Scrornuck followed the disc into the dark sky, to a great battle. The swarm of smaller war-machines advanced, and a single machine, one of the eggs nestled in the disc's upper surface, moved out to meet them. The egg, though outnumbered, fought bravely, swooping, twisting, spinning, and destroying two of the attackers before running into a third in a brilliant explosion.
So the battle went: one by one, the eggs launched themselves into the swarm of smaller machines, each destroying several before being blown up itself, until the smaller war-machines were gone and only one of the eggs remained. Then the disc and the enormous devil-machine met. Bolts of lightning, balls of fire, flashes of white light shot between them, rocking both machines, sending scraps of metal spinning into the darkness. A flash of light, intricately patterned like the pulsating energies of his sword, crackled from the surface of the disc and entered the nose of the approaching war-machine. For several seconds lightning flicked about within the craft, and then the evil ship shook, twisted, buckled, and split wide open in a blinding explosion.
"Do you now understand?” Hearing the voice of the Hitchhiker, Scrornuck found himself standing next to the short gray man, in a small room whose metal walls were covered with pipes, wires, and incomprehensible instruments. “This ship is a weapon,” the Hitchhiker said. “It is more than capable of destroying the enemy. But it needs a great warrior to guide it. For that mission it selected you.” He produced two more beers, and handed one to Scrornuck. “It appears to have chosen well."
"And that's a good place to stop,” Jape said, bringing Scrornuck back to the present. “We have places to go and people to see. We can't sit here listening to stories all night.” He signaled the server to bring their check.
Scrornuck nodded—but while he stopped talking, the last part of the story played itself out in his memory:
The Hitchhiker frowned as if he had some bad news to deliver. After a lengthy silence he spoke. “There is one more thing I must show you, Mister Saughblade."
Scrornuck found himself again floating in the blackness, the disc hanging beneath him, turning slowly. “The ship is a weapon,” he heard the Hitchhiker say, “but to be used properly, the ship and the warrior must become one. You must become part of the ship, the ship must become part of you. It is unpleasant. I am sorry we had to do what we did."
Scrornuck hovered over a hole in the top of the disc. The silvery metal was scorched, twisted, ripped open as if by some great explosion. Inside the hole, on the twisted remains of the metal couch, surrounded by pipes, wires, tubes and other devices, were chunks of meat and entrails that had once fit together to form him. The arms and legs were in pieces, thrown up against the walls of the chamber. The head, crusted with frozen blood, dangled from a mess of wires and tubes, one eye hanging from its socket. And from one ear, barely attached to the head, dangled a twisted, bent piece of gold: what remained of his earring.
* * * *
"I still wonder where the rides are,” Scrornuck said, as they strolled down the broad avenues of the Guest Quarter.
"What rides?” Nalia asked.
"Roller coasters, whirl-a-hurls, tilt-a-pukes—rides that spin you around until you launch your cookies all over the guy in the next seat."
"There's nothing like that in town.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “But there are stories that when the True Guests come, they'll ride the Dragon's tail, and if we serve them well enough, we'll get to do it, too."
"Did they say where this Dragon's tail was?"
She again skewered him with that well, duh! look. “On the Dragon's butt, obviously."
As they entered Temple Square, a breeze blew up and thin, wispy clouds appeared in the sky.
"Rain coming?” Jape watched the clouds thicken and spiral together, forming a disk centered far above City Hall.
Nalia also watched the clouds. “Not this early. It's show time!"
A brilliant beam of white light shot up from City Hall's spire, lighting the underside of the clouds as dragons converged from many directions. A band struck up a brassy number with a pounding beat. The light split into beams of many colors, drawing pictures on the clouds and dancing with the dragons. Clouds swirled, lights flashed and spun, dragons swooped and flamed, until the sky over the Square was a pulsating, whirling storm of light.
"Makes me want to dance!” Scrornuck called. As if to accommodate his request, the band shifted to a familiar beat and played a familiar set of chords. He stood stock-still, a grin forming and steadily widening on his face. Jape, too, stood motionless for a moment, his mouth half-open in a combination of amusement and astonishment. Then Scrornuck joined the dance, in perfect step with the townspeople. Nalia stared for a moment, and then slid in next to him. They moved up, back, left, right, bump here, swing there, raising their arms for the refrain, singing at the top of their lungs, "Why Emm Sea Aaayyy!"
