Dragons deal
( Griffen McCandles - 3 )
Robert Asprin
Jody Lynn Nye
As head dragon and owner of a successful gambling operation in New Orleans, Griffen McCandles has a lot on his plate. Especially since the Krewe of Fafnir–a society of dragons–has asked him to be the king of their Mardi Gras parade. Being the king is a huge honor, and despite the extra responsibilities, Griffen can't resist the Krewe's offer to lead the biggest party of the year.
But not everyone is happy with Griffen's new leadership status. A group of powerful dragons is out to bankrupt his business, from the inside out. And when a young dragon in Griffen's employ is murdered, it becomes clear that certain dragons will stop at nothing to dethrone the new king...
Dragons deal
Robert Asprin and Jody Lynn Nye
One
"Hoooaggh! Huunngh!" Val's voice echoed inside the toilet bowl. She knelt on the floor in the small, dark bathroom, her eyes squeezed shut.
Mai held back Val's long blond hair and patted her soothingly on the back.
"This is good!" she kept saying. "This means your baby is healthy. This is good that you are sick."
"Is it?" Val asked, raising bloodshot eyes from inside the rim. The tiny Chinese woman looked as placid and chic as if she were sitting on a chaise longue in a cheongsam with a champagne glass in her hand, not sitting on an ancient tiled floor in tailored black slacks, black high-heeled slingbacks, and a teal-colored silk blouse, helping a barely-showing-as-yet pregnant woman deal with the horrors of morning sickness.
Mai rose gracefully to her feet and hauled Val up after her. Though Val was almost a foot taller, she knew that in a contest of strength with Mai, she would probably lose. Powerful things came in very small packages. She was learning not to judge things by appearance. A few recent, bitter lessons had hammered that old maxim into her. Luckily, Mai was her friend, but in this case it was no comfort. She gave Mai a sour look.
"You could at least look less happy that I'm heaving my guts up every morning."
"Why would I be unhappy?" Mai asked. "Do you know how hard it is for dragons to become pregnant? You are a rare and wonderful person in the eyes of the clans today."
"Not everyone," Val said darkly. In her mind, she saw the handsome, debonair, smirking face of Nathaniel, who by now must know he was going to be a father but had the sense not to get anywhere near Val. Or her brother. Or any of their friends, dragon or not. At least, she mused, the child she was carrying would be good-looking.
"Not everyone will be happy, perhaps, but they will be envious as well. A child of your lineage means power. He . . ."
"Is it a boy?" Val asked. She clapped her hands to her ears. "No! I don't want to know!"
Mai grabbed her left wrist and pulled it down. "Or she. I could look, but I don't care. It doesn't matter, Valerie. This will be a dragon baby. You should be proud."
"I'm not ready!"
"It doesn't matter. That is why it takes eleven months to bring one into the world. It gives you time to prepare."
"Eleven! It only takes nine months to have a baby!"
Mai shrugged. "We are not humans, however we look. Our gestation period is different."
"Ohhh," Val moaned. She rubbed her forehead. "I was just about reconciled with nine months, and now you tell me it's going to be longer?"
"I did tell you before. You just didn't want to hear it. Some women blossom in pregnancy."
"Not me. I'm already starting to walk funny," Val said, tottering out into the bedroom and sinking onto the edge of her bed. "The extra weight's throwing off my pace when I run."
Mai followed. She lit gracefully on Val's desk chair like a butterfly touching onto a flower. "You will cope. All females have coped since the beginning of gender. You should be thinking of more important matters."
"Such as?"
"For a start, in what surroundings you will bring up this marvel." Mai looked around the small room, her mouth pursed with disapproval. Val was suddenly keenly aware of the laundry piled on the dresser and the smudgy windowpanes. "It is a shame you live this way."
Val was hurt. "On my salary, this is what I can afford."
"There are resources. You can avail yourself of them."
"I don't like the idea of throwing me or Griffen in debt to anyone."
Mai tossed her head. "Why look at it that way? Plenty of people would like to do you favors. It is an honor to serve you. Nearly pure-blooded dragons are powerful. Those who are their friends benefit by association."
