Click-click-click came the dreadful sound from her throat.
It was what Angus had been hoping for. He felt the vibrations in his fingers and quickly located the correct spot. Pressing down hard he pushed his index and middle finger so that they effectively created a barrier between the two organs. He had no idea whether this was the same technique that dragon wranglers applied.
But somehow it worked.
The clicking ceased.
Angus let forth a triumphal whoop.
The sow jerked her head left and right, trying to dislodge his fingers from their position. She arched her spine again, so sharply that his knees almost lost their hold. She whipped her tail around, thumping him hard on the shoulder as its barbed tip sliced at his cheek. He began to realize what a terrible mistake he might have made. He wasn’t half as strong as a wrangler like Crowhurst and he didn’t have other crewmembers to help pin down the dragon’s legs.
The tail came at him again, this time from the right. He saw it from the corner of his eye and ducked low. The tail clattered against his helmet, jarring his neck and causing little silvery stars to tumble before him. The wind was howling around him, making it even more difficult keep his balance.
The sow started to throw itself around the hold, trying to use the wooden beams to knock him off. He ducked and dodged. But he was rapidly becoming exhausted. It wouldn’t be long before she succeeded. Then he would be at her mercy.
Icy cold wind gushed against his face.
Suddenly the two of them were out in the open sky–falling rapidly.
Somehow in her frantic struggle the dragon must have stumbled too close the gap torn into the side of the gondola. Down they dropped. Then Angus felt the rope around waist pull painfully tight, digging into his lower ribs. He lost his grip on the dragon’s back and she tumbled away from him, leaving him dangling precariously beneath the Plover’s tarred hull.
The wind beat about him, sending the rope into a dizzying spin. Nevertheless he could see the dragon below him. She glided around in a wide arc. She caught his eye and, with an ear-piercing shriek, beat her wings and rose.
Angus tugged desperately at the rope. He looked up and saw some of the Molly’s crew looking down at him. He heard them yelling to the others. When he looked back down the dragon was rising at a terrifying speed, teeth bared in a vicious snarl.
Then, just as she was almost upon him, he felt a powerful yank on the rope and he was instantly hauled back into the hold. Scrambling frantically back across the floorboards he caught a glimpse of gleaming black scales as the sow appeared just beyond the hole.
She roared, and this time her Breath ignited with a fury. A dazzling ball of flame illuminated the hold. The heat of it knocked Angus flat onto his back. A fierce maelstrom of fire raged within the swirling wind just above him. It lasted only a moment before the cold air seemed to suck the life out of the fire.
Angus didn’t hesitate or look back. He jumped to his feet and took the ladder rungs two at a time. The girl was waiting at the top, trembling and terrified
“I thought the dragon got you.”
“Come on,” said Angus, gabbing her hand. “We have to get across to the Drunken Molly.”
She pulled against him.
“No, the dragon will come. We’ll be killed - like my uncle. Like all of his crew.”
“What’s your name?” asked Angus.
For a moment she seemed surprised by the question.
“Your name?” pressed Angus.
“Sonia,” she said, sniffing back her tears.
“I’m Angus,” he said. “Do you know who my captain is? Do you know who the captain of the Drunken Molly is?”
Sonia shrugged her skinny shoulders.
“Nathaniel Zachariah,” said Angus.
Sonia gasped.
She had clearly heard of him.
Who hadn’t?
“Really?” she said.
Angus nodded.
“You know that Captain Zachariah is the greatest dragon hunter ever to fly out of Tennanbrau City, don’t you?”
Now it was Sonia who nodded.
“Do you really think that a bad tempered old Treacleshell sow is any match for Nathaniel Zachariah?”
He took her hand again. This time she didn’t pull back. They both rushed headlong along the deck. “Look!” he cried when he saw that the crew had utilized the rope cannons to capture the sow. “I told you. She’ll be hauled on deck and they’ll take her Breath. She won’t trouble us anymore.” Sonia managed to smile, the white of her teeth contrasting sharply with the black, sooty mess of her face.
