“Not me,” Malady said, only a little uneasy at the notion.
“You would know,” the doctor said agreeably, then glanced at her wrist chronometer. “Lovely visit, my dear. Must dash now. Contest to observe.”
John Henry as a Dragon
The engineers and the metal smiths competed to see who could construct the most realistic, functional, efficient dragon to fit into at least some of the places the street dragons had once filled.
The competition was held in what was left of the town square. The judges were the owners of the factories that had used dragons in their boiler rooms. Dr. Hexenbraun, sat cross-legged on the grass nearby, taking notes.
There were three entries. One of them used coal to stoke the fire in the dragon’s metallic belly. One ingeniously used the same gas as was in the lamps and a third worked from the energy created by a wheel turned by medium sized dogs. The first two provided fumes and fire hazards and the last was hard on the dogs.
“None of these work as well as the real dragons,” one of the judges lamented.
“Shhh, don’t let them hear you say that,” said the woolen mill owner.
But the party with the best interests of dragons at heart, Toby the dragon-wrangler, had heard and smiled a carefully concealed smile. He’d made himself scarce since Queen Verity left, knowing he’d find himself back in the dungeon again. He’d been there before and hadn’t cared for it. He sat atop the back of the dragon he’d raised since fledglinghood, Taz. The odd-looking lady doctor had suggested to the officials that they allow him to be there unmolested, in preference to having every dragon in the area monitoring the proceedings.
One by one, the mechanicals attempted to perform some of the routine duties of the average industrial drudge dragon.
The coal-fueled model, which came with a chimney between its wings, was able to produce the bursts of flame—but only if someone shoveled coal into it at regular intervals. The resulting smoke choked the judges, the alienist, the cabinet member attending the contest, and its inventor/engineer team as well.
“That one seems very effective to me,” said a manufacturer of bathtubs. “I’ll take it. That will show the ungrateful beasts who used to work for me that they can be replaced!”
Muttering, low hisses and snarls spread through the crowd of loitering dragons. Toby cringed. He was still aboard Taz since he feared if he left her back in the presence of the so-called lawmakers he’d be arrested at once.
Taz had become very good at reading him by now and said, “Don’t worry. The worst most of these has-beens can do is sit on someone and squash them. No food/no flame, you understand?”
Well, there was that. Toby had noticed that for all of the fears of the human denizens of the city, remarkably little torching of homes and businesses had occurred. He suspected a lot of what had happened had more to do with insurance claims than dragons.
Be that as it may, the demonstration did not play well to the dragons. Prior to walking out on their jobs, most of them hadn’t met another outside of work unless the other had been in the same clutch or was otherwise related. Most had slept at night where they worked during the day and received their food there too. No wonder they had needed the pacifying ingredient in the mysterious coating that had been applied to the kibble. The work routine of the average dragon was enough to drive many men to violent spasms.
Now that they had nowhere to go but the roofs and streets of the city, the dragons were getting to know each other, comparing stories, and developing strategies Toby guessed the ruling class would find quite alarming if they’d understood what was being said.
This would have gone so much better the other way around, Toby thought. If only Verity had stayed in Queenston and remained queen while he and Taz went off to find the remains of the magical families, she might have been able to control this. She had a bead that let her talk to dragons, a result of her time caring for the get of the Glassovian Dragon Vitia.
The problem with that, the difficulty for both of them really, was that they got along with dragons, generally speaking, better than they did with people. Verity had her awkward curse that put her off a great many people and vice versa, while Toby simply didn’t know all that many people, having spent so much of his life with Taz.
He suspected that if he did know more people, he’d still prefer dragons. On the whole, they seemed more trustworthy.
The people gathered for the competition were bundled into furs and heavy woolens, coats, cloaks, hats, large mittens, padded pants and boots. These were among the wealthier citizens, as the poor couldn’t afford to buy such gear. This winter it would be in short supply in Queenston for a number of dragon-related reasons. The chief one was that all of the great houses, for many long years, had kept a dragon or two to provide heat for their homes. Now that the factories no longer had dragons on site (though they were very likely squatting on the roof) they also were great cold places. The businesses that depended on dragons to produce their goods had stopped work altogether. But dragons had been used to warm the factories too. Toby was sure he would be warm as long as he kept close to Taz. Her skin radiated welcome heat.
“I need a practical on-site demonstration,” the bathtub manufacturer said. “My premises are adjacent to the square. Bring your beast and let’s see what it can do.”
“That collection of bolts and gears isn’t going anywhere, Ezra,” cried the mutton-chop whiskered purveyor of gas lamps.
But the inventor pulled a large key from his smock and inserted it into the dragon’s side, just below the wire mesh wing. He wound it several times, and with a great deal of clanking and grinding, rattling and banging, the mechanical dragon lurched forward.
From the building’s roof, a blue-scaled flesh-and blood-dragon watched with sorrow, disgust, and dismay as the clockwork beast entered through the double doors of his old home and workplace. He fluttered his stumpy blue wings slightly as he hopped down from the building to poke his head through the open doors. People curious to see the new mecho-drake in action clamored to get past his bulk, but he refused to move. At the instigation of the factory owner, the inventor herded the clattering collection of metallic remnants of horse-assisted carriages, gears, pullies, springs, and rivets forward to stand in front of the boiler.
