Cantor added, “The air’s a lot fresher there than in this prison.”
As the last man passed through the portal, Dukmee appeared in the gap. “Go rescue the dragon. I’ll meet you in Gilead.”
Cantor’s eyebrows shot up. “We’re going to report this to the council?”
“That’s the plan.” Dukmee gave a jaunty wave as he strolled away.
The portal closed with a swoosh and a snap.
MOVING A DRAGON
Cantor led the way through the maze of corridors, alleys, and streets inside the barracks. It reminded him of a rabbit warren. Right. A rabbit warren with evil bunnies. He wanted to be on point in case they ran into trouble.
Bixby carried the two invisible cloaks. She’d refused his offer to be the beast of burden.
“I want you to protect us with that pointy dagger you have in your belt. Keep your hands free, and I’ll carry the load. The cloth gets lighter and lighter as the potion fades.”
Cantor still felt queasy when he looked at her. Where the cloaks draped over her arm, he could see nothing. They also blocked part of the front of her skirt. The potion was wearing off. So occasionally instead of Cantor seeing right through the cloak and Bixby, the image had dizzying ripples through it. He shook off the unsettling feeling and concentrated on Bridger.
They slipped out the front gate and surveyed the area with relief. No one had discovered it unattended and replaced the knocked-out sentinels.
Cantor looked behind the stack of crates in the street running in front of the barracks. “Right where we left him.”
Bixby squeezed in beside Cantor. She shook her head in dismay. “He’s bigger.”
“He’s a mor dragon. They increase in size as they rest. Ahma has one.”
Bixby’s head swiveled as she searched the area. “Where’s Jesha?”
“Meow.” The cat’s declaration came from above.
Both looked up to spy her sitting at the edge of the highest crate.
Cantor reached for her, and the cat jumped into his arms. He held her close and rubbed the back of her head. Her soft, smooth fur carried the fragrance of night-blooming heliotrope. He put his nose against her cheek. She purred.
“Bixby, have you ever met a dragon as unusual as Bridger? I’ve never heard of a dragon having a pet.”
“There aren’t many dragons on Richra.”
“I’ve been to Richra with Odem.” Cantor looked up at the sky as if memories of his trip with Odem floated among the stars. “We checked out a dangerous mine and helped shore up the walls.”
“There are a lot of mines. My father says that if the citizens don’t find something else to do, the plane will be a shell around extensive catacombs.”
Cantor focused once again on the dainty figure beside him. “I heard the council was devising another means of livelihood so Richra wouldn’t be destroyed.”
“Right, and the progress on that is the same as on any project the council undertakes.” She shrugged. “If they don’t profit somehow, they don’t put any effort into the matter.” She shifted the cloaks she carried. “We’re going to need a cart to move him.”
“I’ll go get one.” Cantor surveyed the street. Three lamp-posts spaced too far apart gave off inadequate light. No traffic passed in the early morning hours. Where would he find a cart or wagon, plus a mule or horse, before the city life sprang up and caught them unprepared?
“I’ll go.” Bixby dumped the cloaks on the ground. “I don’t want to be here if guards show up and spot our dragon. You might want to cover him up with the cloaks, even though they’re losing strength.”
“Do you know where to look for a cart?”
“I have an idea.”
“What if you run into guards?”
“If I can move, I can hide. Standing here beside a lump of comatose dragon would hamper my style.” She smiled at him. “It shouldn’t take long. I’m going to the market. The vendors should be getting ready for the day.”
He nodded, and Bixby spun around, her many layers of skirts swirling around her tiny body. Her departure looked to be part dance and part sprint.
Cantor brought his attention back to the matter at hand. He put Jesha down and used the cloaks to cover what he could of the growing dragon. Bridger’s growth exposed his hindquarters as they pushed out from behind the crates. The dragon also made grunty noises. Perhaps he would regain consciousness before Bixby returned.
The cat rubbed against Cantor’s legs, and he sat with his back against the wall both to make himself unobtrusive and to accommodate Jesha, who wanted a lap.
While he waited, Cantor thought about what Bixby had said about the overmining of Richra, and he wondered if the problem had anything to do with Odem’s prediction regarding the plane. The old man had said that Richra and Derson were varying from their orbits. Could the problem be attributed to the loss of mass as the ore is mined and escorted through portals to foreign planes?
Third from the top, Richra boasted rich soil and warm temperatures, with almost too much rain. It was home to many interesting animals that lived nowhere else in the system. Yet of all its resources, the rich mineral deposits below the surface were the most valued. Though Richra’s citizens grew what they needed and basically had no reason to look elsewhere for their sustenance, the minerals lured other planes to seek trade agreements, sparking greed, envy, and territoriality.
Trading between planets required realm walkers traveling through portals. Some unscrupulous realm walkers denounced their duty to protect and guide in favor of participation in black market trade. Cantor had overheard Odem telling Ahma that these people had grown rich and devious. Feuds between them often resulted in innocents being killed. Yet the council did nothing to curb their avarice.
More and more, people of other planes had begun to regard Richra and her citizens with envy. As was often the case, legends instead of facts fueled discontent. In reality, Primen had not set up the universe to be a place of strife and conflict, granting each of the planes luxuries and difficulties in equal measure.
