Facing the Dragon A Novella

by Linda K Hopkins

  “She’s young and beautiful.”

  “So what was the problem?”

  Max stared out the window for a moment, then turned to look at Erik. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?” he said. “Wouldn’t you like to find someone you can love?”

  Erik crossed his arms and looked at Max narrowly. “You are being very morose,” he said.

  Max groaned. “I am, aren’t I?”

  Erik sat down across from Max. “You know, I heard a rumor. That when you went into Jack’s lair, there was more at stake than serving Aaron.”

  Max looked at Erik sharply. “I went to aid the Master.”

  Erik waved his hand airily. “Oh, I know. I’m not disputing that. I’m just suggesting that you had a little additional motivation.” Max glanced away in silence as Erik sat back. “So the rumors are correct. There was a girl.”

  “When Aaron’s mate was taken hostage by Jack, her sister was also taken. I didn’t think Jack would hurt Keira, but I wasn’t sure he would extend the same consideration to Anna. I went to Jack’s lair to ensure her safety. But let me tell you, she is mean-spirited and ill-tempered, as well as mistrustful and rude.” Max paused. “She’s also stubborn and courageous,” he added.

  “Ah Max,” Erik said with a shake of his head. “You are quite lost.”

  Max gave a rueful laugh. “She sent me away without a moment’s regret, but the memory of her pursues me. I cannot even enjoy an evening with a pretty girl, without the thought of her intruding on my pleasure.”

  “You need to put her from your mind.”

  Max groaned. “Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

  “Then go back. Return to her.”

  Max shook his head. “No. She gave me no reason to think I could win her heart. In fact, we squabbled like a pair of cats.” He rose to his feet and refilled his cup. “Besides, she’s young. She’s probably forgotten me, and is already married to someone else. Perhaps even a stable-boy,” he added darkly. Erik looked at Max in confusion, but Max just shook his head. “Too much time has passed. Perhaps I was wrong to leave as I did, but there is nothing to be done for it now.”

  “Well, I think you’ve spent too much time in the company of an old woman. You just need to get out more, and eventually you will meet someone who will drive this minx from your mind.”

  Max looked back at Erik. “I hope you’re right,” he said.

  Anna pursued Max into his dreams that night, and he held her close as they danced to music that drifted through the air around them. His eyes held hers as they moved, and he could feel the gentle caress of her movements against him. She smiled as she lifted her arm slowly and seductively through the air, wrapping around his head and then down his arm, without quite touching him. The moon was bright in the night sky, and the light skipped gently over her skin. A warm breeze fanned her hair, and he wrapped his hand around her neck as he looked down at her soft, full lips. He lifted his gaze back to her eyes as he bent closer, then drew back in surprise. It was no longer Anna that lifted her face in eager anticipation, but Isabella, and he stepped away, bitter with disappointment.

  The winter months passed, and as spring approached, Erik urged Max to return with him to his home in the north.

  “My mother will welcome you like a long lost son,” Erik said, but Max shook his head.

  “I promised Helen I would go back in the spring,” he said.

  “Why are you so concerned about this woman?” Erik asked.

  She reminds me of my mother, he could have answered. “She helped me when I needed it,” he said instead.

  The blossoms were on the trees when Max left the villa and headed north. He stopped at the port town, wending his way through the stinking alleys to The Green Bell, but O’Reilly was not there, and there was no message. The next day he was on his way up the coast, back to Helen’s cottage.

  Helen was outside when Max arrived at her cottage, laying damp washing over bushes near the dunes. She looked up with a smile, and watched as Max drew closer. A young girl was at her side, passing wet items of clothing to her from a basket.

  “I wondered when I would see you again,” Helen said.

  Max smiled. “Well, here I am. I’m sure you already have a list of chores for me.”

  “That I do.” She glanced down at the girl at her side. “This is Margaret,” she said. “She has come to stay with me awhile and help me around the cottage.” She pushed the girl forward slightly, and she dropped a slight curtsey.

