The Dragon's Choice

by Wesley Allison

  “Lady Iolana is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” said Clitus, exasperated.

  “She talks all the time. Have you noticed? Henrietta doesn’t even speak Brech. I’ll never have to listen to her. All I have to do is mount her a couple of times and pop some heirs into her. Then I can send her back to Freedonia to her family, and I can spend my time doing something more exciting with someone more exciting. That’s the beauty of it all. As King, I can have any woman I want, any time.”

  Clitus sighed and shook his head.

  * * * * *

  “She’s actually quite pretty,” said Lady Esther, holding up latest issue of The Daily Review. “You look very handsome.”

  “Thank you,” said Clitus, sitting across from her, sipping his tea.

  Lady Terra entered the library carrying a large clock. Clitus stood up.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Terra.”

  “Please sit, Your Highness,” she said, walking past him and setting the clock on the mantel above the fireplace.

  “And what are you about on this miserable day?” he asked, taking his place once again in the comfortable chair.

  “Clock repair,” she said, turning on her heel and retracing her path. She stopped and looked over Esther’s shoulder at the picture on the paper’s front page. “How is that fair? She’s got huge tits.”

  Clitus gasped, getting tea up his nose. Lady Terra didn’t notice. She was already stepping out the doorway.

  “Please don’t mind her,” said Esther.

  “No, of course not.”

  “You look tired, Clitus. You’re working too hard. You need to get out and have some fun.”

  “Well, I am going hunting the day after tomorrow at the Tottsbury Estate in Wills. It should be a good time. I hear the pheasants are thick this year. Why don’t you come up with me?”

  “I’m not one for hunting really,” said Esther. “Lady Iolana cured me of it quite early on. You should ask her. I’m sure she would be interested. She used to kill things all the time back in Brechalon.”

  “You really think she would come?”

  “I’m sure she would. Terra might even be interested.”

  * * * * *

  The members of the hunting party returned to Willfield House just in time for tea. The table was set in the great hall and everyone took their places. Prince Clitus was famished, as the foodstuffs taken along for lunch had been inadequate and breakfast had been very early that morning. As soon as the Earl of Millfitshire sat down, servants began bringing out the meal of poached fish, potatoes, stuffed cabbage, and fruit. It all looked like food that rich and powerful people should eat, but all that the prince could think of was the fish and chips at the park in Brech City.

  “What was your total today, Your Highness?” asked the Earl.

  “Um, nine.”

  “A respectable total,” said Lady Irenie Tottsbury. “I myself had only five.”

  “Nothing to be ashamed of, my dear,” said the Earl. He turned to the butler. “Who was the high scorer today, Martin?”

  “I shall check with the gamekeeper, My Lord.”

  “I believe that was Lady Iolana,” said Clitus.

  “And how many did you have, Lady Iolana?”

  “Twenty-three,” said Iolana, spearing an apple slice. “I was hoping that you would allow me to gift them to your tenants.”

  “That’s quite a bounty,” said the Earl. “I’m sure they will appreciate it.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s a good idea,” said the Prince. “I shall donate mine too. What about you, Lady Terra?”

  “Sure, why not. Though I doubt my one pheasant shall make much difference in anyone’s pot.”

  The butler handed a small piece of paper to the Earl.

  “Here we go. Yes. Five for Irenie. I had eleven. Sir Perrin, eight. Sir Milose, nine. Mr. Watley also had nine. Why, it says here, Your Highness, that your total is eleven, the same as mine. Are you sure that Lady Iolana didn’t accidentally count two of yours as hers?”

  Clitus, from the corner of his eye, could see Lady Iolana’s chin rise up.

  “I am absolutely positive. I had only nine.”

  They finished their meal with some teacakes, which the Prince thought were the best part of the meal. Then they all gathered in the gallery, with the exception of the Earl, Sir Perrin, and Mr. Watley, who adjourned to the smoking room.

  “I’m so pleased that you were able to come, Your Highness,” said Lady Irenie, her mother hovering just behind her.

  “It’s always a pleasure to visit Willfield House,” he replied. “You and your family are always such wonderful hosts. I was happy to get out of Brech for a while too. With the weather lately, it’s just miserable.”

  “With all that smoke,” said Lady Irenie, “it’s hardly fit for dogs or Zaeri.”

  “Um, it’s… um, certainly unpleasant.” He looked around. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He made for the punch bowl on a table along the wall though he wasn’t really thirsty. It was the perfect excuse to get away. The servant waiting by the table ladled a cup and handed it to Clitus with a bow.

  “Thank you.”

  “Most people don’t thank the servants.”

  He turned around to find Lady Terra. Her boots gave her a couple of extra inches in height, but she still had to look up at him. With the exception of the spectacular waves of dark hair, she seemed so small, close up. She couldn’t have weighed more than a biscuit over eight stone.

  “I think everyone deserves a little common courtesy,” he said.

  “Even dogs and Zaeri?”

  “Were you standing behind me when I was talking to Lady Irenie?”

  “No. I was right over there.” She pointed toward the piano.

