Dragon In The Needles

by Bruce Leslie

  Flynn rifled through the weeds for a moment before pinning another snake. “I’ve trapped another.”

  The Lump lifted the lid to his basket, bent over and snatched up the snake, then quickly tossed it into his basket. He slammed the lid down. “So that makes two, only about a hundred left.”

  Flynn captured another snake. “Again, Lump.” He watched it carefully as the Lump moved his hand toward it. Flynn felt something squeezing around his ankle. He looked down and saw one of the snakes wrapped around his boot. “Aah!” He jerked his stick up and smacked the Lump in the forehead. The snake he had trapped darted away. “One has me by the leg!” He held up his afflicted ankle and hopped through the weeds.

  “Be still, now!” The Lump slid one hand behind the coiled snake’s head and the other hand further down its body. He carefully uncoiled it from Flynn’s leg and tossed it in his basket. “Try to watch out for my noggin, please.”

  Flynn resumed pinning snakes to the ground and the Lump kept popping them into his basket. The process became smoother as the men proceeded.

  The Lump wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Not so bad once you get the hang of it.” He gripped the leather strap on his basket. “Let’s trade jobs for a while, if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly,” Flynn answered and took the basket of snakes from the Lump. “It only seems fair.”

  They continued to catch snakes, alternating jobs periodically. After about two hours all the snakes seemed to be gone.

  The Lump took the basket of snakes several yards from the potato patch and gingerly sat it on the ground. He looked around until he found a heavy stone and placed it on the basket’s lid. “I’m glad to have that over with.” He walked back to the patch. “Now, to tackle these weeds.”

  Flynn grabbed a handful of vines and tugged against them. “I think this may be more work than the serpents.” He grunted as he pulled.

  The Lump grabbed a handful of weeds and hacked at it with his sword. “This is one of the advantages of a little sword.” He felt a thorn stab through his glove and into his thumb. “Ouch!” He pulled off his glove and sucked the dot of blood off his finger. “I sure hope Meena’s room is good and warm.” He put his glove back on.

  “I’m certain it is.” Flynn grabbed a bundle of weeds at their base and pulled them up from the soil. “It seems to be easier if you grab them down low.”

  The Lump followed Flynn’s advice and started pulling up vines from where they sprang from the dirt. “You’re right. Not as many thorns down there either.”

  With the snakes gone and the weeds thinning, potato plants started to become visible. The potato plants proved to be the source of the violet flowers.

  The Lump had worked his way across the patch on his hands and knees until only one corner’s worth of weeds remained. “Looks like I just need to get this last, little spot and we can start digging potatoes.” He raised up on his knees and pointed. “If you’d like, you can go ahead and get the empty basket.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Make sure you get the empty one!”

  Flynn stood up. “Absolutely, one empty basket is on its way.” Flynn walked toward the edge of the patch.

  The Lump got back down on all fours and set about pulling the last cluster of weeds. He grabbed a handful of brown vines and pulled against them hard. The weeds resisted at first, then released from the soil and his hand flew up behind his head. The hole left in the ground revealed one last, coiled snake, far bigger than any of the others. Before the Lump could shout, the coiled snake sprang at him. It wrapped around his neck and squeezed. The Lump stood up gasping for air and pawed at the serpent wrapped around his neck. He saw that Flynn’s back was to him and he ran in Flynn’s direction. The silent snake’s grip grew tighter.

  Flynn picked up the basket and turned around. “Oh mercy!” He dropped the basket and ran to meet his companion. He grabbed the back end of the snake and began pulling hard to uncoil it from the Lump’s neck.

  The Lump’s face turned purple as he struggled to breathe. He felt the snake’s grip loosen and he began gasping. The snake slid off his neck and he felt a painful stab in his shoulder. He looked and saw the frighteningly long pest dangling from him. It had bitten his shoulder just past the edge of his leather vest. He grabbed behind the snake’s head and squeezed with all his might. The snake’s jaw popped open and he pulled its fangs from his flesh. He watched blood ooze between his gloved fingers while he crushed the scaly vermin. “Let’s hope that was really the last one,” he said.

