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A Hissing Of Snakes
Despite a wailing riot of disappointment, part one of The Pink Dragon ground to a halt when dinner was served. Straight after the fish meal and, in a few cases, during, the toddlers changed back into pups and dropped off to sleep. Apparently, they all slumber better as wolves.
Having pilfered a few leftover biscuits and a glass of water, in case of becoming peckish in the night, I was ushered in the direction of the bedroom next to Grandmother’s Dressing Room and just made it under the covers before lights out happened in my head.
It’s morning when my scarecrow bedhead slides out from its cavern of blankets to find Dulcis fast asleep on the floor beside me or, more truthfully, the cute wolf version of her, nose tucked into her tail. I don’t know whether she senses my gaze, but sparkling eyes emerge and a broad grin spreads across her maw.
I don’t know whether to pat her on the head or boop her shiny black nose, so I settle for, “Good morning.”
She yowls as though singing a happy tune and leaps to her feet, her height looming over the side of the bed. A long, leathery tongue plasters up my cheek and she barks a loud ‘woof’ down my ear, before clamping her muzzle on the door knob and letting herself out, a long haired tail waving goodbye as she exits. I hear paws and claws tap down the corridor until another door opens.
I’m sitting up in bed when there’s a rap on the door and a young woman enters, carrying a steaming bucket of water which she pours into a large wooden bowl. “For washing,” she advises, “unless you want to join us in the river. It’s freezing cold and you’re not...furry.”
“That’ll be fine, thank you.” Skinny dipping in ice cold water is not happening, padded backside or no.
She’s out in the corridor when she pops her head back inside. “Can’t wait for the rest of the story.” She grins and closes the door behind her.
I slide out of bed, aiming to wash before the water cools, when there’s a tap, tap and I turn back to the door. “Come in.” The door remains resolutely shut. Repetition of my command has no effect, so I helpfully open up, to find myself staring at empty space.
Tap, tap.
That came from my right side. Shuffling over to the window reveals a gumwhat peering at me, paws pressed against the glass, teetering on a razor thin ledge, his skinny tail draped over the edge. I feel a minor tinkle of guilt for having scoffed a relative back in the cave; however, this aged, scrawny specimen is in a sorry state, fur torn and his left bucktooth cracked in half.
“Had to fight, haven’t you mate?” I mutter. “I know how you feel.”
He peers back at me with soulful pleading in his eyes which strangely reminds me of Curt. I immediately open the window. Funny that.
Mr G skitters sideways, his gaze swivelling back and forth from me to the discarded biscuits on my bedside table.
“Ah, that’s what you’re after.”
Breaking his breakfast into bitesize chunks, I sprinkle some on the ledge and my new friend snatches them up, merrily chattering at me. A rare smile surfaces, warming this ageing heart. I always wanted a pet.
Singing floats across on the breeze, coming from one of the other rooms. I say singing, but the voice sounds like an over excited fox mating with a parrot. Mr G understandably grabs his treasure and scarpers over the rooftop, leaving me to slam shut the window in defence of my ears.
My door’s still open and I’m about to close it, when a chorus of snorts and wheezes draws me into the corridor and I peep over the banisters at the massive hall below. Downstairs, on his side in front of the fire, lays a grey, partially fluffy wolf, engulfed in a snuffling, snoring sea of pups, their legs, ears and noses pointed in all directions.
Awww. Cute.
That appalling, off key shrieking again assaults my ears and turning, I catch Wings emerging from his room, singing, “You are my sweet little feather...” He spots me, clams up and glares. I slowly backtrack into my room.
A warm wash and a tooth scrub with my finger later, I decide on a pair of brown trousers, a jumper embroidered with tiny white flowers and ivy embossed leather boots. Today’s the big meeting, so I don’t want to look like a charity guest, even if I am one.
When I emerge, the pups have vanished and a fully dressed Curt sits at the table with Dulcis, staring into a steaming cup as though trying to read his future in the bottom.
“Morning,” I offer, descending the staircase. “Not going for a dip in the ice?”
He peers up at me and grumbles under his breath. I think I prefer the fluffy grey incarnation.
“You’re up,” Dulcis warbles, cheeks bright pink from her recent dip, resplendent in a red velvet, figure hugging tunic. She won’t be putting off the bear dressed like that.
Plates of cereals, a brown, cooked meat that smells like bacon and loaves of warm bread arrive shortly before Alpha and his birdman shadow. I eat in silence, refusing to catch Wings’ eye; I know he’ll be scowling. To be honest, all the men have faces like thunder this morning. It would seem nobody is looking forward to the impending meeting.
“When do the bears descend?” I ask, not entirely without mischief. Dulcis smirks briefly.
“They’ll be arriving this morning, along with Ambassador Anguis,” Alpha replies and glances at his brother. “Could be any time.”
I look Wings right in his beady eyes. “Will you be frisking them down?” I’m pushing my luck, but hey, he annoys me.
