Meghan's Dragon Read online

  Chapter 50

  “Dragons! Dragons!” the crowd chanted in unison, some of them flapping their arms in a ridiculous parody of flight.

  “Are you sure you don’t want see my famous illusion of a man walking against the wind?” Laitz responded playfully. He began moving his arms and legs, leaning forward without making progress. There was a smattering of laughter, then a ripe tomato came out of nowhere, adding a momentary splash of color to his harlequin outfit. The pulp and seeds ran off the magically fixed cloth onto the stage.

  “Dragons! Dragons!” the crowd resumed its chant.

  Laitz shook his head and ducked back into the three-sided booth that they used for illusions during play intermission. He winked at his two assistants.

  “Maybe we overdid it earlier when we were trying to drum up business,” Meghan ventured. “They sound kind of hard to please.”

  “Our job is to give the players a chance to rest, so let’s draw it out a little,” Laitz reminded them. “That means no burning up my dragon with a gout of flame.”

  “Got it, boss,” Bryan replied. He ducked out the back and prepared to conjure up the illumination orb that made their dusty creations visible. What Laitz had told him on their first day of acquaintance about good lighting men always finding work had proven to be true. Bryan had mastered all of the magical stage lighting tricks in record time, and Brom, the leader of a competing group of players, had already tried to hire him away from Rowan. Light orbs and fireballs just came naturally to him.

  After the performance, Bryan and Meghan gathered the coins from the boards while Laitz and a couple of the older boys from the troupe rapidly took down the fabric walls. Then Bryan retreated to his spot at the rear of the stage to handle the lighting for the second act of The Traitor. Grey, one of Rowan’s lieutenants, had been doing the troupe’s lighting for years and was happy to train the young man as a backup. He also enjoyed pointing out the nuances of the nearly continual fight scenes as the play moved from political intrigue to open warfare.

  “I’m losing track of who’s who as they keep on getting killed,” Bryan complained. “I didn’t know we had so many ex-soldiers with the troupe.”

  “Shift right,” Grey ordered. “You’re getting it now. The speeches are timed to let the casualties from the dark half of the stage clean up and reenter from the other side as fresh troops. We’re coming up on the grand finale.”

  “The King of New Land is winning, right?”

  “Looks that way so far. Just wait and see.”

  A new group of soldiers rushed onto the stage at the end of the speech, only to be cut down by the king’s men. Rowan played the role of the warrior king, his sword mowing down opponents like a scythe. Finally the action trailed off, the giant troupe master gave a short victory speech, and Bryan dimmed the lights for a quick scenery change.

  “Wait for the assassins to get set before you bring up the overhead,” Grey instructed. “I like to do it slowly, like the sun rising over the castle walls, since it’s supposed to be dawn.”

  “Who writes these plays?” Bryan asked, while the actors bumped about in the near blackness finding their spots. “Everybody in the audience seems to know them already, like they’ve been around forever.”

  “Some of them are classics from Old Land that came over with the exiles, but The Traitor is based on the actual events that gave our current king’s family the throne.”

  “Exiles?”

  “Has the shock of married life made you forget everything you learned as a child?” Grey asked good-naturedly. Rowan’s players were accustomed to Bryan’s strange questions by this point and answered according to their store of patience. “All of us in New Land are descended from exiles, not counting the natives, of course,” he added with a glance at Storm Bringer, who had just slipped quietly into place beside them. “Alright, it’s time to bring up the main light.”

  Bryan reined in his curiosity and concentrated on smoothly increasing the output of the illumination orb he created over the stage. He wasn’t sure how other lighting men went about their work, but he found that a little levitation combined with a tightly wrapped fireball did the trick nicely. He imagined feeding fuel into the fire, and the brightness steadily increased.

  “Are you sure the king’s whole family is within?” Chester whispered to the armed guards at the door.

  “Aye, and we put ten drops in every wine bottle, just like you instructed,” the guard replied.

