by Alex Bledsoe
“Once, the whole world belonged to the dragons. They had tribes, territories, politics and wars, just like men. Only their great reptile hearts could not conceive of the idea of compromise. As a result, they killed each other off, until by the advent of the time of men there were only a few widely scattered dragons left.” He cut his eyes at me to gauge my reaction; I kept my expression neutral.
“Solarian and his consort, Lumina, were two of these few,” he continued. “They once ranged over this whole hemisphere, burning and pillaging as they wished. People at the time didn’t understand much about how the world really worked, so they saw these two immense, powerful beings first as harbingers of the gods, then as gods themselves. They built temples, wrote songs, made sacrifices.”
“Human?”
“Human and otherwise. When a thirty-foot flying lizard’s breathing fire down your pants, you’ll try anything once to calm him down. Finally two great men appeared: Gerard Tempcott, great-great-and-so-forth-grandfather of the man you rescued your friend from, and Charlton the Just, the founder of Muscodia. Both saw in the dragons something they wanted to possess. Tempcott the elder believed they could lead mankind into a better world, and Charlton simply wanted to use them as weapons against his enemies.”
“That would be useful. Except that I imagine dragons aren’t easy to train. Oh, and they aren’t real.”
“How do you know that for certain?”
“Because I’m not some backwoods yahoo who believes anything he’s told. Real animals can’t breathe fire; they’d burn themselves up. No animal has four legs and wings. It’s all folklore and mythology.”
His eyes narrowed and looked closely at me. “Where did you get your education?”
“The school of hard parries,” I fired back.
He smiled. “Hell, you’re probably right. I can’t argue with any of that, except to say that maybe conventional wisdom could be wrong. Tempcott supposedly brought Solarian’s skull here with him; have you seen it?”
“Yeah. It’s just some kind of crocodile.”
“But it’s real? The skull of a real animal?”
“As far as I could tell. But if it’s a real animal, then it can’t be a dragon, can it?”
Again he paused for a draw. “Do you want the rest of the story?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Solarian wasn’t interested in a truce or a treaty. Charlton the Just met him for a battle to the death on the plain where Sevlow is today. He couldn’t overpower the dragon, so he built a dummy, studded it with hooks and knives and gave it his shield. When Solarian attacked it, he inadvertently slashed and cut himself to pieces on it. Once he was weak enough, Charlton was able to get in close and deliver the fatal blow.”
“Clever,” I had to admit. “Not exactly sporting, though.”
“No. But the winner writes the history, and it’s considered a great victory. Solarian, mortally injured, flew back here to the Black River Hills for his death throes. He burned every tree from the mountains. He killed every living thing for a hundred miles around. And he accidentally wounded Lumina. When Solarian finally died, his corpse fell into the river and was never seen again. Lumina, gravely injured and distraught, crawled into a cave and disappeared from history.”
“And that’s the end?”
“Of the historical record. The rest is just speculation. Some say Lumina died, too; some say she’s still there sleeping, awaiting the call of the true believers. And some . . .”
“What?”
He paused for a long, dramatic draw on his pipe. “Some say she still stands guard over the last dragon egg.”
chapter
NINETEEN
P
retty standard bedtime story,” I said more sarcastically than necessary, looking up at the stars. A few small clouds scudded sneakily over them. “Think I can get some warm milk, too?”
Lockett put his pipe aside. “Sure, it’s easy to mock. But what if it’s not just a story? There are lots of other myths and tales about dragons, including some where men befriended them, or enslaved them. Can you imagine what a modern army, with all its advanced weaponry, could do if it also had a dragon leading the way?”
“Make a mess?” I offered. I was tired, and this was growing progressively sillier.
“No! Just the opposite. It’d be bloodless coup after bloodless coup.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because burns from dragon flames never heal, did you know that? They remain just as fresh and agonizing as the day they were inflicted. What soldier is going to want to face that? What king could expect his army or citizens to stand up to it? Just the threat of it will end the war before it starts.”
“Sure. If dragons were real. And still existed. And could be tamed.”
He retrieved his pipe and blew a thoughtful puff of smoke. Then he looked at me sideways. “So if you don’t believe in dragons, how’d you get a look at Solarian’s skull?”
“I charmed old man Tempcott.”
He laughed in genuine surprise. “That a fact?”
I nodded. “What do you know about him?”
“Tempcott? Let’s see . . . he first got our notice about a year ago when he showed up out of the blue in Bonduel. There was always a remnant of the old dragon religion there, but it was never more than a few families at best. Then Tempcott arrived waving the skull of Solarian, kicked out the old priest and took over the group. Do you know who the old priest was?”
I shook my head.
“Fellow named Chester Lesperitt.”
I kept the reaction off my face.
“Never heard of him?” Crockett pressed.
I shook my head, all innocence.
“Well, Chester was able to keep his group going all those years because he claimed his daughter had once found the cave in the Black River Hills where Lumina slept with her offspring. When Tempcott arrived, all dragonfire about the ‘true path’ and ‘bringing the flame back to the world,’ old Lesperitt got brushed aside and left in a huff. But not his daughter. She was captivated like everyone else. Still, she was careful not to give away her secret until she was certain Tempcott was sincere.”
