The Last Dragon 4

by LeRoy Clary

  Before I could do my act with my sword, or think of magic that might embarrass the woman, she fled. That is no exaggeration. Elizabeth had given her final instructions and waved a limp wrist in her direction. That was enough to send her on her way.

  When the door quietly closed, Elizabeth spun on me. “Can’t you behave yourself?”

  “I can . . . when I want to.”

  “She was a prig, wasn’t she?” Elizabeth went to the bed and tested it with the palms of her hands. “Too soft.”

  I pointed to the small one under the window, the one I hadn’t even been near yet. “That one isn’t. It is nice and firm. You’ll like it.”

  “Liar. You haven’t even tested it.” She sat on the bed and said, “Your eyes went blank downstairs. Talking to Anna?”

  “She said Landor is about like other kingdoms as far as the Young Mage goes. Him, or his people, have been at work. They have spies, agents, bounty hunters, and all that.”

  “Here too, if you didn’t catch what Bran said. Not as many, but it is starting. The Young Mage plans ahead. You have to respect that.”

  I said, “I may have caught that idea from Honest Bran between the flirting, joking, lying, and cheating going on between the two of you.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked at the ceiling before answering, “Wasn’t it wonderful to find someone like him right from the beginning?”

  “You like him?” I blurted out.

  “Not romantically, but he’s the one that knows the city, the people, the seedy underground and the pretenders. If we require knowledge of the inner workings of the royal palace, he knows the cooks, chambermaids, and all their secrets. He reminds me of you.”

  I tossed a pillow her way and she caught it and flung it back without hesitation. I asked, “When are we going to eat?”

  “Not soon. We’re not dressed for it. Maybe we can get our food sent up here.”

  “Why not go down and eat?” I asked, more curious than hungry.

  She shrugged. “I’m here to meet with the king. I don’t want word of someone in filthy desert tans that hasn’t had a bath in a week reaching him or his henchmen. That would close off any chance of a reception.”

  “How are you going to do it?” I asked. “Get his attention, I mean.”

  “Honest Bran will help us with that. Tomorrow there will be a ball in the palace. We are going. You and me.”

  Words failed me.

  She continued, “That is why three seamstresses and two tailors will arrive here soon. Also, there will be a cobbler for both of us, and oh, yes. It is a formal ball, so the men will wear their decorative swords.”

  “You’ve arraigned all that?”

  “And baths. For both of us. And a woman to do my hair, and yours. And we need our nails trimmed, our hands softened with creams and more.”

  “More?” I asked, stunned.

  “Well, yes. It’s a royal ball. We need jewelry. A selection will arrive tonight. It must be impressive.”

  “Elizabeth, slow down. We do not even have an invitation yet. You’re putting all your trust in a carriage driver who maybe boasts too much. Besides, how can we afford all this?”

  She removed her purse and spilled a few coins on the bed. Only two were gold. The others silver, copper, and brass. Then she removed her left boot and peeled out the inner lining. More gold coins joined the rest. The other shoe had the same.

  “That will more than pay for what we need,” I admitted. “That would buy this inn if you want it.”

  Her face was tinged with pink because of the anger that I’d doubted her. She said, “If you’ll turn your back for a moment, I’ll produce more.”

  “Really?” I asked as I stalked closer to her and reached out. “If you don’t mind, I’ll search for it myself.”

  The hand-to-hand training we had received since childhood was supposed to be equal. It was not. Before I could touch her, she grabbed my fingers and twisted them while rolling on the bed and somehow coming up behind me, while she bent my fingers in an unnatural manner. She shoved my face down into the softness of the bed. Instead of resisting, I rolled over and splayed my arms and legs claiming the bed for my own.

  She leaped on top of me, trying to get her fingers into my sensitive armpits so I’d lose by laughing as had happened many times before. I twisted and turned, keeping my elbows locked to my sides to keep her fingers from reaching their goal. She was smaller but faster.

