The cart squeaked. The stranger’s reddened face and long, tangled hair hung over her head. If his body matched the size of his head, the man must be one of the giant breeds. Bixby had seen a few during various travels, but only from a distance.
The odor of sweat and gin flowed down. Bixby gagged and turned her face away. Either the pressure of Bridger expanding against her chest or the man’s presence choked her. Her lungs ached. Her arms and legs tingled. The imprisonment between wood and dragon became excruciatingly tight.
A grinding chortle introduced a larger, bellowing guffaw. “She’s shy.” While the uncouth man still raised a ruckus with his unexplainable cheer, he placed his hands on the wood and with one jerk pulled off the side of the cart. Cantor caught Bixby as she tumbled out from her confinement. He dragged her a few feet away from the ratty old cart and the uncouth savior.
His hands grasped her upper arms, and she felt like she’d crumple if he let go.
He bent over to look her in the face. “Are you all right? Anything broken?”
She gratefully pulled in great gulps of air, shaking her head at the same time. “My knees are shaking.”
Cantor glanced around and guided her to a low wall around a small bit of lawn in front of a business. She plopped onto the hard surface without any of her usual grace, and she felt blessed not to have collapsed a few steps away from the seat.
A few moments of concentrated, even breathing calmed her nerves and her lungs. Her muscles, however, still felt like they’d been squeezed in a linen press.
“Oh, I haven’t hurt like this since I rode a stubborn old mule all the way across Vendasimer Desert. Perhaps there will be a remedy at Dukmee’s shop.”
Jesha let out a caterwaul that shook the leaves on a bush next to the wall.
Cantor turned abruptly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Bixby leaned way over to get a view around Cantor. “Put him down.”
The ill-favored stranger stood with Bridger draped around the back of his neck like a shepherd would carry a lamb, or a sheep — a huge, full-grown sheep.
“What?” he asked. “This is a dragon. I’m taking him for payment ’cause I helped you.”
Bixby stood and took a shaky step to stand by Cantor. “You can’t.”
“Why not?”
Bixby stuttered a bit. “B-b-because he’s not yours to take.”
“He belongs to you, right?” The drunken man seemed to have grasped that much. He let go of the dragon for a moment to scratch his oily scalp. “I saved you. You owe me.”
“He’s not really mine. But I’ll give you money, not the dragon.”
Bridger slipped, and the man grabbed the ridge along the dragon’s back and hoisted him higher onto his shoulder. A fierce scowl darkened his face, and he shook his head with not a bit of the joviality he’d shown earlier.
“I’ve had money before. I’ve never had a dragon.” He let go of Bridger again to point his huge finger at Bixby. “If he’s not your dragon” — the finger shifted to Cantor — “he’s yours.”
“No, he is not my dragon.”
Bixby rolled her eyes. For once, his constant denial of Bridger might serve a purpose. She eyed the giant. Or maybe not.
The man shrugged, repositioned Bridger, turned, and whistled as he walked away.
Bixby clipped Cantor’s side with her elbow and whispered, “I think you just made a big mistake.” She cleared her throat and shouted, “Come back.”
The giant raised a hand to acknowledge he’d heard but kept walking. “Seems like this dragon doesn’t belong to either of you, so there’s no harm in my taking him.”
Jesha split the air again with an impressive howl. She leapt off the cart and charged down the street. The donkey shed its obliging demeanor and bolted in the opposite direction.
Bixby shook Cantor’s arm. “The cloaks, we need Dukmee’s cloaks.”
He didn’t stop to question but took off after the clattering cart.
Bixby heard the man holler and saw that Jesha had caught up with him and scaled his leg, using sharp claws. With a hand the size of a shovel, he tried to bat her off. Losing his grip on Bridger, the gargantuan man dropped him to the street. The dragon’s descent nearly knocked Jesha from where she now clung to the seat of the giant’s pants, but she managed to hold on. With the dragon out of the way, the cat clawed up the man’s leather waistcoat and sprang higher, landing on his straggly hair.
