Meghan's Dragon (20 page)

Chapter 59

“Kill the mage,” Chester prompted in an undertone. Bryan stood frozen, looking out at the audience. The experienced leading man improvised, moving to stand directly in front of the rookie actor, blocking his view of the paying public. “What are your orders, Baron?” he practically shouted in the young man’s face.

“Uh, kill him,” Bryan stuttered.

“The mage?” Chester hinted.

“Yes, kill the mage,” Bryan finally managed to pronounce.

“You can go off now,” Chester muttered, adding a small shove to get Bryan moving. The new actor exited to the left, and the action shifted to the right of the stage, where Grey brought up the lights on a scene in the woods.

The painted backdrop included the body, folded wings, and long tail of a dragon, but the head was a wood and paper construction, with moving jaws manned by Jomar. The audience gasped at the effect as the dragon began to speak.

“The truce between dragons and men has been broken. The murdered mage was a friend of mine, an honorable man who wore my pledge ring. Take the head of the baron who committed this crime, or I will leave your kingdom to face its enemies alone.”

“Now, now,” Rowan replied. “A king’s loyalty is owed to more than one party, and the baron and his family have supported my rule for generations. Am I to break that bond and start a civil war over one foul deed?”

The men playing the king’s attendants unrolled a blanket on the stage, and then began to make a pile of silver goblets and cutlery, strings of pearls, copper and silver coins. The reptilian head drew back and the actor inside manipulated the mechanism in such a way as to cause a sneer to appear on the dragon’s lips.

“I smell no gold here,” Jomar roared, his magically amplified voice causing the wooden superstructure of the stage to shake. “You would try to purchase the life of my servant with the plunder of the local gentry? You push me too far, King Bane. The head of the baron, or your kingdom is forfeit!”

“Now, now,” Rowan tried again, clearly unruffled by the dragon’s display. “I realize that my offering is a bit light, but the locals have grown adept at hiding their gold, which they value above their women and children. Take these trinkets as a down payment on what I owe you, and let’s part as friends.”

The dragon’s head reared back and smoke came from its nostrils, as if it was preparing to loose a blast of flame on the king’s party. Members of the audience in the line of fire instinctively tensed to flee. Rowan didn’t even flinch, and when the dragon opened its mouth, it struck a conciliatory note.

“You can’t expect me to carry this junk to the mountains myself,” Jomar said plaintively. “It’s hardly worth the energy to move.”

The rest of the negotiation was drowned out by the audience’s cries of, “Cowardly lizard! Evil king,” and similar expressions of disdain. A rain of rotten fruit and vegetables hit the netting that had been erected across the front of the stage for just that purpose.
Of Dragons and Men
was notorious as the messiest play on two continents.

Bryan did a little better when he came on at the end of the first act, ordering the murder of the good mage’s son, though he almost lost his temper when an egg slipped through the protective net and spattered his costume. When he came back on stage the third time to order the death of the mage’s dog, some young men actually tried to rush the stage to punish him, but they were easily handled by members of the troupe working crowd control.

At the end of the play, Bryan was so excited about having his throat slit that he straightened up in the barber’s chair and opened his eyes to watch the spurts of fake blood launched by his rhythmic squeezing of the hidden bladder. The first gout of blood almost reached the audience, which everybody seemed to take as a good omen. They switched from throwing rotten vegetables to tossing coins, which easily penetrated the mesh of the protective screen.

Chapter 60

Meghan’s eyes went wide when Bryan returned from his daily sword exercise with Rowan.

“You’re finally transforming!” she exclaimed. “I read that some dragons have characteristic marks that only show when they reach their full power, like secret tattoos that appear under magical light.”

“What are you talking about?” Bryan replied in irritation, rubbing at his forehead. “Do you know any healing tricks to repair a dent in the skull? Rowan caught me good.”

“Let me see it,” Meghan repeated. “It’s a red dragon and the wings are extended, which is a sign of power. Have you looked at your reflection?”

“I don’t need to see my reflection,” Bryan said sourly. “Rowan pommeled me.”

“Pummeled?”

