The Birthday Dragon

by Lee Abrey

  “Not the Military Guild?” she said. I gave her a blank look.

  “No, thank you.” She ran a finger along the tablecloth.

  “I hear you’ve potential as a soldier,” she said, sounding thoughtful.

  “Not in a blue fit,” I said, as food arrived. “I like playing soldier. The sparring, mounted games, knowing I can defend myself. But me a soldier? No way.”

  “Why not?” she said.

  “I don’t want to die,” I said, and began counting on my fingers. “I don’t want to be scared at work every day. I don’t take well to stupid orders. I don’t like wearing a uniform. I hate marching. I don’t really like being part of a team.” I was trying to remember the other reasons. I must write a list, ready to whip it out at moments like this. “Sparring scares me,” I said, “I’d run away in an actual battle situation.” That was seven. It would do.

  “Sparring scares you?” said Azrael.

  “Especially the way you do it,” I said, “what’s with the constant groin shots?” He shrugged and blushed.

  “Aye,” he said, “the guards say it’s like a signature blow of mine. Other men don’t tend to strike there, professional courtesy.”

  “Alright, Polo,” said Nanny Black, “so you don’t want to be a soldier. You do understand your little feud with Indigo Sutherland is going to affect Azrael when he goes to the Military Guild?” I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Shut your mouth, boy,” she said, “it’s rude to gape at someone.”

  “But,” I said, beginning to splutter, “what feud? He attacked me in the baths, I don’t even know him!” She narrowed her eyes.

  “That’s not what I heard,” she said. I scowled.

  “Azrael,” I said, “have you heard I have a feud with Indigo?” He nodded.

  “I heard it, yes, but didn’t pay too much attention. I know it’s him has a feud with me. You’re collateral damage.” Nanny gave him a suspicious look and said,

  “With you?”

  Azrael explained what we’d heard, that Indigo thought himself crown prince in all but name. And, Azrael went on blithely, Nanny could trust me because in case I was some spy sent from Sriama, or more likely from the Keller clan, the king had spies follow me since we arrived, with reports also going to Azrael. The king’s spies were, Azrael said, completely sure I was above board.

  I was shocked. It was also a blow to the ego. Like most people I fancied myself an aware person, but I was being followed, watched, and investigated and hadn’t known. I knew I was being gossiped about, but not the rest. Moreover, it hadn’t occurred to me. I assumed I was free from possible observation once out of the Queen’s Mews, providing nobody recognised me. Especially out of the citadel grounds.

  “I was followed?” I said.

  “Come on, Polo,” Azrael said, “I’d be stupid if I took anyone on face value with my father barely cold. We need to check backgrounds. You had the right papers, the king said you moved like your mother, and he was expecting you, but that was the only real proof that you are who you say you are. Your father has blue eyes and blonde hair, you have green eyes, and a different shade of blonde. People say you look a bit like him but not enough for anyone to say for sure, you must be Polo Shawcross.” I was trying not to get angry. I could see his point, he really couldn’t trust anyone, and I was a stranger.

  “Grandmama Daeva Casterton says I look like my great-great uncle, Beau Casterton,” I said, “he had the same colouring.”

  “Papers can be forged,” said Azrael, looking apologetic. He mouthed, “Sorry,” with a little shrug. I gave him a dirty look, but tempered it enough that he knew I was forgiving him. We were polite until we relaxed again. If you like each other, it’s not that hard to do.

  Nanny Black had lunch then left, saying she was off to visit Azrael’s mother.

  “Interesting woman,” I said, once I was absolutely sure she was gone. “Grip like a wrestler.”

  “She’s very strong,” said Azrael. “She used to teach me self-defence before I was about ten. She’s good. Especially seeing she’s so tiny.” I gestured to the couches nearby, and we moved there from the more formal dining area.

  “She’s a peasant?” I said. She looked it, didn’t sound it, but then many of the Blood’s servants spoke as well as their charges. He nodded.