  “Yes, let’s,” Flynn agreed. “I think I’ll get the rest of the weeds.”

  After the last of the weeds were gone, the two struggled against the hard soil with their spades. They filled the remaining basket with a heavy load of potatoes and were quite pleased that no other snakes appeared.

  The Lump hoisted the heavy basket of potatoes on his unbitten shoulder and lugged it to the kitchen. He rapped on the door and it opened.

  Beverly met him at the other side of the door. “You’re covered in dirt!”

  “That tends to happen when you dig all day.” The Lump smiled at the man. “Where would you like these.”

  “You can put them over there.” Beverly pointed to an empty spot next to one of the wood burning stoves. “I’ll get you and your friend a bowl of potato soup for your troubles.”

  “That would be great.” The Lump carried the basket over to the appointed location and sat it down.

  “Of course, you will need to eat outside, can’t have you in the tavern as filthy as you are.” Beverly handed him two bowls of soup, each with a spoon in it.

  “That’ll be fine with us,” the Lump answered.

  “I can’t help but notice…” Beverly eyed the basket of potatoes in the corner. “…you only brought in one basket.”

  “Oh, the other basket’s full too.” The Lump smiled and held the two bowls of soup. “It’s outside by the door, you can just reach in and grab what you need.”

  16: The Crone Of Bleuderry

  The Lump sat at one of the tavern’s small tables. His spot was a warm one near the hearth, just a few feet from the stairs that led up to the lodging rooms. There were few people in the tavern this early in the day, but the fire crackled just the same. Kitchen ladies would occasionally come into the room to sweep or perform some other mundane task, and three people ate porridge from bowls at the high table. The Lump had only a cup of hot water in front of him. Flynn sat across from him with the same.

  Flynn made a slurping sound as he took a sip from his mug, then sat it back on the table. “Did he say when to expect the crone?” He surveyed the tavern for any new occupants.

  “No, he just said morning time.” The Lump took a silent sip from his own mug. “I got the ruddy snake bite fixing up her potato patch, I figure looking at it is the least she could do.” He rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder. “The slick-haired fellow behind the bar carried on like he was doing me some sort of favor by arranging it.” He fidgeted with the cup in his hand.

  “It is probably best, considering our recent run of misfortune.” Flynn put a hand to the healing scratches on his arm. “My own wound turned sour quickly enough.”

  “I’m just disappointed that Beverly doesn’t have his own bite to be looked at.” The Lump chuckled and took another sip of hot water. “He didn’t stick his hand in that other basket, but when he looked in…” He put his hand over his mouth to conceal another bought of laughter. “…he hooted loud enough to wake people back in Windthorne.”

  “He is an unsavory fellow.” Flynn frowned and tilted his head. “But I don’t think I would wish a snake bite upon him.” He slurped his water.

  “Well, that’s easy for you to say.” The Lump pointed at Flynn. “You’re not the one that got bit.”

  “True enough.” Flynn nodded his head in agreement. “I must say, it was a bit disappointing that everyone remained so well behaved in here last night.” He smiled, showing all of his straight, white teeth. �
�I was hoping to reprimand some folks.”

  “The point of you standing around in your armor, and with your big sword, was to dissuade people from needing any reprimands.” The Lump spread his hands. “You were standing watch, not storming a castle.” He let his hands rest on the table. “I think you’re too eager.”

  “I just felt useless, that’s all.” Flynn took another drink from his mug. “But all’s well that ends well, I suppose.” He paused for a moment, then tilted his head and spoke again. “You never know what tonight may bring.” He grinned.

  “That must be her.” The Lump nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen door.

