Exit the Dragon Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4 - The Queen and the Crocodile

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10 - Strangol

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Exit the Dragon

  Heide Goody & Iain Grant

  Pigeon Park Press

  ‘Exit the Dragon’ Copyright © Heide Goody and Iain Grant 2019

  The moral right of the authors has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except for personal use, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  Published by Pigeon Park Press

  www.pigeonparkpress.com

  [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  Maegor spotted the man moving chairs in the long hall and initially took him for a member of the castle staff.

  “Come to clean up, eh?”

  The man straightened sharply, caught unawares.

  “Sorry?”

  “Clean up. Sweep, perhaps.”

  Maegor gestured generally around the hall, his chains of office clinking as he did. It was a gesture that took in the piles of rubble that filled the corners, the layer of red stone dust that covered everything and even the gaping holes in the roof left by the ravages of the departing dragon. Perhaps this would require a bit more than sweeping up. And the bearded fellow by the table didn’t appear to have a broom. And, come to think of it, he looked too finely dressed and too noble of aspect to be a simple castle drudgeon.

  “You’re not here to clean up, are you?” said Maegor.

  “Er, no,” said the man and then smiled. He had very white teeth. He had all his teeth. It was rare to see a man over twenty years of age with all his teeth. It looked peculiar.

  “You are…?” said Maegor.

  “Almost constantly,” said the man and came over to shake Maegor’s hand. “Newport Pagnell. Delighted, I’m sure.”

  Maegor was master of seals, chief scribe to the king (or queen — matters were as yet undecided) and generally regarded as the wisest man in Grome and he didn’t enjoy being on the backfoot with anyone. He wasn’t sure who this Pagnell fellow was, why he was pumping his hand so vigorously or indeed whether it was Pagnell or himself who was supposed to be delighted.

  Questions of who, why and whether were queuing up in Maegor’s brain but were all interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the king’s (or indeed queen’s) privy council: Jynn the lord treasurer, Chrindle the master of horses and Cunnan the lord admiral.

  “Ah, who’s this long streak of nothing?” said Jynn, dropping bonelessly into the nearest chair.

  “Another addition to the privy council?” said Chrindle, po-faced as always.

  “The king clearly thinks we need another man at the table,” said the grey-whiskered Cunnan.

  “Which one?” said Jynn.

  “Er, me?” said Pagnell.

  “No, you pillock. Which king? We’ve got at least six thanes —”

  “Seven,” said Chrindle.

  “Seven,” said Jynn. “Down in what remains of the throne room, arguing over which of them should be king.”

  “Well, who doesn’t want to be king?” said Pagnell.

  Meagor and his fellow privy councillors all looked at Pagnell with firmly blank expressions.

  “The six or seven thanes downstairs for one, I’d reckon,” said Cunnan.

  “Being king right now is like being handed a shitty stick,” said Jynn.

  “It is something of a…a poisoned chalice,” Maegor said. “Hard and undoubtedly unpopular decisions lie ahead. Grome has been all but destroyed by dragonfire, its people variously dead, severely burned or —”

  “Cooked to a medium rare,” said Jynn cheerfully.

  Maegor wrinkled his nose in disgust. Jynn’s elevation to the role of lord treasurer had never been a good idea. The man was a thief, arguably the most successful thief in the city, but a common thief nonetheless. Just because he knew how to get hold of other people’s money and keep hold of it did not mean he was suited to high office. His broken nose was a reminder to all of his low heritage. Jynn had not spent his life in studious preparation for civic service as Maegor had done.

  Maegor tried to remember what he had been saying.

  “Yes, the city is burned, the people are dead or wished they were. The old tyrant is dead, the dragon queen is dead —”

  “And the dragon?” said Pagnell.

  “Gone,” said Cunnan. “Eastward.”