  “Excuse us, do we need to return later?” a female voice asked timidly.

  I looked over Elizabeth’s shoulder and found three very surprised women staring wide-eyed at us.

  She climbed off me, then off the bed, and snapped in their direction, “Any of you have insufferable brothers?”

  One took a small step forward. “I do.”

  “Good. Then you will understand my next request. When you are pinning his shirts, I hope you stick him a time or two.”

  The young woman chuckled. “Maybe I can show you a hold I used to use on my brother.”

  Before they could plan any more, I said, “Listen, I’m glad you’re here, but we’re dirty. The baths should come first, especially if you’re going to measure her for a gown. I know I smell bad, but not like her.”

  The pillow flew in my direction again. The mood of the room instantly cheered, and the real work began. The women descended on us like starving ducks vying for bread crusts. We were measured, questions about texture and color shouted, styles discussed, and dozens of more subjects that I either had no idea about or didn’t care about.

  Elizabeth responded to each, a staccato of sound that only the seamstresses and her understood. A slight woman demurely approached me and spoke so softly the others wouldn’t hear. “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but you mentioned bathing. Are you aware that this room is equipped for that?”

  “I have no idea of what you’re talking about.”

  She motioned for me to follow her into an alcove, and there she pointed to a curtain that would close it off. A stone tub sat in the center, and to one side, waist high, a firebox. Wood was neatly stacked in the corner. A pipe from the ceiling coiled around the firebox, then down to the tub.

  She said, “Water is held in a tank on the roof and the pipe feeds down here. I can start the fire to warm it if you like.”

  The valve was self-explanatory. Another valve and another pipe ran across the floor to the outside wall for drainage. Simple. I didn’t need her help anymore, but said, “Do not tell my sister about this until I’m done.”

  She opened a cabinet and revealed a dozen bottles. Soaps, salts, and perfumes. I thanked her again, shooed her away, and pulled the curtain. I’d be sure to leave her a little extra copper or two. After a little fumbling and nearly scalding myself, I climbed out of the tub, clean and scented. But I had no clothing.

  I called for and received a blanket. Wrapped in it, I strode forth like a king. Elizabeth gave me a quick smile that said she wanted to use the alcove next. A man stood to one side, the tools of his trade neatly spread on a linen cloth.

  He had me sit and asked how I desired to wear my beard. I said, “Isn’t it fine the way it is?”

  “It is not,” he assured me as he lifted his chin slightly in an air of distaste. “There are several popular styles you might choose from: a close trim pointed at the chin, a full beard with beads of your choice of color woven in, or a sculptured cut to make your face appear lean and hard. Or another.”

  I called, “Elizabeth, I need your help.”

  She came to my side and listened. Her response was the answer of a genius. “For comparison purposes, what styles do the three royal princes wear?”

  The barber smiled too. He said, “It has been my privilege to trim each of them. They all prefer a traditional style preferred by most royals, very short on the sides, and a longer, tapered chin.”

  “That will do fine,” she snapped and went back to the seamstresses.

  As the man trimmed my beard, he also combed my hair and snipped
it shorter, much shorter, as he said, “I assume you also wish to emulate the princes in hairstyle?”

  He assumed right.

  Afterward, he held a polished metal mirror for me to admire his work. The man was an artist. Still holding the mirror, I called, “Elizabeth you need to pay this man extra.”

  “No need for that,” he chuckled. “I’m paid by the Black Swan.”

  He departed and shortly after, another man entered, followed by three young men, each with their arms piled high with clothing. They deposited their burdens and departed, all but the first, a dapper and plump little man who examined me with the eyes of a starving hawk and I was a helpless squirrel.

  He said, “I have brought you five outfits, one for everyday wear, one suitable for the ball—if you approve, and three more that will suffice for royal engagements.”

  Anna came into my head. *Can you talk?*

  *Not now,* I responded, *Unless it is important.*

  *When you have time.* She was gone.

