CHAPTER SEVEN
The dragon yawned expansively, lifted his massive head high on its serpentine neck and gave out a blast of fire, washing it back and forth, so that the roof sweated water.
His might demonstrated, Ramarius stopped, and yawned again. His breath smelled of raw meat. The dragon was enormous, longer than the ship. His scales were blue-white as fresh snow, perfect camouflage in the lands of the frozen upper airs. Tufts of hair, or perhaps hair-like feathers, clumped around his feet, joints and belly. His back was a road of spikes, his head bore two pairs of magnificent horns. He was a most impressive creature. The duardin’s confidence in their machines, and the arrogant overlordship of the skies they granted them, was cast into doubt in the face of such a being.
And Ramarius wasn’t even that big, for a dragon.
Water pattered off the floor. The dragon regarded them with unsympathetic yellow eyes.
‘Drekki Flynt,’ Ramarius said disinterestedly. His voice was a rumble that built under every word, crashing at the end like enormous waves on a desolate shore.
‘Oh yeah,’ Adrimm whispered to Uzki. ‘It speaks too.’
Uzki didn’t move. His eyes were like saucers. The beardling couldn’t have run if he’d wanted to. He felt the hypnotic pull of the dragon’s eyes, so overwhelming he was rooted to the spot.
‘All the kin of Dracothion can talk, Adrimm Fair-weather,’ said Ramarius. ‘It is just that most of us can’t be bothered speaking with the likes of you.’ His head darted forward. Adrimm stifled a yelp. Ramarius snorted hot air over him, and withdrew.
‘Ramarius!’ said Drekki, flinging his arms wide and stepping to the front of his group. He put the chest down onto the ice and stood with his hands on his hips, legs apart. His ‘best captain’s pose’, he liked to call it. ‘How very good to see you!’
‘Good?’ Ramarius shook his head. A low growl sounded from his chest, making the duardin’s insides quiver. There was the promise of power in the sound. A sense that the roar alone might kill. ‘It is not good to see you, pirate.’
‘Pirate?’ Drekki said, looking hurt. ‘I’m not a pirate. Surely “friend” is a better word?’
‘Friend,’ rumbled Ramarius. He looked around his cave. ‘What use has Ramarius for friends? He has everything he needs here. Food, gold, comfort. Meat.’ He gestured with one massive talon at his home, then leaned forward, looking at the duardin. As he moved, his scales rasped, dislodging a burnt helmet from the nest. It bounced down the pile of bones and metal, coming to rest at Adrimm’s feet. There was a blackened skull still inside.
Adrimm took a step back.
‘Business associates, then,’ said Drekki.
‘Once we were. No longer. You cheated me. Do you know, Drekki Flynt, Ramarius saw you coming. Ramarius thought about burning you out of the sky. But Ramarius did not. Today, Ramarius is feeling generous.’
‘Very kind of you.’
‘Maybe,’ said the dragon. ‘Ramarius may change his mind. He might eat you all.’ His tongue flickered out, like that of a snake. ‘Convince Ramarius why he shouldn’t.’ Ramarius paused. ‘Though Ramarius won’t eat Gord. You are too stupid to be held accountable, ogor.’
‘Thanks,’ said Gord, and gave a little wave. Only he exhibited no fear at all.
‘The rest of you should know better than to follow this duardin,’ said Ramarius. ‘Of all the rogues spawned by your race, Drekki Flynt is the very lowest.’ He peered at Uzki. ‘You bring this… Uzki.’ He sniffed the lad. ‘A youngster? Interesting,’ he said. His long tongue emerged again, to slide over his lipless mouth. ‘Edible.’
Uzki took a breath, started to speak, stopped, found his courage and shouted up at the dragon.
‘Accountable for what?’ he said.
‘Hmm?’ said Ramarius. ‘It talks then, this little beardless one.’
‘You said Gord wasn’t accountable. For what?’
Ramarius rumbled deep in his narrow chest. ‘Have you ever heard of the Egg of Ladonirkir, young duardin?’
Uzki nodded. ‘I have.’
‘Oh? Then tell Ramarius of it. Tell him what you know,’ said the dragon.
‘It was… It was the egg of the ancient wardrake, Ladonirkir, who fought against Kragnos in the Age of Myth,’ said Uzki. His voice steadied. This was one of the stories his father had told him. ‘She was a great champion of the Draconith Empire, and she laid her last egg before she went to her final battle, where she was slain. With no mother to warm it, the egg turned over aeons into a solid, invaluable crystal.’ He took a breath. ‘And Drekki Flynt recovered it, and returned it to the Temple Draconis in the most daring of his adventures!’
