A Dragon and Her Girl

by Max Florschutz

  The stunned crowd didn’t make a sound as Asher stood, plucked a cigarillo from Gideon’s shirt pocket, and bounced a match off the table. The match lit when it struck the wood surface and popped right up into Asher’s hand. The new king of El Perdido puffed his cigarillo to life.

  Gideon yanked his six-gun from its holster and aimed the barrel at his temple. Asher slammed his fist on the table, bouncing the opposite side up and knocking the gun from Gideon’s hand.

  “Fate ain’t gonna let you off that easy,” Asher said. “All you woulda done is hurt yourself bad enough to spend the rest of your life regretting the attempt. But thank your lucky cards I’m gonna be a damn sight kinder to you than you ever was to me.”

  Jane stood, painfully, one hand over her ribs. She limped toward the door.

  “Why’d you do that?” Asher called after her.

  “Got my reasons,” she said without looking back.

  Jane stepped out into the night. The first dim hints of dawn lightened the horizon. Asher followed, as did most of the crowd. He hustled to get in front of her.

  “I owe you a debt, now,” Asher said. “A mighty big one. What is it you’re doing here? What is it you want?”

  Jane struggled to hold back tears as she met his eyes.

  “My people came through here a few months back, with my little girl. All I want is to find them.” She nodded toward the soldier. “I think that fella may know something about where they went.”

  Asher turned his gaze to the soldier, who startled back.

  “We gonna do this the hard way, or you gonna tell this lady everything you know?” Asher asked.

  “They asked the way to Las Cruces, that’s all I know,” the soldier said in a rush. From the fear pulling his eyes wide, there was little doubt he was telling the truth.

  Jane dropped her gaucho hat in the dirt and let the borrowed duster fall to the ground. She stood naked in the middle of the road, staring over the hilltops to the west, where bright stars sparkled against the indigo sky.

  I’m so sorry, my beautiful girl.

  It’s okay, momma.

  Can you hang on just a little longer?

  Yes, momma, I think I can.

  Scales sprouted from Jane’s skin. Toenails grew into talons. The ground receded in her view, the crowd gasping and backing away as she gained her full height.

  Jane leapt into the air and beat her wings, picking up speed until the ground below became a blur.

  I will find you soon. I promise.

  Take out the Trash

  Melva L. Gifford

  Here I am, the ideal student, sitting at my easel, treating the scroll before me like the priests’ holy wine. I’m in my second year of magic school. I’m studying a levitation spell, nibbling away on a mecca root when ol’ Stop-and-Go Pordal struts in.

  “Shantell, your turn to take out the trash.”

  Then he strides off before I can say anything. He’s been giving me the dirtiest jobs ever since I caught him spying in the girls’ quarters. I had just learned how to stun and froze him in position by the window for all to see.

  Some of the sorceresses started calling him Peekee after that. I still call him Stop-and-Go. It fits better.

  The masters assigned him kitchen duty for a full moon for his punishment.

  He hasn’t forgiven me since.

  He thinks I’m nothing but a chambermaid because I’m only a second-level sorceress. Until I claim my wizard sense, I’m treated like the former. So what could I do? I wish I could find some kind of personal project to keep me busy.

  Emptying the trash wouldn’t be so bad if it was just the scrap spells from the more experienced trainees. But no, they also have to dump the first yearlings’ rejects in as well. Have you ever smelled a half-conjured demon fermented for over a week?

  No wonder so many of the masters’ beards are white. The Psi nets are never strong enough. They’re always leaking or losing something along the way to the vac pit.

  I walk into the room, and just as I expected, the bag’s filled to overflowing. The area is a mess. There are demons, zaps, fireballs, whammies, giants, dragons, potions, and Hades knows what else. Most are spells that never came into full realization. There’s a monstrous tentacle weaving itself lazily above the rim of the net. Its acting like it’s already high from the demons’ fumes. After taking one whiff myself, I’m sure of it.

  Why me?

