A Tale of Two Castles(16)

In the daylight, thieves. At night, murderers?

A few houses remained, and he might yet enter one of them, but I couldn’t wait. I darted to the town wall and stood with my back against it, hoping to disappear into its shadow.

The figure, a man, passed through the gate.

Mrrow? from near my feet.

The man halted.

I cursed Two Castles for its cats. My muscles tensed with fear.

“Who goes there?” His voice was sharp, challenging.

The cat rubbed my legs.

The man waited. I waited. The cat leaned into my calf.

Finally the man continued, and in a minute I saw him by castle torchlight. It was Master Dess! Master Dess, without his cows and donkey, but still with his kitten basket.

I almost called to him. Now that I was ITs assistant, I could return his three tins. But his voice had been so harsh, I didn’t dare.

He knocked twice on the gatehouse door, then pounded—bang! bang! bang!—then knocked twice again. A signal?

The drawbridge dropped to let him cross. I remained where I was until he must have reached the castle. The cat made tiny noises, washing itself.

I left it behind. As I followed Owe Street west, I caught a whiff of spoiled eggs. The odor grew with every step.

The street ended at a structure such as I’d never seen before, as big as four houses and twice as tall, with a roof that reminded me of interlaced fingers, pointing upward. The fingers, made of tree trunks, twisted and curved, lashed together by iron bands. Smoke filtered in wisps between the fingers and rose in a thicker plume from a chimney on the other side of the edifice. The walls were made of wattle and daub, as an ordinary cottage would be.

The shape of the building was a rough circle, ringed at regular intervals by rainwater vats as high as my shoulders. The wooden door, big enough to admit a dragon, stood open.

ITs lair. I waited in the shadow outside for a long minute before crossing the threshold.





Chapter Nine

Masteress Meenore faced me from halfway across the single enormous room, where stench seemed to have replaced air. I swallowed repeatedly and tried not to gag.

“Do you like my perfume?” The smoke from ITs nostrils changed from white to blue.

Blue smoke meant shame!

I begged my eyes not to water, but they watered anyway. Should I lie?

IT would know.

Soften the truth?

IT would know.

“Do you like it, Lodie?”

I breathed deep without choking. “Like it? Enh enh enh.”

Enh enh enh. Enh enh enh. Enh enh enh. “My odor is terrible. But you will get used to it, Elodie.”

Ah, Elodie. I shrugged off my cloak and hung it on a hook by the entrance. The lair was warm even with the open door.

“You would like to eat.” IT lumbered to the fireplace, which was set into the wall across from where I stood.

How strange, a fireplace in a dragon’s lair.

Wood had been laid, but there was no fire. Above the hearth, a cauldron hung on an iron rack from which also dangled a stew pot, a soup pot, and sundry long-handled spoons. To the left of the hearth sat the basket of coins and the basket of bread-and-cheese skewers. I crossed the room to lay my satchel down by the baskets.

Masteress Meenore breathed flame on the hearth logs. I took a skewer and held it out to the fire. The scent of bread and cheese improved the air.

When the skewer was toasted, I blew on it to cool it, although I could hardly wait. A human-sized bench and a tall three-legged stool were drawn close to the fire. I sank onto the bench. The bread tasted as sweet as a scone, and the oozing cheese was sharper than any I’d ever sampled.

Masteress Meenore—my masteress!—took two skewers between ITs right-claw talons. IT lowered ITself until IT reclined facing the fire, leaned on ITs left elbow, and thrust the skewers up to ITs wrist into the heart of the fire.

I gasped, although a dragon wouldn’t burn. After a minute or two, IT pulled the skewers out and devoured them entirely, bread, cheese, and wood.

“The skewers are pine. I enjoy the resin.”

What else did IT like the flavor of?

In ITs uncanny way, IT answered my thought, “I prefer cypress wood, but the boatwrights take it all. I will not eat oak under any circumstance. I dine also on what humans eat and pebbles when I feel too light. On occasion I swallow knives, but they do not sit well.” IT cooked and ate two more claws-full of skewers, then belched. ITs smoke shaded blue again. “Pardon me.”

I nodded and tucked away three more skewers myself.

IT rose. “I shall return shortly.” When IT moved, I saw that ITs belly had covered a huge trapdoor. “Do not take a single coin from the basket while I’m gone. I will know.”

“I’m not a thief!”

“And do not open the trapdoor.” IT clumped outside.

Without ITs presence and despite the fire, the air chilled. I drew my cloak around me again and approached the trapdoor. The wood was heat-blackened but firm when I touched it. The handle was a ring of iron.

I was not a mistress of deduction or induction, but I needed neither to guess what lay below: ITs hoard. Every dragon was reputed to have one. I might be standing on wealth enough to buy the ogre’s castle.

ITs wealth, not mine. I returned to the fireplace bench, sat with my back to the fire, and surveyed the lair.

Light came from the fire and the dozen torches that were spaced around the edge of the room. With IT gone, I could smell the greasy torch rags.