Chapter Four
The fading daylight matched Robert’s mood. He tried not to walk as though his feet were stones, and his heart an anchor, but they were, and both his friends knew it, though they said nothing. This was always Robert’s way after a day spent trapping dragons: something they accepted with love and concern, if no actual understanding. To Ostvald Grandin, Robert’s occasional assistant, the only sensible response was to pass by these aftereffects as he passed by most things that would otherwise trouble him: a useful habit in a young man whose sole gifts from Nature were a certain slow serenity of thought and the muscles of a dray horse. “I may be lumpy as a sack of doorknobs,” he often said, “but at least I’m useful. That’ll do me.” Now he put his strength to work pushing the heavy cart that held their day’s catch, focusing his attention not on his friend, but on the muted hissing and spitting he could hear inside the skin-covered metal cages, and on keeping the cart’s wheels out of ruts.
Elfrieda Falke, by contrast, worried horribly about Robert at these moments but had long ago learned to veil her concerns behind a smile. She bounced along brightly, a little bit of a girl with raven-black eyes and hair, so light-footed by nature that she seemed always to be dancing, even when she was walking soberly into church. If the captive dragonlets bothered her—and they did—she was determined to give no sign.
The three had shared a round at Jarold’s tavern, after Robert and Ostvald had finished clearing Medwyn and Norvyn’s shop and barn, this time with a full and doubly profitable sweep for eggs: for once the two merchants’ wounds (and wounded dignity) had overmatched their penury. Now Robert was turning off for home at the crossroads, which also served as the burial ground for local suicides, while Ostvald and Elfrieda went on together toward their own families’ dwellings.
Elfrieda gave Robert a quick, shy hug and a kiss on the cheek, which he barely seemed to notice. “You’ll come tomorrow, then?” she asked him.
“Of course. After I’m done at the market. And after I’ve bathed for an hour. A shandy fair’s not much fun for anyone if you can’t smell the gaff for the muckfumes. Ostvald, can you help with the cart in the morning?”
“Wish I could, but I’m hodding for Yager till three past and more. They’re finally set to raise the south wall of the granary, so they’ve laid on extra masons. I’ll be climbing up and down the scaffold all day.”
“Trade you.”
“No chance.” The cart rocked hard for a moment, as something banged inside the covered metal cages with an angry shriek, and a trickle of smoke leaked out through gaps in the dragoncord stitching. “That’s the white, I bet. God’s eyes, Robert, when you went after that one…” Ostvald shook his great shoulders. “It breathing fire straight at you and all, and those poison teeth… well, I couldn’t have done it. Not ever.”
“Don’t make it bigger than it was,” Robert said. “Not outside the tavern, anyway. Vegrandis aren’t poisonous until they’re three years old. This lot was fresh-hatched. Ill-tempered as they come, no doubt of that, but any biting they do would be work for the barber, not a priest. You could have handled it if it had gotten past me.”
“I push the cart, and carry the tools, and glad of the coinage. That’ll do me.”
Elfrieda said teasingly, “Ostvald doesn’t like things that bite. That’s why you’ll never see him alone with Alphonsine Yager, no matter how much she tries to lure him into the bushes. He knows she’s got teeth.”
Ostvald looked at Elfrieda unhappily but made no answer. Robert felt himself smiling a little, and was grateful for it. “Till tomorrow, then,” he said, taking over for Ostvald behind the cart. With a grunt he swung it around to face the straight path homeward, then set his shoulder in place for a starting shove. He wasn’t as strong as his stout friend, but he’d pushed this cart for six years as his father’s apprentice, and another three years on his own; its creaking weight and his shoulder were comfortable old acquaintances.
Elfrieda walked on with Ostvald, chattering happily, while he grew even more silent, because most of her talk was of Robert: of his wit, his kindness, his care for his family; of his skill and fearlessness in dealing with dragons. Ostvald’s responses were largely monosyllabic, sometimes no more than a wistful grunt, as he stared at Elfrieda’s curly black hair bouncing on her shoulders. He was still smarting after her mention of Alphonsine, wondering what Elfrieda knew that he did not, and wishing he was as good with words as he was with bricks, mortar, and the general movement from here to there of extremely heavy objects.
