by Kris Schnee
It was a nice day outside. "I need a break from games." Unseen by anyone except the PE-15, Devin ran hoof-like fingers through her mane and stretched her wings luxuriously. "The only winning move..." She wrapped the scarf around her neck and tucked one end into her low-cut toga for extra warmth before stepping outside. Her hooves sank a bit into the snow and cold air tickled her white coat and feathers.
Debra stepped into the air with a graceful beat of her wings, and flew off to find her own fun. "The only winning move, is to go outside and play."
The Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine sat there in Debra's home, humming quietly to itself. There was some very interesting psychological information to report. Far away, ham radio enthusiasts reported a cryptic broadcast on a Russian-language radio signal, but completely missed the data stream hidden behind the eerie list of numbers. Another computer, far more powerful, was already at work on calculating how the new pegasus might be useful to the cause...
Little Grey Dragons
Alexi was at the river early one morning, washing the clothes of a hundred miners, when Petrov came with the dragon eggs. She saw her brother filthy not with the usual soot but with dirt and leaves. "What happened to you?" she asked, eyeing also the covered basket he hauled in both hands.
"Open the door," he huffed. Alexi stepped over to her shop and nudged open the door so he could dash inside, then followed him. Clothes, irons and scrubbing-boards were neatly arranged all over the sunny hut by the water. Petrov shoved a kettle aside and set the basket down with a heavy thump, making the wooden table creak.
"Are you taking iron from the forge?" she said, bewildered by his rush to lock the door.
Petrov opened the basket to reveal a pair of grey oval things. "No. These are from no ordinary bird." He lifted one with both hands and set it aside. "I saw a light from the forest last night, and it was so strange that I ran after it. I found these in a hole in a rock."
"And what brought you to the forest's edge at night?" she said, folding her arms. Of course he'd been at the tavern again, spending his pay on vodka, and had staggered out there to spew it back out and maybe sleep it off.
"Never mind that. Tell me what you think these are."
"Breakfast?"
Petrov threw up his hands. "You're impossible. I've found the eggs of the Firebird!"
Alexi laughed. "While you were chasing myths, did you meet Baba Yaga on the way, or a Beast Czar?" Still, it was true that she'd never seen such eggs. She reached out and touched one of the eggs. It felt as warm as a comfortable stovetop in the winter, the sort you could lay on.
"I'm serious," said Petrov. "With these we can be rich and famous and free from drudgery. I want you to have one."
"Rich and famous, how?" she said. She saw his excitement falter, and went over to hug him. "Thanks for thinking of me."
"The Firebird, it brings good luck. And with two of them --"
They turned at a noise from the egg that Alexi had touched. It was cracking. Alexi stared as the cracks spread for several long minutes, and finally a creature's head emerged. Grey flesh, a grey snout, and a grey eye watching her. She stood there frightened and confused. "Petrov," she whispered, "what is this?"
Petrov murmured, "Not Firebirds. Zmei." He stared at the other egg, obviously willing it to crack, and it began to do so.
"What?" She knew the name, but it couldn't be; only fairy tales had --
He turned to her with a gleam in his eye. "Dragons."
The creature pushing its way out of the eggshell in front of her had faint scales and a serpentine neck. "I suppose you're right," said Alexi. "But what am I going to do with one? These things belong guarding some sort of magical golden castle beyond the Glass Mountain, not keeping people from making off with the townsfolks' underwear." She had plenty of work to do, too, and couldn't devote attention to a pet. Not even to an unusual one.
"Exactly," said Petrov. "We don't need this town anymore, sister. Leave with me and we'll find adventure and treasure. We'll conquer one of those golden castles."
The dragon on the table chirped pathetically, free of its shell. Alexi carefully swaddled it in a towel and held it, smiling down at the little lizard, but raised one eyebrow at Petrov's words. "I suppose these creatures will be mighty enough to aid our conquest unless the enemy is defended by, say, kittens."
