Dragon King Charlie

by Scott Baron

  Only a handful of guards traveled with the king and his aide the following afternoon as they rode to greet the favored wine maker at his grounds. The captain rode with him, of course, and his young helper came along as well, though Owen seemed as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

  Word was sent ahead that the king and his small retinue would be visiting, along with a small purse of coin to cover costs for a late lunch. Charlie could not be seen paying for a meal, as king. He could, however, ensure his visit placed no undue hardship on his subject. Especially one who made such delicious wine.

  The road passed many farms along the way, each specializing in one thing or another. Some appeared to be having a bountiful year, while other seemed to have fallen on hard times. This concerned Charlie. Leila had mentioned it previously, but seeing it with his own eyes, he couldn’t help but feel for the poor farmers.

  Up ahead, a pair of well-attired men were roughing up a peasant, Charlie noted.

  “Bob, you see that?”

  “I do, indeed.”

  “Looks like Danny Cooper. And the damn tax man again,” Owen said aloud, quickly silencing his tongue.

  “Tax man? I’ve not met him for some odd reason. Come on, Bob. Time to meet the staff,” Charlie said, spurring his horse into a trot.

  As they drew near, Owen’s hunch was confirmed. It was, indeed, Danny Cooper––a man he’d known pretty much his whole life. Standing over him was an enormous brute of a man, his close-shorn head sweating in the sun. And with good reason. Beating on an innocent was hard work, after all.

  At his side stood a slight man in expensive garb, watching the proceedings but not taking part.

  The brains and the brawn, Charlie noted as he rode closer.

  “You there. Stop beating on that man!”

  “I’m just doing me job,” the larger man replied.

  The smaller watched the king approach with distaste in his eyes. Both seemed irritated to have their work interrupted, and obviously did not appreciate having to bow to their new king. In the few months he’d been there, he’d already made something of a mess of more than one of their projects.

  “Are you all right?” he asked the man on the ground.

  “I’ll live,” he replied, pain in his voice.

  The tax collector flashed a look at his lackey, who immediately slapped the downed man.

  “Enough of that!” Charlie roared.

  “But he’s a peasant, Sire. His kind does not dare speak to the king,” the small man said.

  “I decide that,” Charlie said. “And as ruler of the people of these lands, all should have access to speak to their king.”

  His guards looked at one another in shock. The previous king would stand for no such behavior, but the new one seemed to genuinely care what his subjects thought. It was an unusual change, and they weren’t certain it was for the better.

  “Now, tell me. What’s the problem here?” Charlie asked the farmer.

  “I’m sorry, Sire. It’s just I am unable to pull in my harvest in time to pay your tax collector.”

  “Which could be problematic, of course,” Charlie said. “But what’s different from other years? I assume this isn’t an annual problem.”

  “Oh no, Sire. Normally it’s no problem at all, but this past year my eldest son left, taking to the roads to seek glory and fortune. With him gone, we’ve been short-handed. And when the tax man took one of our oxen to compensate for the lowered payment, well, we found ourselves without the beast to pull the plows and help work the land. The beast covered our debt, but without it, I’m afraid we just can’t keep up with the tax man’s demands.”

  The little man was seething. He glanced at his lackey, who raised his hand to strike the peasant again.

  “You will not strike that man!” Charlie shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you people? You can’t beat money out of someone. All you’ll do is break something, and worse yet, render him unable to work. Is that what you want? For him to be incapable of paying taxes due to injuries you cause?”

  “Uh, no Sire,” the lout said.

  “And you? What do you have to say?”

  “Of course, Sire. Whatever his Majesty wishes.”

  Bawb leaned in close and whispered into Charlie’s ear. “That one is going to be a problem.”

  Charlie looked at the bruised man, then glanced over at his fields. The ground seemed good, but it did need tilling and planting in the already-harvested fields. His other crops were also in need of attention, but in the form of a rapid harvest. Minus his son and ox, it was clear he could not possibly hope to accomplish both.