  Pagnell looked oddly pained by that news. He looked an odd fellow anyway, not just because of his unnaturally whole smile. There was something about the sly look in his eyes, the sharp angle of his beard, the foreign cut of his clothing that made his coat and tunic not look quite like robes but…

  “Are you some sort of wizard?” said Maegor.

  “A more accurate description would be hard to express,” said Pagnell.

  “I knew a Yarwish wizard,” said Cunnan, “back when I was plying the northern routes.”

  Maegor’s opinion of Cunnan’s suitability for his current role was not much higher than that he had of Jynn. Cunnan had a long history of being a sea trader but Maegor suspected there was more than a little piracy in that long career. ‘Plying the northern routes’ could have easily meant ‘being an unholy terror on the northern seas’.

  “The wizard’s name was Tibshelf,” said Cunnan. “You know him?”

  “My old master,” said Pagnell.

  “Lost his left hand to hill tribes who thought they could gain his magic powers by eating him.”

  “His right hand,” said Pagnell.

  “Aye. Maybe it was,” said Cunnan in the manner of one who thought he had set a clever trap and seen it avoided.

  Cunnan took his seat opposite Chrindle.

  Maegor pulled out a chair at the head of the table and brushed the dust from it before sitting. Even three days after the dragon had gone, ash and stone dust continued to fall on the city.

  Pagnell hovered for a moment and then took one of the remaining chairs.

  “Shall I? Here?”

  “Please,” said Maegor. “Our privy council now stands at five.”

  “With no king or queen to counsel,” said Cunnan.

  “Kings are expensive and over-rated,” said Jynn. “Trust me.”

  “Can we get to business?” said Chrindle, armour plating clinking as she shifted in her seat. “This city cannot defend itself and we’re wasting time. The dragon could return at any instant.”

  “Is that likely?” said Pagnell and looked to the massive holes in the ceiling above as though expecting to see a dragon swoop by at that moment.

  “Inevitable, I should say,” said Chrindle.

  Maegor sighed. “You will have to forgive our master of horses. Charged with the defence of the city, she takes the dragon threat far too seriously.”

  “The master of seals does not take the threat seriously enough,” Chrindle retorted fiercely. “If you look at the statistics —”

  “Not today!” snapped Maegor. “We have other pressing matters. Now, if we could all turn our attention to the matter of how to feed and house the tens of thousands of displaced people currently milling about in our city’s public spaces… I had my copyist draw up some lists and figures.”

  As Maegor dished out the parchment copies, he heard Pagnell lean over to Chrindle and say, “It’s understandable to be worried. The dragon qu
een attacked once and you weren’t prepared. It wasn’t your fault, I’m sure.”

  Chrindle sat stiffly, saying nothing. Uncomfortable looks passed between Jynn and Cunnan. Maegor cleared his throat and put down his papers.

  “Pagnell. It is Pagnell, isn’t it?”

  “Yes?” said the wizard.

  “When did you arrive in the city?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Ah.” Maegor had hoped that ‘Ah’ would convey a lot more than it did and pressed on. “You perhaps are not fully aware of the state of things in Grome.”

  Pagnell looked round.

  “Dragon queen turns up to conquer the city but instead burns it to the ground in a fit of rage, killing the old king, is turned on by one of her generals and… am I missing something?”

  The silence that followed was long and horrible but Maegor could see the twitch in Chrindle’s cheek and let her break the silence.

  “I was the dragon queen’s general,” said Chrindle.

  “Oh!” said Pagnell.

  Cunnan raised a hand. “Her admiral.”

  “Ah, I see. And you two?” Pagnell gestured at Maegor and Jynn.

  “A true servant of the kingdom,” said Maegor.

  “Enthusiastic local businessman,” said Jynn.

  Pagnell pretended to be impressed. He was a fair actor but Maegor was a better observer of people.

  “And the two sides have come together to rebuild and reconcile.”

  “Not two sides as such,” said Cunnan.

  “The old king was a tyrant,” said Maegor.

  “A mad bastard,” said Jynn.

  “The dragon queen had a historical claim to the throne,” said Chrindle.

