The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  Lan thought it just as well the Captain and innkeeper had excluded him and weren’t present to see his mouth fall open when Gráinne cleared her throat and announced without a single warning, “First, I wish to say that I am cancelling your contracts.”

  Dragorloth‘s eyes widened and then his brow wrinkled. “Have we displeased you, Mistress?”

  Gráinne shook her head. “No. I mean that I am not requiring you to fulfill your contracts.”

  Dragorloth’s eyes saddened, and he said nothing more. Lan recognized the forlorn look. He’d seen it hundreds of times on the faces of rejected slaves. He knew what it meant for the slaves sent down in Alsahm. He wasn’t sure what it would mean for Dragorloth.

  “I’m a little confused. What are you saying?” Jaer asked.

  “None of you will be required to serve me or my household. You may do as you please, Jaer. You may leave and go wherever you like. You owe me nothing. The same is true for you, Dragorloth. As for you, Zak,” she said, looking in his direction, “I am not sure what to do with you. Your contract was for a season. At the end of the season, you were to return to your . . . to Velaria, I believe her name is?”

  Zak nodded.

  Lan spotted the tendrils layered one over the other, draping the Thrull’s sides. He presumed it meant Zak was unhappy or shocked or maybe frightened. Zak had been the most difficult of the three to read. While Dragorloth exuded unrestrained honesty and Jaer hid his insecurities behind sarcasm, Zak teased and taunted, and Lan didn’t think it had all been in good fun. He wasn’t sure what that said about the Thrull.

  “For one season,” Gráinne continued, “you may do as you please. After that, the law does not give me the right to decide what you may or may not do, though it is not my wish that you remain a . . . an unpaid servant . . . to anyone.”

  “She will come for me,” said Zak.

  “We will face that day when it comes,” Gráinne responded.

  Lan caught a shimmer in Zak’s tendrils that told him the Thrull was shuddering. Sometimes, the woman’s lack of concern for what lay ahead for others infuriated Lan. She rushed blindly into matters, and others suffered for it. Zak would face an angry Mistress. For his own role in her adventure, Lan would suffer, too. Now, to make matters worse, he would have no slaves to give to his Master to further justify the unapproved travel or the hundred and fifty silver Gráinne had spent.

  “What are we supposed to do?” asked Jaer. “No food. No money. No work.”

  Gráinne took a slow, deep breath before answering. “That is the other matter I wish to discuss with you.”

  She glanced at Lan apprehensively, and his stomach knotted.

  “I have a ship in need of a crew and a land in need of resettlement. If you wish, you may work on the ship as crew members in exchange for your board and fare to my homeland.”

  “What land is that?” Jaer asked, skepticism lifting one eyebrow.

  “Incorrigible.”

  “Never heard of it,” he responded. “What kind of land is it?”

  Gráinne sighed. “A land in need of healing.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything,” Jaer said. “Does it have woods?”

  “It once did. They were burned.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a nice place for an Elf to live. We like trees.”

  “The trees will grow again, as will the realm,” she replied. She looked at Lan.

  “Goddess, let that be true.” This time, Lan found nothing funny in her invocation.

  “You do not have to come with us. It is your choice. I ask only one thing from the three of you—that you remain in my service for one more day.” She looked at each of them. “And that is a request, not a command.”

  What are you up to, woman?

  “Lan, is there enough space in your room for the others to join you?” Gráinne asked, nodding toward the others.

  “Yes, if Marta has a few extra quilts.”

  Marta nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll bring them up for you.” She rose from the table, taking empty platters and plates with her into the kitchen before she trotted off to retrieve the extra bedding.

  “It has been a long day, and I am knackered.” Gráinne stood.

  Dragorloth jumped to his feet, his chair teetering precariously behind him. “Would you like me to check your room and warm your bed for you, Mistress?”

  Gráinne’s jaw dropped. “Err. I think it will be fine, Dragorloth, but thank you for offering.”

  “I don’t mind, Mistress. I want to.”

  Gráinne smiled at the Kathan, who looked disappointed. “Will it make you feel better to check my room?”

  “Yes, Mistress. It will.”

  “Then, check my room if you wish, but there is no need to warm my bed.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he replied, dashing for the staircase as if there might be a fire to extinguish.

  “My name is . . . .” Gráinne called out behind him and then looked at Lan and sighed.

  Lan cleared his throat. She wasn’t getting away with this without getting a piece of his mind. “Jaer. Zak. Go upstairs to the room and help Marta. I will be up in a moment.”

  “You’re leaving me alone with him?!” Jaer howled.

  “Yes, I am. Now, go at once!” Lan hissed.

  “Fine,” Jaer said, pushing his chair away from the table and standing. “You’ll find me dead on a clean quilt,” he sniped at Gráinne as he passed her.

  Zak followed, sniggering.

  When the two rounded the doorway, Lan whirled around to Gráinne. “Who do you think you are? You spent his silver buying them and then just set them free without a care as to how I can explain this to him?”

