The Last Dragon 4

by LeRoy Clary

  While it sounded friendly, there was a sharpness to his tone. He also never slowed in his tasks or looked up while he answered. Once our things were on the dock, Captain slipped the single line holding his boat to it, and he pushed off. As he did, he swept the rudder and used the gentle breeze and tide to push him farther out into the bay and the slight wind partially turned the boat as it moved it away.

  The man on the dock reached us and shouted at Captain, “Hey, get your ass back here and pay me dockage fees.”

  Captain cupped his ear with his hand and shouted back, “You have a pain in your back? Why are you telling me that? I don’t even know you.”

  “I didn’t say my back hurt, I said come back and pay me.” He turned to Damon. “Do you know him?”

  “We just hitched a ride on a ferry from across the bay.”

  “Then you owe me a day’s dockage fees.” The man moved closer to Damon, hands on hips, fists balled, face redder.

  Elizabeth said in a calm fashion, “If you have a problem with that boat, take it up with the owner.”

  “I’m saying I’m taking it up with you,” he shouted from less than a step away. “They say I’m the best fighter on the waterfront, so either pay up or get ready to face me.”

  She smiled sweetly and innocently in the way she did before she gave someone a verbal sucker punch. “Wonderful. That is very nice of you to introduce yourself. I always say you should know your customers. Let me introduce Damon, the champion swordsman of the entire kingdoms of Dire, Kaon, and Kondor.”

  The man hesitated.

  She continued, leaning closer as if sharing confidential information with him, “Don’t you worry about his temper, sir. It isn’t nearly as bad as they say.” She turned to me with a wink he couldn’t see. “Damon, please, keep your sword sheathed for a change and do not kill this man. We’ve been kicked out of too many cities because you can’t control yourself and left bodies lying around.”

  I wondered what the proper response would be but didn’t need it as the man turned and stalked down the dock, looking over his shoulder a few times to make sure we were not in pursuit. I belted my sword in place, tossed my pack over my shoulder, and watched Elizabeth do much the same.

  At the end of the dock, we started walking up the long slope to where the larger, better-maintained buildings seemed to be located. As we reached a crossroad, a wagon pulled alongside. The driver called to us with an inviting smile that showed too many white teeth, “Ride?”

  I started to throw my things in.

  Elizabeth blocked me and spoke to the driver, “How much?”

  “Oh, we can discuss that while you ride.” His smile was wide, his tone friendly. “Or if you insist on paying now the cost is a full Crown.”

  Elizabeth smiled back. “A crown? Isn’t that a little expensive?”

  “Not when I don’t know where you’re going. It could be anywhere, so I have to protect myself, know what I mean?”

  “I do,” Elizabeth said while removing a silver Crown between her thumb and forefinger. She reached out her other hand to shake. “Deal?”

  “Deal,” he said, his eyes locked on the coin he never expected to earn. His hand engulfed hers and they shook.

  I remained quiet. I’d seen the predatory look in her eyes too many times to interfere or try to protect her. She didn’t need any help.

  She started to throw her bag in the wagon and hesitated a moment before saying to the driver, “You’re sure about this?” At the nod of his head, she continued loading our things, “Okay, please drive us to Landor, to the south side of the castle and drive carefully, please. It’s a long way from here.”

  “Landor? Are you crazy?”

  “No, just a very good businesswoman who has accepted an offer and sealed it with a handshake that any constable will agree is a binding contract. A single Crown has been offered and accepted for the entire trip. Must I call the authorities and tell them you have accepted payment, shook hands on it, and now change your mind?”

  “I am not taking you all the way to Landor. That is two or three days from here.”

  I turned my head to hide my smile. Behind me, I heard her call loudly, “I offer a full silver Crown to the first person to bring a constable or town sheriff to me.” She held it up higher for all to see. “A Crown for a little help.”

  “Wait,” he said, trying to quiet her. “You cheated me.”