  An ancient lady passed through the doorway. She had a faded, blue dress wrapped loosely around her. The garment appeared a bit too large for her frame and dragged the floor behind her. There was a brown leather bag at her hip suspended from a matching strap slung across her frail body. A blue cloth matching her dress was draped over her head and tied in a knot below her narrow chin. A tuft of thin, white hair peaked out beneath the covering on her head, and her face was pale as chalk. She had small, grey eyes and a long, thin, hooked nose. There was a bump of pink flesh on her cheek the size of a wild berry. When she smiled she revealed only a very few teeth. Her feet moved slowly across the tavern floor with short, shuffling steps.

  The Lump leaned in close to Flynn and whispered. “I think she could do with a walking stick, looks like she could topple over any minute.”

  Flynn glanced over his shoulder as stealthily as he could, then looked back to the Lump and nodded.

  The crone held a thin, white finger out. “You’re the one?” She continued shuffling across the floor with her finger pointed. “Are you the fat man that was bitten by a black snake?” Her voice was high pitched and creaked like planks in a floor on a cold, quiet night.

  “Yes Ma’am, that’d be me.” The Lump stood and took off his cap. “I’m the Lump.”

  “Sit down! Sit down!” The crone waved her hand as she shuffled along. “I’ll be there in a moment.” She pointed again. “And please put that cap back on, cover up that unruly mess of hair. People eat in here!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” The Lump slapped his cap back upon his head and dropped quickly into his chair.

  The crone made it to the table and sat in the empty chair next to the Lump. One of the kitchen ladies ran over to her and delivered a massive tankard, filled to the brim with dark, frothy ale.

  The crone waved the kitchen lady away. “Let us have a look now,” she said.

  “Certainly.” The Lump unfastened the buckles of his leather vest and slid it off, he then rolled the sleeve of his tunic high up on his shoulder. “I don’t think it looks too bad.”

  “Your thinking is what got you here.” The crone reached inside her leather bag and pulled out a clear glass bottle filled with clear liquid. She reached in again and pulled out several small pieces of cloth. “I’ll clean it with some spirits.” She poured some of the liquid on the cloth pieces. “Hold still now.”

  The Lump’s nostrils burned as the fumes from the spirits wafted into his nose. His skin burned worse when the soaked cloth touched his wound. He jerked back his shoulder and shouted. “Great smoky cinders!”

  “Look at you!” The crone continued pressing the cloth against the snake bite. “You’re big as a bear, but you cry like a baby.” She tugged on his tunic to pull him closer.

  “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” The Lump bit his teeth together hard as he endured the burning at his shoulder.

  “It will heal fine.” The crone dabbed at the wound once more, then put the bottle of spirits back in her bag. “There’s no poison in a black snake, they squeeze the life out of their prey.” She produced a small black jar from her bag.

  “He sure tried to squeeze the life out of me.” The Lump looked at the puncture wounds in his shoulder. “You’re sure it won’t fester?”

  “No, it won’t fester!” The crone took the lid off the black jar with her twisted fingers. “I cleaned it.” She got a dollop of greasy, yellow paste from the jar on two of her fingers and smeared it on the bite marks.

  “I cleaned Flynn’s wound and it festered.” The Lump wrinkled his nose at the smell of the paste.

  The crone smeared the paste around a bit more. “How did you clean it?” She wiped her fingers on the front of her blue dress.

  The Lump rolled his sleeve back down his arm. “With water.”

  “Water!” The crone snapped her eye’s up to the Lump. “No spirits? No fire? No honey?” She shook her head. “You just took a filthy wound and made it a wet, filthy wound.” She put the lid back on the jar and put it back into her bag.

  “A Solson came along and put honey on it.” Flynn held up his arm.

  “Bah! Solsons…” The crone spat on the tavern floor. “A Solson reads a few pieces of paper and thinks he knows everything.” She held up a crooked finger. “They won’t let women into their precious order.” She pointed to her mouth. “I’ll gamble my last tooth that I know more than any Solson.”

  “He seemed knowledgeable,” Flynn said.

  The crone waved her finger side to side in front of her face. “A poisoned oak seems pretty…” She brought her hand down hard on the table. “…but you don’t want to rub up against it!”

