“Well,” said the guard, “any enemy of the Skaalians is a friend of Brobdingdon. But I’ll need to check about the goblin. Wait here.”
The guard disappeared and, not having much choice in the matter, the four travelers waited.
“Shoulda let me handle the talking,” grunted Krell.
“Yeah, that was going really well,” said Wyngalf.
Krell snarled at him but didn’t reply. After some time, the gates began to open. They stopped just far enough apart for a horse to ride though single file. Without hesitation, Krell rode through. Wyngalf and his companions followed. They found themselves in a large, roughly semicircular bazaar filled with tents, booths, and bustling pedestrians. Bordering the bazaar were rows of buildings that grew larger as they receded in the distance, giving the impression of a city built on tiers. To Wyngalf’s eye, it was a fair sight more impressive than the scattered shops of Skaal City.
They were met just inside the gates by the guard. “The mayor wants to see you,” he explained. “Selvin will take your horses.” Another guard came forward to take the reins.
“The mayor?” asked Wyngalf. “What for?”
“Don’t know,” said the guard. “I told my sergeant about your situation, and he went to talk to his boss. When he came back, he said the mayor asked to see you.”
“What if we don’t want to see him?” said Krell, dismounting. Wyngalf and his companions did the same.
“Then you’re in luck,” said the guard. “She doesn’t want to see you either.”
“You just said—” Krell started.
“Them,” the guard said, indicating Wyngalf, Evena and Tobalt. “Not you. You can gather some provisions for the road and then be on your way.”
Krell snorted. “Fine,” he said. “Didn’t wanna be here anyway.” He turned to Wyngalf. “Good luck,” he said, “Yer gonna need it.” With that, Krell walked away, disappearing among the tents.
“Pleasant fellow, isn’t he?” asked the guard.
“Be glad you didn’t have to ride with him from Skaal City,” said Evena.
“This way,” the guard said said, turning on his heel and walking smartly away.
The three companions shrugged at each other and followed.
They made their way down a series of streets and alleys, eventually coming out in front of a grand palace near the middle of the city. Wyngalf was forced to surrender his sword at the entrance, and they were escorted inside. The guard led them down a long marble-tiled hallway and then up a luxurious spiral staircase, eventually coming out at the top of a tower overlooking much of the city. Standing at the parapet was a small figure who turned to face them as they approached.
She looked to be in her mid-seventies, with short-cropped white hair and a kindly face. She was, Wyngalf realized as they approached, downright tiny—smaller even than Tobalt. If he were of the mind to, he suspected he could pick her up and throw her right over the edge of the tower before the guard could stop him. Either the authorities in Brobdingdon were trusting to a fault or they knew something he didn’t.
“Hello,” said the woman pleasantly, holding out her hand. “I’m Roweyna, mayor of Brobdingdon.” She seemed amiable enough, but a bit haggard and on edge, as if she had been under a great deal of stress lately—and expected more of it.
They shook her hands in turn and introduced themselves. Roweyna gave Tobalt a disapproving glance, but didn’t remark on his race. The guard stood by silently.
“I understand you ran into some trouble with Verne,” said the mayor.
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Wyngalf. “If he ever catches us, he’s going to burn us all alive. And he promised to do it as slowly as possible.”
“Verne’s a cruel beast,” said Roweyna. “You must really have angered him.”
“It was mostly my doing,” said Evena. “I tricked him into thinking—”
“Pardon me,” said Roweyna, sounding a bit nervous. “I’m very interested to hear the story, but might I ask if you could hold off until our other guest arrives.”
“Other guest?” asked Wyngalf.
The mayor raised an eyebrow at the guard.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the guard said. “I thought it best if you tell them.”
Roweyna nodded. “Right you are,” she said. “Forgive me for assuming. You see, because of Verne’s ceaseless aggression, we have found it necessary to…” She trailed off, as if hearing something in the distance. She smiled and said, “Ah, here she comes now.” As she said it, a shadow swept over her face. A shadow that was all-too-familiar to Wyngalf. A mysterious wind gusted down around them.