Petrov began picking way bits of shell from his own egg to get a better look at the similar grey creature inside. "They'll be strong enough soon. They grow to be huge, don't they? I didn't mean we'd leave right this moment."
"You sounded like you did," she chided. "For now we'll have to content ourselves with being princess of the laundry and prince of the forge. In fact, does Master Bogatyr know where you are?"
Petrov's eyes widened. "I was out all night! He'll kill me!" He started for the door but looked back at the dragons.
She said, "Take yours along, and you'll have an excuse."
He snatched the heavy basket and its cargo. "Of course. Thank you!"
"And thank you."
The washerwoman's hut was quiet again once Petrov had dashed away. Alexi shook her head in wonder; for a moment she could pretend nothing had changed. She turned to the dragon on her table and said, "What am I going to do with you?"
She did need to return to work, so she hoisted the dragon into a wooden tub and hauled it outside to a cool, sunny spring morning by the river. Alexi put a crust of bread in with the dragon, having little else to offer it, and returned to her pile of sooty shirts. She worked to the beat of the many waterwheels that caught the stream again and again on its way down from the mountains. Her own patch of the stream was flat and rocky, no good for the wheels but fine for a woman to sit and scrub and admire the town. Just downriver stood the bath-house, and below it the market, the Count's mansion, and the smoky forges. Alexi worked and hummed, tossing a wet shirt over her shoulder and into the nearby tub.
The dragon peeked out from under the shirt. "Oops!" she said. She tried to pull the cloth away, but the dragon caught it in its muzzle. "Stop that." The dragon seemed to be enjoying itself. "Hmmph." She gave another tug and let the lizard win; she had other shirts to wash.
Tanya was the first of the townsfolk to see the creature. "Hello, Alexi!" she called in her singsong voice. She had a cart of pants with her. "More work."
"Good," Alexi mumbled with a clothespin in her mouth. She hung shirts on a line and said, "Set them there," but Tanya had frozen.
"What is that?" Tanya said. The dragon chirped, resting its head on the tub.
Alexi shrugged. "My brother found it. Says it's a dragon." She realized that she wasn't sure whether she believed it herself.
At this Tanya relaxed. "What, is that all he said? He must've told you he won it in a drinking contest with a seven-headed Cossack."
Alexi smiled. "While he single-handedly saved the Tsar's daughter and refused any reward. Still, it's a strange beast, isn't it?"
Tanya knelt by the basin and peered at the dragon. It recoiled and scurried back. Alexi leaned down and scratched its muzzle. The creature leaned into the touch, then seemed reassured enough to do the same for Tanya.
* * *
Petrov didn't visit her again that day. Alexi worried enough about the dragon wreaking havoc in her house that she was hesitant to leave. That evening she set up a pen made of tall washtubs to give it space in a corner. Such a nuisance to think about what to feed it, how to clean up after it. "This is why I didn't get a cat," she groused, giving it bread and river water. She had bread for herself and shared a little of her supply of small beer, the safest thing to drink.
The next day she went to the market, then let the well-behaved little dragon follow her to the stream to work. She was busy getting soot out of shirts when she found the dragon ducking its head beneath the water, watching what she did. "This is a shirt," she said, then let the lizard be her audience. "And here is the soap that cleans the shirt; and this is the stream, that fills the tub, that holds the soap, that cleans th
e shirt, that clothes the man, that dirties his shirt with coal-dust."
The dragon nibbled on the soap, sneezed, and went back to watching. Alexi lifted another shirt -- and the dragon reared back its head and spat at it. Alexi was startled. "It's not a spitting contest."
The dragon sneezed, and sent forth a jet of warm, soapy water that soaked Alexi. She sputtered, nearly toppling into the stream, and stood there glaring at the grinning little creature. It sat on its haunches, tail wagging. The shirt she'd been holding looked cleaner for its suffering.
"Fine!" she said. "If that's what you're going to do, then you can help me with the rest of these!"
