One Realm Beyond (27 page)
Totobee-Rodolow nodded toward Bixby. “My friend.”
“Ah, yes.” He did his little bow of acknowledgment.
Bixby thought the tight gesture possibly did wonders for his figure. His stomach muscles must be solid. To her, he looked unusually athletic in build, considering he carried bottles and dishes around for a living. She didn’t have much muscle. Well, she did have some skinny flesh on her tiny bones, but to call them muscles was laughable.
She wondered if she should have tried food service. She knew how to cook, but serving might have given her another perspective. Ah well, there was still plenty of time to try something new after this adventure.
The waiter opened the bottle and poured the liquid into Totobee-Rodolow’s glass. She sipped it and nodded. He almost left the table, but the dragon reminded him to pour the beverage for Bixby. That quickly, he had forgotten she was there.
Another waiter came by and recited a list of items being served that evening. When Totobee-Rodolow ordered two entrées he looked a bit concerned.
“Our dragon-size portions are ample, Madame. They tell
me that you were a frequent patron of the Sky Realm some years ago. Our quality and service are the same now as then.”
Totobee-Rodolow laughed lightly, the sound almost like tiny bells. “Have you forgotten my friend?” Again she nodded toward Bixby.
Bixby smiled and waved at the astonished man.
“Oh, I am so sorry, miss. I can’t think how I — I . . .”
“We haven’t taken offense,” said the dragon. “Run along. We’re starved, and I’ve promised Miss D’Mazeline a wonderful meal.”
While they waited, Totobee-Rodolow pointed out different officials, diplomats, councilmen, and, with humorous antecdotes, some eccentric characters.
She waved to a female dragon draped in fluttery chiffon and took the moment to educate Bixby. “Mor dragons like Sallytime-Effinlow attend all the gala events and gather bits of information. They piece together scraps of gossip. Usually these society spies end up with a pretty clear picture of what goes on behind the propaganda issued by the authorities.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Indeed, very. But they’ve written their insurance policies in documents that would be released should they die unexpectedly.”
“I don’t follow.”
“The mor dragons write out what they know and keep it hidden. As long as they’re alive, the information isn’t general knowledge. Should some reprobate want them dead in order to eliminate their intrusion, he’s restrained by the knowledge that
all
his misdeeds will be put before
all
the citizens once the mor dragon is dead. It’s in the villain’s interest to keep
the mor dragon alive, thus the hidden information is called ‘insurance.’ ”
A gleam came to the dragon’s eyes. “Look who just came in.”
Bixby’s head swiveled, and she rose up a little to get a clear view. “That man with the white coat and tan pants?”
“The light is tricky in here, darling. The coat is light yellow and the pants are darker yellow. The man is Krogerill Sandsyellow. He claims he is half mor dragon. Impossible, but I do believe he believes his lies after all these years. Don’t worry your head about him. He’s perfectly harmless, just needs attention.”
Their meal arrived, delivered by a different waiter. Totobee-Rodolow had to point out that her friend sat beside her and would like her dishes to be placed accordingly.
Bixby smiled good-naturedly at the man’s discomfort, hoping to ease his embarrassment. Previously, when she’d worn the obscuring tiara, she hadn’t kept popping out of the background to be noticed.
The food reminded Bixby of the cuisine of her parents’ home. Their talented cook assembled tender meats, steamed vegetables, luscious fruits, and delectable desserts. Totobee-Rodolow had kindly ordered food that Bixby had been missing, dishes popular in her homeland.
Three men and a lady in somber attire entered and sat on the stage. They pulled out large instruments from small hampers and played softly as the restaurant filled with patrons in high spirits. Totobee-Rodolow continued her identification of the people and dragons she recognized.
“It’s a shame, darling, that I can’t name everyone in the room. I’ve been away too long. But tomorrow, Clarart will
give us up-to-date information.” She paused, looking at the door. “Aha, at last, here is the person who knows how to reach Dukmee.”
“Are you going to send for him? Will you wave him over if he looks this way? Perhaps I should go speak to him?”
Totobee-Rodolow hushed her. “No, no, no, darling. There is no need. He will see that we are here, and he will tell Dukmee. Tomorrow or the next day, Dukmee will contact us.”
“But I have on the obscure tiara. He might not notice me.”
“Not this one. No, this one will see you in spite of the shadow protecting you. He is a great one.”
“His name?”
“At this time?” The dragon smiled, lips curved, head tilted, and a dreamy look in her eye. “I have no idea what his name is at this time.”
“Since we aren’t going to talk to him, can we leave now? I’m very tired.”
“Oh no, darling, that would never do. If we left right after he arrived, people who notice things like that might assume there is a connection. We mustn’t let them prattle.” She gestured to the waiter. “We shall have our sweet and then depart.”
Bixby sat in silence while nibbling on a dessert of hot chocolate sauce over a delicious mocha cake layered with pudding. Her stomach protested, and she put down her spoon. Totobee-Rodolow continued to savor her portion. For just a moment, Bixby marveled over the amount of food dragons consumed. Then she turned her attention to the crowd in the room.
The number of patrons entering diminished, and some of the early arrivals left. Bixby reviewed the names and information she’d acquired on each person who remained. She
caught some people watching Totobee-Rodolow, but none who noticed her, until she came to the man with no name.
He wore fine clothing over a medium, stocky build. Bixby surmised that muscle made up his bulk, because his face showed no evidence of fat. His dark, straight hair parted in the middle and draped over his collar. Smooth eyebrows, a straight nose, planed cheeks, lips ready to smile, and a stubborn chin combined to make a very attractive man. Though she couldn’t even see the color of his eyes, they claimed her attention.
He looked directly at her. Their eyes met, and she reached to connect with his mind. Just like with Dukmee, she encountered a wall.