Jesha had her legs wrapped around the thief’s head. As he thrashed against the attack, pivoting and swinging his head around, he tried to pry her paws off his face. Jesha claimed her battlefield with a warlike yowl and clung tenaciously to the big man’s head. Blood streaked from under her claws.
Bixby’s legs gave way and she sat. The wall was a step or two behind her, so she ended up on the curb. Cantor and the donkey were out of sight in one direction. The man and cat disappeared around a corner in the other. Bridger lay in a heap, not moving.
Bixby put her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hands. “Why is it never easy?”
A WAY OUT
Out of the darkened side street, Jesha strutted back without the giant she’d vanquished. The cat sprang up on Bridger’s back where she settled in to do a thorough grooming. Bixby laughed. If anything, the cat looked more self-satisfied than before.
From the other direction, Cantor came back carrying the cloaks but with no cart or donkey.
Bixby watched him approach.
“No cart?”
“It came all to pieces, leaving a trail of broken boards, nails, and bolts. The donkey ran off with the harness.”
“Maybe he’ll go home.”
Cantor sat on the curb next to her. “Yeah, maybe. Speaking of being in possession of stolen goods . . .”
Bixby raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue.
“I got stopped by the night watchman.”
“But you didn’t have any stolen goods on you?”
“Not a stitch.” He held up the cloaks. “He did ask about these. Said I wasn’t dressed like a person who wore fancy cloaks.”
She tapped his arm. “See?” She touched her head where she’d put on a tiara while he was gone. “One must look like a person of consequence.”
Cantor examined his clothes and then looked back at her with a grin. “Ahma drilled into me that being clean was more important than being fancy. With all this dirt, I’ve let her down for sure.”
His gaze went to her delicate crown. “What does that one do?”
Her eyebrows lifted, and she fought back a guilty grin. Her nanny had always been able to read her expressions. Subsequently, Bixby learned to guard what she let her eyes tell even when she controlled her tongue. A lot of lessons were about her tongue.
“I didn’t think you realized what they were.”
“I’ve read books, and both Ahma and Odem lectured me, sharing their life experiences, until their voices went out.”
Bixby could well sympathize with verbose mentors. She pointed to the glittering ring woven through her hair. “This one enhances my hearing.” She pointed at Bridger. “His heart rate is gradually increasing. I think he’ll wake up soon.”
“So you have both natural ability, as you demonstrated in the forest, and enhanced ability using tools of wizardry.”
She nodded, and her tiara slipped in her curls. She righted it with a push from one hand.
Cantor looked back at Bridger. “Will he wake before dawn?”
She shrugged. “I’m not very good at guessing the hour without a timepiece. What time is it now, do you suppose?”
“I’d figure we have an hour and a bit more before the light creeps in. Dark lingers in the city, because the wall blocks the sun when it first climbs over the horizon.”
They both turned their heads to watch the sleeping dragon. Jesha perched on the very highest point his body provided. The cat could easily look in a second-story window.
Bixby moaned. He’s grown
even since he landed on the street.
Cantor laid one cloak across his lap and held up the other with two hands. He snapped the cloak and laid it out in front of him. “Not one eye-boggling inch left. The potion is gone.”
Bixby guessed what he was getting at. “We won’t be able to hide us or him or anything.”
“Bridger would be hard to hide in any case. He’s huge.”
“Right.” She slapped her thighs and stood. “Let’s go wake him.”
Circling the dragon, she took in how very, very big he’d gotten in the time since they loaded him in the cart. Cantor walked behind her. They stopped in front of his face.
White, pointed teeth showed between the dragon’s parted lips. He grunted and mumbled, snorted and snored.
Bixby patted him on the nose. “Wake up.”
“He’s too far gone for gentle.” Cantor punched him in the jaw.
