2. Dragoner for hire.
Dragoner for hire.
HARLOW
I hurry through the busy docks of Dragonest. The job offer was clear: the first dragoner to present himself gets the job. I run my free hand through my sweaty strawberry-blonde hair. I should have gotten a haircut before leaving—my wavy strands tickle the back of my neck—but there was no time.
I’ve been waiting for such an opportunity for weeks. Fire scroungers’ crews are rare; it’s a risky job. The offer appeared on the wall of the local bar late last night. Luckily, I paid the bar owner handsomely for him to keep me informed.
It’s six in the morning, but the fishermen are coming back from their night of work to sell their catch and I have to push my way through carts and hollering buyers. Even at such an early hour, Dragonest is as warm as a dragon’s backside.
Luckily, the airdocks are less busy. Airships are expensive to build and maintain, and they’re mostly owned by the richest people of the city. They like to go on cruises or have fancy dinners high-up in the sky, with the birds as their only witnesses.
The job offer said that they have the Blunder —a strangely named airship—anchored on the fifth airdock. I run along the empty walkways, my heavy bag pulling at my shoulder muscles.
“No way…” I breathe out as I reach the end of the airdock.
The Blunder is unmistakable, as the other two vessels are evidently cruise airships.
She’s… quite literally a ship. A frigate, to be precise, if my naval knowledge is any good.
A hot-air balloon has replaced her mainmast, and they installed propellers at the bottom and on the side of the boat.
They cut out the underside of the hull at the front to install a round observation window.
A metal structure has reinforced the entire ship to help her resist gravity.
A risky enterprise, certainly. Now her name makes terrible sense.
The Blunder floats a few meters above the water, and the only way up is by a narrow ramp connecting with the airdock. The early morning sun reflects on the dark hot-air balloon.
I push my glasses on my sweaty nose. “Is that…?”
“Dragonhide, yes,” someone says behind me.
I turn and come face to face with a young Mandinkan. His almond-shaped eyes crinkle with joy and pride as he looks up at the Blunder . His black hair is pulled back and braided in the style they favor in the Green Isles.
“The entire balloon is made of stitched dragonhide,” he continues. “It’s heavier and harder to work with, but it’s fire resistant. It’s really a given when you work around dragons.”
“Oh,” I say, looking for words. “It’s… She’s the Blunder , right?”
The man grins. “Yeah! Are you our new dragoner? You have the look of one.”
I don’t know if I should take offense or not, so I just nod.
Technically, they haven’t hired me yet. But it looks like I’m the first.
“Neat,” he says. “I’m Kuroki. Nice to meet you. Need a hand with that?”
Before I can say a word, he has pulled my bag off my shoulder and he’s carrying it over the ramp and I’m forced to follow.
As my feet land on the deck, I stare at the dark paint all over the wood. It’s kind of flaky and…
“You’ve got a good eye,” Kuroki says. “It’s dragon blood. Fire-resistant too, but you already know that. We painted the entire ship with it, then coated it with wood lacquer to make it last longer. Good luck setting the Blunder on fire.”
“Brilliant.”
“Thank you, it was my idea,” says a deep voice.
A tall man is coming down the steps leading to the bow.
His long, dark hair falls below his shoulders in a luscious curtain on one side, and shaved on the other.
My eyes widen as I notice the burn on his left cheek, right below his eye.
I wonder if a close encounter with a dragon is the reason for his scar.
A phantom pain pulls at the tender skin of my back.
He’s wearing a long black coat made of dragonhide—it must cost a fortune—and a devilish smile.
I have no doubt that he’s Captain Jayce Hawkins, the man who put out the job offer.
My heart speeds up as his dark eyes roam over me, taking in the ‘adventurer’ outfit I purchased weeks ago when I decided to join a fire scroungers crew.
Supple cotton pants with pockets, leather boots, and a brown vest. I also bought two extra pairs of glasses that I stored in my bag. I’m as blind as a bat without them.
