I sighed. What now? I was in the reception area outside my office. It was still dark and Osyani had come in early so I could make last minute arrangements before leaving. By habit I gazed out the window to the gas-lamp-lit street below. Hanging outside the millinery shop was a sign in red lettering declaring ‘HATS 20 PERCENT OFF.’ I had an agreement with a number of neighborhood hang-abouts; if they were to spot any suspicious characters within sight of my building, they were to flip the millinery sign from ‘HAT SALE TODAY’ in blue letters to ‘HATS 20 PERCENT OFF’ in red lettering.
“Something appears to be amiss,” I spoke while quickly scanning the rooftops and street below before moving safely from view. “I am not sure what, but I will be taking the back way out.”
Osyani had been filled in on my two current cases and we were going over a code to be used when communicating by crystal balls. Lorenzo suggested the ploy, now that such correspondences could be compromised.
“I would tell you to be careful,” said Osyani with a sigh, “but you have never listened in the past. I love Uncle Lorenzo dearly, but he does little to avoid danger. This time, though, you should at least be safer in the hands of Morgana. At least one of you will have common sense.”
“I believe my quick wit and well-honed skills as a private inquisitor have always proven me a match for villains,” I replied in mock defense. I smiled and shook my head. “You are right, though. Lorenzo be never content unless in the center of some maelstrom.”
“I will tell you anyway, be careful,” she laughed and gave me a parting hug.
Picking up my pack, I entered my inner office and paused at the narrow back window. It overlooked a trash and weed-filled abandoned courtyard, though at the moment it was shrouded in darkness. The wall encircling the courtyard was eight feet high and topped with broken glass.
With the removal of a few pins, the iron bars covering the window swung out as if made for the task, which they were. You never know when a hooligan, bill collector or irate lout might be waiting at the front door.
Sliding down a drainpipe and making my way to the wall, I pressed a section of stones that easily slid way to reveal an exit big enough to squirm through.
The alley be a lookalike of most back passageways in this old part of Duburoake. The perpetual dampness of the narrow alley has moss, tiny ferns and blossoming vines coating the old buildings to where little of the brick and stone can be seen. Darting about the foliage are glittering hummingbirds supping on both the nectar and insects. A jumble of rubbish be strewn along the alleyway – including a wheelless, decaying carriage body surrounded by pigweed growing up through the cobblestone.
The promise of coming dawn light was now revealing itself. Maybe it be not the most prudent action to take when attempting to flee unobserved, but curiosity drove me first to creep toward the front street with the aim of discovering what or who caused the shop warning. I was nearing the end of the alley when I spied three figures standing silently outside the back doorway of a rather disreputable hockshop. I quickly dropped behind a pile of broken crates.
Before they moved back into to the shadowed recess of the doorway, I identified the one wearing a purple peaked hat as a Ghennison Viper Mage. The other two were hooded ruffians grimly clutching bludgeons.
Damn those wizards. Ghennison Viper Mages are known for their arrogance, evil tempers and as loathsome students of the black arts. This be an unfortunate combination of personality traits and talents for those coming under the scrutiny of the notorious necromancers. Of all the necromancers, they prove to be the most spiteful. They harbor no love for me and seem unable to let go a grudge. That could be attributed to a number of mage casualties resulting from their attempts to violently interfere with past cases.
I was about to cautiously retreat when an unfamiliar beggar came limping around the corner. Such unfortunates come and go, either leaving for more generous quarters or succumbing to pestilences or infirmities. Greasy, knotted hair covered most of his grimy face. Leaning heavily upon a staff and clutching a gin flagon, the ragged figure weaved unsteadily on a course that would take him past the treacherous trio.
I grimaced and held my breath. Such thugs as those with the wizard boasted a repute of gleeful sadism, only exceeded by their monstrous masters. Please, I silently prayed to Saint Pysur, the patron saint of degenerate wastrels, let the poor sot pass safely. This was not to be. The beggar paused in front of the recess and cocked his head upon spying the ambushers.
“Hey, what be here? What nonsense be this?” croaked the derelict.
“Be gone,” hissed one of the thugs.
The beggar was oblivious to the peril he faced. “Yah got a copper for a poor soul who has fallen upon hard times?”
“Fool, move on, or I will shove that staff up your arse.”
“What? Because yah be some wizard’s witless lackey, yah think yah can threaten me as if I be the putrid black bile oozing from beneath your hoof-like toenails, or the fetid green and yellow scum coating your cracked cow teeth?”
There was a moment of shocked silence before the oaf responded with a simple, “Well, ah, yes.”