“Her name is Sonia!” Angus called over to the Molly. “She’s Finneus Watling’s niece.”
“No one else alive?” asked Captain Zachariah; his face for once had lost most of its usual composure.
Angus shook his head.
Beside him Sonia let out a loud sob. But somehow she stopped herself from crying. Angus could see that she was nervously watching the Treacleshell sow, now hauled onto the Molly’s deck and being straddled by Crowhurst while others pinned down her wings and tail.
“Once they take her Breath she’ll be no threat to us,” Angus reminded her.
She squeezed his hand–seemingly not convinced.
Angus stepped to the plank and mentally steeled himself, ready to crawl back over.
He looked down at Sonia.
“Go down on your hands and knees,” he told her. “Go slowly. Don’t look down. It’s only a few feet across. Someone will help you at the other side.”
Her lip trembled.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“I’ll be right behind you,” promised Angus. “I won’t let anything happen.”
Without warning there came a sharp crack from behind them both.
When Angus looked around the emergency balloon to the stern of the gondola had finally given out. It hissed and spluttered, flapping wildly as the last of the Dragon Breath gushed out of a ragged tear. The gondola became unbalanced and tipped so abruptly that the plank fell and spun away into the blue void. One of the ropes lashed to the side of the Plover snapped. The wires broke loose from the longpoles. The rope around his waist was next to go and Angus found himself sliding helter-skelter down the deck of the gondola as it keeled further into an acute dip.
He lost his grip on Sonia’s hand.
She went tumbling away from him.
The dead weight of the Plover pulled the Molly with it. Angus wedged himself against the railings and found himself swallowed up by the great looming shadow of the Molly’s balloon as she capsized and swung her gondola almost horizontal. He saw Sonia clinging to the railing at the far end of the gondola. If the Plover dipped any more she might be thrown out into the open skies.
He heard the captain barking a desperate order to the crew to cut the other ropes in order to save his beloved airship. Angus felt his heart sink. Cut loose the Plover immediately drifted a good seven or eight feet from the Molly, dropping ever lower in the sky as the two remaining balloons struggled to keep her aloft.
Looking up at the curved belly of the Molly’s gondola Angus could easily tell that the distance between the two airships was already growing greater by the moment. If Captain Zachariah intended to do anything at all to save him he would have to act now.
Sonia let out a scream as another of the emergency balloons burst to ragged shreds.
Hand over hand he pulled himself back along the railings till he was beside her.
“We’ll be fine,” he tried to assure her.
But all the time the distance between the two airships was growing even wider.
Then, just as he was about to give up hope, he saw that two of the rope cannons were being aimed in a downward trajectory. He let out cry of joy as the lassos came racing through the air towards him. One was clearly going to go wide.
But the other!
The other was his one last hope.
Grabbing Sonia and pulling her close to his c
hest with his left arm he punched his right fist into the air and leapt into the path of the spinning rope. His clenched fist passed cleanly through the lasso. Fingers wrapping around the knot he pulled back and yanked the noose tightly around his wrist. The lead beads bit into his flesh. The rope gnawed at him. Sonia was clinging so tightly to his neck he could hardly breathe.
The wreck of the Blue Plover fell away, hurtling toward the tundra, bits of her hull breaking up. In the open sky the rope began twisting and untwisting, spinning him around and back around at such a terrifying speed he felt sure his shoulder would be yanked out of its socket. Nevertheless he was being hauled up, slowly but surely. Back to his airship, his captain and his crewmates-and perhaps the chance, at last, to man a rope cannon?
Feeling drunk with elation he held onto Sonia with all the available strength he could muster. His voice hoarse against the roar of the wind he began singing-singing and laughing at the same time. At last he felt that he had the right. His voice echoed joyously to the open sky
Now I was born in Tennanbrau
Haul away above the clouds!
