“Of course. There is no time to lose. What could be more important?”
I bit back my first response, which was Practically everything—for that wasn’t quite what I meant. I did think it very important that the people, and indeed the bees, and presumably also the rest of the natural habitat, of the Woods were properly cared for—and I certainly had a great deal to learn about what it meant to be an imperial viscount—but to leave right then?
“I can’t leave everyone to clean up my mess,” I protested, gesturing at the dragon. “We should invite Scholars of anatomy or legendary creatures or—or—I don’t even know—but there will be Scholars who want to study the dragon, anyway. We ought to inform them—and I have a friend visiting—and—” With a great uprush of relief I remembered— “And I have work next week.”
The Marchioness stared at me some more through her lorgnette. Hal came up to stand next me, as quietly and as meaningfully as he had when I stood up for my father against Lark, against the whole studentry of Morrowlea, against the world. She examined him, then made a visibly painful attempt at compromise. “Your friend is the Duke of Fillering Pool? He is welcome to my house, of course.”
Hal bowed, bearing instantly fully ducal. I wondered what he had done with the cake. “You do me honour, ma’am. Nevertheless, I have already been offered, and accepted, Jemis’—Lord St. Noire’s—offer of hospitality, which I trust he will extend through to Winterturn.”
“His hospitality! He has no property of his own.”
“He has lodging in town, ma’am, which I find most comfortable.” He smiled at her, still regally, but with the engaging air that belonged to what I thought of as the real Hal. Except that Hal did not seem to feel any contradiction between being Duke and being Hal—
—How, I wondered suddenly, could he possibly think I was more of a radical than he?
“As I am certain you will understand, Jemis needs a degree of basic education in both magic and what it means to have an imperial title in Rondé as it is now, after the Fall, which I am both perfectly suited and most willing to provide. You and your people have been under a curse for a number of years, and you need to rest, gather your resources, and prepare yourself for the higher-level teaching you are the only one able to provide.”
I found my attention wandering back to the dragon. I was feeling rather shaky and wished there was somewhere to sit down, and possibly something to drink. I was pondering the rival benefits of beer versus coffee when I discovered Mrs. Etaris was again standing beside me.
“You were reaching for a sword,” I blurted, though quietly. Distantly I watched Hal widening the circle of his charm to include the Baron and my uncle, who had finally recovered enough to greet the Marchioness.
Mrs. Etaris smiled, a little ruefully. “I was wondering if anyone noticed. It was foolish of me—it’s not as if I’ve held a sword for many years.”
“Was it your first dragon?”
She laughed. “Mr. Greenwing, have I told you how much I enjoy your sense of humour?”
I glanced sidelong at her. “I thought you believed me a cynic?”
Her face was still smiling, but her eyes, though sharp, were also kind. “The trials you have undergone to win the Woods—if I may be so alliterative—seem to have brought you more fully into yourself, Mr. Greenwing.”
Hal was now explaining how he intended to pursue a full study of the Woods flora as his post-baccalaureate monograph (‘while I wait for my ship to return from its expedition to the Far West’), and how fortunate he felt himself to have come in time to see the famous Tillarny limes in their autumn blossom.
I said to Mrs. Etaris, “You were the only one also moving to attack ...”
“And you were the one who slew the dragon,” she replied. “And serendipitously—for I presume you were not anticipating this end to the competition?—completely spiked the gambling ring. Very well done indeed, Mr. Greenwing. I think—yes—I really think I must give you a raise. Consider your trial period over. Unless you would prefer to move to the Woods?”
I glanced sidelong at her again. She was smiling. I found my heart lifting. “And undo all Hal’s good work? How could I?”
AFTER BORROWING YET more of Mr. Dart’s clothes, we—Mr. Dart, Hal, and I—removed ourselves from the more raucous celebrations to a quiet distance from the bonfire lit in the centre of the fairgrounds. Just before I quite got down to the grass—for I felt sore all over, and was sure to be full of bruises on the morrow—I saw the Honourable Rag waving at me from near the ale barrel.
“I’d best go see what he wants,” I muttered, and ambled over. I couldn’t have gone much faster than that if the dragon had resuscitated itself and come chasing me, I was afraid. I felt nearly completely exhausted.