I was torn between somehow aiding the dimwitted beggar or creeping away from the about-to-be sheise storm. I fingered one of the slender dirk handles in my right boot. A best played-out scenario had one of the two louts falling quickly to a well-thrown dagger and then... That was it. It was unlikely the second hired blade would be so easily taken – and that was even if the mage were not present. Any scenario including a Ghennison Viper Mage could only end badly. By badly, I mean being reduced to an oily smoking bit of charred rag and bone. A wizard worth his damned soul would never not be sheathed in blade repelling charms.
Still, I knew a cowardly avoidance of this dark alley performance would haunt my slumber. Why me? I slid the knife from my boot and stood just as one of the two mage’s mountainous minions stepped into the alley and roughly grabbed for the beggar’s staff. Before I could blink, the beggar dodged and, twirling his staff until it was but a blur, dropped the miscreant in mid-step. The spinning walking stick led the beggar into the shadowed recess and the second oaf with a startled grunt toppled into the alley.
What a showoff, I thought as I slid the blade back into my boot.
An infuriated wizard’s curse is painful to hear. It was followed by a searing bolt of purple lightening that burst against the shabby figure, only to rebound to the wizard who stood illuminated with hands outstretched but for a moment before disappearing.
“Yuck,” the supposed beggar exclaimed as I approached.
He was gazing down upon a thrashing muck maggot. “It takes a real twisted bastard to want to turn a fellow human being into such a slimy and disgusting creature.”
“Do not be so hard on your mother. I am sure she had no way of knowing,” I replied. “Speaking of slimy and disgusting creatures, I like your new look. It be quite the improvement. May I inquire why you be so garbed and wandering down my back alley?”
“I often go incognito to avoid the mobs of adoring fans,” Lorenzo replied.
“I was not aware there were that many ghouls in town,” I spoke while nearing the end of the alley.
“You don’t want to go that way,” Lorenzo warned.
“A mob of adoring fans?”
“Only if you list Ghennison Viper Mages as admirers. Stakeouts were posted on both ends of the alley, as well as one down the street from your building’s entrance.”
“I guess that leaves only one other way,” I sighed.
Minutes later we were making our way through the ancient storm sewers underlying the older sections of Duburoake. The dank, brick-arched waterways were once open flowing streams and are the only monumental works left by the alien race that eons ago inhabited the coast. Much of Duburoake’s older quarters were built with stones from the ruins of the ancient metropolis.
Duburoake’s residents speak uneasily of these subterranean waterways, with tales of gibbering creatures crawling from the sewers at night to snatch unleashed pets or even errant children. As an errant child once myself, I had found the underground labyrinths convenient ways to escape annoyed guardsmen.
Lorenzo produced from his seemingly bottomless pouch two of his “not magical” torches he calls flashlights.
“Just how do you always seem to have an item to fit every occasion in such a small belt pouch?” I asked. “Be it a magical gift from Morganna?”
“Actually, I got it from another world line – one where the laws of its quantum physics allow this pouch to be a portal into a sixth dimensional wall locker. The String Theory is somehow also involved, though I’m not scheduled to take those studies until next fall.”
I looked blankly at my friend. “You mean magic.”
He sighed. “You might say that. As Arthur C. Clarke once said, ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’”
We made our way along a narrow ledge running only inches above the flowing water. As a child, I had often followed the buried waterways to the bay.
Lorenzo did not comment on our bearing – in that it was not taking us directly toward the dragonport. If the mage ensnarements were related to the case given me by Mistress Kahlan, it meant the wizards were aware of my involvement. Knowing that much, they might also know of my flight reservation for Kaiserhelm, so I was taking an indirect route to the dragonport. The two stunned oafs in the alley would soon tell of the attack. From then it was only a matter of time for the wizards to deduce our escape route.
“I take it you are also going to Kaiserhelm?” I said as we reached the halfway point to where we would exit the sewers.
“Yes, I was getting a bit of cabin fever.”
I did not bother to turn the torch on Lorenzo to check for ague or yellowed eyes and trembling limbs. I was used by now to his odd phrases.
“If you’re wondering,” he continued, “I have a change of clothing in a locker at the dragonport.”
When Lorenzo was not in disguise, he stood out even in a city bustling with many races and hominoids. It was not just his preferred garb of faded blue breeches and colorful tunics sporting palm trees, long-legged pink birds and nubile females in grass kilts. There be nothing exceptional in his visage, but there be a shrewdness behind his brown eyes that belies his casual demeanor. He stands a lanky six-foot and his black hair, with traces of gray, reaches his shoulders.
