Tears of a Dragon

  He stopped in front of Thigocia. “Your main objective, once we find the captives, is to draw Morgan and the Watchers away from Ashley. Engage them in battle if you must, but keep them occupied. Professor Hamilton and Carl will escort Marilyn, Shiloh, and Karen as close as possible to the hideout. From there, the ladies can infiltrate the facility under the protection of the king’s cap.”

  Karen linked arms with Shiloh. “Yeah! Girl power!”

  Marilyn tapped Karen’s shoulder. “Don’t get cocky, Red.” She grinned. “Sneaky, yes. Cocky, no. Remember, Morgan might still be able to see us.”

  Sir Patrick leaned down and placed both hands on Shiloh’s shoulders. “I will ride with the dragons, dearest one. They need someone who is familiar with Morgan’s tactics. I promise not to ride in the battle itself. Do you mind?”

  Shiloh’s nose wrinkled. “A little. But we both have to do what we have to do. I’ll just hang with Karen and sneak past a few dangerous demons.”

  He pushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “Are you up to the challenge?”

  Shiloh raised four fingers. “After four decades in the circles, I think I should pay Morgan a visit and thank her for her hospitality, don’t you?”

  Carl wagged his finger, half smiling, but concern radiated through his reddening face. “Don’t forget. That’s my daughter she’s possessing. We have to take her alive somehow and figure out how to get Morgan to leave.”

  Sir Patrick straightened, his face solemn. “That will be Excalibur’s job. Only it can divide soul and spirit, but what it might do to Shelly’s body, I cannot tell.”

  Marilyn picked up Fama Regis and folded her arms across it, pressing it against her chest. She let the pendant dangle over the leather cover. “I’ll see if the rubellite will translate more of the book, but I can probably do that on the way to the lake.”

  The professor buttoned his trench coat. “Let us hope the flood hasn’t washed out the roads.” With a long stride, he headed down a narrow trail, Excalibur’s hilt protruding from his back scabbard. “Step lively, men and ladies. The new quest has begun!”

  Billy watched the seamstress through her shop’s window. “Prof’s wife! What makes you think that?”

  Bonnie pinched the cuff of Billy’s sleeve. “You heard what she said about Oxford. Couldn’t she be remembering that her husband was a professor there?”

  Billy furrowed his brow. “That’s kind of a stretch, isn’t it?”

  “By itself, maybe, but the professor told me his wife was a seamstress, and he said something about Peter not being around to raise Dorcas from the dead.”

  “And the seamstress is also named Dorcas.” Billy pressed his lips together, nodding. “Okay, that’s too many coincidences to ignore, and Morgan said something about going after her enemies by killing their wives.”

  Bonnie set her hands on her hips. “The professor would be one of her enemies; that’s for sure.”

  Bat strolled by, tipping his bowler hat once again. This time Billy took note of his pulsing ring as he lowered his hand from the brim.

  “So we add Dorcas to the list.” Billy stepped off the raised planks and onto the street. “Now we have to find Dad and Merlin’s wife and rescue all three.” The crowd had thinned. Horses stood idle, harnessed to carriages or tied to posts. Apparently, the morning “rush hour” was almost over.

  Billy scanned the stores lining both sides of the street. “But would my father even be at the theatre? Maybe if we find him, he can sort it all out.”

  Bonnie folded her hands over her waist, copying the pose of many of the women in town, and walked slowly on the planks before hopping down to the cobblestones. “Let’s see. He liked to fly, but I don’t think they have airplanes here. What else did he like to do?”

  “He loved to read and study. Any bookstores around? Or maybe a library?”

  “I think I saw a bookstore when I was here.” Bonnie stroked her chin. “Let me think a minute.”

  Billy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, if we see it on the way to the theatre, we can stop in and check it out.”

  Bonnie’s eyebrows lifted. “Frankie!”

  “Frankie?” Billy repeated.

  Bonnie pointed across the street. “The guy with the flowers, over by the fertilizer store.”

  “You know him?”

  “Sort of.” Bonnie waved for Billy to follow. “Come on.”