After three more verses, the light show reached its climax. The multicolored beams came together, forming a single white shaft that pierced the cloud deck and made the whole sky glow. As the music reached its finale, the clouds were drawn into the center of the beam and blasted upward into space as the dragons turned and flew off toward the horizon. In seconds all was quiet and the sky was again clear, studded with stars and a bright, halfway-to-full moon.
"How the heck did you know this dance?” Nalia demanded.
"Mister Saughblade is a fan of disco music,” Jape said. “Can't understand why."
Scrornuck shrugged. “It's the beat—you either love it or you hate it."
"And I don't love it,” Jape said. “I'm not quite as bad as those guys in my world who exploded a bomb in a sports stadium to protest, but I'm close."
"A bomb?” Nalia said. “That's terrible!"
"I'll say,” Scrornuck said. “The home team had to forfeit the game."
"Hello, friend!” Rosaiah called from the Temple porch as they passed by. “Have you come to make your offering?"
"Offer this—oof!” Scrornuck shut up as Jape elbowed him in the ribs.
"You must present your gift eventually,” the Priest declared. “Those boots are far too magnificent for a mere mortal."
"You don't know the half of it, Rosey-palm!” Scrornuck wiggled his toes, the boots did their magic, and he jumped a good twenty feet straight up. Rosaiah's jaw dropped, and the crowd gasped. At the top of his leap, Scrornuck stuck his thumbs in his ears, wiggled his fingers, and blew a loud, wet Bronx cheer. “These boots are too good for your stuffed toy,” he called as he landed. “They're mine and they'll stay mine!” The Priest stared, his mouth moving silently, as if he expected a lightning bolt to strike the blasphemers.
No lightning bolts fell, and the three walked calmly into the Cast Quarter. Scrornuck couldn't resist thumbing his nose at Rosaiah one last time.
"What's your problem, anyway?” Nalia said irritably, glancing at Scrornuck's boots. “You don't have some kind of footwear fetish, do you?"
They arrived at Syb's and found the bar had entertainment—a mediocre singer, playing an out-of-tune piano and whining about the sad life of a sensitive, poetic songwriter. “If you're not having fun, get your ass off the stage!” Scrornuck muttered as he found an unobtrusive corner seat with a good view of Jape and Nalia's table. Pulling his floppy hat down over his ears, he leaned back and paid as much attention as he could to his beer. It was going to be a long night.
Tremmlowe arrived during the second set and handed Jape a sheaf of papers. The Ranger went through the papers, smiling and making notes to himself, not noticing as the information broker pulled his chair very close to Nalia's and began flirting openly. To Scrornuck's dismay, she seemed to enjoy the attention, laughing at his jokes, letting him hold her hand and buy her drinks.
The singer launched into a particularly whiny number about his love life. At least he's got one, Scrornuck thought, ordering another beer to cool his simmering anger.
After nearly an hour, the business was done and Tremmlowe got up to leave. Jape rose to s
hake his hand. About time, Scrornuck thought angrily.
"Tomorrow night?” Tremmlowe asked.
"Same time, same place,” Jape said.
Tremmlowe turned to Nalia, and with a gallant flourish he bowed and kissed her hand. “Then we shall count the minutes until we are back together.” She smiled and gazed up into his eyes.
Scrornuck started to lunge forward, but forced himself to stop and pretend he was simply waking up from a brief nap.
Tremmlowe pointed at Scrornuck. “Tomorrow, invite your bodyguard to join us. We will make sure he is properly watered and entertained.” Smiling an oily smile, he turned and walked out.
After consuming two more rounds in an uncomfortable silence, the three left the bar. Only Jape looked happy. Nalia stared at her feet, while Scrornuck staggered under the weight of a dozen heavy black beers. He looked at her, thought about his miserable evening and sighed softly. Well, at least I didn't punch the little slimeball when he did that kiss-her-hand crap.
"Uh-oh,” Nalia said, “we stayed out a little too late.” As she spoke, the rain began, a few drops that within seconds became a downpour.