Before finding that my friend was from a different world, I had tried guessing his origins through his facial features. His narrow nose could be Gevonish, but the brow and cleft chin were more that of the Brisbon sea folk. His cheekbones suggested Elfin blood. I hadn’t even tried to place such barbaric names as Lorenzo or Spasm.
Many a time I puzzled about my friend, but usually when we were together there was little time for idle conversation. I took the current opportunity to satisfy my curiosity.
“Lorenzo.”
“Yes.”
“Just what do you do? I mean, besides involving yourself in such matters as we now face. You know – like how do you afford the number of what you call safe houses scattered about the kingdom, your informants, your many disguises and array of forged identity papers – or even simple things like meals and dragon flights? You seem never to lack for coin.”
“Magic mushrooms.”
“What?”
“Magic mushrooms.”
I wracked my brain. “What? That sacrament used by the Second Unreformed Temple of the Devine Cosmic Wisdom of Inner Consciousness?”
“Yup. That’s it. I have a monopoly since shrooms only grow in my world.”
“Wait,” I protested. “I thought there was no magic in your world. That be why spells have no effect upon you.”
“There’re exceptions to everything,” he lightly replied.
“So, if they only grow in your world,” I asked with some suspicion, “how did they come to be part of the temple’s worship services?”
“Marketing.”
I switched topics when he did not elaborate further. “So why do you spend so much time in my world? Have you no family at home?”
He stopped and sighed. “You said it. There’s no magic in my world. And its natural wonders are quickly being destroyed by greed and shortsightedness. While I’m not saying more laws and rules aren’t needed to prevent further damage, your world offers a kind of freedom long disappeared from my own. Too often, freedom where I’m from only means being able to continue poisoning or harming each other and nature.”
I contemplated that for a while as we followed the meandering tunnels. Our echoing footsteps added to the faint dripping from the low arched ceiling.
“What about family? Have you none?”
“Oh, I connect with cousins and such during my return visits, though I do have a brother who actually resides in Glavendale.”
That admission, causally given, stopped me in my tracks. “What? You have a brother here? You never told me – and do not say because I never asked.”
Lorenzo shrugged his shoulders. “Guess it never came up.”
“Do not tell me. Your brother be an evil twin, so you no longer claim him as kin?”
“No. He’s somewhat of a hermit and prefers a quiet life.”
“Why here if not for the excitement?”
“Cost of living. It’s cheaper to live here. For just a few gold coins a month, you can have a servant or two and a modest mansion. The healthcare system sucks, but we can zip back to our world if the need arises.”
“Be it that easy to cross worlds?”
“There are weak spots in the space/time continuum’s fabric. If you know how to visualize such foci, it’s possible to edge your way through.”
“I would like to meet him,” I announced.
“Who?”
“Who do you think? Your brother.”
“As I said, he lives a quiet life. He worries notoriety might follow my visits.”
I shined my light up and down his tattered garb. “I would assume you could visit him in disguise.”
“There is always that. I have visited under the guise of a traveling broom salesperson. You and I both visiting might draw attention, thanks to the publicity Sergey has accorded us in The Weekly Tattler. Still, we could go as an itinerate musician with his trained dancing monkey.”
“You are too tall to be a monkey,” I observed. “How about a great ape? Hmm. That might not work as some apes are pretty intelligent.”
“Actually, I pictured you as the monkey since less makeup would be needed.”
“What brings the likes of you bigguns to the sewers?” a squeaky voice emerged from a dark side tunnel.
Stepping into the light was a large rat walking upright and wearing a leather harness from which hung a sharp sliver of steel. Past cases brought me into contact with several tribes of sentient rodents. Being here, the creature before us had to be a Downtown Tunnel Rat.
“Sewers? We must have taken a wrong turn. I thought we were in the baron’s wine cellar,” I answered.
“Very droll, yah are. Hee-hee. What are yah doing here?”
“We are...”
“I know who yah are. Spasm and his sidekick ferret.”
“That be private inquisitor and Lorenzo be the sidekick.” I turned to catch my friend winking conspiratorially at the rat from over my shoulder.
“We are taking a scenic route...”
“Bullturds,” the rat again interrupted. “So, yah like to dally about while there be hordes of bigguns swarmin’ the tunnels lookin’ for yah? Humph.”
“What?”
