Three days later
The Draconic Province of Threlfall, Fairyland
THRELFALL’S INTERNAL CONFLICTS were as bitterly fought as might be expected of such a warlike clan, but unlike its battles with outsiders, these private campaigns were waged with an intense and rancorous courtesy. The Code of Threlfall decreed that all should appear to be well between the various members of the family, no matter what bitter enmity reigned in their bosoms.
Every dragon in Threlfall’s vast network of caverns therefore colluded in the pretence that there was nothing disquieting in the departure of Rollo’s aunt Georgiana on a visit to the Fairy Court. They were even civil to Rollo, the wretched source of the trouble.
The only member of the clan who failed to exert himself was Rollo. No one ever saw a longer face on a dragon. It was generally agreed that this was shocking ingratitude, for it was not as though Rollo had been punished for his misconduct. To be sure, his magic had been suppressed, but no other restriction was placed upon him; he might fly around Threlfall as he wished. There was no fear that he might seek to escape while his soft-shelled bondmate was immured in Georgiana’s spare bedroom.
That bondmate served as a salutary contrast to Rollo, for Damerell behaved with unimpeachable propriety, mere mortal though he was. He never complained of the stench, and his only request was for a desk to be installed inside his cage. Nor would he stand for any tragic airs from Rollo.
“If you think it amuses me to have you striking melancholy attitudes and asking if I am hungry a dozen times a day, you are mistaken,” he said. “I beg you will take yourself off—go hunting, or terrorize a village, or do whatever it is dragons do for diversion. Since one of us has been allowed his liberty, you ought to make the most of it!”
Consequently Rollo went on long flights, though he was scarcely in the humour to enjoy them. When he could be sure of avoiding detection by his relations, he had drawn upon his last stores of magic to make a door to England, hoping to plead with Prunella and Zacharias for help. But the wards around the Sorceress Royal’s quarters proved too much for him in his weakened state: the closest he had contrived to get was the Academy, and he had only succeeded in terrifying a stranger.
At least he had had the chance to apologise, reflected Rollo, for he was unlike most of his relations in that he derived no pleasure from persecuting human maidens. A nice girl, Miss Muna, though Rollo was beginning to think his trust in her had been misplaced. According to his reckoning, three days had passed in the mortal realm since he had entrusted his message to her, and still no one had come.
Rollo had not been able to dreamwalk again since the night he had spoken to Muna. Perhaps as a precaution, his brother Bartholomew had begun sleeping next to him, and Bartholomew’s dreams were so loud and bloody as to drown out Rollo’s own. All Rollo could do was wait.
He had never been overly fond of the usual draconic pursuits and in the circumstances they lost all their savour. He could not bring himself to harry the unwary imps and spirits who strayed into Threlfall after dusk. At most he might dutifully pick off a unicorn that had wandered away from its herd, but he had not the heart to finish devouring the carcass before his appetite failed him.
If this goes on for much longer, I shall have to have my breeches taken in, he reflected on one such flight, glancing at his haunches. The thought was followed by a dreadful pang, for breeches could only be sported by a human form. In England Rollo wore both breeches and a human form regularly; after so many years he found the human body, with its compact size and convenient thumbs, almost more comfortable than his original draconic form. It was impossible for Rollo to assume the appearance of a mere mortal in Threlfall, however. Who knew when he might wear it—or breeches—again?
He was so engrossed in sorrowful thoughts that he did not even notice the clouds veiling the entrance to Aunt Georgiana’s cavern. Threlfall was a dry country, composed mostly of desert; outside the brief rainy season it was unusual to see clouds in the sky, much less so close to the ground. They were peculiar clouds, too—denser-looking than clouds generally are, and striped with all the vivid hues of sunset: pink and orange and yellow.
It was only when Rollo had entered the cavern and cleaned the blood off his jaws with the scraper provided for the purpose that he realised they had company.
Rollo’s brother Bartholomew sat before the narrow tunnel leading to the chamber that was Damerell’s prison. Two smaller figures, colourfully attired, stood by him.