Scrornuck pulled out the brim of his floppy hat until it shielded most of his shoulders from the deluge, and smiled a smug smile. “Waterproof."
Jape searched the pockets of his cape for an umbrella. “Don't bother,” Nalia said, counting softly to herself, “it'll be over right about—now."
Sure enough, the rain stopped, leaving them on a sparkling clean street. Scrornuck folded up the brim of his hat, Jape ran his fingers through his hair, trying to squeeze out some of the moisture, and Nalia simply waited for the next breeze.
Though it was well after midnight, Temple Square was bustling. Flames poured from the Dragon's mouth, illuminating the Square with a flickering yellow light as the faithful clustered around the altars, feeding the sacrificial fires.
As the three passed the Temple porch, a dozen young men and women suddenly blocked their path. Scrornuck recognized them as the Servants of Spafu, one of the gangs that had been brawling here the night before.
"Hey, you!” Their leader pointed at Scrornuck. “Aren't you that heretic who refuses to offer his fancy boots to the Friendly Dragon?"
"I think you should step aside,” Jape suggested softly.
The Servants didn't budge. “He's blasphemed in the presence of the Priest,” one said. “Does he think his feet are more worthy than Spafu?"
"It's time he learned a little respect!” the leader said.
"Ferinianne!” Nalia stuck a finger in the leader's face. “You know it's against the rules to harm a guest!"
"Don't worry about that,” Scrornuck said angrily. He handed Nalia his jacket, which bore the Guest tag. “Now I'm just like you."
Jape addressed the gang's leader in a soft but firm voice. “I really wouldn't pick a fight with him tonight."
A big, muscular thug laughed sarcastically. “Him? I'll bust the runt in half with one punch!"
"You shouldn't talk like that,” Jape warned. “You'll make him mad."
"Oh, I'm so afraid!” Ferinianne jabbed Scrornuck's chest with his finger.
Scrornuck clenched his fists a few times and muttered, very softly, “I'm gonna enjoy this."
"Mister Saughblade—” Scrornuck froze, knowing that if the Ranger ordered him to walk away with his tail between his legs, he would. Smiling, Jape said, “Have fun."
The dozen Servants of Spafu quickly formed into a circle around Scrornuck. “Say goodbye to those fancy boots,” Ferinianne sneered. “They'll be up on the altar in a second."
"Think so?” Scrornuck folded his hands behind his back as he faced the leader, standing steadily, as if the dozen beers hadn't affected him in the least. Slowly, he raised his left foot, watching the way the Servants’ eyes followed it. “Take a close look—are you sure your lizard wants these?"
He smiled as he heard Nalia whisper to Jape, “Is this really fair? There's what, twelve of them? Against one of him? And he's been drinking all night to boot."
"No, it's not fair,” Jape replied. “But these punks deserve a lesson."
As Ferinianne stared at the boot, Scrornuck said in a soft, conspiratorial voice, “You want to see some real blasphemy, guys?” He tore off his ratty shirt and spun around to make sure all the Servants got a good look at his unauthorized dragon.
The gang screamed with rage at the sight of the sacrilegious tattoo, and as one they charged. Scrornuck spun, jumped and kicked, sending one Servant after another sprawling on the pavement. He kept his hands folded neatly behind him, feeling a desire to beat the snot out of these guys using only the boots that their lizard so desired. Obeying Jape's command to have fun, he cracked heads, bloodied noses, knocked out teeth and generally did unto the Servants of Spafu what he wished he could do unto Tremmlowe. After a few minutes, most of the gang lay in a heap on the pavement, and Scrornuck stood over them with a broad grin on his face. It had been positively therapeutic.
"Put this on, Mister Saughblade—now!” Jape hissed, tossing Scrornuck his jacket. “We don't need more trouble!"
"They started it,” Scrornuck said, as he slipped into the jacket.
"Behind you!” Nalia called. Scrornuck whirled and saw Ferinianne approaching, one hand held to his bloody nose, the other brandishing a long knife decorated with images of the Friendly Dragon. Son-of-a-bitch has my souvenir, he thought, as he raised his leg and kicked, sending the Servant sprawling on the pavement. Several members of the gang picked themselves up, drew their swords and edged closer. Scrornuck cracked his knuckles in anticipation. He might have to use his hands, after all.