“Let me guess…” he says with a raised eyebrow. “Dragoner?”
Again, I’m not sure if I should take offense or not. I know I have the look of a bookworm, but still…
“Yes. Harlow Prince at your service,” I say with what I hope doesn’t look like a tense smile.
He hums, hands in his pockets. “Aren’t you a little young to be a certified dragoner?”
My smile drops. “I’m twenty seven.”
Dragoners are dragon experts and scientists who graduated from the prestigious university of Dragonest, either by doing a five-year-long master’s degree, or an eight-year-long doctorate. I did the latter.
“We’re mostly used to old geezers,” he says. “But as long as you’ve got your degree, I’m not one to complain. Welcome to the Blunder , Mr. Prince! I hope you have your affairs settled, we’re leaving in an hour.”
“Al—alright,” I stutter. “Fine by me. I’m ready.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” His smile widens, and that’s when I notice his canines are a little pointy, giving his smile an edge.
“Kuroki will show you to your cabin. You’ll meet the crew for breakfast before the takeoff.
We left a few of the previous dragoner’s possessions in your cabin.
We thought you might have a use for them. ”
Before I can say a ‘thank you’, he has walked away.
Very well.
I have a job! I’m leaving for the field…
Gods, what have I done?
I catch up with Kuroki below decks.
“Your cabin is in front of mine,” he says joyfully as we weave our way through crates.
“It’s not big, but we each have our own, so that’s nice.
Except Freddy and Alara, of course. They’re married, so they share one.
It’s slightly bigger than ours. They were the first crew members, so it makes sense that they got first pick. ”
“How many are we?” I ask.
“Seven. The captain, Jayce. Me—I’m the pilot. Then Alara and Freddy, they’re the muscle. Then we have a fantastic but grumpy mechanic, Wilbur. A cook named Gia. She’s the best. And finally, you, our dragon expert.”
It’s a small crew for fire scroungers.
“Why did the last dragoner quit?” I ask as Kuroki pushes the door to my small cabin.
It has a surprisingly decent bed with a soft mattress and a duvet. There is a bolted down chest to store my things in. Tools already fill the chest.
“Oh, he didn’t quit. He died two days ago. Poor guy fell from the ramp during a job. We couldn’t even retrieve his body; he fell into a crevasse. We put an obituary in the paper. We didn’t know if he had any family or…”
I stare, wondering if it’s too late to make a run for it.
Kuroki must have read my expression, because he adds, “Don’t worry!
You should be fine if you avoid sprinting recklessly on the ramp over a great height.
Honestly, Brogan wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, considering he was a scientist and all that…
Anyway, I’ll shut up now, or he’ll come back to haunt me.
” He raises his eyes to the roof. “Sorry Brogan!”
I spare a thought for this Brogan. May he rest in peace. And may I not follow his example.
I can’t give up already. This is important.
“Come on, leave your bag here. Let’s go get breakfast before the others eat everything.”
I follow him to the stern of the ship, where the galley is. It’s a wider room with tall windows letting in the morning light.
The captain is already sitting at the end of the long wooden table with a plate in front of him.
Kuroki does the presentations. There is Alara, a surprisingly small woman considering her role on board.
She looks to be in her forties, with blonde hair and a curvy body.
Her husband, Freddy, is a mountain of a black man with salt-and-pepper hair.
The cook, Gia, has a deeper skin tone than him, and an impressive head of curls.
The mechanic, Wilbur, is a northerner from the look of it, with hair a foxy color and freckles scattered over his tan face.
He’s muscular too, but not as tall as Freddy or the captain.
Their welcome varies from stern nods—Wilbur—to bright smiles—Gia and Alara.
Captain Jayce Hawkins says nothing and is just content to observe me in his unnerving manner again. I don’t know what to think of him.
Gia serves me a generous plate, with a “Here you go, honey,” even though I’m pretty sure we’re the same age.
