by Adam Roberts
Luckily for her.
The research department served a number of different Sagas, and was housed on the unfashionable ground-floor of a blocky building. Her line manager was called Dragan Intheoriginal-Noreally: a plump, senior beast, originally from Talonkey. ‘Oh it’s you!’ he said, seeing her come through the door. ‘They’ve just left.’
Immediately Lizbreath knew that something was wrong. Nobody ever came to see her at her work. None of her countercultural friends would be seen dead there. ‘Yeah?’
‘I told them,’ Dragan said, ‘you were probably at home.’
‘And you told them where my home was?’
‘They seemed to know already. They were not unpissed-off, Liz. If you see what I mean.’
‘Who were they?’
‘They told me they worked for Burnblast. He’s your Guardian, isn’t he?’
‘Ex-Guardian,’ said Lizbreath, but with a sinking feeling in the keel of her stomach.
‘Well, they looked cross,’ said Dragan. ‘Burnblast is a pretty important dragon, you know – pureblood, a personal friend of the Dragonlords, wealthy. Not someone to make into an enemy.’
‘No,’ said Lizbreath, in a pinched voice.
‘Do you know what I would do, if I were you?’ said Dragan. ‘Lie low. For a while. Do you have friends you could go stay with?’
‘None,’ said Lizbreath, thinking rapidly, ‘that my Guardian doesn’t know about. I thought that he and I had reached an understanding.’
‘We-e-ell,’ said Dragan, stretching back in his chair. ‘Reading between the lines, from what was said by the gentledragons who have just left this office, I wonder if your “understanding” wasn’t based on the concept of blackmail?’
Lizbreath looked at him, unsure how much to trust him. ‘As the philosophers are fond of pointing out,’ she said, ‘a thing either is, or is not.’
‘Well, let’s play with the hypothetical that it is. Let’s imagine that you, a junior researcher in a run-of-the-mill Starkhelm office, tried to blackmail one of the most respected, well-connected, wealthy and powerful dragons in the country.’
‘Because that senior dragon…’ Lizbreath began to say.
Dragan put up both his hands. ‘Seriously, Liz? Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. You need to understand: his provocation doesn’t matter. Burnblast is powerful enough to shut down any Saga that even thought about running a story he didn’t want. Whatever he did – and I don’t want to know – it’s never going to see the light of day. And if the story doesn’t see the light of day, then a hypothetical blackmailer doesn’t have any leverage. You see?’
‘But,’ said Lizbreath, in a small voice. ‘I have proof.’
‘It’s not about proof,’ said Dragan. ‘It’s about power. Any Saga you approach will already have been leaned on by Burnblast’s goons. If you go to the police, I guarantee the inspector detailed to investigate will be a member of Burnblast’s circle. Even if you were able, purely hypothetically, to go right to the top – to speak to the Dragonlords themselves – well: what are they going to do? Discard their friend and ally of centuries? Or side with a mentally defective underage female Salamander who lived her life deliberately and provocatively in opposition to all the solid values of dragofascism? I know,’ Dragan added, in a conciliatory voice, ‘that you’re not mentally defective. I would hardly employ you here if I thought otherwise. But it’s all about how you are perceived, by the general public.’
Lizbreath took a deep breath. ‘I’m in,’ she said, shortly, ‘a pickle.’
‘OK. But you can’t hide here. When they find you’re not at home, they’ll come back. And if what you say is true, you can’t hide with any of your friends. So you’d better make yourself scarce. Light out for the wilderness – go south, go north, go anywhere, but make sure it’s nowhere you have previous associations with.’
Lizbreath was no dawdler. In a moment, she had assimilated the truth that her plan had turned to sludge. Dragan was right: she had to get away. But at that particular moment, she had no idea where to go.
‘Drag,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ said Dragan, turning back to his work. ‘I’m not involved. I didn’t see you. I don’t know where you’re going, or when you’ll be back.’
She stretched her neck out, and kissed his ear. Then, without further ado, she curled herself about and walked out through the indoor.
