“How do you know?”
“Because he's my dragon.”
“And can you speak to him?”
“I just know. Not to mention the fact that you’re implying we should install armour on Velos that for the purpose of killing other dragons. Why in the dragonheats would Velos want to kill one of his own?” Greys may have been dangerous, but I’d never wanted to kill one, much like I’d never wanted to kill al lion.
Faso now had his hands out in front of him and had placed himself between me and the automaton armour, as if I could do damage to it. “Look, I know you're not so keen on the idea, but why not try it at least once? We can always remove it if Velos doesn't like it.”
“We're not doing it,” I said. “And that's the end of it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to get a breath of fresh air. All these oil fumes aren’t good for my lungs.”
I turned around but stopped when I got to the staircase. The stairs were still raised, but I worried they'd automatically collapse if I stepped onto them. If Faso was expecting me to slide down that thing, he had another thing coming.
“It will take you down automatically,” Faso said. and I threw him a dubious look then stepped on the top stair. Faso pressed a button and the steps lowered me down gently to ground level.
Once I was at the bottom, Faso called out, “Goodbye lady. And please think about what I said.”
“No is no!” I shouted back and I walked as calmly as I could into the night.
CHAPTER 3
Despite best intentions, I didn't get to lie in much the next morning. Velos' roar woke me up just before dawn. Although he did it less frequently now, his roaring had never been popular with the villagers. It had attracted a lot of aggression at first — the cause of Velos' pitchfork wound on his right flank. But once we started bringing good money in, we agreed to pay levies to the town hall every time a roar occurred, which were consequently distributed amongst the villagers. They shut up about it then, happy to have extra cash in their pockets every time Velos had one of his nightmares.
I assumed nightmares to be the cause of the roars, anyway. It must have been tormenting for him to be separated from his mother at such a young age. Always, I could feel his grief within my chest. It made me laugh how people called him an animal. In many ways, Velos was more human than anyone I knew.
Papo was already waiting at the stables when I stepped outside. Velos’ trough had been emptied of the brown mulched secicao bark, transferred to the kiln ready for roasting. Papo was flicking off more bark from the wiry branches with a knife.
“I've been to the village hall and paid the levy already,” he said. “The mayor, as always, was very grateful.”
“Thank you,” I waited with my arms crossed to see if he had anything more to say.
“Look,” Papo said. “I'm sorry about yesterday.”
“Are you?”
“Your Mamo and I, we just don't want to lose you.”
“Well, separating me from Velos is one sure way to do that.”
“I know…” Papo looked out towards the sea. “I know.”
I couldn't do anything but sigh. Papo meant well. I guess I was a little harsh the previous day too. “Just remember, flying Velos is my job. I do my best to stay safe, and I wouldn't unwittingly put myself in any danger. It's hard for me sometimes too, you know.”
“I just wish there was something more I could do,” Papo said.
“I'd appreciate any help you can give me in the stables,” I said. “Really, if I have to work with this moron Faso, I'm going to need it.”
Papo smiled. “Is he really that bad? Most people I've met who are that successful are quite nice.”
“Oh, he's domineering and arrogant, Papo, like you wouldn't believe.”
“I think I'd like to still meet him. I trust your impressions Pontopa, it's just the magazines give him so much praise.”
I sneered then I picked up a pitchfork and started to help Papo shovelling secicao into the kiln. “He's probably paid the press to sing praises about him,” I said.
“You could be right. Say, my prayers have been answered. That looks like him now.” Papo pointed down the path towards an approaching figure in a long coat and top hat, coattails trailing behind.
“That's him all right.”
Papo clapped his hands together and stood up straight. “Be on your best behaviour, will you? I know you two don't get along, but you never know where he might be able to bring in a little extra cash.”
Again, typical Papo. I could read him like a book. “I hope you're not suggesting that he'll pay us a dowry.”
“Oh, please don't put the words into my mouth. But now you mention it…”
“I'd rather run away to a nunnery.”
He raised one eyebrow. “And leave Velos behind? Say this young man's got quite a swagger on him.”
