Stalking the Dragon

by Mike Resnick

  “Let me give you another tip.”

  “I'm all ears.”

  “Stop betting on Flyaway if you want to stay out of the poorhouse.”

  As they were leaving, Jeeves stopped in front of a small gilt-framed photo on a counter and stared at it.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Madame Fatima.

  “No,” said Jeeves. “There's just something very familiar about this fat ugly old lady. I was wondering where I've seen her before.”

  Madame Fatima picked up a cappuccino cup and hurled it at his head, barely missing him.

  “What was that for?” demanded Mallory.

  “I won't be insulted in my own establishment!” she snapped.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This,” she said, gesturing up and down her lithe, sexy body, “is my business outfit. That,” she continued, “is the real me!”

  “I'm sorry,” said Jeeves.

  “Well, you'd damned well better be!” she snapped, as her face and body began to broaden, wrinkle, and droop. “Now get out of here while I regain my self-control.”

  Mallory held the door open for Jeeves and Felina. As they left, he turned to Madame Fatima.

  “He didn't mean any harm,” said the detective.

  “They never do,” she replied, a single tear trickling down a pudgy cheek. “But it hurts just the same.”

  Then he was out on the street with his companions.

  “I know it's a rare commodity around here,” he said to Jeeves, “but try to display a little tact, will you?”

  “What do I know about tact?” answered the gremlin. “My entire life has been devoted to dragons.”

  “What happens when you enrage a dragon?”

  “It attacks you,” said Jeeves.

  “Same thing with a woman,” said Mallory. “See that you remember it.” He paused. “All right, let's get over to Christopher Street.”

  “Have you heard of this Blind Boris before?” asked Jeeves.

  “No,” said Mallory. “But how hard can it be to spot a blind wizard on the corner of Christopher and Remorse?”

  They began walking, and soon came to a street filled with painters and paintings.

  “An art fair,” observed Jeeves. “But no one seems very excited about it.”

  “They have about three hundred a year down here in the Village,” said Mallory. He looked around. “Where the hell did she go this time?”

  “Felina?” asked Jeeves.

  “Yeah,” said Mallory, looking down the crowded sidewalk.

  “Hey, mister,” said a young bearded man in a paint-spattered smock. “Does this belong to you?”

  He dragged Felina up to Mallory.

  “She's mine,” he acknowledged, staring at her suddenly multicolored face. “What the hell happened?”

  “I was painting the most glorious bald eagle…” began the bearded man.

  “It wasn't real!” muttered Felina.

  “And she pounced on it and tried to eat it.”

  “It was a cheat!” said Felina.

  “It was a cinch for the Nobel Prize before she ruined it,” complained the man.

  “They don't give a Nobel Prize for art,” said Mallory.

  “They certainly do!” said the young man heatedly. “Every year Harvey Nobel gives a prize for the best avian painting.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  “And now your cat-thing has ruined my masterpiece,” continued the young man. “I want restitution. Failing that, I demand that you buy my painting.” He frowned. “Though it's only worth about ten dollars now that it's all smeared.”

  Just then a small white-haired woman walked up to him and handed him a blue ribbon.

  “What's this for?”

  “My name is Hortense Picasso,” she said, “and I'm awarding you the prize for the Best Nonrepresentational Painting. I love the way you incorporated the easel and the sidewalk into your art, to say nothing of the cat-girl.”

  She turned and walked away, leaving the surprised artist clutching his ribbon. Finally he turned to Mallory. “I guess we can forgo the restitution,” he said. “And if you want to purchase the painting, it's twelve thousand dollars now. I'll toss in the easel and the sidewalk for free.”

  “You keep the painting, I'll keep the cat-girl,” said Mallory.

  “Deal,” he said, walking back to his display.

  “You think you can stay by my side and keep out of trouble for the next few minutes?” Mallory asked Felina.

  “Yes, John Justin,” she said.

  “You're sure?”

  “No, John Justin.”

