Netherfield_Rogue Dragon_A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Maria Grace

  “Are you sure he will be gone for that long?”

  “He has been every time. There was one day when he came back very late, but I cannot think of a single time that he returned early.”

  “Has any other creature ever visited you here? The wyrms he spoke of?”

  “What is a wyrm?”

  “A small dragon, long like a snake, but with more of a lion’s head.”

  “Eww, I have never seen such a thing, nor do I want to. No, I have seen nothing of the kind here.”

  “Good, good.” Elizabeth reached forward, brushing her hands across the sandy ground.

  “What are you doing, Lizzy? You cannot be thinking of making your way down these tunnels? In the dark? You will die …”

  “Ah, here!” Bits of half-burnt wood and a larger branch! She dragged them closer. “I plan on doing exactly that, but not in the dark.”

  “What kind of magic have you to bring light into this place?”

  “Fire.” She fumbled with the fire starting kit. Slowly, she must move very slowly, for if she dropped anything, it might never be found again. There, the charcloth, the flint, the fire steel.

  “Trust me. He has thoroughly extinguished the fire. There is no way—where did you get that spark?” Lydia’s astonished face appeared in the brief light.

  It took far longer than it should, but Elizabeth managed to get a small fire started. Somehow, the small circle of light pushed back the abiding darkness. Perhaps she really could effect an escape. “I thought I saw a pile of wood near the far wall. Help me find some green wood. Birch wood, too. I saw some in the fire last night. If there is bark left, I can make torches with it.” At least one could in theory. Not that she had ever actually done so, but she had read about it in a tale tucked away in an old journal about what to do if trapped in a dragon lair. It had seemed just a fancy story at the time, but perhaps not. At the very least, it was worth trying.

  ∞∞∞

  Darcy and Fitzwilliam slept in shifts in the morning room chairs as evening turned to night and eventually into dawn. Bennet, though, required no such respite. He did not even seem to notice the passage of time, churning through page after page of books and maps. The man’s capacity to take in information seemed inexhaustible.

  The mantle clock chimed nine times. Nicholls trundled in with a tray of coffee, tea, a plate of kippers, and a rather large pot of honey. April’s work, no doubt. But Nicholls came in whistling a happy little tune and left without any further inquiries of what might be required later, so who was to complain if the fairy dragon wanted sweets?

  Fitzwilliam tossed a few kippers to Earl and Walker and handed Darcy a mug of coffee. Hot and bitter—exactly what he needed to drive away the remaining sluggish thoughts.

  Bennet tapped the table. “I think I have something.”

  They crowded around the window side of the table where Bennet had shoved four maps together and placed one of the bound maps above them.

  “What are we looking at?” Darcy peered over Bennet’s stooped shoulders.

  “Here is the key.” Bennet pointed to a feature on the bound map that seemed entirely unremarkable and much like everything else on that page. “Here is Longbourn house and the lair.” He pointed to the far corner of the map. “And this is the border of the two properties. I am certain this hill is the one you can see from the spot where the main road turns into the lane heading toward Netherfield Manor.”

  Fitzwilliam spilled a drop of coffee on one of the unmarked maps.

  “Do be more careful! Stains will not facilitate reading these maps.” Bennet elbowed him back. “What you have just managed to drip your beverage on is what I believe to be the same spot on the Netherfield maps.”

  Darcy’s eyes flickered between the two documents. The stream, the larger hill with a smaller one beside it, yes. It required a little imagination, but there was good reason to believe Bennet correct.

  Fitzwilliam set his coffee cup on the windowsill behind him and leaned over the maps. “So then, these others represent the lay of Netherfield’s lands? I cannot discern much of what is written here.” Fitzwilliam hovered his finger over some scribbles. “The mapmaker does not use standard symbology.”

  “A great deal of this is derived from ancient dragon script. This—” Bennet pointed at an odd squiggle, “is the sign for water. The direction of flow and the depth is reflected in the angle of the mark and the intensity of its color. These marks are indications that the features are actually underground. Again the darker the color, the deeper it is.”

