by Adam Roberts
At this, the crotchety old dragon stuck his neck high, turned his head backwards and shouted: ‘I won’t get hit if you stop shooting you idiots principle of elective subsidiarity.’
Käal saw clearly what happened next. A gleaming ruby beam swept in an arc through the air, met the old dragon’s scrawny neck, and passed on. Where it intersected the scales fizzed and melted. A line of black ooze appeared suddenly, like a tight necklace. The expression on Ghastly’s face was blended of equal portions of surprise and annoyance. Then the head tipped forward, coming clean away, and hitting the ground with a clump. The neck remained upright, converted now into a hose for spurting out intermittent gushes of acid black blood.
‘Oh no!’ cried Käal.
Disregarding the danger, Lizbreath had leapt, half flown through the air to the dragon’s body, weaving to avoid the darting, deadly lines of red that drew a thrillingly random series of lines through the air. ‘There’s nothing you can do for him now,’ Käal yelled at her. ‘He’s dead!’
‘I know he’s dead,’ Lizbreath called back. ‘I’m not administering Blast Aid, for Woden’s sake! We need the key… there!’ She hauled his satchel from his belt by main force, and then ran, jinking and weaving, to the stairway. Käal was there too, in a moment.
An unlucky shot hit a stone lintel, shattering it and collapsing the whole portion of the wall, door included, just after they had gone through. The light vanished. Big chunks of stone tumbled down the stairs after Käal and Lizbreath, and several struck Käal painfully upon the pate. ‘Blocked,’ gasped Lizbreath, pausing to look up through the mirk and dust, and spitting a piece of stone from her mouth. ‘But that won’t hold them for long. Come on!’
22
They picked their way past debris, and emerged on the lower floor. ‘There’s no point in going down to the hoard chamber now,’ Käal observed. ‘Neither of us are Vagners – we can’t work the key.’
‘Then we need to find a Vagner who can,’ said Lizbreath. ‘Come.’
They found a rear stairway, and scrabbled desperately upwards, until they reached the level on which Asheila’s apartment was located. ‘Stop a bit,’ he said. ‘Look, I really don’t think this is a good idea.’
‘You have a better one?’
‘It’s just that – Asheila and I parted on… poor terms. She was, to be honest, very cross with me. She thinks that you and I… well, never mind what she thinks. My sense is that she never wants to see me again. I guarantee you one thing… she won’t help us.’
‘Who else should we approach? Helltrik? She’s your girldragon, after all.’
‘She’s not my girldragon! Believe me when I say that knocking on this door would be the worst thing we could do.’
Lizbreath knocked on the day.
‘What are we going to do now?’ cried Käal. ‘How can I possibly talk her round? She’ll spit in my eye, slam the door and… probably call the police.’
‘Simply explain the situation,’ said Lizbreath. ‘Tell her that you’ve discovered the malign secret at the heart of the Vagners, that it’s nothing to do with democracy, but that now Helltrik and Marrer are trying to kill you, using a new technology called “laser pistols” that can send a beam of energy that penetrates even dragon scales, that your life is in danger, and that everything depends upon getting into Helltrik’s hoard vault, for which you have a key, but for which you need somebody with Vagner blood in their veins, and will she help you? I’m sure she’ll understand.’
‘You don’t know her…’ Käal started to reply, at exactly the moment the door opened. He flipped his head round from looking at Lizbreath to meet Asheila’s angry-looking face.
‘You!’ she said. ‘Well, you’ve got a nerve. What do you want?’
‘Asheila,’ he said. ‘The truth is… I’ve discovered the malign secret at the heart of the Vagners, which is nothing to do with democracy, but now Helltrik and Marrer are trying to kill me, using a new technology called “laser pistols” that can send a beam of energy that penetrates even dragon scales – look!’ He held up the end of his pierced tail. ‘My life is in danger, and things are desperate, and everything depends upon getting into Helltrik’s hoard vault, for which we do have a key, but for which we need somebody with Vagner blood in their veins, and will you help me?’
Asheila gave Käal a hard look. He simpered. ‘Please?’ he tried.
‘All right then,’ she said.
