by Ellen Mae
Robert Karson – A Life in Nine Parts
By Ellen Mae
Copyright 2013 Ellen Mae
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"A hero can be anyone.
Even a man doing something as simple and reassuring
as putting a coat around a little boy's shoulders to let him know that
the world hadn't ended."
Batman
This is a nine part story detailing how, in one week, Robert ‘Bob’ Karson acquired a dragon, became the most wanted man in all of the twenty-seven districts (even though he never left his), made a friend, lost a friend, met a girl, got fired, got hired, infiltrated (and bought down) the largest dragon trade ring ever, and made history as the hero of the twenty-seven districts and their dragons. All by accident.
Robert Karson was an average bloke. He had a typical 7-3 job working at the Department of the Repossession of Missing HeatStones and their Dragons - occasionally dragons (especially young ones) would misplace their HeatStones, or their HeatStones would misplace them. His life companion-cat was a tediously boring misanthrope (Billy only ever spoke when he was hungry), and he had more issues than a dragon has scales when it came to talking to females. But Bob was unknowingly about to have his common life turned upside down, and made into something that would most certainly make for a good story.
Part One: The Cause for Interest
Bob's story starts one cheery morning at 5:00AM (on a Saturday, mind you) when he was rudely awoken by his antiquated cat, Billy. The battered cat didn't say anything, for he wasn't hungry, and that was the only time he ever spoke, but he did grace Bob with a toothy grin and twenty needle-like claws to the chest.
"Ouch!" Bob cried, shoving the protesting cat off the bed. "That was cruel!" Bob was in a bad mood most mornings, and being tired made him even more disagreeable, so he lay back down and tried to sleep. Perhaps he’d wake up in a better mood.
He thought of kittens and dragons, and little purple sheep jumping over fences to escape kittens and dragons, but he could not seem to sleep. Agitated, Bob dragged himself out of bed. "You're a horrible cat, did you know that?" he said as he stretched. Billy stared at him.
As Bob made his way to the kitchen, he looked out of his lounge-room window and noticed something strange. The house next door was glowing orange and yellow, with flecks of red and blue radiating from its core. "Billy, I think that house is on fire!" Bob hollered. Billy brushed against Bob's leg.
Pouring himself a cup of tea, Bob went and sat at the dining room table, watching the blazing house. He thought what a wonderful idea it was to having buildings insured with DragonsWood; it was impervious to flames. Fires were only an issue when an OldWood house caught fire. Bob was glad that he could afford DragonsWood insurance. His job paid well.
Buildings and their sustainability wasn't up to Bob - the Department of the Construction and Sustainability of Heatsafe Buildings, which was one floor below Bob's, dealt with all that - but he had developed the idea.
Bob watched as the WaterDragons arrived, shooting ice-cold streams of water (it came from special aqua glands in the roof of their mouths), the WaterQuenchers saddled firmly atop the dragons, their backs rigid, and their faces masked with self-importance. The WaterDragons shot stream after stream at the fire - Bob counted seven of the great beasts - until the fire was out.
When they left, flapping their great wings and bellowing loudly enough to wake the whole world up, there was no trace of the fire, apart from the soaked ground. The house was as new, the DragonsWood unscathed.
The excitement gone, Bob poured himself another cup of tea (fires were common enough, as FireDragons frequently flew overhead, sneezing out sparks and coughing up flames), when the phone rang. Wondering who on earth would ring so early on a Saturday morning, Bob rushed to it. He answered on the fourth ring. "Hello?"
"Good morning," the automated voice replied. "This is an important message for Robert Karson. Please present yourself at the Department of the Care and Supervision of Dragon Hatchlings on the 18th floor of the Department of Departments Building, ASAP. Thank you."
The line went dead, leaving Bob to wonder why it was he was summoned to the Department of the Care and Supervision of Dragon Hatchlings. His department usually crossed paths with theirs, as FireDragon hatchlings were more likely to lose their HeatStones, but he had never before been summoned to the department.
Guessing he would find out when he got there, Bob quickly dressed into his work clothes - HeatResistant shirt, tie and dress trousers, with shiny black shoes - and left his house. He didn't lock it as he was in a rush to reach the closest AirDragon, but Billy was home, and Bob did not doubt the grouch would gouge out the eyes of any would-be thief.
Bob reached the AirDragon just as it was about to leave, catching onto its tail. The great beast, an archaic female with dull grey scales and gleaming white eyes, did not take kindly to this, and whipped her tail, throwing Bob onto the giant howdah on her back. There were few people in the howdah. Not many people bothered to wake up that early on a Saturday.
The AirDragon soared gracefully, and the wind whipped through Bob's hair and stung his face. All dragons, apart from the EarthDragon, could fly, it was true, but AirDragons did not breathe fire or streams of water, and had been used as transport for many years. Apparently, they didn’t mind, as long as they were paid.
Bob let his mind wander. He'd met many dragons over the years, most of them kind and willing to have a lengthy conversation with him, but some of them were cruel, and would have killed him without a second thought. They hadn't, for which Bob was grateful, but given the chance, they would have. Perhaps that was why he had been summoned to the Department of the Care and Supervision of Dragon Hatchlings. They may have found a hostile FireDragon that had lost its HeatStone, and wanted Bob to find it before the situation worsened. He hoped not. Bob didn't like confrontations.