They were within sight of Ostvald’s ramshackle house—Elfrieda lived some way farther on—when they saw King Antoine and four obvious princes approaching on horseback. The encounter itself was almost as surprising as the five riders’ appearance: to a man they looked weary and more than slightly bedraggled. The hem of the King’s robe was heavy with mud, and the princes’ boots and the horses’ legs striped with it, up to the hocks in both cases.
Ostvald and Elfrieda stopped where they stood and bowed respectfully. They knew perfectly well that the King himself never insisted on such courtesies, but they couldn’t be sure about the princes.
The King bowed back and winced, immediately regretting the obligations of civility. The muscles in his back and neck were knotted as tangled fishing line. Hours before, he had ridden forth from the castle in a state of considerable tension, and nothing had happened since to improve things. There was, to begin with, the matter of the princes in his company, an assortment about whom he held decidedly mixed feelings, and not merely as prospective sons-in-law. Their determination to thrust themselves into any task at hand that might charm the Princess Cerise, no matter how small, did not impress him. He had always loved his private expeditions away from the castle, because they gave him time for the long, slow thoughts that were necessary for him to make up his mind about anything, and he had hoped that this ride would allow him to reflect on the hidden implications of Reginald’s visit. But considered thinking was well-nigh impossible in the princes’ fractious company. To King Antoine their vanity and insistent self-concern seemed the stuff of yappy, ill-bred puppies, and showed far less character than he considered suitable in a proper mate for his daughter.
Then of course there was the dratted dragon-exterminator himself, who appeared to have mastered the knack of invisibility. No one the King had encountered since setting forth had seen the man, but all had offered some earnest, if futile, suggestion, each lead sending the august assembly down a muddier path than the last.
“Your pardon, my good people,” King Antoine addressed Ostvald and Elfrieda, with grace but no real hope. “Would you happen to know where we may find the dragon-exterminator Thrax? Been looking for hours, you know. I knew his father, Elpidus, but just now I can’t think of the boy’s name—Horatius, is it? Justinian?”
“It’s Robert, sir,” Elfrieda replied eagerly. “And he’s not a boy anymore. He’s eighteen, and nearly as tall as his father was, with blond hair down to his shoulders, except he mostly keeps it tied back. You can’t mistake him. You can find him on his way home now, I suspect. We just left him a few moments ago.”
The King brightened. “My dear, I can’t possibly tell you how grateful I am for your assistance. Ah… you’re sure?”
“Oh yes, milord.” Elfrieda turned and pointed back the way she and Ostvald had come. “Follow this lane to the crossroads, then turn south along the knoll path and head straight on about a quarter mile. It’ll be the third house you come to. It’s well back from the road, so you might miss it, but if you do miss it, you’ll know right away when you get to the fourth house. Because of the big dogs.”
“Big dogs,” Ostvald said, eyeing the princes.
The King and the four princes looked long at each other. The King said finally, “Well, you fellows can go back to the castle if you want, but I can’t. Not without the dragon chap.”
“We might as well continue with you,” answered one of the princes.
“Yes,” said the second prince in line. “Perhaps we shall get bitten by the big dogs and die horribly.”
“Which would be better than lingering on hopelessly, like moths fluttering about your daughter’s bright flame,” added the third. “Much, much better.”
The rearmost prince said simply, “I am afraid to think about talking to the Princess tomorrow. I will come.”
“Well, then,” King Antoine said, more convinced than ever that there had been a general decline in princes since he had been one. “There we are.” He waved courteously to Ostvald and Elfrieda, and nodded as far as his poor neck could manage. “A delight to meet you both, I’m sure. And my royal thanks for your helpfulness.”
Elfrieda and Ostvald stood to one side, silent together, and watched the searchers ride by. When they were out of view, Elfrieda said worriedly, “I hope they don’t miss Robert’s house. It’s getting dark.”
“Shouldn’t have told them where he lives,” Ostvald grumbled. “Don’t tell kings nothing—that’s what I say. Tell ’em nothing, you can’t go wrong.”
