by Ellen Mae
Part Four: The Cause for Misery
Lou’s sleeping place turned out to be little more than a pile of rags in an alleyway, so it suited him quite well. His ‘bed’ was haphazardly arranged in the culvert of a boarded door, and a lumpy heap that Bob thought was a pillow turned out to be a mixture of clothes and mouldy food. There was no protection from the elements; Lou was drowned when it rained, blown away when it was windy, and burnt to a crisp when the sun shone down. It was a good place to hide from the suits however. The alleyway was partially hidden from view, and it was rarely used by anyone.
Bob watched as people passed the mouth of the alleyway, keeping an eye out for any suits that might walk past. The street it stemmed off was much too small for an AirDragon or cars, as were most in Tenton, and it was rather annoying when you were going in one direction, and a horse in another, and you had to mould into the wall because there wasn’t enough room. Wisshin was the district to visit if one wanted wide streets and no traffic to clog them.
Lou didn’t take long at the store. “I got bread and cheese and apples and, and... stuff,” he chirped. Bob was surprised the boy had even returned. He’d expected Lou to run off with his money.
Billy cleaned himself, She mirroring his actions, as per usual. The two had bonded since Bob had first bought him home. Since Manfred had begged him to take the hatchling. He wondered whether the man had sold him out. What would he gain, anyway, by giving Bob a hatchling, and telling the suits? Fame? Money? Surely Manfred didn’t need money. Any job in the Department of Departments building paid well. It was the government, after all, and being so high in the meritocracy was no easy feat, not one that someone would bother to achieve for a low wage. Bob had studied hard for his position, and even then it had been difficult.
“And I got water and cat food and steak-”
“Why did you buy steak?” Bob asked. “We can’t cook it.”
“For yer dragon,” Lou told him.
Bob grabbed an apple, tore a chunk out of it. Juice ran down his chin, and he wiped it away. “She doesn’t eat meat,” he told the boy.
Lou stuffed his face. “‘Es ‘e does,” he managed. He swallowed his food. “All dragons eat meat.”
“I spent hours trying to feed her a piece of chicken...”
“Chicken? She’s a dragon. They don’t eat chicken.”
Billy sniggered. “What...?” Bob glanced at the smug cat. “You knew, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you didn’t ask,” Billy drawled.
Bob scowled. Grabbing the bag off Lou, he found the steak, ripped it out of the packet, and handed the whole thing to She. The dragon studied it for a half a second before snapping it off Bob. She tore it to chunks with her needle-like teeth.
“See?” Lou said. “Ye got to feed ‘em steak.” He tore into an apple, juice running down his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten properly.
Sighing, Bob leaned back into the wall. Of course Billy would know. The old cat seemed to know everything. Not that he ever told Bob. Bob heard the sound of careful footsteps, as though someone was trying to be quiet. He straightened up, alert. Three suits rounded the corner into the alley, each of them about twice the size of Bob. They weren’t fat, he reasoned, they were just... well-built. Donned in black with glinting glasses and guns at their hips, they were impeccably neat. Bob didn’t fancy messing with them. He’d sooner plunge headfirst off the roof of the Department of Department building. “Time to leave,” he said, as the men spotted him.
“Stop!” one of them shouted. “You’re under arrest!” Bob didn’t see fit to oblige to their request, and soon he and his three companions were sprinting down the street as though the great dragon of suffering was chasing them, the suits at their heels.
The side streets were almost bare, the morning rush over, so it wasn’t hard for the suits to keep track of them as they twisted and turned and doubled back. A man in one street saw them, and tried to stop them, but he was smaller than Bob, who bowled the poor man over. She flapped her wings uselessly, becoming airborne every now and then, before flopping to the ground. Bob had to pick her up and carry her, as it was slowing them down.
Bob’s head swivelled in all directions, as he desperately tried to find somewhere to hide. Lou was ahead of all of them; the boy had more stamina than Bob thought possible for anyone, but he himself was struggling. “We need to hide!”
“Ohhh? I thought we were just going for a run,” Billy drawled, carefree as always, even though they were being chased down a street by armed men. Buildings flashed past them as curious bystanders stood to watch the action. They turned down an empty street.
A single shot rang out in the air. Bob didn’t see it, but a moment later he knew where it went, as the ragged cat stumbled and collapsed, motionless.
“Billy!” Bob skidded to a stop and rushed to the cat. The suits were almost on him, guns out, but he didn’t care. He let She fall to the ground as he knelt beside his life-companion. There was a wound in his chest, pumping his blood out into his ragged fur and onto the road.