“There you are, Rollo!” said Bartholomew crossly. They had never been on intimate terms even before Bartholomew assumed the role of Damerell’s gaoler—the eldest of a dragon’s litter traditionally ate its youngest sibling in the egg, and Bartholomew had never forgiven Rollo for hatching before he could be devoured. “Here is a pair of celestial fairies to call upon your bondmate. What does he mean by it? Don’t he know visitors ain’t allowed?”
“Celestial fairies?” said Rollo.
In common with most draconic residences, the Threlfall caverns were ill-lit, for darkness interspersed with only the occasional dramatic shaft of light was considered the best setting for a hoard of gold. Rollo was obliged to stoop closer to the new arrivals so that he could study their features. The visitors remained studiously immobile, but Rollo was less well prepared, and he recoiled.
“Those are never—!” But he swallowed the words just in time.
“One would think you had never seen our kind before,” said the shorter of the two visitors disdainfully. “I am surprised to find such ignorance in Threlfall!”
Rollo only contrived to keep his countenance by a heroic exertion of will when he recognised the Miss Muna whose dream he had entered. The other fairy was Henrietta Stapleton—but a Henrietta Stapleton with hair so fantastically dressed and a person so swathed in layers of embroidered silk as to be wholly transformed.
“Those are never any acquaintances of Damerell’s,” said Rollo, gulping down his astonishment. “I did not think he knew any—any celestial fairies.”
Surely it was evident even to a blockhead like Barty that the girls were mortal! But of course, like most members of the clan, Barty had spent hardly any time outside Fairy. Rollo’s family thought him mad for choosing to reside in Britain. Even Georgiana was accounted eccentric for being fond of visiting the mortal realm.
Acting on instinct, Rollo lowered his head and glared at the visitors in feigned suspicion.
“Come to that,” he said, “how d’you know they are celestial fairies? They look rum ’uns to me.”
“Why, they rode into Threlfall upon clouds,” said Bartholomew. “Did not you see their mounts outside?”
Here was another thing Rollo knew which his brother could not. Prunella Wythe was a proficient in cloud-riding, having been trained in the art by an archimage of the Orient, a friend of Zacharias’s named Mr. Hsiang. She considered it such a useful skill that she instructed all her magiciennes in it.
“Even so, what can they have to do with Poggs?” Rollo demanded. “You never met anyone less celestial.”
“That shows how little you know of it!” said Muna. She jabbed Henrietta in the side.
It had been agreed that Muna would hold her tongue and Henrietta do most of the talking, since Henrietta was better acquainted with Robert of Threlfall. But Henrietta had not said a word since they had arrived. Muna’s worry was beginning to shade into panic.
What Muna did not know, and Prunella had not calculated upon, was that Henrietta did not recognise Rollo, for she had only ever seen him in the guise of a fair-haired young gentleman with better tailoring than brains. The golden dragon looming over her caused her to quake in her shoes—unlikely creations with a vertiginous wooden heel, on which she could hardly keep her balance. These, like the remainder of the ladies’ disguise, were on loan from the cloud-riding master Mr. Hsiang: being a gentleman, he had not thought to supply foot-gear that would enable them to run should they need to beat a hasty retreat.
Fortunately Muna’s nudge recalled Henrietta to herself. She flung back her shoulders, lifting her chin.
“Stand not in our way, Lord Dragon!” she said imperiously. “We bear a message of great importance for the mortal Paget Damerell, as he is named in this life.”
“Eh?” said Bartholomew, directing a look of accusation at his brother.
Those who loved Rollo best owned that he would never win any prizes for wit, but few had seen him in his native habitat. It had required cunning and perseverance for Rollo to escape Threlfall for his peaceful existence in England, undisturbed in the main by his relations or their notion of draconic duties. He drew on these unsuspected reserves now.
“I don’t know that we ought to let these creatures trouble Poggs,” he said with an air of doubt. “He has enough to worry him—and Aunt Georgiana would not like it.
“Of course,” he added, “if I thought callers might do Poggs any good, I should allow it, and hang the consequences! But you will wish to think of your own neck, Barty. You won’t wish to provoke Aunt Georgiana. I don’t know that I wouldn’t do the same in your position.”
Bartholomew rose to the bait, just as Rollo had hoped.
“Oh, Aunt Georgiana don’t worry me,” he said loftily. “What she don’t know won’t hurt her. I have half a mind to let them in. I ha’n’t had any sport since I was set to watch your wretched bondmate. The First Dragon knows some entertainment would not go amiss!”