  “You couldn’t have heard our conversation from all the way over there.”

  “I didn’t. I could see what she was saying. Last year I taught myself to read lips, you see. I couldn’t see your response.”

  Clitus took a sip of his punch, to give himself time to remember exactly what he had said, but it burned on the way down, sending him to coughing. “Good God! There’s got to be five kinds of liquor in this!”

  Lady Terra merely watched him.

  “I hope you don’t think that I’m a bigot,” he said, finally.

  “I don’t know His Highness well enough to say.”

  “I’m not. At least I flatter myself that I’m not. I have my prejudices, to be sure. I imagine that you are more accepting of the Zaeri than many here in Brechalon.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Well, there is a much large percentage of Zaeri in Birmisia.”

  “There’s also a much larger percentage of Zaeri in my family. My mother is Zaeri, as is my grandfather.”

  “Oh,” said Clitus. “You know, I think I knew that. I had just forgotten.”

  “I actually find that refreshing,” said Terra. “Most people I’ve run into would have held onto that knowledge and no doubt used it against me at some point.”

  “I hope you know I would never do that.”

  “I think I do now.”

  * * * * *

  “So what do we know about them?” asked Clitus.

  Mr. Meanie shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “They call themselves Die Freiheitgruppe.”

  “The Freedom Group. It’s a great name for anarchists; you have to admit.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “What is the problem, Meanie? You’re squirming like an atheist in church.”

  “We have intelligence on where they plan to strike, Your Highness.”

  “And?”

  “It’s you.”

  Clitus frowned.

  “They don’t know…”

  “No, Your Highness. They don’t know that you are the head of the covert operations for the Empire. There are only six of us who know that, and I trust any of the other five with my life.”

  “Comforting, but as it’s my life… Why then?”


  “You’re the younger son of the King. It’s common knowledge that you are out and about with far less security than either your father or your brother. You are the easy target.”

  “That makes sense I suppose.”

  “You need to curtail your travels beyond the palace.”

  “Absolutely not. We can’t let them know we’re onto them. Besides, if they decided to attack me here, there are a great many one-of-a-kind artworks that could be damaged. Nobody’s going to miss an extra prince.”

  “You’re much more valuable than they know.”

  “Let’s take advantage of the opportunity. They want me. Maybe we can get one of them when they make their play. Then we can take down the whole organization.”

  “We need to beef up your security.”

  “No. We don’t want to scare them off.”

  “Just one more—a wizard. One of your new hires.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Wizard Bassington.”

  * * * * *

  “You have an extra man with you today,” said Esther, as she welcomed Clitus into the house at Number 1 Avenue Dragon.

  “Yes, may I introduce you to Wizard Bassington.”

  Bassington was a tall man of about forty years, with chiseled features and a carefully groomed van dyke. He smiled and clicked his heels together before bowing.

  “Fascinating,” said Lady Iolana, hurrying into the foyer. “I knew a Wizard Bassington and I have heard of another, but you are neither.”

  “I was the first apprentice of the Great Wizard Bassington. He made me his legal heir and stepson before his death. He is no doubt the latter of the two of whom you speak. The other would be Peter Sallow. He was a younger apprentice that took our master’s name illegitimately.”

  “I wouldn’t let Senta hear you say that. She seemed to accept him as Bassington’s son.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t the master’s son—just that he was illegitimate.” Bassington looked circumspect. “In any case, I don’t ever plan on being on the wrong side of Miss Bly. I had the dubious pleasure of seeing her destroy half of Mallontah, some fifteen years ago. She was just as powerful and just as reckless then as she is reputed to be now.”

  “Well, Wizard Bassington,” said the Prince, “I’ll leave you, Mr. Stigby, and Bob to do whatever it is you do. I will adjourn to the library with Lady Esther.”

  “My pleasure,” said Esther, taking his arm in her clawed hand, and leading him into the other room.

  They took their usual positions in two comfortable chairs situated near the fireplace, while one of the servants brought in a tray for tea. Lady Iolana, who had followed them in, stood near the fireplace.

  “A wizard,” she said, as if to herself. “I wonder what marks the difference.”

  “Some people were concerned that I didn’t have enough security with me. I assured them that Mr. Stigby was all I really needed, but they insisted. You know how it is. I’m like a porcelain cup. I’m not really good for anything but looking at, but they don’t want me to get broken.”

  “There must be a credible threat against you, Your Highness. I would judge Mr. Bassington to be an accomplished master wizard.”

  “How can you know that?” asked Esther.

  “He’s obviously not a youngster. Wizards typically begin their studies at an early age. Besides, he indicated that he was the student of Smedley Bassington, one of the most powerful wizards. And it’s been some years since that Bassington was killed by the green dragon in Birmisia, so one can only assume that he has progressed during that time.”

  “As I said,” smiled Clitus. “Just a precaution.”

  “So, how do you find Princess Henrietta?” asked Esther, changing the subject.

  “I go down the hallway and make a left.”

  Esther hissed politely.

  “She seems very nice,” he continued. “She certainly seems a smart girl. I think she will make a good queen consort.”