Wyngalf spun around, reaching for the sword that was not at his side. Silhouetted against the setting sun was a massive reptilian creature with giant, bat-like wings. It appeared to be settling in for a landing on the roof of the tower.
“No,” moaned Wyngalf, falling to his knees. “No, no, no…”
“We’re dead,” said Evena, her voice choked with fear. “We came all this way and he still found us.”
“It’s not my place to decide important existential issues for either of you,” said Tobalt, the flapping of the dragon’s wings nearly drowning out his words, “but as for me, I am attempting to muster the courage to throw myself over the parapet to the street below.”
“What?” cried Roweyna. “Don’t be silly! None of you are in any danger.”
As the dragon alighted on the bricks in front of them, Wyngalf noticed that its scales looked almost red in the light of the setting sun. No, he thought. This dragon is red.
“It’s not Verne,” said Wyngalf.
“No,” said Roweyna. “She most certainly is not.”
“Hi!” exclaimed the dragon excitedly. “I’m Scarlett. Who are you guys?”
Eighteen
“I—I’m Wyngalf,” said Wyngalf, staring aghast at the giant red dragon. If anything, Scarlett was even larger and more terrifying than Verne. “Th-these are my friends, Evena and Tobalt.”
“Charmed!” said Scarlett, her voice as deep and rich as Verne’s, but more melodious. “What brings you to my city?”
“Your city?” said Evena. “You mean you own it?”
“Of course not,” said the dragon. “The city belongs to the fine people of Brobdingdon. But you might say I’ve adopted it. We have a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“We’ve heard that before,” mumbled Tobalt.
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Scarlett, craning her neck toward the goblin. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Apologies,” Tobalt said, quaking with fear. “I was merely making the undoubtedly misguided observation that your relationship with Brobdingdon might seem, on first appearance, to be analogous to that of Verne and Skaal City.”
Scarlett nodded thoughtfully. “I can see how you would say that,” she said. “However, I assure you that my relationship with Brobdingdon is quite amicable. Isn’t it, Roweyna?”
“Absolutely, Scarlett,” Roweyna gushed. “You’ve been nothing but helpful in protecting us from Verne, not to mention the barbarian hordes to the north. Why, I shudder to think what would have become of Brobdingdon during the last barbarian attack if it weren’t for you.” She turned to Wyngalf and Evena. “You see, the barbarians hate us for the freedoms that we enjoy here in Brobdingdon, so they occasionally send hordes of attackers in an attempt to breach our walls. The attacks would be even more frequent if Scarlett didn’t seek out their camps in the hills and burn their men, women and children alive.” She seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as she was them.
“That logic seems a little questionable,” muttered Tobalt.
“I’m sorry,” said Scarlett. “You really must learn to speak up.”
Tobalt mumbled an apology.
“So you’re saying that the people of Brobdingdon aren’t being forced to accept your ‘protection’?” asked Evena. “If they asked you to leave them alone, you would?”
Scarlett frowned, and Roweyna b
urst into laughter so frantic and high-pitched that Wyngalf at first thought she was having some sort of seizure. “Why would they do that?” she asked. “It’s ridiculous! Ask Scarlett to leave!” She broke into her hysterical cackle again.
“Of course I would leave if I was no longer wanted,” said Scarlett. “But as the beloved mayor of this fine city has indicated, that would never happen. The people here love me. Don’t they, madam mayor.”
“Oh, yes!” cried Roweyna. “That’s the word I would use. Love!” She grinned maniacally.
“Now, if we’re finished discussing my relationship with the people of this fine city,” said Scarlett, “I’d like to hear about your encounters with my brother.”
“Your brother?” asked Wyngalf, stunned. “Verne is your brother?”
“How is that possible?” asked Evena. “He’s green.”
“Dragon sibling can be of many different colors,” said Scarlett. “We were of the same brood. And like most siblings, we get along fine as long as we each mind our own business. Lately, though, Verne has been getting overly acquisitive. He’s been seen as far north as Tyvek, and I understand that now he’s even taken an interest in towns across the Sea of Dis. If I judge your accents correctly, Wyngalf and Evena, that is from whence you hail.”