"That's enough!” the voice of the High Priest boomed across the Square. “Is this any way to treat a guest in our fair city?"
"We were just trying to teach him a little respect,” Ferinianne gurgled as he got to his feet and stuffed the elaborate knife into his belt.
"And when were you appointed to do the mighty Dragon's work for him?"
"We were just going to get those fancy boots,” another Servant said.
"By force?” Rosaiah bellowed. “Have you not read the sacred books? Have you not heard that Spafu himself laid down the Rule that guests are not to be harmed? It is not up to you to determine when this stranger will make his offering!"
"Yesterday you said he would be humbled—"
"And humbled he shall be! But Spafu shall do the humbling, not you! Now go, get to your homes and gather your sacrifices, for you have defamed the Dragon's name in front of visitors.” Ferinianne flashed a hate-filled glare at Scrornuck as he and his gang scuttled off toward the Cast Quarter. Rosaiah bowed graciously to Scrornuck. “My apologies for the behavior of some of my flock. Now go in peace, but know this—you will present your offering before the Fortnight of Sacrifice is out!"
"In your dreams, lizard-boy,” Scrornuck muttered as they left the Square.
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Chapter Ten
"I Got a Full, Full Bladder and an Empty Heart"
Jape hurried through the twisting streets of the Cast Quarter, a spring in his step and a smile on his face as he anticipated the information he'd get from Tremmlowe this Friday evening. Nalia followed, alternately smiling and frowning as if unsure whether she really wanted to be here. Scrornuck brought up the rear, dragging his feet like a man on the way to his own execution. The children of Temple Square, who had been making a game of trying to peek under his kilt, took one look his angry scowl and decided to keep their distance.
Scrornuck had reason to scowl. He'd spent his morning by the pool, trying to burn off his hangover and his frustration by swinging Ol’ Red at an endless stream of heavy-duty practice rounds. As he grimly swatted down one target after another, muttering a mantra of Draggott, Captain, Tremmlowe, Nalia appeared on the balcony. For a second their eyes met. Then she turned away, and a round nailed him between the eyes with the force of a small firecracker, leaving a smear of soot and blood on his forehead and a nasty
ringing in his ears.
Then Jape, saying that the meeting with Tremmlowe was going to be a special occasion, had insisted that everyone dress up. About the only “formal” thing Scrornuck had was the big piece of red tartan that spent most of its time being used as a blanket. Washing, drying, folding and pleating the big piece of wool into a traditional great-kilt had taken most of the afternoon—he was more than a little out of practice after nearly three years of simply slipping into his everyday utility-style kilts, with their permanent pleats and fasteners. Still, when he saw his reflection in a shop window, he had to admit he cut a dashing figure. The kilt swung nicely as he walked, and the swatch of plaid that wrapped over his shoulder, secured by a big, dragon-headed brooch to his short-sleeved black leather shirt, made him look less skinny, almost muscular. Of course, his armored jacket didn't fit over this outfit, but Jape was quite certain they were in for a safe evening. Somehow the assurance didn't make Scrornuck feel any better.
Syb's was packed when the three arrived, and for a minute it looked like they'd be unable to find a seat. But Tremmlowe had already staked his claim to a table up front by the tiny stage. “Best seats in the house,” Jape said as he sat, placing Nalia between himself and Tremmlowe.
Scrornuck remained standing, studying Tremmlowe carefully. Though his clothing was snappy and fashionable, the man himself looked bland and unassuming. If Tremmlowe and Jape were to stand side by side, it would be hard to determine who was less visible. Maybe Tremmlowe, for his eyes lacked the intensity of Jape's—they were a dull, lifeless brown, and the left one appeared to have a film over it. On the other hand, Tremmlowe had the irritating habit of constantly dabbing his runny nose with a handkerchief.
On Tremmlowe's right, a dark-haired woman sat bolt upright, wearing a gray outfit that looked almost like a military uniform. She stared at Scrornuck as if inspecting a roach she'd found on the floor. One of Tremmlowe's bodyguards, he thought—and felt his instincts sounding an alarm when the words Tremmlowe and bodyguard came together in a single thought.
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