  Nothing to do but throw the lot of them in the vacuum pit. The tricky part is getting the thing to the pit, especially with weak Psi nets.

  Because of Stop-and-Go’s harassment, I’m now an old pro. Too many incidents from other apprentices’ trips to the vac have taught me to take precautions. I step up to the net, keeping my skirt hem clear of possible entanglements. It’s taller than me and almost reaches the high ceiling. A good reduction spell should cut the thing down to size. So, I cast the spell and watch as the occupants shrink to the size of a chair.

  The thing keeps moving since some of the spells within it haven’t fully deactivated.

  I bend over the bag and quickly lean back to let one particularly powerful wisp of odor pass. Hades, it’s strong. Whammies and zaps almost spill out of the bag, some barely hanging over the edge. When I begin to close the top, several fall out. They immediately activate, stinging and singeing my feet. My resulting list of obscenities would impress a warlock. They’re all centered on Pordal. Thankfully most of the zaps fall back into the bag when I shake the net.

  Zaps and whammies, in their solid state, look much like frozen lightning bolts. They always seem to find a way to poke you in the ribs. I seal the bag with an echo patch—the most powerful sealing spell I know.

  Seeing how the potions and powders seem to always settle at the bottom, I try to put as much echo underneath the bag as over the top. Feeling reasonably protected, I touch the net’s surface, probing with my fingers. Every kind of spell seems to be in there. Yep, they must have gone through a full session of Wizardry 101 to get all these rejects. It takes me only a minute to find what I’m searching for.

  He’s a big one, and only partially deflated.

  A Giant.

  Why can’t everyone deflate their Giants fully before throwing them away? A Giant is eighty percent air. If you have a deflated Giant in the trash, it can help you with the lifting. All you have to do is give it a gentle tap on the head—just enough to aggravate it so it’ll puff up. When the Giant rises, then, the entire bag will rise, too. Makes it easier to carry the thing outside.

  Of course, you have to watch that you don’t hit them too hard. Heard a story once where a first yearling was taking out the trash. Made the mistake of giving the Giants a royal whack and it got ’em mad. Puffed ’em up all the way—all of them. Got the rest of the spells activated too. The yearling soon found himself floating up in the air, hanging onto that bag for dear life. He was yelling at the top of his lungs.

  What a sight!

  The Giants were having a grand old fight up there.

  Thankfully, a couple of apprentices were also archers. Got their bows out and started shooting. Said it was great to have a moving target like that. ’Course the bag came down, and the yearling came after and got tangled in the tree.

  It took a week for the school to clean up and catch all the mess. Made a school project of it.

  So anyway, I lift the bag. Can’t levitate it. You can only levitate stationary objects. The dragons inside keep shifting from side to side as if they’re sitting on a hot pile of gold. It’s hard getting a firm hold on the net. The Psi shield is already wearing thin in some areas, especially at the bottom. I would try to add another echo patch, but I have to see what I’m doing and the bag’s in my way. Hades, I remember what happened the last time a bag broke open.

  There was a student once who took out the trash without trying to patch up any leaks. There was an unusual amount of love potion at the bottom. He went almost the entire length of the path before he got a whiff. Then it was too late. He went u
nder. It was love at first sight. A guy looks kind of silly kissing the ground like that. Took the Masters a while to get him under control. They repaved the path. Got rid of the soil by putting it under the mattress of a man who complained of insomnia. He loves to sleep now.

  Keeping the bag in my arms isn’t a problem yet, even though Giants and monsters can complicate things if they are too close together. If they start fighting they’ll wake the dragons, and you’ll end up weaving all over the place trying to get to the vac pit.

  Oh, no! A cool dampness presses from inside the bag, kinda soggy and mushy. It’s beginning to seep through onto my arm. My heartbeat quickens. If it’s a fireball, I’m in trouble. Improperly deactivated fireballs turn into a cold liquid which acts as a powerful adhesive. It took the masters several days to separate a student’s leg from the Psi net when some fire juice leaked onto her.