  “Aye,” he said, “Nanny’s all peasant. Her family were in service at the kingdom seat down in Cragleas. She spent some time working for the queen, my grandmother, as a personal assistant, then took over managing the babies when she didn’t approve of the way the nursery staff were doing it. Likes to keep herself busy, she says. She does at least one class a year at one of the guilds. Last year it was Mosaics, and the year before Furniture Upholstery, at the Artists. She speaks Sriaman, too. And Kavar.”

  “Good for her,” I said, “it’s good to keep busy. One of the servants told me there are several lakes and pools here in the citadel park.” I smiled, and stretched. “I fancy an afternoon at the beach.” He looked out at the blue sky.

  “It is the sunniest day we’ve had in ages,” he said.

  “Do we need your guards?” I said, pretending to be responsible.

  “I’ll tell them we’re going,” he said, “it should be alright.” I bit my lip, then decided to be straight with him.

  “Are you really having me followed?” I said.

  “The king is,” said Azrael, “he sends me reports. I asked him to after he told me he’d have you checked out. And of course, I’m bribing the spies to let me know if you’re doing anything unusual.”

  “Have I?” I said. “I mean, have I done anything unusual?”

  “No,” he said, “you seem to be what you seem to be.” I blinked. “Do you think I am what I am?” he said, and I blinked more.

  “Is this the ‘Oh no, I might be gay!’ thing again?” I said. “Because we’ve proved you’re not.”

  “I’m serious,” he said, “do you think I have a kingly quality?” I laughed. “Serious, come on, Polo.”

  “Well,” I said, “you have the same kind of charm as Theo, and like him you’re very good at talking to people. You seem interested. People like that. Bernard likes you. He’s a fussy bugger. You won him over quicker than I did, by remembering his name the first day we were here.” I paused. “If you’d like to know, I really liked you when we met. I thought, at last, someone who’s into history and cares about life. Who thinks there’s more to it than Lower Beech.” Azrael smiled.

  “I’m glad you thought so. And that Bernard likes me. Nanny says the peasants are the best judge of the Blood.” I smiled.

  “I like you too,” I said, “I’m half-peasant.” He smiled back.

  “Grandma Rose is half-peasant but my Grandma Casterton, the Queen of Cragleas, is half-Dragon.” I raised my eyebrows.

  “I don’t even know who in my family brought in the most recent Dragon blood.”

  “A lot of families up here hide it,” he said, “down in Redoubt people boast about it. It has to be within five generations or the cat’s-eyes and other effects disappear.” There was a knock at the door.

  “Miss Cida Innes,” said Bernard, after a consultation at the entrance, “says she’s a friend of His Highness. Your guards have identified her, Highness.” Azrael stood up.

  “Oh, thank you, Bernard. Please, let her in.” He smiled at me. “This is that friend I was telling you about.” I’d met Cida’s father, the stocky servant who worked for Saraia, now I was to meet the peasant prodigy, Azrael’s friend.

  When I first saw Cida there was the immediate thought that her was quite beautiful, which seeing her father you’d not expect. However I was struck by a sense of the unpleasant. I didn’t know why.

  At about five-nine with a lush figure, everything except her dress sense was pleasing to the eye. Her dress was gathered under the bust like a little girl’s, which she patently wasn’t. It was most unflattering. Of course I didn’t say so, just smiled, laughed politely at their recollections of fun tim
es past and tried to get on with Cida. It wasn’t easy.

  Apparently, some Blood boy had asked her to go for a walk in the gardens then tried to cop a feel. I didn’t see why that was my fault but Cida was sure we were all the same.

  “You Blood,” she said, “parasites on the common people-” I was staring open-mouthed, feeling it was up to Azrael to say something.

  “Now, Cida,” said Azrael, “one bad apple-”

  “-like to take advantage,” Cida shouted over the top of him, “of the working classes!” I found my voice,

  “Honestly,” I said, “I’ve never been a parasite-”

  “You’re all the same anyway, men!” She had dark brown hair and eyes, the latter were flashing with passion. Then she tossed her hair and pouted at Azrael, and it clicked.

  She wanted to be his lover. Everything was for effect. That’s what had set my senses on edge. She was a fake. After that, I tried not to rise to her bait but sat back, smoked, and watched.