“Yah deaf as well as dumb? Yah stirred up a hornet’s nest and they be buzzin’ about with plenty of stingers. The pointy-hats are blastin’ anything movin’. They been heard speaking your names so me chief sent packs out to find yah. Seems your aidin’ us in the past has placed a charge upon us. Any who find yah are to see yah to safety.”
Damn. I had hoped to slip out of Duburoake unnoticed.
“Too bad I didn’t bring along the monkey suit,” Lorenzo said.
“What?” the rat asked in puzzlement.
“Ignore him,” I answered. “He prattles nonsense. And thanks, but how will you know which tunnels are safe?”
“Scouts. They be trained to sniff out food upside amongst you bigguns. They now skittin’ about, makin’ a ruckus just out of sight of the bigguns, leadin’ them off to the Abyss.”
“Abyss?”
“A lightless hole. Our Speakers of the Past say it be bottomless and dug by the Ancient Ones. Some stories say it be a gateway to Hades. You bigguns boarded it over centuries ago, but now forgotten, the timbers rot. For a heavy biggun to cross the planks invites an unforeseen answering of just how deep be the Abyss.”
That would be a brief journey of discovery for the thugs accompanying the mages. As for the wizards, they might be able to call upon a levitation spell in time.
“Lay on McDuff,” Lorenzo spoke.
“Huh?”
“Just ignore his prattle,” I again advised the rat. “Please show us the way. I do not want to miss my flight.”
The Downtown Tunnel Rat, who had yet to offer his name, returned to the side tunnel with us following closely on his tiny heels. We had gone but ten or fifteen minutes when a second rat appeared before us.
“Turn about,” she squeaked to our guide. “Bigguns ahead.”
The rat ran past us and we quickly turned to follow. Other scouts came and went as they guided us through the watery labyrinth now swarming with Ghennison Viper Mages and their hired blades.
We were stopped for a breather when our guide informed us, “There be no way to continue that does not takes us past the Abyss. We must skirt close to it for you to find your way to the dragonport.”
It took a moment for his statement to sink in. “What, you plan to lead us past some well to hell, the same one the mages are being lured to?”
“There be no other way. Never have our darkways seen such a horde of bigguns. They are as fleas and causing panic among our nests.”
“We will make it up to you,” Lorenzo tried mollifying the rat, “and this will be over soon. The mages and their minions could not care less about this underground realm. Things will be back to normal as soon as Jak and I reach the surface.”
“That be the meat of the nut. All this havoc be laid at your feet,” the rat replied. “It will take much of what you call making it up.”
Lorenzo continued, “I know of a bakery that often has stale, unsold bread. I can see to it that it’s dumped down whatever grate your tribe prefers.”
“This be all well and wonderful,” I interrupted, “but while you two discuss unloading moldy bread, the mages are likely tightening the noose.”
The rat shrugged and again turned silently to continue our trek.
“I’ll hazard a guess that this elder race was a quirky bunch,” Lorenzo offered several minutes later, while slowing to observe one of the many reliefs carved into the brick walls.
“Why do you think they could be quirky?” I asked as I played my own light over the relief. “Just because most of the carvings depict a variety of unknown creatures torturing or having cross-species sex with each other? Hmmm. I wonder which are the Ancient Ones?”
“I vote for the skinny insectoids. They appear to be the more fun loving of the bunch,” Lorenzo offered.
I slowed to observe the mantis-like creature snipping the head off what resembled a minotaur. “That makes me worry what you do for fun when I am not around. No, I believe them to be the ones that look like satyrs. They...”
“Are you wanting to keep unpunctured skins or to be art historians?” our guide huffed. “Keep watchful. We near the Abyss.”
It was no hardship to turn my torch from those unsettling images and I hurried to catch up with the rat. We had long since been traversing passages never explored in my youth. We ultimately ascended a small flight of steps to emerge into a dome-roofed hall.
Lorenzo’s non-magical torch revealed the chamber to be about eighty-feet wide. A number of tunnel entrances circled the hall like the spoke holes of a wheel. I stomped my foot and was relieved to find it solid stone. Eons of dust and grime hid what was solid footing and that of moldering planks. A fetid odor hung in the air and made me catch my breath.
“Which way now?” I asked. “This place gives me...”
“Quiet,” hissed our guide.
He took the frozen pose of a startled hare, only one that also gripped the hilt of a sharpened sliver of steel.
The only sound besides my own breathing was the echoing plunk-plunk of water dripping from the slime-covered ceiling. I caught my breath and cocked my head. Yes. It was not some ear ringing but the faint sound of human voices. The rat’s sharper hearing allowed him to identify the source of the interlopers. He pointed to an entryway that would be eleven o’clock if we were the six on one of Olmsted’s newly acquired timepieces.