  Max dropped to his haunches and looked at her. He guessed her age to be around ten, but she was so thin and scrawny, he couldn’t be sure. “I am very pleased to make you acquaintance, Mistress Margaret,” he said with a smile. She returned the smile shyly as Max rose to his feet.

  “She’s the third of seven children,” Helen explained, “and her mother was recently widowed.” She gestured towards the house. “Come have something to drink,” she said, “and we can discuss what needs to be done.”

  The seasons passed much as they had before. Max worked on the buildings and in the gardens, repairing, planting and building. He kept his lair in the mountains, and as before, he took care never to come close to the cottage in his dragon form.

  Max was moving straw into the cowshed one morning when he realized that someone had crept into the shed and was watching him in silence as he worked. He tossed a few more forks of hay as he breathed in her curious but cautious scent, before turning to face her.

  “Do you want to help?” he asked. Margaret stared at him with big eyes for a moment, then slowly nodded. He beckoned her forward, and she took a step towards him. “Here,” he said, “you hold it like this.” He showed her how to place her hands on the handle, then held it out to her, but as soon as she took the tool, it toppled from her grasp. She look startled, but he laughed. “Like this,” he said, moving her hands along the handle. She tried again, and smiled in triumph when the tool remained steady. Carefully, she lifted a small pile of straw, and tottering slightly, tossed it aside. Max grinned and mussed her hair. “How about you get me some water, and then we can sit together outside.”

  “All right,” she said. She ran from the shed as Max watched with a grin. A short while later she was back, carefully carrying two wooden cups in her small hands. Max leaned the fork against the wall and went outside.

  “You know,” he said as he took the cup from her, “I know someone else with your name.”

  “You do?” she said, staring at the cup she held in her hand.

  “Yes, she’s a wonderful healer. She mixes potions and balms which she gives to people when they are sick or injured.”

  “Is she a witch?” Margaret asked.

  Max laughed. “No, she’s not a witch. She uses herb lore, just like you do.”

  She looked up, startled. “I do?” she said.

  “Of course. Tell me, if you cut your arm, what do you do?”

  “Mistress Helen would give me a poultice.”

  “And what would the poultice be made from.”

  “Yarrow?”

  “Correct. And that is herb lore. Knowing the healing powers of the plants around us, and using them to make healing potions.”

  “Can I learn herb lore?”

  “Why don’t you ask Mistress Helen? I’m sure she would be able to teach you.”

  “Can’t you teach me?”

  Max smiled. “I don’t have much need for potions and balms, so my knowledge is very limited.”

  Margaret nodded, then looked shyly up at Max. “Can I still talk to you?”

  Max was startled for moment, then bending down to the girl, brought his face close to hers. “You don’t need to have a reason to talk to me. If you have anything to tell me, or a question you would like answered, then just come find me. Understand?”

  Margaret thought about that for a moment, her face serious. “Anytime?” she whispered.

  Max swallowed the last of the water in the cup and handed it to her. “Anytime,” he said.

 
; Edith was an infrequent visitor, but when she did come, her visits were short and brought little pleasure. She had relented once to Helen’s urging to leave her oldest daughter, Agnes, a girl of around Margaret’s age, to stay for a night, although she had cast dark looks in Max’s direction as she reluctantly did so. Helen gave Margaret the afternoon off from her chores, and the two girls’ laughter had spilled through the cottage and yard as Max worked.

  As cheerless as Edith was, it was Quentin who made Max feel the most uneasy, but Helen shrugged off his concerns.

  “He would love to discover how much gold I have, and where I keep it hidden,” she said, “but he won’t do anything foolish.”

  “Desperate men can do desperate things,” Max said. He glanced at Margaret. “And if Quentin thinks she knows something, he may try to force the information from her.” An expression of alarm crossed Helen’s face as she followed Max’s glance, but it quickly smoothed over.

  “No,” she said. “He wouldn’t do that. He has children of his own.”

