A Portion of Dragon and Chips

by Simon Haynes

  "I have a basic crucible which will produce small quantities of falsite, using—"

  "You can cut that bullspit as well. We both know you're working metal."

  "Indeed, sire. I produce small quantities of steel using iron and flux. I am working on an improved method which will lead to increased production. My assistant …"

  Here, Wiltred realised he'd got carried away, and he faltered.

  "Your assistant will not be punished."

  "He may be, Your Majesty. Many seek him, for he is rumoured to have turned the head of the wood turner's daughter. The daughter of the woodchuck tamer … this girl he has also f—"

  "Wait! This assistant of yours. Is he by any chance Tyniwon Mollister?"

  "Indeed, that is his name. He is gifted in the art of metalworking, to be sure. Also, built like a wooden outhouse."

  "Well, bless my shaft," said the king. "The rogue was hiding in plain sight all along! Queen Therstie will be so happy!" Pleased, he bid the man continue.

  "My assistant and I have also branched out into basic engineering. We have designs for a device powered by steam … that is, boiling water. A scaled-up version would power machinery such as grindstones, water pumps and more." Wiltred's eyes shone as he spoke, and, realising the king was listening intently, he continued in the same vein. "Why, sire, I even have drawings for a steam-powered chariot which would run on metal rails. Such a device might carry passengers across the kingdom in under a week! It is called a kettle cart, and I would be honoured to name the first of its kind after Your Majesty."

  "Yes, yes. But can you make nails? Fasteners to stop the roof falling in? Metal bowls, spoons … and ovens?"

  "Of course, sire."

  "How many workers will you need?"

  "Well, there's mining the ore, and transporting it, and firing larger crucibles, and —"

  "A rough estimate will suffice."

  "Give me a dozen willing workers, and I will produce the first bowl in a week."

  "Hot food at last," murmured the king.

  "But sire, metal bowls are commonplace in the land of the Mollisters. Why not barter for them?"

  King Larch snorted. "Are you insane? They have wood enough already, and what else do we have to offer? No, Wiltred, you will start production immediately, and if our plans come to fruition the Mollisters will be offering riches for our metalwork."

  "Yes, sire," said Wiltred, and he bowed deeply.

  "We meet daily," said the king.

  "Here?"

  "No, of course not. I will come to your workshop." The king hesitated. "Just make sure the kettle is on, and a bowl of hot stew won't go amiss. But not a word of this to anyone, mind."

  "Your Majesty, people will hear the sounds of our labours. The metalworking … it is not quiet, nor subtle."

  "I'll tell 'em you're being tortured by your own devil machinery. That'll mollify them." The king gave him a look. "And if you fail, it won't be far from the truth, eh?"

  With that Wiltred took his leave, and the king sat contemplating the new and glorious future. Never mind kettle carts and speedy passenger travel, he'd be satisfied with hot baths and a hearty stew.

  Chapter 21

  Clunk heard Millie stir, and he turned to check on the human. She'd slept eight hours straight, barely moving all night, and he hoped she'd woken refreshed and ready for the long day ahead. He'd extended his solar panel at daybreak, and the sunlight filtering through the trees topped off what little energy he'd used overnight.

  There was still the inconvenience of finding food for Millie's breakfast, but Clunk hoped they'd encounter a farm or a settlement on their journey north. They had no money, but he was sure he could trade an hour or two of labour for a loaf of bread. Clunk had intended to travel alone, with no need for money or shelter, but he couldn't abandon Millie after freeing her from captivity.

  Millie stretched, yawned, then sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes. She looked around the hollow under the trunk, momentarily confused, then saw Clunk and smiled.

  "Did you sleep well?" he asked her.

  "Yes, thank you."

  Clunk nodded in satisfaction.

  "I haven't felt this rested for many a long month. I don't know whether I said this yesterday, but I thank you for my rescue."

  "It was the least I could do."

  Millie studied him, seeing him for the first time in the light of day. "Who are you, Clunk? Your design is intricate and strange, and I find myself wondering where you truly came from."

  "I fell from the sky," said Clunk.

  "But how? Don't tell me you can fly like a dragon, for I see you have no wings."

