by Adam Roberts
‘Go on.’
‘As you know, Siegfried was so strong and mighty he almost deserved to be called a dragon. Humankind has not seen his sort since. So mighty he was, he could conceivably have posed a threat. His weapon was called Nothung – that’s the archaic word for “Nothing”. Does anybody here know why his weapon was called “Nothing”?’
‘Because it was – invisible?’ suggested Asheila.
‘Matter is mostly nothing,’ said Lizbreath.
The others looked at her. ‘Perhaps you mean “matter is something”?’ said Käal.
‘It only seems that way,’ said Lizbreath, eagerly. ‘In fact, matter is mostly… nothing at all! Isn’t that remarkable?’
‘Remarkably unlikely, I think you mean,’ said Asheila.
‘I know it’s counterintuitive. If you had a computer, I could send you the link to a really interesting website that explains all this in accessible vocabulary… look, never mind. All you need to know is that at a subatomic level matter is mostly nothing.’
‘She’s talking,’ Käal explained airily to Asheila, ‘about the atoms that, er, submarines are made of.’
‘And those are made of nothing?’ Asheila replied. ‘Well that would explain why submarines float. Or – wait, are submarines the ones that sink?’
‘Both,’ said Käal, confidently, although he was noisily creasing his brow.
‘Can I get on with my story, please?’ said Lizbreath. ‘Siegfried—’
‘The ape?’
‘Exactly: the hömös, Siegfried.’ She went on, tossing items in time to the rhythm of her words. ‘Well he was a – genius, really. He discovered through magical means what the technicians of the human world would not rediscover – through science – for another three thousand years. He discovered how to turn the nothing of matter into prodigious destructive energy… atomic energy. This was the force that powered his weapon, his Nothing. It was more than an ordinary apean sword. For one thing it could cut straight through dragon scales. Provided, of course, that Siegfried could get close enough to wield it…’
‘Cut through our scales!’ shuddered Asheila, picking up Käal’s tail and poking a talon into the hole at the end. ‘It’s – just – horrible.’
‘Well, after Siegfried’s death the skill to make weapons like Nothing was lost. As we know, Regin, the Father of Dragons, slew Siegfried. The hömöses fought against our kind for millennia, but we were ultimately victorious.’
‘History.’
‘The history of our world. But to go back to that moment when Regin slew Siegfried. Do you know why we call him Dragonheart?’
‘Because he was so brave that he was almost worthy of being called a dragon?’ said Asheila. ‘I’m sure I did this in school.’
‘That’s not the reason. Siegfried was a mighty king among humankind, and was possessed of a vast golden treasure. At that time, there was truce between dragon-kind and the apes, and peace there was upon the land.’
‘Why are you talking like that?’ asked Käal.
‘Like what?’
‘You’re going all uppy-downy with your intonation, all singy-songy. And you’re diction has become strange and rather stilted.’
‘I’m trying for an appropriately mythical effect!’ said Lizbreath. ‘Shut up! Where was I? Oh yes – Regin’s brother, Fafnir. The evil brother dragon. He stirred up dissension between the apes and the dragons.’
‘Stirred up what?’ asked Asheila.
‘Dissension.’
‘The stomach bug, with all the diarhhoea and everything?’
‘No,’ said Lizbreath, after a moment. ‘Not that.’
‘My tail hurts,’ said Käal.
‘Fafnir stole Siegfried’s gold, and then made up some story to cover his tracks, about inheriting it from his father. But nobody was fooled. War threatened the land. Worse, Fafnir used his new-stolen hoard to lure dragons to his cause – for he hoped to overthrow his brother and assume the “Regal” title. So Regin made common cause with Siegfried. He agreed to show the ape-king where Fafnir had hidden the treasure.’
‘You mean he betrayed his brother to the hömöses?’ said Käal.
‘You could put it like that. But then he betrayed Siegfried too. The deal was: Siegfried would go into Fafnir’s lair, kill him, and use his Atomic Sword to cut out the dragon’s heart. Then he would cook it, and Regin would devour it, acquiring his brother’s magic and becoming the most powerful dragon the world had yet seen. In return Regin would return the treasure to Siegfried, and swear undying peace between apes and dragons. That is why Siegfried is known as Dragonheart. And he did it too – killed wicked old Fafnir, and cut out the fellow’s heart.’