He turned to the putative fairies. “This message you have got for the mortal, what is it?”
“I am not about to tell you,” said Henrietta, looking down her nose at him—an impressive feat, given how Bartholomew towered over her. “It is a secret, and I was charged to convey it to Paget Damerell and no one else. Even he has no suspicion of what it is!”
“But it is terribly interesting,” added Muna.
Her comment hit its mark. Bartholomew was growing heartily bored of his charge. Damerell passed his time in confinement in reading and writing (“One never has a spare moment for study in London”). He would not be drawn into conversation, saying courteously that he would be remiss to distract Bartholomew from his duties. Nor was Damerell worried by jests about his likely fate on a banqueting table: “If I were not prepared for a future as someone’s dinner, I should not have submitted to being bonded with a dragon. I never believe in crying over spilt milk.”
In short, he had provided far less diversion than Bartholomew felt he had a right to expect. Bartholomew was not about to miss out on any fun to be extracted from the prisoner.
“You may have five minutes,” said Bartholomew. “Mind you speak up when you deliver your message, and you need not think I shall hesitate to snap you up if I do not like what I hear!”
“I wish you would all let poor old Poggs alone!” cried Rollo. He followed the others, lifting his voice in conscientious complaint, while his heart beat fast beneath his ribs.
DAMERELL’S cage was as pleasant as a cage could be which had once contained the decomposing remains of princesses, for he had exerted himself to clean it. He was sitting at his bureau, swearing under his breath, when the party entered. He looked up, taking off his spectacles.
“Ah!” he said. If Henrietta Stapleton’s presence had not given the game away, a glance at Rollo’s countenance would have sufficed. Damerell knew what was afoot at once, but he betrayed it by neither look nor word. “To what do I owe this honour?”
“These fairies have a message for you, they say,” said Bartholomew, adding with irony, “I hope we have not interrupted your work!” He glanced at the papers scattered upon the bureau.
“Not at all,” said Damerell graciously. “I am grateful for the interruption.” He turned to the two women. “I’m afraid to own I have succumbed to writing poetry to while away the hours. I am reconciled to producing poor stuff, but there are some depths to which no gentleman should descend. I was on the verge of rhyming dragon with wagon when you appeared.”
“You are acquainted with these fairies, then?” said Bartholomew.
Damerell’s eyes passed over the women.
“I have not the least idea who these people are,” he said.
Henrietta drew herself up, assuming a magisterial air.
“The hour is arrived,” she boomed, “ye who were once known as Paget Damerell!”
Damerell’s mouth twitched. Rollo quaked at the sight. Poggs had an inconvenient sense of humour and often found amusement in things no one else thought droll. If he should give way to laughter now . . . !
There was no need for Rollo to worry, however. Though he could not know it, Damerell was nearly as nervous as Rollo.
“The use of the past tense is rather worrying!” said Damerell.
“We bear a message from your sworn brother, the Supreme Emperor of the Dark Heavens,” announced Henrietta. She paused.
In truth Henrietta was not altogether reconciled to the message Prunella and Zacharias had concocted with Mr. Hsiang’s assistance; she doubted whether it was right to repeat such paganisms.
It was a view with which Muna had some sympathy, but the two naga breathing down her neck put paid to any reservations she might otherwise have had—it was true that one of them was friendly, but his teeth were just as large as the other’s. Since Henrietta did not speak, Muna interjected:
“What Miss—my mistress means to say is, the Emperor sends his best compliments and he should be obliged if you would return to the heavens directly. You have suffered quite enough to atone for your sins and he begs you will come with us now to the northern skies. There you will be restored to your rightful position among the stars, looking down upon the trivial joys and sorrows of mankind.”
Damerell received this extraordinary message with composure. “I should be honoured to accept your master’s invitation. Permit me a moment to gather up my possessions.”
He looked around his cage, then said, “Here is good news! I have nothing here that I wish to keep. We can be on our way directly.”
“Don’t you want your poetry?” said Muna.
“My dear madam, the opportunity to be free of my poetry is the greatest attraction of your master’s offer,” said Damerell.
“Here,” said Bartholomew sharply, “what’s all this about packing?”