  The man insisted I try on each outfit. I was naked under the blanket, but at a word to the five women in the room, all turned their backs. He pointed to the stack of small clothing for wearing under the rest. I pulled it on and tied the string at the waist.

  The first outfit was notable because it was a reddish purple, almost a royal color, but a little too red. My instinct told me that was no accident. It identified me as important to my crown, but not part of it. The trousers were tighter than I was used to, the blouse looser. To offset the color, white trimmed the neck, wrists, and a stylized bird flew across my chest.

  I called, “Elizabeth, look at this.”

  She glanced my way and said, “That looks fine.”

  That’s all. She was deeply involved in selecting the perfect button for a new dress so couldn’t be concerned with me. The other outfits were nicer than any I’d had at Crestfallen, for any occasion. The everyday clothing was loose, well-made, and a natural brown that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd on the street.

  The cobbler came in with shoes for both of us.

  I was still hungry.

  And wondering at the cost of everything. What we were spending was a fortune.

  Finally, all of them were gone, Elizabeth had bathed, and we descended in our new “daily” clothing to the dining room where dozens of other wealthy people ate, talked, overserved others, and gossiped. Most were eating small portions of delicacies that smelled wonderful.

  However, Elizabeth had other ideas. She steered me outside the rear door and across a grassy expanse to the stables where Honest Bran was busy cleaning every crack and fissure of his carriage. He leaped to attention when he recognized us.

  Elizabeth said, “Any progress on our invitations?”

  “My cousin is spreading rumors about the intriguing strangers from a far-away land who arrived this morning. As you suggested, he is hinting that you are royal.”

  I was impressed, especially since I knew nothing of the plan they’d concocted. The royal ball would have invitations sent to the local royals, as well as those visiting the city. However, rumors of the mysterious appearance of a beautiful princess from an unnamed land would travel quickly.

  She motioned to the carriage, “I’ll ride beside my brother for this trip. We want to be shown around the richest part of the city, especially the palace. And as we travel, you will continue to educate us on the local politics, the history of Malawi, and any juicy rumors you know about.”

  “And food,” I added. “I need to eat.”

  He held out a helping hand for each of us to climb into his carriage, a world of difference from when he’d tried to cheat us not too long ago. With a flick of his whip, the carriage moved at a comfortable pace. We drew the attention of many, including those at the Black Swan eating on a patio under a grape arbor.

  The streets were clean, the people dressed well, and from a glance, all was well in Malawi. Bran pointed out buildings, parks, and even the palace as he kept up a steady dialogue of fact, fiction, rumor, and funny stories. Several people waved at him or called out friendly insults.

  He slowed as we passed a large building with a circular stone entrance. “The ball will be held in there.”

  We looked, but a largish building with a plain outside was all there was to see. It was attached to the palace at one end, an obvious addition and of a different style. It was interesting, but food interested me more. I said so, and Bran laughed and turned the carriage to take us to a rougher part of town.

  We climbed down and entered a dark room filled with darker tables and chairs. It was cooler than outside, which had grown uncomfortably hot. A woman server flashed past. Bran called his order as she disappeared into the kitchen, only to appear a short while later carrying a platter and three bowls.

  She sat it on the table, exchanged a few insults with Bran, and was off again while we distributed the bowls. My eyes were on the platter and the fish that occupied most of it. Around the fish were slices of carrots and onion. I served myself and used the tip of a dull knife she provided to eat. The fish was one of the best I’d ever eaten, and the bread the server brought was heavy and full of seeds, also wonderful when slathered with butter.

  The daylight had passed, and evening awaited. No telling what we’d learn at the Black Swan if we sipped light wine and kept our ears open.

  We climbed into the carriage in time to hear a warning shout from a nearby man. A woman pointed at the sky and shrieked. Five Wyvern winged in a large circle and we seemed to be the center of it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Elizabeth said to Bran, “Are there a lot of those evil creatures flying about here?”

