It was a sound that made your skin crawl, and you could hear it every day if you listened closely at his apartment door during a depressing news telecast.
One thing that made his laughter disappear was the appearance of children. The Parisian Dragon hated children. He’d make them wet their pants when they walked by him. He’d make their balloons float away. He’d make their parents yell at them, so the children would cry. It made him feel good inside.
In his human disguise, he went by the name of Jacques Tyrannique, and he looked to all the world like a thin young man, with lady-hunting eyes and long, greasy, blond hair that went down to his shoulders and was swept back from his lightly bearded face.
The Parisian Dragon loved wine. His fire was so tainted with wine that when he burned buildings, the smoke would cause people to feel drunk.
His favorite thing to burn was schools.
He had expensive tastes, and made his money from threatening French businesses with arson if they didn’t pay him, and by selling stolen art—when he could part with it. In the past, he had sold art to the White Dragon of Manhattan, though he spat on the pictures before sending them. He had never sold art to the Dragon of Venice. The Venice Dragon made money from art, but never took time to enjoy it. He was a pig, thought the Parisian.
Now the Venice Dragon had pulled him into a conflict he did not want to face.
He had never been called on to fight before. In medieval times, away from home, he had almost been discovered by a group of Knights, but he created the Inquisition, and that took their attention away from him. That was the closest he ever came to a struggle.
Life was good in Paris. If you are a hater of love, there is plenty to hate. But with the Knight tracking the Venetian, the city would no longer be safe for him, and he thought perhaps he had stayed here too long anyway. He needed a change of scenery. It made sense all around. Trouble was brewing.
He was impatient to find the Venice Dragon, somewhere out there, getting closer.
He had many questions for him.
Whatever the Venice Dragon was up to, the Parisian Dragon knew it was big. The world was changing—he could feel it, right under his feet. Every form of life was feeling it; it was working its way up the food chain. The humans would sense it soon.
At this moment, from his apartment above the café, he was staring out at the Eiffel Tower, twinkling with lights. Before he left, he just wanted to see the old town one last time. Roam around. Smell the air. Feel the insects writhing under him.
He had this strong sense that he should take advantage of every fleeting moment in life—not because he was going to die, but because everything on Earth would soon be very, very different.
Chapter Nineteen
ICY VENTURES
THE SHIP WITH NO Name rode the sea toward the Coast of the Dead. The day was gray and silver, and the seabirds in the storm clouds trailed the boat mile after mile, watching. Simon stood on deck, staring up at the seabirds, his mouse crawling nervously on his shoulder, on his neck, as Aldric leaned on a crate nearby, studying an old book. They had been talking.
“I’m not sure I really understand,” said Simon. “Just having two Dragons in the same place is dangerous?”
“Let’s hope there’s no reason to worry about it. When two Dragons meet, it is very deadly. Their magic runs wild, Simon. Nothing can control it. It’s as if God himself wanted them isolated and alone.” He looked at Simon. “We’re lucky we got the White Dragon. If the Venetian was joining with him, as they encountered one another, their own magic would turn against them. One Dragon causes ripples in nature; bring two Dragons together, and it rips nature apart. The task of catching this one is not going to be simple. My fear is, that this ‘Fire Eternal,’ whatever that means, is only the beginning. The Venetian’s plan could lead to terrors never before known in the world.”
A shiver went down Simon’s spine.
Alaythia came up on deck, map in hand, looking defeated. “I give up,” she told Aldric. “I’ve told you everything I understand about this little map-thing, and my head hurts from trying to read the Dragon language. I think I need another near-death experience. You’ll have to try to kill me off or something.”
Aldric gave her a pale smile. “We’ll do our best.”
She didn’t care for the joke. “I don’t know what’s waiting for us on the Coast of the Dead. It’s as if you’re just supposed to know, like it was a legend….”
