The Iron Dragon’s Mother

by Michael Swanwick

  “Do we have everything we need?”

  “We’ll buy the camping gear and some food along the way. For your part, you don’t need much. The pennywhistle to summon transportation. The key to keep you alive. A small, silver-bladed sickle. That’s pretty much it.”

  “Silver I understand—it’s a good specific against magic. But a sickle? Why?”

  When Raven told her, Cat laughed out loud.

  * * *

  Later, after Esme had woken up in a better mood and been put to work making pictures with noodles and glue and they’d sent out for pizza and the child was engrossed in the television set, Raven said, “I’m feeling housebound.”

  “Well, it’s been a long day.”

  Raven tossed her car keys in the air sitting down and caught them standing up. “You and I are going barhopping. C’mon. I haven’t debauched anybody in a long time and I don’t want to get rusty at it.”

  “But what about Esme?”

  “Esme’s a million years old. She can look after herself for one night. Hey, Esme. What would you say if I asked whether you wanted us to leave you alone for an evening with permission to eat and drink anything in the minifridge so long as it wasn’t alcoholic and watch television and stay up as late as you liked?”

  Solemnly, Esme said, “I think I would say yes, please.”

  * * *

  The first bar they hit was the Djinn and Tonic Tavern. Perversely, they ordered mojitos. The bar was empty except for a lone red dwarf who sat by himself drinking so slowly and grimly that it was obvious he had nothing else to do with his life. “When does this start to be fun?” Cat asked.

  “The evening is young,” Raven replied. “A few bars from now, after we’ve gotten a sufficiency of alcohol into you, your standards will lower themselves and you’ll begin to enjoy the experience.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  The second bar was Kalki’s Roost. There they switched to piña coladas and chatted up a couple of commercial travelers who were in the dream trade. It turned out there was a lot more to the business than most consumers suspected. Far more, Cat learned, than she would ever want to know. The salesmen picked up their tabs and Cat and Raven went to the ladies’ room together and never came back.

  After that was the Mare’s Nest, which turned out to be female-only, where the centauress behind the bar comped Cat a Clover Club and frowned when Raven said, “How come I’m the only man here?”

  “Finish your drink and leave,” the tappie told her. Then, when Raven held the glass at arm’s length and poured her pink lady on the floor, the centauress came out from behind the bar. Hoisting Raven over her head, she rushed them both through the door and into the parking lot. There she disdainfully set the trickster down and, with a snort and a flick of her tail, turned her back on them both. Much the same thing happened at the Prancing Pony. There, putting on her butchest mannerisms, Raven flirted aggressively with a buff young fey until he was flushed with arousal and then, howling with laughter, flashed him her tits. This time, Cat hustled her outside before the bouncer could reach them.

  “You are nothing but trouble,” Cat marveled as Jill drove them to the next bar. “That guy was definitely going to punch you out.”

  “I told you it gets more fun as the night wears on.”

  The Silent Man was loud, dark, and crowded. It had a small dance floor, a disco ball, and music that had passed its sell-by date decades ago. “I can hardly hear myself think!” Cat shouted.

  “Then don’t think!” Raven grabbed Cat’s wrist and dragged her out onto the floor. They danced with each other at first, and then with strangers. When they returned to the table, they were followed by a satyr, who drew up a chair and sat down without being invited. “So what do you do for a living?” he shouted at Cat.

  “I’m an officer in Her Absent Majesty’s Dragon Corps. So I guess you’d say I kill for a living.”

  “Oh yeah? You killed very many?”

  “To be honest? None. I did put one guy in the hospital, though.”

  “Was that in combat or training?”

  “Neither. I was having a pleasant night out and he put the moves on me.”

  “Dang, girl.” A grin split the satyr’s furry face. “You’re hard-core, you know that? It’s a good thing for you I’m into rough sex.”

  Raven stood. “Time for a trip to the powder room,” she said in a bored voice.