  “Not yet, I haven’t.” She lowered the coin and said in a conciliatory tone. “But you were going to cheat me. Perhaps we can start over?”

  I watched the negotiations and realized both were masters at what they were doing. Myself? I’d have just paid him or refused the ride. Elizabeth intended to best the other, and the same went for the driver.

  He said, “Tell you what. As long as you’re not going to South Malawi, or across the bay, you can name your destination and what you are willing to pay. I trust you.”

  She threw her bag into the back of the wagon. “The silver Crown is still an option for you. We are new to the city and require information that we will gladly pay for—if it is honest and accurate, as well as the ride. If we get what we want, the Crown is only a beginning.”

  I threw my bag beside her and allowed her to slip past me to climb onto the seat beside the driver. I’d been regulated to the rear seat. However, as I took it, I realized she had placed me directly behind him where my knife was as good as a squad of crack soldiers. She turned to me and her grin told me it hadn’t been an accident.

  She introduced us, using only our first names and no titles.

  He told us his name with a swagger, “Honest Bran. Ask anyone. The best carriage driver in the city.”

  Elizabeth laughed out loud without trying to contain herself. “Next, I suppose you’re going to tell us your parents chose ‘Honest’ as your first name?”

  “Well, no. They chose Bran.”

  She faced him as he lightly touched the small whip to the rear of the horse, “And who gave you Honest as your first name?”

  “I guess I earned it,” he said defensively.

  Elizabeth’s laughter rang out again. Then she said, “Okay, Honest, let’s see how honest you are with me. I have dozens of questions.”

  “For a Crown, you can ask twice that many.”

  She said, “Great. How much should I have paid for a ride to anywhere this side of the bay?”

  “No more than a Scar.”

  “Scar? I’m not familiar with that denomination.”

  He made a small hole with his thumb and forefinger. “Copper about this big.”

  She didn’t hesitate at all when she said, “How many Scars to a Crown? Ten?”

  “More than that,” he laughed gleefully.

  My thoughts were that he not only intended to charge us a Crown and cheat us but now thought it funny. If it were my decision, we’d climb down from the carriage and walk. Instead, we rode in comfort not knowing one end of the city from another as I left our fate to my princess.

  The buildings we passed were unlike those at home in Dire, but also unlike Kondor. The walls were made of soft sandstone, a poor choice in a wet kingdom to the north, but in the Brownlands, there was little rain and the blocks were large. Far larger than expected. They would last for centuries.

  Of course, it also took fewer of them to build a structure because of their immense size, many the width of a man laying down, and half the height of his standing, but sandstone is much lighter so easier to lift into position. It was easily sculpted and had been. Scrolls, whirls, peaks, and other designs graced the buildings. The tiny windows were set high on walls under overhangs, or on the north side of buildings to avoid the direct sun. They were to let light inside, keep the heat out, the insides remain cool.

  The streets were paved with large blocks of what looked like granite but may have been some other hard stone. The centers of all streets dipped, so the surface of each street formed a shallow V. When it rained, the water would flow to the middle and away. It
also made the city street self-cleaning to an extent, while giving people on the two sides a place to walk with dry feet. That design could be appreciated in any city, but the detail and thought explained that the leaders of Malawi were far beyond anything I’d encountered.

  Elizabeth asked where a brother and sister would stay, a respectable inn located at the center of the better part of the city, perhaps near the government offices, or the palace.

  He kept the carriage on the same route as if he’d known where they would want to go.

  She said, “Shall we call you Honest or Bran? Or both? While you’re thinking, I change my mind. We need a good inn, let’s say the best in the city, and it is fine with us if you collect a little extra from them for taking us there. We will also have the need for your services as our personal guides in the days to come if you are available to accept a commission.”

  His smile grew.

  She talked, he answered, until we knew where the best part of the city was located, that it was ruled by a very old king who was ill with three strong sons, one of whom was recovering from a recent accident while riding his horse. He’d taken quite a spill and was recovering from the fall. Just like in other kingdoms.