  She talked disparagingly about the prettiness gene, which was a big insult to her audience, both of whom had it, and I could see Azrael getting increasingly uncomfortable. I tapped out my pipe, ready to smother Cida with a cushion if she didn’t shut up about how much she hated the Blood.

  “You’re tall for a peasant,” I said, deciding I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “About five-nine.” She stopped railing for a moment. “Couldn’t help noticing.” I smiled. “You’re a looker, too.” It was as though she was seeing me for the first time. She laughed, a bit nervously. Tossed her hair again.

  “And your point is?” she said, sounding haughty.

  “Happened to read some books on it,” I said, “me being a half-breed, and not looking a lot like my parents.” I saw her eyes widen a bit. She hadn’t known I was half-peasant. “Genetics are a bit of an interest.” I kept my tone pleasant. “You’re bound to be Blood,” I said and smiled. Cida’s bone structure looked like many of the Blood round the place. “No cat’s eyes, but you’re tall to be pure southern – south of the Great Star Lake - peasant. Your features are very fine. The Yusaf were a different genetic type, mostly short and heavy. More like your da.” Her father, Innes, was short and dark.

  “There were many different types,” I continued, “but by the time Dragon got here, the southern Yusaf had pretty much bred themselves into one, short with olive skin and dark eyes. Occasional throwbacks.” I paused. Azrael was getting where I was going, and was smiling.

  “Your mother’s tall and quite beautiful, am I right?” I said. “For all she’s peasant.” Cida nodded. “Maybe the cat’s-eyes didn’t take, but I bet there’s Dragon in her side of the family. Was she the half-breed or was it one of her parents?” I was guessing but it hit home. She curled her lip as though I said I wanted to do her and her sister. If she had one. I’d have to ask Azrael. Once she stopped shouting.

  “But that can’t be true! We’re pure peasant, ten generations back. Both sides! Da told me!” I hadn’t expected her to argue so vehemently. Her possible Dragon blood was obvious to anyone who looked. My northern peasant father could pass for Blood with his colouring and height, but Cida looked more like Blood than he did. I shrugged.

  “Well,” I said, “that’s what I read.” She huffed and puffed over my audacity and gave me a look filled with loathing. I sighed. Another feud over which Nanny Black could be annoyed with me. Without even trying, my life had gone from rather blissful, thanks to being away from Mother and Father, to one strewn with opportunities to offend people.

  Cida left, after some arch comments about wanting to see Azrael when he could spare some time, as if he had abandoned her to be with his new friend, me.

  ****

  Chapter 16 – I Discover Profiteroles

  As the door closed behind her, I breathed out.

  “Whew,” said Azrael, rolling his eyes.

  “That went well,” I said, lighting another pipe. “Did I mention to Nanny ‘not getting on with people’ as another reason I can’t join the army?”

  “You did mention not being good in groups, I think,” said Azrael, “or was it with teams?” I laughed.

  “I need to make a real list,” I said.

  “It’s a shame Cida hates you.” He sighed. “I didn’t think to mention that she’s fiercely proud of being a peasant. Innes is very into equality for commoners, though he’s very vague on who will govern once you get rid of the kings. The loudest peasant, I think. Her mother’s very religious and quite anti-men, which she’s drummed into Cida, as Mister Innes has drummed in the part about being proud peasants. Miz Innes is beautiful, you’re right, but she’s bitter. So mean she doesn’t look good. The kind who won’t let you open presents until the evening of your birthday, because that way you learn to worship the gods better.” I looked sceptical.

  “How does that help?” I said and he laughed.

  “I don’t know,” said Azrael, “I never listen to Miz Innes when she goes off. Master Innes tunes out too, I’ve seen him. Probably plotting revolution and divorce in his head.” Bernard came in.

  “It’s afternoon tea time, lordships,” he said, “I’m off for mine. I’ll revolt after that, if it suits you.”

  “Don’t put yourself out, Bernard,” I said, smiling. His eyes twinkled though he pretended not to be amused as he left. “It’s strange,” I said, “I’ve done a lot today, but I feel like all I’ve done is eat and smoke.”

