Dragon Soul

by Danielle Bennett

  “That does sound ominous,” I replied. “Is there a particular significance to the number, or are you just being peculiar?”

  “Thirteen’s a good, solid number,” Dmitri said. “I’ll have my men look the other way, but there’s only so long before they start asking questions. You’re just lucky I haven’t.”

  “You’re a darling,” I said, reaching forward to clasp his hands with my own. “Absolutely fantastic.”

  “It’s absolutely crazy, that’s what it is,” Dmitri muttered.

  “You being so helpful?”

  “No,” Dmitri said. “Talking to you like this.”

  I supposed it had been years since I last had any voice to speak of, and Dmitri had never approved of so many of my charades. We’d been friends since I first discovered his secret: the truth behind his parentage, and his reasons for growing up in an orphanage along with other children of a similar fortune. I’d been alone as I so often was in those days—small enough to escape the notice of most of our caretakers, and strange enough that no one bothered much to keep an eye on me in the first place—and there had been a letter upon the desk of our floor manager. She had always been a careless woman, though not ill intentioned. In the letter had been the personal details of one of our newcomers, a small, sullen boy with red hair who spoke to no one. He was, as the letter explained, the child of our Esar and Lady Antoinette. And quite candidly, in the writer’s opinion, it was unfortunate that he’d inherited the Esar’s looks and not his mother’s darker coloring.

  I’d admired him from the first for his silence, but it was only upon reading the letter that I felt I fully understood him. That was the first taste I had of the true power that a secret knowledge could give you, and I found it more intoxicating than the headiest ambrosia.

  My first friendship was not perfect. He’d never quite accepted my decision to dedicate my life in service of his father, but then I’d never accepted his either. What we did agree on, however, was how important our duties were to us, and somehow through that certainty we managed to remain friends.

  It was certainly very pleasant communicating with him via the post rather than in person; it gave Dmitri more time to gather his thoughts, and he had a surprisingly gentle way with composition that was extremely pleasing to an avid reader of many words.

  “If I have the chance, I shall write you from the road,” I promised him.

  “Don’t do anything that’ll get you in trouble,” he warned. As if I needed to be reminded of that! I could tell that he wanted to ask me, “What road?”—but he was good enough to refrain from prying, and I was good enough to offer him a smile of gratitude as I showed myself to the door.

  I dropped him a stubborn little curtsy—difficult as anything to manage, wearing these awful boots—and left his office with renewed purpose.

  It was easy enough to slip back from the Provost’s den unseen, and I had my excuse ready even if I had been. If I so much as told Nor I’d been taken in by the wolves and managed to give them the slip—and it would be obvious I wasn’t lying when no one pounded down his door in the middle of the night shouting about the jig being up—then I’d be even more the apple of his old eyes. I just preferred not to lie to him; it would so destroy him when I disappeared for good. It was simply necessary to have all my excuses in order, lest I be caught in the tangle of my own snare.

  But I only had thirteen hours.

  I was lucky it was nighttime.

  Molly at night was pitch-dark, since there was no wasted light and the buildings were too crowded together to let in much by way of moonshine. You could hear people before you could see them, and it was best not to get involved with anyone you did hear.

  Unfortunately, Hapenny Lane was between Provost’s Den and lower Molly, which I was currently calling my home. There were ways around it, but risking a walk through them was about as dangerous as tying each limb to a different horse and cracking a whip, and I wasn’t in the mood to be split open by a shanker whose own loneliness and futility had turned him to violent crime, taking the lives of other people because his life meant nothing at all.

  I ran the gauntlet of Hapenny in silence, feeling young eyes on me from the corners. I didn’t look like a customer, or even someone with a ha’penny to my name. No one called out to me, nor did anyone clutch at the corner of my peacoat, but the silence was more chilling than any noise could have been—only the sound of my own breaths and, matched by the child whores’, my footsteps echoing loudly off the close walls.