  Bran said in a hushed tone, “I’ve never seen one of them before. I’ve heard of dragons, of course, but never seen one.”

  “Those are Wyvern,” I said automatically. “Not dragons.”

  Bran fought with the reigns to control the horse. It may have never seen a Wyvern either, but it knew when to be scared. I ignored him, the horse, the people who ran in the streets, and the few screams. I focused on drawing water from nearby sources and concentrating it into five equal measures. If the Wyvern attacked, I’d scald them with steam again, all five at once if my magic allowed. But for now, they remained too far away.

  Not that these were the same Wyvern that had attacked our boat. They might be, but I doubted it. They were fresh recruits flown in by the Young Mage. They’d never been seen here before, so the coincidence of their arrival and ours was too much to ignore.

  They didn’t attack us. Instead, they flew off to the west, flying high over the city and upsetting everyone living in it. Everyone we passed seemed to be talking about the sudden appearance of Wyvern, a creature most had regulated to myth until today. Most called them dragons which irritated me in some primal way.

  Elizabeth and I listened, commented when required, but otherwise allowed the city to speak to us instead of the other way around. As we passed under a stone bridge over a small, shallow river, a voice called out to Bran. He looked up and waved as he pulled the carriage to a halt.

  A young woman raced to meet us, her long brown hair flowing in the air behind her. My eyes couldn’t look away. She was beautiful. While she talked briefly to Bran, her eyes never left me. Mine never left her.

  Bran turned to us and said, “Your invitation for the ball is being delivered to the Black Swan right now.”

  As simple as that, unknown Elizabeth had entered a city and before sunset, without telling anyone who she was, had secured an invitation to a royal ball. In a city where perhaps one in ten had ever laid eyes on their king, she had managed to attract so much attention the city elite were begging for information about her. That proved the power of rumors.

  The people who had tended to us in the Black Swan, as well as those working there, had unwittingly done her bidding with their gossiping too. A few seamstresses, tailors, or employees speaking to their friends about the mysterious new arrival, along with rumors spread in the palace b
y Bran’s friends had taken only one day for royalty to become curious about her.

  Bran sat smiling as we whooped and laughed at his news. He finally asked, “Where would you like to go next?”

  Before I could suggest returning to the inn for the evening, Elizabeth spoke up, “I’ve heard Malawi has the best sword makers in the known world. Would the best of their shops still be open?”

  Bran spun and slapped the horse in the rump. “If we hurry. The best is usually open until sunset this time of the year.”

  The carriage bounced along the cobblestones as I tried to catch Elizabeth’s eye. She playfully avoided me. Yet, she was giving me a present almost as great as the sword itself. The carriage careened around corners, down hills, and ended up near the bay where it narrowed and was surrounded by an industrial area. Bran pulled to a stop beside a low stone building and pointed to a door.

  I entered with Elizabeth to find a very large room, open to the working furnaces at the back. Inside were three men, two working at a smoky forge and one older man at the counter sitting on a stool and carefully carving scrolls on a blade. He laid his tools down and looked us up and down without a greeting.

  I nodded.

  He was old, his face like leather left in the sun to soak up water to crack and dry in the heat. His hands were pale, veined, and as wrinkled as his face. Only his eyes were young and alert. I had the impression his body had aged while his mind hadn’t.

  He glanced at my old, everyday scabbard and the crude addition intended to hold a bow, which it seldom did. He didn’t grimace but could have. He said, “I think you have come to the wrong shop. Perhaps I can recommend one more suitable?”

  The tone was not insulting, simply flat and void of friendliness. I strode confidently to the counter while thinking that if he picked up his tools as a way to dismiss me, I’d use my magic to push his hand aside and ruin his work. I said, “I’m in need of a new scabbard, and someone to repair my blade. Our driver says you are the best in the city.”