Chapter 69
A NEW PLAN AND NO FORWARDING ADDRESS
When the griffin rider was nothing but a speck in the distance, Dirk sounded the all-clear.
Millie and Pocket emerged from their room, Fink in Pocket’s arms and Duchess in Millie’s.
The wandering Persian had returned when the storm had broken as if she knew a human, or a baby luck dragon recently released from the influence of a cursed warhammer, needed to cuddle her.
Pocket placed her hand on Millie’s shoulder, and the pirate princess covered it with her own. “You got this.”
“Of course we do.” Millie smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
“Nah, I don’t do water, remember?” The pickpocket grinned. “Besides, this place is a pickpocket’s dream. I can’t wait to explore some more. And then I’m going to teach that bookworm how to play strip poker.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Does Duncan know this?”
“Guess he’ll find out when we start playing.” Pocket winked.
Millie giggled, gave the cat one last snuggle, and set her down on the landing.
The cat yawned and began her stately trot down the stairs, the plume of her white tail tall and important.
The princess checked her person one last time to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything—hairpin, letter opener in her bosom, cutlass on her hip, sturdy boots, floral blouse, loose capri pants of lightweight linen, a sunhat threaded with a sunflower scarf knotted under her chin. Good to go.
Retrieving the knapsack and the massive suitcase she’d packed last night from their position beside the door, Millie set out for the kitchen.
Dirk was already there, rummaging through all the new supplies.
“Aww, she brought me lychees!” He snacked on the succulent, sweet fruit as the two of them portioned out tea, rice, beans, salt, sachets of herbs, jam, cheese, scones, and other such staples, plus half the remaining teacakes, of course.
They packaged it all into a picnic basket, along with plenty of rice paper and the edible ink.
The luck dragon carried the basket and the waterskins on the wind behind him and had the easy job of excavating both the dune skiff and Sir Eustace’s tent, which was buried under five feet of sand. Millie had the harder job of convincing the apprentice to abandon his sulk fest and join them.
She lifted the trapdoor and found the apprentice seated in the wreckage, shoulders slumped.
Well, it was a far cry better than what he’d been last night—hollering loud enough for the stars to hear him and throwing everything he could get his hands on.
In his lap, his hands rested on the gleaming lid of a cherrywood calligraphy case.
Millie dropped the suitcase and the knapsack on the only bare spot of floor remaining and perched her hands on her hips. “Time to go.”
He didn’t move. “Go where?”
“To the dragon library in Pierpont. Dirk’s getting the skiff ready so we can get to the edge of the desert all inconspicuous like, then he’ll fly us the rest of the way.”
Bradley looked up, the strands of sweaty, unwashed hair clinging to his face like seaweed. “What?”
Mutineer Millie wasn’t going to repeat herself. She was a woman of action, a woman who grabbed her bootstraps and yanked them up so fast and tight she risked giving herself tendonitis.
“I told you before: Dirk’s condition wasn’t something we were ignoring.”
“No, you two just chose to keep it from me.”
“Dirk made me promise to keep his secret, and you and I weren’t even friends, so I owe you nothing.”
“Not friends? Maybe when you made your promise, but we were after, and you still didn’t tell me. Not even after we almost—” He looked away.
The pull to drop her gaze to her feet was strong. As was the heat blooming on her cheeks. Everything had become so complicated.
Mutineer Millie swallowed and maintained her business-like attitude like it was armor. “I acknowledge you received a very raw deal, Mr. Donmarin—”
They both winced.
“—which is why Dirk and I are inviting—insisting—you join us. Now is the best time to go to Pierpont, when the last surge of Heroes are still befuddled by the recent storms. Instead of waiting for them to arrive, we’ll put that time to good use in the library and find a way to fix his scales. And you need to come with us.”
“Need?” There was an edge to his voice, a little spark of the old Bradley who chafed at being pushed around or ordered to do anything.
“Yes, and I’ll tell you why. Dragons are magic, Mr. Donmarin. Magic made flesh. It’s a fact easily forgotten, but it’s still true. Dirk is too young to help you in the way you need. But in the dragon library, there’s someone who can. A sage.”
His face shuttered. “Why would another dragon help me when my own keeps secrets from me?”
She had to refrain from throwing up her hands.
“Dirk is not your pet, Mr. Donmarin. He doesn’t have to share every thought in his head.
And we’ll never know if a sage will help you unless we try.
Remember, the Tisanes have excellent relations with the dragon community.