  “That is why so much of the map is so faint! I had thought it just bad ink!” Fitzwilliam slapped his forehead.

  Bennet harrumphed. “Hardly. These are actually very sophisticated renderings, far more so than they look. Most of your assumptions about them are probably wrong.”

  Dragon’s blood! The man looked so smug. Was it not enough that he was right? Did he also have to be so self-satisfied, so condescending?

  “It seems then these are the cluster of hills that mark the west side of the park?” Darcy drew his finger along the far side of one page.

  “I believe so.”

  “But this stream—I have never seen it. We should have crossed it when we rode in.” Fitzwilliam stroked his chin with his fist.

  “I am not familiar with it, either. But these maps are quite old. I think it is possible that the waterway is underground now, or perhaps it was then, too, and he failed to include the proper marking. The depth of color suggests it is very deep, so perhaps that should be indication enough that the water runs underground.”

  “But you do not know for certain?” Darcy caught Bennet’s gaze and held it firmly.

  “No, I cannot be sure.”

  “Of what else are you not certain?”

  Bennet grumbled and huffed but eventually pointed out three other significant features that did not appear in the current landscape.

  Darcy flexed and released his hands. Better that than strangling Bennet. “So in short, what you are saying is that you are not actually certain we are looking at a map of Netherfield Park at all.”

  Bennet waved his hands as though that might make a difference. “I am quite certain that we are.”

  “Except for the fact it lacks two streams, one outcropping, and a rather large crevasse which should be rather obvious to anyone riding the land, of course, this map is Netherfield.” Fitzwilliam sneered, shaking his head.

  “I have no need of your sarcasm, young man. I have given you my explanations.”

  “Your speculations at best.”

  “Nonetheless, these three—”

  “Rather four.” Darcy pointed at another spot on the map.

  “Make that five, no six.” Fitzwilliam indicated two more places.

  “—are the most obvious places to search for the lindwurm. I maintain these three are the places that would most appeal to such a creature.”

  “Assuming we have read the maps correctly.” Darcy rolled his eyes at Fitzwilliam.

  “And that such places even exist in the first place.” Fitzwilliam matched his expression.

  “Which, all things considered, we have blessed little assurance of.”

  Fitzwilliam retrieved his coffee cup and drained it in a single gulp. “Which is all to suggest that we are no farther along now than we were last evening.”

  Bennet threw up his hands and turned to face them. “You make it sound as if I wish these maps to be unclear. I want to see Elizabeth returned as much as you do.”

  “Useless warm-bloods!” April hovered over the maps, a drop of honey quivering on the tip of her beak. “What are you accomplishing in all this arguing? Can not one of you actually do something?”

  All three men began talking over each other, trying to explain the nature of the situation to her in the simplest possible terms.

  April landed on the table and sang until their eyelids drooped and they fell silent. “Much better. Since you cannot settle on anything useful to do, I will
take matters into my own talons.”

  “What exactly do you think you will do?” Was Bennet trying to get his ears bloodied?

  “By now every minor dragon on both estates is aware Elizabeth is missing. One of them will know something. I will find it out.”

  “How exactly will you force them to tell you? I imagine the lindwurm will want his secrets kept.” Bennet truly underestimated the power and resourcefulness of a determined fairy dragon.

  She turned to Walker. “It is not something a warm-blood understands. But when one is asked a question by one’s predator, one tends to answer.”

  Bennet snorted. “So you intend to talk to flowers and insects? I am sure they will be very helpful.”

  Walker landed on the table beside her, knocking the maps to the floor with his broad wings. “I shall be able to convince some of our smaller denizens to answer readily enough.”

  April bobbed her head as though this had been her plan all along. Perhaps it was. She took off. Darcy opened the nearest window just ahead of her. Walker swooped out behind her.

  “I do not like the notion of simply sitting around, waiting on what the local wyrms might be saying,” Fitzwilliam muttered.