The dragon proved enthusiastic, able to blast clothes with suds even without further soap-nibbling to recharge. Alexi was puzzled but willing to shrug at the oddity for the sake of getting her work done sooner. By afternoon she found the creature chewing on a pair of pants, but the cloth seemed unharmed. "Open," she said with her hands on the beast's jaws, and found inside a mouth of molars like a cow's. If anything the teeth seemed to have pounded the dirt from the pants.
"It seems dragons are useful after all. You can help me, little washer."
The dragon, Washer, beamed.
* * *
A soldier in a fine starched uniform came the next day. "So the rumor is true," he said, spotting Washer playing in the stream.
Alexi looked him over. "Ah, Sergei, did that stitching pass inspection?"
He seemed off-balance from being recognized. "Yes, ma'am. But I've come about the dragon. His Lordship wants to see it."
Alexi looked to Washer, thinking that its scales seemed lighter grey today and its body bigger despite a diet no better than her own. "When would he like to see us?"
"Not you," said Sergei, apologetic.
Alexi pictured the dragon nibbling at the Count's cape, and gave a rare giggle. "I'm not sure His Lordship would want Washer, here, running around unsupervised. It's best if I come along."
Sergei said, "All right, ma'am; I'll try to get you in."
* * *
The mansion was hardly worth abandoning her work for. The grounds were always sooty on one side, and the gardens scraggly. Washer padded along like a dog at her side, through the doors and past staring guards. At the hall's end sat the Count, a frowning man in a uniform choked with crimson and yellow braids. It was a nuisance to clean that. The Count heaved himself up from his desk, eyebrows raised, and muttered, "Remarkable."
Washer peered up at him, tail curled.
"I'm informed," the Count said, "that you and your brother have found dragons."
"Yes, my lord. I didn't know this was widely known."
The Count laughed. "There's such gossip in this town that I heard tell of everything from this" -- he nodded to Washer -- "to a nine-headed monster. Where are this creature's wings?"
Alexi looked at her lizard-pet again. True, those seemed to be an omission. Maybe Petrov really had been too quick in his flights of fancy. "I don't know, my lord," she said with embarrassment.
The Count stroked his chin. "The Tsar himself would want to see these, for his menagerie. I'm sure we'll be rewarded for finding these beasts."
"Finding them?" Alexi said. "Are they lost from his palace? There were only eggs."
The Count said, "Silly girl. Everything and everyone in the kingdom is the Tsar's. He has a right to such a beast as yours, so I'll send it and your brother's along. What would you ask of me as a reward?"
Alexi's tongue knotted up like a soaked towel. She could have money, better equipment, firewood for this winter. The dragon rubbed against her leg and she glanced down, not wanting to part with the thing. Nonsense! she thought. What use was her small, living soap-dispenser versus a good wringer and other valuable things? Still, in a moment of silly girlish whimsy she found herself saying, "My lord, I will keep my dragon, if you please."
"I do not please," the Count said, with a glare that frightened her. "Guards, take the creature and send the girl away."
Sergei was the first of the six guards to move. He put himself in front of her, blocking her view, and said, "Sir, perhaps we can petition the Tsar about this." The others paused, uncertain.
The Count slapped his desk. "What are you waiting for? Take it!"
Washer hid behind Alexi. All the guards but Sergei advanced on the creature. Alexi herself was too scared to move. These same men had sent their clothes to her and the town's other wash-women. This town had taken her and Petrov in years ago, and now --
Now the hall's door slammed open, to show Petrov with a long knife in his hand and a dragon at his side.
Alexi called out to him. Washer hissed at the guards. Storming into the room, Petrov pointed his knife at the Count and said, "Leave my sister alone!"
The Count drew a gleaming ceremonial saber from his belt and made a clumsy slash at the air. "Little rat, how dare you barge in here? Drop that blade and kneel or I'll have your head."
Petrov's hand trembled but he met the Count's eyes. "My lord, you sent men to my master's forge to fetch my dragon. Well, I've brought it to you."