It was clear that Scarlett knew most of their story already, probably having picked up bits and pieces of it from her own spies in Skaal City. Unsure of what she’d been told and having no opportunity to collaborate on an alternate version, they ended up telling essentially everything that had happened since Wyngalf arrived in Skuldred. Scarlett seemed particularly interested in the Jewel of Skuldred, asking Evena to clarify her story on several points. Evena stressed that the story was a fabrication, as it seemed their best bet to impress Scarlett was their willingness to stand up to her brother, but if anything her insistence that the Jewel of Skuldred was a fiction had the opposite of the desired effect. Wyngalf got the impression that Scarlett thought Evena was lying to protect the jewel, and the more Evena insisted there was no jewel, the more knowing smiles Scarlett sent in Evena’s direction. But Scarlett played along, never explicitly voicing her doubts.
“Well,” said Scarlett when they had finished their story, “it’s no wonder Verne is upset with you. I’m quite a bit more lenient than my brother, but if you’d have plied me with a fantastical yarn like that, I’d have been tempted to tear you limb from limb.” She gave them a broad smile, which did more to punctuate the thinly veiled threat of dismemberment than to reassure them. “If I know Verne, he’s never going to forgive you for that. Why, he might even dare to confront me to get at you.”
“But you’re not afraid of him,” prompted Evena, evidently hoping to play on Scarlett’s pride.
Scarlett grinned again. “Of course not,” she said. “He’s my little brother. I hatched six minutes before he did. My point is simply that having you here puts the people of Brobdingdon at risk.”
“We didn’t intend to stay,” said Wyngalf. “Our plan was to put Evena on a ship across the Sea of Dis so that she could return home. Tobalt and I will…” He realized that he had no idea what he and Tobalt were going to do. He had been entertaining the idea that once Evena had escaped, he would resume his missionary work in Brobdingdon, but he realized now that plan was unrealistic. Even if Scarlett permitted him to stay, he would be forever beholden to her for protection from Verne. Rather than living in fear of Verne, he’d be living in fear of Scarlett. And as for Tobalt—the people of Brobdingdon seemed even less tolerant of goblins than those of Skaal City. He would be forced to leave the city and survive on his own.
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Scarlett. “I’d be happy to have you here indefinitely as my guests, but I can’t allow the people of Brobdingdon to be endangered. I can handle Verne, but if he gets desperate, he could do a lot of damage before I can stop him. I’m afraid the only solution is to ship you all across the sea, to the Jagged Coast. And if you’re smart, once you’ll get there, you’ll keep going. The farther you are from Verne, the safer you are.”
Wyngalf thought of Krell’s words: Ain’t miles that’s gonna save you from Verne. No matter how far they traveled, they would never be more than a day or two’s flight away for a dragon. And anywhere they went, they would bring the scourge of dragonfire with them.
“Madam Roweyna will see to it that you get on a ship tomorrow morning,” Scarlett went on. “I apologize for the lack of hospitality, but I’m afraid it’s the only way. As a small measure of my appreciation for your help, though, we’ll see to it that you have accommodations here in the mayoral palace tonight. Right, Madam Mayor?”
“Oh, yes!” cried Roweyna. “You’ll stay here in one of the guest suites. You all look exhausted.”
Wyngalf nodded dumbly, suddenly realizing how tired he really was.
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” said Scarlett, spreading her wings. “Very nice to meet you, and have a pleasant voyage tomorrow!”
The three companions mumbled their appreciation, and Scarlett shot into the darkening sky. The mayor escorted them back inside and bid them goodnight. The guard led them to a suite of adjoined bedrooms in the palace. Wyngalf closed the door to his room, sat down on the bed, and managed to get one of his boots partly unlaced before falling asleep.
Wyngalf was awakened by someone shaking him by the shoulder, and for a moment he thought it was Krell. Slapping the man’s hand away angrily, he opened his eyes to see a small figure bent over his bed in the semi-darkness: Tobalt.