  The Lump slid his vest back over his chest. “How’s the girl doing?” He fastened the buckles on his vest.

  “She’s getting her strength.” The crone leaned her sharp elbows on the table. “Some of my broth, a bit of bark from a white birch, that broke her fever.”

  The Lump lifted his mug and drank the last of his water. He swallowed and said, “None too soon, tonight’s her third night.” He slid his mug next to Flynn’s.

  “I’m sure she’s eager to resume our journey.” Flynn handed the empty cups to a kitchen lady.

  The crone took a long drink from her tankard, holding it with both hands. She sat it back on the table. “So, going on the move. Best be careful.” She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “There are brigands about!”

  The Lump raised his eyebrows. “Really? Brigands afoot in Aardland?”

  “Yes. Many travelers come in with tales of being accosted by men with crossbows.” The crone nodded her head. “Men who cover their faces and bushwhack good folk unawares.” She took another drink of ale. “It’s because of troubles in the Needles, I tell you.”

  The Lump said, “Well, we plan to fix those troubles.”

  “Bah! I’ve seen how men like you fix troubles.” The crone shook her head. “You just turn them into someone else’s problems.”

  The Lump pointed at himself with his thumb. “I fixed the potato patch, didn’t I?”

  “And look at what a sight you are now.” The crone pointed her thin finger at him. “Grabbing snakes and flinging them. Bah!”

  “I only flung one!” The Lump held up his index finger.

  The crone said, “Put your finger down before a snake bites it!” She waved her hand at him dismissively. “Why didn’t you smoke them out?”

  The Lump wrinkled his forehead. “What?”

  “Burn a pile of dry leaves.” The crone smiled with the few teeth that she had. “Fan the smoke across the patch, that’ll send snakes scurrying fast enough.”

  The Lump opened his eyes wide. “If you knew how to get rid of snakes, why did I have to do it?”

  “You needed a room didn’t you?” The crone leaned back in her chair. “I get tired of providing all the wisdom around here.” She pointed to the bar across the room. “Besides, I told Beverly to deal with it. That twit think’s he’s so clever, and that ridiculous mustache.” She held a finger under her nose. “It looks like a big, furry caterpillar has taken up residence on his face.” She brought her finger down from her lip. “He’s a fool, I tell you. I suppose he knows how to put ale in a cup good enough.” She held her pale, bony hands shoulder high. “Who names a son Beverly anyway?”

  “How about the kings?” Flynn leaned forwa
rd against the table as he spoke. “Didn’t they sign the treaty that ended the Great War?”

  “I’m sure the kings signed a treaty.” The crone wrapped her hands around her tankard. “But don’t forget it was kings that started warring in the first place.” She took a chug of ale. “If a treaty is worth its weight in salt, I’d dare say it was a queen that thought it up.” She wiped light brown foam from her mouth.

  The clack of a wooden stick against the floor came from the stairs. The clack was followed closely by Meena, she descended the stairs with the assistance of a thick, oaken walking stick of a height equal to her own. Her freckles had returned and her skin was no longer pale. Her red hair was pulled back into her ever-present, thick braid.

  “Meena!” The Lump smiled. “You look better. Where’d you get that stick?”

  “I gave it to her.” The crone pointed at herself. “She can keep it. There’s no shortage of sticks around this place.” She parted her lips in a craggy smile. “Maybe she’ll use it to knock some wits into you two.”

  Meena walked to the table and sat next to Flynn, in the remaining empty chair. “I am getting my strength back.” She leaned her stick against the table. “I’ll be strong enough to depart in the morning.” She looked at the crone. “Thank you very much for all you’ve done.”

  “He’s the one that worked off your keep.” The crone pointed at the Lump. “He has the snake bite to prove it.”

  “You were bitten by a snake!” Meena sat up in her chair with wide eyes.

  “It’s the snake you should be worried about, child.” The crone stood up from her chair. “He likes to fling them at people.” She shuffled away.