Realm walkers supposedly recognized the balance of livelihood from one plane to another. But many principles had faded into oblivion as the years marched on without a wizard to guide the populace.
Cantor had enjoyed his visit to Richra with its fetes and glitz and fashion, but in truth, he preferred the less structured society of Dairine.
Rattles and squeaks heralded the arrival of a rickety conveyance for the sleeping dragon. Cantor stood to get a better look. Bixby came around the corner, leading a donkey and a two-wheeled cart. A limping, gray-headed man trailed behind.
Cantor walked down the street to greet her. “Where’d you find it?”
She pointed with her thumb behind her. “Two streets away. That man was sleeping in it. He’s going to help us lift Bridger.”
Cantor turned and walked beside her. “You aren’t wearing the same dress you had on when you left.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, the dress you had on was a yellowish white lace with little pink things in it. And hanging out below that was a pale green thing. And hanging out from under that was a pink-striped thing. And on the top — ”
“All right, all right. You noticed what I was wearing.”
“I’ve never seen anyone dress like you. Even when I visited Richra.”
A smug smile lifted Bixby’s cheeks. As they passed under one of the three lamps, Cantor saw her eyes twinkle.
“I have my own style. Part of it is that I wear everything that I take with me. The dress on top was the next to the bottom layer earlier. I decided the cream lace was too bright to wear on these gloomy streets.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to blend in and not draw attention.”
“No, why do you wear all your clothes?”
She shrugged, and Cantor realized the gesture was part of her personality. “Of course, I have other clothes in a hamper, but rather than dipping into that closet, I prefer to have what
most likely will be needed on my body. I don’t like to keep my clothes in storage. Sometimes they don’t smell fresh and need to be aired out before they are fit. And, actually, I like the way the layers look, and . . .”
“And?”
“Well, there isn’t much to me, and all the layers make me look a bit more substantial.”
Cantor laughed. “I see. That makes sense. I guess. You better stow that head-thing though — it attracts attention.”
Bixby snatched the finely crafted circlet from her head and poked it into a pouch that she hid in her skirts.
“How many of those pouches do you have?”
“They’re hampers, and I have a lot.”
He nodded and decided he didn’t need to know. “So, we put Bridger into the cart. Then what?”
“We get out of this town, find my dragon, and go to Gilead.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Right.” Her voice didn’t hold much conviction. “Soon as we get past the first part, it should be easy.” She made a face as if thinking. “To tell the truth, the second part might be a bit of a problem as well. But going to Gilead. That should be easy.”
Cantor needed to make one thing clear. “I’m still looking for my dragon as well.”
They stopped beside the sleeping beast and watched the cloaks rise and fall as he breathed. Only a vestige of the potion still worked. The changing image hurt Cantor’s eyes. He reached down and pulled the offending garments off.
Bixby took them and tossed them into the cart. Jesha jumped in as if anticipating the loading of her dragon. She skirted the circumference of the small wagon, sniffing as she made her inspection. She then sat down in a corner and proceeded to groom her paws, face, and head.
Bixby stood over the dragon. “You and Bridger would make good partners.”
“I want to take some time.” Cantor moved to stand at Bridger’s head. “I want to consider carefully and choose a dragon I can work with.”
“You can work with Bridger. You’ve already done that. I have the feeling he’s very gifted.”
Cantor just grunted as a reply. He smelled rather than saw the approach of the cart’s owner.
The man came around the wagon. “It really is a dragon. Used to see dragons a lot when I was a lad. Don’t hardly see them at all anymore. Especially not in the city.”
“Let’s get him loaded and away from here,” said Cantor.
Bridger turned out to be a more awkward load than heavy. His unwieldy, limp body sagged and slipped and defied a proper grip. Trying to be quiet, trying not to break the flimsy old cart, and trying not to hurt the dragon as they shoved him over the brittle wood side made the task challenging.
When they stood panting by the cart, winded by the effort, the man held out his hand in a gesture that clearly meant he wanted to be paid.
Bixby spoke through shallow gasps for air. “Are you sure you want to sell your cart? We could just rent it from you. Come along, and you can take the cart back with a nice fee for obliging us.”
“I don’t need it anymore. I was going to try to sell it at market this morning.”
His lack of heavy breathing told Cantor why lifting Bridger had been more difficult. This helper hadn’t helped much.
“Really.” The man’s tone became urgent. “I’m going to retire.”
Bixby pulled out a bulging, frilly purse and gave the man three gold coins. He bit each one, then put them in his pocket. Tipping his hat, the gent turned on his heel and left.
Cantor stood with his mouth open as the man walked quickly away. As he neared the end of the street, his pace quickened until he ran the last few yards to the corner.
Bixby looked up at Cantor and gave another little shrug, then poked the purse back in the folds of her skirts.
“I guess I better tell you. My family is rich.”
Cantor closed his mouth. “Bixby, where did you say you found the cart?”
Her face folded in a frown. “On the way to the market.”
“And the donkey was already harnessed to it?”
