by LeRoy Clary
“We just call ‘um ‘the mountains’.”
Since there were no others to get confused with, the answer made sense, as little as he liked hearing it. He glanced in the direction of the sun and back at the mountains. “They lie to the west. What’s this water called?”
This time, there was a hint of a smile on the old man’s lips as he answered, “The ocean.”
“Oceans cover a large area. Does this part of the ocean have a name?”
“Some call it the Dunsmuir Sea.”
Better. Trying to get information from the old man was as difficult as getting it from the teachers. Gareth ignored the widening grin while listening to the pop of the sails, creaks of rigging, and the hiss of water slipping past the hull. The boat stank of rotted bait and fish. No need to ask the purpose of the boat. His shirt felt almost felt dry already from the warm wind and sun. “Do you know the reason for the name?”
The old man showed a few brown teeth. “Might be because the town we’re sailing for has the same name. Dunsmuir.”
“You’ve been playing with me.”
“Nope. Not playing at all. Just trying to figure out why a dragon dropped into my sea and if’n you’re smart or stupid. Haven’t gotten around to asking you how or why you’re in this fix, yet.”
The invitation to talk was clear, but Gareth held off. The bag around his neck contained a treasure. The old man might spread the tale of a boy dropping out of the sky with the egg of a dragon, and then others would seek him out. Not all would be friendly. “I don’t think I’m too smart. Especially after this morning.”
“Son, I hate to disagree with someone I just met, but you figured out the important stuff in a skip of a hurry, if’n you was to ask me. Later on, you can find Dunsmuir on most maps, and yes, the mountains lie to the west, so you can figure pretty close where you came from. Now that you’ve managed to figure all that out, all you got to do is get yourself back over them same mountains to your home. Never heard of anyone doing that, though.”
“Heard of what?”
“Anybody crossing those mountains. Not saying it can’t be done, just that I never heard of it until today.”
“I’m too scared to think, right now.”
“Imagine that. You got a right to be. Most boys would spend their time puking out their guts over a dragon taking them for a ride while they dangle on a rope like a toy on a string.”
“How’d you know?”
“Saw you hanging from that rope when she was flying around like she was crazed. Never looked at my boat once. Figured you for dead, but I got curious about what sort of man a dragon would carry around like that, so I went chasin’ after her.”
“I can’t pay you for a boat ride.”
“Never asked you to, not that I remember anyhow. Out here on the water, we help those in need, ‘cause someday it’ll be us needing help. That’s just the way of things.”
Gareth felt his breathing slow to near normal, and the clean air in his lungs helped revive him. He’d lived. Faring was probably safely at his Da’s house, trying to explain what happened and getting a whipping for his actions. Odd would be looking for him too, and so would the teachers. Hopefully, nobody blamed Faring. But the simple truth was that nobody really cared, other than Faring. He had no family and few friends. Yes, he might be the topic of conversation at the inn where the old men spent their days spinning yarns, but there would be other stories to tell in days to come. He said, “My name’s Gareth. I owe you a debt.”
“Some call me Tom, or Captain. A few call me wors’n that when I’m out of earshot.” He pointed to the bag and the egg it held. “Never met anyone who stole a dragon egg and lived. Most die trying if they have the guts to try at all.”
Gareth held the egg closer to his chest, determining what to do next. “Maybe they are stupid to try. Or too smart.”
“Son, you don’t know where you are, and you got a valuable egg and a passel of other problems I’m thinking, most you don’t even know about. I’m not only talking about that black dragon returning. I figure you don’t know anybody in these parts. And I’m thinking all those things and wondering who’re you gonna sell that egg to.”
“None of your business.”
“Course it’s none of mine, but I’ve never seen a buyer for dragon eggs in Dunsmiur Town. Besides, I’m just passing the time with pleasant conversation while we head for the fish docks. That, and wondering if you understand there’s many a man who’ll kill you for what you’re holding in that bag. Ya can’t just walk into Dunsmuir Town and start asking about the docks for who wants to buy a dragon egg, can ya?”
