Cloak of Dragons

by Moeller, Jonathan

  I blinked. “Owing rent?”

  Tarlia’s red lips curved in a smile. “Something that doesn’t exist. Constancy. So we yearn for the illusion of it.”

  We reached the coffee shop. It was called Bernard’s Coffee, and it was a nice enough establishment, though a bit snooty for my taste. Polished hardwood floors gleamed under the lights, and a curving cast-iron staircase led to the second floor. Windows had a good view of 6th Avenue, and small shelves were loaded with classic books that I had never actually seen anyone read. There was a portrait of the High Queen on the wall, along with a smaller one of Duke Mythrender, and I realized that Tarlia was about to have coffee beneath her own stern-faced portrait.

  That had to happen a lot. Her portrait was everywhere.

  “Tythrilandria,” murmured Tarlia.

  Tyth went to order, and one of the Royal Guards claimed a table beneath the High Queen’s portrait. Tarlia sat at the head of the table, and Exeter and I seated ourselves. The two Royal Guards remained standing, scowling. That drew odd glances from some of the other patrons, though most of them were wrapped up in their tablets or laptops.

  “Before the Conquest,” said Tarlia, “there were never places like this on Kalvarion.”

  “Your…um, there were not?” I said. I almost said “Your Majesty,” but I stopped myself, given that she was in disguise.

  “No,” said Tarlia. “We had never developed our technology to the level your civilization possesses. There was no need. As technology eases the brutalities of life for humans, so magic served the same role for the Elves. But it has become clear that each has its own advantages. Thank you, Tythrilandria.”

  Tyth produced a tray holding cups of coffee. She handed Tarlia one, then Exeter and me, and passed a pair of cups to the Royal Guards. Then she sat down next to me. For a moment we sipped coffee in silence.

  Morvilind had never taken me out for coffee.

  Then again, Morvilind hadn’t ordered the destruction of Chicago, St. Louis, and Baltimore the way that the High Queen had. (Though I bet he had approved.) Tarlia was charming and charismatic and capable of mercy in a way that Morvilind had not been, but she still had Morvilind’s ruthless streak.

  Best not to forget that. Of course, I had the same ruthless streak. Tarlia and I had both learned that from Morvilind.

  “Now,” said Tarlia. She took a sip of the coffee. “Tell me, Nadia. What do you know about dragons?”

  I blinked. “Dragons?”

  Tarlia waited.

  I took a deep breath. “Not…very much. Only what Nathan Vander told me.”

  Tarlia’s lips twitched. “Mr. Vander does like to talk too much. What did he tell you?”

  “He said that there were several dozen living on Earth,” I said. “They have powerful magic and can disguise themselves as humans with a shapeshifting spell. They’re extremely dangerous, but they don’t like direct confrontation, so they prefer to gather wealth and influence from behind the scenes. Vander…uh, he implied that you let dragons live on Earth in exchange for a portion of their wealth and their help in keeping public order. And then Vander used a dragon pearl to heal my brother. At your instruction.”

  Tarlia smiled. “How nice of you to remember, darling girl. And what Mr. Vander told you was accurate, if incomplete. Dragons are one of the elder races of the cosmos, like the azatothi or the naelgoths, older than both humanity and the Elves.”

  I shuddered. “I hope they’re not like the azatothi.”

  “They are not,” said Tarlia. “How do you know about…ah, yes, that’s right, you would have seen the ruins of the azatothi on Mars. Dragons lack the malevolence of the azatothi. How best to describe them?” She took a sip of coffee and drummed her fingers on the table. “Dragons are like cats, but more egotistical.”

  Tyth lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, though she kept a straight face. Exeter almost smiled.

  “Cats?” I said.

  “Dragons are immensely vain,” said Tarlia. “They love wealth and attention and adoration. It is why we have been able to work together. If the dragons wanted, they could easily conquer and rule any number of worlds but ruling through force is simply not in their nature. Why bother conquering the Earth when you can become rich and adored? Most of the dragons in disguise on Earth are either actors, entertainers, or the heads of the few large corporations I permit to exist. The dragons and I have a mutually profitable relationship. I permit them to settle here and tax them, and in exchange, they remain hidden and help me when necessary. Which is why, darling girl, you’re going to figure out who murdered one of the dragons.”