  “You’ve done well,” Chester replied with an evil smile. He untied a small but heavy bag from his belt and handed it to the guard. “Here’s your promised reward.”

  As the guard held the small sack on his palm and fumbled at the tie with his other hand, Chester plunged his dagger into the man’s throat. Another assassin killed the other guard with a sword thrust through the back of the neck, and the audience gasped at the copious amounts of fake blood that flowed from the wounds.

  “If the fools did as they said, we’ll take these upstarts in their sleep,” Chester told his men. “The dragon will deal with the royal troops in the castle grounds. Our task is putting an end to this pretender and his noxious brood, including the women and the children. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, prince,” the men murmured in response, and then they followed their leader single file through the door. A moment later there was a stifled scream supplied by the seamstress, who had a dual specialty in vocal effects. A brief composition of sad, wordless music followed, played on string instruments by unseen musicians.

  “Dimmer, dimmer,” Grey whispered to Bryan. “Alright, bring up a soft light, just on Bethany.”

  The young mother was illuminated walking across the front of the stage, dressed in a ragged traveling cloak and carrying a small bundle. Bryan gaped at the realistic snow that fell over her head and shoulders, and he shivered in the blast of arctic wind that howled across the stage. Then Grey gave him a nudge and indicated the shaman with a nod. Storm Bringer was living up to his name.

  The bundle in Bethany’s arms began to wail, and the audience let out a collective sigh.

  “Be easy, my king,” Bethany cooed to her baby, who had fallen asleep before his big performance and needed a pinch to encourage his debut crying part. “Traitors have murdered your family, but the queen’s life magic provided us a way out of that death trap and bought my undying loyalty. I have your father’s sword here beneath my cloak, and one day you’ll take vengeance on the Old Land prince who now calls himself king in your place.”

  The audience exploded with cries of support for the orphaned infant, and Bethany had to pull her shawl over the baby’s face to protect Davie from the rain of coins. Then somebody started to sing a patriotic song about the exiles building up a new land, and the whole audience joined in.

  Chapter 51

  “I thought you told me that mages in dragon form wouldn’t attack people except in defense of their treasure,” Bryan said.

  “You’re talking about the play now, right?” Meghan broke off practicing another unbinding spell and looked up from the oilskin. “They say that dragon had good reasons, a hundred thousand golden reasons, to be precise.”

  “So dragons work as mercenaries?”

  “It’s not exactly that, either. The dragon who attacked the royal guard while the foreign prince and his assassins murdered the royal family was also from across the ocean. Two of the dukes had already secretly pledged their support to the prince, whose father was one of the most powerful kings in Old Land. They caught the loyal Blue Duke between them in a surprise attack, forcing him to give an oath of neutrality. From there the armies were equally matched, but our king, I mean, our original king, outfought them. That’s when the prince turned to assassination and made a deal with the dragon. But even today, people don’t know why Narl agreed.”

  “Narl?”

  “The Old Land dragon. After the prince and the assassins bribed their way into the castle and killed the king and his whole family, Narl attacked the r
oyal guard, allowing the prince’s armies time to come up and take the castle. With the two traitor dukes on his side and the Blue Duke neutral, the new king forced the Red Duke and the White Duke to accept his terms, rather than bathing the kingdom in more blood. Little good it did them, since the new king encouraged the barons to fight at every turn, and that continues on today.”

  “So the Green Duke and the Black Duke are the bad guys.”

  “Many people think so, but I guess it depends which side you’re on. Besides, the White Duke is the only one left alive from that period. The rest of them have been replaced by their sons.” Meghan paused for a moment and frowned. “Didn’t I go over all of this with you on the walk to Castle Foregone?”

  “I had just discovered how to make fire then,” Bryan admitted guiltily. “I may not have been paying attention to every word. How long ago was all this?”

  “Well, it’s Year Forty-Eight on the new calendar now, so I’d say about forty-eight years.”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic. What about the baby who the nurse saved from the assassins?”