This caught Käal off guard. ‘Oh. Really?’
‘To be honest,’ she said. ‘You had me at hello.’
‘I didn’t say hello.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘We’re talking about – solving the case, you know,’ he pointed out. ‘And the last time we spoke you said you didn’t want me to solve the case.’
‘Only because that would mean you’d leave Doorbraak. That’s what I don’t want, silly. After our silly little fight, I felt full of remorse. I assumed you would leave and never come back. I even sent a raven to your Starkhelm apartment! Apparently it never made it there… can’t imagine why.’ She tut-tutted Käal playfully.
‘Ah!’ said Käal.
‘But you haven’t deserted me!’ said Asheila, gooily. ‘That’s the important thing. You’re still here!’
‘Uh,’ agreed Käal. ‘Eh,’ he added.
‘Mis. Vagner,’ said Lizbreath, coming forward. ‘We need to hurry. Time is of the essence.’
‘Let me get my handbag,’ Asheila said. ‘And you’ve really got a key to uncle’s vault? How very exciting. Come on then. There’s no time to lose.’
They went down by the back stairway, and emerged in the main hallway. The hoard chamber was below. The three of them crossed to the entrance to the lower stairway, proceeding very cautiously. ‘Wait here,’ said Lizbreath as they came to the corner. ‘I’ll check the way’s clear.’ She darted round the corner and was gone.
‘Why are we creeping?’ Asheila asked in a loud voice.
‘I told you,’ hissed Käal. ‘They have these weird little, uh, devices. They shoot out a special kind of fire. The beam went right through my tailend. Look!’
‘Oh yes,’ said Asheila. ‘That does look nasty! Poor little Käaly-Wa¨aly. And it’s Helltrik’s hoard vault you’re wanting?’
‘Yes,’ said Käal.
‘Because the mysterious thing is inside? The secret at the heart of our clan?’
‘Yes,’ said Käal.
‘And what is it, this mysterious thing?’
‘To tell you the truth,’ said Käal, ‘I’m not entirely sure. Something worth trying to kill us over, though. It must be something, uh, importantly secretive.’
‘I love secrets!’ said Asheila. She seemed very jolly.
Lizbreath hurtled back round the corner. ‘They’re both down there – it’s no go.’
‘Well, all right,’ said Asheila, matter of factly. ‘Why don’t we take the back route down?’
‘There’s a back route?’
‘Of course. It’s along here.’
They went, one after the other, down a broad stairless chute. It was tricky, since there wasn’t much room to move your wings, but there was a fireproof rope attached to one wall to help steady yourself with, and quickly enough they dropped three floors. ‘What’s this for?’ Käal gasped.
‘The servants. But it’s not used much. Uncle is very secretive about his vault.’
‘Asheila…’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m… sorry we had that fight.’
‘That’s all right, darling,’ said Asheila.
‘Very sweet,’ said Lizbreath, through gritted fangs. ‘But we need to get on.’
They crossed a wide marble antechamber, looking about them in all directions and slinking like commandos. ‘Here it is,’ said Asheila. ‘Give me the key, and I’ll open it.’
They were standing before a tall door of stone polished so smoothly it looked like metal, upon which was written, in the ancient, venerable runes of the dragon al
phabet: SPEAK, FRIEND, AND PISS OFF – MY GOLD, THIEVING SWINE, MINE I SAY. It was a traditional inscription.
‘I can hear somebody coming,’ said Lizbreath, looking across the wide floor to the main staircase. ‘Some-several, in fact.’
‘Well let’s get inside,’ said Asheila. Lizbreath gave her Ghastly’s key: a long tapering sliver of stone. She put it into the teardrop-shaped keyhole. The door creaked, and a crack appeared with a whipsnap sound all around its rim. Then the heavy portal heaved, and swung out towards them. At exactly that moment Helltrik and Marrer came clattering down the main stairway on their hindlimb claws. ‘There they are!’ cried Helltrik. ‘My vault! The dogs!’
‘Hello uncle!’ cooeed Asheila, waving her tail.
‘Shoot them!’