  They rounded off the night in Dies Infaustus. It was a quieter, more genteel establishment with a brass plaque identifying the polished slab of wood used for the bar as coming from the trunk of the world-tree Ongysdrail, which had fallen so long ago that, save for such remnants, it had all turned to fungus and loam. Cat had just ordered two fingers of Johnny Walker Crimson when she noticed Raven scratching the side of her face. “Hey! You’re not smoking. Come to think, you haven’t had a cigarette for days. What’s up with that?”

  “I’ve got something big planned for after we go our separate ways.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a secret.” Raven stuck a finger in her drink and rattled the ice cubes around. She didn’t seem to be at all drunk. It occurred to Cat that she did a lot more toying with her drinks than actual imbibing of them. “But as long as we’re asking each other impertinent questions, what’s with that riff you gave the satyr about killing for a living?”

  “Oh, that. Well. To tell you the truth, Brocielande Station shook me pretty bad. I’ve been kind of rethinking the whole dragon-pilot thing ever since.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yeah. Maybe I never really thought it through when I enlisted. Maybe I thought I didn’t have to. Maybe I assumed my superiors had thought things through for me.” Cat took a sip of scotch. “Maybe I thought wrong.”

  “As a trickster, I am legally obliged to challenge any renunciation of your personal value system, just as I am legally obliged to challenge that value system itself. But somehow I can’t bring myself to do it. Anyone who flies a war-dragon is a criminal and an asshole.”

  “Hey! I thought we were friends,” Cat said.

  “Lots of my friends are criminals or assholes. You just happen to be both at the same time.” Raven held out her hand. “Here. Lend me the stone, willya? It’s time I took a long, hard look at you.”

  “You might not want to do that,” Helen said.

  Cat ignored her. She pulled the chain out from under her blouse. It got tangled in her hair but after a bit she managed to tug it free. “It won’t do you any good, though. I haven’t been glamoured.”

  “All the world is glamoured, if you look at it the right way. And tricksters know more ways to look at things than you can imagine.” Raven took the holey stone. She raised it to her eye.

  A long, long silence ensued. Then Raven whistled. “Oh, man. You are so fucked. I cannot believe what I’m looking at.”

  “What? What?”

  “Not that I want to alarm you, but there’s this big, dark, ugly thing inside you—like a lizard, only disgusting and deathly malignant.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cat said. “That.”

  “I’ve been waiting for this explanation,” Helen said. “Make it good.”

  “It’s what we call a memory ghost. You spend enough time with a dragon inside you, its impression remains. You know how it reasons, what it feels. If you play along with it, you can even access some fraction of the dragon’s strength. Back in the early days of the Corps, there were some ugly incidents. Retired pilots got swallowed up by their memory ghosts. Nowadays, though, we get biofeedback training to prevent that. So it’s really not a problem.”

  “Imagine my relief,” Raven said. Then, holding up the stone, “Hey. Maybe you want to take this thing into the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror?”

  “I know who I am.”

  “You sure? Might be some surprises there.”

  “Trust me, I’ve already had enough surprises for one lifetime.”

  * * *

  A rusalka came to their ta
ble and refreshed Cat’s drink. Every now and then, something male glanced over at her or Raven, but they none of them pleased either. Then—

  “Whoa,” Cat said. “Look at him.”

  The object of her attention was as handsome as an incubus. Maybe he was one. In any case, he smiled at her. He reminded Cat, just a touch, of the slave boy in the little green shorts. Well, she thought. If I’ve given up on being a pilot, why the fuck not?

  She felt her body rise from the chair, as if of its own volition. But then an arm hooked into hers and spun her around. Raven, she realized, was walking her out the door.

  “Hey,” Cat said. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Two words,” Raven said: “Birth control. Three letters: STDs. One declarative sentence: You are as drunk as two pigs and a cluricaun put together. I’m surprised Helen didn’t take the keys away from you.”

  “Not my dwarf, not my fight,” Helen said. “As they say here.”

  “You know what? You’re both assholes. And coming from me, that means a lot,” Raven said.

  “Wait, wait, wait, wait. You can hear Helen? You guys can talk to each other?”

  “I keep telling you. I’m a trickster. You can’t hide something like that from somebody like me.”

  “What’s this about keys? How was Helen going to stop me?”