  Not knowing the most dignified way to panic, I slowly move my hand away from the wet spot.

  “Ribbit.”

  Oh, Hades!

  I contemplate fainting from relief, but the trash is in the way. I’ll faint later. I probe the bag’s surface, recognizing the outline of a frog—several frogs. There must be a mini-course on witchcraft going on at the school.

  Maybe there’s something to my classmates’ increasing complaints about warts. Though they shouldn’t leap to conclusions.

  I start up the path in a reasonably straight line (dragons permitting) when I hear something.

  A voice?

  What now?

  It comes from the trash bag. Clutching the container against me, I place my ear next to the bag. It’s a voice and he is quoting—

  Philosophy?

  Well, this little frog is still trying to turn into a prince. It would seem that the mind was willing but the body—it wouldn’t make it. Guess it’s trying to find a good role model.

  I press on, ignoring the frog as he proclaims, “There were two peasants walking down a street . . .”

  A dragon hiccups and shifts and I lunge to the right, trying to keep my balance. I’m getting annoyed.

  Not too much farther to go. I try to hurry but then, just as I’m on the verge of reaching the vac pit—

  The Giant lets out a burp and down goes the bag.

  That thing’s heavy when you have to rely on your own strength. With the Giant’s levitating air gone, mass returns, and I almost gag when the Psi net tears as it hits the ground. I hear protests from the dragons and another Giant wakes up, along with two more monsters. I don’t take time to see what kind. The contents of the bag begin attacking one another.

  The rip in the net widens. If anything gets even partially outside the net, it’ll return to normal size. Then the real trouble will begin.

  The bag moves of its own accord. I hear the outcries of several monsters and Giants as they wallow at the bottom. A dragon bellows. The escalating battle shakes the entire bag. It starts to lean.

  Hades!

  I pray for a miracle.

  Nothing happens. Panic appears to be the only alternative. If I try to touch the bag, I’m certain the netting will totally dissolve.

  If I can convince the monsters and Giants that they’re being challenged by something fiercer then them—

  I levitate; a wind is tugging at my hair. I’m glad I braided it. Floating to the center of the pit, I bellow at the bag, imitating the occupants’ various calls. But my verbal challenge can hardly be heard over the din.

  I strain my voice to its full capacity, lowering it to sound more fierce.

  The bag turns, moving toward me, closer and closer until—

  Down it goes, into the vac.

  What a relief.

  I float carefully back to the edge, glad to stand on firm earth again. There is a silvery liquid shining on the edge of the hole. I’ll avoid that. Then realization dawns. I’ve finally found something to do with my spare time until I acquire my wizard sense. I can work on something that could make me rich and famous!

  I’ll create a double-ply Psi net with an echo in between trash bags. That could hold nearly anything, guaranteed never to leak. The apprentices would certainly be Glad—so would my money pouch.

  With a new purpose, I start back to the study room.

  I now have some spell casting to do.

  Burying Treasure

  Alex Shvartsman

  The wizard rode a cart full of gold into the village.

  The wooden cartwheels creaked, protesting the enormous weight of coins and miscellaneous trinkets that filled the cart to the point of almost overflowing. The coins shifted and jingled as the horse pulled the cart forward on an uneven road, their sweet sound summoning gawkers much faster than any magic could have.

  “Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Hurlee said to her twin sister as the two of them watched the cart make its way down the road.

  Burlee grunted assent, the straw she was chewing on teetering at the edge of her lip, then got up and headed over for a closer look.

  “Careful,” said Hurlee. “Anyone flaunting such riches is either very dangerous or dangerously stupid. Or both.”

  Burlee turned back for a moment, straightened the iron-studded jacket of her old military uniform, and nodded at Hurlee, who was wearing the same outfit. “When did that ever stop us?”

  Hurlee reached toward her sister, wanting to hold her back, but thought better of it. She lowered her hand, and reluctantly followed Burlee instead.