“Put your hands up!” one of the suits screamed. “Robert Karson, you’re under arrest for-”
A tear fell from Bob’s eye, as he clenched the fur on his life companion. “You’ve killed him!” he screamed. “You killed my life-companion! My friend!” He’d never talked much to the cat, and vice versa (Billy never talked much to anyone), but they’d been life-companions. They were born together, and they were meant to die together, as anyone’s life-companion should.
He’d never talk to Billy again, never be begged for food or ridiculed for doing something stupid, like bringing a dragon hatchling home, against his better judgement. Bob felt as though someone had sawed his still beating heart in half and only replaced one part of it.
“Yeah, well he ran,” one of the men said, smirking. “You know what happens when you run? You get hurt.”
Maybe they thought he was stupid, like most dragon smugglers (not that Bob had intentionally smuggled a dragon). They were probably mentally giving themselves pats on the back for capturing a fugitive, and were going to get away with murdering Billy. They weren’t. Robert Karson knew his rights, and Billy’s. Robert Karson knew their rights. Every morning when he caught the AirDragon, he sat next to Andrew Burk, who worked in the Department of Life-Companions and their Rights, and every afternoon home he’d be wedged in between Andrew and Andrea (Andrew’s twin sister), who worked in the Department of Humans and their Rights. The two never shut up, constantly talking about their day. Mr Willon had originally worked in the Department of Law and Order, and Bob had started off working in the Department of the Arrest of an Attacker of Life-Companions, stamping postage validations onto letters and notices of arrest. So, yes, Bob had learned a thing or two over the years.
“Section 14a of the Life-Companion Rights and Protection Act states that ‘under no circumstances should one’s life-companion suffer from an injury that is not solely the result of an accident. Any persons or dragons found to have caused intentional injury to their own, or another’s, life-companion, will, when charged, be sentenced to the best of the court’s abilities’.” The man’s grin had faded. “Furthermore,” Bob started, his anger getting the best of him.
He lunged, without warning, and collided with one of the men. It was easy to wrestle a gun out of their grasp when they thought you were weak. Bob thwacked the man over the head, knocking him unconscious, and jumped to his feet again, aiming at the smiling men. The two remaining looked uncertain.
Lou was behind them, creeping up, while She mewed at Billy’s body, nudging him with her nose, wondering if he was playing a game. She didn’t understand death. “Which one of you shot Billy?” He was going to kill him. He’d already be locked up for however long anyway, so what was a charge of manslaughter against the man who murdered his life-companion?
The two men shook their head
s frantically, their eyes full of fear at Bob’s sudden outburst. “It was him,” one said, pointing to the floored man. “He did it, not us.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” Bob told the two, “because I can’t let you take me in. Not yet, anyway.” Lou took the cue, lunging at one of the men, wrapping his arm around their neck and cutting off their air, as Bob aimed at the leg of the other and pulled the trigger. It would have been a spectacular show if anything had happened. The gun didn’t fire, and the man was bearing down on him.
Bob fiddled with the gun in a desperate panic, pulling this, poking that, trying to get it to work. He knew nothing about guns. He flicked something as he squeezed the trigger and it went off with a bang, the gun jerking back in Bob’s arm. He didn’t know where the bullet went (it didn’t hit his target), but he took aim and shot again. This one hit its target, and the man screamed as he went down, clutching his thigh, as crimson blood seeped through his fingers.
“I hit him!” Bob exclaimed as Lou ran to him; the man he’d attacked was on the ground, unconscious or dead.
“Aye, ye did. Now c’mon!” Lou grabbed his arm and ran to Billy and She. He picked the motionless cat up amid She’s protests. Bob picked the hatchling up and they made their way to a graveyard of a park (it was falling into ruin, and hadn’t been used for years). They dug a shallow grave near a decaying oak and placed Billy’s body in there.
As the first handful of dirt fell in, Bob lost his composure, and bawled. The hatchling licked his face, while a sobbing Lou was left to bury the body alone. When the grave was filled in, Bob stuck a handful of leaves on top of it. Lou had found some daisies, but Bob wouldn’t let him place them on the grave. Billy hated flowers; he used to tear them up and leave them lying on the floor for Bob to cleanup.
“Well,” Lou said, staring at the grave, “this is it. Now ye havta say bye.”
Bob didn’t want to say goodbye. He wanted to go home after a long day, and hear Billy’s drawling voice demanding food and a backrub. He wanted to be rudely awoken the next morning by Billy’s sharp claws digging into his chest, while the cat again demanded food. That was all he was good for. Waking Bob up, demanding food, and being his only friend. He started bawling, all over again.
“Goodbye, Billy,” he blubbered, “I’ll make sure to set things right for you.”
And so it was, Robert Karson lost his best friend.
