A Fate Worse Than Dragons Read online

  Someone got the idea of ringing the church bell. More people were streaming across the meadow from the direction of the village. Others were coming in from the fields. There were even a couple of soldiers on horseback.

  “I’ve already sent a messenger to the king. He’ll be very pleased. He’s been waiting a long time for something like this to happen.” Brimble winked. “I’m sure that as soon as he hears about it, he’ll be running to his daughter with the good news.”

  The crowd of people grew, gathering around the two of them with interest and awe. Little children ran out of wattle-and-thatch homes, joined the crowd, and squirmed their way to the front. Terry recognized that a theatrical gesture was called for. He stood up straight. His body felt like one large bruise, but he did his best to strike a noble pose. “And I shall be running to her side,” he declaimed, placing a hand on his chest. “For although the hand of the princess is now mine, my heart shall forever belong to her. My passion burns like the flame of that dragon, my thoughts are with her always. Inseparable, united by love, the beautiful Princess Gloria and I will never part . . .”

  “Jane,” interrupted Brimble.

  “What?”

  “Princess Jane, good Sir Knight.”

  Terry looked at the surrounding throng. No one said anything. In fact, most of the people seemed to be trying to avoid his eyes, except for the two soldiers, who were looking at him sternly. “Gloria,” he said firmly. “Princess Gloria of Medulla. I know her well.”

  “Ah,” said Brimble, nodding sagely. “I see where the trouble lies. No, Sir Knight, you are no longer in Medulla. You crossed the border into Oblongata.”

  Terry pointed. “That stream is the border. We’re on the Medulla side of it.”

  “Not anymore.” One of the soldiers stopped his horse and joined in the conversation.

  “That’s right,” said Brimble. “Who would think that they’d finally settle that border dispute after all these years? But they signed a treaty just a fortnight ago, and the border between Medulla and Oblongata shifted about three miles. Our Village of Dasgut changed possession. King Dafoe is our regent now, and Princess Jane is his only daughter. And your bride-to-be, of course.”

  Terry looked at him with horror. “Princess Jane Dafoe of Oblongata? Crazy Jane Dafoe?”

  Brimble sucked his breath in sharply. He looked nervously up at the soldier, then back at Terry. “Really, Sir Knight, crazy is a most ungallant term. It’s hardly fair to apply it to a simple, warm-hearted girl like the Princess Jane. One might simply say that she marches to the beat of a different drummer.”

  The townspeople around them nodded, and Terry heard low murmurs of agreement. “Not crazy, really.”

  “Eccentric, more like.”

  “Unconventional.”

  “Perhaps a bit quirky.”

  “Totally batshit,” said the soldier, resting his hand on his sword.

  “She talks to animals!” said Terry.

  “And why should anyone have a problem with that?” said Brimble. “It’s not uncommon for girls to murmur words of endearment to their little puppies and kittens. It’s rather charming, in fact. And who’s to say that there’s no point to it? I myself had a hound dog like that. A wonderful dog, and very intelligent. He’d look at you and thump his tail, and you would swear he understood every word you said.”

  “To dead animals!”

  “The ability to commune with spirits should not be gainsaid,” counseled Brimble. “Can you deny that there are some among us whose senses seem to extend beyond our own, who hold powers that cannot be explained by natural philosophy? Does an afterlife exist for beasts as well as humans? Consider that when our animal companions have crossed the void into that nether world, their voices may indeed . . .”

  “Dead cooked animals! Long, involved conversations with pot roasts!”

  “Let me explain something,” said the mounted soldier. He was trying to keep a friendly tone, but he wasn’t trying very hard. The way he leaned over Terry, and the way the other soldier pressed in, carried an undeniable air of menace. “When you perform a service to the kingdom, like you just did, and the king offers his daughter’s hand in marriage, it’s not just a tradition. It’s a point of honor, right? You don’t marry his daughter, it’s like you’re disrespecting her. Which is not a good thing. Because if you disrespect his daughter, it’s like you’re disrespecting the king. It’s an insult.”