  He grimaced. “Serves me right for not settling for the answer I wanted.”

  They walked two more blocks, turned right, and soon found themselves at the corner of Christopher and Remorse, where they saw half a dozen people lined up in front of a makeshift booth. Inside it a small, slender man, wearing dark glasses and a suit that had seen better decades, was speaking briefly to each of them.

  “Get in line,” said a woman irritably as Mallory approached the booth. He did as she said, and was joined by Jeeves and Felina.

  The flow of advice from the raggedy man seemed to cover all subjects.

  “Tell her you're sorry and buy her at least half a pound of chocolates.”

  “Sell Anaconda Copper short and take a spread on Worldwide Wickets.”

  “Next time try a two-iron instead of a three-wood, and watch out for the sand trap just beyond the dogleg.”

  “Not a good enough base at Aspen this year. Go to Barbados instead.”

  “Flyaway? You've got to be kidding!”

  “The Dusenburg is a nice automobile, but for your needs I recommend a Tucker.”

  Suddenly Mallory was first in line.

  “Well, bless my soul, it's John Justin Mallory, the famous detective!” said Blind Boris.

  “How do you know that?” asked Mallory.

  The raggedy man smiled. “What's the point of being a wizard if I don't know who I'm talking to?”

  “You're solving everyone else's problems,” said Mallory. “Can you take a shot at mine?”

  “Yours is a little more complex than doping out the market or choosing the right club to use at Pebble Beach,” said Blind Boris. “But buy me something to drink and we'll discuss it.”

  “What would you like?”

  “Anything but cappuccino,” said the Wizard of Christopher Street.

  CHAPTER 8

  9:48 PM–10:09 PM

  “Whiskey for me and coffee for my friends here,” said Boris as the four of them sat down at a small table.

  “Make that two coffees and one cream,” said Mallory.

  “You mean one with cream and one without?” asked the waiter.

  “I mean what I said: two cups of coffee, one cup of cream.”

  The waiter shrugged and went to transmit his order to the bartender, as Mallory surveyed his surroundings. He'd been in taverns that had paintings of nudes over the bar before, but this was the first one that displayed a nude with four breasts, four eyes, an eagle's beak, and one leg. He'd been in bars that had fish on display in a tank, too, but until now he'd never seen one with a bunch of four-inch-tall men playing water polo. Finally, he'd been in many bars that catered to a mixed clientele, but as he surveyed horns, tails, hooves, and snouts, he concluded he'd never seen quite as mixed a clientele as this bar possessed.

  At last, he turned back to Blind Boris. “So is Fluffy being hidden as a familiar?” he asked.

  “Fluffy?” said Boris. “What a name for a dragon!”

  “I didn't name her,” said Mallory. “I'm just trying to find her.”

  “She's not posing or being presented as a familiar, and she's not in Greenwitch Village,” said Boris.

  “Okay, she's not here and she's not being passed off as a familiar,” said Mallory. “What else can you tell me?”

  “That you've got yourself a complex problem.”

  Mallory nodd
ed. “Trying to find a dragon the size of a cat in a city of eight million with a twenty-hour deadline. I know.”

  “You don't begin to know,” said Blind Boris. “Everything is not as it seems.”

  “You want to explain that?”

  “I just did,” answered Boris. “Everything is not as it seems.”

  “How about a more useful explanation?”

  Boris frowned. “How about: There are enigmas inside of puzzles inside of riddles?”

  “That's even less helpful,” said Mallory.

  “My fault,” said Boris. “I did it wrong. How about: There are riddles inside of puzzles inside of enigmas?”

  “You start making a little more sense or that's the only drink I'm buying you,” said Mallory as the waiter arrived with coffee for himself and Jeeves, whiskey for Boris, and a cup of cream that Felina began slurping noisily.

  “I'm trying, damn it!” snapped Boris. “But I have to obey the rules of the Wizards’ Guild. I am Third Vice President of the Lower South Manhattan Chapter, after all.”