Gareth closed his eyes and thought about it. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
Tom barked a laugh. “Listen, there’s a water jug in that box beside you, along with a loaf of hard bread and a quarter of good Dunsmuir cheese. Help yourself.”
Gareth wanted a drink, and he hadn’t eaten all day, but he still hesitated.
“No charge,” Tom said, his eyes now watching the sky, a slight smile again playing on his lips.
Gareth looked up, too. No sign of the dragon. He opened the lid of the tankard and tore off a piece of bread and took a long drink of water. “I owe you an apology. I guess some of it is your business after all. If not for you, I’d have never made it to land if you hadn’t come along.”
“No, you were right. You have your right to privacy. I just want to know enough of the tale for a good story to tell over a tankard of ale, son. To tell you the truth, I like stories with happy endings.”
Gareth watched the sky for a long while before speaking. “How would you go about selling the egg?”
“Only one honest buyer for eggs is what I know. King’s army. It buys them and trains hatchlings for fighting in the wars down around Backcomb, and Enders. Both sides fly dragons and sometimes they fight in the sky, and people watch them spin and twist in the air, biting and spitting at each other, like fireworks on a holiday. Other times dragons drop rocks on towns and smash houses, or they spit slime into the watching crowds of people. They eat farmer’s cattle and sometimes even people, they say.”
“Are any of the King’s army in Dunsmuir?”
“Nope. Nearest army post I know is down around Drakesport, about three days’ sail with a good wind, or ten days of walking if you’re on land and manage to evade the thieves and muggers on the roads, which is almost impossible.”
Gareth heard the warnings on the words. He’d also heard of highwaymen and how they earned their living. A man carrying a dragon egg would draw them like flies to fresh dung. The old man owned a boat. “Ever been there?”
“Drakesport? A few times. Lived there many years ago.” Then Tom’s attention returned to the empty sky, and he quit talking for a few moments as if making up his mind about something. After ensuring no dragons flew in the cloudless blue above, he checked the wind in the sails and glanced around at the surface of the water. “But I might consider goin’ there again under the right financial circumstances.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gareth’s options were few, a sure indication that he hadn’t planned well, but who could have foreseen being snatched by a dragon and carried across the mountains to a distant sea? Gareth could either swim to shore or ride in an old fishing boat to the town of Dunsmuir, where he had no means or contacts to sell his egg. Once ashore in Dunsmuir, he’d be at the mercy of anyone he offered to sell the egg to, and many working deals in back alleys who heard of the egg would plan on taking it without paying. Tales would fly. Few thieves would hesitate to murder him for the value of the egg. Or he could strike a deal with the fisherman. “You don’t think Dunsmuir is where I should be going, do you?”
The old man tilted his head and watched the wind beat the stained and patched sail. His eyes didn’t shift as he spoke. “What I think shouldn’t make a hill of beans to you, boy. There’s them in Dunsmuir Town, who’re good people and will help you when you don’t even ask. There're others who’ll slit your throat for a f
ew silver bobs.”
“I risked my life for this egg.”
Tom’s face tinged red. “You’re still risking it, boy. If’n that dragon doesn’t come back spitting liquid fire at us, then thieves and worse will try to take it off your hands. You got no idea of what a valuable item you have in that bag, or what others will do for it. A hard-working man might spend his entire life toiling and not see as much coin as that egg will bring. Not as much money in his whole miserable life. Wouldn’t take a lot to convince a poor man like that to take your egg from you. He might say it isn’t such a bad thing. He might say that you have a whole life in front of you to earn money. If he is so quick to take your egg, imagine what a man who is a thief will do.”