The worst of it, she thought, was that she couldn’t go home to collect her gear. Without her gear she was severely limited in terms of what she could do. It was not just a question of money; although money would obviously be a problem. It was all the other stuff.
At the building’s main entrance Lizbreath almost collided with a well-proportioned middle-aged male dragon coming the other way. Her heart thrummed for a moment, thinking that he might be one of Burnblast’s goons; but the way – after she knocked accidentally into his left wing – he leapt back with a mouselike shriek led her to believe that he was not possessed of the physical bravery and ruthlessness to work as a goon. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘You could be a little more careful!’ he noted.
‘In a hurry,’ she said, and started sliding past him.
‘Wait!’ he cried. ‘Can you help me? I’m looking for a researcher.’
‘Plenty of those inside.’
‘I’m looking for one in particular. Lizbreath somebody. I’ve sent here several ravens, and she simply has not replied. It’s, well it’s rude but, more than that, it’s awkward. I need this research doing, and… well.’
Lizbreath curled her head back round. ‘Lizbreath Salamander?’ she said.
‘That’s the name!’
‘I’m her. Are you Käal?’
‘How did you know that?’ Käal returned, a little suspiciously.
‘You sent me those ravens.’
‘Ah,’ said Käal, with a look of relief on his face, as if the workings of a baffling magic trick had been revealed to him. ‘Yes. You didn’t reply!’
‘I’ve been busy,’ said Lizbreath. ‘But now I’m all yours. You’re up at the Vagner place, aren’t you? That floating island?’
‘Yes. And it’s quite important,’ said Käal. ‘Indeed, in light of recent developments, it’s become really quite important, that you do some of that research thingie that you do.’
‘So,’ said Lizbreath, scanning the road up and down to check that Human – or any other Burnblast hench-dragon types – weren’t heading straight for her. ‘Basically you want me to find out what happened to Hellfire Vagner, who disappeared without trace three hundred years ago. Is that right?’
‘Spot on.’
‘OK,’ said Lizbreath. ‘I’ll do it.’ Käal’s face lit up. Literally. ‘But,’ Lizbreath added, ‘I need to see the island. I can’t research a paper trail here in Starkhelm. That won’t get any closer to the solution of the mystery. I need to be there. On the ground.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Käal, looking perplexed. ‘It’s a terribly exclusive place. They’ve an eye above and another below to monitor who comes and goes. It’s not the sort of place you just sneak onto.’
‘I’m not suggesting I sneak on. I’m suggesting that when you go back you take me with you as your officially credited researcher. Introduce me to Helltrik himself. Once I’m there, I’ll be able to help you solve the mystery. Otherwise – no deal.’
Käal pondered this. ‘Well, all right,’ he said. ‘When do you want to come?’
‘Right now.’
‘Don’t you want to go back to your place, pack an overnight bag, that sort of thing?’
‘Nope,’ said Lizbreath. ‘I want to fly, literally this minute, to the airport, and get on a Skylligator and go straight to this floating island.’
‘Well,’ said Käal. ‘All right.’
14
Right up until the moment when the Skylligator closed its capacious jaws over them and lifted off, it seemed to Käal that this young Salam
ander was a nervy sort of creature. But as soon as it got airborne, he found himself struck by how remarkably cool and collected she was.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her.
‘Fine and dandy, now,’ she said, settling back against the tongue and making herself comfortable.
She was, he had to admit, attractive; despite being small and skinny, and having – Käal noticed – a weird picture painted on her shoulder. It took him a moment to clock this as a female hömös ape. Such a strange and, frankly, ugly piece of body adornment! Who would want a picture of an ape on their body? Might as well have a seaslug. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing at the tattoo.
‘Glenda Larson,’ said Lizbreath.
‘An ape?’
‘Friend of mine,’ she said. ‘Though I couldn’t say I’ve ever actually met her.’
‘Aren’t you a little old to be having an imaginary friend?’
She looked straight at him. ‘Aren’t you a little old to be wearing Kelvin Climb eau-de-toilette?’