“Your servant’s manners leave much to be desired, sir,” Henrietta told Damerell. She cast a withering look at Bartholomew. “You ought to have him whipped.”
“I am not a servant!” said Bartholomew, but the visitors’ demeanour and grand friends had impressed him. He said, with grudging civility, “You ought to know Damerell is Threlfall’s prisoner, reserved for the Fairy Queen’s delectation. I cannot agree to his leaving on any account.”
Henrietta waved her arm, her vast sleeves lending a magnificent dismissiveness to the gesture. “I am not acquainted with the Fairy Queen, but want shall have to be her master. I suppose you think this gentlemen is a mere mortal!”
“Why, I know he is,” said Bartholomew. “Looks like one. Smells like one.” He looked wistfully at Damerell. “Tastes like one, too, I’d wager!”
“You are fortunate gaming is frowned upon in the northern heavens, for we should certainly profit from your error,” said Henrietta. “This gentleman is not the mere puny Englishman he appears, but the Deity of the Unborn Star, robed for the brief span of a mortal life in human flesh. He was the childhood friend of the Supreme Emperor of the Dark Heavens and erstwhile favourite of that illustrious god, our master.”
This revelation so astonished Damerell that he fell into a fit of coughing. It would not have convinced anyone who was familiar with mortal laughter—Rollo knew it for what it was, and glanced nervously at his brother. But the mortals Bartholomew encountered were rarely in a humour to laugh, and he took no notice.
“Ridiculous!” he sputtered. “Damerell was never a star. Was he?” There was a thread of doubt in Bartholomew’s voice; this was Fairy, after all, where all manner of unlikely things might be true. He turned to Rollo. “It ain’t true, is it?”
“Why,” said Rollo reflectively, “it ain’t uncommon, you know, this sort of thing. Don’t you recall, Barty, how the Fairy Queen used to do the same to her friends and relations? When any of them displeased her, she would take their heart, depriving them of the best part of their magic, and pack them off into exile. She said it learnt ’em manners.”
Muna had fixed a celestial expression upon her face, from which it was beginning to ache. For some reason Rollo’s words made her shiver. A memory came back to her—of being submerged in the depths of the sea, watching the rippling image of the sun through the water . . .
She shook herself. The memory belonged to the serpent she had seen in her vision. There was no reason her heart should tremble in her chest, or her breath come short. Whatever had befallen the serpent had nothing to do with her. Yet she found herself speaking:
“Where did the Queen exile them—these friends and relations?”
“The mortal realm, generally,” said Rollo. “Used to send a horde of them away on the seventh Tuesday of every month.”
“The seventh Tuesday . . . ?” said Henrietta, frowning.
“But why did you never mention this before?” demanded Bartholomew. “It is just like you, Rollo, to let everyone believe you had united yourself with a mortal, when a word of explanation would have saved a world of trouble. When I think of the scandal you caused—the family conferences—the aunts’ complaints—your want of consideration makes me sick!”
Two puffs of smoke rose from his nostrils. Henrietta and Muna edged away from him.
Alarmed, Rollo stammered, “Well, I can’t say I knew, as such. I just meant that it don’t seem unlikely.”
But this only served to aggravate his brother further. “Do you mean to tell me you did not know your own bondmate was a constellation cast down to earth?”
Here Muna intervened, much to Rollo’s relief.
“Really, sir, I am surprised at you,” she said to Bartholomew. “The Deity of the Unborn Star was ignorant of his true nature—and if he knew nothing, how were his friends to have any idea of it? No one remembers their past lives. Our master took particular care to ensure that Mr. Damerell should be no exception. His mortal existence would have been no punishment if he could recall his former glories.”
“I should have thought it would make the punishment all the worse,” said Bartholomew. “I mean to say, I would feel it all the more if I were kicked out of Threlfall and knew it.”
“But it is clear you, sir, are a being of keen sentiments and refined nature,” said Henrietta. “Mr. Damerell was quite different. He was entirely reprobate. It was felt if he could look back upon his noble past, he would not feel his degradation as he ought.”
“There is something in that,” Bartholomew allowed. “But why was he degraded? I mean to say, what crime did he commit?”