“…for rousing you at such an inopportune hour,” Tobalt was mumbling, “but it’s come to my attention that we are not safe here.”
“We aren’t safe anywhere,” Wyngalf grumbled. “Go away.” He rolled away from Tobalt, determined to go back to sleep.
“There is some truth to what you say,” said Tobalt, “but I’m afraid that we are particularly unsafe in this city. Scarlett has no intention of letting us get on a ship.”
Wyngalf groaned and slowly sat up. “What are you talking about, Tobalt?”
“Although I am, as has become painfully evident, a poor representative of my species, certain behaviors endemic to my kind tend to resurface when—”
“Please,” Wyngalf groaned, “just get to the fargling point.”
“I’ve been skulking again,” said Tobalt, a bit sheepishly. “I overheard two of the palace guards talking about bringing three prisoners to a ‘rendezvous point.’ I suspect the three prisoners in question are us.”
“A reasonable guess,” admitted Wyngalf, rubbing his eyes. “But what’s the rendezvous point?”
“A better question,” said Tobalt, “might be ‘with whom are they rendezvousing’?”
Wyngalf blinked and shook his head, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his brain. “Verne,” he said after some time.
“That was my hypothesis as well,” said Tobalt. “Either Verne or his Skaalian agents. The end result is the same.”
“We’re too valuable to be allowed to leave,” said Wyngalf. “Ugh. I should have known. Scarlett is just as bad as her brother. She’s going to use us as bargaining chips in her conflict with Verne. But what is she trading us for?”
“The details would seem unimportant,” replied Tobalt. “The pertinent point is that if we remain here until morning, we’re going to end up in Verne’s clutches, and it is difficult for me to envision any scenario resulting from that eventuality that works in our favor.”
“We’re going to be burned alive. Slowly.”
“Yes,” said Tobalt. “Unless we escape these confines in short order.”
“All right,” said Wyngalf. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll go wake Evena.” He laced his boot. “Okay, dressed.”
They roused Evena and explained the situation to her. Tobalt said that guards manned the doors to the palace, but there seemed to be no exterior patrol. That meant climbing out a window was probably their best bet to escape. They were on the third floor, so they knotted several
bedsheets together, tied one end to Tobalt’s bed, and let the other end of the makeshift rope down to the alley below. Tobalt climbed down first, and once he had verified that the alley was clear, Wyngalf and Evena followed. With Tobalt in the lead, the three of them made their way down side streets and alleys in the direction of the port.
Brobdingdon was located between the Ytrisk and Skaal Rivers, and while the Skaal River was too narrow for large ships, the Ytrisk River was navigable by most seafaring vessels. It emptied into the Gulf of Bardem about a day’s voyage to the west. According to Tobalt, most ships turned southward from the Gulf toward Bascom or Skaal City (as there wasn’t much in the way of civilization to the north), but a few continued across the Sea of Dis to the Jagged Coast. With a little luck, they could bribe the captain of one of these ships to take them on board. They hadn’t yet decided what they would do once they got to the Jagged Coast; Evena still seemed intent on returning home to Skuldred, but Wyngalf hoped to convince her she was better off heading farther inland with him, where they would be more difficult for Verne to find.
The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten when they got to the docks. As luck would have it, the crew of a cargo ship was making preparations to depart for the island of Bjill, in the northern part of the Gulf of Bardem. The ship was only half full, as it was carrying a small load of food and supplies to the pumice miners there; it would return with a hold full of the porous stone, which Brobdingdon supplied to the rest of the continent of Dis for various purposes. The captain, a genial, portly man named Yanbo, happily agreed to take them to Bjill for five gold pieces each: usually, he said, people paid him to get them off that accursed island. Yanbo told them that ships also occasionally arrived at Bjill from across the Sea of Dis; he suggested they could probably hop another ship at Bjill destined for the Jagged Coast. Evena gave the man five extra gold pieces for the assurance that he’d keep his mouth shut—if Verne’s spies found out they were on the island of Bjill before they could get on another ship, they were doomed.
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