Fantasy tales are filled with swords and sorcery, and dashing swashbucklers can be kings or knaves, male or female…
RETURN OF THE KNAVE
Milo James Fowler
The sword sang as it left its sheath, blade gleaming in the light of the rising sun.
“Defend yourself!” cried the portly sword-bearer, gripping his weapon in both hands and brandishing it high. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done!”
“What have I done?” The teenaged boy scampered backwards across the farmyard, his unkempt, straw-like hair falling into his eyes.
“You’ve taken liberties that weren’t yours to take!” the man roared.
“Liberties? What liberties?” The boy’s voice squeaked as he shook his hair aside. “I haven’t taken any liberties!”
“Aye, you have! And now you’ll pay for it.”
The boy let out a squeal as the sword-bearer advanced. Scampering was no good now; the boy had to run for his life. With a quick gulp of air, he whirled and launched himself into a sprint across the barnyard, his bare feet skimming across dirt, rock, and manure alike.
“You cannot escape, blackguard!” The blade struck the ground an inch from the boy’s heel. “Rogue! Villain! Scoundrel! Judgment is upon you, scurvy knave!”
The boy halted and turned about-face. “Now that’s going too far.”
The man chuckled, red in the face, his bulky frame bouncing. Then he swept the sword into ready position. “Defend yourself!”
The boy released another squeal and lunged aside. “You don’t really have to kill me, do you?”
The sword caught the ragged hem of his trousers.
“You have transgressed. Judgment is upon you!”
“Can’t we work this out a little more…civilly?” The boy leapt over a stray pig. “Like gentlemen?”
“No.” The pig shrieked as it was kicked aside. “I’m not a gentleman!”
“Well, neither am I, but–” The boy grunted, clambering over a stray cow. “Can’t we pretend? For my sake?”
“Your sake? You have no sake!” The cow bawled as it was knocked down. “The barbaric way we’re handling this situation suits me just fine!”
“But–” The boy hesitated a moment before throwing himself onto the stray horse in his path. “You’re going to end up killing me!”
“Aye, that’s the idea.” The man took a moment to wipe his arm across a profusely perspiring brow. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve experienced the heat of battle. Forgotten how much fun it can be.” A stray sheep bumped against his leg, and he turned sharply.
Then he stared.
The yard had filled with animals: pigs, cows, horses, sheep, chickens, ducks, geese, dogs, cats, goats, rats, mice, llamas, all milling about, mingled and meandering. Soon there wouldn’t be enough room for him to stand.
“Hey–boy–” The man cursed as two large cows pinned him between their flabby flanks. “What’s going on here?”
The boy frowned. “I must’ve forgotten to close the gate after tending the stock this morning. I guess your barbarism kind of scared my responsibilities right out of me.”
“That’s–understandable–” He groaned. “Aww, I can’t move. Stupid, stupid cows!”
“I guess I could get them all back where they belong,” the boy proposed.
“Yeah?” Only the man’s upturned face remained visible amidst all the bovine flab. “Well, what’s keeping you?”
“You’ve got to promise you won’t kill me until we’ve discussed our differences like reasonable gentlemen.” He raised an eyebrow as the man’s face slowly submerged. “Deal?”
“I shpoze sho.”
“Huh?”
“YESH!”
The boy grinned.
Wasting no time, he whistled, called, barked and quacked, herding the animals into the barn from his perch atop the large work horse. In a matter of minutes, every animal was back where it belonged, with the gate shut and bolted.
“Good work,” the man gasped as feeling returned to his limbs.
“Thank you?” The boy tilted his head.
“Guess I should apologize–for scaring you that way.” He stretched his sword arm and massaged his shoulder. “But I’m still gonna kill you.”