  Clunk decided not to launch into an explanation of space travel and rocketry. "When you look up at night and see the stars, how do you think they remain in position?"

  "They don't, not always, for one fell to ground and destroyed the High Priest's tower." Millie looked up, even though it was daylight and the stars were hidden by the clear blue skies. "I do not know how the rest are fixed. Some whisper of powerful magic."

  Clunk shook his head. "I guarantee it's not magic. Instead, imagine a pool of still water, with specks of matter in suspension. The stars are those specks, and many of them have planets like yours circling them. I was created on one of those planets."

  Millie laughed. "If you say so, although I would find magic the more believable reason."

  "Men and women travel between stars in vehicles called space ships, and I was travelling in just such a vehicle when I fell."

  Millie looked at him uncertainly. "Where was this vehicle going?"

  "I remember nothing before the moment I fell out of the ship. The next thing I know, I was sitting up on the beach near the city."

  "Wait. Was it you who destroyed the High Priest's tower?"

  "That was something much larger, I would say." Clunk looked thoughtful. "Unless I was sitting in an escape capsule, of course, but I don't recall such a thing."

  "Clunk, the ancient legends speak of a great destroyer who arrives from the stars and slaughters every man, woman and child in the Old Kingdom. Do … do you think that might be you?"

  "No, of course not. I'm here by accident, and I only want to leave again." Clunk frowned. "You speak of the Old Kingdom. Is there a New Kingdom as well?"

  "No, Old Kingdom is a collective term for the four distinct lands we have now. Many years ago, all four were united under one king, and it was known as the Kingdom. Now, technically, it is the Four Kingdoms, but over the years we've had the Two Kingdoms, the Five Kingdoms and once, during a particularly turbulent period, the Twelve Kingdoms." Millie shrugged. "There were many claims on the various thrones, but after the wars ended and the pretenders were executed we ended up with the Four. But, instead of continually revising parchments and manuscripts, we simply refer to it as the Old Kingdom."

  Clunk glanced at her. "I know of the Barks and the Mollisters, but what are the other two?"

  "The Kingdom of Darant lies to the north-west, and Tor Fell to the north-east. I know little of either, save that the people of Tor Fell are particularly devout. Also, the land of the Elves lies on the eastern reaches of the continent. They are feared warriors who keep to themselves, provided nobody troubles them."

  "Is that all of them?"

  "No, the stone people live in the rocky wastes of the west, beyond even the lairs of the mightiest dragons. They are workers of granite and metal, miners of ore—"

  Clunk recalled something from legend, a flash of memory from he knew not where. "Are you talking about dwarves?"

  "We do not describe them so, although it is true they are short of stature. They also are fearsome warriors, and since they live beyond the dragons they keep out of human affairs."

  "Surely they trade by ship?" asked Clunk.

  "Ship?"

  "Large boats. They carry cargo, and are powered by oars, or sails to catch the wind."

  Millie looked confused. "I have never heard of such vessels."

  "Your peo
ple do not sail the oceans?"

  "Not unless they want to get eaten by humongous sea snakes," said Millie, with a shudder. "Why, even the largest raft imaginable, built from three entire trees, did not get halfway to the horizon before it and the crew were swallowed whole. Legends tell of them paddling for shore with all their might even as they vanished into the creature's vast maw."

  Clunk frowned. Without sea travel his task was going to be a whole lot harder, but he should have guessed there were no large ships when the city of Chatter's Reach, built right on the coast, obviously had no harbour.

  "Why did we go south when we left the city?" Millie asked him. "We must travel north to reach Bark lands."

  "It was a ruse," said Clunk, not admitting he'd also been hoping to find a ship for hire at the coast. "By heading south we avoided pursuit, and it was unfortunate the robbers had also set up camp there."

  "And today? Do we head north, or should we travel east or west for several days first?"

  Clunk realised she was teasing him, and he smiled. "Today we'll head north, after crossing the river."

  "Then we should set off, since there is no point delaying."

