The Redundant Dragons

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  The main road between Kingston and Little Darlingham was bustling with both vehicles and pedestrians, and when a horse threw a shoe or a wagon wheel broke, traffic stopped while the problem was fixed and it could move again.

  Verity would have thought that people who evidently were keen to attend a Dragon Fair would have been less leery of actual dragons, but their fellow pedestrians gave Devent and Smelt a wide berth.

  The dragons couldn’t help drooling at the sight of some of the carthorses. Verity told Smelt, “Don’t even think about it. People get very attached to their horses.”

  “I don’t see why,” Devent said, almost whining. It had been quite some time since he and Smelt had eaten.

  “They’re useful,” Verity said. “You just need to feed them and take care of them and they will provide you with faster transportation, save shoe-leather, and if need be, pull a plow or a wagon.”

  “Dragons have done more than that,” Smelt said. “I worked for men for the last fifty years, and every other dragon I know has also worked for them.”

  “But not lately,” Verity told him. “Most people have rather short memories, especially when it comes to remembering who they owe favors to.”

  Smelt cocked a brow ridge at her. “True, that is. Very true. You’re unusually bright for a human.”

  “Not really. I just have to speak the truth. No choice.” She paused then admitted, “It’s a bloody nuisance, to tell you the… you know. I can never be clever or tricky or even lie to protect myself or spare someone’s feelings. I was quite the most disliked girl in school. Any school.”

  “Glad to hear it, lass. Glad to hear it.”

  “That I was disliked?” Verity asked.

  “That you can be trusted,” the old dragon said. “Not many a human can be, I’ve learned. Not even me old tender at the mines, and I practically raised him from a pup since his dad was my tender before him and his dad before him.”

  “I haven’t known any particular dragon that long. You were all busy working while I was in school. I think there were dragons in the furnace rooms at my schools but I’m not sure.”

  “I saw you once at the mine with your dad. You admired my work.”

  When a herd of sheep meandered across the road, blocking it, both dragons forgot themselves. Devent launched into the air and Smelt burped a campfire’s worth of flame, then covered his mouth with his tail and looked as chagrined as his face allowed. The herd’s dog sprang into action, snapping and barking at them and nipping at their tails. Verity said, “Perhaps we’d be better off following the train tracks.”

  “Perhaps so,” Casimir said. “People on this road seem rather hostile and tense for some reason.”

  They lingered long enough for Verity to buy an unfortunate sheep from the herd’s shepherd, so the dragons could feed.

  Verity didn’t even look at the sheep in question. Having enjoyed some pastries and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off at Zeli’s tower, she left the mutton to the dragons, although Casimir accepted a small portion. Devent burped this time. His flame had dwindled until now it was like one in a gas lamp. Smelt’s gas came from the other end. The smell of burning wool followed their party for two of the many miles between the road and the tracks.

  Closer to the tracks, another odor gusted toward them on the wind. The sickly-sweet stench of decaying flesh was tolerable from a distance, but became overpowering. Over the next swell in the spongy ground cover, they saw a mound lying a few feet from the tracks.

  Casimir and Verity exchanged wary looks but Devent said, “I’ll go see.”

  He hopped/flew across the distance, landing close to the object.

  What is it?” Casimir called.

  “Dragon,” Devent said. “Dead one.” Devent took a cautious hop toward the form and prodded it, then jumped back.

  “Seems odd,” Verity said. “How did it die out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Fell off the train?” Casimir suggested. “Or perhaps was hit by it?”

  They advanced slowly at first, but in this place the tracks ran through open country and none of them could spot any danger.

  Devent turned away.

  “What?” Casimir asked.

  “He has no head,” Devent said. “It’s horrible.”

  Auld Smelt lumbered forward, Verity keeping pace.

  The dragon lay on its side. Like many of the industrial dragons, this one lacked the variegated scales so useful in distinguishing one dragon from another. It was shades of gray, except for the gaping neck wound, blackened with swarming flies. For such a terrible gash, there was surprisingly little blood.

