Part of the early training of any dragon is a series of lessons designed to impart a detailed knowledge of human weapons. This may sound strange for what is basically a peace-loving folk, but we consider it to be simple survival ... such as humans instructing their young that bee’s sting or fire is hot. Regardless of our motivations, let it suffice to say that I was as cognizant of human weapons as any human, and considerably more so than any not in the military or other heroic vocations, and, as such, had no difficulty at all identifying the implement being directed at us as a blowgun.
Now, in addition to having better senses, dragons have armor which provides substantially more protection than humans enjoy from their skin. Consequently, I was relatively certain that whatever was set to emerge from the business end of the blowgun would not pose a threat to my well-being. It occurred to me, however, that the same could not be said for Nunzio, and, as I have said before, I have qualms about going to some lengths to ensure my pets peace of mind by protecting his associates.
Jerking my head free from Nunzio’s grasp, I took quick aim and loosed a burst of #6 flame. Oh, yes. Dragons have various degrees of flame at their disposal, ranging from “toast a marshmallow” to “make a hole in rock.” You might keep that in mind the next time you consider arguing with a dragon.
Within seconds of my extinguishing the pyrotechnics, a brief shower of black powder drifted down on us.
“Darn it, Gleep!” Nunzio said, brushing the powder from his clothes. “Don’t do that again, hear me? Next time you might do more than knock some dust loose ... and look at my clothes! Bad dragon!”
I had been around humans enough not to expect any thanks, but I found it annoying to be scolded for saving his life. With as much dignity as I could muster, which is considerable, I turned and sat with my back to him.
“GLEEP! UP, BOY! GOOD DRAGON! GOOD DRAGON!”
That was more like it. I turned to face him again, only to find him hopping around holding his foot. Not lacking in mental faculties, I was able to deduce that, in making my indignant gesture, I had succeeded in sitting on his lower extremities. It was unintentional, I assure you, as human feet as rather small and my excellent sense of touch does not extend to my posterior, but it did occur to me in hindsight (no pun intended) that it served him right.
“Look, you just sit there and I’ll sit over here and well get along fine. Okay?”
He limped over to one of the cartons and sat down, alternately rubbing his foot and brushing his clothes off.
The powder was, of course, the remains of the late intruder/ assassin. #6 flame has a tendency to have that effect on humans, which is why I used it. While human burial rights have always been a source of curiosity and puzzlement to me, I was fairly certain that they did not include having ones cremated remains brushed onto the floor or removed by a laundry service. Still, considering my difficulty in communicating a simple “look out” to Nunzio, I decided it would be too much effort to convey to him exactly what he was doing.
If my attitude toward killing a human seems a bit shocking in its casualness, remember that to dragons humans are an inferior species. You do not flinch from killing fleas to ensure the comfort of your dog or cat, regardless of what surviving fleas might think of your callous actions, and I do not hesitate to remove a bothersome human who might cause my pet distress by his actions. At least we dragons generally focus on individuals as opposed to the wholesale slaughter of species humans seem to accept as part of their daily life.
“You know, Gleep,” Nunzio said, regarding me carefully, “after a while in your company, even Guido’s braggin’ sounds good ... but don’t tell him I said that.”
“Gleep?”
That last sort of slipped out. As you may have noticed, I am sufficiently self-conscious about my one-word human vocabulary that I try to rely on it as little as possible. The concept of my telling Guido anything, however, startled me into the utterance.
“Now, don’t take it so hard,” Nunzio scowled, as always interpreting my word wrong. “I didn’t mean it. I’m just a little sore, is all.”
I assumed he was referring to his foot. The human was feeling chatty, however, and I soon learned otherwise.
“I just don’t know what’s goin’ on lately, Gleep. Know what I mean? On the paperwork things couldn’t be goin’ better, except lately everybody’s been actin’ crazy. First the Boss buys a casino we built for somebody else, then overnight he wants to sell it. Bunny and Tananda are goin’ at each other for a while, then all of a sudden
Bunny’s actin’ quiet and depressed and Tananda ... did you know she wanted to borrow money from me the other day? Right after she gets done with that collection job? I don’t know what she did with her commission or why she doesn’t ask the Boss for an advance or even what she needs the money for. Just ‘Can you spot me some cash, Nunzio? No questions asked?” and when I try to offer my services as a confidential type, she sez “In that case, forget it. I’ll ask someone else!” and leaves all huffy-like. “I’ll tell ya, Gleep, there’s sumpin’ afoot, and I’m not sure I like it.”
He was raising some fascinating points; points which I’ll freely admit had escaped my notice. While I had devoted a certain portion of my intellect to deciphering the intricacies of human conduct, there was much in the subtleties of their intraspecies relationships which eluded me ... particularly when it came to individuals other than Skeeve. Reflecting on Nunzio’s words, I realized that my pet had not been to see me much lately, which was in itself a break in pattern. Usually he would make time to visit, talking to me about the problems he had been facing and the self-doubts he felt. I wondered if his increased absences were an offshoot of the phenomenon Nunzio was describing. It was food for thought, and something I promised myself I would consider carefully at a later point. Right now, there were more immediate matters demanding my attention ... like the people burrowing in under the floor.