  The teenager, dressed in a newsboy cap, baggy white shirt, knickers, and black suspenders, paused in front of the store, digging in his pocket for something.

  Bonnie ran up to him, Billy following close behind. “Young man!” Bonnie yelled. “Wait!”

  He swung toward Bonnie and flashed a big smile. Cradling fresh flowers in his other arm, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and tipped his cap, a sweet Irish accent spilling from his lips. “Do I know you, Miss?” He tipped his cap at Billy, his smile fading. Billy returned a tight-lipped nod.

  Bonnie dipped into a quick curtsy. “Bonnie Silver, and, no, you don’t know me. We’re from . . . out of town.”

  “Brogan’s the name.” He straightened his cap and repositioned the flowers. “Why did you call me?”

  Bonnie propped up a drooping carnation that protruded from his bundle, but it flopped back down. “I just wanted to ask you a question.”

  Brogan pulled out a long-stemmed daisy and handed it to her. “By all means.”

  Bonnie twirled the stem. “Is there a library or a bookstore in this town?”

  “Indeed we have both.” Brogan pointed down the road, his palm closed around something. “Go to the city square. You’ll find them between the constabulary and Town Hall. The library is inside the bookstore. You can’t miss it. Just follow the bell tower on top of Town Hall.”

  Bonnie followed the line of his arm, then turned back to Brogan. “I have another question, a personal one, if you don’t mind.”

  Brogan shifted his head back a bit, a quizzical look on his face. “If it’s not too personal, I’ll have a go.”

  “That silver dollar in your hand,” Bonnie said, pointing at Brogan’s tight fist. “What are you going to buy with it?”

  Brogan’s smile returned. “These flowers are for my mum, and I’m going to buy some marbles for my sister for the Founder’s Day picnic. Marvin stocks them in his fertilizer shop for decorating gardens.”

  Bonnie fingered the beads on her necklace. “Marbles?”

  “Yes. I don’t know why I decided on marbles. I guess an angel must have whispered in my ear.” He gazed at his hand, slowly unwrapping his fingers from around the coin. “By the by, how did you know I was holding a silver dollar?”

  “I think the same angel whispered in my ear.” Bonnie stared at Brogan’s soiled palm. “I never noticed your ring.”

  Brogan closed his fist again and turned his knuckles toward her. “Haven’t you seen a dragon’s eye?”

  “A dragon’s eye? Why is it called that?”

  “Folks say it can see into other worlds.” Brogan blew on the gem and polished it on his shirt. “It’s superstition, of course, but we all wear them, just the same. Sort of a village trademark, you might say.”

  “Everyone in town?”

  Brogan nodded toward the seamstress shop. “Well, I noticed Miss Dorcas doesn’t wear one, but seeing that she works with her hands all the time, it might get in the way. Oh, and I think the new librarian also, but he’s a bit of a crackpot, if you know what I mean. Proper folks always wear their rings.” He tipped his cap. “Nice talking with you. I work at the florist’s. If you want more daisies or some nice carnations, come and see me.” He smiled again and vaulted up the steps to the fertilizer store.

  Billy took Bonnie’s hand. “C’mon. If we try to find the bookstore first, maybe we can—”

  “Wait.” She pulled her hand away. “Wasn’t that a rubellite in his ring?”

  “Pretty sure it was.” He glanced down at his own ring. “It looked just like mine used to.”

  “The
dragon’s eye,” Bonnie said, twisting the ring on her finger. “What do you think it means?”

  “I’m not sure.” Billy took her hand again. “But we’d better get going before Brogan comes out again.”

  Bonnie pulled him back. “Why? Is your sense of danger working after all?”

  Prickles crawled along Billy’s neck. He wasn’t sure he should say what he was thinking. “No, it’s just that . . .” He gave a sigh of resignation. “Well, he was kind of flirting with you.”

  “Flirting?” A slight blush tinged Bonnie’s cheeks. “He was just being friendly.”

  Billy mocked Brogan’s accent. “I work at the florist’s. If you want more daisies or some nice carnations, come and see me.”

  Bonnie bent the daisy’s stem. “Okay, I get the point.”