Although I knew the answer, I looked blank and said, “So what happened?”
“That’s where it gets fuzzy. Six months ago Gordon Marantz suddenly started bankrolling Tempcott and he collected a gang of rich, aimless young men around him, including Muscodia’s crown prince. They decided to relocate here, close to the Black River Hills, I assume so Laura Lesperitt could take them to the cave with the sacred relics. Somewhere between Bonduel and here, though, she seems to have vanished.”
Or changed her mind about Tempcott, I thought. But I said nothing.
He paused, retrieved his pipe and took a long calming drag. “Then I heard gossip about your little ambush on the Tallega road. I wondered if the girl you tried to save might have been her.”
“I never got her name,” I said with utter sincerity, and added a little faux wistfulness for color.
He looked at me through a fresh puff of smoke. His expression was inscrutable. Finally he asked, “So what will you do now?”
“Make sure the girl inside is okay.”
“And after that?”
“I never think that far ahead.”
“Uh-huh,” he said knowingly.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Mother Mallory said softly from the doorway behind us. She nodded at me and said, “She’s asking for you.”
I looked at Lockett. “Go on,” he said with a wave of his pipe. “She needs your help more than I do. I hope she makes it.”
“Can we talk more later?” If my chain of association was right, he might help me figure out what to do next.
He shook his head. “I have to hit the road. I stopped here on my own time, and I’m behind schedule as it is. If I don’t check in when I’m supposed to, then sad old men in ivory towers get very angry with me.”
I offered my hand. “Thanks for helping me out back t
here.”
He nodded as we shook. “Wouldn’t surprise me if our paths cross again sometime.”
“Nothing surprises me, either.”
I followed Mother Mallory to the room. Nicky kicked weakly in the water, and through the steam I saw her eyelids flutter and her lips move. The apprentice stood by, face creased in concern. I knelt beside the basin and said softly, “Nicky? Can you hear me?”
She turned toward me, but her eyes were still glassy and black. “Daddy?” she asked softly.
“No, it’s Eddie.”
Her face wrenched the same way it had earlier, although with less ferocity, and her eyes filled with tears. “I want my daddy,” she said in a faint, trembling voice.
I looked at Mother Mallory. “I’m not her father.”
“Well, you are now,” she said. “If she lives she won’t remember it, and if she dies you’ll give her some peace.”
Shit. I cleared my throat and, in what I hoped was a suitably paternal tone, said, “I’m here, Nicky.”
She turned again, so weak she would’ve submerged if not for the way the tub supported her, and stared at me. “Daddy?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“You said you wanted to see me.”
Again that torturous crying-child face. “Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry; I never meant to shame you.”
Oh, great. A family crisis. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said. “You just concentrate on getting well right now.”
“I’ve been a good girl, you know. No one’s touched me, not there. I’m still a virgin.”
“I’m sure you are,” I said reassuringly. “You’re a very good girl.”
“But somebody had to do this. I know Ricky’s your favorite and you love him the most, but Daddy, he’s an idiot. He’ll ruin us all.”
“You’re right. I’ve come to accept that, thanks to you.”
“Oh, Daddy, I love you so much,” she said with a child’s utter sincerity. She reached for my hand, and I took her slender fingers in my own. “I know everything they say about you is true, but I still love you, and I want to protect you. But you never loved me, just Ricky. And he’s . . . he’s . . .” She dissolved into quiet little exhausted sobs, and these quickly faded to silence. Her hand slid limply from mine back down into the water. Her breathing was steadier now, without that desperate little rattle.
Mother Mallory put her hand on my shoulder. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I think this is a good sign.”
“She’s hallucinating, you know. I’m not her father.”
“No, but her mind is working coherently. Except for that one detail, everything else made sense. Maybe you resemble her father in some way.”
My knees popped as I stood. “For her sake, I hope not.”
She leaned close to me. “And just so you know, she wasn’t taken by whoever did this. She is still a virgin.”
“You check that?” I asked, too tired to hide my prurient surprise.
Mother Mallory’s face turned hard and sad. “If a man hurts a woman, that’s usually the reason. And often he doesn’t care how torn up he leaves her inside. So yes, we check.”
I nodded, properly chagrined. I retrieved my scabbard and went back outside to the courtyard. Lockett was gone, as he said he’d be. I picked up my sword; wrapped around the hilt was a piece of parchment, tied with a black ribbon.
It was a page torn from a bound book, old but still supple; the original volume, wherever it was, had been carefully tended over the years. The page showed an illuminated image of a dragon fighting what appeared to be a cross between a hedgehog and a scarecrow. I recognized it as an illustration of the battle of Charlton the Just against Solarian.
Scrawled across the top were the words Just so you know what you might be up against. H.L.
In elaborate, expensive calligraphy was the poetic caption:
No living thing did that regal one leave alive as aloft it flew.
Wide was the dragon’s agony seen, its fiendish fury far and near.