  “Does the Wizards’ Guild tell you to sound mystical and all-knowing and not say a thing worth listening to?”

  “In essence,” answered Boris. “They never do anything directly. It would spoil the mystique.”

  “I noticed you didn't have any trouble giving straight answers to all the people who were in line ahead of me,” complained Mallory.

  “They had simple problems, so I gave them simple answers.”

  “What is so fucking complex about my problem?” demanded Mallory. “A dragon was stolen. I'm trying to get it back.”

  “Ah…but why was it stolen, and by whom?” replied Boris. “The only logical reason to steal it would seem to be for ransom, yet no demands for ransom have been made.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I'm a wizard. I know almost everything.”

  “Almost?” repeated Mallory.

  “I still don't know why all the elevators arrive at once, or how to open a childproof bottle, or why Fifi Malone refuses to hop into the sack with me…but I know almost everything else.”

  “Including who stole Fluffy?” persisted Mallory.

  “I said almost,” replied Boris.

  “I think I want my drink back,” said Mallory.

  Boris clutched his glass. “I'll make a deal with you, Mallory,” he said. “If I give you three hints, will you buy me another drink and stop hassling me?”

  “Three clues for one drink?”

  “I said hints, not clues.”

  “What's the difference?” asked Mallory.

  “Clues are tangible.”

  Mallory stared at him for a long moment. “Deal,” he said at last.

  “Fine,” said Boris.

  There was a momentary silence.

  “Well?” said Mallory.

  “I didn't hear you order the drink.”

  “I didn't hear the clues.”

  “Hints, damn it.”

  “I didn't hear them either.”

  “Okay,” said Boris. “Your first hint is the literature of the unshaven.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me: the literature of the unshaven.”

  “That's it?” demanded Mallory. “That's the whole clue?”

  “Hint, not clue.”

  “And it really has something to do with the case I'm on?”

  “Of course.”

  “What the hell does it mean?”

  “That would be telling,” replied Boris. “And we wizards always put a little sping on the ball.”

  “You mean ‘spin.’”

  “I know what I mean.”

  “I'll be damned if I do,” said Mallory, thinking about the first hint. “All right, what's the next one?”

  “I gave you one as a sign of good faith,” said Boris. “Now I want my next drink.”

  Mallory signaled to the waiter and ordered it.

  “Thank you,” said Boris. “You next hint is: All is not gold that glitters.”

  “Are you giving me hints or platitudes?” said Mallory irritably.

  “What's the difference as long as they're valid?” retorted Boris.

  “Fine. What's the third one?”

  “After my drink arrives and I taste it to make sure you're not duping a trusting old man with flavored water.”

  Mallory stared at Blind Boris. “You know,” he said, “I liked you about five minutes ago.”

  “I have that effect on people.”

  “But right now I'd like to strangle you.”

  “I have that effect, too,” said Boris. “Usually on attractive women.”

  “I get the distinct impression that all they have to be is alive,” said Mallory.

  “Well,” replied Boris, “it's a start.”

  The waiter arrived and handed Boris his drink. He took a sip, uttered a satisfied “Ahhh!” and put the glass down.

  “My third hint?” said Mallory.

  “What's three inches long, possessed of a minimum of eight legs, and has a painful bite?”

  “That's my hint?”

  “No,” said Boris. “That's what just started crawling up my leg.” He reached down and brushed it off. “Okay, Mallory, your hint is as follows: four plus nine times two minus one divided by five.”

  “That's it?” demanded Mallory. “That's my last clue?”

  “Your last hint,” said Boris. “And don't sound so annoyed. There's more to it than you think.”

  “There damned well better be,” muttered Mallory.

  A tall cadaverous man dressed all in black entered the bar with a raven on his shoulder. The bird took one look at Felina, who stared at it with rapt attention, and uttered a single word: “Nevermore.”

  “Nice bird,” cooed Felina. “Pretty bird. Pudgy bird.”

  “Nevermore,” repeated the raven as a note of desperation crept into its voice.