  Smelt peered at the injury and hissed, saying, “At least he was dead before he lost his head. Otherwise there’d be more gore. It’s a recent kill though.”

  “How can you tell?” Verity asked.

  “I’ve seen many wounded and dead dragons in my time, though it was long ago,” Smelt said. “This one is fairly fresh. A day or two at most.”

  “Disturbing,” Casimir said, “And curious.”

  Verity inspected the visible parts of the corpse for an injury, but aside from lacking a head, the beast, from what she could see, was intact. It had no wings and its tail was foreshortened, a condition she recognized from touring the breeding farms once with her father and once on a field trip with her classmates at Our Lady of Perpetual Locomotion. “This seems to be one of the scientifically engineered ones, bred for his work, whatever that may have been.”

  “It ain’t right,” Smelt said. Verity nodded agreement.

  “Wouldn’t his wings have grown like mine did?” Devent wanted to know, experimentally fluttering his, which were not yet as wide as he was tall, but had been growing steadily since he left the mines.

  “Probably not,” Verity said. “He wasn’t meant to have them. Father told me that they were bred to be unlike wild dragons insofar as they would be perfectly adapted to the way dragons have lived recently.” She saw that his ribs stood out against his hide. “Oh, dear. I wonder if the kibble… if it was the only thing this one could eat.”

  They found one more body that day and another the next, both decapitated like the first. Verity very much hoped the beasts had not been slain, but without their heads there was no way to tell what had happened to them. It had to be awkward for whoever took them, trying to carry three dragon heads all over the countryside. Although the beasts were not as large as Smelt or even Devent, they were hardly diminutive. She said as much.

  Casimir said, “They might be riding on the train. I suppose we’ll know if we encounter them.”

  They made camp that night. One thing about traveling with dragons was there was no need to worry about campfires. Trees were few and far between, most of them having been sacrificed when the train tracks were laid. Trees in this part of the country were not large anyway, but peat was plentiful. Casimir and Verity dug up a few chunks and Smelt dried it with a few hot flameless breaths, before he and Devent set it alight.

  Devent was unusually quiet. “Fretting over the dead fella, laddie?” Smelt asked.

  “Well, yes, but also, I hate the idea that men caused him to be born disfigured, so they could make more use of him that way.”

  “I reckon they were scared of us and wanted to grow some that weren’t wiiild,” Smelt said with a fierce show of teeth.

  “No doubt,” Verity said. “I can’t see them getting the dragon Vitia to fire a boiler.”

  She told them as much as she could what she had learned living in Vitia’s lair and minding her twins while their mother hibernated. Smelt sighed with memories of his civilian youth, before he joined the war effort, and Devent listened eagerly, but with a distant look in his eye.

  After minutes of mutual silence, he began to sing a mournful lament. It featured a lot of wailing, keening and sighing, and was short on actual words, but definitely got the meaning across.

  “I call it ‘Dirge for a Dead Dragon’ in honor of the dragons who’ve died here lately,
” he said. “They never got a chance to fly in freedom like Vitia.”

  “Speaking of flying, lad, your wings seem bigger to me than they were when we left the mine,” Smelt said.

  Devent’s eyes glowed.

  By the following morning, his somber mood had given way to his customary optimism. He sang a soaring note and flew up after it. His wings were bigger and stronger, as Smelt said.

  “Why not scout around while you’re up there?” Verity called to him. “See what you can learn about why these dragons died. Someone will be sure to know something at the railroad.”

  Devent sailed off, flying with increasing boldness, trying a few tricks. As none of them resulted in him falling from the sky, he kept flying.

  Verity and Smelt trudged on, the older dragon tiring quickly as they walked. “Hard to believe that I used to fly like that—better, truth be told.”

  “Tell me more about what it was like—the Battle of Blazing Bog,” Verity said. “Were you very old at the time? Did the wizards and witches fight with you?”