“This way,” the rat ordered and we followed – to then halt at what would be five o’clock on the imaginary chronometer.
We stood at the exact opposite side of the chamber with the supposed well to hell between us and what most likely were mages and minions. I took several cautious backsteps to slip behind my friend.
“What? You’re afraid of a couple spells?” he laughed.
“There be that, but I had been thinking more of thrown knives.”
We did not have to wait long. A Ghennison Viper Mage and a pair of ruffians emerged in the wake of a luminary floating above their heads. The bluish light gave the necromancer’s flesh an even more corpse-like hue. They paused to gaze about the chamber and their heads almost comically snapped back in unison when spying us.
“There they be,” shouted one of the oafs. His partner quickly followed in drawing his sword.
The mage spat a non-magical curse and shoved past the two. He grimaced and threw up a hand to shade his eyes as Lorenzo and I aimed our torch beams upon him. He uttered a curse, this time magical, along with a fling of the hand. It seems even objects from Lorenzo’s world are immune to spells as our torches sputtered not, while the rebounding spell extinguished the wizard’s light.
A new glowing sphere soon hovered above the opposing trio. The mage paused to consider the occurrence and inspect his adversaries before muttering to his minions. That he followed up with no further spells meant he had guessed facing him was the rumored outworlder – the one said to be impervious to wards and spells. He mumbled again to his lackeys. They responded by throwing back their shoulders and advancing across the chamber. Lorenzo and I responded by drawing our own blades.
The thugs confidently strode forward. Halfway across the chamber floor they grimaced upon hearing the sound of rotting wood crumbling beneath their feet, and to quickly plunge from sight. Frantic screams faded until once again only the echoes of dripping of water broke the chamber’s stillness.
Though expected, I was still startled by the abruptness of their departure. The mage also appeared shaken. It seemed a standoff. The wizard could circle the chamber and get close enough to circumvent Lorenzo’s blocking any magical attacks on me or the rat. If the strange torches were impervious to spells, the mage must be wondering if the same applied to Lorenzo’s steel blade. Was the stranger’s weapon also immune to protective wards? I knew the answer. It was not. He had gotten this particular sword at a Rum Island bazaar in the Amnesian Isles – not his home world.
There was also the fact that even if my friend was immune to magical forces, the domed ceiling was not. He could die just as easily as me from a ton of falling bricks. I forced myself not to look upwards. The Ancient Ones were masterful builders as demonstrated by the flowing arches of bricks meeting at the center of the dome. Blasting a hole above our heads might destabilize the entire inverted bowl of masonry. I said as much to Lorenzo.
“That’s a thought,” he replied, as if such an occurrence would be welcomed.
“Where to now?” I spoke softly to our guide. “We need to get out of here before the mage figures out a new line of attack.”
“We go there,” the rat asserted while motioning to a tunnel at three o’clock.
“What? That close to the mage?” I yelped,
My question was made mute by the arrival of two other mages and their minions exiting from tunnels at one and seven o’clock. Our guide did not wait for further discussion and burst off to the proposed escape tunnel. The mage and his two thugs at the one o’clock opening stopped to get their bearings. Upon seeing the three of us appearing to be charging at them, the hired blades raised their swords and the mage lifted his gnarled, clawish hands in a curse-hurling stance. A shout from the initial mage warned his cohort of the danger Lorenzo posed. This allowed us time to safely enter the new tunnel.
I ran past Lorenzo, who stopped and was rummaging through his pouch. I spun and while backpedaling, shouted at my friend, “What are you doing? There will soon be three mages on our heels.”
“Just a sec,” he replied and pulled out a grayish lump, another of his “non-magical” items I have seen him use in the past. He called it C-4.
I slowed to watch Lorenzo exit the tunnel. He paused long enough to stand upon his toes and stretch his arms out of sight above his head. This done, he sprinted back into the tunnel.
“Run. It’s a short timer,” he shouted, though by this time I was already frantically trying to distance myself from his latest unnerving gambit. I had experienced his use of the seemingly innocuous bits of clay on several occasions and was pressing the heels of my hands to my ears as I ran.
Lorenzo unceremoniously swept up the rat as we flew past him. There are times I do not know whether to curse or thank the otherworlder. Yes, I am grateful for the times he has almost miraculously extricated us from perilous plights. Still, do they have to be so dramatic and painful? Even with my ears covered and a good thirty yards from the thunder putty, I was slammed off my feet with ears ringing. I threw out my hands and tumbled heels-over-head.
