The Redundant Dragons

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  “Secret from men, maybe,” Auld Smelt said. “Nothing a dragon can’t sort out. We has our ways, has we.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ll come with you,” Casimir said. “I was the author of the ledger after all.” That would have made him a tax collector, from what Verity could tell.

  “You were? But you’re a minstrel!” she said.

  “Day job,” Casimir said. “I was between jobs and I had to get my lute out of the pawn shop.”

  Verity wavered, nonetheless. “I can’t just go scooting around in Faerie Knowes. I have responsibilities to the others. I must find Toby and Taz.”

  “Oh that!” Casimir laughed. “We should be able to return to this very time and place without losing a moment. Just remember it well.”

  Taking a deep breath, Verity looked around her. Even in the gloom of night, with the lanterns lighting the paths and the tents, it was not a place that her memory would easily confuse with any other in Argonia.

  Captain Lewis gave her a brief salute, and he and the crew melted into the night.

  When she had fixed their location in her mind, she nodded and followed Smelt, who also melted into the night. For an elderly dragon, he could slither with surprising stealth and speed and he did so, turning his head every so often so they could see where he was by the gleam reflected on his great golden eyes.

  She had not noticed how large they actually were before.

  She was watching the old dragon’s progress instead of where they were going when she bumped into someone.

  “Oh, sorry, pardon,” she said.

  “You!” the man said. It was Sir Whatshisname, the minister of finance. “You’re no boy. You’re that pesky person who thinks she’s queen.”

  “The very morsel to tempt a dragon’s palate,” said his companion, aka Lord Lickspittal. “Nice large helping.”

  She glared at them. “Let us pass. We’ve urgent business to attend to.”

  “Oho! I think not, Your Majesty. We have even more urgent business for which your attendance is required.”

  “I decline,” she said, and pushed past them.

  “That’s right,” Casimir said. “Let the lady pass, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

  Not having eyes in the back of her head, she couldn’t see if they were properly intimidated or not.

  Smelt had led them beyond the gate and into the hills before they heard shouts of pursuit.

  The ghost cats popped into view briefly, before crowding into what appeared to be the sheer face of a cliff backing the Fairgrounds.

  Well, they were ghosts and able to walk through solid things. On the other hand, they had often given her clues to what she sought. Without blinking, she thrust her boot forward and when she stepped down, was within the entrance to another cave.

  She was a bit startled when Casimir took her hand, but he said, “I’ve been there.” Smelt wrapped his tail around their legs. And….

  “We should be good now, Casimir said after what seemed only a moment later.

  When Dragons Were Brave and Cattle Were Many

  Smelt nudged the wall and it opened. They stepped out again. There was an incredible stench in the air, worse even than the pong in The Dragon Vitia’s lair. Cattle milled about where tents and people had been what seemed like moments before.

  The sun was up. Auld Smelt was the first to walk forward into the crisp chilly morning. But there was nothing Auld about the senior dragon now. It seemed his clipped wings were able to grow after all and he unfurled them to display magnificent wingspread. His scales shown all shades of green from aqua through the new green of the tenderest shoots through fern and grass and all of the greens of the forest. Verity had never noticed how beautiful he was before.

  “Have you grown young again, Master Dragon?” Casimir asked him.

  “I have returned to the age I was when first I was here,” Smelt told him.

  “You seem—larger,” Verity said. She was sure he was. The Smelt she knew was larger than a warhorse and a bear put together, but this Smelt was no smaller than the Dragon Vitia and his head alone was now the size of a buggy.

  “A life in the mines do reduce a body,” he said. “Now hurry, hop onto my back. Not that I’m in the habit of offerin’ rides for humans, but a queen and the teacher of my foster lad are worth their weight to carry, particularly in the service of my kin and country. Do know, though, that if we come near the Battle of Blazing Bog at the battle’s hour, I’ll take ye anywhere else but there.”

  “Very wise,” Casimir said. “Otherwise, your former self might claim yourself of our time and this time you might not survive the battle.” Verity gave him a hard look. He might have warned them. She could hardly be expected to know such things, having never previously lollygagged around in history.

  “It’s happened,” the bard said with a shrug.

  “Hold on,” Smelt told them, and with a blast of fire and a drum of his ribbed and webbed wings he lofted over the highest hills before sailing out over the trees.

  Casimir mounted behind her, yelled into her ear, “See there?” and released the spinal ridge with one hand to point.

  Beneath them, the forest canopy was sparse enough that she could see that it teemed with animals scurrying from the sight of the dragon looming above them. The moose that had been standing in each pond suddenly bolted and churned out of their pools onto the forest floor. A sounder of wild pigs dove deep into the brush, and deer froze in place until the flurry of the other beasts caused them to run in ones and twos, and family groups of three and five.

  Changing course, Smelt flew over tundra and pasture, where cattle and sheep looked up from their grazing and horses galloped madly to escape the shadow of dragon wings.