  “And you don’t want to insult our king,” said the second soldier.

  “That’s right, you don’t. So you’re going to see King Dafoe and claim your reward, understand? Nice and respectful, like. And to make sure you don’t get lost and accidentally wander off somewhere, we’re going to escort you to him.”

  “Because he’s been trying to marry off his loony daughter for years,” said the second soldier.

  “Shut up,” said the first soldier. “Now, my personal advice to you is that when you meet the king, you show that you’re real happy about his generous offer of matrimony. Then he won’t be ordering us to defend his honor.”

  “Me?” said Terry with surprise. “Meet the . . . ah, I see the cause of the misunderstanding. You think I slew the dragon. Not at all, not at all. Pardon me for not making myself clear. When I said I slew the dragon, of course I was speaking not for myself, but on behalf of my master, the brave Sir Huggins.” He threw out his arms and gestured expansively across the meadow, where Huggins was approaching, with the mallet and horse spike in his hands.

  “Him?” said Brimble, in a tone of voice that people often used when talking about Huggins.

  “The bravest and most gallant knight ever to grace the Twenty Kingdoms. There is no other knight that can compare with him. Please don’t let his appearance fool you. He likes to adopt a common manner and dress, so as to humble himself. When you’re as skilled as Sir Huggins, it’s too easy to become prideful, he tells me. Just treat him as you would anyone else. He prefers it.”

  “But you’re wearing armor,” said the first soldier.

  “It belongs to Sir Huggins. He bade me put it on. He’s very thoughtful that way. ‘Terry,’ he said to me, ‘I slay dragons like other men swat flies, but this one may be dangerous to you, my faithful squire. Take my armor and put it on, that you may be protected. I shall fight the beast without it. Virtue, and the grace of the King, are all the armor I need.’ I tell you, tears came to my eyes when he spoke to me thus.”

  “Sure,” said the soldier doubtfully. He tugged on his reins and walked his horse over to Huggins, who was just then coming into earshot. “You, sir,” he demanded. “Did you kill that beast?”

  Huggins had unslung his pack and put the mallet and spike away. Now he looked at his hands. “Had to,” he said regretfully. “They’re no good to anyone in that condition. It’s a tough job, but really the only thing you can do is put them down.”

  The crowd nodded. The soldier was not convinced. “You put your steel through its head? You and you alone? You swear this?”

  “Oh yes.” Huggins patted his pockets, searching for his flask. “Best way to do it. A quick blow, right in the forehead. They hardly feel it. You don’t want them to suffer, do you?” He uncorked his flask, which turned out to be empty. He gave it a look of reproach.

  “Um, I suppose not,” said the soldier, who had never really concerned himself with a dragon’s feelings.

  “You have to be merciful, you know. They’re just dumb animals. They don’t understand why sometimes we have to kill them.”

  “I guess you’re right. Well, sir.” The soldier made up his mind. “Let me congratulate you.” He bowed from his horse.

  “Huh? What for? I just did what had to be done.”

  “He is modest,” Brimble confirmed to his people. They murmured their assent. Raising his voice, and striding over to Huggins, he said, “And let me, sir, be the first to buy you a drink.”

  “Why do—a drink, did you say? Why yes, thank you. I could go with a cool one about now.”

  “And I’ll buy the next one,” said the soldier.

  “Thank you.”

  “The first of many rounds, I’m sure,” said Brimble. He threw an arm around Huggins’ shoulders. “Come on back to my inn, sir, and keep your money in your pocket, for the people of Dasgut will wine you and feast you. Tonight we celebrate!”

  “That’s very generous of you,” said Huggins. He looked around for Terry, who had quietly disappeared. “A celebration, eh? Well, you can tell me about it over a pint.”