Käal glanced away and muttered something about it being just as popular amongst mature dragons as striplings. The hostess came by, offering them snacks. Käal, who still hadn’t had lunch, took a whole live lamb and a bladder of burnt sack. Lizbreath limited herself to a bag of roasted hooves.
‘I’d have thought most imaginary friends are at least, you know, dragons,’ Käal said. ‘Not mythological creatures.’
‘The apes aren’t mythological. They’re real enough. There used to be loads of them, before the Scorch Wars.’
That, Käal thought, was rather beside the point. He drank his sack.
‘So,’ Lizbreath asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. ‘You write Sagas, then, Käal?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So, Käal. Is there a Mrs Käal? Is there a Lady Saga? A helpmeet, somebody who wears spectacles made of lobsters and a zebra-stripe bikini over a sarong?’
Käal blinked. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said.
‘A private joke. But are you really a lone Saga-sayer? All on your ownsome?’
‘I have an understanding with a very large lady dragon, if you must know,’ Käal said, stiffly. ‘It is complicated, because she is hamfast with a very large, senior, very senior dragon.’
‘Oho? Hamfast you say? And he doesn’t mind you getting your talons on his lady’s hams?’ Moments before she’d been a quivering nervous wreck on the streets of Starkhelm; now she was this superconfident hoof-crunching minx!
‘They’re very shapely hams,’ said Käal, awkwardly. ‘Wonderfully plump. Armoured like a bank vault.’ As he spoke, though, he had a mental flash of the furious disdain to which Beargrr had treated him at their recent parting. Things, he realized, were not as happy between them as he was implying. ‘What I have with her,’ he pressed on, doggedly, as if saying made it so, ‘is – special.’
‘Isn’t special,’ Lizbreath said, ‘a variant of the word specious?’
‘You have a wide-ranging vocabulary,’ noted Käal.
‘Thanks!’
‘Oh, it’s not a compliment. I’m not sure that words are at their best free-range. Personally I’ve always thought that words should be like livestock: kept in pens, for when we need them, not galloping all over the countryside.’
‘Spoken like a Saga journeydragon,’ said Lizbreath, haughtily.
‘And what do you mean by that?’ Käal demanded, his backspines bristling.
‘All the Sagas are just variants of older Sagas,’ she replied, dismissively. ‘It’s the same story over and over. Dragons are afraid of novelty. It didn’t use to be that way: we used to prefer to hunt wild livestock. Now that’s seen as unhygienic and all our mutton is grown in sheds. Words are the same. Some poets prefer to chase wild words over the grass-clogged hillsides. Look at the way I’m treated. The legal position is that, effectively, I’m insane. Why? Because, every now and again, I try something new.’
‘Like,’ said Käal, trying to be withering, ‘painting a female ape on your shoulder?’
‘It’s not painted,’ said Lizbreath, in a tired voice.
Straight away Käal felt ashamed. It had been a cheap shot. Still, his professional pride had been hurt. ‘Sagas are not as old and staid as you’re suggesting, you know. Some newness, provided it is dignified and elevated, is not only permitted but actually required. It’s just that, by the same token, Sagas are not Salamander gossip scrolls, or gnomic texts.’ He was feeling a little awkward in his own half-adopted grand-old-dragon manner, and tried to soften it. ‘I’m not so different to you, you know. I understand the appeal of the old wild hunt. But dragons are masters of the world, now. We have… responsibilities.’
For some reason this riled Lizbreath. ‘Really? Because it seems to me that it’s the most senior dragons who are the most irresponsible.’
‘Come, Lizbreath, we’ve just met!’ he said to her. ‘Let’s not get off on the wrong claw.’
‘All right. Look, I’m sorry if I’m snappish,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a hard few days.’
‘I understand,’ said Käal.
They landed at the airport, and Käal and Lizbreath made the rest of their journey under their own steam, smoke and fire – a pleasant cross-country flight northward. Soon enough the enormous bulk of Doorbraak became unmissable in the sky.
They landed at the main entrance. ‘Right,’ said Käal. ‘Let’s tell Helltrik that you’re here.’
He asked a passing firedrake where Mon. Vagner was. The firedrake gestured loosely in an upward direction and slunk off, leaving the two of them no better off.