‘Ugh!’ said Käal.
‘But once he had eaten the heart, Regin went back on his word. He did what he had always intended to do – blasted Siegfried with his hottest flame, and then crunched up his scorched, screaming body into tiny morsels.’
‘I don’t see why you have to put this relentlessly negative spin on Regin’s actions,’ said Asheila. ‘Too many dragons these days think it’s “hot” to denigrate the achievements of our great leaders. Regin made the world safe for Dragofascism, and preserved dragonkind. He’s a hero! Let’s hear less of these so-called “betrayals” and a little more about his solid and lasting achievements, eh?’
‘He won, at any rate,’ Lizbreath agreed. ‘And history is written by the winners. Right?’
‘I think you’ll find,’ said Asheila, condescendingly, ‘that history is written by the historians. Hence the name, you see?’ She smiled, nodded. ‘Anyway, don’t let it put you off. We all make mistakes. Go on.’
Lizbreath looked sternly at her. ‘Right,’ she said, eventually. ‘OK. Anyway, that’s the founding myth of our modern world. Because Siegfried trusted Regin, and cut out the dragon’s heart. Because he cooked it. Because he was careful when he cooked it.’
‘Your point is?’
‘Through the wyrmhole is another world, just like ours, except – well, except that it’s all different. And the difference came about because of Siegfried’s fingers.’
‘More finger gibberish!’ said Käal.
‘It’s important,’ said Lizbreath. ‘Here’s a different version of the story: Siegfried agrees to Regin’s deal, creeps into Fafnir’s lair and kills the dragon. Then he cuts out the heart, spits it on the sword, and cooks it over an open fire.’
‘You’ve shifted into the present tense,’ noted Asheila.
‘Dramatic licence. There he is, Siegfried, in the red-orange sunset, his long shadow flicking across the turf as he moves, smoke from his fire climbing into the sky like ivy. He turns the spit.’
‘He’ll scorch it!’ said Käal. ‘Why doesn’t he just eat it raw, like a civilized creature?’
‘That’s not how apes like their food. They prefer meat cooked.’
‘They like scorched food?’
‘Not scorched. I said cooked. There’s a difference. To stop the heart charring, he takes some fat from the carcass he has just cut open…’
‘Ugh!’ said Asheila. ‘Do you mind? Gross.’
‘It’s an important detail,’ said Lizbreath. ‘Before he cooks it he takes some fat, and smears it on the meat. Then he washes his hand in the river…’
‘What river?’ Käal put in, trying to catch her out.
‘The Rhine. Then he puts the heart on the fire, and turns the spit. The fat has melted, and is dribbling over the meat. He catches the dribbles of scalding juice in his shield, and pours it back over the top of the meat.’
‘Scalding juice sounds quite tasty,’ said Asheila. ‘I’m starting to feel peckish, actually.’
‘He turns the meat. He smells the savoury smells of cooking. His mind wanders – thinking of the great treasure he has won back, the greeting his ape-people will give him when he returns with news of the peace he has negotiated. He reaches out to turn the spit again. The hot fat, licked by the flames, spits and flies.’ Suddenly she yelled: ‘Ouch
!’
Käal and Asheila jumped. ‘Hey!’ said Asheila. ‘You startled me!’
‘Siegfried’s hand was burnt by the hot fat,’ said Lizbreath, in a more matter-of-fact voice. ‘Instinctively he put his fingers into his mouth to cool them.’
‘Why did he want to cool them?’
‘Because he was made of ape.’
‘Ah!’
‘Those burnt fingers changed everything. Once he put them in his mouth, he tasted the flesh of slain Fafnir. He took into his body a small amount of the magic of dragons – only a small amount, but it was enough. He understood the nature of the creatures with whom he was treating. He could see like a dragon, and smell like a dragon. And he smelt – Regin, creeping through the meadowgrass towards him, with murder in his heart. He leapt up and grasped the handle of his sword, pulled it from the two supports, and with a mighty roar of effort and strain, spun about. The sword was heavy at the best of times, but now he was carrying the immense weight of a dragon’s heart upon the blade! It took all his strength to hold it up.’
‘Wait,’ said Asheila. ‘You’re in the past tense now. Weren’t you in the present a moment ago?’