  A long time ago, when the world was yet unexplored, and every voyage was an adventure, even the most knowledgeable cartographers would write on the edge of their maps the foreboding words, “Here be Dragons.” Sometimes they drew little pictures to go with it. These words and icons marked the boundary of the known world. From beyond these borders were returned only hints of information, in ships’ logs, in explorers’ journals, in the legends and songs of mysterious natives. Except in the case of the Twenty Kingdoms, that cluster of fairy-tale countries that lay in a broad band between the mountains and the sea. Their cartographers also wrote, “Here be Dragons” at the edge of their maps, but they were likely to put it in the center as well. And at the bottom. Or the top, and the sides. Wherever it was needed, because the wretched beasts had a nasty way of poking up where they were least wanted. Which was pretty much anywhere.

  It produced a certain amount of tension between the cartographers and the town fathers. The town fathers thought it was bad for business to be associated with dragons. When a new map was about to be released they would send a letter to the cartographer. They would point out that their village had excellent restaurants, that the local brews were superb, that the taxes were kept reasonably low, and the streets were kept clean. They would say
that the nearby forest was lush and green, and the surrounding farmland was rich and fertile. They would mention the fresh air and the friendly people. They would vehemently deny that the brand-new performing arts center, designed and built by an award-winning architectural firm, was sinking at a rate of four inches per year. All in all, they would say, their village was a wonderful place to raise a family or start a new business, and taking into consideration its many superior qualities, surely it was only fair to disregard that teensy bit of unpleasantness with the dragon?

  The cartographer would not be persuaded. He would set aside his reference books, take up his quill, and eventually send back a polite, noncommittal letter saying that all sources of information had been carefully checked, and perhaps enclose a coupon for 40 percent off the new edition. Then he would publish his map exactly as he intended. Usually that was the end of the matter. Sometimes the debate grew acrimonious. Sometimes letters would fly back and forth, lawsuits would be threatened, and the cartographer would have to play his trump card. He would hint darkly that if he chose to do so, he could mention things that were worse than dragons.

  Invariably that was enough to make his critics shut up. For everyone knew that while the Twenty Kingdoms were lands of magic and enchantment, of gallant knights and lovely ladies, of stone and moss and oak and crystal and wild, fierce, beautiful vistas, they did indeed contain some things that were much worse than dragons.

  Even under the best of conditions, the city of Sulcus was not a pleasant place to live. In the summer it was hot and damp, and in the winter it was cold and damp. It was a good place from which to govern, because it was located nearly in the center of Medulla, but people who were not connected with the palace tended to move to Occipital on the coast, which had nice beaches and a better climate. Occipital, being a port city, also had better night life. Most Sulcuns did not agree with this. They pointed out that Sulcus had the museums, the monuments, the university, the library, and in general was a center of learning and culture. Sulcuns generally thought of Occipitans as frivolous beachcombing deadbeats. Occipitans replied that Sulcuns were boring stick-in-the-muds who didn’t know how to party.

  Sulcuns tended to take this personally.

  It was a chilly, wet, overcast autumn day all across Medulla, the air heavy with moisture that was too thick for mist and not quite heavy enough for rain. In Sulcus the wind blew the smoke from the chimneys down into the streets, where it added to the murk and mist. In the center of the city the white stone walls of Medulla Palace rose like chalk cliffs above a foggy lake. It was not a day for waiting outside. The streets were muddy, the shop windows were gray with condensation, and in the barren branches the birds fluffed their feathers and eyed Mina with disapproval. The girl was standing beneath a tree, at the edge of a small square near the center of the city. She was the smallest and youngest of the palace maids. She had a coin in her hands and was desperately afraid of losing it. She had knotted it into a piece of cloth, but did not dare put it into her apron pocket, too afraid that the next time she reached for it, it wouldn’t be there. It was her first time out of the palace since she had come to the city. She longed to go into one of the shops, but she couldn’t take the risk that someone might recognize her. Nor could she stand in the street, for fear of being seen from one of the palace windows. So she twisted the coin in her hands and stood with her back to the tree and peered around the corner.

