The Dragons of Argonath (27 page)

Hell, there was a lot of money to be made.

A jingle at the window finally broke into his thoughts. The signal. Frantically he rushed to the narrow window and thrust his hand through with his handkerchief.

There came another jingle, and he pulled it back.

Now he began to sweat.

A few minutes later a party of men dressed as legion soldiers appeared in the Barbican cells. It happened that one of the guards had been called away just a few minutes before. The remaining guard stood to and challenged them, but he was quickly overwhelmed and slain. Soon the door to Glaves's cell swung open.

Outside the cells they turned toward the city wall, where lay the Barbican postern gate. Treachery by an officer in the gatehouse allowed them through. Outside the walls were swift horses, and in a few moments they were in the saddle and riding for the road to Lucule and Aubinas. Porteous Glaves was glad to be out of the treacherous white city, but he was unhappy about the prospect of riding on horseback all night. It was raining steadily, and it was cold. Why his rescuers hadn't at least seen fit to provide a coach, he just didn't understand.

What Porteous Glaves felt about such things was actually quite unimportant in the scale of things that night. Ahead of him and his rescuers, the lush province of Aubinas was already rising in rebellion. The Aubinan flag of independence was being raised in all the important towns. Torches were being carried by runners from Posila through Nellin.

In the morning it would be a fact, Aubinas would have declared independence from Marneri. A government of notable Aubinans was already prepared to take over the reins. The officials of the Marneri authorities would be rounded up and shipped down to Lucule, from where they could make their own way back to the precious "white city" on the Long Sound. Aubinas would be free!

In the Marneri Dragon House the peace of the night had descended at last. The wyverns had stopped singing and gone to their stalls and bedded down. The usual symphony of vast snores reverberated through the house. The Purple Green's extraordinary output provided the leading lines, as usual, while the brasshides snored in basso with very little tremolo. Alsebra expressed notes ranging into the lower edge of alto, often carrying considerable tremolo and variation. Dragonboys were used to it, of course. Dragon Leader Cuzo was getting used to it. He'd stopped using earplugs during the sojourn at Camp Cross Treys.

But a discerning ear soon picked up sour notes in the medley from the huge wild dragon in his double-size stall. He moaned and turned and rolled over, and then turned and rolled back.

Manuel was wide awake by then. He lit the lamp and examined the dragon from the safety of the floor near the door. When the Purple Green turned, he took up the whole stall sometimes. The snoring was definitely all wrong. Something was up. Carefully he moved in closer and put his hand on the inside of the folded-up wing. The Purple Green was hot.

And about to roll over again. Manuel beat a retreat.

He went outside to think this through. His lamp was joined after a few minutes by another. It was Rakama.

"Manuel," said the burly one. "The Purple Green is sick too?"

"He is. And Gryf?"

They were joined a few minutes later by Howt and Jak, then the rest. Relkin was among them. Bazil had awoken, complaining of a burning sensation in his stomach.

"Pretty clear there was something wrong with that sea pie," said Relkin. "We all can see that. Problem is we gotta get it out of them. Make them all vomit it up."

"Right," agreed Swane. "It's the only way."

"Old Macumber taught me way back that wyverns often have trouble with digesting things. One reason they like noodles so much. Macumber said the best thing to do when a dragon was sick to its stomach was to flush it out with a ton of water. He said pump 'em full."

"Let's do it," said Swane.

"We need a pump and some hose."

"There's hoses in the storehouse," said Curf. "There's the fire pipes, and there's water up in the roof tanks."

"Of course," said Relkin in elation. "The fire system! Use the hoses and the roof tanks!"

Boys ran to the fire hydrants and unscrewed the plates that held back the water, which was kept in case of a fire. Others hauled out the coiled-up fire hoses and ran to attach them to the hydrants. Then they hurried to the Purple Green's stall.

The wild dragon was awake and in considerable discomfort. He bellowed at the sight of a bunch of boys in the doorway to his stall.

"What you all want?"

They quailed a bit, but Manuel pressed on.

"We need to get a lot of water into you. Flush out the food you ate. That's what's making you sick."