  “That wouldn’t have been very smart of them,” Smelt said. “Might’ve perished from friendly fire. Enough of us did. Hard to aim properly in all the smoke and darkness.”

  “The other side didn’t have any dragons, did they?”

  “No, no dragons, but plenty of firepower, even in those days.”

  “But if we had dragons and magic, why didn’t we win?”

  “Don’t ask me, lass. ’Twas a human war. Besides, we didn’t lose.”

  “No, I suppose not,” she said. “We compromised. We did the sensible thing and sought advice from our allies.”

  Smelt shot her a side-eyed glance and blew cinders.

  “Well, no,” she said quickly, “It’s not the same as winning. My dad said everyone had to make compromises…”

  More cinders from Smelt. Verity decided the best thing to do was concentrate on walking, watching the grass wave, and feeling the wind blow. Walking through the springy muskeg was hard work.

  Casimir hummed a little as he walked, his instrument jangling against his back when he had to hop over a tussock.

  Verity had little trouble keeping up with the lame old dragon, although he seemed to gain energy as they traveled further.

  They had made good progress and could see the glint of railroad tracks in the distance when Devent swooped in for a landing.

  “The entire train is full of dragons on their way to the Fair!” he said, glowing with excitement. “I talked with some of them. They’re riding for free!”

  “This Fair sounds like quite an event. Zeli certainly thought so.” Verity tried to imagine what dragons would do at the sort of village fete she’d seen in some of the towns near the various schools she’d attended, which was her only frame of reference. “Do you suppose there’ll be pie-eating contests? Or maybe one to see who can blow the most impressive smoke rings?”

  “Maybe,” Devent said. “Mostly a Hiring Fair is about work. People who have jobs that can only be done by dragons will be there to select workers and moreover, negotiate contracts, which are apparently important to have.”

  “Hmm. I should think that will mean quite an improvement from the way things have been. Better working conditions, food and health care—I hope they’ll remember to ask for hibernation leave and someone to look after the young.”

  “Surely the Fair people will have thought of all those things! The city dragons say Taz and her boy must have arranged it all. More dragons will come later, when the first have been hired. I wonder if anyone will need singers?”

  “Or drillers,” Smelt said, reminding him.

  “I don’t want to return to the mines,” Devent said. “I love the sunlight. I love the rain. I love the snow. Casimir said you could always learn to play bass if you wanted to try your luck with me. He said musicians always need a good bass player.”

  Smelt snorted, the cinders flying from his nostrils threatening the tall dry grass on the southern side of the tundra.

  A new era seemed to be opening for dragons. About time, Verity supposed. Toby and Taz were doing a wonderful job. Persuading people to hire the dragons, supposedly to pay them a wage to be workers rather than virtual slaves. It was a fantastic resolution for what had threatened to be a perilous problem. Why, she wondered, was her head suddenly throbbing?

  “The Queenston dragons were all abuzz about the disappearance of the human queens, too,” Devent went on. “They feared they might be blamed for it. The first queen just vanished the day she was to be crowned, they said, and she was the one who freed them, so that was a worry. She had had some kind of backup queen. Now it seems she has vanished as well.”

  Casimir cocked a questioning eyebrow at Verity. Did he know who she was? He certainly had a knowing look about him. If he brought it up, she’d have to admit it, of course. And she really would rather not, especially when they were going to a public event. It was very difficult to maintain the element of surprise when you couldn’t lie about anything.

  Devent decided to fly ahead of the rest of the party.

  “Excellent,” Casimir said. “Do a little advance promotion for your inevitable triumph at the Fair. Sing them a little song, maybe.” He waved goodbye and, clumsily, Devent tipped a wing in acknowledgement as he flew on down the tracks.

  They walked until they came to a feeder track where a handcar had been left. Verity had seen them operated once or twice, briefly, but Smelt had watched them used every day at the mines. He was too big to fit. With Verity on one handle and Casimir on the other, the device clanked down the tracks much faster than they could have walked. Smelt walked behind and made himself useful by burning up the piles of dragon dung stinking in the wake of the train. If he fell too far behind, the humans stopped and rested until he caught up.