“Fire,” the factory owner commanded.
“Oh, he’ll need fuel first,” the inventor said. “Bring us ten pounds of coal for his firebox.”
“Coal? But that will cost extra.”
“Even mechanical beasts need fuel,” the inventor told him. “There’s no getting around it. You’ll need to lay in a good supply of it—where your former employee’s nest used to be is a good place for your coal bin, unless you want to provide it as accommodation for the stoker.”
“Wait, I have to pay for the contraption, and coal and another worker as well?”
“If you want a working machine, yes.”
The blue dragon watched as coal was brought in from the railyard. The trolley wheeled past him through the double doors and onto the factory floor. It took an hour, but none of the dragons was in any hurry. At last the coal was deposited in the blue dragon’s old nest and to save time, the factory owner himself stoked the coal into the mechanical whereupon it creaked to life again.
“Fire,” the inventor commanded, pulling a lever indicated by the engineer.
The robo-dragon’s gears clashed, and its sides lit up with the fire in its belly, causing both inventor and businessman to stand back. The creature made a belching sound and coughed up flame that shot in a broken stream into the boiler’s firebox. But once the flame was released, it went from kindle to dwindle in a few seconds and the water in the boiler never bubbled.
“Isn’t that blue fellow one of the ones who ate some of your last caribou, Taz?” Taz had been running a dragon’s soup kitchen with prey she’d caught herself.
Taz grunted that he was.
The blue dragon had entered the factory as unobtrusively as it was possible for
him to do so. Funnily enough, with dragons being so numerous in the city, blending into his background was not as difficult as it might have been elsewhere.
The factory owner fed more coal into the shiny metal beast and it again let forth a short stream of fire.
Taz and Toby were now watching from the doorway. “Perhaps the castle should hold another contest to see who does the job better, a real dragon trained in its job or one of those metal things.”
That was what he meant to say, but somewhere around the word ‘contest,’ the blue dragon decided he had had enough. Turning his head at just the right angle to avoid collateral damage, he loosed a great gout of flame on the metal creation. Its gears and pulleys, their noise melted into a gloopy drip, ceased any activity while the artificial beast was liquified into a mixture of metals pooling where once the clockwork beast had stood. The blue dragon strode in, lashing his tail and warning bystanders to stand back, turned the tail on the now-cooling puddle of metal and swept it away with one stroke. The coal had been used up in the two attempts to fire the boiler and the blue’s bed was once more unoccupied. He settled down in it and pretended to go to sleep.
Later that day, the factory owner visited Toby and Taz at their favorite perch and asked that they help him negotiate a settlement with the blue dragon.
“Live food is more expensive than kibble, but Old Blue wants to return to his job, and I haven’t the heart to refuse him.”
The Traveler in the Knowe
As if the dragon gangsters didn’t have enough trouble with the attacking troll, suddenly a bolt of fire struck from above, and a lordly Dragonish voice commanded, “My music tutor is not for eating! Cease tormenting him at once! And stand back from yon fair maiden, too.”
The dragons looked at each other, confused.
“What fair maiden? And who are you to be pushing us around?”
The troll stopped in mid sword thrust and bellowed skyward. “Heeeey, who you callin’ a fair maiden, Bub?”
“She’s doing quite well on her own,” Casimir said, his voice pitched to a more conversational tone aimed at the sky.
About that time, the hillside behind him yawned and he stepped backward, calling to his rescuer, “Come, Devent. Milady? Now. Stardom waits for no dragon.”
Devent was torn about whether to go with the minstrel or to stand and fight. He didn’t really know how to fight other dragons, only how to be beat up by them. Should he wait for Smelt and his new friend or follow his teacher? But if he did that, what about the warrior maiden who defended Casimir? Surely leaving her to fend for herself was not the right thing to do.
He compromised, catching the maiden’s garment in his teeth and reeling her in, twirling like a dust devil, too quickly for her to scream. The other dragons were doing plenty of that as they saw the dragon-who-was-not one-of-them disappear into the hillside with both of the only meals they had found in many days. Though she was probably on the bitter side.
The hill was hollow inside, and to Devent’s expert eye as a life-long tunneler, it was not a natural phenomenon, but a made one, though the making had happened long ago. The walls and ceiling were spiked with crystals but without opening to the light, it opened onto a forest. The tops of the closest trees disappeared into the distant darkness of the cavern’s ceiling.
He had little time to take in the scenery, however. Before he could blink, a woman stood before them and even before she spoke, he knew she was not a natural woman. The blue light surrounding her was a dead giveaway.
“Who are these creatures and why have you brought them into the hollow hills?” the woman asked Casimir. “You’ve been warned not to reveal the secret to anyone.”
“Sorry, my lady, but circumstances were extreme, I was beset by dragons.”
“So you brought one with you?”