  “Forget I said anything.” They were outside now. The cold night air made Cat’s head reel. It had stopped raining. Smears of neon were reflected in the road.

  “No!” Cat shook off Raven’s arm, staggered, and almost fell. “Were you implying that Helen can take control of me? Of my body, I mean?”

  Raven sighed. “Tell her, granny.”

  “Yes. And yet I never did. Apparently, I’m a saint.”

  “I bet she didn’t know she could. Until you told her. Just now.”

  “What a clever boots you are,” Helen said. “Now let’s concentrate on getting you home, safe and unlaid.”

  “What’s wrong with getting laid?”

  “Nothing—and I speak from experience. Far as I’m concerned, you can have all the ill-advised sex you want. In fact, I think it would do you good. But your first time is not going to happen when you’re sloshed to the gills. Not on my watch.”

  “You’re a big sboilsbort.”

  “Yeah. You have no idea how ironic that is.”

  * * *

  Cat was taken home and dumped in her bed. As she was drifting off, she heard a voice in the darkness say, “I have lit three candles. And snuffed out one.”

  Cat sat bolt upright in bed. Then she lurched to her feet, fell, pulled herself up again, found the light, and slapped it on.

  There was nobody in the room but her and Esme, sound asleep.

  Inanna came to the underworld. At the first gate, she surrendered the golden crown from her head. At the second gate, she surrendered her sacred necklace of lapis lazuli. At the third gate, she surrendered the twin egg-shaped beads from her breast. At the fourth gate, she surrendered her armor. At the fifth gate, she surrendered the ring of authority from her hand. At the sixth gate, she surrendered her measuring rod and line. At the seventh gate, she surrendered her clothing. Naked and without possessions, she was slain and her corpse was hung on a hook.

  —The Descent of Inanna into the Underworld

  Cat woke up with the kind of hangover she hadn’t experienced since she was a doolie in the Academy.

  “Here. Drink this.” Raven handed her a glass of water.

  Cat drank. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Your virtue is safe from me, babe. I’m only here to help. Today’s the day you leave for Ys, remember?”

  “Oh gods, no.”

  “It’s either that or waitressing. Go take a shower. I’ll make coffee.”

  When Cat emerged from the bathroom, she found that Raven had gathered up all the dirty clothes and sent Esme to the laundry room with them. Taking a sip of coffee, she said, “That’s the last time I ever go drinking with you.”

  Raven was folding blouses. Without looking up, she said, “This morning would have been a lot uglier for you if I hadn’t been there.”

  “Ugh. Yes. My apologies. What are you doing?”

  “Getting you packed. My stuff is already loaded and so is Esme’s. Jill’s waiting outside. Hey, is this the music booklet that Istledown shared with you?”

  “It’s just a photocopy and I’ve memorized all the tunes. It can be tossed. Unless you want it?”

  “Not my style. You start collecting crap like this and you’ll end up as mad as Sasha. ‘The Green Hills of Avalon’ would be a good summoning tune to play on your pennywhistle. Don’t try any of the others, though. There’s no telling what you’d call up. And be careful with the key. Don’t lose it underwater or you’ll drown. And be crushed. And suffer the bends, if there’s time. Nasty stuff, bends, or so I’ve been told.”

  Cat joined in on the packing. After a time, Esme came back with the laundry. Cat folded it and put it all in the duffel and Raven pulled the cords shut. “Okay, ladies, we’re ready to roll.”

  “Where to?” Esme asked.

  “Cat’s going to a city under the sea. You’d like it there. Anytime you want to pee, you can just go ahead and do it. The seawater carries it away without your having to do anything.”

  “Neat!” Esme exclaimed.

  “You and I, however, are going to wait on the shore.”

  “Awww.”

  “But you can pee in the woods all you like.”

  “Well … okay.”

  Cat opened the door and set her duffel down just outside. When she was done with all this, she decided, she would find a skilled dwarven boursière and have it cut down and stitched and made into a purse with silver fittings, the side of the canvas with stenciled letters outward. It had been a good servant and she didn’t want to abandon it. To Raven, she said, “I wish you’d change your mind and come with me. You’re so much more…” Cat groped for the right word. “… guileful than I am.”