  I blinked a few times, a sinking feeling in my gut.

  “Wouldn’t…Homeland Security be more equipped for that?” I said. “Or the Inquisition?

  “Homeland Security is singularly unprepared for this sort of investigation,” said Tarlia. “Additionally, Homeland Security has lost my confidence and is soon going to be reformed. The Inquisition has its hands full rooting out the remaining Archon sympathizers on Kalvarion. Alas, I only have so many resources to deploy at any one time.” She smiled. Her Masking spell hadn’t changed her eyes, and it was unsettling to see those intense eyes in a human face. “Fortunately, darling girl, I can fall back upon you, and the combination of your specific talents and particular skills are practically unique. Show her the file, Tythrilandria.”

  Tyth nodded, reached into her briefcase, and produced a folder marked with the Homeland Security seal. It was a thick folder, which meant it was a criminal case file. Tyth slid it across the table to me.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. This dragon. What’s his name?”

  “His real name is Malthraxivorn,” said Tarlia, “but in New York, he masqueraded as a human art dealer named Max Sarkany.”

  Wait. Sarkany. I knew that name, didn’t I? Had I stolen from him for Morvilind? I rummaged around my memory for the name and came up blank.

  I opened the folder and looked at the first document, a short profile of Max Sarkany. No doubt all the information was falsified as part of his human disguise. I found myself looking at the long face of a man in late middle age, with graying hair, a close-cropped gray beard, and heavy-lidded eyes. He looked handsome and dashing in a refined European sort of way, like the sort of man you’d expect to see on a yacht or in a high-end casino someplace.

  Then the memory clicked. I had seen that picture this morning, on the local news while I made breakfast. The news anchors had been talking about how some art dealer or another had been killed in a robbery.

  “I’m betting he wasn’t killed in a robbery,” I said. I turned the page. “How did…ah.” I found myself looking at an official Homeland Security crime scene photo which showed Sarkany lying on a white marble floor. The back third of his skull was missing, and his brains and a good quantity of blood had pooled around his head.

  At least it had been quick.

  “Naturally, the Inquisition took over the crime scene,” said Tarlia. “His death has been reported in the media as a robbery, but nothing of value was taken.”

  “Where was the body found?” I said.

  “In his art gallery on the Upper West Side of Manhattan,” said Tarlia. “The address is in the file.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Um. If your Majesty permits, I have several questions.”

  Tarlia raised her illusionary eyebrows and took a sip of coffee. “I imagine it will be difficult to find Malthraxivorn’s murderer without asking questions.”

  “First,” I said. “Malthraxivorn was obviously in human form when he was killed. And he was obviously in human form when his body was found. Is his body going to…revert? Like, return to dragon form?”

  “Eventually,” said Tarlia. “The shapeshifting spell will last an indeterminate amount of time after his death. Consequently, his body has been moved to the John Doe Hospital, which has the resources to deal with such a large body discreetly.”

  I nodded. “Second, your Majesty…when he was in human form
, was he as fragile as a real human?”

  Tarlia smiled. “A pertinent question, darling girl. In point of fact, he was not. He was not as strong or as resilient as he would have been in his true form, but nonetheless, he would be substantially hardier and stronger than a normal human.”

  “So someone couldn’t have just walked up and pounded on the back of his head with a baseball bat or a tire iron,” I said. “It would take a lot of force to bash in the back of his skull like that.”

  “Correct,” said Tarlion. “A normal firearm would not do it. A hammer wielded by human hands would be insufficient. A hammer of dwarven steel driven by a steam piston, perhaps. Or maybe several dozen .50 caliber cannon rounds fired in close succession. That is the level of force required.” She took another sip of coffee. “So, you see why finding this murderer would be beyond the abilities of Homeland Security.”

  I flipped through some more pages, scanning them. “Jeez, he was loaded, wasn’t he?” The report on his finances reported that Max Sarkany had held accounts, assets, real estate, and portfolios worth just over a combined one billion dollars. “Who inherits?”