Nothing.
Cantor sighed and shook his head. “Yelling might help, but we still can’t be causing a commotion that’ll wake people up and draw too much attention.”
Bixby dug out two pairs of gloves. First, she put on the pair made of soft kid leather. The second pair, made of sturdier leather, slid over the first to give her another layer of protection. Pulling her skirts up around her knees, Bixby put one foot on the dragon’s front arm. “Give me a boost.”
She leaned forward and grabbed a neck scale. Cantor placed both hands on her rump and pushed. She sprang up and out of reach.
“Where are you headed?” he called softly.
“To his ear. It’s not far.”
She saw Cantor nod and transferred her attention to scaling the side of a slippery dragon. Her muscles ached from being squished in the cart. And now they told her she should be in better shape. Too much time reading books, and not enough time climbing trees, running races, and swimming in the lake.
Cantor spoke up again. “Be careful. Stretched like this, his hide will be slick and the scales become sharper as he sleeps. I believe it’s a self-protection contrivance.”
“I know that. That’s why I put on the gloves. Be quiet.”
Digging her toes in between scales helped, but the colorful half-disks cut into her shoes. She liked these shoes. They had bright red straps winding around her leg. The color didn’t show much in the poor light, but she knew the blue stockings underneath provided just the right background. And the shoe itself was more of a sandal with sides that glittered and a thick heel to make her taller.
The scales also sliced the leather protecting her hands. “Listen, Bridger. You owe me one pair of snazzy shoes and two pairs of gloves.”
He didn’t even snort in reply.
Cantor moved around. His footsteps scuffed the dirt and soft shale. “How are you doing?”
“Almost there. Looking for a place to perch.”
One foot slipped, and she grabbed the leathery flap that made up the dragon’s outer ear. No razor-like edges adorned them, so she held on tight with her hands while her feet searched for toeholds.
“Do you need help?”
She grunted. “No. Be patient.”
Bixby hooked her leg over one of the twiggy spikes sticking out from Bridger’s neck. Another protrusion provided a stable place for her other foot. The hole at the base of the leathery flap looked dark and deep. Confident that she wouldn’t fall, she leaned into the dragon’s ear canal.
“Bridger,” she whispered.
He shivered as if her breath tickled. She raised her voice. “Bridger, wake up.”
He raised his head and shook it. “Something’s on me. Get off! Get off!”
His head thrashed back and forth, and he raised a skinny arm to swipe at whatever clung to his neck.
“No, Bridger. Stop! It’s me.”
With the next flick of his head, she went flying through the air. She managed to squelch the scream that rose to her lips and only allowed a strangled, high-pitched squeal.
Strong hands snatched her out of her flight. Cantor pulled her close to his chest. He muttered, “Dragons!” then let her go.
Bridger’s deep voice whispered through a puff of hot air. “Are you all right? I’m sorry. I thought you were a big bug.”
Somewhere on the street, a door slammed.
“Shift, Bridger.” Bixby put fingers on his arm and jiggled his scales. “Before you’re seen.”
Cantor grabbed Bixby’s hand and jerked it away as the dragon shrunk and became the same horse he had formed the day before, only impossibly big.
“Too big,” said Cantor.
Bixby tugged her hand out of Cantor’s grip and again patted the dragon, but this time on his chest. “You are quite massive, Bridger. Could you compact yourself a little more?”
“In a couple of hours, I could. But not right away when I’ve started from the biggest I can grow as a dragon.”
A man sauntered toward them. His dress indicated he was a working man. Bixby’s pulse quickened as she realized he probably worked in the textile factory just down the street. If they weren’t in such a predicament, she’d take the time to find out what fabrics were being made, where to find the best prices, and which outlets carried quality light materials. She momentarily considered pulling out a different tiara so she could delve into his mind, acquiring the information without bothering the man with her questions.