It seemed that, in the final analysis, Nunzio was as inept as most humans when it came to guard duty. They make a big show of alertness and caution when they come on duty, but within a matter of hours they are working harder at dealing with their boredom than in watching whatever it is they’re supposed to be guarding. To be honest, the fact that dragons have longer lives may explain part of why we are so much better at staving off boredom. After a few hundred years, days, even weeks shrink to where they have no real time value at all. Even our very young have an attention span that lasts for months ... sometimes years.
Whatever the reason, Nunzio continued to ramble on about his concerns with the status quo, apparently oblivious to the scratching and digging sounds that were making their way closer to our position. This time it wasn’t simply my better hearing, for the noise was easily within the human range, though admittedly soft. By using my hearing, I could listen in on the conversations of the diggers.
“How much farther?”
“Sshhh! About ten feet more.”
“Don’t ‘sshhh’ me! Nobody can hear us.”
“I can hear you! This tunnel isn’t that big, ya know”
“What are you going to do with your share of the money after we steal the stuff?”
“First we gotta’ steal it. Then I’ll worry about what to do with my share.”
That was the part I had been waiting to hear. There had always been the chance they were simply sewer diggers or escaping convicts or something equally non-threatening to our situation. As it was, though, they were fair game.
Rising from where I had been sitting, I moved quietly to where they were digging.
“... unless Don Bruce wants to ... Hey! Where are you goin’? Get back here!”
I ignored Nunzio’s shouting and listened again. On target. I estimated about four feet down. With a mental smirk, I began jumping up and down, landing as heavily as I could.
“What are you doin’? Stop that! Hey, Gleep!”
The noise Nunzio was making was trivial compared to what was being said four feet down. When I mentioned earlier that I was too heavy for Nunzio to move unassisted, I was not meaning to imply that he was weak. The simple poundage of a dragon is a factor to be reckoned with even if it’s dead, and if it’s alive and thinking, you have real problems. I felt the floor giving way and hopped clear, relishing the sounds of muffled screams below.
“Jeez. Now look what you’ve done! You broke the floor!”
Again I had expected no thanks and received none. This did not concern me, as at the moment I was more interested in assessing the damage, or lack of damage, I had inflicted on this latest round of potential thieves.
The floor, or a portion of it, now sagged about a foot lower, leading me to conclude that either the tunnel below had not been very high, or that it had only partially collapsed. Either way, there were no more sounds emanating from that direction, which meant the thieves were either dead or had retreated empty-handed. Having accomplished my objective of removing yet another threat to the shipment, I set my mind once again on more important things. Turning a deaf ear to Nunzio’s ravings, I flopped down and pretended to sleep while I indulged in a bit of leisurely analysis.
Perhaps Nunzio was right. It was possible that my pet was reacting adversely to the change in his status from free-lance operator to the head of a corporation, much the same as tropical fish will suffer if the pH of the water in their aquarium is changed too suddenly. I was very much aware that an organism’s environment consisted of much more than their physical surroundings ... social atmosphere, for example, often influenced a human’s well-being. If that were the case, then it behooved me to do something about it.
Exactly how I was to make the necessary adjustments would be a problem. Whenever possible, I tried to allow my pet free will. That is, I liked to give him the illusion of choosing his own course and associates without interference from me. Occasionally I would stray from this stance, such as when they brought that horrible Markie creature into our home, but for the most part it was an unshakeable policy. This meant that if I indeed decided that it was time to winnow out or remove any or all of Skeeve’s current associates for his own good; it would have to be done in a manner which could not be traced to me. This would not only preserve the illusion that I was not interfering in his life, but also save him the angst which would be generated if he realized I was responsible for the elimination of one or more of his friends. Yes, this would require considerable thought and consideration.
“Here, fella. Want a treat?”
This last was uttered by a sleazy-looking Deveel as he held out a hand with a lump of some unidentifiable substance in it.
I realized with a guilty start that I had overindulged, sinking too far into my thoughts to maintain awareness of my surroundings. After the unkind thoughts I had entertained about Nunzio’s attention span, this was an inexcusable lapse on my part. Ignoring the offered gift, I raised my head and cast about desperately to reassess the situation.
There were three of them: the one currently addressing me, and two others who were talking to Nunzio.
“I dunno,” the latter was saying. “I didn’t get any instructions about anyone pickin’ up the shipment early.”
Something was definitely amiss. From his words and manner, even Nunzio was suspicious ... which meant the plot had to be pretty transparent.
“C’mon boy. Take the treat.”
The Deveel facing me was starting to sound a little desperate, but I continued ignoring him and his offering. It was drugged, of course. Just because humans can’t smell a wide range of chemicals, they assume that no one else can either. This one was no problem. I was more concerned as to whether or not Nunzio would require assistance.
“I can’t help it if your paperwork is fouled up,” the smaller Deveel with Nunzio snarled, with a good imitation of impatience. “I’ve got a schedule to keep. Look. Here’s a copy of my authorization.”