"Bah! What do you know?"

Manuel stood his ground, though most sensible folk would have run for their lives as the Purple Green lowered his huge head down to the boy's level.

"I studied dragon lore for years. I think I know quite a bit now."

"Oh, do you?" The Purple Green broke off, consumed by a sudden wave of pains. The huge body rolled and contorted itself, tossing the hay pile into a cloud of fragments.

"Yes, I do!" shouted Manuel. Relkin and Swane pushed through the crowd with the first hose, already dripping water as the plate was loosened behind them.

"Here," shouted Relkin. "Take this." He and Swane passed the hosepipe up to the Purple Green as he sat up. Water was streaming from the pipe.

"Drink it down, drink as much as you possibly can, and then drink more. It's the only way. We have to flush it all out of you."

The Purple Green looked down at them. His friend the Broketail dragon had warned him of things like this. The boys studied the dragons, and ended up knowing them better than they knew themselves.

He gave in. Without another word, he put the hose in his mouth and let the water run down his throat. He sat there for about ten gallons, took a rest, and then downed another ten gallons.

They watched with round eyes and awed expressions as the Purple Green began to gag and choke. He expelled the hosepipe and clutched his enormous belly with both front arms.

A roar-scream shook the Dragon House. More gagging and loud-barking sounds were followed by an awesome amount of vomit. The boys staggered back from it, out into the passage gasping in horror. Behind them they left Manuel, frantically trying to get pieces of dragon kit out of the way as the Purple Green let go again and again, and vomited up the huge meal he had eaten only a few hours before.

Thus did the night get truly underway for the dragonboys of the 109th. The same awful process had to be used on the wyverns next, all of them. The brasshides, for some reason, were really resistant and took several rounds of the hosepipe before they finally managed to cleanse themselves of the rest of the fish pie.

By then, of course, there was a search on for any uneaten parts of that pie. The fact that it was only the dragons of the 109th who were stricken was the clincher, since they had shared the beer, but not the pie. The other dragons in the Dragon House had eaten legion dinner. Unfortunately the giant pan had been emptied, washed up, and dried before anyone went to bed. Then a scrap was found on the floor of the refectory, where it had slipped from someone's plate. This was taken away in a glass jar by two mysterious witches who had quietly appeared in the Dragon House during the search.

The Dragon House doctors had shown up quite early in the proceedings, but they found that the dragonboys were already doing the only thing that was worth doing at that point. Until the dragons were emptied out, there was no point in giving them medicine.

At some point during the ordeal, with the Dragon House in complete uproar, someone brought in the news that Porteous Glaves had escaped from the cells in the Barbican. The city gates were being sealed, and a search of the city was underway.

Relkin heard this with a sinking heart. After all those trials, all that testimony, they still hadn't managed to punish Porteous Glaves. And he was sure that Glaves would no longer be in the city. Relkin spat in disgust, but he was too busy to worry about it for long because crisis after crisis racked the Dragon House.

First Alsebra seemed to be going into terminal shock. The vomiting had been so intense that she was struggling to breathe, as if affected by asthma. There was nothing they could do except watch her struggle for her life. Soon the crises of the brasshides drew the boys away as the struggle intensified to save big Chektor and young Churn.

Bazil was the seventh on the list. It turned out that the Broketail had one of the least difficult responses to the sea pie. He sweated some and moaned a bit and complained of nausea even before they began pumping the water into him. After about fifteen gallons went in, he turned aside and began to vomit right away.

By the fourth hour Alsebra's breathing became easier, and in time she began to recover. The brasshides were still very ill, however.

Of course the whole awful thing was a disgusting business. Huge volumes of watery vomit, half-digested fish, pastry, and beer were hurled to the floors of the dragon cells, mixing with straw, spattering everything in sight, and stinking the place to high heaven.

Dragon Leader Cuzo stalked around in a snappish fury, and dragonboys got to work with wheelbarrows and shovels, mops and brooms. At first Cuzo seemed to be more concerned about the image of the 109th Marneri Dragons than about their actual health. But as he realized the depth of the danger, his attitude changed visibly and he took up shovel and broom alongside the others.