  “Cute bird,” said Felina getting to her feet. “Plump bird.”

  “Uh…boss?” said the raven nervously.

  “Tasty bird.”

  “Boss, either turn around and walk right back out, or at least change me into a Rottweiler,” said the raven.

  The tall man turned to Mallory. “Can't you control your familiar?”

  “I haven't got a familiar,” said Mallory.

  “Oh, shit!” cried the raven. It began flapping its wings, and took flight just before Felina launched herself through the air at it.

  “Nevermore!” it screamed as it flew out the door.

  The cadaverous man glared at Felina, uttered an obscenity, and went out after his familiar.

  Mallory stared disgustedly at the cat-girl. “I'm starting to understand why Winnifred always suggests you come with me whenever we split up.”

  “She's right, John Justin,” said Felina with a happy smile. “I would have saved you.”

  “From the animated corpse?” said Mallory. “I doubt it.”

  “From the bird,” she corrected him.

  “I'll give you a fourth hint, on the house,” said Blind Boris.

  “What is it?” asked Mallory.

  “Put that damned cat-girl on a leash before she gets you into even more trouble than you're facing.”

  “I'm not facing any trouble.”

  “The night's young yet,” said the Wizard of Christopher Street.

  CHAPTER 9

  10:09 PM–10:33 PM

  Mallory checked his watch as they walked out of the tavern.

  “We're due to meet Winnifred in twenty minutes,” he announced. “We'd better get up to Central Park.” He raised his voice. “Unless someone would like to make my life easier and tell me where the damned dragon is.”

  “Making your life easy is not part of my job description,” said the Grundy's disembodied voice.

  “What was that?” asked Jeeves nervously.

  “The owner of tomorrow's likely winner, if we don't find Fluffy,” replied Mallory.

  “Then he must be the culprit,” sa
id Jeeves.

  Mallory shook his head. “No, he's not.”

  “That's a relief!” said Jeeves. “How do you get something back from the Grundy if he doesn't want to release it?”

  “He's not a bad guy for someone who's Evil Incarnate,” said Mallory. He raised his voice again. “But he could be a little more helpful.”

  He thought he heard an amused chuckle floating on the cold night air, but there was no reply.

  “Where the hell's the subway?” asked Mallory. “I must have gotten turned around.”

  “We did walk a few blocks before we found the wizard,” said Jeeves.

  “I know where it is,” offered Felina.

  “Okay, where?” said Mallory.

  She smiled. “I'm hungry.”

  “What else is new?” said the detective.

  “I'll lead you for three sardines, a goldfish, a blue jay, and a hipponoceros.”

  “I think I'll just ask the first person I see,” countered Mallory. An unkempt young man whose nose was crusted with white powder and whose eyes possessed wall-to-wall pupils staggered past. “Okay, the second person,” Mallory amended.

  A little old lady wearing a woolen shawl around her head and shoulders approached them, carrying a basketful of poppies in bloom.

  “Excuse me, ma'am,” said Mallory. “Could you tell me where to find the subway?”

  “I didn't know it was lost,” she said, uttering a toothless cackle at her own joke. “Just go past the art fair and the folksinging fair. Then turn right at the drug fair, left at the sex fair, and when you come to the panhandlers’ fair you're there.”

  “I saw the art fair,” said Mallory, “but I don't remember all those others.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding her head knowingly. “You probably turned left at the Young Republican.”

  “There's a Young Republicans fair?” asked Mallory, surprised.

  “No, just a Young Republican,” she replied. “Unless a second one has moved into the Village.”

  Then she was gone, and Mallory and his little group made their way to the subway entrance, took an escalator down to the platform, and waited for the train to arrive.

  “Uh…what are those?” asked Jeeves nervously, pointing to a trio of dark, hulking shapes some fifty feet away.

  “Gnomes of the Subway,” said Mallory. “Don't worry about them. They're just scrounging for food.”

  “Aren't we food?” asked the gremlin.