“No, the donkey was in his stable.”
“And the man?”
“Was sleeping in the cart.”
“He got the donkey from the stable?”
She nodded.
“How did the donkey act?”
“Like it didn’t want to leave its home and work in the middle of the night.”
Cantor went to the donkey’s head, roughed its fur-covered forehead, and clicked his tongue. “Let’s go, little lady.”
“What’s wrong, Cantor? Why are you acting so strangely?”
“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve just stolen a cart and donkey.”
GET GOING
Bixby liked Cantor. He didn’t get all loud and contrary when calm and order disintegrated into chaos and mayhem. He’d not said one condemning word about her gullibility.
She hadn’t thought twice about whether or not the old man owned the cart and donkey. If she had, she could have easily read his nature beneath the surface impression of laziness. But her mind had been on the adventure of escaping the city. She sighed. Several of her mentors had stressed the necessity to not only plan ahead, but to observe the immediate.
Now she and Cantor walked at the head of the donkey, leading it down the least occupied streets, zigzagging back to Dukmee’s shop in hopes of avoiding any authorities looking for a stolen cart pulled by a stolen donkey.
They walked in silence until Bridger groaned.
“Great,” Cantor whispered. “He’s waking up.”
Another loud moan stretched out into the sleeping town.
Bixby ran back and climbed into the cart, throwing her body down on the dragon. “Hush! Bridger, be quiet. Everything’s going to be all right.”
He mumbled. The only word she caught was wing.
She shifted and saw that in her haste, she’d landed behind his left shoulder, directly on his wing.
Bixby rolled off the dragon into the narrow crevasse between him and the side of the cart. “Oh, I’m sorry, so sorry. Did I hurt you? Is it broken? Are you all right?”
Bridger snorted twice, then settled into a soft, rhythmic snore.
The cart stopped, and Cantor looked in from the other side. “Are you okay?”
Bixby tried to rise up to see better over the mountain of dragon, but she was stuck. She collapsed back into the wedge and found she’d slipped farther into the gap. Annoyance stiffened her response. “I’m fine.”
Cantor stepped on the wheel. The cart creaked and sagged in his direction. Now Bixby could see him better.
He peered down at the dragon between them. “How about Bridger?”
“He’s fine.”
He paused a moment, and Bixby watched the frown deepen on his face.
He opened and shut his mouth twice before he spoke what he was thinking. “What’s wrong then?”
“I didn’t say anything is wrong.”
“No, you didn’t. But . . .”
Bixby let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Would you help me out of here? I’m jammed into this teeny tiny crack, which is probably getting smaller as this mor dragon grows.”
Cantor smiled and reached out to her. “Take my hand.”
Bixby grunted as she strained to reach it. Cantor climbed over the side of the cart and found two small spaces on that side of the dragon where he could cram his feet. Now he gave her two hands. Bixby and Cantor both grimaced as he tried to pull her out.
He let go. “How’d you get in there?” His eyes wandered over the sleeping dragon, the cat who’d come awake, and his fellow realm walker.
She rolled her eyes. “Does it really matter?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t, but I think time is a critical factor. Seems to me I read that as mor dragons get closer to their natural size, the process speeds up. Bridger really is growing faster. You really are in danger.”
“Don’t tell my parents.”
Cantor gave an experimental tug on Bridg
er’s bony spine. He didn’t move. “Tell your parents what?”
“They expected so much of me.”
Cantor continued the examination of the problem. “Don’t tell your parents what?”
“I don’t want the herald announcing, ‘Bixby D’Mazeline dies in freak accident, squished between a growing, drugged mor dragon and the bottom of a stolen cart. She is survived by another realm walker, the stolen donkey pulling the stolen cart, the cat belonging to the dragon, and the dragon, who eventually woke up.’ My mother would not like any of that.”
“I don’t think Ahma would either. I’m supposed to watch out for my fellow citizens and do what it takes to keep them or remove them from harm’s way.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take off that side of the cart.”
“Do you think you can?”
“Bixby, this cart is held together by dirt. I wouldn’t be surprised if it crumbled all together after we get you out.”
Cantor moved around the back of the cart and stood where Bixby could not see him. She heard him tugging at the brittle wood boards. His heavy breathing convinced her the job was harder than he’d anticipated. Nails squealed as he forced them out of their embedded places in other old, creaking boards.
“What are you doing, bantling?” The deep, raspy voice surprised both Bixby and Cantor.
Cantor’s boots scraped on the cobblestones as he spun around.
“My friend is stuck.”
Bixby wanted to look through Cantor’s eyes. She tried reaching her hamper to select a tiara. Her predicament limited her maneuverability. She couldn’t twist far enough, and her arms didn’t bend in the right direction. The right hamper was inches beyond her grasp.
She heard heavy steps approach the cart. “Let me help you.”
Jesha stood, arched her back, then squinted a disapproving look at Bixby.
“It’s not my fault, cat. Go growl at the stranger.”
Jesha hopped up on the edge of the cart. Her bits of white fur glowed in the moonlight. The gold tips of her ears and tail glittered. And her dark fur blended with the night. She looked like a cat with pieces missing.