Chapter 84
UNGRATEFUL WENCHES AND A PIRATE’S FINAL EXAM
The sounds of battle drifted down the tower stairwell to the spring, and an enraged fat grub of a baby luck dragon broke out of his washtub.
“These asshats think they can come into my tower and steal my treasure? My princess?” Dirk charged the stairs on his stubby legs, grinding the sand beneath his paws. Millie grabbed his tail. “Unhand me, you ungrateful wench. You are mine!”
The almost-wyrm thrashed like an alligator, and Millie fell hard on her butt as the scales beneath her hands gave way.
Like sapphire coins, they slipped through her fingers and thudded softly into the sand.
Scales actively fell from his body and clinked against the stone steps of the winding staircase.
The rest of his feathered mane suddenly dropped like snow shed from a pine tree after the first kiss of spring’s warmth.
“I’m going to use your heads for bowling balls,” Dirk shouted at the soldiers, though none could hear him. “Maybe I’ll even fry up your testicles in your own fat and see what Ivar the Bane was raving about. Who knows? Could be tasty!”
Millie spun away from the raging dragon and darted into the dungeons.
She yanked the first wooden cot she came upon from its cell and rushed back to the spring, lobbed it in.
Then she shed herself of anything that might weigh her down, dropping reticule, belt, and cutlass into the sand.
Grabbing hold of the almost-wyrm’s tail again, she reeled him in like a trout.
Dirk spun with a swipe of his claws. “You traitorous bitch!”
Millie danced away and retrieved her cutlass. Keeping the point lowered at the sand, she held up a warning hand. “Dirk, don’t make me do this.”
“You’ve been in league with the humans this entire time, haven’t you? You were only pretending to be my friend so you could take my heart whenever you wanted!” He charged her, teeth snapping.
The wyrm Dirk was becoming did not possess the skill or agility of his former self.
He was still quick, though, and had become so fat he could easily bowl her over.
Millie skipped to the side and batted his jaws away with the flat of her blade.
Then, risking it all, she dropped her cutlass, hooked her arms beneath the dragon’s belly, and heaved him into the spring.
She wasn’t fast enough to avoid his club-like tail, which bashed against the side of her head.
Millie went down with a cry, and Dirk sank below the surface of the water with a howl.
Scrambling to the ledge of the spring, Millie watched in horror as the fat almost-wyrm disappeared below a curtain of bubbles.
No matter how hard he paddled his short little legs or whipped his tail like an eel, Dirk could not fight against gravity’s pull.
“Bradley!” Millie screamed, desperate for help. She shucked her belt and its sheath and dove into the water after the dragon.
There was no hate in Dirk’s brown eyes, only fear.
She grabbed one paw, and he clung onto her arm with the other.
Lungs burning, legs aching, she swam for the surface until black spots speckled across her eyes.
With a final push, she breached and hooked her free arm around the stone wall to anchor herself above the water.
“Piss . . . and plagues,” she panted.
She wasn’t fully recovered, but she couldn’t risk waiting another moment.
She heaved, shoved, rolled, and otherwise squished Dirk onto the floating-cot-turned-raft.
The thin wooden frame dipped dangerously under the almost-wyrm’s weight, but held.
The few scales that still clung to him glistened like jewels.
A few, as if lubricated by the water, sloughed off onto the raft.
The thought of those scales slipping off the raft and sinking to depths from which they could never be recovered was unbearable. Millie quickly collected the shed scales and piled them on one of the flat stones of the spring’s wall.
Waves created by their recent excursions lapped against Dirk’s sides and sluiced over his muzzle. The almost-wyrm shifted on the raft, sputtering, then sagged with a moan.
“Millie.” Dirk’s voice was so soft.
“I’m here.”
She pushed away from the wall but didn’t dare add her weight to the raft, not even to keep herself buoyed. Instead, she placed a hand against his bloated cheek and treaded water. Flecks of gold had returned to Dirk’s brown eyes.
“You’re not a wench,” he sobbed. “Or a bitch.”
“Thank you, Dirk.” She could thank her first etiquette tutor, Miss Josephine, for the calm and gracious manner in which she received his apology, even though every fiber of her being wanted to scream. Where was that infernal apprentice? “Bradley’s coming with a spell. Can you hold on?”
“I’ll try.” His paw grabbed her arm when she shifted away, clamped down hard. “Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m just going to the ledge so I can call for Bradley again. It’s a bit loud outside, and maybe he didn’t hear me the first time. Dirk, you need to let go. Remember, I’m still new to swimming.”
“Oh, right.” The claws that had cut into her skin pulled back as his paw relaxed and released her. Threads of blood tracked down to her wrist. “You’re doing . . . great.” His voice sounded so far away.
“Hold on, Dirk.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured.
Spitting the water from her mouth, Millie hauled herself up onto the spring wall and craned back as far as her spine would allow. “Brad-LEYYYYY!” she bellowed.
She yelped when the tower rocked on its foundations. Crone’s Crooked Tits, what had hit them? Ivar the Bane hadn’t returned with a new and more cursed warhammer, had he?
Then she heard Pocket scream. Not from pain, but from terror, and that girl was fearless.
“Dirk, I need to— Gah!”
Millie jumped down into the sand, snatched up her cutlass, then threw herself over the wall to stab at the giant fish about to take a bite out of the raft. Her blade gazed against its upper lip, and the grouper broke away with a flash of fin to reconsider its attack.
“’Tis a bit bumpy,” Dirk muttered, half-delirious, as the raft bobbed violently. “Hmm, don’t like that.”
She didn’t have time to curse let alone think. It was all she could do to race along the wall and stab at fish after giant fish who surfaced for a chance at the luck dragon buffet. Or almost-wyrm buffet. Perhaps they didn’t discriminate so long as they got a piece of that dragon’s heart.
The grouper kept coming, one after another. Their dark bodies slid through the water as easily as shadows, greedy mouths gulping wide to swallow the raft and its occupant whole.
Millie should’ve been armed with a harpoon instead of her cutlass, but she couldn’t spare the minute to dash across the sands and yank it out of the wall.
She couldn’t even spare a moment to tie a bowline—not that there was any rope to be had—and lasso the almost-wyrm and haul him out of the water.
Besides, the magical water of the spring was the only thing staving off the final phase of his transformation.
With the tower under attack, there was no one to hear her cries for help. There was no rescue coming. It was just her, her sword, and the skills she had fought for.
Millie hadn’t expected a final exam on her Become a Pirate in 90 Days coursework, but destiny had scheduled her one just the same.