  It was one of the more hideous sights I’d been privy to—and I’d witnessed my own tongue after it had been cut out of my throat—so, noblewoman though I might have been, I was not unaccustomed to monstrosity.

  Dmitri knew of it—these terrible things some men referred to as pleasures. It was one of the reasons he got so little sleep at night. To be a good man and to be aware of the way business was conducted—and to be in a position of power yet no more capable of preventing it…I pitied him, and would not have traded my worries for his on any day of the week.

  Nor’s place was just past Tuesday Street, where at least business was conducted behind closed doors—a small favor for which I could barely thank the heavens enough. One could turn a blind eye if one so wished, which was exactly what I did.

  “There you are,” Nor said as I stepped in, stamping mud and Regina-knew-what-else off my feet. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Had to give the wolves the slip,” I told him neatly. “Felt like I was being followed all day. Thought it better to lie low for a while.”

  “Good boy,” Nor said. “Well, it just meant I had to wait a while longer. But I’ve got a sweet little surprise for you.”

  My heart lit up, but I didn’t let that light come all the way to my eyes. “Something good, I hope,” I said instead, scuffing the heel of my boot against the floor. Nor was inspired by something—loneliness too, I would have wagered, as well as the promise I’d made to split my end of the profit halfway with him when all this was said and done—and he was working like a devil for me, just as I’d hoped. Show a man in Molly a little kindness and he’d pick any pocket you asked.

  “We’ve got the route,” he said. “Managed to get it this morning, but we couldn’t find you. Some of the boys thought you were givin’ us the good one-two, if you know what I mean, but I vouched for you.”

  “And I won’t fuck you over for it, either,” I swore. That much was true; I could never hand Nor in after all the kindnesses he’d shown me, whether I’d manipulated them from his weathered little heart or not. “Guess I’ll be needing a new pair of boots.”

  “Just fished a man out of the canal,” Nor said. “I took his boots off ’im for you.”

  What a man, I thought.

  “Cheers” was all I said. It didn’t do to seem overly grateful for anything in Molly. It stank of desperation, and there was nothing like sounding desperate when you needed something that made people not want to give it to you.

  Nor shrugged. “Seeing as how I can’t give you a personal escort and all, I figured this was the next best thing.”

  “Don’t give me that,” I said, playing along. “You’d handle the road much better’n I would.”

  “Not with these old bones, but you’re a kind lad to pretend.” Nor chuckled, looking pleased. “We wanted to draw up a map for you, but it was a hell of a job finding anyone who could write directions in the first place, let alone a stinkin’ cartography expert.”

  “Any kind you found down here would be stinkin’,” I quipped, rolling up my sleeves. “Don’t worry about me, I’m as good as a bloodhound once I’ve got some kind of direction to follow.” Little did Nor know how close to the truth that actually was.

  I’d started packing what meager belongings I’d brought—mostly clothes that I could layer over what I was already wearing in case it got cold on the road at night. I would have to make a stopover in my own home to get real supplies for the journey—chiefly a more universal disguise than a
Molly dung-rat, since one could never tell who they might end up needing to impress. Outside of Molly, looking as poor as dirt closed more doors than it opened, even if it was heaps more comfortable than wearing a corset.

  “You would be,” Nor said, fishing around in one of his pockets for something. He came up with a grimy piece of paper, folded twice, and thrust it at me as I passed him while looking for a scarf.

  “Thanks,” I said, snapping it up between two fingers. On it was an almost childlike scrawl, wide-looped letters in a shaky hand that directed me straight through the lower Volstovic countryside and below the Cobalt Range. “Shit. That’s farther than I thought, hey?”

  “You won’t be needing that,” he replied, gesturing to the scarf. “They told me the road goes south for miles. You’re like as not to end up in desert country, then you’ll look like a right proper fool with all them scarves.”

  “All right, then,” I said, and looped it quickly about his shoulders before he could blink. “You keep it. You could use something to cover up that turkey neck of yours anyway.”