Aldric looked out to sea. “It is a legend. I never thought it was real until now.” Simon listened, feeling unsteady. “There are many stories of people going to the Coast of the Dead. There are no stories of people coming back.” He could see the fear in his father’s eyes. “Everything that’s come down to us…is legend. And what scares me is, to every legend, there is some truth.”
“The Coast was the home of Dragonhunters long ago. It is where many Magicians of the old order were murdered. This was their treasury, the fortress that held all their secrets. A Dragon known as Daggerblood found the stronghold, killed the Knights, and from that moment, the land was cursed, hexed by our Magicians with their dying breath. Even the Dragon perished, his own fire turned on him.” His next words gripped Simon the most. “It is a place both men and Dragons fear. Both have tried to steal its treasures, but nothing that enters there can live.” He looked to the sea, worriedly. “It is a riot of uncontrolled magic, they say, that kills anything that comes near it. It is the greatest wasteland of dead Serpents there ever was, you understand. They came there, they died there, like flies in a web—but their bones still possess a dead magic. You put all of this in one place…makes for a bloody nightmare.”
Simon and Alaythia stared at him, by now deeply frightened.
“There has to be another way,” said Simon. “Why are we going there?”
“Because the legend is wrong,” said Aldric. “Or there wouldn’t be a legend.”
He was unsure of himself, Simon could tell. They could be certain of nothing, except that their destination was feared by all living things that knew of it.
Simon tried to imagine a place with dragon magic completely out of control, and shuddered to realize he would soon see it for himself.
“The Coast of the Dead…”
Somewhere far from this quest for the Lost Spells, high in the sky, on a large and luxurious airplane, the most dangerous of Dragons, the one they called the Venetian, was enjoying life to the fullest. He was eating caviar, loving it as the delicious salty fish eggs squished apart in his teeth and turned to liquid.
It was hard to tell he was pleased. His breathing was sickly. Oxygen made him ill. It forced him to drink water like a fish.
In addition to that, his injuries from the Dragonhunter had been quite severe. He held his chest in pain every now and then. Even breathing hurt. He would make the Knight pay. He would give the Knight three wounds for each one he’d dealt out. Then he would destroy the pest, one way or another, when the time was right.
He wished he’d taken a private jet, but he wasn’t sure what the Dragonhunter knew about him, and he couldn’t arouse attention.
Nevertheless, his wheezing was getting him plenty of notice. The Venetian didn’t know that. His large first-class seat could barely hold his body. He figured the other flyers staring were just marveling at his tallness and muscularity.
He did some staring of his own. The woman attendant serving him pricey wine was wearing the most wonderful little gold watch.
“Where did you get ssssuch a beautiful trinket?” he asked hoarsely in his Italian accent.
“It was a gift from my gramma. Are you feeling all right?” said the woman, alarmed by his breathing.
“Oh, cara mia, flying issssn’t my thing,” he answered. “I prefer the water.”
“Next time, perhaps a ship might be a better idea.”
“Yessss,” rasped the Venetian, staring at her watch, “but I was in a terrible hurry.”
Indeed he was. The plan he had hatched w
ith the White Dragon was roaring ahead. He could see the world coming apart like a rock crushed in a mining press. He would make it all happen. It was as if the curtains were rising on a grand opera.
The airline woman smiled politely and moved away, checking her watch to see how much longer she’d have to listen to the awful breathing of the giant Venetian passenger.
By the time he arrived at his destination, he’d had the gold watch in his clammy hands, then in his salty mouth, and soon he’d slurped it down into his stomach, already brimming with gold and silver and rubies and diamonds. His body was filled with gems. They became a part of him. He glittered on the inside.
The airline woman, by the way, had gone missing.
Chapter Twenty
SECRETS
WHAT LAY BETWEEN THE Venetian and his plans, of course, was Aldric St. George and his son.
The Ship with No Name burrowed through the icy ocean with a creaking in its wooden bones that sounded like pure misery. It was nighttime, and the stars seemed to breathe down a cruel blast of chilly air.