I was forced to squeeze close my eyes and press nose and mouth into the crook of my arm as a shower of debris and billowing dust followed the earsplitting roar of the angry outburst.
“Was that entirely necessary?” I mumbled between coughs. “Have you nothing more docile in your bag of tricks?”
“Hmm,” he answered hoarsely as he picked himself up. “I guess I could have used a lighter charge.”
“It appears our guide has had enough,” I observed as the patter of the rat’s feet over the ringing in my ears dwindled down the dark tunnel.
After standing and dusting myself off, I turned to follow the rat’s departure. I was eager to escape the choking cloud of dust. Lorenzo played his torchlight through eye-watering haze to regard the rubble blocking the tunnel’s entrance to the chamber.
“Hmm. That should take care of them for a while, even if they managed to pop back in their tunnels in time,” Lorenzo commented, obviously pleased with himself.
“Let us hope that rain of brick does not stir up what be down the pit,” I said. “Old legends and tales always have a demonic beast lying in wait at the bottom of such pits, just waiting to stuff some wayward explorer into their slavering maw.”
“There’s always that possibility, but it would have to dig through a hell of a lot of dirt and brick. If I’m not mistaken, with the support of the ceiling gone, there could be one hell of a sinkhole somewhere above.”
“Great,” I replied. “Remind me to leave town when this is done. I do not want to be around to explain why a giant hole ate half a block of shops, only to be followed by an irate fiend from the deepest pit of hell erupting from the crater.”
“Hey, no problemo. We’re catching the last leg of a redeye to Kaiserhelm.”
“True, but we have to return sometime. Speaking of which, we need to make haste if we are to make the flight on time.”
Lorenzo retrieved a small circular object from a pocket that I first took for a snuff case, but then saw the top was glass with a small needle wobbling about. I had seen a similar device, though larger, in Olmsted’s study. My brother called it a compass.
“This way. The game is afoot,” Lorenzo cried and set off down passageway.
It was either dumb luck or the cave-in that was responsible for no further interactions with the mages. Either way, we safely made it to stone steps leading up to a rusty grate, that in turn overlooked a canal. Once on a cobblestone lane, I dropped and sat upon my canvas pack.
“Don’t poop out on me now,” Lorenzo said as he surveyed our surroundings.
“I am not ‘pooping out.’ After this morning’s trials and tribulations, I believe I merit a short rest. We are but a mile from the dragonport and by the rising sun, we have at least two hours before departure. We can make it on time.”
“Sure, if we aren’t further delayed.”
I looked closely at Lorenzo. “Do you know something I do not?”
“Sure, but we don’t have time to go down the list.”
“Lorenzo...” I firmly spoke.
“Okay, a source told me yesterday that a wackyweed cartel has been hired by some anonymous group to see that your investigation into the stolen pixie gold comes to an abrupt end.”
“You be jesting, right”
When Lorenzo did not answer, I continued, “Wackyweed cartel? Is there still one? The king legalized the herb last year. I do not understand.”
“You said it. The smoke is now legal, meaning that cartel members no longer have a steady income. It’s forced them to look about for other endeavors and their flair for bloody mayhem does not lend itself well to organic farming or designer dog breeding. They aspire to fill the vacated niche following the annihilation of the Glavendale Assassins Guild.”
I groaned in resignation and rose to my feet. “There are several wackyweed smugglers I know who patronize the King’s Wart’s Inn. Maybe I can buy off the cartel. That would not have worked with guild assassins, but these would be non-professionals.”
We walked in wary silence until coming to the edge of town and the Duburoake International Dragonport. With dragon flights fairly new, the dragonport be but several years old. Many of the flights cross the Megaoulas Mountains to Stagsford, the capital of Glavendale. Their passengers are mostly wealthy merchants and royal officials. The flights are still too expensive for common pilgrims and holidayers. Those on more limited budgets still take the week-long trek through the mountains by caravans, which gather in Kaiserhelm.
The dragonport’s painted dome ceiling was decorated with fluffy clouds against a dark blue sky, as well as several dragons depicted as circling for landings. Pink quartz pillars as large as ancient oaks supported the center dome. The floor’s green quartz glimmered in the glow of the witchlights set in pink seashells dotting the walls.
People were coming and going in a rush, much like Duburoake’s sea harbor. Only this gleaming port did not reek of fish and unwashed sailors. If there was more time, I would have steeled myself for the flight by visiting the dragonport’s bar, even though the drinks were five times the coin as those of the Kings Wart Inn.