  “Even so, you need to be careful,” Max said. “If Quentin feels his need is urgent, he could become dangerous.”

  Helen nodded. “I’ll be careful,” she said.

  The wood shed was full, the cowshed clean, the pig pen repaired and the gardens tilled by the time the winter weather arrived once again, but Max was hesitant about leaving for the winter. Quentin had been seen lurking around more than once in the past few weeks, and Max felt uneasy. But once again Helen dismissed his concerns.

  “Quentin is a coward,” she said. “He won’t hurt me.”

  “Promise me you will be on your guard,” he said.

  “I will,” Helen assured him. “Now go, your friend is waiting for you. And I will see you in the spring.”

  And so it was that on a clear, cold morning, Max lifted himself reluctantly into the air and turned himself to the south, where Erik waited for him at the villa. There was one stop he needed to make, however, as he journeyed south, and a few hours later he was stepping through the doorway of The Green Bell. He sat in his usual corner, watching the comings and goings of the tavern.

  A half hour had passed before the door opened, bringing a blast of clean, cold air into the smoky room, and O’Reilly ducked under the threshold, glancing around the room as he did, then quickly made his way over to where Max was sitting.

  “Did you find Tom Smith?” Max asked after O’Reilly had soothed his throat with a tankard of ale.

  O’Reilly shook his head. “He hasn’t made port. He must be wintering somewhere else.”

  Max sighed in frustration. “Is there a way to find him?”

  O’Reilly shrugged. “I found his woman, and she is already sharpening a knife to slit his throat when he finally does return. She has five mouths to feed, but has not seen him in nigh on three years.”

  Max leaned back in his seat, considering. “So he has a woman here?” He thought for a moment longer, then leaned forward with a glint in his eye. “You’ve seen this woman?” he asked O’Reilly.

  “Aye. Not much to look at, though.”

  “Tell me, what do you think would entice Smith to return here?”

  “Er, gold?”

  “Yes. Go speak to his woman and tell her that if she agrees to my plan, I will give her enough gold to keep herself and the children fed for years. But she needs to leave Smith alive, at least until I’ve spoken with him.”

  “What’s the plan, guv’nor?”

  “Spread the word that the woman has come into money, lots of it. Make sure the news is spread around the docks.”

  “But how would she have gotten money?”

  “I’m sure you can think of a believable story,” Max said with a grin. “And if you are successful in bringing Smith to me when I return in the spring, you will also earn some gold for your efforts.” He laid a single gold coin on the table. “This is an advance payment.”

  O’Reilly nodded his head, his eyes on the coin. “I’ll think of something, guv’nor,” he said.

  Erik was waiting for Max when he arrived later that night. “I’ve already been in the village,” he told Max the next morning. “I hear Isabella is about to be married.”

  “Then I wish her – and him – all the best,” Max said.

  “No regrets?”

  Max shook his head. “None whatsoever.”

  “There are other pretty girls,” he said.

  Max smiled wryly. Pretty girls there may be, but his heart was still bleeding from the claws of a shrew, and until they were healed, he would wait.

  When the winter drew to a close, Erik once more urged Max to return with him.

  “I told my parents about you,” he said. “They are most anxious to make your acquaintance. Although,” he added, “you will probably receive an interrogation from my father. But my mother will welcome you with open arms.”

  “Thank you,” Max said, “but I promised Helen to return in the spring.”

  “Erik shrugged. “Well, I tried. If you change your mind –”

  “I will head north,” Max assured him.

  When Max walked into The Green Bell, he found O’Reilly waiting for him.

  “I’ve been coming every day looking for you, guv’nor,” O’Reilly said as soon as Max entered the tavern. He was sitting near the door, his chair facing the entrance.

  “You found Tom Smith?” Max asked, taking a seat across from him. He waved at the barman and held up two fingers.

  “Aye. Your plan worked. He was back afore Christmastide.”

  “And he’s still alive?”

  O’Reilly grinned. “Aye. He and the missus have shacked up again. Seems he came to his senses and saw what a worthwhile woman she is. She was won over by his promise of undying love.”