  “No respect for your elders,” Nor growled, in a way I’d come to understand meant he was touched. It was fascinating what emotion people could conjure simply by changing the tone and quality of their voice. I would have to work on that myself. Since it was no longer practical, I’d forgotten the natural way of it.

  “’Course not,” I said, securing the last of my belongings in a tatty little bag I’d brought along with me. There was one last matter to attend to, much as I hated to bring it up. If it’d been up to me, I’d have given Nor the whole pot and never looked back, but a hefty sum of money could bring just as much trouble as no money at all down in Molly. “You brought my money?”

  “Sure did,” Nor said, shaking a sack of coins out of a different pocket. “Was waiting for you to ask too. Gotta keep a youngster’s instincts sharp. Especially with you going away and all, won’t have ol’ Nor around to look after you.”

  I took the bag, and made a show of counting it.

  “You already take your share?” I asked.

  “I did,” said Nor.

  “Good,” I said, and slapped two more coins down on the table. “One’s thanks for taking me to the market, one’s for you to go and buy yourself a nice, stiff drink, all right? I don’t wanna come back here and hear you’ve been saving them or something foolish like that. You got it?”

  “Damn kids,” Nor muttered, but he pocketed the coins. That much generosity, and the promise of more to drink, was acceptable for a man in Nor’s position, no matter what pride he still had left.

  I took a look around the little room I’d rented out for my stay in Molly. It was, to put it simply, the most god-awful wretch of a hovel I’d ever stayed in. The only way to ever make it clean again would be to burn the whole piece of shit down and start building it again from scratch. I hadn’t taken leave of my senses, and so I could hardly pretend—even to myself—that I was going to miss it. Still, there had been something very enjoyable about the freedom I’d experienced during my time in Molly. Certainly, it stank to high heaven, and you didn’t know what you were stepping in more often than not, but there was no one to answer to beyond yourself and no duty beyond surviving another day. It had been refreshing, and I was sorry in some respects to give it up for the life of precautions and pretenses I now faced.

  “Well,” I said.

  “Well,” Nor agreed.

  “Be seeing you when I make my fortune,” I finished, swinging my pack up onto my shoulders. I would be sad to leave Nor behind, but the truth of the matter was, he would soon forget about me—or assume I’d hit it big in the desert and never returned. He could imagine, with what little imagination he had, that I was sitting on a carpet and drinking wine, surrounded by camels and dancing girls and giant fans, and he’d sigh and drink to me until he found someone else to drink to. That was life.

  I clasped Nor’s shoulder firmly—a good manly gesture—and he clapped me on the back with one of his large hands. It made the voice box in my throat rattle; I cleared my throat to hide the sound.

  “Take care of yourself out there, or you’re no Mollyrat,” he told me.

  “I will,” I promised him, and walked out the door into the night.

  THOM

  I woke up because Rook was shaking me. It was still dark out, and I had no idea where I was.

  “Read this,” Rook said, and shoved a letter in my face.

  Needless to say, I was somewhat perplexed. On top of that, my entire body was aching. The beds in Karakhum were far from luxurious—or at least, the beds in the establishment Geoffrey had managed to reserve for us—and I must have slept strangely on my left arm, because I’d lost all feeling below the elbow.

  It was not my most glorious moment.

  “What’s it?” I asked.

  Luckily, Geoffrey was not there to hear me sound like an imbecile.

  Rook gave me a funny look over the top of the letter, and I reached up to take it with the hand that still worked before I could embarrass myself any further. The other one was tingling back to life as I tried to remember where and who I was.

  “It’s a letter,” Rook said, like he thought I’d taken leave of my senses at last. “You’re always so keen on reading, so why don’t you read this?”

  “Ah,” I said, blinking rapidly and rubbing my poor arm back to life. “Yes. I’m sorry. Just a moment.”