As they crossed the main hall they encountered Marrer. ‘Hello!’ said the young dragon. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Lizbreath Salamander,’ said Lizbreath, bringing her tailend up and round to tap his. ‘I’m Käal’s research assistant. I’m here to help with… his project.’
‘Oh! Well – splendid,’ said Marrer, although his expression rather implied that it wasn’t splendid. ‘In that case, I’m pleased to welcome you here to Doorbraak!’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘So Mis. – Salamander, is it? Mis. Salamander – will you be staying in Käal’s room, or would you like a room of your own?’
‘Would it be too awkward to ask for a room of my own?’ said Lizbreath, batting her eyelids at Marrer so as to generate a pretty little series of snare-drum noises.
‘Not at all,’ said Marrer, distractedly. He clapped his hindlimb on the floor, and a firedrake appeared instantly. ‘Can you show Mis. Salamander to the,’ he asked, his eye falling for the first time on the design on Lizbreath’s shoulder, ‘to the guest room on the thirteenth floor?’
‘Too kind, thank you,’ Lizbreath gushed.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said, his eyeline on the girl tattoo. ‘I hope to meet you properly later, Mis. Salamander.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said.
The firedrake took them, silently, up to the thirteenth floor, deposited Lizbreath in a rather small room, before slinking off with a ‘things-will-only-get-worse’ expression on his face. Lizbreath, by contrast, was very cheerful. ‘Well this is nice,’ she said, stretching herself on the bed to try it for size. It was small, though plenty big enough for her. ‘Better than the alternative, at any rate.’
‘You’re not here to lounge about on a bed,’ said Käal, severely. ‘You’re supposed to help me solve this mystery.’
‘Absolutely!’ said Lizbreath sitting up. ‘Well let’s crack on! So, the mystery is that this young, wealthy, pureblood she-dragon vanished into thin air three centuries ago. She couldn’t get off the island, because it was isolated by prolonged drizzle, and besides the two panoptic eyes would have seen her. But she might have been murdered here, and smuggled off by some means at a later date. Or she might still be alive, in which case we need to work out how why and where. Plus, somebody is sending severed dragon tongues, one a year, to the head of the Vagner family.’
‘The first one was Hellfire’s,’ Käal put in. ‘So she either is dead, or else she’s alive in an, er, tongueless sort of a way.’
‘Right! That’s as much as I know. What have you done?’
‘What?’
Lizbreath arched her back and opened her wings. ‘What have you done? What investigations have you undertaken into the disappearance, and likely death, of this young she-dragon?’
‘Ah!’ said Käal. ‘Well, I’ve looked about.’
‘Looked about?’
‘Yes. All over the island.’
‘All over?’
‘Well, not in Helltrik’s private hoard chamber, of course. It would be pretty unseemly to go poking through his gold after all! And I, and I haven’t been permitted to go into the Vagner family burial chamber, which is in the centre of Doorbraak, of course. But apart from that…’
‘You haven’t been permitted?’ said Lizbreath, sharply.
‘No. That’s the one part of the island that’s out of bounds. But everywhere else…’
‘Interesting,’ Lizbreath said. ‘So the tomb is the one place they said you couldn’t go? We will have to go there.’
‘Well!’ said Käal. ‘I don’t know if that would be very respectful…’
‘Don’t be stupid. We’re investigating a mystery. The currency of mystery is the secret. We have a duty to poke our snouts into any and all secrets, like this burial chamber. I’ll bet we’ll find what we’re looking for in there.’
‘Well,’ said Käal, uncertainly. ‘If you really think so…’
‘But that will have to wait until the island’s asleep,’ said Lizbreath. ‘Meanwhile, tell me what you’ve found out.’
‘Found out?’ repeated Käal. ‘How do you mean?’
‘In your investigations. Looking around the islands. What have you discovered?’
‘Ah!’ Käal thought for a bit. ‘Well, the gardens are very nice.’
‘Come now – the mystery! What have you discovered about the mystery?’
‘Not,’ said Käal, speaking very slowly, ‘a great deal…’