  “His heir is an obvious suspect,” said Tarlia. “However, I am uncertain at the moment. His will has not been located, but barring that, under the customs of the dragons and the terms of my treaty with them, the bulk of his estate will go to his niece, Delaxsicoria.” She leaned a little closer, those eerie eyes digging into me. “And that treaty is why you are going to find Malthraxivorn’s murderer for me, darling girl.”

  I felt my throat go dry. “I guess there would be bad consequences if I don’t?”

  “Correct,” said Tarlia. “Under the terms of their treaty, the dragons have submitted to my law. I am therefore obliged to bring them justice when required. If I do not, they may decide their interests are best served elsewhere, and take their wealth and depart Earth. The disruption to the global economy would be dire, especially now with the Great Gate open.”

  “And you’ll shoot me,” I said.

  “What?” said Tarlia. “For God’s sake. Don’t be absurd. I’ll shoot you if you betray me, yes. But if I shot everyone who ever failed me, I would quickly run out of servants. People cannot learn from their mistakes if they are dead.” She shook her head. “You have too much of Morvilind in you.”

  “Morvilind was a great man, your Majesty,” said Tyth at once. I think that she and Tarlia were possibly the only two people on Earth or Kalvarion who had possessed any affection for Kaethran Morvilind.

  “Undoubtedly,” said Tarlia, “but he was utterly incapable of understanding loyalty. But we stray from the point.” The ghostly blue eyes turned to me. “Find who killed Malthraxivorn, Nadia MacCormac. When you find the murderer, kill him if you wish. But either way, bring me irrefutable proof of his guilt.”

  “If this murderer was able to surprise and kill a dragon,” I said, “I might not be able to take him by myself.”

  “No,” said Tarlia. “Which is why I want you to find him. Or her. Start at once, and report to me as soon as you have any information. Exeter.”

  Exeter reached into the interior pocket of his coat, withdrew an unmarked white envelope, and opened it. Within was a sheet of paper containing a username and a long password – 64 random letters and numbers. There was also a small black plastic disk with an LED display. It was an authentication token, the sort used by banks and other high-security financial institutions for two-factor authentication.

  “What’s this?” I said.

  “Logon credentials for UNICORN,” said Exeter. “Are you familiar with it?”

  I blinked. “The Unified National Intelligence Crime Online Reporting Network. Really dumb acronym.” Tarlia snorted. “But it’s Homeland Security’s tracking and reporting database, and the Inquisition has complete access to it.”

  “Yes,” said Tarlia, “and I’m sure you’ve never had reason to illegally access it.”

  “Um,” I said. “Your Majesty was very gracious when she issued that pardon.”

  “This will allow you to anonymously access UNICORN at a high level, though some areas of information will be protected,” said Exeter. “Access will undoubtedly prove useful for your investigation. I should warn you that all access to UNICORN is recorded and audited so I would advise against using it to perform any queries on, for example, your brother’s business competitors.”

  “Right,” I said. UNICORN might be more trouble than it was worth. But if I had to find Max Sarkany’s murderer, it would prove useful. Like, say, if one of his employees suddenly got a suspicious million dollar deposit in his account, that kind of thing.

  But I doubted it was going to be that easy.

  “Do you have any additional questions?” said Tarlia.

  “A few,” I said. Tarlia inclined her head. I had the impression that she approved. I wondered if her other minions tended to make promises they couldn’t keep. “How long has Sarkany lived on Earth?”

  “About a century and a half, I believe,” said Tarlia. “The full details are in his file.”

  “Did he have any family?” I frowned. “Do dragons have, um, families the way humans and Elves do?”

  “They do,” said Tarlia, “but dragons are so long-lived that the ties of family kinship for them are more distant, though they do exist. I do not believe Sarkany has a mate at present or any offspring. His niece Delaxsicoria is his only living blood relation on Earth, or on any of the other worlds dragons can reach.”

  I frowned. “Dragons travel to other worlds?”

  “Frequently,” said Tarlia. “You’ve been to the Shadowlands. You know how perilous travel between worlds is, even on the Warded Ways. But if one is a giant fire-breathing lizard capable of wielding powerful magic, the journey through the Shadowlands is noticeably less perilous.”

