Robert Karson: A Life in Nine Parts

  Part Six: The Cause for Failure

  It was a ridiculous idea, it really was. Let’s just, throw on some glasses and a fake moustache, put on a hat, and stroll into the Department of Departments building, as though every single person there wasn’t keeping an eye out for Bob. He refused to admit to himself that the idea had been his. He flat-out disavowed it.

  Fortunately, however, Bob’s idiotic idea seemed to be working. Departmenters pushed and shoved, spared him half a glance and a nod, then went on with their business, as though he was someone they saw every day, which he was, even if they didn’t know it. The receptionist on the Department of the Repossession of Missing HeatStones and their FireDragons didn’t even recognise him, though she greeted him with a hearty hello, like Bob was used to.

  Bob had made Lou and She stay at the decomposing park, while he’d donned his ludicrous disguise and sauntered through the streets as though he owned them all, and had every business being where he was. No one gave him a second glance, not even the small gathering of suits that Bob had walked past.

  Bob’s department was quiet when he entered it, and he didn’t see many people; the receptionist informed him that everyone else was in a meeting. “Are you the replacement, Mr Simmons?” she asked with a smile.

  Bob nodded, not knowing what else to do. He hoped she’d leave him alone if he agreed, but she didn’t. Instead, she waved him through to the meeting, where all of Bob’s work mates were seated around a large, round table.

  This was wrong. It was all wrong. Bob was supposed to go into his office, do a quick search for HeatStones in the news, then go down to the Department of the Care and Supervision of Dragon Hatchlings, confront Manfred, demanding to know how the suits knew he had a dragon, and gotten out of there. He wasn’t supposed to find himself in a meeting with twenty odd men that knew him, and would probably recognise him. He wondered if anything else could possibly go wrong. Maybe he should have just hired a fanfare and have a FireDragon smoke his name and location into the sky.

  “Ah,” Mr Connelly chirped when Bob entered, “you made it, Mr Simmons. I wasn’t sure if you’d get here in time for the meeting.”

  Not sure how to respond, Bob just nodded and said, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “No, and you wouldn’t want to, either,” Mr Connelly replied. “This meeting is very important, men. I’ll show you why.”

  He pulled a white sheet off of a board on an easel. It was a profits chart, and it was steadily climbing in a thick, red zig zag. There were monetary amounts on the X scale, and years on the Y scale, but no words. A few men started muttering. When Mr Willon asked what it was, and what it meant, Mr Connelly scowled.

  “This chart,” he said, “shows how much profit dragon smugglers and traders are making, ever since they bought in the DragonStone for Gold scheme. They steal WhetStones and HeatStones from hatchlings, dump the dragons, and then trade the DragonStones in for money.” He looked like he was about to spit in disgust, if he wasn’t inside.

  The DragonStone for Gold scheme had been a brilliant idea. At the time. F someone found a DragonStone, they just handed it into the appropriate department in exchange for a handful of gold, no questions asked. It had been an attempt to stop the illegal DragonStone trade. Unfortunately, it only worsened the situation. People were turning in the Stones in record numbers. They got their gold for it, and there were no questions asked. After a while though, there was a marked rise in the loss of these Stones, and the authorities came to realise that smugglers and traders were stealing Stones, eggs and hatchlings, and making a huge profit because of the scheme.

  The whole table broke out in angry whispers and quiet threats. Dragons were as intelligent as humans, could talk and care for themselves. Many people regarded them highly, as equals, but others simply saw them as a way to make money. The Department of the Investigation of Illegal Dragon Possession and Trade had been fighting against the dragon trade business for years, with minimal success. The largest and longest running dragon trade ring was still going strong, avoiding the suits and departments like they were a plague. “Send them to jail!” one man yelled.

  “We do send them to jail, you idiot!”

  “Send their life-companion to jail then!” another insisted. “They wouldn’t dare sell off the dragons and DragonStones then!”

  “That’s illegal,” Bob snapped. In a way, life-companions had more rights than humans and dragons.

  “So’s dragon trade,” the man snarled, “but they don’t care, so why should we?”

  Mr Connelly called for silence. “Please, please, quiet down.” The room went silent. Mr Connelly didn’t earn his spot as the manager of the Department for no reason. He knew how to silence a room. “Now, both the Department of the Investigation of Illegal Dragon Possession and Trade and the Department of Law and Order have requested we come up with something to counter this. We know HeatStones and FireDragons, and our Department is losing money.”

  “Less money means lower wages,” Mr Thomas stated. The men murmured between themselves.

  “It does,” Mr Connelly said. “Now, we need ideas. Viable ideas that I can put into a bill and propose to the Department of Law and Order, before passing it through the Department of Enforcement.” No one volunteered. Scowling, Mr Connelly picked a victim. “Mr Simmons! Any ideas?”

  It took Bob a few seconds to remember that he was Mr Simmons. “Oh. Well, perhaps we could... uh... downgrade their houses? They won’t be covered if it’s burnt down by a passing FireDragon. I mean, home insurance only covers houses if they’re DragonsWood.”

  The men stared at him. “Downgrade their houses?”

  “Or not...”

  “You know what I think,” Mr Thomas loudly declared. “I think that-”

  “Karson?” The group turned to Bob again. “Robert Karson?”

  In the moment’s silence that followed, Bob was vaguely aware that the receptionist had bought another man in, who called himself Mr Simmons, and she was looking from the man to Bob, confused. There was nothing for it now. Bob ran.

  The men yelled and swore, and one or two were after him, but Bob didn’t stop. He reached the elevator just as someone exited out of it. Bob put on a last burst of speed, and he fell into the elevator as the doors behind him closed. He frantically banged the 18 button, and a few moments later stumbled out on the Department of the Care and Supervision of Dragon Hatchlings.

  The receptionist, the same toothless man Bob had met last time, glared at him. “There’s a man what’s called Rober’ Karson around here. You ‘im?”

  As if Bob would ever admit to being himself. He wasn’t that stupid. “No, sir. I’m Billy. Billy Lou. I’d like to speak with Manfred, if I may.”

  “Well, Billy Lou, I’ll see what I can’t do. Now sit. I gots ta keep me eye open for Rober’ Karson. Dragon smuggler, ‘e is. ‘E got fired, ya know.”

  “Fired?” Bob echoed. He’d been fired? No one had told him.

  “Aye. Jus’ the other day, in fact. Got r’placed by some Mr Simmons or somethin’. Oi, look, ‘ere’s Manfred now.”

  And so it was, Robert Karson lost his job.