  They left the hollow under the tree trunk, with Clunk giving Millie a hand to get to her feet, and they made their way down to the river bank. The water was sluggish and shallow, and they crossed to the far side without incident. Clunk kept a wary eye down-river, in case the robbers from the night before were looking for them, but there were no shouts of discovery. He walked behind Millie all the same, in case someone had a bow and decided to take a shot.

  Once on the far side, they faced a difficult journey through thick undergrowth, and it was mid-morning by the time they emerged from the tangled bushes and ivy. There, ahead of them, was a broad path leading east-west, and lying on the path was a big man in a loincloth. He was motionless, and as they got closer they saw he was covered in ants.

  "Poor fellow," said Millie. "He must have been killed while he slept."

  Clunk shook his head, because he could see the man's chest rising and falling. It was slow, almost imperceptible, but the man certainly wasn't dead. He put a finger to his lips, and motioned Millie behind him. Then, slowly, he approached the fallen figure.

  — ♦ —

  Captain Spadell was at his desk, reviewing arrest reports. His guards had been busy rounding up suspects in the Regis case, and since the man was almost universally loathed, there were an awful lot of them. As he turned the pages, he began to wonder whether there were more people in the cells than there were free in the city.

  Then he paused as he spotted two names on a parchment. Pentonville and Islington? Why were they on charges? He scanned the page, but apart from 'by the hand of Lord Chylde' there were no actual details.

  "Dawson!"

  A heavy-set man came in. "Yessir?"

  "Why are Islington and Pentonville on my desk?"

  Dawson kept his gaze fixed on a distant point. "I think Lord Chylde was annoyed with them. He feels they embarrassed him in front of the queen."

  "A nonsense, then."

  "Yessir."

  "All right, let them go."

  "Aye sir." Dawson turned to leave, but Spadell stopped him. "Remember to enter twelve lashes each in the punishment book."

  "Will do, sir," said Dawson, and he left.

  Spadell shook his head at the stupidity of it all. Their lord and master wanted to look good in front of the queen, so he meted out unwarranted punishment to a couple of decent men. Then he, Spadell, had to waste time generating more paperwork to prove the men had been punished. Of course, there would be no lashings and no punishment, but the book said there had been and so everyone ended up happy - particularly Islington and Pentonville.

  A shadow fell across his desk. "I thought I sent you to release them?" said Spadell testily.

  "Are you giving me orders?" said a silky smooth voice.

  Spadell looked up, then swallowed as he saw the round countenance of Lord Varnish, the master of spies. Torchlight flickered off his bald pate, and with his dark cloak and gloves, it looked like his disembodied head was floating in mid-air. "Of course not. I thought you were one of my men."

  Varnish took a seat, unasked. "I have a few questions for you, Spadell."

  "Is this an interrogation?"

  "Not yet." Varnish eyed the pile of arrest reports on Spadell's desk. "Should I tell the queen to hold another round of executions?"

  "First, these are just suspects. And second, don't you mean 'advise the queen'?"

  "The queen does what I tell her to," said Varnish. "Now, let's talk about Tiera of the Grey Mountain people."

  Spadell's stomach sank, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral. Meanwhile, Varnish continued.

  "You released her yesterday, despite her guilt over the High Priest's death."

  "Guilt? She was—"

  "She was present when he died. I don't have to remind you of the law, surely?"

  "A rock fell from the sky! You can hardly blame the poor girl for that."

  "She should have been executed, and instead you let her go. I find that most significant, because later that night she scaled Chancellor Regis's tower, plunged a knife into each of his kidneys, and stole a purse of gold coin." Varnish gazed at Spadell with blank, expressionless eyes. "No longer a poor girl, it seems."

  "Do you have proof of this?"

  "I will get a confession, once I get my hands on her."

  Spadell gestured at the paperwork on his desk. "All of these people are suspects in Regis's murder. I'm certain none of them did it, but every one of them would confess if you started torturing them." He returned Varnish's gaze. "Are you looking for the perpetrator, or a scapegoat?"

  "If I wanted a scapegoat you'd already be under arrest," said Varnish smoothly. "What I want is Tiera."

  "Why her?"

  "She broke into the queen's chambers last night, and threatened her majesty with a knife."

  "What?"