  Rowanwood Station

  At the first train station they encountered, Verity and Casimir dismounted from the cart and joined Smelt on foot. Casimir shook out his hands and flexed his fingers. “I can’t continue that infernal contraption,” he said of the handcar. “As it is, I doubt I shall be able to play a note.”

  “I’m burned out,” Smelt said in agreement. “I could use a small herd of cattle and another three or four months’ nap.”

  The train Devent followed had already left Rowanwood Station and the stationmaster, holding his timepiece, waved at them as they walked into the station. “Won’t be another northbound train for another twelve hours, if she’s on time. Normally there’s only the two runs a week, but they’ve pulled trains from all over for special shuttles to the Fair. You folks are welcome to visit our new Railway Cafe, in the shed round back. The wife baked her special raspberry pie and there’s raspberry, rose hip, and blueberry tea as well, with salmon salad and zucchini sandwiches on her fresh sourdough bread. Lucky for you the last train mostly had dragons. If it had been people, there’d be nothing left, but dragons aren’t much for fruit pies.” He cast an apologetic glance in Smelt’s direction. “Dragon food’s been gone since a week ago last Monday, though we’ve been promised a herd of cattle and a flock of sheep from up north any day now.”

  Smelt steamed at the mouth, which was his way of drooling. He headed for the fields behind the stationmaster’s house in case an unwary rabbit or some other game small enough to have been overlooked by the previous train passengers might come hopping by. The stationmaster’s wife, coming out of her kitchen carrying a pie in each hand, called out to Verity and Casimir.

  “I’ll thank you to keep an eye on your animal. Fluffin and Rex are family, not food.” A black and white spotted herd dog stuck close to her heels while a black cat sat just beyond the kitchen door, keeping an eye on proceedings.

  The cafe boasted two tables made of old solid wagon wheels set atop a pile of sawn-off railroad ties. At each table was a bench like those found in the passenger cars aboard the trains, but cut in half so that each half faced the other, the cut end propped up with more railroad ties. The smell of the creosote preserving the ti
es added an unpleasant note to the delicious aroma of the pies.

  Casimir, who had been unusually quiet for him (as Verity would have realized had she known him better), remarked on it.

  “I suppose one gets used to it, living so close to the tracks,” she said, between mouthfuls.

  “Perhaps that’s it,” he said, and ate the pie, not so much because he could enjoy the flavor in spite of the reek of creosote, but because he was hungry. He looked around at the landscape surrounding the station. Although the muskeg had given way to fields surrounded by low bushes and tall grassland, it too was open and rolling as far as the foothills of the Majestic Mountains, the snow dusted tops of which saw-toothed across the eastern horizon.

  “This used to be quite a forest, you know,” he told her. “The king’s men hunted it in the old days. See the foundation of the station? That looks as if it might be built from the masonry of the old hunting lodge.”

  Verity, who had learned quite a lot about Argonian history from perusing the archives at her Aunt Ephemera’s mazelike home inside Wormroost Glacier, looked up from her pie to glance around her. “I would not have thought so. Where was the castle then?”

  He finished chewing the last bite of pie and took a swallow of tepid tea before standing and indicating with a sweep of his arm a hill to the west of the station. “You can’t see the castle ruin now. It was slighted during the Great War, but Rowan’s Keep and the village surrounding it used to be on that very hill, among a thick stand of rowan trees.”

  “I’ve heard about it,” she said. “But I never knew exactly where it was.”

  The stationmaster’s wife, a plump lady whose fair hair was looped over the top of her ears, came to collect their payment for the food. Inside Verity’s pocket, a bead inside the pouch began to vibrate, rattling against the shells containing the histories and last words of the slain wizards.

  Three cats not Fluffins trailed behind the woman. The pathway paved with more railroad ties showed through their bodies.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Verity said. “Did you live around here before your marriage?”