  “I’m pleased that you consider intelligence an asset,” said Iolana.

  “Of course it is. I’m not sure my brother thinks having an intelligent wife is a good thing, but then I don’t think he really cares what she is like. The whole thing is political to his mind.”

  “Royal marriages do tend to be political,” said Iolana. “That’s true even among the lizzies.”

  “Yes,” agreed Clitus. “Still, I think we ought to try to find a match that makes us happy, or at the very least, one that doesn’t make us unhappy.”

  “I am fortunate that I’m not in that situation,” said Iolana, heading toward the door. “I shall never marry.”

  “Don’t look so heartbroken,” Esther told the Prince, after she had gone.

  “I’m trying not to. It’s just that she is the perfect woman.”

  “She’s hardly perfect, and she’s a lot harder to live with than you might think.”

  “I will take your word for it.”

  “You’re ten years younger than your brother,” said Esther. “You have plenty of time to find a lady that you can fall in love with and who feels the same way about you.”

  “One of the benefits of not being the heir.”

  “I hope I didn’t touch on a sore spot.”

  “No. I’m happy that I’m not going to be king. After Tybalt marries, my father will probably gift me a duchy and I’ll be able to get out of the capital and live in relative obscurity—peace and quiet.”

  “And that’s what you want?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Does that mean you won’t see me anymore?”

  “That will never happen,” he said. “If you go back to Birmisia even, I will come and visit you. That’s something that a duke can do more easily than a king.”

  “Good,” she said. “Shall we play domino bones or whispey?”

  * * * * *

  It was almost dinnertime when Clitus left the Dechantagne Staff home. They turned down Avenue Boar toward St. Admeta Park, Clitus, along with Bassington in the back, and Bob and Mr. Stigby in the front, the latter driving.

  “We should go out and get some chips,” said Clitus. “That’s what we should do.”

  “I’m sure they’ll have dinner ready for you at Sinceree Palace,” said Bob, looking back over his shoulder.

  “I’ll bet you five marks they don’t have chips,” grumbled the Prince.

  “No bet, Your Highness,” said Bob, smiling.

  They were approaching the intersection of Warden Street, when Clitus saw a bright light illuminating the buildings on the south side of the corner.

  “Stigby, turn left here. I think there’s a fire.”

  Warden Street was lined with great stone buildings that had stood for four centuries or more. Once the homes of rich nobles, they had been converted to high-class businesses and clubs on the lower levels, while the floors above had been subdivided into still large and quite expensive apartments. They had been retrofitted with gaslights and gas stoves in the kitchens. The third building on the left, a monstrous eight-story edifice was on fire, bright red flames shooting out of a third of the more than eighty windows facing the street. Stigby came to a stop across the street and about fifty feet away. It was extremely hot even there.

  “I’ll telegraph this in,” he said, jumping out of the vehicle. “I’ve got to make sure the fire company is on the way.”

  “And I’ve got to get you out of here,” said Bob, sliding over to the driver’s seat.

  “No!” growled Clitus. “You’ve got to find out where the gas can be shut off. If we have a gas explosion, it could take out this whole street!”

  A second of indecision crossed Bob’s face, but then he nodded. “You’ll stay right here?”

  The Prince nodded. Bob ran off in the opposite of the direction Stigby had taken.

  “Do you have a spell to put out fire?” Clitus asked Bassington.

  “Not one this big.”

  “Then cast it where it will do the most good,” he said,
scanning the building. “Oh sweet Kafira!”

  Leaning out a third floor window was a woman holding a small child. Windows on either side of her belched flames, indicating just how dire her situation was. Clitus was running across the street before he even realized it.

  “Your Highness! Wait!” he heard behind him, but he didn’t slow down until he was right below the woman.

  Bending at the waist over the sill, the woman lowered the child as much as possible and then dropped the toddler, its nightclothes disguising whether it was a boy or girl. Clitus caught it easily. He turned to find three men behind him. He handed the child to one, who rushed it across the street.

  “Help me catch her!” he shouted to the others, taking his place once again below the window. He called up to the woman, “Jump! We’ll catch you!”

  Suddenly the window directly in front of the Prince and the other men exploded outward. Clitus felt himself picked up and sent flying through the air. He had just time enough for a single thought before all thought disappeared.

  * * * * *

  Prince Clitus opened his eyes. He was in a hospital bed, but it wasn’t in a hospital. It was sitting in the middle of the Green Parlor on the second floor of Sinceree Palace. His arms, legs, and torso were wrapped in heavy bandages, and so was, he realized, the top of his head, though his face was uncovered. A needle in his arm carried brown liquid through a rubber tube from a bottle hanging next to him.

  A woman in a nurse’s uniform jumped up from a chair.

  “I’ll get the doctor,” she said, hurrying away.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Have a sip of water, Your Highness,” said a voice from beside him, as a cup was held to his lips. He had swallowed a sip before he realized whom it that was there with him.

  “Lady Terra?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been sitting with you while Esther gets some rest. She was here for most of the past two days, though they refused to let her sit alone with you. I think they’re afraid she’ll eat you.”