  Casimir tapped Verity’s shoulder and pointed again, this time at a lone figure sitting uphill from the herds, pointing with his finger as he counted before returning to the scroll on his lap. The man doing the counting looked oddly familiar and she realized this was another, earlier version of Casimir, dressed in old style traveling clothes and making notations that became the scroll she had found in the casket. Casimir gave an ironic little wave to his former self as they passed.

  The country was teeming with animals of all varieties—including human, soldiers marching down roads while townspeople fled ahead of them, some on roads and others on deer paths and trails through bogs and forests.

  At length Smelt circled back the way he’d come and set himself and his passengers down smoothly on the field. Verity pulled out the scroll and spread it before Casimir.

  “It seems to me we saw far more animals than you recorded.”

  “Well, yes, I did this before Blazing Bog, of course, but the dragons were active in many parts of the country, patrolling the perimeters with an eye to the invading forces.”

  “At the battle the dragons would have been fighting—will be fighting—not eating, unless there was a victory feast?”

  “The battle whetted the appetites of some of them other flamers,” Smelt said, “but me, I was tired of it all and returned to my lair. When I awakened and sailed out to slake my thirst and break my fast, seemed to be nary a beast about and though I slept for half a year, I smelled smoke still.”

  “Can we choose another time?” Verity asked.

  The minstrel screwed his face up into a tortured expression and wobbled his flattened fingers back and forth, “It’s possible,” he said, “but I know where and when we are now because I was here the first time. Another would be less accurate.”

  “The battle is near,” Smelt said, patting his belly with a front foot. “I feel it in my oven.”

  All through the night, miles from the battlefield, they trembled, not with cold as Smelt’s body was warmer than most stoves, but from the strobes of fire, the roars of battle and the anguished cries of the dying. In the morning, Verity found she could not stop her hands from shaking. Casimir sang under his breath. At first Smelt had tried to tell them what was happening in the battle, but that made Ca
simir sing louder, and Verity shake harder.

  By dawn it was all but over. Two dragons sailed by them at a short distance.

  “Now we wait,” Casimir said, “and find out what happened while Smelt hibernated.”

  The battle must have been decisive, Verity thought, because on their next flight, well after Smelt recalled returning to his lair, they saw no enemy activity at first.

  Smelt flew and flew, stopping only for his passengers to warm their noses and fingers. He made a circuit of the entire country, which was still heavily populated with both game and domestic animals. Verity had understood that the invaders had sacked the farms and towns and killed and eaten the livestock, but there was rather a lot of it left.

  But on the third day after the battle, she finally saw the uniforms of the invaders as they, along with people whose uniforms identified them as Frostingdung allies, got to work on the pastures and forests near the place where the so-called ‘Hiring Fair’ was being held. The livestock they herded into pens then methodically slaughtered and butchered every single farm animal. Musket shots rang from the forest. It was more frightening than the sounds of the battle. As they watched over the next week, the carcasses of more wild animals than a castle full of people could consume in a year were dragged from the woods as well.

  “So that’s what happened to them,” Casimir said with a low whistle, while they listened to the slaughter. “They always said it was the dragons decimated the wildlife population, that and the invading troops—they are, but not while on the move fighting. And I thought the people of Frostingdung were our allies. What are they doing colluding with enemies?”

  “A very good question,” Verity said. And that day, the pasturage that had fed the livestock burned in a deliberate and controlled way, while what had been forest was cut down, the branches piled, and the trunks cut into logs and hauled away by the wagonload. Then there was a huge fire and the smell of roasting meat. “Why don’t we ask them?”

  Casimir sauntered down to the fire where the men celebrated with food and drink. Meanwhile Verity huddled against Smelt.

  Casimir did not ask if the workers would care to be entertained, he just started in on a medium-bawdy ballad. The truly bawdy ones were a bit too rough, in his judgement, for Lady Verity’s ears, but all listeners of this particular era were well-versed in certain phrases and metaphors with sexual comparisons inherent in their utterance within the context of the song.

  As he had been fairly certain they would, the men stopped their own chatter to listen to the story of his song and included him in their circle. Between songs, he was included in the general conversation.

  One was saying, “It’s a tall order in a short time, but I reckon we’re up to it. We start planting as soon as the beasts are destroyed and the burning’s done.”

  “So this is the last meat anybody tastes in the land?” asked another.

  “It will drive the price up for the humans, but there won’t be much left for predators, so they have to eat what they’re given, the bosses figure, and that only if they work as they’re told.”

  Laughter and jokes followed as the men tried to imagine what kind of work dragons might do to earn their keep and after awhile, when they were all becoming drowsy, Casimir made his way back to Smelt and Verity, and woke them to tell them what he’d learned.

  “Have they done this all over the country?” Verity wondered aloud.

  “Perhaps not, farthest from the cities and main roads,” Casimir said.

  Smelt rolled to his feet and knelt so they could mount, unfurled his wings and soared. This time he flew in wide circles and they were rewarded with sightings of many more animals both in forest and field.

  So, they’d all been lied to about the food supply being so far diminished by the ravages of war and dragon depredation. The destruction of the herds occurred, was occurring, after the war was essentially over, to create a shortage that would eventually force the growth and consumption of the grain-based kibble.