Val thought of the carnage of the Halloween party after the convention and wondered if anyone really thought that way. She shook her head.
Mai tilted hers. "Even that," she said, guessing what was on the younger woman's mind, "is not enough to change the minds of people who will care for you, and who follow Griffen."
Val didn't shirk at responsibility, but she found it hard to reconcile the life she had left behind at college for the absolute disconnect from reality that was New Orleans. Or, perhaps she should call it a reconnect instead. To learn that she and her brother, alone in the world for years, were not human at all, but hereditary dragons of nearly pure blood. She had never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, let alone mythical creatures. To discover that not only did she have to believe in dragons, but vampires, werewolves, fairies, ghosts, and a dozen other kinds of beings that not only existed, but had as many problems as she and her classmates--plus other matters that the unsuspecting human population would never associate with a magical existence. Eleven months of pregnancy was just the worst at the moment.
She and Griffen had more or less fled their homes several months before, and been urged to come to New Orleans by an old college buddy of Griffen's named Jerome. As it turned out, Jerome was also a dragon, though not as pure-blooded as they were. Like Mai, he wasn't as young as he looked, either. He had been sent to watch over Griffen by another dragon, an elder named Mose, who put them under his protection when they reached New Orleans. She liked Mose. He was the father figure they had not had since they were small children. Until recently, he had been there to advise them as well as urge them to solve their own problems when it was appropriate. It was strange that Mose had begun to defer more and more to the authority of her brother but only because Griffen outranked him in dragon circles. Griffen was virtually running Mose's gambling operation and collecting followers as if he were actually a king. For a long time, Val had felt left out of things, but she had since learned to make her own way, taking a job as a bartender in the Quarter and finding her own friends and social contacts.
That had been a mixed blessing. Some people she was glad to have found, like Gris-gris, her boyfriend, a quick, thin, dark-skinned black man who had run a minor gambling organization and had treated her, well, better than she deserved at least once. Some had been a disaster, like Nathaniel. He had glamour--not in the fashion sense, though he was handsome, dressed well, and walked like he owned the world--but the magical ability to cloud minds and bend them to his will. It had worked on her for a time; it never would again. He had left town before she and Mai could take revenge on him for seducing Val. If he was smart, he would never come back to New Orleans.
She couldn't blame anyone for her bad choices. She just had to learn to live with them. That meant, for the moment, putting up with morning sickness and possibly having to find a bigger place once the baby came. She and Griffen had been comfortable in the pair of cozy apartments in what had in the eighteenth and early-nineteenth century been slave quarters in the inner courtyard of one of the huge gated houses of the French Quarter, but they were never meant to be the siblings' permanent homes. Val knew it, but she hated to leave t
he protected confines. Still, it would be better to start looking for a new place while she could still get around easily. She promised herself to ask Jerome for leads. He had been the one who got them these apartments. He must know of something that was affordable and close by. The rents she had seen listed in the classified section of the Times-Picayune struck her as exorbitant, far beyond her means as a bartender; but the underground economy of the French Quarter usually meant that word of mouth was far better than using commercial services.
The telephone rang. In keeping with the vintage feel of the small apartment, it was a hefty black monstrosity attached by a thick wire to the wall. It sat on an antique table that had a small cabinet to hold a telephone book, as if anyone ever used those anymore. At least it was a pushbutton phone. Val swung her legs over the bed and picked up the receiver. It couldn't be Griffen or Gris-gris; both of them knew to call her cell phone.
"Hello?"
"Is this Valerie McCandles?"
The voice was a strong female alto. Valerie made a note of the clipped, forceful diction, as if the owner was used to command but was holding herself back.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"My name is Melinda. I believe you have heard it."
Valerie felt a chill hand take hold of her throat and squeeze. Nathaniel and Lizzy's mother. She drew herself up to her height of nearly six feet and held her back rigidly erect. "I have heard of you. May I ask why you're calling?"
"You don't ask what I want. That's interesting." Val stayed silent. "I am calling for two reasons: My daughter was badly injured, and she says that you are responsible."
