by Tom Holt
‘I didn’t,’ Karen replied. ‘Look, I wish you wouldn’t keep harping on all the time about how strange and inferior humans are. It’s getting on my nerves.’;
‘But—’ He paused. Usually, dragons have a use for tact the way a battleship needs a raincoat. Hpq was, however, fairly quick on the uptake. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But anyway, like I was saying. What are we going to do now?’
Karen yawned. ‘I suppose we ought to do something,’ she said, feeling slightly guilty. ‘Trouble is, I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t make matters worse than they already are.’
Hpq grinned. ‘I can,’ he said. ‘As soon as it gets dark, let’s slip into something more comfortable, fly over to this Canberra place and smash up some of Mr Willis’s things - office buildings, radio masts, TV stations, that sort of thing. Or tell you what; if its being conspicuous that’s bothering you, we could round up a few of his satellites. I gather they’re quite expensive, it’d give us something to bargain with.’
For a moment, Karen could see the appeal in that. It was probably what her father would do, if he was in her scales. And it was humane and responsible; nobody would see them do it, nobody’d get hurt. There was a lot to be said for the idea; including—’
‘No,’ Karen replied. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Oh.’ Hpq looked a trifle disappointed. ‘Pity. Any specific reason why not?’
‘Because . . .’ The reason had been right there a moment ago, but she must have put it away somewhere safe in her mind, because she couldn’t find it. ‘Because we don’t do that sort of thing.’
‘Oh. Why not?’
‘Because.’
Hpq whistled softly. ‘My God,’ he said, ‘you really have gone human, haven’t you?’ He shook his head. ‘I mean, you hear stories, but I’d never actually believed they could be true.’
‘Stories?’
‘About dragons who go slumming and stick like it. And I’d always imagined it was something parents told naughty kids to scare ’em. Well, well.’
Karen decided not to reply to that, for fear of mortally offending the only friend she had in this particular whole wide world; so she went into the kitchen and cut herself a sandwich instead. There was, she decided, much to recommend the human habit of comfort eating. While she was slicing the cucumber and arranging it in symmetrical patterns on the bread, Hpq poked his head round the door.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said, pointedly not looking at what she was doing, ‘but were you expecting company?’
‘No, not really. Why?’
‘There’s ten men coming up the stairs,’ Hpq replied. ‘I can see the sound of their boots with my eyes open. And this is just a guess on my part, but I think they may be friends of the other men in the helicopters.’
‘Helicopters?’
‘Four of them. The ones in the helicopters have got more weapons than the ones coming up the stairs, but apart from that they’re pretty well identical.’
‘Oh,’ Karen said.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hpq frowned. ‘You seem unhappy about something.’
Karen looked at him. ‘Go away,’ she said. ‘No, don’t do that, you’ll run straight into them. Hide.’
‘What?’
‘Hide. They don’t know you’re here, so they won’t be looking for you. Hide till they’ve gone, then go home. There’s no reason why you should—’
‘Hide? From humans?’ Karen found the disdain on his face shocking. ‘Sorry, but you’ve got that the wrong way round. We don’t hide from humans, the way—’ He paused, searching for an image that would register with this new human persona of hers. ‘The way cars don’t hide from small flying bugs on motorways.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Karen was getting agitated. ‘Just for once in your life, do as you’re bloody well told and hide. Now.’
‘If you insist.’ Hpq pulled a face, then vanished into thin air. Will this do? Karen saw the words with her third eye. She’d completely forgotten that he (and she, of course) could do that, though really it was kindergarten stuff - creating a prism of minute water-vapour droplets suspended in the air to form what was in effect a three-dimensional mirror that transmitted reflected images of empty air around the thing it was masking, thus making it invisible. In the dragon elementary syllabus, it came somewhere between vertical take-offs and potty training. It’ll do, she sent back. Now keep absolutely still; and no matter what happens, don’t you dare stick your ugly snout in. Agreed?
What, you think I’m just going to stand here and let them—?
Agreed?
All right, yes. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to be rather less immortal some day. But I still reckon—
‘Shh.’