  Billy waved it off. “You’re a pretty girl. Who can blame him?”

  Bonnie’s cheeks turned pomegranate red. “Okay, Mr. Smooth Talker, now who’s flirting?”

  Billy’s new suit suddenly felt hot and tight. “Uh . . . I . . . uh . . .”

  Bonnie dropped the daisy and took his hand. “Never mind. Let’s find the bookstore.”

  They hustled to the center of town, always peeking up at the cone-shaped top of a belfry that towered above the other buildings. A familiar gong chimed loud and clear, ten base tones that echoed through the streets. Each one reminded Billy of the gong in his dreams and the weird sensation of time slipping backwards. Was the sound a warning? Could it be tolling for a reason beyond the telling of time? He shuddered. The eerie vibrations seemed to portend something dark and sinister.

  Arriving at the town square, they crossed the street to a traffic island that acted as the focal point of the road network. Scattering pigeons as they jumped up to the island, they stopped in the middle of a patch of green grass where a statue of a man on a rearing horse rested atop a brick pedestal. “Here’s the plaque,” Bonnie said, pointing at the cornerstone of the foundation. “Captain Timothy Autarkeia . . .” Her lips turned downward. “It’s different. When I was here there was a poem underneath. Now it just says, ‘Founder of Dragons’ Rest.’ And there’s no pitcher pump that watered Shiloh’s plant.”

  A little pug dog sniffed at Billy’s shoe. Billy jerked his foot away, and the dog barked at him, obviously indignant. He laughed and knelt, petting its wrinkled, round head. “Was this dog here with you and Shiloh?”

  “Yes.” Bonnie rested her hands on her hips, her head swiveling as she searched through the dozen or so people milling about. “Look for a woman with a parasol. She’s its owner.” The pug darted away, chasing the pigeons and scolding them with a blitz of scornful yips.

  A few people, including Jasmine, had gathered at a building with iron bars in one window. The constable stood next to her, fiddling with a pocket watch dangling from his vest pocket. He nodded over and over while listening to Jasmine and glancing periodically at Billy and Bonnie.

  Billy dipped his head, not wanting to provoke Jasmine. He hoped his new clothes would smooth over any suspicions, but he didn’t want to take any chances. His gaze moved to the building next door. “There it is,” he whispered.

  He nodded at the constable and walked straight to the bookstore. A garland of fresh greenery in the front window surrounded a handmade sign that read, “Pages of the Ages.” Billy pulled on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He peered through the window, but with the morning sun reflecting on the glass, he couldn’t see anything inside except a light coming from a room far in the back. He searched the front for another sign. “See anything that tells when it opens?”

  “No,” Bonnie replied. “I guess everyone in town just knows.”

  “Eleven o’clock,” another voice said.

  They turned to see Constance walking toward them from the direction of Town Hall, her hair now tied up under a kerchief. With her navy blue dress sweeping the planks and her lacy sleeves covering her wrists, she seemed the picture of a more innocent age. She stood no more than five feet tall, making her look like an early-blossoming twelve-year-old, yet her eyes revealed the maturity of a woman.

  Wiping her hands on a long white apron, she stepped between Billy and Bonnie. “She’ll be here in less than an hour.” With her head tipped upward, she gazed into Billy’s eyes. “Have you had breakfast? There’s plenty left at the inn. I saw you over here while I was washing the dishes, and I thought you might like a bite to eat.”

  Billy rubbed his stomach. “Sounds good to me.”

  Bonnie reached around Constance and touched Billy’s elbow. “What about the theatre?”

  Constance widened her eyes and stepped out of the way. “Oh, don’t let me keep you from anything. I wouldn’t dream of it.” She waved her finger between them. “So are you two . . . related?”

  Bonnie closed the distance between them and took Billy’s hand. “I guess you could say we’re covenanted,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  Billy felt Bonnie’s fingers tightening. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s sort of like a prearranged deal.”

  Constance pressed a finger to her chin and nodded. “I see. It’s a shame your parents won’t let you decide on your own.”

  Bonnie’s lips thinned out, and the corners turned downward.