As Nunzio bent to look at the paper the Deveel was holding, the one standing behind him produced a club and swung it at his head. There was a sharp “CRACK”... but it was from the club breaking, not from Nunzio’s head, the latter being, as I have noted, exceptionally dense.
“I’m sorry, I can’t let you have the shipment,” Nunzio said, handing the paper back to the short Deveel who took it without losing the astounded expression from his face. “This authorization is nothin’ but a blank piece of paper.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the larger Deveel who was standing there staring at his broken club.
“Be with you in a second, fella. Just as soon as we get this authorization thing cleared up.”
I decided that he would be able to handle things in his own peculiar way and turned my attention to the Deveel with the drugged treat.
He was looking at the conversation across the room, his mouth hanging open in amazement. I noticed, however, that he had neglected to withdraw his hand.
There are those who hypothesize that dragons do not have a sense of humor. To prove that that is not the case, I offer this as a counter example.
Unhinging my jaw slightly, I stretched out my neck and took the treat in my mouth. Actually, I took his hand in my mouth ... all the way to the shoulder. This was not as hazardous as it sounds. I simply took care not to swallow and therefore avoided any dangerous effects which might be generated by the drugged treat.
The Deveel glanced back when he heard my jaws crash together, and we looked into each other’s eyes from a considerably closer range than he had anticipated. For effect, I waggled my eyebrows at him. The eyebrows did it, and his eyes rolled up into his head as he slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
Funny, huh? So much for not having a sense of humor.
Relaxing my jaws, I withdrew my head leaving the treat and his arm intact, and checked Nunzio’s situation again.
The larger Deveel was stretched out on the floor unconscious while Nunzio was holding the other by the lapels with one hand, leisurely slapping him forehand and backhand as he spoke.
“I oughtta turn youse over to da authorities! A clumsy hijack like this could give our profession a bad name. Know what I mean? Are you listenin’ ta me? Now take your buddies and get outta here before I change my mind! And don’t come back until you find some decent help!”
I had to admit that Nunzio had a certain degree of style ... for a human. If he had been fortunate enough to be born with a brain, he might have been a dragon.
While he was busy throwing the latest batch of attackers out the door, J decided to do a little investigating. After three attempts to relieve us of our prize, though Nunzio was only aware of one of them, I was beginning to grow a bit suspicious. Even for as crime-prone a lot as humans tend to be, three attempts in that close Succession was unusual, and I wanted to know more about what it was we were guarding.
The cases still smelled of paper and ink, but that seemed an inadequate reason for the attention it had been drawing. As casually as I could, I swatted one of the cases with my tail, caving it in. Apparently I had not been casual enough, for the sound brought Nunzio sprinting to my side.
“Now what are you doin’? Look! You ruined ... Hey! Wait a minute!”
He stooped and picked up one of the objects that had spilled from the case and examined it closely. I snaked my head around so I could look over his shoulder.
“Do you know what dis is, Gleep?”
As a matter of fact, I didn’t. From what I could see, all it was was some kind of picture book ... and a shoddily made one at that. What it didn’t look like was anything valuable. Certainly nothing that would warrant the kind of attention we had been getting.
Nunzio tossed the book back onto the floor and glanced around nervously.
“This is over my head,” he murmured. “I can’t... Gleep, you keep an eye on this stuff. I’ll be right back. I’ve gotta get the
Boss ... and Guido! Yea. He knows about this stuff.”
Admittedly perplexed, I watched him go, and then studied the book again.
Very strange. There was clearly something in this situation that was escaping my scrutiny.
I rubbed my nose a few times in a vain effort to clear it of the smell of ink, and then hunkered down to await my pet’s arrival.
* * *
“COMIC BOOKS?”
Skeeve was clearly as perplexed as I had been.
“The valuable shipment were guarding is comic books?”
“That’s what I thought, Boss,” Nunzio said. “Screwy, huh? What do you think, Guido?”
Guido was busy prying open another case. He scanned the books on top, and then dug a few out from the bottom to confirm they were the same. Studying two of them intently, he gave out with a low whistle.
“You know what these are worth, Boss?”
Skeeve shrugged.
“I don’t know how many of them are here, but I’ve seen them on sale around the Bazaar at three or four for silver, so they can’t be worth much.”
“Excuse me for interruptin’,” Guido said, “but I am not referrin’ to yer every day, run-of-the-mill comic. I am lookin’ at these, which are a horse from a different stable.”
“They are?” my pet frowned. “I mean ... it is? I mean ... these all look the same to me. What makes them special?”
“It is not easy to explain, but if you will lend me your ears I will attempt to further your education, Boss, You too, Nunzio.”
Guido gathered up a handful of the books and sat on one of the cases.
“If you will examine the evidence before you, you will note that while all these comics are the same, which is to say they are copies of the same issue, they each have the number ‘one’ in a box on their cover. This indicates that it is the first issue of this particular title.
I refrained from peering at one of the books. If Guido said the indicator was there, it was probably there, and looking at it wouldn’t change anything.
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