  A decision was made, but Charlie wondered how well it would be received.

  Oh well. Fuck ‘em. I’m the king, and what I say, goes, he reasoned.

  “Okay, I have a solution to your problem. You,” he said to the brute. “What is your name?”

  “Clay, Sire.”

  “Very well, Clay. I have a new task for you. I assume you wish to do your duty and collect taxes from this man?”

  “Aye.”

  “Very well, then. Your wish shall be granted. Your new duty is to arrive here at sunrise each day to help till the soil, plant new crops, and harvest the old ones. In this manner, you shall make this fellow able to pay his taxes.”

  “But Sire, I’m a––“

  “I’m sorry, did you think you had a say in this matter?” Charlie said, flashing his best ‘we are not amused’ regal look.

  “No, Sire. My apologies.”

  “Good. This is my decision, and you shall start tomorrow. Now, as for you,” he said, turning to the tax collector. “You are not of strong back, like your lackey here. But you will find new use with the castle’s cleaning staff. You are to report to Gwendolyn in the morning for your new task.”

  “But Sire, the taxes––“

  “Bob will oversee the allocation of taxes for the time being. Serve me well in your new positions and perhaps you shall see yourself returned to your old ones. But for now, do as you are told. Is that quite clear?”

  “Yes, Sire,” both men replied.

  “Good. And you. Mister Cooper, is it not?”

  “Aye, Sire. You know me?”

  “My man Owen here does,” he said, gesturing to the youth among his men. “If you have further difficulties, I am ordering you to report them to me or my men at once. This seems to have been an avoidable situation, and I would rather not have it repeated, if at all possible.”

  “Of course, Highness.”

  “Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have a winery to visit.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  As Charlie and his men rode on toward the winery, he couldn’t help but notice the area seemed a bit sparsely traveled that day. Normally they’d have encountered at least a few of the locals on the way. It seemed the tax man’s presence had frightened everyone back to their farms for the day. The adults, anyway.

  A young boy of no more than ten ran out from the trees and crossed the nearby field, stopping to stare in awe at the men on horseback.

  “Are you the Dragon King?” he asked with bright eyes.

  Charlie leaned down from his mount. “Yes, I am. And who might you be?”

  “Stuart Hopper, Sire.”

  “Well, Stuart, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I assume you live around these parts?”

  “Oh, yes, Sire!”

  Charlie dug in pouch on his hip and took out a single coin. “Well, Stuart, we’re heading to the wine maker’s vineyards, but we seem to have gotten a bit turned around. Might you show us the way?” he said, throwing a little wink to Captain Sheeran.

  “I know where it is!”

  “Excellent,” he said, tossing the boy the coin. “Payment for your services, young Stuart. Now, lead the way.”

  The lad trotted off to the head of the procession, glad of his new job. Sheeran looked at Charlie but said nothing.

  Probably thinks it’s a waste of a coin. But little things build lifelong mem
ories, and this kid’s gonna think King Charlie is awesome, he mused with a little grin.

  The recent rains had rutted the road a bit, forcing a detour around a particularly bogged down muddy bit.

  “This way,” Stuart called back, running ahead along the narrower track that went around the obstructed path.

  A loud crack pierced the air, followed by a rumble.

  Then Stuart was gone.

  “Sire!” Captain Sheeran called out, grabbing his reins and pulling the horse to an abrupt halt.

  “Yes, I see it, Captain,” Charlie said, taking the reins back, then hopping down from his horse to examine the sinkhole that had swallowed the poor lad.

  “Is he down there?” one of the men asked.

  “Of course he is,” another replied. “The question to be asking is if he’s alive.”

  “Shut up, both of you!” Charlie barked.

  The men did as he commanded, and the king strained his ears as he leaned toward the edge of the hole in the path. A faint crying could be heard, but judging by the sound, he was a fair way down.