Gareth wondered at the outburst. Almost like a lesson from the teachers. While it seemed direct and honest, there were overtones like the teachers used. Questions within questions. Statements within statements. Not at all like what a poor fisherman would speak. Gareth held the egg tighter to his chest. “What matters is that I have the egg of a dragon in my bag. That’s all. Not worth anything until I find a way to sell it. That’s what counts.”
Tom barked a laugh, a sound that held little humor and a lot of understanding. “True enough, son. That egg is worth more than I’ll make in many years of selling fish, even if the fishing is good. I can’t rightly say I know the full value of your egg, so I’m guessing.”
“Tom, I see your point. Searching for someone to buy my egg in Dunsmuir is like telling the whole city what I have and daring them to take it. Like standing up at an inn and making a pronouncement that you’re buying ale for the house and watching the response as everyone jumps up and tries to get their share.”
“Yup, you’ll soon have all the dregs of the city wondering if’n you are man enough to keep your egg. Got a knife in your belt, I notice, but can you use it to defend yourself? Are you willing to use it? How bout against three hungry men, all bigger than you and experienced in how to run a man through with a blade?”
Gareth lifted his chin and met the gaze of the fisherman. “I believe you were about to make a proposal a while ago, even if you don’t talk like any fisherman I’ve ever heard of.”
Tom pulled his attention from Gareth and returned to the tiller and sails before he spoke. “And I believe you don’t talk like any farmer-boy I’ve ever heard, using terms like make me a proposal. You’re different, boy. Farmers don’t use words like those, not the ones I’ve met. There’s mor’n that one thing about you that stands out as different, now that I think on it. But yes, we briefly talked about sailing to Drakesport and finding the King’s soldiers who might buy your egg. That sound about right?”
Gareth grinned at the casual-sounding response, most of which the old man had proposed earlier, however not as direct. He nodded but offered no explanation for why he was different from other farmers or the rewards Tom expected to earn for his part in the trip. The teachers had often said that sometimes it is just better to shut up and let the other do the talking so you can learn.
Tom said, “But first, before we discuss it anymore, let’s you and me get a few things right between us, up front. The first is about trust. I’ve been at sea most of my life, and there're a hundred ways I can think of to dump you over the side of this boat if I want. Fact is, I’m probably stronger than you, but set that aside for now. I could sit here and wait until you stand up and then come about with the boom. That’d knock you over the side, and I wouldn’t have to move more’n releasing the line I’m holding to do exactly that. Then I could just sail away with that egg of yours. Or, I could just wait until you go to sleep and hit you over the head with an oar. Then I’d be givin’ you the big drink of salt water.”
“Why’re you telling me this? To scare me?”
Tom leaned closer and said, “Cause it’s all true. I want you to know if’n I wanted to take that egg off your hands without your permission, there’s not much you can do about it. You need to understand we must trust each other. Like partners.” He spat over the gunnels and pulled the tiller to the side while watching the sail flap at the sudden absence of wind. The boat swung around, and the boom moved to the other side as hard as if he’d pushed it. The entire boat shuddered when it hit the stop after passing inches over their heads. Its loud crack emphasized his words. “If you can’t see that . . . Well, it’s best I just let you off ashore, and we part ways.”
Gareth stared at the boom and understood that if he had been standing up, he would now be swimming, maybe with a broken arm or his head split open. Tom was right. The boat was his element. Gareth either trusted him or not.
Tom gave him a meaningful glance before adjusting sails that didn’t need any adjustment. The wind pushed the boat in the new direction.
Gareth avoided eye contact while he looked to the shoreline in the distance and saw they were now running parallel instead of directly at it. He felt he shouldn’t trust the fisherman because he didn’t know him, but what Tom had told him made sense. There hadn’t been a lot of unknown people to meet back in Dun Mare, and he felt at a disadvantage. But it was true, the old man was the master out here. Besides, he was offering help, and he expected to be paid for his help.
Gareth said, “Let me hear your idea, please.”