Rollo saw Henrietta exchange a panicked look with Muna; it was clear they had never got so far as to invent a crime for Damerell to have committed. Before he could grow too anxious, however, Muna said:
“My mistress is loath to pollute the air of Threlfall with the name of his crime. I am afraid to say, sir, that Mr. Damerell was”—her voice dropped—“an inveterate gambler!”
Bartholomew nodded with a worldly-wise air. “Ah, the usual story! Gambled his way to ruin—lost all he had, I suppose?”
“On the contrary,” said Damerell, “I begin to remember all. I won with such regularity that it impoverished all my acquaintance, and it was necessary to teach me a lesson. I am now chastened and regret being so unfeeling.” He bowed to Henrietta and Muna. “Shall we return so that I may tender a suitably grovelling apology to my old friends?”
“But you can’t go,” objected Bartholomew. “I said.”
“You don’t mean to say you are willing to affront the Imperial Lord—the Dark and Mysterious Sovereign of the Upper Heavens?” cried Henrietta.
Fairies were invariably snobbish and Rollo’s family was no exception, but even these grand titles did not move Bartholomew. “That is just what I do mean,” he said. “Either it is he or my aunt who is to be incensed, and I should much rather vex your Imperial Lord than my aunt Georgiana. And if you met my aunt, you would know the reason why! Do not you agree it is much the safest course, Rollo?”
He turned to his brother. As he gestured, it exposed the tender spot just below his foreleg.
Out of the corner of his eye Rollo saw Muna nudge Henrietta. But Henrietta was already drawing from beneath her voluminous robes an elegant filigree hairpin, inlaid with kingfisher feathers. She stepped forward and stabbed it into the soft flesh under Bartholomew’s leg.
“Ow!” cried Bartholomew.
Muna seized Henrietta’s arm, dragging her out of the way as the dragon whirled around, opening his jaw.
“We’ll have none of that!” said Rollo. He caught his brother’s jaw between his teeth, but they had scarcely begun to struggle together when Bartholomew staggered. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. For an endless moment he stood, swaying. Then, with all the ponderous majesty of an ancient tree being felled, he crashed into the dust.
Muna and Henrietta leapt away just in time. They huddled against the cave wall, panting.
“You ha’n’t killed him?” said Rollo, awed.
Henrietta smoothed down her dress with shaking hands.
“Oh no!” she said. “That is to say, I hope not! We enchanted the hairpin, but it is only a sleeping charm. We used to sing it over the infants at Mrs. Daubeney’s school. Mr. Wythe said it ought to work even upon grown dragons if we put some of Fairy’s magic in it, since it is such stronger stuff than the atmospheric magic we have in England.”
“Quite right,” said Damerell from his cage. “That is why Rollo and I sought Mrs. Wythe’s assistance. Mortal magicians are more powerful in Fairy than they realise, since they are so accustomed to making the most of thinner magic. The least breath of air in Fairy contains a stronger draught of magic than many thaumaturges will ever taste.
“It was an ingenious idea to employ one of your quaint schoolgirl charms, Miss Stapleton,” he added, bowing to Henrietta. “No fairy would have expected that.”
“Had not we better get you out of that cage, sir?” said Muna. “Surely we should get away as soon as we can.” She glanced at Bartholomew’s slumbering bulk.
“I am entirely of your mind, madam,” said Damerell. “But first . . . Miss Stapleton, if you would allow me to examine your weapon?”
Henrietta gave him the hairpin. He brought it up to his eyes, saying to Muna, “We have not been introduced, but Rollo mentioned you. We are very much obliged to you for passing our message to Mrs. Wythe. I must say I had not realised that the fame of our Academy had spread so far abroad as to draw our foreign colleagues to us.”
“The Sorceress Royal is the friend of my mistress, Mak Genggang,” explained Muna.
“Indeed! I recollect the lady. A witch of considerable parts. Now, this is a fine piece,” he said, admiring the hairpin. “And the charm is ingenious. Inducing sleep is not its only effect, I think?”
“Prunella altered it a little,” said Henrietta. “She added an alexiteric to counteract the effects of any Fairy magic. Even if the dragon were to wake prematurely, he would find his magic inhibited for a time.”
“Very clever,” said Damerell. “The charm is not wholly exhausted, I think. What do you think, Rollo?”