“Not this one. He is the singer I was sent to seek.”
“And what is she?” the woman asked, gesturing toward the warrior maiden. “His roadie?”
“I’m Grudge,” the maiden in question said. “But what’s a roadie? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s ugly and stupid and ought to burst into flames and die so nobody has to talk about it anymore.”
“Oh, a troll!” the woman said. “They only burst into flames during very avant-garde concerts.”
“She defended me when the dragons attacked,” Casimir said.
“He means the other dragons,” Devent said. “Not me. We couldn’t very well leave her out there to be slain.”
“Hah!” Grudge said. “You were just trying to rescue them from me. I was doing fine ‘til you practically tore my tunic off in front of everyone. What kind of perverted dragon are you, anyway? I am not that kind of a troll!”
“Hmmm,” the woman said. “Nevertheless, Casimir Cairngorm, it’s fortunate that you entered the hill when you did. The situation in Queenston grows more and more dire as the dragons there become increasingly hungry and disaffected. You and your singer must hasten to begin Devent’s work among his kind.”
“What work?” Devent asked. “Singing?”
“Yes, of course, singing but in your current state there is absolutely no reason for anyone to listen to you. You, my friend, lack the necessary star quality.” She reached into a pouch with a golden tasseled drawstring. A wad of used tissues, a tube of something crimson, a small frog that seemed to have wandered in by mistake, and finally, some sparkly powder fell from the pouch to the cave floor. The woman’s fingers now glistened with the powder. “Here we are. Bibbity Bobacadabra,” she said and threw the powder directly at Devent.
Devent sneezed. “What’s that for?”
“It’s a glamor. It will give you charisma—that certain something that will make everyone admire you even before you sing. Very helpful.”
“We actually need other dragons to like him,” Casimir said. “They’re his target audience.”
Devent wasn’t sure what that meant.
“What’s he doing in here, then?” the Lady demanded, piqued at being corrected by the musician, “There are dragons outside. Go practice on them!”
“They are not friendly,” Devent said. “And they’re very rude.”
“Probably from hunger.” the Lady said. “It can make some folk very nasty. With the glamor, you should be able to make them forget their bellies as you fill their ears.”
Devent could see the lady was a person of authority, but the other dragons were rather frightening.
“What do you think they would prefer, lady?” He asked and started a high song. “This one or,” he continued, beginning a low sound, “This?”
Before he could begin the second song however, Casimir laid a hand on his claw.
Verity and Smelt
“Where did they go?” asked a female voice Casimir could not identify.
“My guess is the laddie found a mine shaft in this hill and wanted to explore,” replied her companion in a rasp that could only belong to Auld Smelt. “Or that man he’s been warbling with fell in and the young one followed to rescue him. Too bad the fight seems to be over. I’m a bit slow for fighting these days, but I could have roasted ’em.”
“Big cowards,” the female voice said.
“Nothing for it but to drill a hole in the hill if we can’t find a shaft.”
No sooner did those words penetrate the hill than the lady vanished, and the doorway reappeared.
Devent cocked his head in surprise.
“She’s rather a private person,” Casimir said of the lady.
Devent left the cave first, followed by the troll. The portal to the Knowe vanished, sealed behind Casimir before the newcomers could see it. It was a secret place, so secret even he hadn’t been sure it was there before the lady opened it for him. He hoped when they came out the world wouldn’t be seven years older. That could be annoying if one didn’t expect it and it was supposed to have to do with extended sojourns in fairyland, not when one was only using it, preferably momentarily, to escape peril.
“Where you b
een, lad?” Smelt asked.
“Oh, a most wondrous place…” Devent began. Casimir put his finger to his lips, but the troll girl overrode Devent.
“It was awful. Tacky, underdeveloped, overly rocky, some ancient idiot’s idea of a home. Stank of bear, I thought.”
Toby’s Betrayal
Toby had worked with dragons long enough to realize that not all of them were as brilliant as Taz, not as reasonable, not as cooperative. They had what the scientists called Scale-brains, which were about the lowest kind a creature could have, according to the people who rated such things.
At first, they had listened eagerly to Taz when she told them what to do to make their employers treat them with more respect and fairness, or how to seek their own fortunes in the outside world, but as food grew scarcer and the scales began to drape between their bones, they grew more restless, impatient and even angry. He despaired of being able to help them.
Taz was more distraught than he was. Her colors dimmed, and her spinal ridges drooped. Her fellows began turning away from her even when she brought them the odd chicken or seagull. Dragons were not hugely sociable in the wild, but worker dragons tended to gather at the watering pools to discuss affairs of importance to them. Taz had only him.
Marquette
While Marquette Fontaine hadn’t made the grand entrance to Queenston he’d expected, having had to borrow cab fare to the castle from his host captain, he had wasted no time acquainting himself with the present situation and considering ways to turn it to his advantage. After intense private consultations with the male members of his extended family, he had reached a number of important decisions. The council members had a few half-conceived ideas about the dragon crisis, but no comprehensive plan. That was where he came in.
The Redundant Dragons Page 17