  “I have no intention of doing that. There is no reason why we should not start checking the locations we have identified, uncertain though they may be.” Darcy turned on his heel and strode from the room. Bennet would probably be offended that he did not take leave, but, considering the things Darcy wanted to say, it was probably for the best.

  Chapter 10

  It was impossible to tell how long it had taken her to craft them, but eight shabby-looking torches lay before her, illuminated by a ninth, done in miniature to test the process. The light waxed and waned but mostly waned, threatening to succumb to the demanding darkness. Her petticoat was in shreds, used to bind the beech bark and green wood together, but what matter if it got them out of the cave?

  “You cannot seriously mean to do this.” Lydia folded her arms and stared at Elizabeth with a derision she could have only learnt from Papa.

  “I most certainly am not going to sit here waiting for something to happen.”

  “You know a way out of these tunnels that we can traverse before these ugly torches of yours run out?”

  “No, I never told you I did.” Elizabeth stood and gathered the torches. “I am counting on encountering someone in these tunnels who can get us out before that happens.”

  “Because, of course, these tunnels are as busy as the roads around Longbourn, and meeting someone in here is quite likely.” Lydia stepped closer as though trying to block her way.

  “The area is frequented by wyrms. There are also fairy dragons—”

  “Whom I have apparently been living with for quite some time without ever realizing it. Moreover, to my untutored eye it appears they fly, not slither about underground.” Oh, the look of indignation she wore! The deep shadows only made it more poignant. What bothered Lydia more? That she did not know what they were, or that they had been kept secret from her?

  “There is at least one puck in the area, and a small basilisk—”

  “You know none of that means anything to me. It might as well be an elephant and an ostrich. Even if it did, what assurances have you that they will conveniently appear just when you need them? No, thank you. I shall stay here.” She dropped, tailor-style, to the floor.

  “I cannot force you to come with me, but I am leaving now.”

  “You really believe we can escape before it comes after us?” Lydia’s expression softened.

  “I prefer to take my chances in the tunnels than wait helpless in the dark.”

  Lydia shuddered and clutched her shoulders. “I hate the dark. I never want to be in the dark again.”

  “Then come with me.” Elizabeth handed Lydia half the torches and waved her toward the far side of the lair.

  With luck, the eight torches would provide about two hours of light. It should be enough. No wyrm would use a blind chamber. They always had at least two paths out, often more. If they could just follow Netherfield’s tracks, those should lead them out in short order. Of course, the operative word was “should.”

  Once they escaped, Darcy would probably lecture her about how truly perilous this venture was. He would be right to do so. But if this dragon was as dangerous as Fitzwilliam and the Blue Order thought, was her plan worse than staying with him? What if the worst happened and the torches ran out before they found their way out? Death from dehydration would be unpleasant, but not instant. There was still hope they might be found.

  Especially if they had food with them! Little wyrms had a keen sense of smell and demanding bellies. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but could it hurt to improve their chances?

  “Lydia, take that cheese and tie it up in your apron.”

  “But it is nasty. Why should we bring that? The bread is much tastier.”

  “Not for you, for the rock wyrms.” Elizabeth filled the pockets of Wickham’s coat with more cheese, apples, and a jar of pickles. Those would prove particularly pungent upon opening.

  “Should we not be worried about feeding ourselves instead?”

  Elizabeth slowly turned and stared at Lydia, allowing her face to shape into an expression Longbourn had long since perfected.

  Lydia gasped and shoved more into her apron, tied it up, and slung it over her shoulder. “I am ready.”

  Elizabeth counted steps. Some measure of distance might prove helpful, somehow. If nothing else, it was a welcome activity for her racing mind. About two hundred steps away from Netherfield’s lair, a small room opened up to their right. Lydia lunged for it, but Elizabeth grabbed her by the back of her dress. She stuck her torch in the entrance. A gaping hole in the floor swallowed the light.