Lorenzo returned in his usual garb after disappearing for ten or fifteen minutes – just in time to arrive at a heavy iron gate and begin the boarding process of presenting flight vouchers and identification papers to guards of the Royal Glavendale Motherland Security Service.
“Ah, Jak Barley and Lorenzo Spasm. Yah’re almost missing the flight. Yah be the last ones. Wait until I tell the missus who I seen today,” the plump security guard exclaimed with a large grin. “Goin’ off on some dangerous state of affairs, are yah? I often think I shouldah gotten meself into another branch, somethin’ more excitin’ than looking at tickets all day.”
“Of course, that fella Sergey with the Tattler embroiders them stories a bit, I expect,” he continued. “I mean, all that kidnapping by dragons, battling demons and fighting off hordes of evil wizards – that be a lot of storytelling, right?”
I was more surprised by the guard’s friendly prattle then if he had ordered a strip search. My experiences with dragonport security have usually proven not this congenial.
“Well, as a matter of fact we are being chased by a horde of enraged mages and their thuggish minions – and maybe even a mob of assassins,” I whispered to him in a conspiratorial voice. “So, you might want to call in backup or else make yourself scarce after you pass us through.”
That brought a hearty laugh from the guard and, after handing back our parchment work, he thrust a heavy iron key into the lock and pushed open the gate.
“Have a good flight,” he wished us through the closing bars.
“Ah, you best run for it. Here come the mages,” I warned while looking over his shoulder. Coming in the dragonport entrance were several disheveled looking Ghennison Viper Mages, minus the hired blades.
Lorenzo grabbed my sleeve and yanked me into motion. I looked back as we ran and observed the unaware guard still laughing as the wizards came rushing to the gate.
After several messy incidences with rogue necromancers, royal government facilities were pushed to install safeguards against magical assaults. The dragonport gate would be warded, but the spell designers could hardly have foreseen the need for magical fortifications that could survive an onslaught from three powerful and very rankled wizards. I only hoped the wards held them back long enough for our departure.
We exited the dragonport into bright morning sunlight. Our fellow passengers were already safely harnessed – facing outward on cushions. I did not recognize our dragon’s breed. Medium size, it sported highly polished, deep green scales edged in bright crimson. Larger dragons are used for more distant flights and feature a section of legless chairs for the more moneyed passengers, as well as a flight assistant who serves free ale and wine.
As anxious as I was, I still noticed the dragon’s impatient glare at our tardy arrival. The large reptilian head may have suggested a wild beast, but its piercing golden eyes revealed a fiercely intelligent mind. We scrambled up the mobile stairway and upon a ground attendant’s instruction, secured ourselves and belongings.
So far there was no sign of the mages. I expected any second to see them burst onto the dragon pad. I fought to keep from screaming at the ground crew as they took their time with last minute inspections of the webbing and harnesses.
“First time?”
“What?” I twisted around to view a grandmotherly-appearing woman looking at me in bemused concern. Her white hair glowed like a halo in the morning sun.
“This be your first time, right? I can tell. Once we be up, you will be fine. It be so beautiful. All the farmstead fields appear as quilt patches and the buildings like children’s toys.”
“Ah, sure. Thanks.”
“Maybe a sip of this would help.” She was holding out a silver flask. “I find it soothes the jitters.”
“Then you better take another sip.” I groaned my warning.
She was going to need it. Emerging from the dragonport were three very unhappy Ghennison Viper Mages. The ground crew scattered at the unnerving sight.
“They sure are annoying,” Lorenzo sagely observed.
The wizards came to a stop not more than fifty feet away and raised their hands in unison. I struggled with my harness even though I did not know what I would do once free of the leather straps. I caught my breath and reflexively hunched down when they began a soul-wrenching incantation that in itself caused one’s blood to run cold.
Their rising voices signaled the mages were at the finale of their curse when the dragon calmly turned its head and exhaled a searing blast of flame that engulfed the startled mages.
I was part of the chorus of startled gasps erupting from the passengers. That was followed by a shocked silence as all eyes were now upon the still standing flaming husks. I recoiled from the repulsive, yet paradoxically welcomed stench of burning Ghennison Viper Mages. After all, my being able to smell the odious conflagration meant that it was the mages rather than me burning.
I thought to turn to the kindly woman besides me, worried that she would be stricken with terror. Our eyes met.
“Now that be not something you see every day,” she replied, as if having just sighted a rare songbird. “Maybe you should have a sip. You look tense.”