“You’ll be staying in your room,” he announces, eyes narrowing. “Or you could leave.”
Dulcis latches onto my hand with a death grip and I fear for the state of my fingers.
“Edi’s staying with me,” she insists, her tone bordering on homicidal.
Alpha shakes his head. “That won’t be necess...”
“She’s staying with me,” Dulcis shrieks, making us all wince. I think I hear my knuckles crack.
It would appear I’ve been adopted as her mother figure for some unfathomable reason and the look on her face silences any objection. I catch Curt peering at me as if I’ve grown a second head. What’s his problem?
Conversation ceases, magnifying the chewing and crunching of breakfast as five people fail at trying to eat silently. I glance at Curt, in time to catch him pinging his fork like a catapult, firing a chewed lump of meat straight at his brother. It splats Alpha in the eye, slides down his cheek and plops onto his plate.
“Behave,” Wings grumbles, fixing Curt with a laser stare. “I taught you better manners than that.”
“You taught me a lot of things I didn’t pay much attention to,” Curt flings back.
Alpha snorts and chokes on his breakfast, spraying snot down his nose. Dulcis burps roundly and the look of disgust on Wings’ face results in smothered hysteria, beginning with me and spreading around the table. When a frozen messenger flings open the front door and barrels into the room in a flurry of snow, he finds his solemn Alpha crying with laughter.
“The snakes are here,” he bellows in the manner of ‘Run for your life!’
“Calm down, pup,” Alpha tells him, rising from the table. “They’re not going to swallow you alive. How many are with Ambassador Anguis?”
“It’s the king,” says the terrified teen, choking on his words.
Wings and Curt both shoot out of their seats as though they’re spring loaded.
“King Serpen is here?” Alpha’s voice remains calm, but even I sense the undercurrent.
The boy coughs and delivers, “The king, the ambassador, six snakes and fourteen eagles.”
“I gather he wasn’t expected?” I whisper to Dulcis, tapping on her crushing grasp. “Ease up a little.”
She softens her grip, but doesn’t let go. “I’ve only ever seen the king once, years ago. He always sends Anguis.” She peers at me with hazel eyes full of fear. “Don’t let them make me take that bear.”
Curt rests a hand on her shoulder and she follows the arm up to his face. “It’ll be alright,” he insists and she seems to take some comfort from that. He glances at me. There’s something I can’t explain in that brief exchange, but it fills me with foreboding.
Whilst the pack, children included, assemble, we line up in the snow as though standing at a graveside, Alpha and Dulcis front and centre, with Wings and Curt one step behind. I have to prise each finger clear of Dulcis’ grip before she lets me go, promising to stand directly behind her. She keeps glancing back to check I’m still here and my heart sinks for the poor kid. All this seems medieval nonsense to me and she’s not getting sold off to anyone, if I have anything to do with it. Granted, I’ve been here five minutes and have zero power, but I swear I’ll kick up a huge ruckus.
I’m trying hard to ignore Wings’ ramrod disapproval at my presence in the hallowed group, when a skinny, giant beanpole of a man strides out of the trees, dressed in a gold embroidered, blue uniform, sporting a sword slung at his hip. He raises what looks like the lovechild of a trumpet and toilet plumbing to his lips and lets rip with a ridiculous fanfare that’s an insult to music and my eardrums. Curt winces, whether from the strident noise or his hip, I’m not sure.
Following that homage to the tone deaf, a line of black clad clones march out of the forest. I do a quick tot up and count fourteen. They must be the eagles, according to the young messenger’s maths. They stop short of Alpha, their faces looking about as jolly as Wings’.
The suspense ramps up as we await the infamous snakes, behind the eagles. What proceeds from the trees turns out to be a surprise. The rear of the party consists of six well dressed, athletic, but not overly tall young men, little more than teenagers really, their leather suits covered in blades of all sizes. Snake bodyguards are young, it would seem, and all blessed with shoulder length, ice blond, ironing board straight hair, but my gaze gravitates towards the two men at the centre of the party.
“Which one’s which?” I ask, drawing a glare from Wings.
“Anguis left, Serpen right,” Curt whispers over his shoulder.
The first stands taller than me, but shorter than Curt, wrapped in a full length coat of silver grey fur with a matching hat, as though stepping out of pre-revolutionary Russia. He’s not young, possibly only a few years my junior, but divine bone structure gifts him a sense of timeless maturity. He walks through the snow with the grace of a dancer, gliding beside the young monarch to the right.
Where Ambassador Anguis is ruggedly handsome, King Serpen has the mesmerising fae beauty of an elf, luminous blue eyes shining like sapphires, even at this distance, although his face is all I can see, being that his entire body is encased in multiple layers of fur and wool. Difficult to tell his age: mid or late twenties perhaps. He’s also the shortest person I’ve met in this overly tall world, pups and myself excluded.