Kuroki falls on his food ravenously.
“I’ll pay you the same amount I paid our last dragoner. Three hundred crowns a week,” says the captain eventually. “Is that good enough for you?”
I almost spit out my coffee—the beans are expensive in Dragonest, so I’m delighted to oblige. Three hundred is what I used to make working in the university library in an entire month.
“It’s alright. Thank you.”
Alright is the understatement of the century. But fire scroungers risk their lives every day getting close to dragons’ territories, so I guess it’s to be expected.
“For now,” he adds. “If you hold your own out there and stay with us for longer than six months, you’ll get a raise.”
I might complete my fieldwork in six months, but I still nod. Why does it sound like the captain expects me to keel over during the first week? It’s true that dragoners usually find high-ranking jobs in cities and villages in need of dragon-related counseling, but some of us do like the adventure.
I don’t know which category I belong to yet, adventurer or bureaucrat. Adventure—or more like tragedy—always had a way of finding me. It’s the first time I’ll be seeking it of my own accord.
“Very well,” says the captain, standing up. “Let’s scrap. We need to hurry to catch up on the delay. Our return to Dragonest was unexpected, but at least we smoothed over our little… predicament.”
By predicament, does he mean the death of their last dragoner? None of them look particularly heartbroken.
In a minute, the crew has cleared the table, and Kuroki goes as far as to kiss Gia on the cheek before going above deck. I follow their lead, eager to witness the Blunder’s takeoff. My knowledge of airships is rudimentary, at best.
Kuroki disappears inside of a glass dome at the center of the upper deck.
Seconds later, the structure makes sense as he fires up the liquid-fire inside the burner above him, heating the air that will allow the Blunder to rise in the sky.
It protects him from being cooked alive.
It looks like he has some strange machinery and devices in his little control room.
Hot-air balloons and zeppelins are a fairly recent technology created when humanity realized the usefulness of liquid-fire. Which, in turn, prompted the creation of fire scrounger crews to collect the rare fuel.
Wilbur has already disappeared below decks, but Alara and Freddy are untying us from the airdock. We start to rise, and they climb back on board using rope ladders.
I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’m a dragoner, but there are no dragons in a fifty-mile radius.
So, I just walk to the bow to watch the crew work.
The captain is at the helm. I wonder he’s truly steering or if the helm is just the remnant of what the Blunder used to be when she still sailed the seas.
I look at the sky and the clouds getting bigger and bigger.
Then I make the mistake of walking to the bulwark and looking overboard.
Until now, I didn’t know I had a fear of heights. Sure, my legs tingled when I climbed too high on the library’s ladders, but I figured it was nothing out of the ordinary.
But right now, the insanity of my decision catches up to me. I’m on a rickety frigate, a thousand feet above ground, and the only thing separating us from irrevocable death is a hot-air balloon powered by dragon’s breath.
We’re rising fast, and Dragonest is already far enough that I can see the moon crescent shape of its bay.
The almost perfect circle of land gave it its name, as first settlers thought it was a dragon’s nest. Absurd, obviously.
Even the most ancient dragons don’t reach such a size.
Dragonest actually sits on a dead volcano, and the bay used to be the crater that has filled with sea water over the millennia.
I stumble away from the bulwark, fear pushing me to my knees, and close my eyes.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” I mumble like a mantra. I’m going to be sick.
“Already regretting your decision?” the captain says. I don’t know when, but he left the helm to reach me. “Well, we’re not turning back, so you’re stuck with us for the time being, Your Royal Highness.”
“Fuck off,” I say before I can rein it in.
I’m not good at holding my tongue, especially when I’m afraid or angry. And right now, anger is winning. He’s not the first one to make this joke and call me Your Royal Highness , and it was never funny.
I expect him to throw me overboard for my impudence, but his smile only widens. “Welcome on board the Blunder , Mr. Prince. I wish you a pleasant flight with us.”