Käal grabbed Asheila by the left wing, and hauled her round the door. Lizbreath, with commendable presence of mind, plucked the magic key from its keyhole, and dived after them, pulling the heavy door to behind her with her hind limbs. There was the sound of a detonation on the far side, and the door slammed shut.
They were in complete darkness, save for a single strand of light coming through the keyhole. Lizbreath, thinking quickly, groped about until she found a wall-torch. She lit this by breathing on it, and by its flickering, quickening light she thrust the key back into Asheila’s hands.
‘Lock it!’ Lizbreath told the she-dragon. ‘Put the key in the lock.’
‘Helltrik’s got his own key you know,’ said Asheila, bridling at the Salamander’s tone, but complying. ‘He can unlock it, even if I lock it up.’
‘Not if we leave the key in the lock,’ said Lizbreath. She leapt-flew to the base of Helltrik’s enormous pile of treasure, picked up a massy golden bowl, blew hard into it to soften the metal, and then threw it, with impressive strength and accuracy, straight at the door. It stuck to the inside of the keyhole with an audible splat, like chewing gum.
‘That won’t keep them out for ever,’ said Lizbreath. ‘But it’ll hold them for a minute, and that will have to do.’ She ran quickly all the way around the circular inner wall, breathing on the wall-torches one by one, until the whole space was illuminated.
They were in a vast bell-shaped chamber, vaulted in great keystone granite blocks. In the middle was the biggest pile of gold Käal had ever seen. The apex of the roof was very high, but the hoard almost touched it nonetheless. ‘So,’ said Asheila, in an awe-struck voice. ‘This is what uncle has been sitting on, all these centuries!’
‘I can hear them,’ Käal reported, his ear to the door. ‘They’re bickering amongst themselves. But they can’t seem to get Helltrik’s key in place.’
‘Whose key is this?’ Asheila asked.
‘Ghastly’s,’ said Käal.
‘Oh! I haven’t seen him in ages. How is he, the cranky old dear?’
‘He’s had a… choppy sort of day,’ said Lizbreath.
‘He did rather get it in the neck, didn’t he?’ said Käal.
‘At least he’s not running around like a headless chicken,’ said Lizbreath.
‘He had his head sliced off his neck,’ agreed Käal, ‘by Helltrik’s deadly laser.’
There was a moment of silence. Eventually Asheila said: ‘Oh,’ in a small voice.
‘We can’t hang about,’ said Lizbreath. ‘With the weaponry they have it won’t be long before they break through.’
‘So, I’m assuming there isn’t another way out of here?’
‘No.’
‘So, we’re trapped.’
‘If you want to put it like that.’
‘It’s been an awfully jolly adventure,’ said Asheila. ‘But oughtn’t one of you to tell me exactly what is going on?’
‘We,’ said Lizbreath, ‘are going to move that hoard.’
The three dragons looked at the enormous heap of gold. ‘It’s bigger than my house,’ Käal noted.
‘Yes.’
‘And you want to move it by hand?’
‘Yes. And quickly.’
‘In the name of Woden, why?’
‘Because it’s sitting on top of what we’re looking for. Now you’re going to ask me: what are we looking for?’
‘Not so much ask it,’ said Käal, ‘as shout it at the top of my voice. But, yes.’
‘I’ll explain. But we’ll have to work as I talk. Start shifting the bigger pieces. Pile them over there, by the door.’
23
They began gingerly, picking the larger pieces – a gold table, a huge golden shield with complicated relief images of hömös warriors fighting some unimaginable war – but as they got into the rhythm they began kicking great scoops of loose gold coins, bracelets, helmets, necklaces and odds-and-sods.
‘You thought the secret of the Vagner family was democracy,’ Lizbreath told Käal. ‘It’s not. By its nature, democracy is a rubbish secret. It’s not like autocracy. A democracy, by its very nature, can only seize power if all the people want it to. That puts it at an automatic disadvantage to autocracies, such as the Fascist Union of the Dragonlords, who can seize power whether the people want it or not. In short: democracy is not a threat to the Dragonlords. There’s a,’ Lizbreath scratched a nostril with her foretalon as she searched for the right word, ‘a certain social stigma, it’s true. But the super-wealthy, like the Vagners, can afford not to care about that. No, the whole “democracy” thing was chaff, designed to obscure what was really going on here.’