The line of eaglemen parts for the two dignitaries and the entire wolf pack bows low from the waist. I’m caught unawares and fail to prostrate myself, leaving my communist torso poking clearly above the forty five degree line of royalist backs.
“Bow,” Wings spits at me, yanking on my arm so hard, I end up on my knees.
“Get off me!” I holler, fighting his grip. It’s so quiet the words echo across the mountain like an avalanche.
“Is there a problem?” the king asks, in a tightly clipped tone.
Alpha rises up to his considerable height and ends up peering down at the smaller royal. “Apologies, Your Majesty. We have a human guest taking refuge with the pack. Edi is not familiar with our ways.”
Nicely put, if patronising.
“Rise, madam,” the king commands and I obey, shooting a barbed glare at Wings.
“I meant no disrespect,” I say, because I have to say something and I don’t want to plunge the wolf pack into a constitutional crisis.
“I’m sure none is received.” The ambassador intervenes in a bass voice like a rumbling waterfall and delivers a smile that makes his emerald eyes twinkle. “Majesty, you’ve met the pack Alpha and this is his daughter Dulcis.”
A gloved hand emerges from his coat, ready to grasp hers, but she doesn’t move, thoroughly hypnotised by the king’s extraordinarily vibrant blue eyes.
“My dear?” Alpha prompts and gives her a tiny nudge.
She snaps out of it with a start. “Yes. Father. Your Majesty, King Serpen.” She sticks out her hand just as the king gives up and withdraws his. He has the grace to laugh and try again, not leaving her hanging.
“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Dulcis. You are as lovely as was your mother.”
I swear I hear Curt growl, but no-one else reacts.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. Ambassador, shall we go inside?”
She’s recovered well, young as she is.
“That would be most welcome,” replies the ambassador. “It is rather cold.” As they head into the mansion, he adds, “The bear delegation is on its way and should arrive shortly.”
Dulcis glances back, searching for me, and I’m shuffling to catch up when Wings weaves in my direction.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” I warn, summoning up a murderous glare.
He veers around me with a guttural squawk.
* * *
The snakes might be slender, but they can certainly pack away a substantial amount of food, between a chorus of hacking coughs. It’s probably the change in temperature, but it reminds me of a bronchitis clinic. The picked clean corpse of brunch is being whipped off the table, whilst King Serpen and Alpha discuss the coming meeting before the silent bystanders of Curt and Dulcis. I’m close enough to note she appears calm. Either that or Serpen’s mesmerising eyes are having an anaesthetising effect on her fear. It’s Curt who keeps glancing at me, as though afraid I’m about to cause a diplomatic incident.
“It’s good to see Curtus down from his mountain hideaway,” Ambassador Anguis says as he arrives at my elbow, gracefully tucking a lock of ice blond hair behind his ear. “I hear we have you to thank.”
“I got totally lost in a snow storm,” I point out. “He didn’t have much choice and I suspect he’ll be heading back soon enough.”
“His place is here, with his brother. They’re stronger together.”
I turn towards him. “May I ask you something, Ambassador?”
“Of course, and you may call me Anguis. Edi is it?”
I nod. “Are you really a snake, when you change?”
His amused smile lights up the room. “I take it you’re not fond of snakes?”
“I’ve seen my friends turn wolf and I can imagine bears, but a person turning into a man size snake...”
“Scares you?” he finishes. Leaning close he hisses into my ear, “You think I’m a villain?”
His breath tickles. “You’re a snake and you hiss. Where I come from forked tongue means liar.”
He tuts. “Such prejudice. I’m actually rather charming.”
“My country was built on charming villains,” I reply.
He looks me straight in the eyes. “You can trust me, Edi. Remember that.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“And what do you say?” he probes.
“That you are indeed charming, Ambassador.”
He laughs. Curt looks up from the table and glowers at me.
“Ah, a wise woman,” Anguis replies.
When the ambassador rejoins his king, Curt takes the opportunity to limp in my direction. It’s like an out of control freight train coming straight for me.
“Now what have I done?” I throw at him, palms up.
“I was about to ask you that,” he growls. “What was Anguis telling you? Whatever it was, don’t believe it.”
“That’s cynical. He seemed respectful of you, actually.”
“You seriously think they’re here to negotiate a truce with the bears?” he whispers.
“I’m hardly the person to ask. Why do you think they’re here?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “And that’s what bothers me. We all pay a massive homage to the king in taxes and goods, even me.”
“Then a truce would be best for everyone,” I offer.
His eyes flick to mine. “In my grandfather’s day we fought a war to cut the packs free of the snakes. They won, far too easily. They’re all thinkers.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, to think.”
Before he can reply the front door flies open with that requisite flurry of snow and our young messenger falls over the threshold, landing on his face. The guards packing the room peer down at the boy and slide blades back into sheaths, deciding he’s no threat. An eagle, left on guard outside, steps over the lad and announces, “Your Majesty, the bear delegation has arrived.”
Everyone, with the exception of the snakes and my goodself, starts to strip.
Here we go again.
