential, making tiny motions with their head. ‘Join us.’ There would be a kind of safety in a gang, but he’d had enough of gangs. As light fell, women and girls seeped out of alleys and stood shivering in the fog, their faces painted, their cheeks pinched. They murmured at passers-by and sometimes went off with them. Lur
king men, leaning against sooty walls paused from watching the girls from the shadows to narrow their eyes at Endrin. Sometimes they’d straighten and amble towards him. Endrin kept his trembling inside, his hands and face still, moving as fast as he could away from them. He had spent two nights, hiding in the cathedral watching the altar light from the shadows. All he had to do was work his passage abroad and he could start again. There must be somewhere in the empire where he could make up his history and no-one would care.

  But now he stared into the River Tymis and it was monstrous. He had never imagined anything so immense. Its breadth was such that the buildings on the other side were dwarfed, the bridges terrifying. Barges were moored ten deep on either side and yet there was still a channel between. An angry channel of churning water with muddy waves rolled thick as porridge. Things floated past: rubbish, waste, dead dogs.

  The stink of it made him recoil and yet another stranger laughed. ‘You think it’s bad now, shoulda been here thirty years ago, you coulda smelt it from ten miles away.’

  The river’s banks were slimy with mire. Men waded in it, crossed it with planks. Endrin had never seen such men: some pale as birch, others darker than oak.

  If a river could be this huge, what would the sea be like?

  And there were no mountains rising to comfort him, no grass to brighten his eyes. Building soared, cathedrals and steamway stations and grand mansions swelled and bustled. Shops sold everything. Things he didn’t know existed. Things he hadn’t realised he wanted. Every surface was smeared black with soot. Yesterday the fog had come down like an eiderdown, sickly, filling his lung until he couldn’t breath. On the second night, he had crept back into the cathedral, dodging the priests, the smoke from incense cleaning his throat. He found a blanket and some bread on the pew where he’d slept before. He had tried to ignore both but in the end, chilled and damp, he had taken them and huddled till sleep came.

  All around, he sensed dragons but could not see them. They flew above people who looked like city people, they rode the shoulders of some of the thin, angry women he saw dragging a scrawny cow towards the steamway entrance as the country milk was unloaded, shouting out something about justice, trying to manoeuvre the cow to kick over the churns.

  Endrin felt the dragons calling to him, but he ignored them. He was done with all that. It would be Lightday soon, the turning of the year. The day when light came into the depths of darkness and brought hope and new beginnings. He wondered if they would decorate the city, the way home was decorated, he wondered if all the city people would put candles in their windows and hang holly from their doors like Menilly did. He wondered if the adults would give children gifts and bake a feast. It seemed impossible to imagine.

  Menilly had always made Lightday as special as she could, handing him a present from Dorissa who was too busy in the city to come home. He wondered if he’d recognise Dorissa now. She wouldn’t recognise him.

  Well he’d left home.

  Menilly would be alone this Lightday.

  He pictured her all alone in the house, picking at the goose, blowing out the candle. Maybe she’d cry. Endrin rubbed his sleeve across his eyes and gritted his teeth. There was no point in being sentimental. Those days were behind him.

  His fists still hurt from hitting out at those boys who lain in ambush, then caught Misty and smothered her. The gang-leader who had unhooked Misty from the net, had thrown her corpse to the ground and stamped on it, calling Endrin ‘half breed, thief’. He didn’t know why dragon-people were called thieves, but they were. And in the villages which had been built from the ruins of the ancient city in the mountains, the dragon people called the valley people: flat feet, traitors. He was half traitor and half thief was he? Well then if that was what he was, he would rise to his inheritance. His shoulder ached where he had shrugged Menilly’s embrace away rather than let her see him weep. His fingers burnt from the guilt of picking the lock while she slept, stealing the food from the pantry. His back was sore from the weight of the bag he’d brought filled with what he’d taken from the chest in the dark. The bag was lighter after two days, but his heart heavier. Yet nothing hurt more than the knowledge that Misty was dead and no-one could replace her.

  5

  Hunt

  Mr Beringer arrived before they had time to send for him.

  ‘I’ve come for my report, Miss Drethic,’ he said, handing his hat to Sally and striding into the front room which acted as office, its curtains drawn so that any passer by could see that all was respectable within. ‘I am disappointed. I am waiting for information and have received none.’

  Menilly looked up from the map which was spread across the desk and he took her in from the dark plaits coiled on her head to the stout shoes. His eyes flicked to Dorissa, from her dark hair curled and pinned into a bun down to her concealing hem. Any surprise was expressed only in a few blinks. A slow smile formed and then disappeared.