  “No can do, babe. Everybody’s got their own story, right? In yours, I’m the spunky, wisecracking sidekick. I know what happens to them. You’re going to have to provide your own motivation. No shedding noble tears of sworn vengeance over my pathetic fallen corpse, thank you! Best I can do is offer you some useful advice: You’re walking into Destiny territory. Keep your eyes open. Be careful where you step. Try not to fulfill any prophecies. If you see a sword in a stone or a crown in the open jaws of a jade crocodile, leave it be. That’s how they fill positions thereabouts. Pull a knife out of a cake or a toilet brush out of the bowl and you’ll end up as Pastry-Chef or Janitor-for-Life.”

  Cat looked at her.

  “Joke. That last line, at least. Seriously, take my warning to heart. Memorize it. Maybe get it tattooed on your arm. Just don’t forget.”

  The day was gorgeous. The rain had washed the air so clean that it sparkled. She could smell the trees beginning to turn. Every bird in existence, it seemed, was singing. Yet Cat only wanted to go back to bed. Her head throbbed, her bowels felt loose, and she wasn’t at all sure her stomach was up for a long ride.

  Back inside, she lined up, for the umpteenth time, the map, the pennywhistle, and the key beside the TV. Then she touched a hand to the chain around her neck, only to discover that it wasn’t there. “Hey. Where’s the holey stone?”

  “You lent it to me last night, remember?” Raven twisted her hand in the air and there the stone was, chain and all, on her open palm. But when Cat reached for it, she drew it back. “Listen. You’ll concede that I’ve given you everything you asked for? That I took some genuine risks for you? Brocielande Station. Sasha. Coulda died. Wasn’t easy. So how’s about giving me the stone a day early?”

  “I underestimated you, Raven, that’s for certain. I didn’t think you could do a fraction of what you promised. But you’ve come through for me, and you’ve been a brick throughout. And I owe you so much already. And I really do care for you, honest.
But, like you keep reminding me, you’re not an honest person. I’ve learned some hard lessons about trust these past few months. So, no, until you’ve put me together with my brother I don’t dare give you it.”

  “Oh, argh. Shit. Well, fair enough. Another day is no big deal.” Raven put the stone down alongside the map, whistle, and key. Outside, a car horn sounded. “Jill’s getting impatient. Give me a hand getting Esme safety-belted in, okay?”

  “Okay.” Cat carried her duffel to the SUV and threw it in the back. Together, they wrangled Esme into place. “You, young lady, are a handful,” Cat said.

  “I’m not! I’m two handfuls! Three handfuls! Four!” Esme laughed like a hyena.

  “Be still, you demon,” Raven growled. She walked to Jill’s far side and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Okay, go grab your magical doodads and we’re off.”

  “Done and done.” Cat ducked back inside. The map, key, and pennywhistle were where she had left them. The holey stone was not.

  In its place was a Kit Kat bar.

  In a panic, Cat ran outside just in time to see Raven peeling out in Jill, leaving twin streaks of rubber on the road behind them. Taking with her both Cat’s bag and Esme.

  Something shiny flew through the air from the driver’s side window and bounced to a stop on the tarmac. As if in a trance, Cat walked over and, stooping, saw that it was Esme’s pinchbeck bracelet, which had been entangled in Carcassonne with the one Cat still wore. For the first time since buying it, she could not feel Esme’s presence.

  Cat pulled off her own bangle and let it fall alongside its twin. Emptiness filled her. It was, she realized, time she got to the restaurant and started her shift.

  * * *

  Cat put in a long, miserable day at work and then hit up her boss for a partial advance on her pay. It came to far less than he owed her, so she felt no guilt when the next morning she called in sick and hit the road. She had barely enough for bus fare, food, and the price of a small silver sickle, blessed by the local battleax. The trip, which originally was to have taken ten hours at a maximum, became instead a days-long ordeal involving missed connections, hitchhiking, and many miles more walking than Cat would have preferred.