  I thought about that. “Who does your Majesty think murdered Sarkany?”

  “I do not know,” said Tarlia. “I would assume someone he annoyed in his business dealings, but that is only supposition without any facts to back it up. Which is why you are going to find his killer for me.” She leaned a little closer, her eyes unblinking. “Use whatever resources you think necessary but do your best to keep this quiet. Very soon I will need to present news to the other dragons that Malthraxivorn’s killer has been caught, and it would undermine my authority if I was unable to do so.”

  Despite the coffee, my throat still felt dry. “I’ll get started right away.”

  “Good,” said Tarlia. She glanced to the side as a shadow fell over the room, and I saw that her bus and the accompanying SUVs had pulled in front of the coffee shop. “I suggest you start by visiting the John Doe Hospital and viewing Malthraxivorn’s body. Ask for a physician named Dr. Morgan. He will be expecting your visit. Oh, one other thing. You may have to speak to Delaxsicoria at some point. Be careful around her. She is relatively young by the standards of dragons and has quite a temper.”

  Great.

  “Yes, your Majesty,” I said.

  Tarlia smiled and rose, and her Royal Guards, Exeter, and Tyth stood as well. “Good fortune, darling girl. I look forward to hearing your report.”

  “Nadia,” said Tyth, and she passed me a business card. “If you need any information, give me a call. I’ll do what I can.” She smiled. “Good luck.”

  Tarlia beckoned, and her entourage followed her out of the shop and into the bus. I watched as the bus and the SUVs pulled into traffic. I wondered where she was going next. Back to the Skythrone, maybe? Or to the Great Gate in Milwaukee, to deal with some problem on Kalvarion? I was afraid of Tarlia, but I did sort of admire her, how she ceaselessly prowled from one end of Earth to another, keeping an eye on the world she ruled.

  Well, she had her problems, and I had mine.

  Or, more accurately, she had given me one of her problems.

  I finished my coffee. It was likely to be the last moment of peace I would have for a while. Then I pulled out my phone. Riordan would have set his phone to silen
t during his meeting with the Firstborn, so I tapped out a text message, telling him that my “boss” had given me a job and I would have to work late. Given how easy it was for someone to tap into telecommunications, I didn’t want to share any details about Max Sarkany and my assignment from the High Queen via text message.

  After that was done, I gathered up the file, tucked it under my coat to protect it from the drizzle, and walked back to Riordan’s condo. Once there, I sat down at the dining room table next to my laptop and paged through the file, looking up things on my computer to confirm or expand details. According to the Homeland Security file, Max Sarkany had been born in Queens in Conquest Year 258, graduated from Harvard with a degree in art history, and had quickly become one of the richest art dealers and collectors in the world.

  However, the Inquisition’s file on Sarkany was also in the packet. The Inquisition file reported that Malthraxivorn and his niece Delaxsicoria had come to Earth in Conquest Year 153 and had settled in Paris under the terms of the High Queen’s treaty with the dragons. Malthraxivorn had lived in Paris for about seventy years under the name of Jacques Aquitaine, and then had moved to Moscow under the name of Dmitri Konstanchenko. After that, he had changed his name to Max Sarkany and moved to New York.

  It made sense. Humans lived seventy or eighty years, but dragons could live for thousands. And if a dragon wanted to masquerade as a human, he would have to change identities every few decades or so. Maybe the creatures enjoyed the variety.

  After I finished reading the file, I got up, stretched, and started to pace, thinking.

  There were way, way too many suspects, and I had to narrow it down. Delaxsicoria might have killed Sarkany to inherit his wealth. Or maybe Sarkany had made enemies among the other dragons. Or perhaps he’d pissed off an Elven noble. Or a business deal had gone bad, or maybe something from one of his past identities had caught up to him.

  It was time to start narrowing things down.

  I scanned the files into my phone, so I wouldn’t have to carry the paper copies, and then I locked the papers in my safe. After the papers were secure, I loaded up a backpack with some things I might need. I traded my pea coat for my black motorcycle jacket with orange stripes on the sleeves and grabbed my helmet and gloves from the closet shelf. I locked the condo door and took the elevator to the subbasement garage.