Even though she was expecting something of the sort, the thump as the police tried to kick her front door in made Karen jump in the air. The attempt failed and was followed by a cry of pain and some fairly imaginative swearing. She took a swift third-eye glance through the woodwork, and quickly guessed the reason for it; on the other side of the door a plain-clothes policeman who’d probably overdosed on Starsky & Hutch reruns as a boy was hopping frantically on one foot while cradling the other in his cupped hands. Moral: don’t wear tennis shoes when kicking shit out of doors.
Entertaining though the spectacle was, she couldn’t help feeling that the more they hurt themselves trying to get in, the less charming and affable they’d be if and when they finally succeeded. She sighed, walked to the front door and opened it.
‘Yes?’ she asked politely.
The nearest and biggest policeman was in the act of being handed a sledgehammer. When the penny dropped and rolled around on its edge for a second or so before toppling onto its obverse side, he looked disappointed, like a child told at the last minute that she’s not being taken to the zoo after all. Karen couldn’t help feeling sorry for him; he looked endearingly comic, as would any man trying to pretend in the face of all the evidence that he isn’t holding a three-foot-long hammer in one hand.
‘You Karen Orme?’ he grunted.
She nodded. ‘You Tarzan?’ she added, just because she wanted to. The man frowned and, without looking away, handed the hammer back to one of his myrmidons, who didn’t take it cleanly, so that it slipped through his fingers and fell on his foot, landing with such precision on the point of maximum agony that Karen quickly blinked a glance with her third eye, looking for a tell-tale cloud of minuscule raindrops. But Hpq was still in the kitchen, cautiously performing an autopsy on the cucumber-and-tomato sandwich; it was either sheer coincidence or the side effects of her own apprehension (anxiety-induced perspiration projected outwards and suspended in the air; fundamentally the same principle as the wearable mirror, except that it was unintentional and only dense enough to bend light a little way, thereby messing up human judgement of distance and making it very easy to be clumsy). Karen decided to play safe, and made herself stop sweating. Easier said than done, as she realised when the policeman reached out to grab her arm and punched one of his friends on the nose instead.
‘You’re under - sorry, Jim, it was an accident - you’re under arrest,’ the policeman said, lowering his arm and massaging his barked knuckles. ‘You’d better come quietly,’ he added nervously. ‘I don’t want to have to use force.’
Well, quite, Karen reflected. There was no knowing what damage they’d do to each other if they tried to grab her. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, in as muted a voice as she could manage. ‘I’m sure this is all just a silly misunderstanding.’
The policeman gave her an Oh-yeah-right look and stood aside to let her go past. As he staggered back, missed his footing and disappeared backwards down the stairs, Karen made a mental note to buy some strong anti-perspirant the moment she got out of this mess.
‘Chief?’ one of the policemen called out. ‘You all right down there, chief?’
‘Think I’ve broken my leg,’ a small, sad voice replied.
‘We’ll call for an ambulance, then. A
ll right, you,’ he went on, turning to Karen. ‘No more funny stuff, you hear?’
‘You thought it was funny too?’ Karen nodded. ‘That’s a relief. I nearly sprained something not laughing.’
‘You just watch your step,’ the policeman replied testily - an unfortunate choice of words, in the event. Karen listened to him going bump-bump-bump down the staircase, like Pooh Bear, and giggled. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘it’s not funny really, it’s just that he said—’
‘Put the cuffs on her quick,’ another policeman suggested. Trying to regain their favour by being helpful, Karen extended her wrists towards the officer and held them steady, as he deftly handcuffed himself to the man directly to Karen’s left. ‘Oh for crying out loud,’ he wailed, realising that en route he’d also managed to pass his hand between the banister rails. ‘One of you get these bloody things off me. The rest of you - Hey, where do you think you’re going?’
‘We’re retiring,’ said the fifth policeman. ‘In good order,’ he added, as he stepped out onto a stair that was in fact three inches to the left of the side of his foot. ‘Aaaaaagh,’ he continued, as he grabbed for support at the sleeve of the man next to him. Then there were four.