Just then, the door to the farmhouse (a cottage, really, with a rat-infested thatched roof) creaked open, and a teenaged girl stepped out into the morning light. She was a graceful beauty, an awe-inspiring vision to behold, with long flaxen locks and–
“PA!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “PAAAAA!”
Dropping his sword with a grimace, the man clapped both meaty hands over his ears and bellowed, “I’m right HEEEERE!”
“Oh.” The girl noticed her father standing a few feet in front of her. (She was a wee bit far-sighted.) “There you are.” She giggled with a rosy blush. “Breakfast is ready.” She whirled and bolted into the cottage.
The boy stared after her–until he found a sharp blade under his nose.
“Don’t you dare,” the man growled. “Don’t you even say boo to her.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You don’t think I know. But I do. And that’s why I’m gonna kill you. But first–” He sheathed his sword and slapped the boy’s back, gesturing toward the cottage. “Your last meal!”
The three of them–father, daughter, and up-until-now-good-and-faithful-farmhand–sat in silence around the oak table. The only sounds were the slop and dribble of gruel in their bowls. The father and farmhand used wooden spoons to eat their meal, but the farmer’s daughter did not. Bowl raised to drink, she slurped noisily until her portion was gone.
“Aahhhh,” she sighed with satisfaction.
The boy glanced at her–then stared. The breathtaking young beauty had gruel all over her face. Catching his gaze upon her, she smiled bashfully, and a glob of the stuff dropped from her chin with a splat. The boy swallowed, his heart in his throat. She was so…amazing.
A knife thudded into the center of the table and quivered. With a start, the boy jerked back to find the girl’s father scowling at him. The dark look on the farmer’s face warned the boy to keep his eyes to himself.
“Daughter.”
“Yeah, Pa?” She got up and floated to his side like an angel.
“Go slop the hogs.”
“But they’ve already been–” both she and the boy said in unison.
“No talking in unison!” the man roared, pounding the table with a fist. “I forbid it!”
Mutely, the girl and boy nodded.
“And don’t nod in unison either! Don’t you do anything in unison!” The man growled under his breath. “Now Daughter, there are hogs to be slopped.”
“Sure, Pa.” Gracefully, she glided to the door, but before leaving, she turned and glanced once more at the boy. “You won’t kill him before I get back, will you?”
The man
’s bulky shoulders sank. “No. I won’t.”
Another glob of gruel fell from her face as she smiled. “Thanks, Pa.”
She was gone.
“Anything to make her happy,” the man sighed. He shoved aside his bowl of half-eaten gruel and opened his mouth to speak.
A squeal came from the thatched ceiling as a rat plummeted downward, landing in his bowl with a splash. Squeaking and writhing, the rodent scurried away as fast as it could.
“Stupid rats,” the man muttered.
“I’ve been meaning to fix the roof,” said the boy with an apologetic shrug.
“But you got distracted, eh? By my daughter, mayhaps?” He cursed, pounding the table with both fists. “Don’t just stare at me, buffoon!”
“Uh–distracted? Well, maybe a little. I mean, she’s really grown up and–”
“Both of you have. But just because you’ve grown up together and live together and eat together doesn’t mean you get the liberty of putting goo-goo eyes on her now. She deserves better than you! What are you?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve seen the way she looks at you. It’s as though she’s just seen you for the first time. It’s really kind of sweet, when you think about it.” He had to dab at something glistening in the corner of his eye.
“I guess so.”
“You bet it is! It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” He shook his head. “I knew it might happen sooner or later, ever since I took you in as a tiny lad. But it can’t be.”
The boy frowned. “How come?”
“Because, idiot, I don’t want my daughter marrying no lousy, stinky farmhand!”
“Oh, right.”
“See what I’m getting at? I want the world for my girl. And you’ve got to admit, you’re…not even close.”
“Yeah.” The boy stared at the table. “I guess.”
“Good.” The father smiled. “So I’ll kill you and be done with it.” He slapped the table with both hands and heaved himself to his feet.
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