Elfrieda gave Ostvald the look he always dreaded: a blend of scornful impatience flavored with tolerance. “What are you talking about? Dragon-exterminator to the King—do you know what that would mean for him? For his family, with six mouths to feed, and two of them hungry as Hannibal’s elephants?” She gripped his shoulders and shook him playfully. “And what could it be for you, did you ever think of that? The two of you—in and out of the castle, practically like royalty yourselves!”
Ostvald was slow to answer her, because he liked the feeling of her hands on his shoulders. It muddled his thoughts. “All I know, a king’s looking for you, it’s never a good sign.”
“Oh, you!” Elfrieda said in exasperation. “Some other time I’m going to explain a few things to you, Master Grandin. But not tonight—I have to run, there’s stitching to do, and it’s my turn to milk in the morning. Come to the fair when you finish work. I’ll see you then.” She scampered off, turning to call back, “Unless I’m very lucky!”
She hurried on with a wave and a smile, to indicate it was meant as a joke, never guessing how much Ostvald mournfully agreed with her.
Queen Hélène was in the parlor—or, anyway, the homely private chamber that she always referred to as the parlor—when her equerry ushered in the tall, staggeringly handsome young Prince, and the smaller man who trailed behind him at a respectful distance. Similar types had been nineteen to the dozen around Castle Bellemontagne since Cerise achieved a marriageable age, but even so, the Queen would never have mistaken Reginald for any of them. He was simply… more so, in every inch of him, the original champion beside whom all others were copies of greater and lesser skill. Despite herself, she could feel a rush of sympathy for her daughter’s passionate tears.
“Reginald! Dear old Krije’s son! I should have known you anywhere—you’re the very image of your father!” It was a lie, of course, on at least three different levels, but that was two less than she’d been prepared for. “I beg your forgiveness and welcome you as I would welcome him.” She rose and crossed the bare stone floor to embrace the young man, then held him off to study his perfectly cut features. “And here you are, come courting my Cerise! She will be even more thrilled than I am, I promise you.”
“Um,” said Crown Prince Reginald of Corvinia. “Well. Yes. I mean—the fact is that I’m rather erranting, don’t you know. That’s it, just… wandering with my squire here”—one of Mortmain’s eyebrows flickered the least trifle—“looking for adventure. Adventure, that’s the word. Adventure. Yes.”
“And what greater adventure than that of the heart?” the Queen said warmly. “Now, Cerise usually interviews her princes only once a month—I mean, the child has to have a bit of a life, at least, what with all her other responsibilities. I don’t know what we’ll do without her, once some gallant has at last gained her hand.” She sighed deeply and fondly, then continued, saying, “So ordinarily you’d just have to keep wandering and adventuring until her next audience—but, as it happens, today’s session was unavoidably interrupted, so it’s being carried over to tomorrow morning, and I’m certain she will be much more than happy to include you in her schedule. I’ll see to it myself.”
She squeezed Prince Reginald’s hand between both of hers. “Now you must tell me, how is that grand old bear of a father of yours?”
Reginald shot a frantic glance at Mortmain, who moved forward as smoothly as though he were on tracks, or small wheels. “Well, Your Royal Majesty, if I may venture to speak—”
Then the door to the parlor opened, and the Princess Cerise walked in.
She had changed her dress, redone her hair and her makeup, and was smiling in shy embarrassment at the Queen, saying, “Mother, I’m sorry, I’m all right now,” when she saw Reginald. To her credit she did not squeal or faint, nor did she begin weeping again, and with some effort she managed to keep from breaking out in hysterical giggles. She merely said, “Eek,” in a very small voice, and stared, and sat down—in a chair, fortunately, not that she would have noticed.
Smiling in delight, Queen Hélène said, “Darling, I know you’ve already met, but may I informally present Crown Prince Reginald of Corvinia?”
“Yes,” the Princess said in the same small voice. “You may.”
Again Reginald looked desperately at Mortmain, who could only shake his head. Never having met Princess Cerise, Reginald was currently undergoing his own version of the seismic tremors that affected any man upon seeing her for the first time, overlaid with a heavy dollop of simple but heartfelt calculation. If thoughts could be made audible, his would have sounded like the sudden thunking snap of a ballista.