“Pommeled. Since the incident on the road, I asked him to stop going easy and to teach me one serious combat trick each day, since I figure that’s all I’m capable of learning.”

“What are you talking about?” Meghan echoed back his earlier question. “Don’t you understand that you have a dragon on your forehead?”

“It’s the dragon from the pommel on Rowan’s sword. You wouldn’t believe how much that hurt.” Bryan set down his own weapon and sank into a cross-legged position. “Is there anything to eat? I think I burned a lot of extra energy shaking it off. Hardol said that blow should have knocked me out and required a healer, but they all saw my sword flash white after the impact, and I got right back up again.”

Meghan ran her fingers over the dragon mark, which stood out from a round indent in Bryan’s skin. “This is from the hilt of Rowan’s sword?”

“The pommel. He baited me into trying an overhead blow and blocked it near the base of his blade. When I pulled my sword back from the impact, he suddenly came forward and caught me on the forehead with that metal ball at the end of his hilt. I guess it’s an old trick, but I was watching the tip of his blade, and I never saw it coming.”

“So the red is just blood under the skin,” she said in disappointment. “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. Does it still hurt?”

“Not really, though it itches a little. I bet some food will make it better.”

Meghan shook her head and brought out the pot of kitchen wagon leftovers that she kept on hand. She didn’t mind that feeding Bryan outside of mealtimes had somehow become her responsibility, but the cooks tormented her with sly innuendos about how her husband was burning up all that extra food. Now that they were at the coast, one of the women always made a show of adding oysters to whatever she put in the pot for Bryan, much to the amusement of whoever else was present.

“Why do you think Rowan has a dragon on his pommel?” she asked, once Bryan was happily spooning in the stew.

“I thought the pommel was for extra grip,” he replied between swallows. “Simon said it’s more for a counterweight, to move the balance of the sword closer to the hands. Maybe that’s how they fine-tune the balance, by gouging a little out.”

“What’s on your pommel?” she asked, suddenly curious.

“Mmph,” he said, busily chewing, but he pushed the weapon in her direction.

Meghan lifted the hilt end of the sword and examined the base of the pommel. The engraving showed the profile of a woman’s head with flowing hair. She gave Bryan a dark look and went back into the tent, leaving him to eat alone.

Chapter 61

“How long have you and your husband been with the players?” Meghan asked Bethany. The two young women were relaxing together after stowing away the props, the first step in breaking down the show to return to the road. The boys were just starting work, knocking the pegs out of the stage boards from the bottom, a job that came with the bonus of any coins that had slipped between the cracks.

“I grew up in the troupe,” Bethany replied. “My parents only stopped coming on the road last year, they stay at the camp now. My husband saw me on the stage and convinced Rowan to hire him on so he could court me.”

“I keep hearing people talking about the camp, but I feel silly asking.”

“You shouldn’t hesitate to ask us anything,” the young mother told her. “How else can you learn? You know that we go on the road after the spring planting and the fall harvest for festivals, but the summer and winter we spend in the mountains, just a few days inland from here. Several of the player troupes keep permanent settlements up there.”

“We make enough money during the festivals to pay for the summer and winter off?”

Bethany laughed merrily, causing the baby to smile along with her. “You’re so funny, Meghan. We work harder at home than we do on the road. During the summer, we put on plays and musical performances for people who can afford to come for a vacation, and of course, we have to feed them, house them, and help watch their children. It’s mainly the wealthy farmers and merchants, especially from around the big castles, but we also get the families of barons who aren’t too good to stay in a cabin or a tent. My parents and the others who live there all the time work year-round getting the place fixed up for the summer season. Plus, there are some orchards, hunting, and fishing.”

“Who is your baron?”

“We don’t have one. The mountains are dragon country, going back before the exiles came to New Land. It was all Gwyneth’s territory, and even though she’s gone now, her magic still protects the mountains. Men have tried to dig through the rubble to her lair in search of treasure, but more rock just slides down from the mountaintop.”

“I’ve heard stories about her,” Meghan said, remembering not to admit that she had read the stories. “She’s very old, and she moved here from Old Land a long time ago. Some say she could even visit Dark Earth, like the original dragons.”