Ignoring this, she went on: ‘He flexed his muscles to pivot about, holding the sword in front of him. The centrifugal effect slid the half-cooked heart along the metal, and it flew free and clear. The motion distracted Regin for a moment. Remember, he hoped to devour his brother’s heart and gain his powers. For one fatal moment he was caught between destroying Siegfried and catching the heart. He chose unwisely. Freed of its weight, Siegfried’s sword, Nothing, was swift and deadly in his hand. The ape-king leapt, and the magic sword pierced the thick scales of Regin’s neck, here!’ Lizbreath slapped herself noisily under her chin, talons on scales, ‘In at the throat! Regin had his brother’s heart in his jaws, and though he reared up in agony and rage he made no sound, nor put out any fire. Siegfried gripped the hilt, his feet on the writhing neck, and he didn’t let go. When the mighty dragon fell back to earth, Siegfried leapt free. After the death agony, he took his sword again and cut the head whole from Regin’s body.’
‘Just like poor Ghastly,’ said Asheila, in a small voice.
‘Golly,’ said Käal. ‘That’s quite a story.’
‘It’s not a story. It’s real. It’s the history of the place on the other end of that wyrmhole.’
‘The apehole!’ said Käal. ‘Really?’
‘Please stop calling it that,’ said Lizbreath. ‘And, yes, really. From that point on, history diverged. In the earth world, Siegfried led the apes to victory. Dragons were scarce back then, and after Regin’s death there was no mighty father to lead the species’ population expansion. Siegfried hardened his resolve, and never again trusted one of us. He hunted us, and his sons and daughters hunted us after his death.’
‘So dragons are the minority in that other world?’ asked Asheila.
‘There are no dragons in the earth world. They were all hunted down and killed.’
‘Great Woden!’ gasped Käal. ‘That’s horrible!’
‘It is horrible,’ said Lizbreath, soberly. ‘It is precisely as horrible as what we did to the apes during the Scorch Wars.’
‘Oh I hardly think the comparison is just!’ said Asheila, horror-struck. ‘You can’t seriously be making it.’
‘No?’
‘Of course not! Don’t misunderstand me – I hold no truck with cruelty to animals, and I’m sure the hömöses are very clever and everything. But they were not dragons! Maybe purging the world of every ape was going a little far – but to kill all the dragons? That is to rob the world of its grandeur! Take away all the apes and what have you left? There are plenty of other small animals that creep about through the grass and clamber in amongst the trees. But take away all the dragons, and you leave a world without the majesty and splendour of dragons in flight – a world without fire, and magic! It is a crime against the cosmos!’
‘Perhaps you can see it from the apes’ point of view?’ offered Lizbreath. ‘Surely they would see it exactly the other way about?’
‘No,’ said Asheila. ‘No! I don’t accept it. Because however fond you might be of the soft-fleshed humans, you must accept that they never did possess majesty and might. Perhaps the apes consider apes attractive, yes. Even beautiful, perhaps, in their own eyes, at least, however repulsive I find them! I grant it, for the sake of argument. Maybe the apes were beautiful, at least to other apes. But they themselves must accept the truth: they were never sublime!’
‘You know, the hömöses have a word for the deliberate destruction of an entire people,’ said Lizbreath. ‘Genocide.’
‘Of course they have a word for it!’ said Asheila. ‘They need a word for it! It’s what they do! Everybody knows that humans were wicked, destructive, vindictive cruel, violent – and not in a good way.’
‘Let’s not get into a fight, please,’ said Käal. ‘It’s ancient history, after all.’
‘But that’s just it!’ cried Asheila, spreading her wings and leaping into the air. ‘It’s not ancient history at all! It turns out it’s right here, right now! If Mis. Salamander here is right, and this chamber really does contain an apehole—’
‘Please stop calling it that!’ squawked Lizbreath.
‘Then there’s a whole other world in which dragons were hunted to extinction by savage apes! Maybe Helltrik is right to try and hide this portal… maybe we’re wrong to try and uncover it? What if we open it, and swarms of grublike apes come bundling through, to finish the job?’
‘That’s hardly likely to happen,’ Käal said; although the thought was unnerving. ‘Is it?’ he asked Lizbreath.
‘No,’ said Lizbreath.
Käal cleared his throat with a healthy blast of fire and added: ‘Surely you’re not scared, are you, Asheila? Scared of a few apes? You’d cook them with one sneeze.’