Alexi saw that the dragon beside him was the size of a dog, with ash-grey feet and a body of dull red scales like heated iron. She shouted, "Please, everyone, just stop fighting!"
Sergei said, "She's right, my lord."
The Count chuckled. Eyeing Petrov he said, "You have spirit, boy. Leave the dragons with me, and you and your sister can go in dignity. You've proven your bravery."
Petrov hesitated, gulping at the sight of the guardsmen in their bright uniforms and the Count who'd ruled him for so long. "Alexi, tell me what you want."
Alexi felt a weight on her shoulders. "I want to keep Washer, but if it'll stop you from fighting --"
"She doesn't want to!" said Petrov.
"No, wait!" But Petrov had already grabbed her arm painfully and was backing away with her. The stupid little dragons weren't worth this!
The Count stepped forward, sword in hand. "You had your chance. I can't abide a snake in my house. Guards, block the doors. Seize the girl and kill the boy."
The guards split up and slammed Petrov away from Alexi, sending them sprawling in opposite directions. Alexi hit the cold floor and yelped. The doors shut, darkening the hall and leaving Petrov trapped by a semicircle of guards.
Petrov's dragon reared back its head and spewed flame. The air rippled around the guards and set their fine uniforms on fire. Only Sergei, who was away from them and helping Alexi up, was spared. The screams of the other men echoed off the walls as they tried to put their clothes out.
Petrov himself fought back now. He snatched his knife back, rolled to his feet, grabbed a sword dropped by one of the guards, and slashed wildly. Two seconds later he found the edge of the Count's curved blade pressing just beneath his chin. The Count grinned fiercely.
Alexi shouted, and Washer rammed the Count's legs out from under him while Petrov's dragon menaced the other guards, blasting one with flame and biting another's leg. Petrov stabbed the Count's shoulder, which seemed to surprise both of them. The Count cut him across the cheek but Petrov parried the next blow, kicked, and attacked with both weapons. The Count grunted. Petrov dropped his knife and snatched the saber in the Count's hands to disarm him, but the Count slid gradually back and thumped to the ground.
Alexi saw Petrov standing with wild hair, panting, holding one sword that was bright and gleaming and another that dripped with fresh blood. At his side the dragon seemed made of blood and iron. He said, "It's over."
The guards hurried to the Count's side -- too late -- then turned to confront Petrov again. One of the guards lay unmoving on the floor. Several others were badly burned and looked barely able to stand. Alexi huddled in a corner with Washer protecting her. "What do we do?" the guards asked each other.
Petrov tried to catch his breath, holding off the men. "He threatened my sister. I had to do it."
One of the guards said, "If we tell the Tsar he'll send some mad outsider to take over."
Another said, "Or the army, if he thinks there's disorder. And the boy has a dragon."
"Should we...?" said Sergei.
As one, the guards lowered their swords and looked at Petrov. "Sir, be our Count!"
Petrov's jaw hung open.
Alexi said, "What? Why?"
Sergei looked pleadingly at her. "We must have someone to rule us. It doesn't matter what he's done so long as there's order and we don't bring down the Tsar's wrath."
The former Count's only objection was to leak a slowly spreading pool of blood.
* * *
They toured the lonely mansion. Its fireplaces and tapestries stood neglected; for years the Count had ruled alone. "Old fool," Petrov muttered. Alexi marveled at the work that had been wasted on the empty rooms, and how much it would take to revive them.
"Move your things to this room," Petrov told her. The main bedroom was the size of her whole house by the stream. "I'll take the smaller room over there."
Alexi's mind still reeled from watching Petrov kill. Washer curled around her legs and she absently reached down to scratch the creature. "I don't want to live here," she said. "It's impractical."
Petrov grinned. "You'll get used to it. We're nobles now. We deserve some reward for standing up for justice."
Alexi turned and shoved open a long-sealed window. Heavy drapes tickled her. A mountain wind blew into the dead Count's room. She said, "For now, I'm going back to work."