The AirDragon stopped just outside the Department of Departments Building, and Bob and an elderly lady with half-a-leg and a gnarled wooden walking stick disembarked. The lady shambled off, mumbling insanities, and Bob entered the building. It was a square, glass building that reached into the clouds, each storey a different department. The first storey was the Department of Departments, the second the Department of Departmentless, and so on, in the order they were formed. The Department of the Care and Supervision of Dragon Hatchlings was on the 18th floor.
As Bob entered the building, he was greeted by the receptionist, who turned back to her computer screen before Bob could return the greeting. He marched over to the elevator. It opened as he reached it, and a pale man shot out. Bob stepped in and pressed the 18 button. It groaned to life and ascended.
The doors opened to the Department of the Care and Supervision of Dragon Hatchlings with a ding. Bob straightened his tie and strode onto the floor and up to reception. The room was all blacks and reds, the carpet soft under his shoes.
"Hello." Bob sounded more cheerful than he felt. The receptionist, an ugly man with kinks in his nose and mismatched eyes glared up at him.
"What do you want?" he snapped. "I got work that needs getting done."
So this was the sort that worked in this department. Bob felt sorry for the dragons. A ma
n like this would never be accepted in the Department of the Repossession of Missing HeatStones and their FireDragons. He wasn't even wearing a suit! Bob resolved to mention something to the folks in the Department of Presentable Wear and Care.
"I received a phone call," Bob told the man. "I'm Robert Kars-"
"Alrigh', alrigh'! Manfred! There's a man what wants to see you!" the receptionist hollered over his shoulder. His teeth were black and yellow, or missing altogether.
A voice yelled back. "I'm busy, ain't I!"
"Well 'e says 'e got a phone call!"
There was silence for a few seconds, as though the man called Manfred might have been trying to remember if he'd made any calls. Apparently he decided he had, because he called back. "Alrigh' then, send 'im in you useless sack o' meat!"
The receptionist swore and started scribbling on a piece of paper. When Bob didn't move, he looked back up. "What are you still doing 'ere? Go on, Manfred said go in! Are you some kind of idiot?"
Bob didn't bother to grace him with an answer. He made his way to the room Manfred's voice had erupted from. A foul smell wafted out of the room, like cow dung and eggs. Bob scrunched his nose in disgust. A dwarf of a man, with barely any hair, greeted him. He looked as rough as the receptionist, but at least he wore a suit, even if it did have more winkles than Bob’s late grandmother. "Name's Manfred. You must be Robert, yeah?"
"Yes, that's right," Bob told him. "I received a-"
"I know you got a phone call you idiot, I sent for it! Sit, sit! I got somefing for you."
Bob sat reluctantly on the empty seat facing Manfred. The room was bare except for the desk, chairs, a pile of boxes in one corner, and a single small box in the other corner crafted from DragonsWood. "'Orrible, ain't it? The smell."
"What is it?" Bob asked. He was glad to know that it wasn't just him, but at the same time he didn't really want to agree; the man looked as though he would lunge at Bob with a ten inch blade at any moment.
"I'll show you what it is. Close the door." Bob obliged, and when he turned around the DragonsWood crate had been opened, and a FireDragon hatchling was in Manfred's hands. The smell, Bob realized, was dragon's dung. "Beauty, ain't she?"
The FireDragon glistened red and orange in the morning sun that managed a few feeble rays through the filthy window. "I... Well yes, she is, but what is she doing here? I mean, I know you're the Department of the Care and Supervision of Dragon Hatchlings, but you're not supposed to care for and supervise them here! You have Hatchling Centres for that!"
"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Manfred asked. "She's lost 'er 'EatStone, and she's sick. 'Er wings are too big and I found 'er in a 'ole in the ground, like a bloody EarthDragon! There's somefing wrong with this one."
"Then take her to someone who cares for dragons! Why'd you call me, anyway?"
"I bin watching you," Manfred told Bob. "I watch you all day, and when you go to bed."
Bob wasn't sure if the man was lying or telling the truth, but he felt rather unsafe in a room with him. He'd heard stories about stalkers, and they usually didn't end well. "Right, well, I'll be off to the Department of Law and Order now, if you'll excuse me..."
Bob made to leave, but Manfred rushed over and barred the door. "No you won't," he said. "You ain't got no life; you ain't got no friends or no family." Bob was quite sure this was the part where Manfred pulled a knife on him and stabbed him in the chest more times than would ever be found. "You 'ave to take 'er, and look after 'er."
This took Bob aback. "I... What?"
"I'm serious!" Manfred insisted. "You know all 'bout FireDragons. You can find 'er 'EatStone and make 'er healthy again, then take her to the wild when she's good!"
"I know about HeatStones and finding them, but I can't raise a dragon! I'd never get her to my house, and in any rate, it's illegal! Dragons are not pets! They're as intelligent as you or I, if not more!"
"Please?" Manfred pleaded. "Just until she's well. I don't trust them Hatchling Centres, 'specially not with sick dragons! I won't tell no one you got 'er!"
The FireDragon raised her head, her deep red eyes surveying Bob. She screeched at him, jumping out of Manfred's hands. With a clumsy flap of her wings she collided with Bob's chest, and he put his arms to his chest to cradle her. A puff of smoke rose out of her nostril as she fell to sleep. He could tell she had only just hatched and she was about a tenth of the size she would be when she was full-grown.
Manfred's eyes were on Bob's, silently pleading, as the FireDragon's faint snores filled the room.
And so it was, Robert Karson found himself smuggling home a FireDragon hatchling.