  Smelt landed where the Mountains of Morn met the Troutroute River. Verity had seen this terrain while traveling from her last school, Our Lady of Perpetual Locomotion, back to Queenston. It was odd to see the country without the railroad stitching it together as it once had. It also provided a logistical problem.

  “Now that we know there are animals here, how do we get them to the time and place where they’re needed?”

  “That will be trickier. Both because the Rani Romany is otherwise occupied, or was when last we saw her, and cannot open the nearest Knowe for us, but also simply herding all of these beasts inside will be no easy task.”

  “Smelt, can you herd them?”

  “I can stampede them,” he said. “But that’s all. They’re not bound to want to go where a dragon directs ’em.”

  “Oh. Yes. I can understand how that might be,” she said.

  “I don’t suppose we can explain to them that they are to be slaughtered anyway and they may as well let their deaths serve a good purpose?” Casimir suggested.

  “I don’t suppose so,” Verity agreed. “You and I might try driving them ourselves.”

  “Fancy being trampled, do you?”

  “Hmmm. No. They didn’t cover droving and shepherding at Our Lady of Locomotion.”

  “In my time everyone could do it, so it can’t be that hard.”

  “I’m not from your time. Perhaps if we had mounts…”

  A dog barked, and a cat mewed somewhere below them, and a voice said, “Do you think we are safe to come out now?”

  Casimir scrambled down the rocks to greet them. “Timoteo, Marja, good to see you here. Are you camped nearby?”

  “Casimir!” The male voice lowered then. “Are you alone?”

  “No,” he said. “I came through a Knowe with the Rani’s daughter and our mutual friend, Smelt, a dragon of this region.”

  The woman walked away from the overhanging ledge and waved up both arms at Verity. “Come down, come down. You look frozen.”

  Verity did, more from curiosity than chilliness.

  Smelt fluttered his wings in greeting. He was very proud of having new wings. How had he managed without them? He hoped he wouldn’t lose them again when he returned. Perhaps he wouldn’t. But then, he’d have to go through the long years in chains at the mine. And the lad would need him. But he hoped he could keep his wings this time.

  Devent’s Debut

  Devent of course recognized the Gypsy Lady brilliantly accompanying his songs—she was the Lady from inside the hill where Casimir went to hide that time. He had no idea she was such a good fiddler, the best he had ever heard. Of course, she was the only one he had ever heard, but still, the effect was very pleasing, and he judged it enhanced his performance. He was so caught up in how they sounded together that he scarcely noticed where the men were leading them, into the trees and through a pair of doors he could step through without having to stoop. The floor sloped downward into a tunnel, which, to his professional eye, had been hastily constructed and perhaps wasn’t as safe as it ought to be.

  He put a protective wing behind the fiddler Lady, prepared to shield her in case of a collapse. When he looked around for Casimir to shield him too, he was disappointed not to see his mentor anywhere near. More surprising, Smelt had not followed either.

  But he was once more reminded of the day he and Casimir had been attacked when he saw Grudge, the warrior maiden who had battled so valiantly to protect them. She wore an orange ribbon across her torso with a badge similar to those of the other festival officials.

  She stepped in front of them, staff held horizontally to block the entrance to a broad circular field surrounded by people.

  “Halt. Who goes there?” She demanded. “Password now or die.”

  “Stand aside, Troll. We are your bosses,” said one of the men escorting him and the Lady.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” she grumbled, withdrawing her staff to let them pass. Then the Lady stepped out of the tunnel’s shadow, with D
event following her.

  “Well, hello there, hot shot,” Grudge greeted him with an almost friendly scowl.

  “Maiden,” Devent said, inclining his head.

  “Come along,” said the man who had invited him. “You stand there, between those two doors, and the others will enter while you sing.”

  “You will introduce us?” the Gypsy Lady asked with a lifted eyebrow that said, ‘you’d better.’

  “Not necessary,” the man said. “How many dragon and violin combos do you suppose there are in this country or even the world?”

  The Lady shrugged, but glanced sideways at Devent, signaling him that all was not as it should be. But what could be wrong? This was Carnival Hall. Casimir had said it like it was famous and nothing bad happened in famous places to famous people—did it?

  He and the Lady stood where the man directed. Meanwhile other people entered the field from the tunnel he’d just come from and took their places among the rows of benches stacked from the floor to the top of the structure surrounding the great field. So that was what had separated the dragon area from the human area of the Fair! Apparently, it was only used for special performances.

  The man nodded, the Lady raised her bow and played the same note that Casimir usually played on his lute, and Devent sang the first long note of his new song, the cautionary tale he had composed from the story Mistress Verity told him about her adventures rescuing the Dragon Vitia and her twins. How the valiant Vitia had awakened in time to rise and lead the men away from her lair wherein her most precious treasures, her hoard and her children, lay.

  The audience, to whom he looked for reaction, appeared startled, but not especially appreciative. This might have been because of the language barrier. It might have been because of the distraction as a column of white clad ladies entered from the right and were prodded, some of them weeping, to stand to one side while dragons of many sizes and colors, chained, as were the ladies, entered through the larger left-hand entrance.