  "Yes. Then, when caught, she claimed it was a stunt to gain the queen's favour. The queen, bless her, turned around and knighted this young woman. The young woman was so moved by this gesture she packed up her things and fled the city before daybreak." Varnish frowned. "It seems she's travelling with an accomplice by the name of Thonn. Are you familiar with this young man?"

  Spadell went to reply, but Varnish motioned him to silence.

  "Yes, of course you're familiar with Thonn. After all, you released him yesterday as well, prior to his scheduled execution. Let me see now, what was his crime? Oh yes, performing magic." Varnish leaned across the desk. "You let a practicing mage and an assassin go free, Spadell. What do you have to say for yourself?"

  "Sur Loyne came to the cells and beat several prisoners to within an inch of their lives. One of them died on the way to their execution, as I'm sure you're aware. Thonn was the other, and I— I took pity on the lad. He stood broken, doomed, and I thought one last breath of fresh air would—"

  "Enough!" snapped Varnish. "Either the lad exaggerated his injuries—"

  "No, they were fatal."

  "In that case, his magical powers are stronger than I expected, for he was fully healed when he left the city with Tiera."

  Spadell swallowed. He could feel the walls closing in, and his future looked shaky indeed.

  "But of course, you already knew this, since you visited both of them at the tavern last night, right after they murdered Regis." Varnish changed tack suddenly. "Your mother … I believe she was a servant at the palace many years ago."

  "Yes." Spadell knew what was coming next, and he realised he was doomed.

  "She was executed for petty theft, was she not? Stole one of the queen's necklaces."

  "The case is public knowledge," said Spadell, forcing the words out.

  "Yes, so I recall. The queen found the necklace afterwards. Did you know that? It was tangled up in her underwear drawer."

  Spadell shook his head, unable to speak. He'd always known his mot
her was innocent, but to hear it confirmed was almost too much.

  Suddenly, Varnish stood up and crossed to the door, moving like lightning. He looked outside, then closed the door softly, bolting it. Then he resumed his seat. "Spadell, would it surprise you to know we share the same goal?"

  The captain stared at him. "Y-you mean—"

  "She has to go," said Varnish. "By now, we should be ruling the Barks. Our combined armies should be marching on Elven lands to rid the kingdom of that scourge once and for all. We should be driving the stone people into the sea, drowning those tough little monsters by the thousand. Since the queen will not raise her hand, another must take the throne."

  "Who? You?"

  "Of course not! I refer to Lord Chylde, for he is next in line."

  "You want to kill the queen and put him in charge?"

  "Not in charge, exactly, for he is merely a puppet." Varnish smiled. "What do you say, Spadell? Would you see the kingdom united once again under the Mollister banner? Would you see your mother avenged?"

  "I have no beef with the Elves, or the stone people, but if it means the queen will die then I am with you," said Spadell at last.

  "Excellent, captain. You've made a life-saving choice." Varnish put out a soft, pasty hand, and they shook on it. Then, before Spadell could gather his thoughts, the spy master was gone.

  Chapter 22

  Clunk reached the half-naked man and looked down, intending to analyse the situation before exposing himself to danger. Meanwhile, Millie pushed past and knelt on the ground, cradling the man's head in one arm. She pointed out the red juice around his mouth, then indicated a nearby bush laden with fruit. "Poor fellow. He has eaten of the Forzen berry, which makes men stiff, but useless." She paused. "This, whereas normally they are just useless."

  Clunk plucked a berry from the bush, and before Millie could stop him he popped it into his mouth and chewed on it, tasting the juice.

  Millie stared at him, aghast. "What have you done? The Forzen berry … it will paralyse you!"

  "It cannot, for I am not a man." Unconcerned at the poison washing around his mouth, Clunk finished his analysis. The berry contained a powerful compound which induced paralysis in mammals, although that was already apparent. However, by analysing the compound he worked out the chemicals needed to create an antidote. Keeping the juice in his mouth, he eyed the surroundings, then plucked a leaf here, a twig there and a root somewhere else, tasting each until he had what he needed. Then he crossed to the big, well-muscled man and spat the concoction into his mouth.