“We’ll save you a piece of cake,” Hal called from behind me. I waved my hand desultorily. I wasn’t sure I’d care if I never saw another cake again.
The Honourable Rag offered me a tankard brimming full of ale. I accepted it with a murmur of thanks. He drew himself another, handling the common alehouse barrel and bung with ease, and then gestured me away from the lantern-lit table to a spot under the Fair Oak.
He checked that no one was using it for any purpose, covert or otherwise. The oak was a favoured spot at the Midsomer festival. I leaned against the bark and sipped the ale and thought about the insurmountable distance still remaining between me and bed.
“Well, Greenwing,” said the Honourable Rag. “I owe you a cut of my winnings.”
That was not what I’d expected him to say. “Oh?”
He shrugged, smirking a little the way he did so often now, pulled out a little purse visibly heavy. “Earned back all my debts and then some, backing you.”
“To win or lose?”
“I’d’ve been a fool like the rest, either way, wouldn’t I?” he said, chuckling.
I sipped my ale and made no move to take his purse. “Tell me, Roald, how do you know it wasn’t my fault I was late for the three-mile race?”
I couldn’t see his face well in the dim light. I could hear him chuckle though, a sound like his smirk—like silver-plated tin when you wished for, expected, needed silver.
“Do you really think I’m so stupid, Jemis?”
“No, I don’t,” I replied, anger rising at his light mockery, at the waste—at him being such a drone—
—Was struck suddenly by the memory of my mother explaining that the apparently useless drones had a fundamentally important role to play in the existence of the hive, and that this was so macrocosm and microcosm.
And three things connected, in a moment like the last hand at Poacher when the Emperor Card is laid down to reward or ruin all, and I said: “You backed me neither to win nor to lose, but somehow to contrive to demolish the competition entirely, didn’t you? Were the highwaymen somewhere among the crowd to act if nothing else occurred? Come to think of it, I saw Nibbler, just before the fight started.”
There was a pause. Singing rose up from near the bonfire, and the smell of sausages sizzling reminded me that I had expended an unusual amount of energy today, and would be courting trouble if I didn’t get food and water inside me soon.
I could see the Honourable Rag’s astonished and delighted grin from the light reflected on his teeth. Then he cast back his head and laughed uninhibitedly.
“Good boy.”
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About the Author
Victoria Goddard is a fantasy novelist, gardener, and occasional academic. She has a PhD in Medieval Studies from the University of Toronto, has walk
ed down the length of England, and is currently a writer, cheesemonger, and gardener in the Canadian Maritimes. Along with cheese, books, and flowers she also loves dogs, tea, and languages.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One | The Honourable Rag has an Idea
Chapter Two | Mrs. Henny has an Idea
Chapter Three | Mr. Dart has an Idea
Chapter Four | Theories on Dragons
Chapter Five | Theories on Sneezing
Chapter Six | Mrs. Etaris has an Idea
Chapter Seven | The Dragon has an Idea
Chapter Eight | Hal has an Idea
Chapter Nine | I have No Idea
Chapter Ten | Sir Vorel has No Idea
Chapter Eleven | Night Ideas
Chapter Twelve | Sir Vorel has an Idea
Chapter Thirteen | The Dragon has Another Idea
Chapter Fourteen | Mr. Dart has Another Idea
Chapter Fifteen | The Way of the Woods
Chapter Sixteen | The Doorkeeper has an Idea
Chapter Seventeen | The Marchioness has an Idea
Chapter Eighteen | In the Cellars
Chapter Nineteen | The Bees of Melmúsion
Chapter Twenty | The Villagers have an Idea
Chapter Twenty-One | Hal has an Idea
Chapter Twenty-Two | Mr. Inglesides has an Idea
Chapter Twenty-Three | Furnishings
Chapter | The First Magic Lesson
Chapter Twenty-Four | I have an Idea
Chapter Twenty-Five | Mr. White has an Idea
Chapter Twenty-Six | The Bandits have an Idea
Chapter Twenty-Seven | The Baking Competition (Round One)
Chapter Twenty-Eight | Round Two
Chapter Twenty-Nine | I have One More Idea
Chapter Thirty | The Honourable Rag has No Idea
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