There’s a good chance I can persuade the sage to assist you. ”
“It’s a long shot.”
“Better a long shot than letting your ass rot on the floor.”
Miss Penelope had said something similar. Bradley glared up at the princess.
She kicked him in the foot. “C’mon, get up. I know your spine must be killing you by now. And I already packed you a bag, so you have to come.”
“Do I?” he challenged.
Her fingers pinched into her hips as her voice quieted dangerously. “You can get up, sir, or I’ll hit every pressure point in your body and Dirk can float you out of the window. Your choice.”
Growling, the apprentice rose. Then stumbled forward, his good hand pressing into the base of his spine. “Hells of the deep, that hurts.”
“Told you so.” She eyed the box in his hand, brightening. “And good, you’ll need to bring a quill to write more spells for Dirk. Maybe two.”
Before he could stop her, Millie plucked the cherrywood box from his hands.
She thumbed aside the clasp, opened it, and, finding no calligraphy supplies inside but rather an old piece of folded parchment that smelled strangely of licorice, she closed the lid, and tossed it onto his old folding table.
“Well, no help in there. Ah, here’s a nice quill. ”
She handed him the goose feather that had been sticking out of the suit of armor’s visor. Then she swung the knapsack she’d packed for him into his gut, forcing him to catch it.
With an aggressive smile, she linked her hands above her head and stretched. Then she retrieved her bulging suitcase, leaned to the side to balance out the weight, and herded him lopsided onto the western balcony.
Bradley glanced over his shoulder and the princess’s head at the box on the folding table, wondering if he should spare the second to grab it and bring it along, just in case.
“Your future is that way,” Millie huffed. “Now quick march or you’re getting bulldozed.”
With a small pang, the apprentice left the workroom behind.
Dirk had successfully excavated both the skiff and the tent, and now he was embroiled in a shouting match with the ministry official.
“Leave?” Sir Eustace blustered. “You can’t just leave with thirteen days left on the DDP.”
“Why not? It’s not like I’m abandoning my princess. She’s coming with me.”
“Because how will the Heroes know where to go to challenge you and rescue her?”
“That sounds like a ‘them’ problem, Sir Eustace. There’s nothing in the DDP preventing me from temporarily relocating.”
The little man stomped his foot, the polished leather winking in the desert sun. “I demand a forwarding address.”
“So the Heroes can bother us while we’re on holiday? Absolutely not.”
“Then I’ll dock you points!”
The Great Red picked at his yellow claws as he pretended to consider the threat. “That’s your choice. This is mine.”
Millie grinned at the dragon’s sassitude. Waving, she called, “We’re ready, Master Dirk.”
“You, Princess, would do well not to encourage him,” Sir Eustace barked. “This reflects poorly on you, too, Your Highness. I have no choice but to put a black mark next your name. Should you ever fall prey to another kidnapping by dragon, your bride price will be reduced to twenty-five percent!”
“Ooo, what a steal.”
The ministry official sputtered, but no real words formed to convey his displeasure, his bafflement, and his general distaste for the unorthodox way both dragon and princess comported themselves. “Bah!” he finally conceded, stomping into his tent.
Dirk swirled up to retrieve his friends from the balcony and floated them carefully down to the sand below. The dragon tried smiling at the apprentice, but Bradley just turned away to store his knapsack in the bow. Dirk deflated a foot or two in altitude and clicked his front claws together.
Millie chucked him under his massive chin and whispered, “It’ll be alright. Did you get it?”
Dirk scrunched up his snout in obvious distaste and tossed a tin at her. “Gross, Millie.”
“Maybe, but it’ll be effective.” She secured the new tin in her suitcase, stowed it in the netting at the bow, and pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pocket.
She smoothed it over the floor of the skiff, revealing a hand-drawn map.
“This is us in the tower, and here’s Pierpont.
We should travel as northeasterly as we can by skiff until we reach this canyon here.
That will reduce your flight time, Master Dirk. ”
“And then I fly us all the way to the sea and the library.” His yellow claw traced the path along the map. “Easy peasy, fresh and breezy.”
“Exactly. Now, anyone want some water before we set off?”
Bradley just threw himself down on the luggage and hunkered down below the gunwales so he wouldn’t cause undue wind resistance.
Millie finished binding her hands with her rawhide wraps, assumed her position beside the sail, and nodded to Dirk. The dragon donated a gust to set them off, and then the desert wind took over.