  “On her mother’s side,” said Maegor.

  “I thought it was her aunt,” said Cunnan.

  “Her aunt on her mother’s side.”

  “And the dragon queen had unified the peoples of the east,” said Chrindle.

  “In such a short time,” Maegor agreed.

  Jynn nodded. “It’s amazing what a young woman with a dragon and long blonde tresses can achieve. Does a thing to a man, I can tell you, seeing her astride that beast.”

  “And so, we thought…”

  “Yes, we thought…” said Chrindle.

  “Aye,” said Cunnan solemnly.

  Pagnell look from one to the next, to the next, to the next. He did a little frown, licked his lips. A crazy little laugh escaped his lips.

  “You invited the dragon queen to invade your capital city?”

  No one wanted to speak but Cunnan eventually did.

  “If you say it in that tone of voice, of course it’s going to sound silly.”

  “It seemed logical at the time,” said Maegor.

  “And the king was a mad bastard,” said Jynn. “Ran in the family.”

  “On his mother’s side.”

  “Not his aunt?” said Cunnan.

  “His mother, her aunt,” said Maegor.

  Pagnell nodded. “You invited the mad king’s cousin — the hereditarily mad king’s cousin — to take the throne? With her dragon?”

  “We were on her side.”

  “And she was on ours,” said Jynn.

  “Technically, if anything, it was our dragon,” said Maegor.

  “And how did that work out for you?” said Pagnell.

  Maegor involuntarily looked around the ruins of the castle hall. Wind whistled through the shattered arches. Somewhere, in the distance, another ravaged building gave up and crumbled to the ground. If he listened hard enough, he imagined he could hear the thanes in the throne room below arguing about which one of the others should be king.

  “I’m sure if we had the benefit of your wisdom two days ago, we could have avoided this,” said Cunnan sourly.

  “I do know a thing or two about dragons,” said Pagnell.

  “Like what?”

  “They’re wyrms. Flying wyrms. Wyvernus wyvernus or draconis rex to give them their proper names. Scales. Claws. Wings. Breathe fire.”

  “Aye, we know all this,” said Cunnan.

  “Some of us got to see that close up,” said Jynn.

  Chrindle gave the treasurer a pointed look.

  “Some of us,” said Jynn. “Didn’t say it was me.”

  “They love gold,” said Pagnell.

  “Do they?” said Chrindle.

  “Prudent business acumen?” said Jynn.

  “They just do,” said Pagnell. “I’ve heard it said that it’s the softest flame-proof bedding material they can find but I’ve no evidence of that.”

  “And would the presence of gold draw dragons to the city?” asked Chrindle thoughtfully.

  Maegor could see where the woman’s train of thought was heading. It would lead to her dumping the city’s wealth in the harbour to put it out of harm’s way.

  “The dragon is gone now,” he said firmly.

  “The damage is done,” said Cunnan.

  “So, let’s deal with the matters at hand.” He rustled his parchment meaningfully. “The injured, the starving, the homeless and the dispossessed. If we don’t solve the first two then the last two won’t matter.”

  “Oh, that’s all right then,” said Jynn.

  “I meant that they are more urgent.”

  “If you like,” said the treasurer. “But if the starving starved, we’d have fewer homeless. In fact, if we fed the starving on the injured…” A ready smile flashed. “There’s plenty of barbecued bodies out there. I heard it tastes like pork.”

  “It doesn’t,” said Pagnell.

  The privy council looked at the wizard.

  “So, I hear,” said Pagnell. “My old master Tibshelf had the unenviable experience of being offered a slice of his own severed hand.”

  “That’s disgusting,” said Chrindle.

  “Cooked in a broth of mixed herbs I heard,” said Cunnan.

  “That does not make it better,” said the master of horses.

  “The matters at hand!” said Maegor with unconcealed annoyance.

  “What hand?” said Jynn. “Oh, at hand. Starvation, death, blah, blah, blah.”