But the sea was merciful tonight. Over the past few days, the ship had gone through storms that seemed to last for years. The chill got into Simon’s lungs and into his bones, and chipping ice from the rigging had become a nearly constant chore. Simon shivered in the wind. The Coast of the Dead was well defended by the elements. The ship had not even come within sight of it yet.
In his off hours, Simon had learned a good deal about the Dragon of Venice. Alaythia had been reading from the Venetian’s own notes on the Dragonmap, and the creature was the essence of evil. It boasted of drowning countless sailors in Venice over the years. It claimed to have stolen from the city’s treasures for ages. Now it seemed the Beast wanted more. It wanted to destroy millions of people, and perhaps, as soon as it could manage it, the entire world.
What disturbed Simon most was that the Dragonmap had begun behaving strangely. The European portion of it now rippled with waves of light. “The map shows you the flow of magic on the earth,” Aldric had told him. “Something has thrown it into chaos, and it’s spreading….” They assumed it was the Venetian who had done this, but what it all meant was not yet clear. Simon knew only one thing for certain: They had to stop him.
He heard steps behind him, and Alaythia walked out of the darkness. “Come inside where it’s warm,” she said. “I’ve got some Celtic tea for you. Special recipe.”
Simon took her up on the offer, but the hot drink seemed to have been made with melted cheese, old coffee grounds, moldy Hershey bars, and cajun spices. The steam from it smelled like Armageddon.
Aldric refused to drink any, lighting a pipe instead.
Alaythia pretended not to see his reaction. It seemed to Simon that she chose not to notice a lot of things.
For his part, Simon forced himself to drink the tea, to be polite. He looked down at his cup. He could swear there was cabbage floating in it.
He amused himself by watching Fenwick search around the galley, snapping at the little white mouse, chasing it. The two hadn’t been getting along.
Aldric looked up from his book. He let the hunt go on for several minutes and then finally barked out loudly for Fenwick to go outside and take up watch. The fox bared its teeth, but finally crawled up onto the mast and stared out at the sea for danger.
Aldric looked at the mess the fox had made. “There are times, even after all these years, when I miss your mother,” Aldric said to Simon. “She knew how to run a ship.”
Simon turned to see Alaythia’s reaction. She seemed hurt at first, but in a moment she looked like she might laugh it off.
Aldric settled back into his chair thoughtfully, his mind a thousand miles away. “This was never an easy way to live,” he said. “But with a wife, it used to be tolerable. Of course, she had the powers on her side. A flick of the wrist, and anything you want could be found in the cupboard. No stopping in London for a packet of Earl Grey, or Bombay for a dash of curry. If you needed it, she could have it for you in an instant.”
Simon was startled. “Wait a minute. You mean my mother was a Magician?”
Aldric looked away. “One of the best in the world. The name Maradine was known in the realm of Dragons. They hated her with every fiber of their existence, I can tell you that.”
Simon felt tricked. “Why didn’t you tell me Maradine was my mother?”
Alaythia leaned against the galley sink, listening.
Aldric sighed. “There’s no sense dredging up the past. It’s not my favorite topic of conversation.”
“Well, what is?”
Aldric glared at the boy. “These are the rules of a time long past. A Knight is paired with a Magician, they protect each other all of their days. It’s never wise for a Knight to fall in love with a Magician—there are too many risks. Your mother and I went against this, but we knew what we were doing. Look, I don’t see how it profits you now to learn this.”
Alaythia seemed especially interested. “All Magicians are women?”
“It so happens they are, yes,” said Aldric, refilling his pipe, avoiding her eyes. “And when they fall in love, it becomes something they cannot hide from a Serpent. They become vulnerable. Emotion that strong is dangerous. A Serpent can sense these feelings a world away; it makes a Magician easy to find. It’s like a beacon, you know. Maradine…was…” He made his voice firm again. “The White Dragon found us at sea, and set fire to the ship. She was the last of her kind.”