  “Water and limestone, Sire,” Sheeran said, eyeing the edges of the hole. “Rock just below the soil. It must’ve been eaten away by the last rains. Probably loosened things up just enough for the lad to shake them free.”

  Limestone did indeed run all over the region, but Charlie still had to marvel that of all times, this was when this particular section would collapse.

  “Get a rope,” he commanded.

  “Sire?”

  “A rope, Sheeran. We have to get the boy.”

  “But it’s a long way down. There’s no way our length will reach him.”

  “You never know until you try. Now get moving.”

  The men quickly tied together the lengths of rope they had among them, then lowered the end over the edge.

  “Stuart! We’re lowering a rope to you. Can you see it?”

  Sobs greeted him from below.

  “Look up, Stuart. Grab the rope.”

  “It’s too high,” his frightened voice called back from the darkness. “And there’s a lot of water down here. I don’t want to drown.”

  Charlie began stripping off his colorful robes and coverings.

  “What are you doing, Sire?”

  “Getting the kid.”

  “But the rope isn’t long enough. He said so himself.”

  “Captain, if the water table is high from the rains, that boy might drown down there before we are able to get another piece.”

  “But the king cannot go climbing down into the Earth for a peasant boy.”

  “Yeah, he can,” Charlie replied, grabbing the rope and stepping to the edge. “Don’t worry, I used to boulder a lot,” he said, then hopped over the edge.

  Charlie lowered himself easily down the rope, the collapsed walls providing relatively easy footholds as he went. It was cold, and it was damp.

  The poor boy must be freezing. Better hurry, Charlie.

  He reached the end of the rope, his eyes searching the darkness below. “Stuart, can you hear me? Where are you?”

  “I’m here, Sire.”

  It sounded like he was close. Maybe no more than twenty feet or so, but the rope simply wasn’t long enough.

  “How deep is the water down there?”

  “I can’t feel the bottom,” the terrified boy replied. “I don’t want to drown, Sire.”

  Charlie weighed the options and knew the cold would get him before more rope would arrive. He’d go hypothermic, then fall asleep and drown.

  “Ah, fuck it,” the king said. “Hug the wall, Stuart. Are you up against it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” Charlie said. Then he took a deep breath and let go of the rope.

  Holy fuck that water is cold!

  He sank deep, his feet not touching the bottom, then swam back to the surface, sucking in a big gulp of air.

  “Hey, kid. You ready to get out of here?” he asked. “I’ll give you a push up, then you grab higher on the wall, okay?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. You just have to try.”

  “I really can’t,” the boy sobbed.

  Charlie’s eyes were rapidly adjusting to the dim light, and he realized Stuart was injured. His arm appeared to be broken, though the cold of the water likely kept the pain and inflammation down. But it was clear the boy simply couldn’t climb up on his own.

  “Sheeran!” Charlie called up to the men waiting above. “I need you to cut me a length of rope and toss it down. About seven feet should do.”

  “Sire, you need that to climb back.”

  “Just do it.”

  The rope dangling above them disappeared as it was hauled back to the surface. A moment later a voice called out warning and the requested rope arrived with a splash. Charlie grabbed it before it sank and swam over to the boy.

  “Okay, now listen. I need you to hold on to my back. I’m going to tie this around you so you don’t fall. Can you do that for me?”

  Stuart nodded, pale in the dim light.

  He’s already getting hypothermic, Charlie realized. He would have to hurry.

  As quickly as his cold hands could manage, he strapped the youth to his back then began climbing out of the water. The rope now dangled more than twenty feet above his head, but with the slippery hand holds, he suddenly realized he wouldn’t be able to make it. Not with the additional weight.

  Think, Charlie. Think!

  He felt his feet losing feeling in the frigid waters. If he didn’t get them both out soon, well, it was not a way he wanted to go out. He made a decision, hoping he could actually pull off his plan.

  “Stuart, I want you to close your eyes, okay? Close them as tight as you can and hold on. Can you do that for me?”

