by Tom Holt
‘That’s supposed to be a reason . . .? Oh, by the way, where are we going?’
‘I don’t know,’ Karen replied.
‘Oh. In that case, do you think we could go there a little more slowly? It’s not like I’m scared or anything, it’s just that if the theory of relativity’s got any truth in it at all, at the speed you’re going it’ll be yesterday before we get anywhere.’
Karen scowled, but throttled back to a timid fifty-five. ‘Truth is,’ she said, ‘I can’t think of anywhere in particular to go. Before those idiotic policemen turned up, I was planning on staying put and letting them come and get me - I figured, why bother going to them when they’ll quite happily come and give me a lift? - but now that’s all messed up. Nobody’s ever going to believe all that was an accident, and I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a human prison, thank you very much.’
‘So,’ Hpq said, ‘now you’ve got to go to them.’
‘Agreed. Only, of course, I don’t know where they are.’
‘Closer than you think,’ Hpq replied, pointing up through the roof. ‘Helicopter,’ he explained.
‘Damn. Open the windows and turn the fan on, quick. Anything to keep myself from sweating.’
Hpq did as he was told. ‘Actually,’ he suggested, ‘a cyclone or a small typhoon’d probably get rid of them. And they’d stand a better chance of survival, probably.’
‘No.’ Karen was slowing right down, looking for a place to pull in. ‘All right, you vanish. I’ll be all right, really.’
‘If you say so,’ replied a patch of empty space where Hpq had been sitting. ‘What about the going-to-prison stuff, though? I thought you said—’
‘I’ll think of something. And before you say it, no, I don’t want you to come and fetch me out, no matter what. It’s been wonderful seeing you again, really it has, but it’s time you were going home. Believe me, it is. There’s no place for your kind down here.’
She parked the car, got out and stood on the pavement, waving to the helicopter. The policemen inside must have seen her, because it hung in the air like a big fat dragonfly, looking at her dubiously like a nervous hiker looking over a gate at a field full of cows. Then they must have figured out how to use the bullhorn, because the helicopter started talking to her.
‘This is the police,’ it said. ‘Throw down your weapons. We are armed and will shoot if necessary. Resistance is futile. I repeat—’
Karen yawned. The helicopter didn’t look like it was in any hurry to land, but it did seem inordinately fond of the sound of its own voice. After a minute of this, Karen’s patience ran out. She closed her eyes and looked for the helicopter’s radio.
Quiet! she thought.
Obligingly, the helicopter stopped burbling, though it backed away fifty yards or so. That’s better, Karen told it. Now, can you land that thing without damaging anybody?
The bullhorn sputtered a bit, coughing out a gob of static. ‘Yes,’ it said. ‘We’ll do that.’
Fine. Oh, by the way, I surrender.
‘Thanks.’
Don’t mention it. Watch out, you nearly crashed your tail-rotor into that telegraph pole.
‘Sorry, didn’t see it there. How’s that?’
To the left a bit more. Okay, that’ll do.
They were a bit diffident about coming to get her, for some reason. Fortunately, they didn’t ask how she’d managed to hack into their radio without any equipment at all; instead, they sat looking at her nervously and not saying anything, all the way to wherever it was they were taking her—
—Which turned out to be some kind of airfield in the middle of nowhere. There was a small jet aircraft waiting. Canberra, she remembered, and wished she’d thought to ask Hpq exactly where Canberra was. But she hadn’t; so she asked a policeman instead.
‘Australia,’ he replied. ‘Hey, how the hell did you know—?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she replied; and, since the policeman seemed far too nervous of her to want to take it any further, there the matter rested. And that was all right; because all the policemen (or soldiers, or secret service agents, or whatever) were so obviously scared stiff just being near her that it was impossible for her to feel anxious enough to work up a sweat. She tried smiling reassuringly but that just seemed to make things worse, so she gave up.
Why Australia? she wondered; and then she remembered having heard something about Australia being the place where the British traditionally sent their criminals. Figures, she thought; that’s what I am, now.