  I stared at the letter. Everything was slightly blurred, due to the fact that, on our second week of traveling, my reading lenses had “mysteriously” turned up broken. I had my suspicions, but nothing could ever be proven one way or the other. In any case, I had no way to commission a new pair, and the light in the room was dim enough that I was going to have a headache by the time I was through.

  The writing itself was unfamiliar but plain enough.

  “It’s from Adamo,” I informed him, after a quick scan.

  “Got that,” Rook said, waving his hand impatiently. “I know what it looks like.”

  I cleared my throat, lifted the letter, and read out loud.

  Thom—, it began.

  I’m not much in the habit of writing letters, so don’t judge this one by any standards. Things in Thremedon are the same as ever, and the citizens being as resistant to change as they always were. There was some talk of tearing down the old Airman and replacing it with a proper monument a while back, but we straightened them out, reminding them it was about as proper as the likes of us deserved. You can tell Rook his statue’s become something like the patron saint for Our Lady, and you can see whores there night and day, praying for safe childbirth and protection from diseases and the like. Though why they think he’s the man to go to for that kind of help is beyond me. Just thought he might like to know there’re whores on their knees in front of him—so I guess that goes back to what I was saying about things never changing.

  Rook snorted.

  As to your mention of the dragons, I can’t say I’m too surprised. Men’ll do all kinds of shit in wartime, so it only stands to reason they’d do the same kinds of shit after wartime is through. I didn’t know how much help I’d be on my own, so I consulted with a friend of mine. Rook, of course, remembers the “Mary Margrave,” and maybe you do too. He said that I was off my rocking groove just asking about trying to track down the dragons, and that the Esar himself’s already put one of his spies on the case. Now, I’ve gone and committed treason putting that bit in, but I’ll just have to hope no one gets too curious about this letter before it reaches you. No one usually reads my mail, even the poor shits I send letters to. Anyway, fair warning that you aren’t the only bastards from Thremedon out looking for a needle in a haystack. Roy says those spy-magicians are a nasty piece of work, and none of them welcome in the Basquiat. Sounds pretty paranoid to me too, but that’s the shake. If the Esar’s after what’s left, then you can bet there’s something to look for, so I guess one of you has as good instincts as they ever did. Bastion knows Rook can
look after himself, and I daresay you can too well enough, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be on your guard if someone’s out there looking for what we went and left behind.

  Sure, there might be magic-doers in the desert. Them magicians that put a little of themselves into our girls, more specifically. Roy says that these poor fools were meant to be banished better than he ever was, and I’ll take his word for it, seeing as how he knows more about the creation of the dragons than I ever will. My expertise, as you know, comes in well after they were built, but that won’t stop me from doing what I can. What’s more, it seems like the one you’d be most interested in, the magician responsible for Havemercy, is what you might call infamous in certain circles. Banished about as far as the Esar could banish the poor fool, or so it’s said. Desert seems as good a shot as any—not that it’s the sort of thing his highness would let the Basquiat know about, so I’ve run out of leads there beyond what Roy calls a suspicion. But his hunches are usually good, and seemed like he approved when I told him your direction. You didn’t hear it from me, but I think you might just be on the right track, except I’m not a snooping man, and that’s all you’ll get.

  Not much else information I can send your way. Roy says he’ll look into it all and I guess I’ll pass what I can on, unless it’s a matter of statewide secrecy, in which case I might or I might not. No use getting my balls strung up over a wild-goose chase, not that I wouldn’t rather be out there sweating and dealing with Rook. A man feels alive when he’s yelling at a stubborn bastard in ways he can’t when that stubborn bastard’s off and gone, so good luck filling my shoes and remember to be loud if you can.

  As for the rest, the weather is fine and such. Luvander has opened a hat shop, which you may have heard from your pen pal already. Good luck as you will need it.

  I didn’t need to read out his signature, which was quite like the man himself—a sturdy block print of his last name with an X after it, nothing overly fancy, and yet nonetheless incredibly impressive. I folded the letter back up and let it drop into my lap.