Rollo lowered his head to the cage to study the hairpin. He saw Damerell’s hand dart out between the bars, but he did not realise what it intended until he felt the pricking in his neck. He looked down, catching just a glimpse of the light gleaming off the silver pin embedded in his scales.
“Poggs!” he cried, but his tongue would not shape the words of reproach that sprang to it. Damerell’s face dissolved into vagueness as insensibility drew Rollo into its embrace.
“OH, Mr. Damerell!” exclaimed Henrietta. She sounded as shocked as Muna felt.
Muna had planned to remain only till she had seen Mr. Damerell out of his cage; then she had meant to create a distraction and slip away. But she forgot her plan at the sorry sight of Rollo sinking to the ground. She leapt forward, drawing the hairpin out of Rollo’s flesh, but it was too late. The naga stirred and whimpered but did not wake.
“How could you?” said Muna. She tucked the hairpin away in her robes, out of Damerell’s reach.
But Damerell ignored her. “I beg you will take a step back. Two yards’ distance should suffice.”
To the women’s astonishment, one side of the cage fell over at his touch. Damerell stepped out, as composed as though he were alighting from a hackney coach outside the Theurgist’s Club.
“The air of liberty,” he remarked. “All the sweeter for not being perfumed by the effluvium of princesses past!”
“Could you do that all along?” demanded Muna.
Damerell inclined his head. “It is an old cage, and the Threlfalls did not account for the operation of blood upon metal. Several of the bars have nearly rusted away. But if I had broken free before, I should not have enjoyed my liberty for long before Bartholomew devoured me.
“You need not feel sorry for Rollo, my dear girls,” he added. “When he wakes he will agree that I only did what was necessary. His aunt stopped up his magic, you see, and unfortunately the nature of our contract meant that in consequence my magic, too, was bound. Mrs. Wythe’s alexiteric will neutralize the fetters Rollo’s aunt placed upon him, which should mean that I shall regain access to my own magic.”
“But won’t it cancel out your magic too?” said Muna, far from reconciled. It did seem hard on Rollo that he should have gone to such lengths to arrange Damerell’s rescue, only to be downed ignominiously by the very man he sought to liberate.
“I think it will not,” said Damerell. “I am still—mostly—mortal. I do not owe all my magic to Fairy.” He rolled his shoulders and shook out his sleeves, breathing deeply. “I believe it has worked. I feel myself grow stronger already.”
“Still, I don’t see that there was any need to knock out poor Mr. Threlfall,” Muna protested. “We could have supplied all the magic we needed.”
“We are in the heart of Threlfall, madam,” said Damerell. “We shall need all the magic we can get.”
His tone was gentle, but it silenced Muna.
“But how are we to bring Mr. Threlfall away?” said Henrietta, gazing at Rollo in consternation. “I know he only wished us to free you, but we cannot leave him here!”
“No, indeed,” said Damerell. He considered his fallen bondmate. “But it is true he is rather unwieldy as he is now.” He placed his hand on the naga’s head, muttering a formula under his breath.
Under the effect of the spell, Rollo changed. He lost his golden sheen, his scales sinking into his flesh and his hindquarters retracting into his person. By degrees he transformed into a young man—slight, blond and, since of course dragons did not generally wear anything but a ferocious expression, quite improper for a lady to look upon.
Henrietta and Muna sprang back with a shriek, covering their eyes. Damerell hoisted Rollo up and slung him over his shoulder.
“I beg you will not mention that you saw Rollo en déshabillé,” said Damerell. “Poor fellow, he would be so abashed! We must hope it will not occur to him to wonder what happened after I struck him down. Come along.”
But the words had scarcely left his lips when an enormous voice like a foghorn blared out, making Muna jump.
“Good morrow, Bartholomew!” cried the voice. “Is Rollo out a-flying?”
Henrietta and Damerell blanched, exchanging looks of dismay.
“Who is that?” said Muna, for recognition was patent on both English magicians’ faces.
“Mr. Threlfall’s aunt, Georgiana Without Ruth!” whispered Henrietta. “Oh, sir, what shall we do?”
“She was not supposed to return till the evening,” said Damerell, vexed. “Damn! It is a judgment upon me. I was a fool to believe I had any hope of preserving this coat!”