The Prince blinked a good deal; then suddenly brightened, remembering the odd young girl scribbling by the stream. “Oh,” he said. “Oh. Yes, of course, we’re already acquainted—practically old schoolmates or something, absolutely.” He bowed over Cerise’s hand, lifted from her lap almost by force. “Charmed, charmed.” When he stepped back to Mortmain he was still smiling, but out of the side of his mouth he muttered, “Never said she was a princess. How’s a fellow to know, if they don’t say?”
Cerise did not hear him. Cerise was aware of nothing, in fact, but the rejoicing of the blood in her veins and the throbbing of her skin itself, as it turned white and pink and white again. She gazed at Reginald very nearly as blankly as he stared at her, until the moment she finally realized that her mother, somewhere far away, was speaking.
“Cerise, why don’t you take your friend for a tour of the castle grounds? I know it won’t be what you’re used to, dear Reginald, but perhaps you’ll find it has its own quaint appeal.” She paused and frowned. “Cerise? Cerise?”
“Mais oui, Mother,” Cerise answered. She rose unsteadily from the chair, as Reginald—prodded only slightly by Mortmain—offered his arm.
Queen Hélène sighed as she watched the two of them leave the room, the beautiful Prince explaining earnestly, “Actually, I’m just wandering, you know. Needed to get away for a bit—see something of the world, have an adventure or two. That sort of thing. Serious business, adventuring.” If her daughter made any reply, the Queen did not hear it: but the glow in the girl’s eyes and cheeks was easily enough observed, and this time they had nothing to do with tears.
“Young people,” she said wistfully to Mortmain. “Young people.”
“Yes, Your Royal Majesty,” replied Mortmain, making leave to follow his charge and lord. “The eternal wonder, to be sure.”
At Robert’s house, his mother and sisters—despite the hour, the boys were not yet home from the fields—exclaimed over the white dragon he had brought inside from the cages. Jaws tightly noosed, wings and hind legs strapped, still angry from the forced journey in the cart, the vegrandis crouched and bristled on the kitchen table. Adelise stood on the tabletop as well, just out of claw reach, inspecting it belligerently, her neck frill fully erect, while Lux hissed an out-and-out challenge before flapping to a perch on the cook fire’s mantel stone. Reynald, on the other hand, was fascinated by the newcomer. He tried to match tails with it, a game that nearly got him gouged for his trouble. Robert whisked him out of harm’s way, placing him on a chair for safekeeping, next to Fernand, who had given one disinterested glance at the proceedings and then gone back to sleep.
Rosamonde asked, “What are you going to name it?”
“I don’t know her name yet. Stop it, Adelise,” Robert said as the green dragonlet snapped once at the newcomer. “I mean that!”
“Can I name it?” Patience pleaded. “I never get to name anything, and it’s not fair.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t choose their names,” Robert said patiently. “Dragons tell you what they like, if you wait.” He shot a quick glance toward the mantel stone. “And no trouble from you either, Lux!” The gray, whose hind legs had been bunched in preparation to swoop, subsided with a crackling grumble.
“How do they tell you?” asked Patience. “They can’t talk. All they ever do is make noises.”
“It’s not words. They just do. You have to wait really hard, until you feel the name. It takes practice.” Robert gripped Adelise gently behind the frill and set her nose-to-nose with the larger stranger. She hissed savagely, wide-stretched jaws crowded with teeth no less sharp for their minuscule size, but did not attack. The white dragon responded by lashing her neck violently from side to side, and digging her foreclaws into the wood, the only threat displays she could currently manage. Robert caught one of her horns between two fingers and his thumb, holding her head steady now as well, then bent close to say—not loudly, but as clearly and precisely as he could—“Adelise, this is a friend. She is going to live here with all of us, from now on, and you will be her friend too—you and Lux and Reynald and Fernand. As for you, my nameless one, in this house you will be warm and welcome so long as you behave yourself, which I know you can. And don’t either one of you pretend that you don’t understand me, because I’m almost as smart as a dragon, and I know better.”
He released them both. The vegrandis blinked her odd-colored eyes, one blue and one gold, and tilted her head quizzically. Adelise hissed again, but half-heartedly. Her neck frill sank slowly back to its normal flattened shape.