‘Unless they all come, grunting, squeezing out of this apehole, armed with their deadly lazy pistols? Eh? Like the ones Helltrik and Marrer are running around with? What then?’
‘OK,’ said Lizbreath, rearing up in the air herself, and spreading her wings as wide as possible for emphasis. ‘Two things. One, neither of you have been in contact with the human world. My friends and I have. We’ve been monitoring it, as best we can, downloading as much from their internet as possible. That means I know quite a lot about it, and you don’t, so maybe you’d better listen to me. And two: please stop calling the wyrmhole the “apehole”! It’s… just foul.’
The door shook with a heavy detonation. From the far side came Helltrik’s voice. He must have found himself a megaphone, or something similar, because his voice boomed. ‘You in there!’
Lizbreath went over to the door. A small pile of gold was heaped at its base, still a pitifully small portion of the main hoard. ‘Hello Helltrik.’
‘You’ve no business being in there!’ Helltrik boomed. ‘That’s my vault! My hoard!’
‘We know about the apehole!’ yelled Käal, at the top of his voice.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ boomed Helltrik,
‘The wyrmhole, Helltrik,’ said Lizbreath.
‘Oh,’ said the figure on the far side of the door. ‘That.’
‘Hello Uncle!’ called Asheila, from the main heap. ‘Cooee! What larks we’re having!’
‘Asheila!’ boomed Helltrik’s voice. ‘I’m sorry you had to get yourself caught up in this, my dear. It is regrettable.’
‘He means he’s going to kill you,’ Lizbreath told Asheila.
‘No!’ said Asheila, opening her eyes wide. She scrambled down the heap of gold, and came over to the door, putting her snout close to the stone. Shadows, thrown by the torches, stretched and shrivelled in pulses. ‘Is that true, Uncle? Are you going to kill me?’
‘I’m afraid I have no choice now, my dear,’ said Helltrik. ‘Now that you know about the wyrmhole, I will have to silence you – for ever.’
‘But… I’m family!’
‘I’m afraid that doesn’t make any difference.’
‘You didn’t kill Ghastly,’ Käal pointed out.
‘Actually,’ Helltrik boomed, through the door, managing nevertheless to convey a sense of regret, ‘I did.’
‘Well, yes, technically you did. But that was just now!’ Käal said. ‘I mean – before. For all those centuries, you let him live. Why not let us live too?’
‘Nobody believed a word Ghastly said,’ Helltrik snorted. ‘It didn’t matter if we let him live. Everybody thought he was just a mad democrat. But you three… yes, even you, Asheila, my dear girl. If we let you out, the world might listen. And we cannot have that.’
‘Still,’ said Asheila, her voice trembling a little. ‘Killing me seems a little… extreme.’
‘I am sorry,’ came Helltrik’s disembodied voice. ‘You’ll have your place in the family tomb, though. We’ll blame your death on those other two, the Salamander and the idiot Saga writer. But you’ll get burial with full honours.’
‘I suppose that’s something,’ said Asheila, wistfully.
‘Idiot?’ cried Käal. ‘You hired me, Helltrik! If I’m an idiot, that makes you an idiot-hirer. Hah! Which is obviously, um, worse.’
‘That’s telling him,’ said Lizbreath, sourly.
‘I hired you to find out what had happened to Hellfire!’ the old dragon’s voice came back. ‘Something you completely failed to do!’
‘Didn’t you think it was dangerous,’ Käal asked. ‘Hiring a world-famous finder-outer-of-things to come and poke around your island? Weren’t you worried that I might find out about the one thing you didn’t want me to find out about?’ He looked from Asheila to Lizbreath. ‘If you see what I mean?’
‘I had you checked out, of course, before I approached you,’ said Helltrik. ‘The consensus was that you were an idiot.’
‘So why hire me at all?’
‘After three hundred years, it was starting to look… suspicious… that I hadn’t done anything to discover poor Hellfire’s fate. And all these tongues kept arriving, one a year! My initial interview with you reassured me that you weren’t likely to get very far in the investigation. Of course, one reason why the police investigation into Hellfire’s disappearance didn’t proceed very far is that I used my influence with Detective Superintendent Smaug to make sure that the police didn’t get too close to the real truth. Still,’ he added, wistfully, or if not full, perhaps, then at least with a certain percentage of wist, ‘I did want to know what happened to the poor girl!’