  “Y-y-yes, S-s-sire,” the boy said through chattering teeth.”

  “Good boy. Now keep them closed and don’t open them until I tell you.”

  Charlie waited a moment, calming his mind and focusing. It was just like a Drook pushing a ship or a conveyance. Only he wasn’t a Drook, and the things he was about to attempt to move were not ships or carts, but humans.

  He couldn’t risk trying to float them all the way out of the cavern. He doubted he even could, so that wasn’t going to be an issue. But the bottom of the rope, that could be done. Or so he hoped. If he was wrong, they’d both be casualties this day.

  Charlie called up the spells he knew, weaving those capable of pushing or levitating an object into a silent song within his head. Stronger and stronger he repeated the words to himself, letting them flow, drawing on the power within.

  Come on, Ara. Let your connection be enough.

  He strained with all his might until spots floated in front of his eyes, followed by an unsettling tickling on his face. Charlie forced his eyes to focus and realized it was the end of the rope brushing against him. He lunged out and grabbed the rope before he lost all concentration and fell back to the waters below.

  “Pull us up!” he called out. A few moments later, King Charlie and a very cold boy were greeted by sunlight as they were pulled free from their watery peril.

  Charlie shed his wet clothes, going commando under his royal robes. His overcloak he wrapped around the youth after quickly setting his arm, splinting it with some small branches, then wrapping it snugly.

  They made a quick ride for the nearest farmhouse. The owner was beside himself with both worry and joy when he heard the tale. Stuart would be okay, and the king left him before the roaring fire in the hearth and stepped back out to his men.

  “Thank you, Sire. Thank you ever so much!” the man said.

  “I’m glad the boy will be all right. He was very brave, you know. His king is proud of him. Make sure you tell him after he’s rested.”

  “I shall, Sire. But is there anything I can do to repay you? Perhaps some food? Or wine?”

  “Actually, we are already heading to the wine maker just a few miles from here. Can you direct us
?”

  “Direct you? I’ll take you. That’s my brother’s vineyard, Sire, and that’s his nephew you just saved.”

  Charlie shared a little look with Captain Sheeran, then turned back to the man. “Well, in that case. Please, show us the way.”

  “He’ll be so thrilled, Sire. So grateful,” the man said. “Come, follow me. I’ll take you to my brother.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had been a very good afternoon, once he had warmed from his unexpected dip. A lot of wine certainly helped with that.

  Quite full, slightly tipsy, and in all-around good spirits, Charlie and his men rode back to the castle at a leisurely pace, pausing to enjoy the natural beauty of the land––and to heed the call of nature––more than a few times.

  The grateful wine maker had fed them quite well, and the wines he had provided had proven most delightful. Charlie bought several casks on the spot, most heading for his cellars, but a good many were earmarked for his men, as well. If he couldn’t pal around with them and make friends that way––Bawb had expressly forbidden it––he’d do it the old-fashioned way. Namely, bribery. And among military sorts, alcohol was a most welcome form indeed.

  Bawb had mentioned that promoting him to tax collector, in addition to his other positions, might not sit well with the older staff members. Giving a newcomer so much oversight power in a land he was, admittedly, a stranger to, could put even the mildest of spirits on edge.

  “What would you have me do, Bob? I mean, sure, there may be some hiccups here and there, but you’ve got a knack for this stuff.”

  “Even so, it’s bound to upset many people.”

  “So piss them off. Jeez, it’s not like you can’t take care of yourself,” Charlie said with a chuckle, but quiet enough so the guards riding with them wouldn’t hear. He may have been tipsy, but not so much so that he forgot to maintain his friend’s deception.

  “And if I do manage to right this taxation ship? What are your plans, Sire?”

  He had said the last bit loud enough for the others to hear, and Charlie had taken the hint. The men would talk, and gossip would spread. This was his opportunity to ensure the message he wanted to leak out was what traveled forth on their lips.