  “That part is just wishful thinking,” Meghan replied with a sigh. “People want to have something to believe in so they can have hope for the future.”

  “And the local dragons didn’t fight back? They just let that Old World mage, Narl or whoever, sweep in here and take over?”

  “I think there was only one dragon left on the coast by that point, or maybe it was a pair, but Narl was older and more powerful. He must have killed them before attacking the castle. Dragons tend to be very private and act on their own concerns without counsel, so they don’t make for interesting characters in plays.”

  “Did you watch my work? Pretty good, huh?” Bryan bragged.

  “If I’m ever attacked by enemies in the dark and in need of a lighting dragon, you’re the first one I’ll call.”

  “What are you mad about now?”

  “I’m not mad,” Meghan said angrily, looking back down at the oilskin and ostentatiously beginning to trace her hands through a magical pattern. “Isn’t this about the time you usually go and hang out with your friends and drink beer?”

  “If that’s what you want,” Bryan retorted, crawling out into the night. It struck him that he was probably the only guy in two universes who could live with a girl in a tent and not make any romantic progress.

  Chapter 52

  “Six coppers to tour a castle?” Bryan immediately forgot his orders to remain inconspicuous and thumped the table with his fist. “All you people have around here are castles. Whoever heard of paying to get into one?”

  “I gave you a bargain, one adult and one child,” the cashier replied curtly. “If I charged your little brother the full price, it would be eight coppers.”

  “Just pay him,” Meghan urged Bryan in the boyish voice she had perfected for playing the part of Elstan.

  “I’ll give you two coppers, and that’s two coppers too much,” Bryan counter offered. The cashier shook her head, and the people waiting in line behind the pair began to murmur. “Three coppers, and that’s my final offer.”

  “I’ll pay, brother,” Meghan said, handing the liveried cashier a small silver.

  The woman slipped four coppers change across the table, and then she made a crude X on the backs of their hands with a piece of charcoal. “The guided tour begins in ten minutes. I’ll ring the bell in five minutes so everybody can gather at the entrance. Don’t forget to stop in the gift shop on your way out.”

  “We’ll just wander around by ourselves, if that’s alright,” Meghan replied, scooping up the change. “Thank you.” She dragged Bryan away from the table before he could try to get the money back.

  “We should have just left,” Bryan grumbled. “I could have charbroiled a stick and made the marks myself.”

  “What part of, ‘don’t draw unnecessary attention,’ didn’t you understand?” Meghan hissed. “Do you want us to get caught?”

  They showed their charcoal marks to a bored-looking guard at the entrance to the old section of the castle. He examined their hands under the light of a strange lantern which caused the black marks to turn purple. The guard nodded to his fellow, who lifted his pike, allowing the tourists into the section which was closed off from the non-paying public.

  “Well, maybe that just means they’re smart enough to know that anybody who doesn’t argue about that price is hiding something,” Bryan blustered before Meghan could say a word about the security measures. He pointed derisively at the first display. “Oh, look. An old catapult, just like in a museum. I’ll bet there’s no difference between this catapult and the ones up on the wall except for this one being broken. What a rip-off.”

  “We’re not here to sightsee,” Meghan responded vehemently, her voice rising to its normal register and above. “Can’t you keep your head screwed on straight for long enough to infiltrate a castle and recover a hidden treasure?”

  A middle-aged woman who had been quietly examining an out-of-fashion wall hanging depicting a hunting scene turned and stared at the couple. Meghan’s face went beet red, but Bryan just smiled and said, “My little brother likes role-playing games. After we steal the ducal jewels, we’re going to be spies in the council chamber.”

  “I remember when mine was that age,” the woman replied with a smile, before turning back to her wall hanging.

  “Now who’s being conspicuous?” Bryan teased, but he regretted it immediately when he saw the anger in Meghan’s eyes. “Alright. Let’s go find this shield room.”