  ‘The Miss Menilly Drethic I assume,’ he nodded, ‘I had forgotten you were twins.’

  Dorissa frowned.

  ‘Our brother is missing,’ she said, ‘my sister believes he came to the city three days ago. I was about to send a telegram to ask if you could help. You and any of the other…’ she glanced at Menilly, ‘any of your other contacts.’

  Mr Beringer pursed his lips and walked to the window, glancing out into the street. The fog had lifted but the sky was dull and heavy. He turned.

  ‘Have you asked your sister as I suggested?’

  ‘Asked me what?’ said Menilly, ‘is it something simple, Mr…’

  ‘Beringer. I am your sister’s employer.’

  ‘Indeed? Well, meaning no disrespect, our brother is missing and we have wasted so much time already. I… we need to start out immediately.’

  ‘Is directness of speech a family trait? I wonder which of your parents it comes from.’

  Mr Beringer’s eyes traced Menilly’s shoulders and scanned the ceiling until his gaze settled the slight blurring of the wallpaper behind the armchair in the corner. Menilly glanced at her sister.

  ‘He knows,’ confirmed Dorissa.

  ‘Yes. I know. I’m surprised you didn’t send one of them to me last night to inform me of your sister’s arrival and your brother’s disappearance.’

  ‘You’ve always refused to authorise such a thing before,’ said Dorissa, ‘you said it was too risky.’

  ‘Mmm, where is Miss Torlin?’

  ‘On the way to the telegraph office to send for you.’

  Mr Beringer turned to Menilly. She was fidgetting, staring beyond him to the door.

  ‘Tell me a few things so that I can help you. How would you describe your brother?’

  ‘Twelve. Rather small for his age. Fairer haired than us. Pale blue eyes. He is wearing a thick woollen suit in green and stout leather boots. He has a leather bag with him. Or at least he did. He took some money.’

  ‘How much do you suppose he has?’

  ‘I’m not sure exactly. He seemed to have dug about in the chest and took out handles of stuff. Can we get on?’

  ‘Be patient, Miss Drethic, I’m trying to get a picture. You say “handfuls”. What do you mean by that?’

  ‘He took coins and some of them so old, I’m not sure if they’re even legal tender anymore. He also took a couple of pewter cups…’

  ‘The engraved ones Mother gave us?’ interrupted Dorissa.

  ‘Yes, those. And that little bag with her costume jewellery in, the stuff we used to play with. I suppose he could sell it.’

  ‘Get turned in for theft more likely,’ said Dorissa, ‘and if we don’t get to him in time, he’ll find himself sailing for a new world rather sooner than he’d planned in a prison transport.’

  ’The jewellery is worthless,’ said Menilly.

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Mr Beringer, ‘tell me more about it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. It’s just a sort of tarnished coronet with glass jewels. Mother had worn it at her wedding and we
used to wear it when we were acting out stories. Can we get on?’

  She started towards the door.

  ‘I see you dress in the mountain style,’ Mr Beringer noted, ‘I suggest a long cloak so that no-one singles you out. If you weren’t aware, people are nervous of dragon people in the city. Perhaps I should explain about your sister’s employment. She works for me uncovering possible conspiracies against the Queen.’

  Menilly stared at Dorissa.

  ‘A spy?’

  ‘An agent of the crown,’ said Mr Beringer, ‘and part of a network which could assist. And as a respectable woman, naturally her range is rather subtle, however, “…the bride and her eight milk maids will command the warriors…”’

  Menilly frowned.

  ‘Have you heard that expression before?’

  ‘It sounds like something misquoted,’ said Menilly, ‘something from an old tale Mother used to tell us.’

  ‘One of those you used to act out?’

  ‘Probably. Anyway, I am going out to look for Endrin whether anyone else comes or not. And I’m wearing what I like.’

  Menilly’s divided skirt was sleek, her bodice neat but body shaped, the only boning supporting her breasts. She glared at Dorissa’s dress. It was simple, workaday and yet bundled with petticoats. Under a tight bodice, Dorissa stood rigid inside a corset so that she could breathe properly.

  ‘That outfit has more bones than a herring and more flounces than a palace window,’ said Menilly. ‘It looks unbearable. My clothes will be better for looking for Endrin.’

  ‘I can manage perfectly well in what I’m wearing, thank you,’ snapped Dorissa, ‘at least I blend in. Mr Beringer, we believe Endrin was planning to look for a ship so that he can work a passage. However, being honest, we suspect he will not yet have worked up the courage to do more than think about it and will not know what to do next. We were planning to ask along the part of the river nearest to the station first. If you could ask a male agent to assist, we would be extremely grateful. We are desperately worried.’