  “And every hour we waste, more city folk die!”

  “Making our job easier,” said Jynn and then caught Maegor’s eye. “Only saying. Not saying it’s good. Just easier.”

  It was akin to herding cats but Maegor finally managed to get all of them to pay attention to the order of business he’d had copied up. The numbers were estimates, the costs incalculable but some semblance of the reality beyond the castle gates was discussed, decrees were made and orders given. Servants were sent off with coin, instructions or promissory notes, sealed by Maegor’s hand. Buildings were opened up to the destitute, bread handed out to the hungry and if some of the buildings offered were no longer standing or the bread was something less than desirable at least some effort had been made to put things right for another day. Plans for clearing the debris and ruin were discussed and their costs tallied.

  Maegor shuffled his notes together at the conclusion of business. Night had fallen and drudgeons had come in at some point, unnoticed, and lit the torches on the walls.

  “Grome survives another day,” he said.

  “Another day,” said Chrindle.

  Pagnell rose and cast about himself as though looking for a cloak he had put down somewhere but mislaid. Clearly not seeing whatever he was seeking, he patted his pockets, sighed deeply and declared, “I must be off.”

  “Off?” said Cunnan.

  The wizard made a flighty walking motion with his fingers. “A day’s work well done and…”

  “You’re not staying in the city, are you?”

  “Um.” He had no response.

  “No. The city’s not safe at night at the moment. Maegor here can rustle you up some chambers, can’t you?”

  Maegor had no such plans but made airy genial gestures.

  Cunnan nodded. “Something befitting the… what will your title be?”

  “Par
don?” said Pagnell.

  “On the privy council. Lord something or master of something.”

  “Master of dragons?” Pagnell suggested. “We have a master of horses and a master of seals so master of some sort of animal would fit.”

  “It’s not that kind of seal,” said Maegor.

  “Oh, don’t feel left out,” said Pagnell. “I’ve met wild seals and they can be vicious creatures. I must tell you about it some time. Master of seals is a manly title.”

  Chrindle coughed meaningfully, daring anyone to tell her that master of horses was in any way ‘manly’.

  “Master of dragons it is,” said Jynn, slapping the wizard on the shoulder. “Let’s find you some rooms.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “Not at all, mate. Not at all.”

  As they descended the stairs, towards the sound of bickering thanes in the throne room, Maegor felt a moment of general affability, perhaps born from the weariness of the day’s exertions.

  “You know, dear Pagnell,” he said, “when I first saw you in the hall, I thought you were a servant come to sweep up.”

  “I would have needed a broom for that.”

  “Or a shovel more like,” said Cunnan.

  “Quite.”

  “What else was I to assume?” said Maegor. “You see a fellow about the castle and you think ‘servant’.”

  “Or thief,” said Jynn.

  “Quite,” laughed Pagnell.

  On a turn in the stairs, a chunk of wall was missing, its ragged edge blackened with soot. The city beyond was a black field dotted with the red light of fires.

  “Camps of destitute souls across the city,” said Maegor. “Huddling against the cold night.”

  “Those are camp fires,” said Chrindle, pointing off to the north. “Those ones are just parts of the city that are still burning and haven’t been put out.”

  “Couldn’t the destitute just huddle by those fires?” suggested Jynn. “It’d save lighting new fires.”

  “Yes,” said Maegor wearily. “I’ll put it on the agenda for tomorrow.”

  Chapter 2

  Newport Pagnell’s visit to Grome was not going entirely as he had hoped.

  He had hoped to find more evidence of dragon presence (dragon dung, dragon eggs, even an actual dragon) rather than evidence of previous dragon occupation (fires, ruins, screaming people). He had clearly arrived a day too late. He had hoped it would be a simple in-out affair and that by now he would be on the road again, richer or wiser. He had not expected to be given a position on the privy council or the title of master of dragons. And he had certainly not expected to be given a luxurious room in the semi-ruined keep at the heart of the city.