“Gwyneth always had a soft spot for players, and the pact she made with the kings of New Land put us all under her protection. The Old World dragon who took over the coast claimed all of her rights, so now we’re actually his subjects. Rowan pays something to him every year, but it’s all done through agents.”

“Has Rowan always been with the troupe?”

“He grew up as a player, but he left when he was sixteen to become a soldier for the White Duke. He was a famous fighter, no man could stand against him in a duel, and he rose to become the head of the duke’s guard. Then an Old Land troupe of players came through on a tour, the first time in over a hundred years, and he fell in love with one of their actresses.” Bethany motioned for Meghan to lean closer and whispered, “She’s supposedly a highborn lady who ran away with players to avoid an arranged marriage, and from the looks of her daughters, I believe it.”

“So why did Rowan leave the White Duke and return to the players?”

“It was right after they married,” Bethany continued in a whisper. “I think he quit the duke because her family and the prince she jilted have powerful friends, and Rowan didn’t want to cause the duke trouble.”

“But that must have been almost thirty years ago. Surely they would have gotten over it by now.”

Bethany shrugged. “Maybe he’d had enough of being a soldier as well. All I know is that we’re always welcome in the White Duke’s castle, and we play our shows there within the walls rather than on the festival grounds.”

Chapter 62

Getting into the Blue Duke’s castle and finding the brewery was easy. Empty wooden kegs with arrows painted on them were positioned at every turn in the labyrinthine passages and galleries that were formed from the arches supporting the upper levels of the castle. If that hadn’t been enough, the occasional group of men rolling a full keg in the opposite direction would have gotten them there eventually.

“It looks pretty popular,” Meghan ventured. “I don’t know how we’re going to find what we came for if there’s a crowd.”

“There better not be a charge to get in,” Bryan responded, looking daggers at an unfortunate man in the Blue Duke’s livery who happened to be passing by.

“More likely there’s a charge for sampling the wares. I asked around before we came, and supposedly this is the best beer in the kingdom.”

“Really?” The young man’s attitude did an about-face, and he stole a glimpse at Meghan. “Did you, uh, bring any money? I meant to, but…”

“I’ll buy you a beer if you behave. Ugh, it doesn’t smell very good.”

Bryan shrugged and began shouldering his way through a crowd of men who blocked their way, Meghan in tow. She was horribly embarrassed by his rudeness and was muttering, “Sorry,” left and right, when she realized that the men weren’t lined up to get into the brewery. They were waiting for their turn at a stone trough that must have run into the castle’s drainage system. She grabbed on to the back of Bryan’s coat, closed her eyes, and stopped apologizing.

“This looks just like a brew pub,” Bryan declared as they entered the cavernous gallery. There were lines of barrels along one wall, half a dozen giant copper kettles, and pipes running everywhere. The crowd inside was nowhere near as bad as the mob in the hall, and as if to provide an explanation, a bell above the bar began to toll. Most of the remaining customers pushed away from the bar reluctantly.

“I guess we just missed the lunch crowd,” Meghan said.

“Lunch? I wonder if they serve food.” Bryan bellied up to the bar and called for two tankards.

“He old enough to be in here?” the barman asked, gesturing at Meghan with his chin. “We’ve had complaints about kids falling off walls and slipping under wagon wheels. This isn’t the small beer you get back on the farm,” he added gruffly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Bryan replied, his eyes searching behind the bar. “You got any food here?”

“Does it look like a cook shop to you?” The barman slid two full tankards in front of them. “Two coppers.”

Meghan fumbled in her change purse, removed three coppers, and pushed them across the bar.

“A proper young gentleman, you,” the barman said, scooping up the money and the tip. “Sorry I took you for a kid. I see you’re just delicate, like an Old World prince.” He laughed at his own joke as he retreated, but quickly returned with a basket full of some kind of little dried fish that had been heavily salted. “On the house.”

“Thanks,” Bryan said, picking up one of the hard little snacks and munching on it. “Hey, these are pretty good. Almost too salty.” He took a long swallow of beer to chase it down.