  Gráinne’s mouth and eyes were wide open. “I am not forcing them to serve anyone, Lan. There will be no Masters or Mistresses or slaves. I would have thought you would understand.”

  “Understand what? That you prevented a Kathan from living his destiny?”

  “His destiny? What are you saying, Lan?”

  “I am saying he was born to serve. Did you see his face? You have told him he isn’t worthy.”

  “I said no such thing,” she replied. Lan could hear the snarl growing in her gut.

  “What about the silver you paid? How do you expect to get it back if you set them free?”

  “I do not know, but I am not keeping slaves.” She reached out to Lan and laid a hand on his arm. “You are not a slave. They are not slaves.”

  The woman was the most stubborn being he’d known. “You do not know a thing about me,” Lan said, looking away from her.

  “I will find a way to help you, too.”

  Lan rose and went to his room, where he found Zak and Jaer lying on quilts on opposite sides of the room. Dragorloth sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his bare feet. Lan crawled onto the bed and curled into a ball, his back to the other Kathan.

  The bed rustled, and Lan felt the heat of Dragorloth’s fur snuggling against his back. “She means well.”

  “I know,” replied Lan. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about the others. Although their antics brought chaos, he had enjoyed the company of other males, and he found special comfort in having Dragorloth nearby. He had so often felt lonely. Even if they hadn’t spoken of their homeland or their circumstances, he knew Dragorloth understood what it felt like for a Kathan to serve—the sense of worth and dignity in a job well done, even if the two employed very different faculties in very different kinds of work. Each served, and that was all that mattered in the hierarchy of destinies. He had once considered freedom an option, but now he didn’t, at least not for himself. He didn’t begrudge the others their freedom. He simply didn’t think they would remain free any more than he would when Slyxx returned. He feared for all of them.

  ~

  Find out what happens to Gráinne and her companions!

  GATHERING

  PART THREE OF INCORRIGIBLE: SECRETS PAST & PRESENT

  About Scott Baughman:

  Born i
n the midlands of South Carolina, Scott spent his early years reading great science fiction novels, mysteries, fantasy books and the Choose-your-own-adventure series of the 1980s. Baughman knew he wanted to be a writer by the third grade, where as an elementary school student on career day he eschewed the fireman, soldier or policeman costumes to dress up as a fedora-wearing, camera-snapping member of the press. Today, several newspaper jobs and journalism writing awards behind him, he has self-published the first book of his Balance of Power science fiction series - Rule of Thumb! He is the father of two sons and lives in Charlotte, NC with his wife Meda and their dog, Mayer.

  Reach Scott at www.writegreatscott.com on Twitter: @ScotticusMax or on Facebook

  www.DragonWritersCollective.com

  by Scott Bauguman

  Copyright 2013

  CHAPTER ONE:

  Newsflash

  The first time I saw Smith he was reading a newspaper. And I mean like a printed, physical one. As thousands of people streamed past him in the crowded Grand Central Hovertrain Station, he was sitting there perusing the headlines like a man who had somehow missed his train - from the 20th century - and just stayed there...waiting and watching while the world changed around him.

  Yes, he was reading the New York Times, and yes it was the late edition - the only one they still printed on real paper. It was one dinosaur trying to make another dinosaur feel like he was up-to-date and well-informed. But all the "news" in that Times was at least 24 hours old. I kind of pitied him.

  He must have understood that somehow. He was old, real old; he had to be over 40. He actually had gray hair around his temples and some in his ridiculously out of style goatee. But when he peered up at me, over the edge of the Times, he seemed to have a smirk.

  "You can make fun of me all you want, young buck, but remember, you're the one who called for my help," he said.

  "I-I do need your help," I stammered. I wasn't really sure how to explain this to him face-to-face any better than I had over the vidphone. "As I said before, Mr. Smith, I have - lost something."

  I whispered that last part. I didn't want any of the hovertrain passengers, security guards or observatrons to overhear. People just didn't lose things in 2042. Almost any object on earth could be located within about one foot by the thermal GPS.

  "It happens to everyone, son," Smith said, in a fatherly way I knew I was going to find increasingly annoying. "So you lost something, big deal. When I was a younger man, I made a lot of good money as a private detective who specialized in locating lost things or lost people."

  That was, of course, why I wanted to hire him. There were only about five people left in the city that could realistically call themselves private detectives. They were all at least as old as Smith, I think. Actually, he must have been the youngest one left - because when I contacted the others I had to yell so loud into the phone that I decided to hang up before they ever understood what I was saying.

  "As I explained on the vid, while I was on vacation last month I somehow-misplaced-my binoculars," I said, again with hushed tones.

  Smith crinkled his forehead. Oh no, I thought, he couldn't hear me.

  "Son, it's too loud in here, care to take a walk? There's a nice little diner I know nearby."

  I shrugged, pulled out my vidphone and waited for him to tell me the address.

  "You won't need the dang thermal GPS to find this place, just follow me down the street. You know, there were whole societies that lived without those smartphones," Smith growled. He made his way toward the exit. He might be old, but the man knew how to make an exit. People actually parted in front of him. I found myself hustling to keep up as they let us out the front door.