He smiled, winked, then shifted his gaze away. She felt like she’d been politely dismissed. Her fatigue slipped away, replaced by energy to move and move quickly. Enthusiasm for being a walker and solving problems throughout the realms bubbled through her veins.
Totobee-Rodolow’s hand rested on her arm.
“Calm down, darling. His effect will send you rushing from one good deed to another if you let it. Take deep breaths and restore quiet in your soul. You’ll be a better walker if you work from a center of peace. Frenzied do-gooders do great harm.”
“How do you know him?”
“He rescued me from my former life as a constant.”
B
ridger slept well. Cantor knew because he observed the dragon . . . all night. The great beast breathed slowly, resting deeply, with only an occasional snort, while Cantor tossed and turned all night. He had disturbed the gentle Jesha’s rest several times. When he turned over and grunted, the cat had given him impatient looks. With obvious disdain for Cantor’s lack of manners, she stood and stretched and settled herself again on Bridger’s back just behind the dragon’s folded wing.
He tried to engage his mind in a useful pastime, to make plans to search for Ahma, refusing to believe they would find her remains in the debris. But his attention flitted from mission to memory like a leaf in an autumn breeze.
From long experience, he knew the sunlight would bathe the house when it came up in the morning, giving them plenty of light to search for clues about Ahma’s whereabouts. Those pleasant early rays had warmed the cabin after many a frigid night.
He thought of the hundreds of mornings when he had awakened to the bright light streaming in the windows, and to the smell of coffee and bacon. Ahma sometimes sang in the morning, and he would join her before he even rolled out of bed.
She told him that his name meant singer, a special singer. A cantor led others singing praises to Primen in houses of worship. He’d never seen such a house, but Ahma assured him that he would see them in Gilead.
This morning the sun did wake him, so he must have finally dozed off. He sat up and looked around the yard and buildings that had been home to him for many years. Without Ahma or the animals, and with the cabin a burnt and collapsed shell, no tender feelings urged him to stay.
Bridger made breakfast while Cantor examined the inside of the house. He looked for a clue that would tell him how the fire started. He looked again outside for a note or notice from Ahma. And most of all, he looked for bones.
He found nothing.
Relieved and frustrated at the same time, he went back inside. Perhaps he could find one of Ahma’s lists still intact — anything that might give him a clue as to what she was doing the day of the fire. He stood quietly for a moment, allowing his aversion to instruments of writing to guide him to a fallen shelf, glad that for once the bizarre weakness could work to his advantage. A partially melted tin cup held the ashes of Ahma’s writing tools. He examined the area, but the blackened paper he found crumbled in his grasp.
Next, he tromped among the ashes, using the toe of his boot to dislodge larger pieces of wood. He found a tin ladle massively warped by the heat. Several books bore a few unscathed paragraphs in the middle, surrounded by damaged
pages. He looked in the cupboard where his bed resembled a huge campfire, long cold, with only bits of charcoaled wood evidence of the blaze.
Kicking aside several pieces of small beams, he smiled at a relatively unscathed square section of the floor.
Cantor raised his voice to call to his dragon friend. “Bridger, can you leave that for a few minutes and help me lift this beam?”
The dragon straightened from stooping by the pot on the fire. He had a wooden spoon in his hand.
“It depends on what’s under there.”
“A hole in the floor. It’s where Ahma kept her valuables. The floorboards are scorched here, but it doesn’t look like they burned through.”
Bridger put down the spoon and came to the house. Puffs of ash marked each step he took. He trampled what looked like a piece of chair, and a dish cracked with an explosive pop when he flattened it. Jumping at the snapping sound, Bridger didn’t carefully choose the next spot to put down his foot. His toes caught on a rafter, and he landed prostrate before Cantor.
A cloud of ash billowed up and encompassed them both. Coughing, Cantor reached a hand down to help his dragon friend up. When the air cleared a bit, he pointed to the square of flooring he’d found.
“I’ll take this end.” Cantor bent over the end of a blackened beam. “You take the other. If we can move it a few feet in your direction, I can uncover the trapdoor.”
Bridger gasped. “Do you think Ahma’s down there?”
“It’s much too small for her to crawl into. I’m convinced she got out of the house. Then when it burned all the way down to the ground, she decided it was time to move.”
“That’s very reasonable. That’s probably exactly what happened.”
“Are you ready? On my count of three. One, two, three!”
They both grunted. With the beam out of the way, Cantor went back to push aside smaller chunks of wood. Bridger came closer to watch as Cantor felt around the edge of a plank until he found a fingerhold. He pulled off the cover to the hiding place and set it aside.
“It’s here.” He pulled out a limp sack and held it up. “Ahma’s hamper.”
He stood to pick his way through the rubble and out of the demolished cabin.
Bridger followed. “Do you know what’s inside?”
“Our stash of gold and silver. She always collected way more than I did, but I never figured what she traded to acquire the wealth. Probably herbs and advice. Believe me, she had plenty of advice. I earned traps by doing odd jobs for people. A strong back and nimble fingers come in handy.”
He fingered the material of the limp bag. “Ahma always took care of the money. Sometimes I thought the traps just multiplied like rabbits. I’m not sure how this hamper works. In theory, the traps will have been cozy in a dimensional void. The heat from the fire shouldn’t have reached the gold. But if it did, all the traps will be melted together. That will make them awkward to use.”
He knelt on the grass and opened the drawstring top. He sniffed and coughed. “Smells like smoke.”
“Is it a vault? Can you stick your hand in there without getting hurt?”
“I never even knew about vaults until Bixby explained. Yes, I can remove the traps.”
“Well, do it! I’ve never seen more than a couple of traps at a time.”
Cantor looked up at the dragon, his hand shading his eyes from the sun. “You’re not planning to rob me, are you?”