‘Just a suggestion,’ Karen said meekly, ‘but if I were you I’d try and keep very still.’
‘You threatening us?’ the seventh policeman wailed. ‘’Cos if you are, we’re armed.’
‘Oh, I really wouldn’t—’ Karen said, before the sound of the shot drowned out the rest of her warning. ‘Honestly,’ she told the three remaining policemen, ‘keeping still and not playing with anything dangerous is about your only chance. Trust me. And I know you won’t want to do this, but closing your eyes would help a lot. Promise.’
The eighth policeman, who’d been staring at her with rapidly increasing horror in his eyes, obviously couldn’t take any more. He started to back away. One small step for a policeman.
‘It’s all right,’ Karen said, after a moment, ‘the rest of them broke his fall. A bit. Now, will you please do as you’re told, and not—’
There was something really rather elegant in the way the ninth policeman, reaching with both hands for Karen’s throat, managed to grab the door handle instead and pull the door sharply towards him. The noise its edge made against his skull wasn’t nearly as nice.
That left one bluebottle, hanging on a wall; or, to be nitpickingly precise, hanging with both hands from a lamp-sconce, which he managed to grab as he sailed past on his way down the stairwell. He managed to maintain his grip for the best part of four seconds before he had to let go.
‘Oh for pity’s sake,’ Karen muttered disgustedly, as she surveyed the carnage. To complete the set, as it were, the two men chained to each other through the banisters had managed to crash their heads together when starting back in terror from the gunshot and were sleeping the sleep of the just, looking for all the world like a matching pair of tiebacks. ‘I do wish people would listen sometimes.’ She moved her foot a little - she’d got a sleeping policeman on it - and stepped back into the doorway of her flat.
‘No sweat,’ Hpq said, rematerialising next to her. ‘You’ll have to teach me the thing with the handcuffs some time.’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ Karen replied bitterly. ‘Not that anybody’s ever going to believe that for a moment. Oh, just when you think things can’t get any more complicated . . .’
Hpq frowned. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if that really was all just your sweaty armpits—’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘—Then I’d suggest getting out of here quickly, on humanitarian grounds, before the other lot of idiots realise something’s wrong and try and land their helicopters on the roof. A bit of a lark is one thing; a mile-wide crater of devastation is quite another.’
Karen went slightly green. ‘I’d forgotten about them,’ she said. ‘Look and see what they’re doing, will you? I’m a bit misted up after all that palaver.’
‘Flying round in circles, annoying your neighbours,’ Hpq reported, after a brief moment of trance-like introspection. ‘Funny things, helicopters, like upside-down strimmers.
Fragile, too,’ he pointed out meaningfully. ‘I strongly recommend leaving.’
They walked carefully down the stairs—
(‘What happened?’ groaned the senior policeman as they stepped over him.
‘Accident,’ Karen explained.
‘What, all of them?’
Karen nodded. ‘You must have walked under a ladder or something on the way here.’
The policeman thought for a moment. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘We did. How did you know that?’
‘Lucky guess.’
‘Oh,’ the policeman said, as the pain made him pass out again.)
—And found a wide selection of empty vehicles outside the front door, with their doors open and engines running ‘Well, why not?’ Hpq said. ‘That lot in there won’t be going anywhere, and we could do with putting as much distance between us and here as we can.’
Karen shook her head. ‘I don’t know how to work one of these things,’ she said. ‘It’s difficult.’
Hpq grunted scornfully. ‘Oh, don’t be such a wuss,’ he said. ‘Look, if humans can do it, it can’t be difficult, right?’
He climbed into the nearest car. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘do you know which one’s the Go button?’
‘None of them,’ Karen replied. ‘That’s the passenger’s side. The driver sits over there, behind the round thing.’
‘You see,’ Hpq said, ‘you know all about it really. All right, you can do the flying, I’ll just watch.’
‘They don’t fly.’
‘What? Oh, sorry, forgot. Do whatever it is you do to make it go. Before the people in the helicopters wonder who we are and come in for a closer look.’