“That’s why they’re free,” Meghan told him in a low voice. “To get you to drink more.”

“I don’t need little fish for that. So a flue is like a chimney, right?”

Meghan blanched white and stared at him. “What’s wrong with you? Has one sip of beer gone to your head?”

“You have a problem with brewery talk?” Bryan countered, twisting on his stool and looking around the well-lit space. “Those copper kettles are cool. I take back what I said about charging to get in. I wish this place did have a tour.”

“Interested in brewing?” A short man wearing grimy coveralls and a sooty cap materialized at Bryan’s side. “Most people drink village brew, the stuff every widow mixes up in her kitchen cauldron, but we have the most modern facility in New Land. Those copper kettles you were admiring are imported, you know, and that whole wall is honeycombed with air passages for the fires below.”

“I wondered where the heat came from,” Bryan said, winking at Meghan. He motioned to the barman to bring the newcomer a beer, and the short man nodded his thanks.

“Use my tankard, Phil,” the kettle fireman said, settling onto the stool next to Bryan. “Thirsty work, banking the coals, but the manager has a strict rule about drinking on the job, and absolutely no freebies.” He sighed out loud after a long pull at his over-sized tankard, and then stuck out his hand towards Bryan.

“I’m Shep.”

“Pleased to meet you, Shep. I’m Bryan, and this is my little brother.”

“Does the kid have a name?”

“Elstan,” Meghan mumbled.

“Just like the play. Name suits, if you don’t mind my saying. You look a bit girlish,” Shep added.

“How do you heat the kettles?” Bryan asked. “My little brother said it must be magic.”

The fireman laughed outright at Meghan, who lifted her tankard and gulped some beer to cover her irritation over having such dumb words put in her mouth. “Kids think everything is magic, they don’t realize how hard their parents work. If you look around the courtyard when you go back up, you’ll see a little wooden roof on the ground, not far from the main gate. It tips back so the carters can dump in a full load of charcoal, and it all runs down a chute to the fire room below the floor here. We go through enough charcoal to keep a village of burners employed, I tell you.”

“It must get hot down there,” Bryan prompted.

“It’s not that bad,” Shep replied, after draining half of his beer. “When they first built the place, men kept dropping dead for no apparent reason, but a healer came in and said it was something about unseen smoke from burning charcoal to boil the wort. So they hung the guy who designed the place and called in the mages, who worked out how to keep the chimneys drawing and the fresh air moving through. You can actually feel a breeze down there.”

The fireman lifted his over-sized tankard again, finished the contents in a series of giant gulps, and smacked his hand on the bar.

“So there must be a chimney in the courtyard,” Bryan ventured. “I didn’t notice it when we came in.”

“There’s a flue for each coal bed running up the back wall, but we’re almost under the castle’s outer wall here, and the flues all combine in a single chimney that comes out of the ground outside. It almost looks like the architect didn’t know what he was doing and had to add a buttress to the wall. The mouth of the chimney reaches up past the wall-walk.”

“Thanks,” Bryan said. “We’ll have to check that out.”

“Good to see young people interested in something other than magic for a change,” the fireman said, sliding off his stool. “Well, I’d stay for another, but I’m dead on my feet. Took my family to the last night of the festival, and the kids couldn’t fall asleep afterwards.”

As soon as the man was gone, Meghan pushed her tankard away. “The riddle must mean the mouth of the chimney. That’s the place all the flues come together.”

“Or the buttress outside.”

“Come on. The wagons have started rolling by now, and you don’t want them to get so far ahead that we miss dinner.”

“We can walk twice as fast as the wagons, and I’m finishing my beer.”

Meghan fumed while Bryan took his time, looking around at the bar fixtures in between sips. Finally he pushed his tankard away, and she hopped off the stool.

“What are you doing now?” she asked in dismay.

“Finishing your beer,” he replied complacently. “Just because it was a bargain doesn’t mean you should waste it. It cost a copper after all.”

The look on Meghan’s face caused him to drain the tankard in one long chug, after which he rose, feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

“Stop at the trough on the way out,” Meghan said with a scowl. “We can’t have you looking around for a tree in the middle of our escape.”