Odelette, who had been looking on with tolerant forbearance, now demanded, “Gaius Aurelius, if you would be so kind as to get your dragons off the table, friends or no, we could perhaps get dinner on it.” She made a quick sweeping gesture with both hands.
“Go see if the chickens are all settled for the night,” Robert told Adelise and Lux. From table and mantel stone the two dragonlets leaped to the floor, letting their dainty wings slow their fall. As they went out the door, taking care to nudge it closed behind them, Robert called out, “And remember, no snacking!”
The new dragon stared at Robert in amazement, looking quite as if she had suddenly grown an extra wing, or spit ice instead of fire, and was doubting the rules of creation. “They’re very happy here,” Robert said, picking his catch up as gently as an infant. “And so will you be, I hope. No fire indoors except to light the oven, no biting, keep your claws to yourself, do your business in the dirtbox in the barn: those are the basic rules. The rest we’ll work out as we go. Agreed?”
The white dragon gave no evident response, but after a moment Robert nodded in satisfaction. One by one he unsnapped the creature’s restraints, then carried her over to his sisters. She shook all over for a moment and stretched out both wings before finally settling down in Rosamonde’s arms—though she kept on looking at Robert.
“You can bed this one down, if you like,” Robert said to the twins. “Just make sure there’s water where she can reach it. Vegrandis need a lot of water, this age.”
The door opened with a shove, and Caralos and Hector stumbled in from outside. Both had plainly been running: they were flushed and rumpled, and spoke with equally disheveled breath.
“The King’s coming!”
“Heading straight here!”
“Couldn’t be nowhere else, they—”
“Four others—”
“Four dukes or something—”
“Just the five, like. No soldiers, no trumpeters…”
Odelette instantly took over the crisis. “Quick, everybody, grab a dragon! Take them to the cellar, the barn, anywhere—just get them out of here!”
“No!” Robert countermanded her. “I’ll handle them.” He had already scooped up Fernand and Reynald—both chittered in surprise, especially Fernand, woken without warning—and was turning to reach for the startled, panicky white. “Go on, get dinner on, set the table, act surprised. Stall as long as you can, and when that stops working, then call for me!” With that he ran from the kitchen with his three wriggling burdens, ducking low as he scrambled across the yard for the barn, calling softly for Lux and Adelise.
When King Antoine knocked on the door, all the family but Robert were seated for dinner, passing a steaming tureen of Odelette’s three-mushroom soup around the table. Odelette rose to answer.
“Your Majesty!” she cried out on sight of him, feigning surprise. “You honor our dwelling, lord. Command us as you choose.” With that she sank into the grand curtsy of a proper court lady, just as if she practiced the move daily—which indeed she often had, when no one was looking. In homespun it should have looked silly, but sincerity has a way of trumping circumstance, and where royalty was concerned, Odelette Thrax had always been a true devotee. King Antoine was instantly and thoroughly charmed.
“My dear woman, please rise. You are far too gracious to intruders. We needn’t stand on ceremony, not when I come to your home without any warning. Please.”
Glancing past the King as she rose slowly to her feet, stretching out the moment, Odelette saw the four princes waiting behind him in the yard. They sat firmly in their saddles, making no move to dismount, and were clearly unhappy to be there. Light from the doorway played across their mud-spattered finery and coats of arms. The rich caparisons on two of the horses were ripped and dragging on the ground, as were the pearl-decorated left-side leggings of the sourest-looking prince.
“My lord, such guests—we cannot possibly do honor to these noble gentlemen in your company.”
“Just tell me you don’t have any dogs, madam,” said the prince with the damaged leggings.
The King spoke before she could reply. “Am I fortunate enough to have at last arrived at the home of the dragon-exterminator—ah—Flavius, is it? Augustus?”
“You speak of Gaius Aurelius Constantine Heliogabalus Thrax,” Odelette answered him proudly. “My son.” She moved to one side of the doorway and gestured the King in.
“Your son, yes—yes, of course, Elpidus’s boy, that would be him. Ah—he… It’s been so long.” King Antoine wandered toward the dining table, sniffing the air in decided distraction. “My goodness, that soup does smell superb. You have chanterelles in there, do you not?”