“What did I tell you?” I said and I mucked into the work again, hoping that if I appeared busy enough, he'd go away. I watched Papo step up to him and offer his hand from the corner of my eye.
“Say, you must be Faso Gordoni, the entrepreneur,” he said. “I've read all about you in the Tow Observer.”
Faso stood tall as if basking in the admiration and let off a contrived smile. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I came to talk to your daughter.”
“Oh, Pontopa's told me so much about you.” He draped an arm over Faso's shoulder. “Say, it's not often we have visitors here. Why don't you come in for a cup of secicao? My wife has baked a cake. She'll be so proud to meet you, I'm sure.”
“I er…” Faso looked at me and I lowered my eyes, tossed some secicao, trying to look busy.
“Please, Mr Gordoni. You couldn't possibly refuse such hospitality. Pontopa will be here later and there's so much we wish to learn about you.”
“I guess I'll have to say yes then,” Faso said with evident undertones of chagrin in his voice.
“Pontopa,” Papo said. “Would you like some cake too?”
“I need to finish up here,” I said, “and I… er… Have an appointment with the mayor soon. But I'll be back later on this evening.”
“Very well,” Papo said. “Come on Mr. Gordoni, I'll show you around.”
I watched Faso flitter away in his swallow-tail coat, guided by Papo's arm, into the farmhouse. Now, it was time to enjoy my afternoon off.
✽✽✽
I went into my own cottage and took hold of The Dragon Boy and yesterday's copy of The Tow Observer — today's was no doubt in the farmhouse and I didn't plan on going anywhere near there. I gathered my knapsack and put the magazine and book inside, alongside my felt overcoat and scarf.
Outside, it was colder than it had been yesterday, and a fresh salty wind came off the coast. The sun was hiding behind a large grey cloud and it would be chilly on the moors. But I knew of a sheltered spot behind a copse of beech trees, around half an hour south of my cottage on foot.
Every so often, as I walked, I would glance around at the faint outline of Spezzio in the distance — the port city where most of the secicao came in off the steamers. A little closer than that, I could see the glint of the boats, great armoured ironclads with large Gatling guns to shoot down any attacking grey dragons, or Greys. Here, the boats were under no threat. But once they crossed the Southern Barrier archipelago, they’d have to keep up their guard.
I found the shaded copse and sat myself by a tree there, its bole sheltering me from the wind. I opened the magazine first, ignored the article about Faso and instead focused on the double page feature on Prince Artua, the king´s nephew who had been kidnapped. They claimed to have arrested two perpetrators, both of whom had been executed by rifle squad, but there was still no sign of the boy. There was mention of these men being linked to a terrorist organisation down in the Southlands. But no one knew much more. I have to admit, it all seemed pretty ridiculous. The clouds that the secicao plant produced made the Southlands inhabitable, so how an organisation could exist down there, I had no idea.
I stuffed the paper back into my knapsack. Instead, I opened up my favourite author's, Sukina Sako's, The Dragon Boy and prepared myself for a riveting read.
Varion, the protagonist, had been taken hostage by a tribe in the Southlands and was now tied to a tree. The tribe had the abnormal power to breathe secicao — while I personally had to wear some kind of breathing device. These men had profited from the king’s harvesting operations and they didn't like Varion’s sabotage attempts. But Varion had something in his arsenal that the cannibalistic leader didn't know about. He could sing songs that called the Greys to his aid. He held off doing so, though, since he had a feeling that war-automatons were nearby that could shoot the dragons down. He wouldn't call them in unless he was on death's door.
I couldn’t help but wonder how Miss Sako had written a book with so much empathy for dragons. One day, I would love to meet her. I had so many questions to ask her. Just the way she spoke about dragons reminded me of my own connection to Velos.
But how you came to meet an author like Sukina Sako, I didn’t know.
Eventually, after what must have been three or four hours, it became a little bit too cold for sitting around and I started to get peckish. So, I lifted myself off my catkin carpet, brushed myself down, and headed back to the vineyard hoping that by the time I arrived Faso would have gone.