  They walked on quickly, looking through doorways without finding anything like an armory, and they had almost reached the end of the hall when the faint ringing of a bell was heard. A number of people emerged from the various rooms and headed for the courtyard.

  “Good timing,” Bryan said. “This room must be it.”

  Meghan followed him through the arched doorway and saw the shields immediately. They were all so brightly colored that it was obvious they were reproductions rather than battle shields used in long-ago wars. Sightseers in New Land had to make do with what was available, and Green Castle was the local destination for peasants with some extra harvest-money to burn, thanks in part to its location near the beach.

  “She who wields, she who wields,” the girl repeated out loud. “I don’t see anything in here that could match that description. Do you think whatever it was has been removed?”

  “If it was a wall hanging, maybe it’s out being cleaned,” Bryan suggested. “Look for a spot on the wall that’s shaded differently.”

  Meghan stuck her head back into the passage to make sure nobody was near. “Do one of your bright lights. I can’t see anything by these lousy torches.”

  The large room lit up like it was open to the sun, and Bryan and Meghan moved quickly around the perimeter, scanning the walls.

  “There’s no sign of her.” Meghan’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, and she found herself looking to Bryan for suggestions. As usual, the young man’s attention had wandered, and he was staring at the ceiling, playing with his lighting orb. “Would you please work with me?”

  Bryan pointed up and grinned. Smoke had dulled the colors of the fresco on the ceiling, but it undeniably showed an angry woman casting a bolt of lightning at a satyr who was pursuing a young girl.

  “Perfect, watch the door,” Meghan ordered, moving under the depiction of the goddess. “And turn the light back down. I don’t need it for this.”

  As soon as Bryan was in position, she worked rapidly through a complex weave of hand motions that ended with pointing at the artwork. For a moment nothing happened, and then a white mass dropped from the ceiling and enveloped her.

  “Bryan!” she choked out, falling to the floor under the smothering folds of fabric. It was a strange feeling, similar to being inundated by sheets of rain that somehow held together like thin blankets. She struggled to free herself for a moment without making any progress, and then she felt the mound of silk
being drawn off of her.

  “Are you alright?” Bryan asked, still gathering in the folds of fabric to his chest with both hands. “This can’t be a wall hanging because there’s no picture on it. Maybe it’s a tent or a giant tablecloth.”

  “Check the hall while I do the spell in reverse,” Meghan instructed him. “And figure out how we’re going to smuggle this thing out of here.”

  Chapter 53

  The guards tried to keep straight faces as Bryan and Meghan struggled towards the exit, but they weren’t getting paid enough to keep their comments to themselves.

  “Found yourself a real treasure in the gift shop, I see,” the guard with the magical lantern said. “I’ll bet that came over from Old Land at the time of the Exile.”

  “Well, I don’t claim to be an expert on wood, but that looks an awful lot like chestnut to me,” his pike-wielding partner joined in. “I don’t think the duke would export so much chestnut to Old Land if it grew there.”

  “Excellent point, Rolf,” the first guard agreed. “And those iron bands do look a bit flimsy. You’d almost think that they were glued on.”

  “Old horses never die,” the pike man declaimed, putting his hand on his chest in a mock sign of respect while lowering his eyes.

  “Of course, maybe the young man bought it to give his fiancée for saving up linens,” the first guard continued. “As long as you keep it out of the rain, the sun, and the heat, it might serve the purpose.”

  “My advice is to slather it with peppermint oil,” the other guard added with a professional air, lifting his pike to let Bryan and Meghan exit. “It will keep her blankets smelling fresh, and discourage the mice from nibbling through that thin wood.”

  “Thank you,” Meghan said, intentionally stumbling to jam the chest into Bryan’s side and prevent him from making some smart-aleck response.

  As soon as they turned the corner, Bryan let out, “Jerks. I’ll bet that gift shop pays their salaries, yet they have to make fun of people who buy the junk?”