The artwork was done with realistic perspective and colored in what seemed muted naturalism. The sky was blue, with a few fluffy clouds. The meadow showed bright green, while the trees in the background were darker.
That made Solarian himself look somehow more frightening. And make no mistake, this was one scary worm. If the dummy he attacked was the size of the average man, then Solarian was a good forty feet from snout to final scute. As with a lot of reptiles, most of this length was tail. He also did not have the standard four legs and wings; instead, his back legs were long and vaguely bird-like, while his wings grew from his forelegs much like those of a bat. It was this realistic detail that disturbed me the most. Well, that and the thing’s head.
It was not shown actually breathing fire, but burnt patches on the field, some still smoking, indicated that capacity. Instead its neck was thrown back and it seemed to be roaring or screaming in agony. Its eyes were set high on its head, and its teeth were all the same length. A long forked tongue lolled from one side of its open maw. Even accepting exaggeration for dramatic effect, there was no denying that Tempcott’s crocodile skull would fit easily inside the head as it was drawn.
I shook my head and sighed. It was late, I was tired and hungry and my hip hurt. In the clear light of morning this would all be revealed as the silly-ass idea it was.
At the left edge of the picture, Charlton himself peered heroically out from behind a tree as his dummy did the grunt work. Smart move, I thought to myself. If I ever face a dragon, I’ll try the same trick.
I went back into the sickroom. It was hotter than before, and the air hung heavier and sweeter. Only the apprentice remained, standing beside the tub and gazing sadly down at Nicky.
“Where’s Mother Mallory?” I asked softly.
“She’s resting in her room. And before you say anything, she’s an old woman who’s just lost one of her best friends. If we need her, she’s ten steps away. But I can watch over your friend just as well as she can.”
I settled back onto my stool. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
The apprentice smiled crookedly, a flaw that somehow made her more endearing. “Good thing, too,” she said, mock tough.
“He can’t . . . ,” Nicky mumbled, eyes half-closed, completely unaware of her surroundings. “. . . not smart enough . . . not strong like me . . . so what if I’m a girl!” she yelled. The apprentice mopped Nicky’s forehead with a sponge and murmured to her soothingly.
“A smart girl is better than a dumb man any day!” she insisted to her phantom inquisitor. Then she faded again. “Ricky listens to the wrong people . . . he drinks too much, smokes giggleweed . . . does what his friends tell him. . . .”
She grew unintelligible, then silent. The apprentice leaned down, lifted one eyelid and sniffed at her breath. She arose with a smile and pushed her thick, sweaty hair back from her face. “I think she’s past the danger point. She’s sleeping normally now.” As if to emphasize this, Nicky emitted a loud, buzzing snore.
The apprentice put her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle. “Would you mind carrying her to her room? I could call for help, but since you’re here . . .”
I pushed up my sleeves, reached into the water and lifted her. She seemed heavier, more solid now, and even snuggled against my chest without waking. I followed the apprentice out into the hall and two doors down, into a room identical to the one I’d occupied. We placed Nicky on a clean, dry bed and drew the sheet up to her chin. Then the apprentice motioned me outside.
“I’ll go report to Mother Mallory,” she said softly, “but right now what she needs the most is rest. If you don’t mind sitting with her, I’ll come back and check on her at dawn.”
Again I said, “Sure.”
She touched my tunic. “Would you like a dry shirt?”
I shook my head. “I’ll be all right.”
She started to turn away, then abruptly swung back and kissed me on the cheek. “A lot of girls like her get hurt and no one helps t
hem. She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.” Then she scampered off.
I went back into the room. I closed the door, and except for the starlight through the open window, it was dark. I pulled off my tunic and draped it on the windowsill to dry. I moved the chair near the door, sat and leaned it back. No one could open the door without waking me.
I tried to connect the dots between Lockett’s information and what I knew. Marantz’s presence now made total sense: by putting up the geld for Tempcott, he had the scions of the region’s most influential families and the crown prince of Muscodia under his thumb. Tempcott made sense, too: a true believer willing to do anything, climb into bed with anyone, to further the cause. If Laura Lesperitt had something Tempcott wanted but wouldn’t give it up, what could be more natural than that he’d ask his partner to take care of the problem?
But who killed Hank Pinster? And Mother Bennings? And who was the old guy with gloves, and why had Liz lied about him?
God, I wanted to lie down in my own bed, snuggle close to Liz and inhale that atmosphere of safety and contentment. But for all I knew, Liz was off with the old man with gloves, doing who knew what. Was it her father? Some old (really old) lover?
I closed my eyes and was asleep in moments. I dreamed of a huge, befanged mouth bathing me in agonizing flames as Liz laughed.
chapter
TWENTY
E
ddie,” a voice softly said.
I opened my eyes. Gray pre-dawn light filled the room. Nicky smiled wearily at me. Dark eye circles and the pallor of illness still marked her, but her gaze was clear. The vise around my chest loosened a few turns.
She looked at me for a long time before she croaked, “Where’s your shirt?”
“Where’s yours?” I replied, and rocked the chair forward until all four legs touched the floor.
She put a hand to her head. “I feel like I’ve been tossed over a waterfall in a barrel.”