"She attacked me!" Val blurted out. Mai's almond-shaped eyes went wide. Who is that? she mouthed. Melinda, Val mouthed back. The small Asian woman stood as still as a porcelain statue, her rose-tinted lips pressed together grimly. "She tried to run me over!"
"She admits that, not that she is the most reliable of my children," Melinda said. "I apologize for her behavior. She has . . . impulse-control problems."
"She ought to be locked up!"
"I understand why you might feel that way, but that is not the most important reason I called," Melinda said. "She tells me that you are carrying my grandchild. Is that true?"
"None of your business," Val snapped out.
"It is very much my business." The commanding tones came out in full. "You are young, and I understand that up until this year you have had little or no contact with the dragon community. Your uncle Malcolm has a lot to answer for. I can advise you, guide you. I have had three children."
And a rotten job you did with all of them, Val wanted to say. She limited herself to a somewhat terse, "So?"
The tone turned pleading. "You'll need help. I can give it. Have you got an obstetrician?"
"That is also none of your business," Val said.
"That means you don't," Melinda deduced, with devastating clarity. Val winced. "You need a dragon physician. A human won't know the signs of a healthy dragon fetus. Are you more comfortable with a male or female doctor? I know the names of the best in the clans. I can get any of them to take you as a patient. Valerie, I want to have contact with my grandchild. Let me meet you. We can discuss the future."
"My future is not your concern," Val said, wanting desperately to hang up. "I've got to go now."
"Valerie, this is not the end of our conversation," Melinda said. Now she sounded like a mother. "I am in town, taking care of my daughter. I will call you again to arrange a meeting."
"I'll think about it," Val said, feeling as if she had already lost the battle.
The voice continued on as though she had not spoken. "Have a place in mind by the time I call you again. You can have your brother present to protect you, or any number of people you wish, if you don't mind having your personal life discussed in front of them."
"I don't need anyone to protect me," Val said. Her cheeks were hot with anger. She felt something brush her head. She looked up and realized she had grown tall enough to touch the ceiling. For the last few months, since she had learned her heritage, she had grown in size when she was under stress, the way that Griffen broke out in scales on his skin. She had to get her feelings under control.
There was a wry smile in the voice. "My daughter's present condition tells me that you are probably right, but I want you to feel secure in my presence. We will meet. You may choose the time and place. Just don't wait too long."
The line went dead. Val found herself staring at the old-fashioned handset.
"Are you all right?" Mai demanded. Val looked down. Mai seemed even more tiny than usual. Val forced herself to breathe deeply. With each calming breath, the excess size receded. She shrank from ten feet down to six. "Your face is beet red. What did that nasty bitch want?"
"She wants to meet me," Val said. She sank onto the bed, feeling helpless.
"Don't go," Mai said, sitting beside her. "You could find yourself tied up in magical bonds and spirited away to a cave in South Africa until you have that baby."
Val was horrified. "She would do that?"
"To get a child of those two bloodlines, there isn't much she would stop at. It's the future of the clans you are talking about. But she can't get her hands on you if you don't let her. Stay away from her."
"I plan to," Val said, "but it sounds like she's leaving me no choice. She wants to see me. She's here in New Orleans, somewhere. With Lizzy."
"That is bad news," Mai said. "You need protection, no matter what you just told her. Tell Griffen, immediately. He can call in some favors, have people be on the lookout for her goons." She offered Val her cell phone.
Val gawked at the gesture. "You didn't want me to let him know last time!"
Mai shook her head. "I know I told you when you first learned you were pregnant not to burden him because he had so many other problems to deal with, but this is a peril he needs to see coming, from as far away as possible. No more surprises like the last time. Melinda is dangerous. If she wants to be involved in your pregnancy, she will find a way."
"I doubt she is coming to throw me a baby shower," Valerie said dryly.
"I wouldn't put it past her to put on the trappings of a grandmother, but there will be strings attached to any gift she makes you. There always are. If you do not feel fit to negotiate with her, refuse to see her until you are, or have someone with you whom you trust."