“Dunsmuir’s too risky, and besides, there're no buyers to make you a proper deal, anyway. You don’t have money for food or for travel on foot, so you’re not going to get very far if I put you ashore. If you manage to leave Dunsmuir Town, there’s still the highwaymen waiting for any who pass, and let’s be honest. You’re easy pickins. They’ll kill you if they think you have the price of a good meal in your purse, let alone a dragon’s egg. You won’t make it a day on the road.” He paused as if to let the words sink in. Then he nodded to the bow and said, “Up ahead there’s a small fishing village. I’ve docked there for supplies a few times. Place is called Priest’s Point. Clean, fresh water and necessities needed for us to be at sea a few days. Then we can sail for Drakesport, about three or four days’ travel by boat if the winds are fair.”
Gareth smiled. “You’ve already turned the boat for Priest’s Point, haven’t you?”
“Yep, we’re heading there unless you say otherwise, which you have every right to do. Now listen to me carefully. While we’re in Priest’s Point, you're to keep your mouth shut. I’m not making a threat or tellin’ you what to do. I’m saying when we get there, you don’t talk. Your speech tells everyone you come from elsewhere, and anything you put into words gets looked at real hard by those trying to make ends meet by killing or thievin’ and such. You don’t need to give them fodder to wonder about. Maybe best to just keep you hidden aboard.”
“What are you going to do while I’m not talking?” Gareth asked.
“Food and supplies for the trip. Jars of water, of course. Bread if it’s recently baked and cheap, hard boiled eggs, and maybe some dried strips of whatever game they have for sale. Travelin’ food. I got a few coppers stashed aside for emergencies.”
Luck was with me when Tom saw the dragon drop me into the ocean. But, as Faring says, everybody charges a price. Somebody always pays. “You’re expecting something in return for your favors, I take it?”
“That I am. Not much, in the light of what you can get for selling your egg, but we’ll talk of that later. Right now, I want you to scoot under that tarp on the seat behind you, and be still.”
“Why not share your demands for pay now?”
Tom jutted his chin to indicate a tiny spot in the sky far behind. “Because your friend is coming back.”
Gareth felt his heart almost stop. He quickly gathered the tarp and pulled it over himself. “Let me know if she comes too close.”
“Don’t know what you’re planning to do if she does, but I’ll be watchin’ and tellin’ you. And sailing this boat as far from her as I can.”
In the dimly lit space under the tarp, it smelled old, and of rotted raw fish, like most of the rest of the boat, only more so. The rocking mo
vement of the boat soothed Gareth. After missing sleep when he and Faring climbed the mountain to the nest the night before, his eyes felt heavy, despite the approaching danger.
“Hold still, boy,” the old sailor said. “She’s coming fast from astern. Got her eyes centered on us.”
The fear he detected in the hushed voice of the fisherman scared Gareth and jolted him fully awake. He fought the urge to pull the edge of the tarp and peek out but knew that if the stories about dragon-sight were only half true, the beast would see the tiny movement, and that might be enough to trigger an attack. He tried to breathe slower and shallower. Even the smallest of movements might alert the dragon. He heard the steady flap of her wings as she passed over and screeched one ear-piercing call as if warning Tom.
“She’s circling around and coming in for a closer look, or maybe searching for your smell. This is the time to play dead, no matter what happens. You hear me?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
Curled up under the heavy tarp he couldn’t see anything but the barest hint of light poking through a few small holes. His ears listened to the splashes of waves breaking against the bow, and the hiss of water rushing along the wood hull. The sail fluttered, indicating Tom was probably watching the dragon instead of tending the sails and tiller. That meant she was very close.
The harsh rustle of wings sounded.
“You move, and we die,” Tom said, not even bothering to lower his voice.
The beat of the leather-like wings grew stronger. Then they increased in speed as she flew past the boat, probably examining every detail while searching for her missing egg. With a wild screech, she gained altitude and spun around, heading directly for the bow of the boat. Gareth heard the increasing beat of wings flapping as she neared, again.