They let her sit next to the window. It was the first time she’d left her own airspace, or flown as a passenger. The sensation of looking down on the clouds while in human form was extremely unsettling to begin with (Help! No wings!) but after a few hours it started to get easier, and she stopped feeling instinctively for the grain of the airflow with the empty space where her wings should have been.
‘The idea,’ Neville muttered, ‘was a good one, in theory.’
It was pitch dark. Somewhere nearby, something - no, things, plural - was making a soft, scuffling noise. Probably, Gordon told himself, that’s claustrophobia and asthma, fighting over which of them gets the privilege of finishing me off.
‘Hey, you said,’ Neville went on, ‘look, you said, there’s a ventilation shaft behind that grille. If we could get inside it, you said, there’s just enough room to crawl. That could be our way out of here, you said.’ He sneezed. ‘Of course, you weren’t to know it’d turn out to be a dead end, and that after hours and hours and hours of doing toothpaste impressions we’d find ourselves stuck here without enough space to turn round. Really, you mustn’t blame yourself.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. Of course,’ Neville went on, ‘if by some miracle we ever get out of here, I’m going to kill you. But you won’t really have deserved it. I thought you might like to know that.’
Gordon didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he began to laugh. ‘You might just get your chance,’ he said. ‘Here, listen.’
They listened.
‘It’s a voice,’ Neville said.
‘Precisely. And that’s good news; first, because it isn’t yours, second, because it’s directly underneath us.’
‘And?’
‘And,’ Gordon went on, ‘if we can only find some way of breaking through, that means we can get out of this godforsaken shaft.’
‘True,’ Neville conceded. ‘And if I had fifty-eight tiny metal hands and an inky ribbon running through my nose, I’d be a typewriter. How do you propose breaking through a fourteen-gauge stainless-steel conduit without any tools?’
‘We’ll think of something.’
‘Bet you a fiver we won’t. Trust me on this, there’s no way we’re going to be able to - aaagh!’ There was a thump, a clang and a distictly feminine scream. Gordon backed up a bit, and smiled the contented smile of the man to whom his enemy owes money. Then he lowered his legs over the edge of the hole where the panel had just fallen through, wriggled back a little further until he felt himself beginning to slide, and grabbed for the edge with his hands. It was a bit like climbing down out of a loft without a ladder, and he had to drop the last five feet or so. Fortunately, Neville broke his fall, so that was all right.
The first thing he saw after he’d picked himself up off the ground was a dragon. The next thing was his ex-fiancée. It was, he realised, going to be one of those days.
‘Gordon?’
‘Hello, Zelda,’ he said, quickly checking his ankle to see if he’d sprained it. ‘There’s a dragon tied to that table over there.’
‘Yes, I know.’ She gave him a look you could have cut glass with. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself, you bastard: “Hello, Zelda, there’s a dragon tied to that table”?’
Gordon frowned. He was still feeling a little shaken up by the fall out of the conduit. ‘But there is a dragon tied to the table,’ he pointed out.
‘You left me standing outside the
church, you jerk! How could you do that to me? You thoughtless, inconsiderate, good-for-nothing—’
‘Yes, all right.’ He held his hand up, to indicate that he wanted to speak. ‘You won’t get any arguments from me on that score. The dragon, Zelda. Is it real?’
The dragon made a strange, deep gurgling sound, rather like a thunderstorm giggling. ‘That’s him, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ the scientist sighed. ‘That’s him.’
‘Told you.’
‘Yes, you did.’
The dragon looked at Gordon for a moment. ‘You’re better off,’ it said.
‘You bet I am. Gordon, what the hell do you think you’re playing at, jumping out on me like that?’
‘Sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘It was that, or stay squashed up in a ventilation duct with him.’ He indicated Neville with his toe. ‘If you’d been in my position, you’d have done the same thing.’
The scientist breathed out slowly through her nose. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Just out of interest, what were you doing up there in the first place?’
‘Escaping,’ Gordon replied. ‘Look, do you mind if I sit down in your chair? I think I’ve done something to my ankle.’