What I didn't expect to hear was another of Velos' roars, booming along the coastline. It sent me from a casual walk into a jog, then a run — as far as my legs and heart would carry me. Velos would only roar during the day if he was in danger or intense pain. Three times I had to stop, catch my breath — I was never really a runner. But each time, I swallowed, clutched at my stomach to alleviate the stitch and soldiered on. The roar didn't come again which made me worry even more. What had Faso done?
I saw the converted stables, then something glistening underneath the tarpaulin covered roof. Something bronze, the same colour as Faso's workshop and the old war-automatons which it was made of. Even closer, I could see Faso's coattails blowing in the wind and Papo's bulky form. Both men had their backs to me, standing back from Velos a little with their arms crossed and heads high. A fleet of miniature airships floated away from the scene, the same machines that I’d seen piecing Faso’s workshop together the other day. Even closer still and I could see Velos' head flat against the ground, dead to the world. Closer again, I saw Mamo emerging from my cottage with a tea-tray in her hand.
I sprinted, screaming expletives. Papo and Faso turned to me. Mamo almost dropped the tray. Closer still, I saw something sticking out of Velos' flank and that horrible armour I’d seen on Faso’s floor his body. Then, I was near enough to see Ratter clinging onto Velos, the automaton’s lips clamped around a glass beaker of some kind that looked through my blurry vision like some kind of a syringe.
I used whatever energy I had left when I got there to take a huge swing and I punched Faso in the face. He wasn’t fast enough to dodge out of the way. My knuckles cracked when they made contact right on the bridge of his nose. It probably hurt me more than it did then, but I was past caring.
“Pontopa!” I think the call came from Papo.
“Shut up!” I shouted, shaking my fist. “Faso, you filthy, swine-eating piece of swill. I told you not to put the armour on Velos… And what do you do? You're a swine, Faso… A swine in a suit!”
Faso raised his hand to his face and wiped away some blood that had begun to trickle out his nose. Papo loitered back a little, probably trying to work out how best to break this up. Mamo placed the tray quickly down and stepped in between me and Faso and held out her arms. “Pontopa we—”
“Don't talk! Just…” I was already sprinting towards Ratter, new energy coming from somewhere. I took hold of the automaton, pulled it out of Velos and threw it onto the floor. The syringe shattered out across the gravel, a piece brushing against my leg but not scratching. I stamped on him a few times hoping to break it into pieces. But somehow that damn machine rolled away and scurried back towards Faso. I ran to Velos, placed a hand on the bridge of his nose, then I put my head down against him to listen for breath. Fortunately, he was still breathing. I turned to Faso.
“You could have killed him, you arrogant bastard!”
“Oh, for wellies sake! He's just sleeping off the effects of the sedative.”
I took hold of a heavy piece of firewood lying around near Velos and threw it at Faso's head. This time he dodged out of the way. “Why, you bastard? Why?”
“Pontopa, get a hold of yourself,” Mamo said. “Faso, I think it's best if you left.”
“Pontopa I…” Faso said.
“Get out of here!” I looked up at him, my vision kind of hazy with tears. Faso stood there staring, clearly unsure what to do.
“Go!” I screamed and he turned on his heels and walked away, Ratter peeking up over his collarbone.
“I better be able to get this thing off him,” I shouted after him. Faso glanced over his shoulder, clearly had nothing better to say and then carried on his way. I returned my head to Velos, listening to his breathing, almost like a snore.
Papo stepped forwards. “Pontopa, Faso said—”
“I don't care what he said,” I snapped. “I told you he wasn't to be trusted and you let him do it. You're no better than him.”
“But—”
“Just go, Papo!” I screamed and I looked around for something to throw at him, found nothing.
“Come on dear,” Mamo said. “Best leave her be for now.” She took hold of his hand and led him past the cottage to the farmhouse. I stayed put for a while, trying to piece together what had just happened.