Ramarius chuckled, a low, throaty noise that shook their innards anew. ‘Is that how the story is told nowadays?’ He gave Drekki a steady look. ‘That is not exactly how it happened. It was Aelsling Rogisdottr, Drekki Flynt’s wife, who snatched the egg from the corrupted fane where it languished, and she could only do so because Ramarius was there to help her. Drekki Flynt played little part. He always has exaggerated his exploits.’
‘I was running support!’ said Drekki. ‘Waiting to fetch you all back!’
‘As Ramarius remembers it, you were stuck. In a tree,’ said Ramarius. ‘So heroic. What is worse, Drekki didn’t give what Ramarius was owed.’
‘That was Aelsling’s fault!’ said Drekki. ‘I was good to my oath. She took the egg, and left me behind! She claimed the reward. I got nothing.’
‘Aelsling.’ The dragon made a show of looking over Drekki’s head. ‘Where is she?’
‘Divorced,’ said Adrimm, covering the word with an unconvincing cough. The dragon looked down, eyebrow raised. Umherth nodded vigorously.
‘Never mind that,’ said Drekki, waving his hands at his friends. ‘It’s a temporary state, and not relevant here, so never mind what happened to the egg or to you or to me or to Aelsling.’ He smiled. ‘Come on, we go way back, you and me.’
‘Your life, long as it is compared to some, Drekki, is an insect’s buzz to we draconith. I have known you moments.’
‘Hear me out, at least.’
Ramarius sighed. A lick of flame came out of his mouth along with it. ‘Ramarius tires. Speak.’
The tension left Drekki’s shoulders, and he started to speak quickly.
‘First off, I’ve got a large part of the payment up front this time. Seven barrels of fermented fish guts, for starters.’
‘Six,’ Gord corrected. He burped the most appalling fishy smell. ‘Sorry.’
‘Six,’ Drekki admitted. ‘All right, but there’s more. Show him the samples of the goods, Adrimm.’
Adrimm was still holding the jar out as far as he could from his body. He waved it vaguely at the dragon.
‘Go on, open it!’ Drekki said.
Adrimm rolled his eyes. He unscrewed the top, and the ungodly smell of fermented fish guts instantly filled the cavern. The duardin choked, but Ramarius’ nostrils flared in interest.
Encouraged, Drekki spoke faster. ‘We’ve got five barrels of Monko Buk’s Famous Aether Porter…’
‘Buk’s ale?’ said Ramarius. His tongue whisked over his teeth again.
‘Exactly!’ said Drekki. ‘Three tuns of coal, five of salted gore-grunta heads, and a skorkanatuz worth of copper nuts. Adrimm!’
Adrimm upended his sack, showing samples of each of the treasures to the dragon.
‘Copper, you say?’ said Ramarius, becoming more interested despite himself.
‘Yes, copper!’ said Drekki, rubbing his hands together. ‘Lovely, shiny, soft and slippery copper. Do you know how hard it is to find that many copper nuts of that fine a grade? They use them only in the fiddliest aetherworkings. Cost me a fortune! But, they will be so comfy to sleep on for a big drake like you.’
‘Hmm,’ said Ramarius.
‘Why?’ asked Uzki. ‘Why not gold?’
Ramarius looked over at Uzki. ‘It is necessary for we drakes to sleep on non-flammable materials. People think we’re greedy for treasure, but it is not true. All we desire is comfort, and copper is better than gold.’
‘And I got you a gift, from me to you, to sweeten the deal,’ said Drekki, opening the small chest. He brought out a jewelled box. There was a key in the side. Drekki wound it briskly and put the box on the ground. ‘Watch this,’ he said. ‘You’ll love it!’
A five-part harmony tinkled out of the box, and the lid ratcheted open. A tiny clockwork duardin, dressed in the old style of the fallen karaks, rose from the box and began dancing to the music. First his hands arced over his head, and he did a short jig, then the music changed, and he folded his arms across his chest and dropped down into a crouch, and kicked his legs out in front of him.
‘Oh, that is very fine,’ said Ramarius. ‘Oh, Ramarius likes that.’
Drekki retrieved the box and snapped it shut. The music stopped. Ramarius scowled.
‘Again!’ He reached a dextrous claw for the box.
‘Not so fast,’ said Drekki, holding it close to his chest. ‘I’ll give you the feed and the bedding right now, but if you want to keep this nice little trinket here, you’ll have to earn it.’
