The Golden Cage (52 page)

A voice muttered something harsh that he didn't understand.

‘What? Is there someone there?' Benfro's words sounded oddly thick to him, slurred and heavy.

‘I said watch where you're sitting. You're not the only one in here.'

‘Sorry. I didn't realize.' Benfro shuffled himself as best he could away from the voice, backing himself into a corner. Only then did he realize that the words had been spoken in Draigiaith. Not only that, they were perfectly formed, the voice itself deep and old, slightly reminiscent of Sir Frynwy. Not the speech of men.

‘I don't mean to be rude, but where are we? And who are you?'

‘I am Magog, Son of the Summer Moon. But you can call me Moonie.' Something shifted in the darkness, a looming presence dragging itself across the floor towards him. The light playing on the ceiling should have been enough for Benfro to see by, but the same cloud that fogged his thoughts robbed him of his keen eyesight. All he could make out was a glint, perhaps the reflection of an eye. Then he felt hot breath on his face, rancid with the taint of rotten meat. ‘And you must be my brother Gog. I've been waiting for you. Where have you been all these years?'

‘No, I'm Benfro. Sir Benfro.' The presence in front of him withdrew; there was a shuffling sound and something slumped against the far wall, upsetting the regular motion for a moment.

‘A shame. And I was so sure. I was –' But whatever the creature was, Benfro didn't find out then. The cage stopped suddenly, throwing him forward so that he sprawled painfully on the floor. He heard the noise of bolts being drawn, a key turning in a lock, and then light flooded over him.

Benfro looked up to the far end, where the creature was slumped. It was almost impossible to make out the dragon who sat there, his colouring so perfectly matched the dark wood. He seemed thinner than Benfro, though otherwise much the same size. Except for his wings, which, while large for the dragons of the Ffrydd, were pathetic in comparison with Benfro's own. But what grabbed Benfro's attention most, what filled him with fear and pity and anger, was the expression on the dragon's face, the look in his eyes. He was frightened, broken and quite, quite mad.

Something hit Benfro square in the back. Whatever it was that had been distancing his mind from his body dissolved in one instant of exquisite pain. He yelped, turning to see what had happened, and saw a man standing in the open doorway clasping a long whip in one hand. The man said something in a voice that sounded like it was used to being obeyed.

‘I don't understand.' Benfro held up his hands. His wrists were cuffed in iron, a short length of chain looping between them.

‘He says you're to behave yourself and stop spooking the horses. Otherwise he'll –' Benfro felt the tip of the whip fly past him across the room and saw it hit the other dragon square in the face. Magog, as he called himself, shrieked, dropped to the floor and covered his head with his hands, speaking quick words in the same language as the man. He in turn hurled what sounded like abuse at the dragon, then turned to Benfro.

‘So. Not speak Llanwennog, do you. Will learn. Not learn, not eat. Now be still.' And with that he slammed the door shut, plunging them once more into darkness. Moments later the regular rhythmic motion started again with a first sudden lurch that had Benfro sprawling on the floor once more, just as he was beginning to lever himself upright.

‘Hee hee. You upset Tegwin. You don't want to be doing that. He can be nasty. And old Loghtan's worse still.'

Benfro started to struggle up again, then remembered the man's words and the pain of the whip. Perhaps when his head had cleared a bit more he'd teach this Tegwin a lesson, but for now it might be best to get rid of these chains. Taking a deep breath, Benfro held his arms up in front of him and pulled them apart to stretch the links taut. He thought of how they were an affront to his dignity, how they would be better off gone, and he tried to remember the feeling that had spread through his stomach before. Then he breathed out.

There was no flame.

Puzzled, Benfro took another deep breath and tried again. And still he failed to produce so much as a spark. It should have panicked him, should have angered him. Thinking about it, he realized that being in chains should have angered him too, and yet he had accepted it as merely a bit of an inconvenience. Something was deeply wrong with his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Instead he settled himself back down on the floor, the weight of his body coming down hard on his arms. They would hurt later, when the circulation came back into them, but right now he was too tired, too confused to care. He closed his eyes, for all the difference it made in the darkness, and tried to sleep, but the other dragon kept muttering under his breath.

‘Magog?' Benfro said, wondering how this pathetic creature had come by the name. The muttering stopped, so he assumed he was being listened to. ‘What is this place? Where are we? And who's Loghtan?'

‘Loghtan is the boss man. Oh yes. You think Tegwin's nasty with his little whip. Just wait till you meet Loghtan. Takes away your thoughts, he does. Takes away your mind.'

‘But where are we? How did I get here?'

‘We're in the circus, brave Sir Benfro. Oh yes. In the circus.'

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First published by DevilDog Publishing 2012
Published in Penguin Books 2013
This edition published 2014

Copyright © James Oswald, 2012

Cover illustration © Sam Headley

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

ISBN: 978-1-405-91774-2