The big brasshides suffered the worst cramps and pains, after the Purple Green, and they required more water to induce the endless vomiting that was the only way to clear the toxic food out of their systems. In fact, they had to endure the whole process several times before they finally joined the shivering, groaning wretches who were already beginning the process of recovering. By then the Purple Green was in a deep sleep, with just the gentlest of steady snores.

Tons of clean straw had to be brought down from the hayloft to replace the sodden muck that was being shoveled out of the stalls and sluiced away. This work was handled by the rest of the Dragon House crew, including the dragons who were still well, such as the resident champion Vastrox. With their muscle power in play, the brute work was done swiftly. Then the boys piled in with mops and rags. When the floors of the cells were clean and dried, fresh straw was piled high, and all the exhausted dragons were able to stretch out and fall into troubled sleep.

By dawn the crisis was past. Dragonboys labored on, and Cuzo still worked a huge broom with them. Dragonboys approved of that, and Cuzo's stock had suddenly soared among them.

By midmorning they'd finished, and the section was back to its usual near pristine state. The rain had stopped, and so they gathered outside to enjoy the unaccustomed sun. They were tired and filthy, and there was still a smell in the air, but they knew they'd saved their dragons. Now anger was building at whoever had tried to kill them.

Dragon Leader Cuzo came out to speak to them, almost as filthy as they were.

"A great effort, all of you, and in particular we should acknowledge that Relkin knew what to do and got us moving in the right direction from early on."

There was a modest cheer. Cuzo smiled, then left them to their own devices, and went in to clean up and get himself ready for the day. When he was out of earshot, Swane spoke up in a stage whisper.

"It's good that Cuzo's decided to be nice to us. Ain't we lucky!"

"He mucked in when we needed him. Cuzo's all right!"

Rakama was sitting next to Swane. Relkin thought to himself how strange it was sometimes. Here these two had been at each other's throats just weeks before, and now they were bosom buddies. What next? Were Gryf and Bazil going to be friends too? Somehow that seemed less likely.

"So where did this accursed fish pie come from?" said Manuel, who was squatting, hot and dusty along the wall.

"Independent Grain Traders Association. Who are they?" said Howt of Seant.

"Nobody's ever heard of them," commented Jak. "I already asked."

"I ever find out who they are I'll…" Rakama stopped, unsure just what he would do to whoever it was who'd tried to poison his beautiful green dragon.

"Looks like we should have checked more closely into who they were."

"Hey, who's ever wanted to poison a dragon squadron before?" Swane spread his big hands.

That was true. It was unheard of.

"By the Hand, but they dared much, whoever did this," said Manuel.

They were still there when Jomo, dragonboy to Tecaster, one of the grand old champions, came bounding in.

"It's all over the city!" he yelled as he ran down the line of sections toward the champions enclosure.

"What's all over the city?" said Swane.

"Hey, Jomo!" shouted Rakama. "What are you talking about."

Back came the ominous words. "Aubinas has declared independence!"

The news of the rebellion spread like ripples in a pond. For the first time in the history of the Argonath, a province had declared itself independent and raised a rebel banner.

The trial of Glaves had obviously been an important point of crisis, but his escape from the Barbican had taken the authorities by surprise. Now an inquiry had begun into the treachery that had allowed Glaves's escape. A number of officers from the Marneri guard were sought, but they too had escaped the city and fled.

The news reached Andiquant through seaborne signals. From ship to ship, by signal flags, the word "Rising" followed by an "A" went bouncing down the shipping lanes between Kadein and Cunfshon. On any given day there were a hundred ships or more plying those routes, and in addition, there were the fishing fleets of both the Isles and the Argonath. Thus the signal went from mast to distant mast, and by the middle of that afternoon the word had been received in Cunfshon harbor and on the Tower of Swallows overlooking Andiquant.

The emperor summoned the Imperial Council. After that meeting he closeted himself with the Great Witches Lessis and Ribela for a private discussion.