‘Give me a moment, will you?’ Karen took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Actually, it was far less complicated than she’d imagined; a little pump fed an explosive compound from a reservoir into a combustion chamber, where an electric spark set off a controlled explosion whose force turned a thing like a mill-wheel with a stick nailed to it that pushed round a bunch of knobbly metal wheels that eventually made the proper wheels go round, and there were little wires tied to some of the bits and connected to things you pulled and pushed and trod on and wiggled to make it do what you wanted it to. In fact, it was just like all the other human contrivances she’d come across - impressively mysterious and magic-looking on the outside, plain low-tech ironmongery within. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’m ready.’
‘Took you long enough,’ Hpq complained as she released the handbrake, let the clutch out smoothly and joined the stream of traffic. ‘But then, you always were a bit slow off the mark with gadgets. Hey, do you remember that time when we were doing isomorphic wave resonance mechanics in second grade, and you thought the electron splitter was a nucleitide wrench? Laugh? I nearly fell off my stool.’
‘You did fall off your stool,’ Karen reminded him, deftly overtaking a Porsche. ‘And the teacher made you stand in the corner for the rest of the lesson.’
‘You’re right, I’d forgotten.’ Hpq clicked his tongue. ‘Haven’t thought about those days in quite a while, actually. Do you remember that time when you and me and your cousin S’sssn and old Snotty Frpzxmqxcp stole all those cloud-traffic cones out of the - LOOK OUT, YOU BLOODY FOOL, YOU’RE HEADING STRAIGHT FOR THAT BUILDING - out of the caretaker’s shed and stuck them up on the statues on the roof? We got into a lot of trouble for that, but it was worth it just to see the expression on the old misery’s face.’
Karen nodded. ‘It was a silly thing to do,’ she said. ‘We could easily have fallen off the roof and been killed. I’m glad I don’t—’
‘No, we wouldn’t,’ Hpq interrupted, frowning. ‘If we’d fallen off we’d have just spread our wings and drifted down. My God,’ he added, staring at her, ‘now you’re starting to remember things like one of them. We’ve got to get you out of
here fast, before it’s too late.’
Karen took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,’ she said. ‘About what I’m going to do when this is all over, I mean. You see,’ she continued, sweeping anticlockwise round a roundabout, ‘I don’t plan on going back.’
‘What?’
‘I’m staying here,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to be a dragon any more.’
It was several seconds before Hpq could reply; partly because what she’d said had stunned him, partly because he’d seen how close his side of the car had come to the lamp-post they’d just passed at sixty miles an hour, and he didn’t want to bother her while she was making such finely graduated course adjustments. ‘Because of what’s-his-face? The human? You can’t be serious.’
‘I am,’ Karen replied. ‘And not just because of him. Even if things don’t work out there, I’m still not going back.’
‘You mean you actually prefer it here? You must be out of your pointy-topped skull.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Karen pointed out. ‘I think it’s more a case of not being able to go back.’
Hpq pursed his inconvenient human lips. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘yes, your dad’s going to be monumentally pissed at you for quite some time, and it won’t be a pretty sight. That’s not enough to make you maroon yourself down here among the woolly-tops. He’ll get over it—’
‘Yes. But I won’t. Can’t you understand that?’ Karen looked away for a moment, trying to remember the colour-coding system for traffic lights, which had temporarily slipped her mind. It wasn’t easy to figure it out from first principles, but once she’d remembered that red was also the universal convention for hot, the rest followed logically enough. (Red is hot; engines run hot when you’re moving, slow when you’re standing still; thus red must mean Go. Stands to reason, really.) ‘It’s not that I don’t want to go home,’ she continued, swerving to avoid an oncoming car whose driver clearly hadn’t figured out the red = hot thing yet. ‘Or even that I like it here very much. I don’t. And no, it’s not because I’m scared of what dad will say, or anybody else for that matter. I guess I’m going to stay for the same reason a tree stays. I made a choice, and this is where I am now, so I’ll have to get used to it.’