Simon didn’t really want to know more.
Aldric looked at Alaythia. “She was the last. The Magicians who could help draw the power out of you are long gone—whatever it is you’re experiencing, it is nothing but the echo of old magic. It’s some last bit of energy that rolled past you when you were young, like a fire that sparks to life for a brief moment before it goes out. You were touched by some special power—I don’t know what—but it isn’t going to last us long.”
Simon watched as Alaythia considered this. “What if this power, whatever it is, runs out just when we need it?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been let down by one thing or another,” said Aldric.
Simon muttered back at him, “You’ve been let down?”
Suddenly there was a clattering, as if someone were tapping on the ship’s wood from outside.
Then there came a muffled calling from the deck—the strange yowl of a fox.
Fenwick had spotted something.
Chapter Twenty-One
A CRASH COURSE IN PREDATORS
ALDRIC RUSHED TO THE deck.
As Simon followed, he was met by the chilled ocean air. Above him lay a dazzle of stars in the black sky and Fenwick, high up in the mast. The fox was calling in alarm.
“What does he see?” asked Alaythia, pulling on a coat as she came up.
Aldric held his arm out to quiet her. Across the blackness of the night tide things were moving in on them. All Simon saw at first was a flash of white in the moonlight. They were moving fast, whatever they were. His eyes tried to get a fix on them, but the blanket of night hid the things from view.
Fenwick didn’t need to see any more. He scurried down the mast and sped for the cabin, no doubt looking for his hiding place in the hold.
“It knows we’re here,” said Aldric, furious. “The Dragon. There’s something on this ship. Something told him we were here.”
He looked first at Alaythia, then his eyes swept the deck, searching for the cause. Simon could see him taking on his warrior focus, as intense as a chess player.
“Maybe we’re just getting close to the lost book,” Simon said, “We’re getting close to the Coast of the Dead. You said it’s protected—”
“We’re not close enough for that. Something’s here,” the knight said. “Some kind of device. He’s watching every move we make.”
He snatched Simon’s satchel and began throwing things out of it.
“What are you doing?” Simon asked.
“We ha
ve to hurry,” said Aldric, and he grabbed hold of the Dragonmap. “This could be how he locates us.”
“Don’t throw that over, we may need it!” pleaded Simon.
“Whatever’s out there is getting closer,” said Alaythia.
Simon pulled at the map. “This is a spying device!” growled Aldric.
Suddenly, Simon realized it wasn’t. He knew exactly where the spy was. “It’s not this,” he told Aldric. “It’s in there!” He ran for the cabin of the ship.
Simon burst into the galley, only to find Fenwick rushing to get hold of the white mouse. The fox’s paws finally stomped the mouse’s tail, and Simon grabbed the little traitor.
Running topside, Simon flopped the slippery mouse into his father’s hands. “I took it from Venice,” he said. “It’s a spy.”
The mouse squirmed madly in Aldric’s grip and bit into the man’s hand. Aldric lost hold of the rodent and it spun over the rail, dropping off the ship. As it fell, it glowed with white light—and vanished before it hit the foam.
“Where are they?” whispered Alaythia, searching seaward for the shapes that were there a moment before.
Simon shivered as the wintry air got colder, and he peered out at the calm, dead ocean. He thought he caught sight of a slashing tail in the dark, but it was hard to tell, his imagination running wild.
He moved forward, his eyes frantically covering the half-frozen waters. All around, huge chunks of ice floated on the night ocean. As he moved for a better look, he almost slipped on the icy deck. His hands grabbed for the ship’s rail, and his bare skin stuck tight to the metal.
Again he heard rumbling on the ship’s stern.
“What was that?” he asked.
Aldric leaned over the side. “I’m not sure.”
Simon pulled at his hands. They were not budging.
The rumbling hit the ship again. Now it seemed that whatever caused the sound was scraping the bottom of the boat.
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