  “You went riding outside,” said Azrael, sounding wistful, “without having to worry about armour and a platoon of guards. But getting to the stables, breakfast and the showers, then back here, means you’ve had about an hour of brisk walking.”

  “There must be a way you can come out without so many men,” I said. “We need a way to disguise you.” He grinned.

  “And it probably needs to be dark. I could wear a bag over my head.”

  “That would work,” I said. “Come on, let’s go to afternoon tea. Then we’ll go swimming. I bet you can see a woman you fancy. Or a man.”

  “Are we,” he said, then hesitated. “Are we friends?” I felt the emotion in him. I’d never had The Conversation with a man.

  “Let’s be straight with each other, Azrael,” I said, trying to sound kind. “I don’t love you. I won’t fall in love with you over time. If you want love, go to someone else. However, I am your friend. I’m loyal to you. You could conceivably be enough of a prick that we stop being friends, but I’ll be sure to let you know.” I put an arm around his shoulder and gave him a quick hetero squeeze. He nodded.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” he said. I grinned.

  “I do, actually. That’s a variation of the standard speech. Especially with needy little trout like that Cida. Don’t want them getting the wrong idea. You could do her, if you want. The girl’s completely nuts for you.”

  “Cida?” said Azrael. He laughed and shook his head. “She doesn’t even like me half the time. We grew up together, she’s like a big sister. She hates that I won’t let her boss me any more.” I was in an experimental mood.

  “Maybe I’ll do her,” I said. “That’s some body she was hiding under that sack of a dress.” Azrael blinked.

  “Cida has a body?” he said, “I never noticed. Mother says she’s in training for the Temple Guild, way she goes on about purity and the gods.”

  “She’s over sixteen,” I said, “if she’s older than you. So she’s legal. Do you mind if I do her?” He laughed.

  “I don’t mind, but no way will she do you. No way at all.”

  “I want to wake her up to fun,” I said, “where’s the harm in that?” He laughed some more.

  “I bet you can’t,” he said, “and you’re not to hurt her feelings by pretending to be in love with her.” I made a snorting sound.

  “I never pretend for sex,” I said, “that would be unethical. And unsporting.” He laughed until he nearly cried.

  “Oh stop it,” he said, “let’s go. I happened to go past the kitchens rather early
this morning and one of the bakers said there are going to be profiteroles for this tea.”

  “Profiteroles?” I said.

  “A puffed dough ball,” said Azrael, “they’re doing chocolate coated with custard inside.”

  “Oh?” I imagined it. “Galaia preserve me, that sounds good.”

  “They are,” said Azrael, “and I don’t want to miss out. The Hangers On will eat them all.”

  “When you say Hangers On, what do you mean? Is it the people at Court?” He spread his hands.

  “It’s one of Nanny’s systems. She has systems for everything. Come on, let’s walk while I’ll tell you.” We headed out, making sure to tell the guards where we were going. Some followed or preceded us at a discreet distance. “The Hangers On are the courtiers who are guests of the king,” Azrael explained. “They don’t contribute in any way to the citadel or its running, but enjoy themselves and wear out the servants. Some are here to find spouses, maybe backing for some business, others simply to party away the Season, which runs from late September through to the following March.”

  “So it’s just started?” I said.

  “Aye,” he said, “but the most fashionable time to come to Peterhaven is summer, the High Season, December through February.” Our part of the continent of Pangea was in the Southern Hemisphere, so midwinter came in June. “A small number of Hangers On stay all year round, then there are Royal Whatsits, people who work at the citadel by appointment to the Crown, with a reason to be here.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Other classifications are Royal Family, Military Men, Visitors, all here either on duty or visiting, maybe for conferences. Servants, citadel administration, estate workers, they’re all Crown Employees.” I listened carefully, being weird like him, interested in things like that. Children who read, they learn to treasure knowledge for its own sake.

  “Which am I?” I said. “A Hanger On?” He thought a moment.

  “You could be a Visitor, here for study, but I think you’re honorary Royal Family, being here at Grandpa Theo’s invite and especially living in the citadel. Hangers On are down in the new fort.”