  "Grand central," Smith said as he looked back over his shoulder. "It doesn't matter what kind of train they got, that place is always busy."

  "Is this the part where you tell me how busy it was back in the 20th century? You know, it's much better now, the trains don't need the tracks," I said, and pointed at one of the hovertrains as it energized magnetic coils and lifted off the ground. Judging from its direction of departure it was headed north, probably taking people home from a day in the city.

  "It doesn't matter if they fly, roll or float, the trains will never run on time when they're handled by the same old bureaucrats," Smith said.

  After a few more minutes of walking Smith ducked into a door I had never noticed before. I followed him in and there was an odd dinging sound as the door closed behind us.

  My nose was assaulted with smells. There was coffee - the cheap stuff - a hint of sugary sweetness and something else I'm sure was burning bread.

  "What?" I choked out. "What is this place?"

  "Ruby's," Smith said. "It has been making the finest in greasy spoon fare in this same spot for longer than anyone can remember."

  Smith removed his cliché of a trench coat, hung it on a coatrack and sat down in a booth. It was something out of Nighthawks, with red pleather that was probably more duct tape than bench. I slid into the booth, facing him across the table. The place was so old; it had a holographic menu station that had been added to the table after the fact. I pushed the button to turn it on and nothing happened.

  "Uhh, Mr. Smith, what do they--" I tried to ask but just then a waitress came over to take our order.

  "I'll have the usual, doll," Smith said. At that moment I noticed she was a real live person and not a servbot. I subconsciously rolled my eyes and she noticed.

  She leaned down the table, her red hair spilling down around her shoulders and framing her chest, clearly emphasized by her uniform with the top unbuttoned down to the third slot. I tried not to, but I did stare. Whatever quip I was going to spout - something about robots being able to remember my order and serve me more quickly - sort of died on my lips as I took in her beauty. She had the reddest lips that somehow didn't clash with her hair, and the bluest eyes. In retrospect, I should've just stared at those instead of her...ample other attributes.

  "They're real, sweetie, and so am I," she said. "So, are you going to order something or just continue to suck up oxygen in my restaurant?"

  "He'll have what I'm having," Smith said, before I could object.

  The waitress straightened, and I could finally bring myself to notice her name tag read "Ruby" as she recited the order to Smith.

  "Bacon cheeseburger, fries and cherry shake...times two," she said, then winked at him, glared at me, spun on her heel and headed toward the kitchen.

  "What?" I protested. "I can't eat all that greasy, unhealthy nonsense!"

  "Relax, kid, I have enough of those anti-junk food pills for the both of us," Smith said.

  This time, I consciously rolled my eyes.

  "You'll be fine, now talk to me about these binoculars," Smith said. "Why can't you just find them with TGPS?"

  "I was on vacation in Guatemala," I said, going over the speech I had rehearsed a hundred times in my mind. "On our fifth day in the rainforest, my girlfriend April and I went by canoe through the Tikal National Park to the site of some ruins that had just recently been discovered. I can't tell you how amazed she was that I got us a trip to the park itself. It took me years, and about $20,000, to get us the tickets and the permission to set foot in the rainforest in that area, much less actually visit the ruins."

  Smith folded his copy of the times on the seat beside him. Was he even paying attention to my story? I soldiered on; after all, I was just getting to the good part.

  "After a few hours of paddling, our guide dropped April and me off at the entrance of the ruins," I said, nearly breathless. "I pushed back the tree limbs and there it was! A pyramid, so tall it looked like it stretched all the way to the top of the tree canopy. I pulled my binoculars to my eyes and surveyed the top of the pyramid. April gasped, as we both saw something flashing up there. Something was catching the light of the sun. We took off, running up the steps and at the top we found - an engagement ring."

  I paused for dramatic effect. Smith slowly looked
up from his paper, which he had apparently been reading while it was hidden under the table in his lap.

  "Hmmm? Oh, right, a ring. Go on..." he said.

  "Anyway, I had the guide come out a few days before and hide it up there. I popped the question, April said yes and we ran back down the steps and I had the guide whisk us back to the seafloor hotel to spend the last few days of our vacation celebrating our engagement. But when I got home and unpacked..."

  "No binoculars?" Smith finished the sentence for me.

  "Right. I have no idea what happened to them."

  Ruby returned with our food, and I couldn't decide what looked more nauseating - the steaming pile of obviously grease-laden French fries or the patty on the bun that was probably made with actual beef. Smith chuckled at my look of disgust, and Ruby slid into the seat beside me. She leaned into my shoulder and although I tried not to, I stared down - again.

  "You know, darlin', the key to a great product is making sure you have all the right parts," she said with a wink, after she caught me staring again. She headed back to the kitchen, but this time she went the long way around the lunch counter as Smith and I watched her walk.

  He recovered sooner than I did.

  "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies," he said.

  I snapped out of it and decided to actually try a bite of the burger.

  It was like someone hit me with a euphoria ray.

  "It's good, isn't it? Ruby knows a lot about quality ingredients," Smith said with a grin.