Ramarius spread his claws out either side of Drekki. They were immense. A blow from one of those would crush him flat. Sweat rolled down the back of Drekki’s neck.
‘And what duty must Ramarius perform for this collection of treasures?’
‘I need a guide, that’s all,’ said Drekki. ‘Nothing tricky. You know the Fifth Air better than anyone.’
Ramarius snorted. ‘Drekki Flynt brags often about his navigational skills. He must be desperate indeed.’
‘I know where I am going, but the route is too dangerous to attempt alone,’ said Drekki. ‘And there’s a time element.’
‘How so?’ said Ramarius, still eyeing the music box.
‘I’m looking for the Dead Air,’ Drekki said simply.
Ramarius laughed. It began as a grumbling low in his huge body, shook his neck, then rumbled out like artillery fire from his mouth. The cavern trembled. The duardin recoiled. Uzki clamped his hands over his ears. Only Gord, deafened by years of ogor bellowing contests and random handcannon discharge, did not react, but instead stared at his crewmates in bemusement.
The laughter stopped. A huge piece of ice, loosened by Ramarius’ mirth, fell from the ceiling and shattered. The duardin picked themselves up.
‘The Dead Air? Even Ramarius thinks twice before going there.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Drekki, holding his hands out, palms down, as if that could placate a dragon. ‘Like I say, I have the location. One of my crew passed through it. From what he’s told me, I believe it’s in the High Ice Bight. What I need is your guidance, oh mighty Ramarius. You don’t have to enter the Dead Air. I just want you to take me there.’
‘Hmm,’ said Ramarius. ‘You are aware the Dead Air moves with the tides of the realms? The tug of Hysh, the draw of Shyish, the heated gravities of Aqshy… There’s no mortal alive who knows what prompts it to shift, but shift it does.’
‘I’ve factored that in. I think we’ve got time,’ said Drekki. ‘If we’re quick.’
‘You also know that it is infested with the souls of the dead?’
‘I have heard that, yes.’
‘And the High Ice Bight,’ mused Ramarius. ‘Another dangerous place.’
‘Danger is my middle name,’ said Drekki winningly.
‘Is that so?’ The dragon took in a deep breath. ‘How long has the Dead Air been in its current location?’
‘Six weeks, give or take. Probably more give than take, if I’m honest.’
‘Honest? That makes a change,’ said Ramarius. He drummed his claws on the cavern floor. ‘Hmm. Drekki Flynt says he’ll pay up front? Everything but the music box?’
‘Everything I have offered you is being unloaded as we speak. You can have all of that now, and this’ – he held up the music box and gave it a little shake – ‘when we get there.’
Ramarius stretched himself out. Then he got up, looking bigger than ever. His neck arched down and he gazed on them from on high.
‘Oh grumbatz,’[41] Adrimm mumbled.
‘Ramarius could just burn you all and take your goods.’
‘You could try,’ said Umherth, thumbing the safety catch off his aethermatic volley gun.
‘You won’t, though,’ said Drekki.
‘Ramarius won’t? Why?’
‘You won’t because despite all your threats and your teeth, you are of the noble line of Dracothion, and even though you choose to live here all alone in this cave on a pile of fish bones, you would never sully the honour of your ancestors with an act of such wanton thievery and violence. I know you are of good intent, otherwise I wouldn’t have come, on account of the fact that you’re a massive dragon who could kill me without a second thought.’ Drekki grinned, then shrugged. ‘Am I right?’
The dragon grunted.
‘If you don’t want to do it, say so, and we’ll leave, but if you help me you will profit,’ Drekki went on. He slowed his speech, speaking earnestly, the last push of salesmanship. ‘You’ll receive this gift from your friend. That’s me, Drekki Flynt, and the name of Ramarius will once again be recited in the cities of men and duardin wherever this story is told. Your repute will grow! Come, you’re doing the right thing if you help me.’ He steepled his fingers. ‘And there’s a lot of money involved. Buy a lot of fish guts and ale, would that money.’
The dragon stared at them for a long time. Then he blinked. ‘You appeal to the honour of Ramarius.’
‘What else am I going to do, you’re two hundred times bigger than me,’ said Drekki.
‘And also his vanity. And to his stomach.’ Ramarius growled softly. ‘Very well. It has worked. Ramarius has been somewhat bored of late, and he tires of whaleen. When do you want to leave?’
‘As soon as we’ve unloaded your payment?’ suggested Drekki.
‘That’s the right answer,’ said Ramarius with a reptilian leer. ‘No presents, no drake.’