  “When can I see him?”

  “Tonight.”

  Max nodded. “Tonight, then.”

  Tom Smith was a short man, with small beady eyes that darted around the room. His nose was too large for his face, and had been flattened by the hammering of many fists, while a few broken stumps were all that remained of his teeth. A large scar crisscrossed his balding pate and disappeared into dirty, yellow strands of greasy hair. On his finger he wore a large ring, a ruby set in gold, which he twisted nervously as Max watched.

  “Tom Smith,” Max finally said. “Do you know why O’Reilly has arranged this meeting?”

  “You looking for some’un,” he said, his gaze darting to Max’s face and away again.

  “That’s right,” Max said. “Clement Mercer.”

  “Aye, Clement Mercer,” Smith said. O’Reilly sat between the two men, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat.

  “Is that name familiar to you?” Max asked Smith.

  “Aye. The boy sailed with us to the islands.”

  “And what happened to him?”

  “He took a fever and died.”

  “I see.” Max leaned back slightly. “Where did he die?”

  Smith glanced at Max, then away again. “He died afore we sailed from the islands. We buried him there. Gave him a proper Christian burial and everything.”

  Max nodded. “Good. That will give his mother a little comfort. He was ill when you arrived on the island?”

  Smith shook his head. “No. Came on him day afore we set sail. Real fast, too. He was gone by morning.”

  Max leaned forward. “And was the voyage successful? Did you find the spices you were looking for?”

  Smith fixed his stare on a corner of the room and remained silent. Max dropped his voice slightly. “Did you come back with riches?”

  Smith’s gaze darted back to Max, then dropped to the table. “We got some. Not a lot, though.”

  “But some. So what happened to Clement’s share?”

  “He was just a hired hand. He didn’t get none.”

  “That’s not what I heard. His mother told me he made an investment in the voyage.”

  “What would an old woman know?” Smith sneered. Max’s eyes narrowe
d, and a moment later his hand wrapped around Smith’s wrist. He tried to pull away, but Max held him fast as the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

  “Let me go,” Smith gasped. Max held him a moment longer before releasing him, and Smith plunged his hand into his tankard of ale with a yelp, as the ale hissed and steamed.

  “Clement’s share?” Max said.

  Smith pulled his hand from the mug and shook it in Max’s direction as O’Reilly pulled in a sudden breath of surprise. The skin around the wrist was red and already blistering. “Look what you did to me!” Smith hissed.

  “Clement’s share?” Max repeated.

  “We split it atween us,” Smith said sullenly. “There wasn’t much.” Max leaned back and looked at him for a long moment.

  “That ring you’re wearing,” he said, pointing with his chin, “where did you get it?”

  Smith’s eyes darted back to Max, then down at the ring. He twisted it off his finger. “Take it,” he said. “It belonged to the boy.” Max nodded and swept it into his hand. He leaned forward again.

  “You can go now,” he said. “But leave that woman of yours alone. If I find you fleecing her money, I will kill you.” Smith glanced at O’Reilly, eyes narrowed, then back at Max. “You expected a reward for information,” Max said with a humorless snort. “Consider your life to be your reward.” With an abrupt movement, Smith rose to his feet, knocking over his chair. He stormed away, shrugging off a hand that landed on his shoulder with a cheerful greeting, and stormed out the door. O’Reilly turned to Max with a look of consternation.

  “Why didn’t you kill him?” he said. “Now he’ll be after me!”

  Max grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll avenge your death,” he said. O’Reilly dropped his head into his hands with a groan as Max pulled a leather purse from his pocket and threw it on the table with a dull thud. “Here,” he said. “Perhaps this will ease your distress.” O’Reilly lifted his head and grabbed the purse, loosening the strings that held it closed. He peered in, then quickly glancing around the room, slipped it into the neck of his tunic and grinned at Max, who pulled out another, smaller purse and tossed it at him. “This is for the woman,” he said.