She was again extending her flask and this time I accepted.
“Good morning,” the deep voice of the dragon began. “I be Vaxen, your dragon for this Glavendale International Dragonways flight. Sorry for the minor disruption. We will now be departing for Kaiserhelm and should make landing at approximately noon. Forecasts call for a slight overcast with a heavier cloud cover upon reaching Kaiserhelm. We have a tailwind so we should be arriving early. Please make sure your safety harnesses are correctly buckled and remain so during the entire flight.”
“Minor disruption?” I said to Lorenzo. “What would be a major disruption?”
Our conversation was temporarily halted by the loud whoosh from the dragon’s vigorous downward thrust of its wings. According to Olmsted, a dragon’s wings are too small to alone provide the lift needed for flight. It be magic that allows their massive bodies to defy gravity. Those sensitive enough can actually see this magic as it flows about the wings in waves that shimmer like the northern lights.
“Maybe your friend would like a pull,” were the first words I heard once we reached level flight.
“Sure,” Lorenzo said as he leaned across to accept the flask.
I leaned back during the transfer and then turned a wary eye to my fellow passenger. “Alright, just who are you?”
“Me?” she innocently answered.
“Yes, you. There are obvious indications that you travel in disguise. Who are you?”
“My dear lad, why would you think that?”
I sighed in resignation in having to point out the obvious. “Your homespun garb be at odds with such things as the number of white lines on your fingers. They point to the wearing of multiple rings – an extravagance unlikely for the commonplace facade you attempt to portray. Your teeth are brilliantly white and perfectly aligned, a rarity for someone your age not of the nobility or wealthy merchant class. Your accent, though well done, fails to mask an affluent and educated background. I could go on, but that be hardly necessary.”
Her response to the unmasking was unexpected. She leaned over to pat my hand and said, “There, there. Nicely done, nephew.”
Nephew? I realized my mouth had dropped open and quickly shut it. Nephew? I knew all my mother and stepfather’s siblings. Nephew? My eyes widened in disbelief.
“Yes, I am Vilhema, the older sister to your father. Though I never would have believed that imp would become anything but a roguish layabout. Of all his vast brood, I have been wanting to meet you for some time.”
I could now see a resemblance in the eyes and nose to my father, though the woman in front of me had not gained the later-age girth of her amply padded brother. If I had not been so distracted by the mages, I would have earlier noticed the disparity between her easy self-confidence and the outward appearance of a shopkeeper or seamstress.
“Why, ah, what are you doing here?” I stammered.
“I have discussed with your friend that you could be facing some danger on the way to Kaiserhelm where I have business interests. So Vaxen and I decided on a lark to accompany you there.”
I turned and scowled at my friend, who held up his hands and said, “Don’t look at me. I only found out yesterday. She asked me not to tell.”
Looking back to my newly found aunt, I almost had to shout to be heard over the wind and rhythmic beat of the wings. “Do not tell me. Your business interests just happen to involve the stolen shipment of pixie gold. You are the one who hired me.”
She answered with a smile. “How fortunate for me that my own nephew be a famous private inquisitor.”
I thought back to an earlier comment. “Vaxen? The dragon we are riding?”
“Yes, we are old friends. He thought it would be great fun to be a passenger dragon for a day. He has been practicing that introduction all morning.”
“How did he manage ...” I began. “No, do not tell me, you own Glavendale International Dragonways.”
“I, along with my silent partner, Vaxen. He was the one who foresaw the potential of dragon carriers. I am still working with the archaic ownership laws, but under Garsten’s new Human-Werefolk Accords, we hope to see dragons allowed ownerships in both dragonports and dragonlines.”
Thinking back to the nonchalant way the dragon disposed of the mages, I continued my questioning, “I am guessing Vaxen’s career has included more than being a private chauffeur.”
“Oh, yes. Vaxen was a member of the elite palace guard until Garsten assigned him to me, over my protests, as part of a security team. I do so hate all royal trappings. I am perfectly capable of providing for my own protection. I quickly rid myself of the team – except for Vaxen. He immediately became indispensable and I lured him away from royal service.
“I informed Lorenzo yesterday about the cartel members hired as assassins. I have my own security people who I believe to be more resourceful than those bungling CIA agents. They are now seeking those behind the plot. Since I felt responsible for putting you in danger, I decided to personally escort you to Kaiserhelm. I must admit I was caught off guard by those mages. You will have to tell me about them. For now, I find this shouting very tiring.”
I took the hint and spent the rest of the flight enjoying the view and looking forward to seeing Morgana.