‘What? Oh, all right. So who were you escaping from? Some other poor bitch you’d decided not to marry after all?’
A pained expression crossed Gordon’s face. ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said, trying hard not to stare at the dragon. ‘No, as a matter of fact I was trying to escape from a bunch of raving psychopaths with guns who’ve been trying to kill me. Would you happen to know anything about that, by any chance?’
‘Someone trying to kill you?’ the scientist said. ‘Now who on earth would want to do a thing like that? Apart from all those other women whose lives you’ve screwed up, of course, and possibly half a dozen jealous husbands and maybe the pest-control people.’
Gordon shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t any of them,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I’d have known if it was. Actually, I think they work for the government. Do you work for the government, Zelda?’
‘Certainly not. I work for Mr - never mind who I work for.’ She scowled. ‘Don’t change the subject. You were running away from Security, weren’t you?’
‘If you say so. To be honest with you, I never got around to asking them for their job descriptions.’
‘I see.’ Zelda gave him another of her special heavy-duty looks. ‘Well, in that case I’m going to call them right now and tell them to come and get you.’ She reached across the desk for a buzzer. ‘And you owe me two hundred and sixty-four-pounds and seventeen pence, she added. ‘For the photographer,’ she explained. ‘And then there’s the brides-maid dresses and the caterer. You were going to pay half.’
Gordon tried to grab her hand, but she snatched it away. ‘I won’t be able to pay you back if I’m dead,’ he pointed out.
‘That’s all right, I’ll sue your estate. Besides,’ she added, ‘they aren’t going to kill you.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Not if I ask them nicely and tell them I’ve got a prior claim. They’re very understanding people once you get to know them.’
‘Zelda—’
‘You never said your name was Zelda,’ the dragon interrupted.
‘What?’ She spun round, startled. The fact was, she’d forgotten all about the dragon. ‘Oh, right. Yes. Zelda Ehrlich.’
‘That’s a nice name,’ the dragon said gravely.
‘You think so? I mean, well, it’s just my name, you know? Like, I didn’t really have a lot to do with it.’
The dragon’s brows tightened into something analogous to a frown. ‘You didn’t?’
‘No,’ Zelda replied. ‘My parents chose it for me.’
‘Oh. You don’t strike me as particularly indecisive.’
Zelda shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘you don’t understand. That’s the way we do things. Your parents choose your name for you when you’re born.’
‘They do?’ The dragon didn’t sound convinced. ‘What a strange way to go about it. How on earth can they know what to call you when you’ve only just been born, I wonder.’
‘I don’t follow,’ Zelda said. Her hand was nowhere near the buzzer now.
‘Your name tells people who you are,’ the dragon replied. ‘For instance my name - I won’t tell it you in the original, because you might try and repeat it and do yourself an injury, you need the proper jaw-muscles - my name means alpha male dragon measuring twenty-seven c’kgnungs by eight kgnungs by five kgnungs by two hours and six minutes, with a pale yellow patch two speepokts in from the left fore armpit, administrative officer grade 2, widower with one daughter, inclined to be short-tempered when provoked and generally snotty to underlings but is all right really when you get to know him, hobbies include aquaplaning, collecting meteorite framents and Hsnioinggggg folk music. Actually,’ he added, ‘that’s what my friends call me, for short. What does yours mean?’
Zelda blinked twice. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘You don’t - Oh, well, fair enough. Sorry, I interrupted you. You were threatening the mortal.’
‘Was I? Oh.’ Zelda narrowed her brows, trying to concentrate; but her left foot had gone to sleep during the early stages of the dragon’s name, and had just woken up with more pins and needles in it than you’d expect to find in Debenham’s main warehouse. ‘Hang on, you said mortal. Does that mean—?’
‘Did I? Sorry, I meant human,’ the dragon replied smoothly. ‘There you go, always the scientist. You were just about to hand over your ex-boyfriend to the guards. But I think you’ve probably decided not to.’