  “This must be where Wickham was lost.” Elizabeth’s voice echoed off the walls.

  “The beast pushed him,” Lydia whimpered.

  “I suppose we cannot be certain, but that is not the story he told me. You do understand, Wickham criminally threatened Netherfield. He would have been prosecuted in court for it.”

  “How? A court caring for that creature, that brute …”

  Elizabeth raked stray hairs from her face. What would the Blue Order do with Lydia? There were rumors that the Order kept homes in remote parts of Scotland and Ireland for those who heard but would not join the Order. They seemed more like fairy tales to keep naughty children in order than actual places, but perhaps, like dragons, those too existed.

  Those worries were for another time, though. After they were away from this place.

  ∞∞∞

  Several hours later, Fitzwilliam emerged from the barn leading two horses. A comically too-large greatcoat he had found discarded in one of the family rooms, hung over his shoulders. Hardly the expected image of a dragon hunter, to be sure. With full sun today, the garment would prove hot and cumbersome. Still, it was the shade of dark blue Fitzwilliam felt certain would be difficult for the lindwurm to see. No doubt, he had secreted the Dragon Slayer underneath.

  Earl was sleeping in Bennet’s care at present—besides eating, sleeping was all the chick did. If they were lucky, they would return with Elizabeth before his next feeding, and he would be none the wiser. If they were very, very lucky.

  More likely, they would not be—luck rarely ran in Darcy’s favor. There was no telling what that could mean. He suppressed a shudder as his guts clenched. The scenarios ranged from merely bad to completely tragic—and the tragic well outnumbered the bad.

  “Start with the western sites?” Fitzwilliam handed him the reins of a smart chestnut gelding.

  “That is the direction I last saw Elizabeth heading.” Darcy swung up into the saddle and patted his coat pocket.

  The maps were still there—of course, they were; it was silly to worry they had somehow disappeared. But Bennet had objected so strenuously to letting them out of his possession that he checked his pocket by reflex alone. Hopefully they would be of some use even
without Bennet to interpret them.

  They pushed the horses hard though it felt a little pointless to rush after all the time that had already passed with the storms and efforts to decontaminate the maps. Would extra minutes, even hours, matter at this point?

  Still, they hurried.

  “I think that is the rise on Bennet’s map.” Fitzwilliam pointed to two hillsides in the distance.

  “If I recall correctly, the tunnels are supposed to run along that ridge and breach the surface in three places—at the ends and between those hills.”

  Dense trees shrouded the base of the rise. How were they to find the entrances amidst those trees—if they were even still there after all the years since the maps were rendered?

  Darcy unfastened his watch fob and raised it to his lips. Hopefully, Walker was close enough to be able to hear it.

  Fitzwilliam covered his ears and whipped around to gawk at Darcy. “That is bloody well the most awful sound I have ever heard! What the hell was that?”

  “Wait until you hear Earl’s first full-bodied shriek. I assure you it will be far more dreadful. There is nothing to rend one’s soul like a cockatrice’s scream. When Earl is a bit older, I will see you have one of these. The whistle is useful for keeping in touch when he learns to hunt on his own.”

  For a moment Fitzwilliam looked like he was about to argue, but he closed his mouth and turned aside. They scanned the horizon. Walker should not be difficult to spot on such a clear day.

  “What is that?” Fitzwilliam pointed.

  An oddly-shaped shadow winged toward them. The wings resembled a cockatrice, but long, awkward legs dangled limply underneath.

  Fitzwilliam slipped one hand under his greatcoat.

  The shadow overtook them, the air above torn by a nerve-rending screech.

  “We have word! We have word!” a tiny voice cried. April buzzed into Darcy’s field of vision.

  Walker dropped two wild-eyed rock wyrms at the horse’s feet. Reminiscent of their forest cousins, they were more scaly than shaggy, mottled white, black and blue-grey with horny nubs on their heads for burrowing. Their fangs were longer and black eyes larger than those of forest wyrms.