“And morels, sire, fresh from the woods this morning. If you would deign…”
“Alas, dear lady, we must be off as we came. But perhaps you could—”
“Say no more, Majesty.” Odelette whirled to her children, snapping her fingers. “Rosamonde, find the copper-bottomed pot with the handles. Patience, you fill it full for the King. Stir your lazy stumps, girls. Don’t stand there gaping and dawdling! Hurry!”
The girls shot from the room, racing each other for the pantry. Behind them they heard King Antoine continue. “Mrs. Thrax, along with your excellent soup, we must also take your son—in his professional capacity only, I hasten to assure you. Is he at hand?”
“He is indeed, Your Majesty. And he will be thrilled to serve you in any capacity at all.” Odelette had been expecting this from the moment she saw the crown at her door and took measure of the King’s face and manner; but she kept her voice well under control. “If you will pardon me for just a moment? He is in the barn, putting away his tools. I will bring him to you.” The King nodded, still eyeing the soup tureen, and Odelette left the kitchen almost as swiftly as her daughters had done. She paused only once on her way, in order to address a heartfelt prayer to Vardis, consisting mostly of the words yes and thank you. Vardis actually preferred Her gratitude danced around a suitable sacrifice, but that would have to wait until later. Odelette blew a quick kiss to the heavens and hurried to find her son.
She found him kneeling well back in the barn, deep in shadow, coaxing a reluctant Adelise into an old wooden tool chest with a cunningly hidden set of airholes. The other dragonlets already waited inside—even the white, to whom Adelise still took quiet but clear exception.
“The King has need of you,” Odelette said.
Robert didn’t look up from gently stroking Adelise’s throat sac with one hand, while he tried to tip her front dewclaws over the chest’s rim with the other. “Had to be that, didn’t it? Last clearing Father and I did at the castle was four years ago. But why’s he coming now? And why on his own? He always sent messengers before.”
“What matter? He’s here and he needs you.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Kings don’t have to.” She reached down and stroked her son’s hair. “I’ll finish here. You go on in.”
“No promises, Mother. You weren’t ever there. It’s been a bad enough day already, without having to deal with that lot.”
“There’s only good in this, Gaius,” Odelette said, sounding his name tenderly.
“As you say.” Face carefully expressionless, betraying nothing at all and thus betraying everything, Robert rose and turned toward the door. He walked out of the barn like a man expecting to be hanged, head held high for the noose.
Odelette looked down at Adelise and smiled. “Go on, climb in. We both know you were just holding back to get some extra attention.” The little green dragonlet looked offended for a moment, but yielded nevertheless. Seconds later all five of the creatures were curled up together like scaly balls of twine, beginning to drowse. Regarding them, Odelette thought—not for the first time—that they were very pretty, for all the trouble they caused. They weren’t the ones she’d seen when she was young, and still saw in her dreams… but her son loved them, and she loved her son. That was reason enough to keep them safe.
When she got back to the kitchen, Robert was saying to King Antoine, courteously but firmly, “Sire, I have already worked a long, full day—as has my assistant, whom we would surely have to rouse from his bed by now—and to speak truly, it would be far wiser for us to wait until morning—”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Mr. Thrax,” the King responded, equally earnest. “But I’ve no more choice in this matter than—ah—well, than you have. My daughter, the Princess Cerise, has, as you might say, spoken, and her mother agrees with her, and… well, there we are, you see. Castle Bellemontagne is to be dragon-free as soon as possible, in order to impress Prince Reginald of Corvinia, who is already in residence. Terribly sorry for the imposition and inconvenience, but there we are.” He coughed and looked down at his feet like a small boy.
“I understand,” Robert said. “Very well, Your Majesty, I accept the contract.” He went to his mother and embraced her. “I’ll send someone to tell you how we’re getting on, and when I’ll be home.”
Odelette’s eyes were shining with pride. “I only wish your father could have been here to share this moment. His son, summoned by the King himself to clear the castle of dragons—and all for the sake of a princess’s happiness. Go on, then, my boy—my little Gaius Aurelius—go to your destiny.” She kissed him on both cheeks and stood back: a general sending her troops into battle. King Antoine looked on, beaming.
“You have no shame,” Robert said to her under his breath.