I had left them alone with Faso and he'd talked to them and convinced them to betray me. In a way, I wanted to know why they did it, but then I didn't want to hear their excuses. I didn't want to hear their patronising tones and the fact that they thought they knew better, that they couldn't trust me to make decisions on my own.
But I’d have to talk to them eventually. With Velos sleeping like this, there was no way I could just take him and run away. But the thought of talking to anyone sent me into fits of rage. So, I examined the armour, tried to find any way of taking it off. I thought of lifting it, but all around, I could see screws that had somehow pierced Velos' scales where they folded down above his skin. Did it hurt? I wondered. Did he need the sedative because he was in so much pain?
Eventually I spotted Mamo loitering nearby. When I looked up she approached gingerly and I watched her through blurry eyes. She placed herself on a trestle stool a few yards away from me and looked out towards the waning sun.
“I'm sorry, dear,” she said. “I didn't know Faso and your father — I mean I would have stopped them if I knew, or at least asked them to wait until you got back.”
“Just leave me alone,” I snapped.
Mamo dipped her head. “I'm sorry,” she said and then she turned to leave.
✽✽✽
There was a bottle of brandy in the cupboard in my cottage, twenty years matured. I didn't really drink much — didn't have the head for it really. So, the bottle remained largely unused, reserved for sombre occasions like tonight. I took the bottle, a sherry glass and a spiral citronella candle and sat outside under the moonlight on the trestle stool. There I waited, watching Velos for any signs of life.
There's something about strong emotions that allows alcohol to travel fast down the gullet and the stomach to open up and accept it with ease. As I drank, I sat listening to the occasional hoots of owls, and a bat sometimes fluttered over the moon, cutting out its glow for a fraction of a moment. In a way, I wanted to read some more Sukina Sako to at least try to cut off the thoughts. But even my favourite author had no chance of cheering me up.
So, instead I decided to play a little game. Every time I thought of a man, I would flick him out of my mind with a swig from the glass and refill. If I thought of Faso and what a swine he was, the subsequent burn in my chest would erase him out. If I thou
ght of Papo, always trying to control things, down another would go. If I thought of men in general and their thirst for prestige or power, then the golden liquor would be travelling down before I could even think of who those men were. I drank to forget my ego. I drank to forget about those men who wanted to have reign over my life. I drank, in short, to be free.
After a while, I decided to move closer to Velos. The dragon was really my best friend in the world, and it pained me to know that Faso could even think of sedating him. But he’d wake up, surely he would. I stroked his rough scales. “It will be okay,” I said. “We’ll get through this, Velos. We’ll get that ugly suit off you then show Faso who is really boss around here.”
Usually, even in his sleep, he’d raise his head when I stroked him, and start to croon from the bottom of his neck. But there was no response from him. I felt empty – as if part of me had left this world.
Soon, I found myself imagining myself as Varion the Dragon Boy and his songs. As I watched Velos, listened to his soft snores, I wondered if I could indeed sing to talk to him. Enough out of my senses not to feel foolish, I decided to try my hand at it. Varion's songs were meant to be without melody, so I hummed as if singing chants from an ancient temple. My voice didn’t really have much tune, nothing intrinsically memorable, yet there still seemed an innate beauty to the song. Maybe I saw Velos stir and tilt his head, maybe I imagined it, but I certainly felt a strange sense of connection, almost as if I was in his body with my eyes closed, dreaming dragon dreams.
I awoke, shivering and cold. I went inside and crawled into bed.
✽✽✽
The next day, I was woken up at daybreak by a heavy rap at the door. I put on my gown and opened the door, half expecting to see my parents or Faso there. But instead there was the mayor's son, Domio, a gangly boy of about fourteen with ash-blond long hair. I squinted at him.
“Miss Wells,” he said. “If you'd please excuse me, I didn't mean to wake you.”
I blinked. “What is it?” I asked. “And why so early?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Wells, but my father didn’t think you’d want to miss this. It’s just, you see, the author Sukina Sako is in town and she’s requesting an audience with you. Would you please accompany me to the town hall?”
Dragonseer (Secicao Blight Book 1) Page 3