"I trust you."
"Melinda hates me. And I represent the Eastern dragons. She will see me as a rival who might assume influence over this baby."
Val was alarmed. She knew little about the politics going on among the other dragon clans, and didn't want to know. She was young. She wanted to enjoy her life! Could Mai, in whom she had confided so much, be interested in stealing her child for her own purposes?
Mai must have read Val's mind. She pursed her lips, producing minute indentations next to her perfect rosebud mouth. "I would never hurt you," she said. "I would remove myself from the scene if it came to a choice between your family and my clan."
Mai didn't mention the plans she had made, sowing seeds throughout the French Quarter, or what her clan wanted her to do with regard to the McCandles siblings. That would only frighten Val into doing something rash. That was not her intention. Not yet, anyhow. Val was too preoccupied to notice the hesitation.
"What about Griffen?" Val asked. "Is he the right one to keep Melinda away from me?"
"I think he is the right choice but also the most perilous one you can make. Melinda is the head of a powerful clan. He will be in danger if he tries to keep her from laying claim to a child of her blood. It is not only a possibility, but a probability. All dragons have heard the prophecy of a powerful dragon coming to unite the clans. Undoubtedly, Melinda believes she is the one, though if she is, why has she not united them already? I know that all of the dragons who live here believe it is Griffen himself. That is why they are aligning themselves to be close to him when he does. But you must inform Griffen of all that has passed today." Mai sm
iled, hoping to elevate the mood. "Except the vomiting part. Too much information. Few men want all the details about pregnancy, particularly brothers."
Val nodded. "I promise. I'll tell him as soon as he comes back."
"Where did he go?"
"I don't know. I hope it's not more trouble."
Mai laughed, a tinkling sound that Val might once have associated with Disney fairies. "Trouble comes in many guises in this city. Either it is the kind he must fight, the kind from which he must run, or the kind to which he must say no. He is prone to the third more often than the first two."
Two
Griffen looked up at the massive, colorful sculptures, astonished by their variety and artistry. These would have stood out like a sore thumb in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where he and his sister had been raised, but looked completely at home here in New Orleans. Around the walls of the huge warehouse, kings and queens, gods and goddesses, jesters, leering demons, angels, cats, tigers, wolves, and dragons all stared at him from eyes the size of his head. The faces were incredibly lifelike. Some of them grinned at him. Some smirked. Others looked threatening. They were Mardi Gras floats.
He had only seen floats before on television, in the inevitable annual footage taken by the national news services of the parades at Carnival time and run during the feature segment of the news, filled with people in colorful costumes throwing things to the cheering, laughing, dancing crowds that lined the streets, to the accompaniment of loud jazz music, heavy on the horns. Since he had moved to New Orleans, he knew now that the street down which the parades progressed was almost always St. Charles Avenue, not in the French Quarter that had become his home, that the costumed people were members of societies called "krewes," and that what they were flinging to their audiences were known, appropriately enough, as "throws." Beyond that, he knew nothing.
He had not been in town long enough to see the festival yet. It was still months away. He was looking forward to Mardi Gras, but not with the enthusiasm of the people around him, who were working on building floats. Men and women in protective eye and ear gear, aprons, and gloves leaned over spinning, howling lathes, carving out the framework of the giant heads that would be attached to the fronts or rears of the theme floats. Others slid tools over pieces of timber, flicking curls of orange wood to the floor, where they became lost in the heaps of shavings already there. When those carvings were finished, they joined heaped pieces of frame at the side of the several unfinished floats, which looked like stripped-down flatbed trucks. Busy crews--or should Griffen say krewes?--hoisted the pieces into place to form the sterns of galleons, or regal, high-backed thrones, or demicastles. After them came men in dusty coveralls and breather masks, spraying fiberglass or papier-mache to fill in the spaces in between and give shape to the design. Expert decorators worked at putting the huge faces into place, painting, varnishing, and gilding. The acrid fumes made his eyes water. The colors were every hue in the rainbow, but gold, green, and purple predominated. Griffen was fascinated.
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