  The cart came to a stop. The entire village gathered to see what the wizard would do next. A pile of coins, jewelry, and small trinkets glimmered in the sun, awing the onlookers. A small gargoyle rested atop the treasure. It glared at the villagers, making sure no one got any ideas.

  Hurlee hung back, close enough to observe, but far enough to quietly retreat in case there was trouble.

  “I need a pair of guides,” declared the wizard. “Young people who know the nearby woods. A gold coin is offered in payment.”

  There was no shortage of volunteers. Villagers jostled each other for a chance at earning the princely sum.

  Burlee pushed and shoved her way to the front of the crowd. And although Hurlee was still conflicted, she followed right along.

  “What do you seek in the woods, Sir Wizard?” asked one of the village elders.

  “A place to bury this treasure,” said the wizard. His gargoyle purred loudly and shifted to find a more comfortable spot. It cuddled up to a jewel-encrusted chalice.

  “Why would you do such a thing?” asked Burlee, devouring the gold with her eyes.

  “The Emperor decrees it,” said the wizard, “to help the economy.”

  The villagers murmured.

  “I thought them dragonses liked to hoard treasure,” said Olaf. A tall, lanky youth, he made up for what could be generously described as below-average wit with excess enthusiasm.

  “Quiet, fool.” An elder glared at Olaf. “Don’t disrespect the Emperor in front of our esteemed guest.”

  “Indeed,” said the wizard. “His Majesty is long-lived, and his complexion is, perhaps, a little scaly, but vicious rumors of dragon blood in his lineage are falsehoods told by anarchists and malcontents. You would do well to discourage such talk.”

  “Won’t happen again,” said the elder.

  “The Emperor plans ahead,” said the placated wizard. “Word of the treasure will spread. Knights and adventurers from other lands will come to seek it. They’ll spend coin in taverns and inns, patronize blacksmiths and apothecaries. They’ll pay a special tax levied on all seekers. This is called tourism.”

  Hurlee was well-familiar with the Emperor’s eccentricities. The new ruler signed a peace treaty with the orcs, inconveniently interrupting the conflict that had been successfully ongoing for over a hundred years.

  Hurlee and Burlee had enlisted and were just finishing their training when the Emperor had cut down the size of the army. They were sent back home with nothing to show for their effort but a pair of hand-me-down oxh
ide uniforms. Thousands of young men and women who counted on the war for their employment were now back in their villages, struggling to adjust to this new peace, and to find work. Still, dumping gold into the ground like some storybook pirate was highly unusual, even for the Dragon Emperor.

  “You,” the wizard turned to Olaf. “Do you know these woods well?”

  Olaf nodded enthusiastically.

  “You’re hired.” The wizard scanned the crowd for another recruit.

  Hurlee thought that the wizard wasn’t particularly discriminating. Drawing his attention might be enough to be picked. She wasn’t thrilled about getting involved in this crazy scheme, but there was no other work to be had in the village that didn’t involve tending the fields, and she and her sister needed the money.

  “Won’t the adventurers stop coming once the treasure is found?” Hurlee asked.

  “That’s why I need guides. The treasure must be hidden so well, it’ll take decades to find.”

  “My sister and I know the best hiding spots,” said Hurlee. “Our father was a famed hunter. He showed us places so remote even the wild beasts would have a difficult time finding them.”

  Hurlee stood still, praying that none of the other villagers would speak up and tell the wizard that their father was actually a cabbage farmer. But others knew better than to incur the ire of the sisters.

  The wizard sized them up. “Twins, eh?”

  “Idontical,” said Olaf.

  “Don’t you mean identical?” asked the wizard.

  Olaf scratched his head. “I mean, I don’t know how to tell them apart.”

  The wizard chuckled. “I’ll hire the two of you for the price of one. Do we have a deal?”

  The wizard and his three guides wandered in the forest all day, looking for a perfect spot.

  Despite their exaggerated claims, Hurlee and Burlee did know the land very well. They’d spent their entire childhood exploring the nearby groves, picking mushrooms and berries, and snaring an occasional hare.