  Billy cocked his head. Obviously, Bonnie didn’t trust Constance. But why? Did the remark about her parents upset her? Maybe it would be a good idea to change the subject. “Well, we don’t want to starve,” he said, “but we have to make it quick.”

  Constance took Billy’s hand and began leading him away. Billy glanced back at Bonnie. Her frown deepened as she followed.

  After passing Town Hall, a post office, and a linen store, they entered the double doors of an old inn. When they had crossed the threshold, Constance peered down the sidewalk and closed the doors quietly.

  “Something wrong?” Billy asked.

  Constance kept her voice low. “I thought I heard Jasmine. She’s been gossiping about you two from one end of town to the other.” She curled her finger. “Let’s go to the dining room, and we can talk. All my guests have already eaten.”

  Constance seated them at a small, round table. A gray tablecloth draped the top, blue napkins enfolded silverware at four place settings, and a white pillar candle decorated the center, a tall flame biting its wick. “Eggs and toast okay?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Billy replied. Bonnie just nodded, a slight crease just barely noticeable in her brow. Constance disappeared through a swinging door.

  Bonnie lowered her head and whispered. “There’s something strange about that woman.”

  Billy unrolled his silverware. “Well, she’s kind of short, but—”

  “That’s not it. She’s . . .”—Bonnie wiggled her fingers—“creepy.”

  Billy laid his napkin on his lap. “I wouldn’t call her creepy. Maybe friendlier than most.” He balanced his knife on his finger. “No one else offered to feed us.”

  “Friendly is right. She’s hunting for a man, and she’s got a bulls-eye painted right on you.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Don’t you remember? She said she saw us while she was washing dishes.” Bonnie rolled her eyes. “Billy, the kitchen is at the back of the building. She had to be looking for you.”

  Constance pushed the door open with her foot, carrying three plates in her arms, each one heaped with scrambled eggs and wedges of toast. “I have not had time to eat, so I’ll join you.” After setting the plates on the table, she scooted away again, her voice ringing gaily. “I’ll be right back with coffee and tea.”

  As soon as she left, Bonnie switched her plate with Constance’s.

  “Wow!” Billy said, dropping his knife. “You don’t think she’d poison you to get me, do you?”

  Bonnie set the plates in the exact positions Constance had left them. “I’m not taking any chances. Besides, there’s something else weird going on. Do you think they ate eggs back at whatever time period this is supposed to be?”

  ??
?Probably.” Billy poked the eggs with his fork. “They had hens, didn’t they?”

  Constance reappeared with two steaming pots and a stack of three china cups. As she set them on the table, she kept her eyes trained on Billy. “Coffee or tea?”

  “Tea, please.”

  She turned to Bonnie. “And you?”

  Bonnie turned her cup over. “None for me, thank you.”

  Constance squinted at her for a second, then poured tea in her cup and Billy’s. When she sat down she began talking immediately, keeping her voice low. “Jasmine is the minister of the church and the mayor of Dragons’ Rest. She watches over the spiritual lives of the citizens and their public behavior. She also supervises the constable and acts as judge in all criminal cases.”

  Billy scooped his fork under the eggs but waited to see if Constance would eat hers. “Isn’t that a lot of power for one person?”

  “Too much, if you ask me.” Constance flapped her napkin and laid it on her lap. “She speaks from a fiery pulpit, though, and her prophecies have always come true, so the people trust her . . . or fear her.” Constance took a bite of toast, then sipped some tea.

  “I take it you don’t trust her.” Billy took a bite from his own toast. He noticed Bonnie hadn’t touched her food at all.

  “No, but I do fear her”—Constance pointed at Billy—“and so should you. She’s telling people your white rings prove you’re the fulfillment of a calamitous prophecy. She would have your head in a noose if she could do it discreetly. That’s the penalty her prophecy proscribed, but she would want to first prove your guilt in order to save face with the people.”

  “How could she prove guilt?” Billy asked. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “She’ll watch you, or have others try to catch you doing something that proves what she is already calling you.” She paused, apparently waiting for the obvious question.

  Billy obliged. “What’s she calling us?”