  I began appreciating Elizabeth more and more. Her intimate conversation on the seat of the wagon revealed one critical tidbit of knowledge after another. Without him, it would have taken days to acquire a hint of what he shared with us.

  It turned out that for what he termed a “modest fee” he could be our personal guide, proponent, driver, and confident. If we needed or wanted something—he could provide it. Always for a small price, of course.

  I found I didn’t like his earthy good looks, his quick smile, or his wit. I didn’t like the way he seemed to have moved his hip closer to Elizabeth as the carriage bumped along the stone road. I told myself it was not jealousy and found it hard to lie to myself convincingly.

  Elizabeth finally decided to use Bran as his name. He debated that until she explained that nobody trusted a man who calls himself honest. She also told him to change into different clothing, more restrained, and less green. Nobody trusts a man in green either.

  As we arrived at a beautiful three-story brick structure with a sign of a black swan trimmed in gold, a coachman leaped to help us dismount the carriage. He paused as he saw our tattered clothing, sweat-stained and filthy from days of traveling. His eyes swept across us dismissively.

  Our driver spoke first, “What’re you doing standing there my man? The inn has traveling guests, don’t you recognize them for what they are?”

  The coachman, a man of middle age and impeccable manners was dressed in a uniform made of pale blue material so thin and well-made it was fit for a king. Literally. The stitches were tiny, almost unseen. Not a speck of dirt or a single stain ruined the illusion of wealth and power. And he was only the man who greeted carriages and helped the passengers to the ground—a very important position, it seemed.

  Elizabeth nodded her thanks to our driver and lifted her chin. “If I am as important as my driver believes, you should be fawning at my feet. If I am not, and you treat me well, you lose a little self-respect, however, think about it. If I am who he says and report you to your superiors, you may lose far more.”

  His hand raised uncertainly to assist Elizabeth.

  I accepted his hand and waited for Elizabeth to provide more instructions to Bran. She turned to the coachman and said, “Sir, where is it proper for my private carriage and driver to wait for my call?”

  “There are stables in the rear for the use of guests and their servants.”

  She turned to Bran. “Please take your carriage around back, my faithful servant. I’ll have need of you after our meal.”

  Honest Bran clucked his horse and departed to the far end of the building while the coachmen escorted us inside, fawning over us as much as Elizabeth suggested. I meekly followed, as much cowed by her as the coachman.

  The incident remains clear in my mind because it was a different Princess Elizabeth than at home. It was no longer a hint or demonstration for a few moments. She had learned the art of demanding others to treat her as a superior.

  That was not the first time I’d seen, heard, and understood her new powers, but it fixed it in my mind. She had become royal in every sense of the word. She might be wearing clothing that crossed a sea and a desert, her hair might hang in oily curls, and her hands might be shades darker with dirt than her skin, but only a fool would fail to see the woman inside.

  It reminded me of a peasant saying from when I was a child. The exact circumstances are forgotten, but it went something like: Even kings get dirty and need to bathe.

  We entered a carved double-door with painted fish apparently eating the tail of the one in the front as they swam in a circle around the outside of each door. Inside were other fish, small, large, and all carved into dark woods with a skill seldom seen.

  There was not a dining room inside the door as expected, and where we’d found them in other inns. Instead, we entered a cloakroom with a counter on one side to hold our capes, coats, hats, and whatever else we brought inside with us. The other side held another counter, one ornately carved—without fish. However, vines and leaves tangled and intertwined, and behind the counter, a stern woman sat on a tall stool.

  She looked up. Her eyes went briefly to the coachman, who probably gave her a signal of some sort because she leaped to her feet and welcomed us as if we were long-lost family. Obviously, the coachman was the gatekeeper for the inn. Patrons had to pass his inspection to be allowed inside, and he had relayed the importance of the new guests to the woman who was smiling at us.