  Most of the people who walked past ignored her, huddled into their cloaks and coats, intent on their own business. But several times men slowed down to look Mina over. Nervously, she kept her eyes on the ground and tried not to notice them. Suddenly she became aware of a man standing next to her, staring down at her. He had a crooked mouth and eyes that squinted, and a bundle of coarsely printed booklets under his arm, wrapped in an oilskin. Involuntarily she took a step backward, coming up against the tree trunk. Water dripped on them both. He made an impatient sound, “Tchah.” Then, without a another word, he plucked the piece of cloth from Mina’s hand, shoved one of the booklets at her, and walked off down the street with long strides.

  Mina shoved the booklet under her apron and ran the four blocks back to the palace. She slipped in the kitchen door, grateful that the task was finished, glad to be out of the damp cold, and into the damp warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by smells of cooked meats and the bustle of kitchen maids. Junie, the oldest maid, said, “You’re late.”

  “The man was late,” Mina said meekly.

  “She’s not late,” said Trixie, who was from Mina’s own town and her best friend in Sulcus. “Did you get it, Mina? No, don’t show it here. Take it upstairs.”

  “Brush her hair first,” said Junie to Trixie. “This is an important meeting. We’re having visitors.”

  “What!” Trixie was alarmed. She looked to see that the door was closed and took Junie’s arm. “We can’t have visitors! Who else knows about this?”

  “Shush, it’s okay.” The other maids were staring. “They’re from the very top,” Junie said. “We can trust them.”

  “Who are they? Tell me!”

  “Keep your voice down. You’ll know who they are, but don’t say their names. Now take Mina upstairs. If we dawdle too long, we’ll lose the light. I’ll be right up.”

  The girls swallowed their curiosity. They exchanged their aprons for fresh, clean ones, and went up the back stairs, up five floors to the highest level of the castle, to a small garret with a window that gathered in a few rays from the struggling sun. There were no chairs or other furniture in the room, merely a few storage trunks, but the girls had stocked it with cushions so they could sit in a circle on the floor. Mina was breathless. It was the first time the older girls had let her in on their secret meeting, and she felt very proud to have earned their trust. There were ten girls here already, five from the kitchen, three upstairs maids, one of the parlormaids, and the gardener’s girl. Balls of wool and spools of thread lay in their laps, and their nimble fingers automatically manipulated knitting needles, darning needles, tatting needles, sewing needles, and crochet hooks. Trixie shot the bolt on the door. Mina gave the booklet to Trixie, who passed it to the parlormaid, who put it in her knitting bag, and arranged herself so that the light from the window came over her shoulder. Trixie and Mina took their seats on the floor, and for a moment the room filled with the rustle of skirts as the circle spread out to make room for them. They waited, looking at the door, until there was a quiet knock.

  Trixie got up and unbolted the door. Junie slipped in, followed by four more girls. Two of the newcomers were wearing dark cloaks of linsey-woolsey, with the hoods pulled over their heads, concealing their faces in shadow. Still, everyone knew who they were, particularly since they had their personal maids with them. The circle spread out again to give everyone extra room. The two princesses reached under their cloaks and produced tatting needles, for even those of royal blood were taught that a girl’s hands should never be idle. When they were all settled the older of the two, the princess whose blond hair was peeping out from under her hood, said, “Rowena, you may begin.”

  The parlormaid folded back the cover and began to read. “Passion’s Chains—or—The White Slavers of Alhambra. Chapter Nineteen.

  Racksturm handed her a quill without meeting her eyes. “You will write them a note,” he said harshly. “You must make them understand what will happen to you if they do not pay the ransom.”

  “My family cannot pay it,” she cried desperately. “It will impoverish them!”

  He stared out the window, his broad, muscular shoulders silhouetted against the setting sun. “They can sell their land.”

  Melanie gasped. Sell Eventide? Sell the only place that she could call home, the only place where she had ever been happy. It was unthinkable! She would never ask her grandfather to do such a thing. Defiantly, she flung the quill on the table. “You may do your worst to me, Sir Racksturm, but I will not submit to your demands.”

  He whirled and seized her arms in his powerful hands. Once again she found herself unable to offer resistance, overwhelmed by his sheer strength and will. “You little fool! Can’t you understand? I need that money, for reasons I cannot yet explain.”