Zelda nodded. ‘He isn’t worth it,’ she replied. ‘I mean, I’d just feel bad about it afterwards, and I’ve done enough feeling bad about him to last me a while—’
‘Thank you,’ Gordon said. ‘I think,’ he added. ‘Be that as it may. If you aren’t going to turn me in, you’ve got to help me escape.’
‘Excuse me?’
Gordon nodded. ‘One or the other,’ he said. ‘This isn’t an issue where you can be neutral. Think about it.’
‘He’s right,’ the dragon said.
‘Hey!’ Zelda snapped. ‘Whose side are you on, anyway?’
‘Nobody’s,’ the dragon replied. ‘I just have a tidy mind, that’s all. If he escapes and the guards find out he was in here and you didn’t raise the alarm, they’ll assume you helped him and you’ll be in as much trouble as if you had. Likewise if he stays here and they catch him. Either way, you’ll get the blame.’
‘Wonderful,’ Zelda muttered. ‘I should have known he’d still be trouble.’
‘You didn’t have any choice in the matter,’ the dragon pointed out, ‘so you can’t blame yourself. You’re just unlucky, that’s all. But the fact remains, unless you hand him over, not only do you have to help him escape, you have to escape yourself as well. Because you can’t stay here now, can you?’
Zelda thought it over; then closed her eyes and made a loud snarling noise. ‘God, I hate this,’ she complained. ‘Oh, if only I’d listened to my mother. She never liked you, you know.’
‘Really? I’m devastated. Listen,’ Gordon went on, ‘I don’t know if your scaly friend over there is for real or not. I don’t care much, either. But whoever or whatever he is, he’s right.’
‘Big of you to say so,’ the dragon muttered. ‘Still, a human being who can be in a confined space with a fully grown dragon and apparently not give a damn - there may be hope for your species yet.’
Gordon grinned, a little crazily. ‘At last,’ he said, ‘somebody who likes me.’
‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ the dragon replied. ‘But you make a refreshing change, I’ll grant you. By the way,’ he added, ‘haven’t we met before? I was a goldfish at the time, but your voice sounds familiar.’
‘So it was you in that tank - I mean, yes. Fine. Later. How’d it be if you helped me to escape? Somehow I get the impression it’s more in your line of work than hers.�
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‘With pleasure,’ purred the dragon. ‘Of coure, you’ll have to untie me first.’
‘Over my dead—’
‘Sure,’ Gordon replied. ‘No skin off my nose. And anyhow, isn’t there some old gag about my enemy being your enemy?’
Zelda stalked over and stood between him and the dragon. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said. ‘You even think about it and I’ll scream the place down’
‘Don’t listen to her,’ the dragon urged softly. ‘All she cares about is her ridiculous science.’
‘It’s not ridiculous,’ Zelda growled.
The dragon laughed. ‘It is, too,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget, with my third eye I can read all sorts of your communications - television signals, Internet pages, radio broadcasts. I read your science a short while ago, during a commercial break in the snooker—’
‘All of it? Don’t be—’
‘While simultaneously learning and evaluating most of your languages,’ the dragon went on. ‘Talking of which, your surname means honorable. It’s German. Where was I? Oh, yes. What you people think of as science - well, it’s interesting. Not to mention quite amusing at times. All that stuff about equal and opposite reactions. Crazy. But that’s not the point,’ the dragon went on. ‘The point is, you need to get out of here quickly. I can help you. But not if I’m stuck here like a climbing rose on a trellis.’
‘Good enough for me,’ Gordon said. ‘Sorry, Zelda.’
‘I’m not going to let you.’
‘Oh, for—’ Gordon scowled. ‘Just because we may have had our differences in the past—’
‘Differences!’ Zelda screeched. ‘You bastard, you stood me up on my wedding day.’
‘Yes,’ Gordon replied patiently. ‘Admitted. Guilty as charged. But I don’t think it actually carries the death penalty. Not even in Singapore. Zelda, there are crazy people out there who want to kill me. Really kill me. As in death. Could you please make an effort and try to understand what that means?’