‘And that was?’
‘How does this island stay up? People say – magic. But that hardly answers the question! Getting a dragon into the air, with our power-to-weight ratio and our small-by-comparison-with-birds-and-bats wingspan… that takes magic. But magicking a dragon is one thing. Magicking an entire million-tonne island, quite another.’
‘So how does it stay up, then?’
‘Good question,’ said Lizbreath. ‘And whilst we ponder that one, here’s another question to go along with it: why does the island drift through this year-long oval trajectory over Scandragonia and Europe?’
No answer. ‘I give up,’ said Käal.
‘The island stays up because it is, in effect, hooked on something – like a cape on a peg. And the thing it is hooked on moves, relative to the ground: moves in the year-long oval we see. Because the hook moves, the island moves. Simple as that.’
‘And this hook is… ?’
‘It’s more than just a hook. It’s a point of connection. It is called a wyrmhole.’
Asheila, half way up the goldheap, sent a scree-tumble of golden shingle glittering down in the torchlight. ‘A what?’
‘Wyrmhole.’
‘I’ve never heard of such a thing.’
‘It’s not a regular thing.’
‘It’s a point of connection, you say?’ she said, piling many smaller gold pieces into a gold cauldron, then discovering that this made the cauldron too heavy to move. ‘And what does it connect?’
‘Worlds. There are four worlds. As far as we can tell, two are barren, or almost barren: one is of air, and its great winds have long since torn up its landscapes and churned its oceans to muddy turmoil. Another is of water, and the fishpeople who live there have no interest in us. But two are not barren. One is ours, the world of fire. And the other is – a world of men.’
‘Gracious,’ said Asheila, straining against the cauldron with her two hind legs, and her back against the angle of the mound. ‘Fancy!’
‘These four worlds were created at once, we believe,’ Lizbreath went on. ‘They were all set on their ways together, with only these slight biases. You see, just as our world of fire is not exclusively fiery – we still have earth, and water, and air – so the world of earth has its fire, water and air too. It’s a question of balances between them. Now, when the four were created, I think the wyrmhole was a stable point linking all four. But over the many hundreds of thousands of years these worlds have gone on, rolling inexorably about their four bright sun, I think it has come loose. Slight differences have crept into
each world’s orbital trajectory, and so the point of connection has started its circling, small at first, larger later.’
‘But why do you call it a wyrmhole?’
‘I don’t call it that. The humans do. They call it that because it links their world with the world of wyrms.’
‘By that logic,’ said Käal, ‘we should call it the apehole.’
Lizbreath looked at him. ‘It might catch on,’ she said, in a way that suggested that it wouldn’t.
‘I can’t get used to you talking about the hömöses in the present tense,’ said Asheila. ‘They all died out centuries ago, you know.’
‘The world of water – I can only guess what happened in its history. The world of air: well the gods of the air were too powerful, I think, and wrecked the other elements: snuffed the fire, gouged the earth, vexed the waters. But the world of earth was just like ours – humans and dragons, and many other animals. But one thing changed.’
‘What happened?’
‘Somebody – a human – burnt his fingers.’
‘Fingers!’ said Asheila. ‘There it is again! I hadn’t heard the word until today. Now we keep going on about it.’
‘Fingers,’ Lizbreath explained, ‘are the human equivalent of talons. They’re soft and fleshy, as human bodies all are.’
‘Ugh!’ shuddered Asheila.
‘I don’t deny it’s a little repellent,’ said Lizbreath. ‘But it’s how they are.’
‘Go on: what was it about fingers?’
‘I’ll tell you the story. But it means going back before the Scorch Wars, into that place where myth and history are twined each about the other, and the truth is hard to see. Back to the time of Regin the Great, father of all the dragons.’
‘I thought this had to do with the world of, what did you call it? The world of earth… the hömöses.’
‘Yes. And our world too. Because – and this is the really crucial thing – until this point, our two worlds were basically the same. There were differences, but only minor ones. There was a Regin the Great in both worlds, and a Siegfried Dragonheart too, although the humans don’t call him that.’