  She was dressed better than the coachman. Three fingers wore sparkly rings. A necklace of black stones set off the low-cut front, yet somehow it seemed tasteful and conservative. She was one of those women who tended to speak with their hand motions and waves of her arms.

  We had the same routine with the palace guards at Crestfallen. As one of the few servants assigned directly to a royal, I knew the code we used. It was simple. The palace guard allowed his free hand to hover over his thigh, waist, or ribs. A royal visitor of any rank drew his free hand to his chest-buttons on his uniform. The higher the button, the more important the person.

  The coachman had identified us as important. Important enough to enter the grand building, and he had probably keyed some of that information from Honest Bran who would also reveal information about his customers.

  “Welcome to the Black Swan. Will you be just dining with us, or do you plan on staying with at our inn?”

  At that time, Anna popped into my head like a playful explosion. *Have you arrived safely?*

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I answered Anna’s mental call silently, *Yes. I’m sorry, I should have told you earlier. We are just entering an inn right now. How are you three doing in Landor?*

  *We will talk later if that is okay. I was just checking up on you at the request of Kendra. There are a few small problems, but things in Landor are not good.*

  *Let me guess.*

  *You already know the story. It is not nearly as bad as other places, but there are traps and spies and constables and even bounty hunters. We’ve managed to evade them all so far. Got to go now.*

  She winked out of my mind like a soap bubble poked with a finger. Elizabeth was still taking but I’d heard nothing of the conversation. The woman behind the tall counter acted impressed although I was certain Elizabeth hadn’t revealed her title.

  I stood aside and took a step back. Perhaps habit. My eyes took in the rest of the entryway. The walls were mudded or spackled heavily, and a faint design formed. The color was not one. It was at least two shades of brown overlaid with a pale green that complimented it. The colors had been splotched in place.

  I liked the effect.

  I also liked the aromas drifting in from the next room, where another set of double doors prevented us from seeing who might be eating in there. Another, a smaller door stood
at the end of the counter where the woman worked. She indicated it and held it open for us.

  Behind the door were stairs. Simple, bare, and a little dark. They were the back stairs, the ones used by workmen, servants, and filthy guests. There would be another stairway in the main dining room, more ornate, but for now, while we might be accepted as paying guests, we were not presentable to those gentle souls eating legs of chicken with greasy fingers.

  Elizabeth was not upset, at least, not that I could tell. I copied her manners and attitude. I kept a smile on my face. We were shown to a room, that was comparable to our quarters at Crestfallen, only smaller. The walls were treated much the same as those in the entry, but tapestries draped two walls, a bed large enough for a party occupied the center of the room, and a narrow bed sat against an outside wall under a window. I supposed the placement was so that if an intruder entered the room, he would attack the servant first. That would be my bed.

  Since there were only two beds, my instinct was to attempt to claim the big one. I may have tried if the hostess was not still with us. Elizabeth was busy giving orders. She counted on her fingers, making certain the hostess understood whatever she said. I spotted a basket of strange-looking and familiar fruit and wandered to stand beside it.

  The hostess glanced my way and smiled wanly as she said like addressing a child that she knew would do something stupid, “It’s not real.”

  She was talking about the exact fruit I had my eye on. Closer inspection revealed a tiny chip on the leaf clinging to an apple. Under the chip was white, as in a plate or bowl.

  Now that she knew I was of a lower class, and maybe a bit ignorant, I felt free to examine the room in more detail. The floors were bare wood, polished to a soft glow. The ceiling was high, giving an expansive feel to the room.

  The furnishings were all top-grade. The wood, the material, the construction, and presentation were all fit for the king’s private quarters. I placed our things on a sofa large enough for only two and ignored the scorn the innkeeper directing my way. I had ignored the chest near the wall. Our bags were tired, dirty, and worn. Even my sword nestled in an ordinary scabbard, but I felt like pulling it out and slashing it through the air to impress her.