“Whoa!” the man exclaimed as he drew near. “That is the biggest draft horse I’ve ever seen.” He stopped and pushed his cap back on his head. “How’d you get him in the city without the King’s Guard confiscating him? They’d surely prize a giant horse.”
“He came in as a baby,” said Bixby.
The man walked around Bridger, admiring the horse. “You better get him off the streets if you want to keep him. There’s a big bloke lives in this neighborhood. He likes to take things he runs across without bothering to ask.”
Bixby thought through her acquisition of cart and donkey. She had asked. She asked the wrong person, but she had asked.
Cantor gave a low laugh. “I think we met him earlier.”
“I best be off to work. If you run into trouble that requires eluding the authorities, there’s an innkeeper who dislikes the guard with a real boiling anger. He’ll help you. Name’s Rock, and the inn is The Sundown.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’m off now. Can’t be late for my shift. I’m Tooney, should Rock ask who sent you.” He turned and sauntered away.
Cantor picked up the cloaks. “We best get moving too.”
“Do you think we can get to the healer’s shop by alleys and side streets?”
Cantor scratched the back of his head as he eyed the horse. “I think Bridger is too big for some of the alleys. He couldn’t squeeze through.” He reached to pat the dragon’s horsey cheek but pulled his hand back.
Bridger chuckled. “See, you’re beginning to like me. We’ll be constants. I feel it in my bones.”
Cantor grunted. “As we go along, try to make your bones smaller from time to time.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“Don’t call me boss.”
“Right, partner.”
“Not partner, either.”
Bridger laughed. It sounded rather horsey, like whinnying.
Cantor stopped and looked into the horse-dragon’s eyes. He noticed the pupils were slightly reptilian, not as round as a mammal’s. “How long does it take you to lose your voice after you shift?”
“I don’t believe I ever have.”
Cantor sighed and started walking again. “I should have known.”
“Why?” asked Bixby. “What is the significance of losing his voice?”
“Nothing, really.” Cantor lowered his voice. “I just hoped for some quiet, a break from the chattering.”
“He doesn’t talk any more than I do.”
“I know that.”
“You’re saying you don’t like my conversation either.” She pressed her lips into a thin line, for a moment r
eminding Cantor of Ahma.
“Don’t put words in my mouth or erroneous meaning in my words. That’s a sure way to start a disagreement over something that was not said and something that was not meant.”
“Is that in the Primen Guide?”
Cantor stopped at an intersection and peered down each road. He led them down the narrower side street.
Bridger groaned.
Bixby patted his side. “What’s wrong?”
“Just trying to lose a few inches around my middle. I can’t compact any more for an hour or so.”
“By then it’ll be dawn.”
Cantor looked back at the two. The horse looked twice as big as he should, and Bixby fluttered beside him in her jaunty sashay. “Do either of you have an idea as to how we can cross the city any quicker?”
“I do.” Bridger tossed his mane. “I can fly us there.”
Bixby shook her head, and her bounty of curls bobbed about just as the horse’s mane had. “You’ll be seen.”
“The longer I walk through the town, the more likely I am to be seen. As a dragon, I can shoot straight up, turn and streak down to land on the healer’s building. I’ll be visible for less than a minute. Seems I’d be less likely to be seen than if we continue this route.”
Cantor nodded. Bixby opened her mouth, but before she could give her opinion, Bridger swooshed, crackled, popped, and stretched into his own form. He still stood as tall as the horse, but he looked the right size for a dragon. His scales had lost their razor-sharp edges, and the air around him had warmed with his changing.
“I was about to say,” said Bixby, her face red and scrunched into a frown, “I’ve never actually ridden on a dragon.”
“It won’t be that hard,” said Cantor.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Straight up and straight down in less than sixty seconds?”
Bridger flexed his wings. “Probably forty-two seconds.”
Cantor reached for her hand. “You can ride behind and hold on to me.”
She stepped out of his reach and put both hands behind her back. “What if you fall off?”