Bearing an Hourglass (2 page)

Gawain snorted. “Mister, you can’t
move
a dragon! They’re worse than cats! Once a drag stakes out his territory, he defends it. Enchant the monster and move it to a reservation, it just breaks out and returns, twice as ornery as before, killing innocent people along the way. No, I respect dragons as opponents, but the only really good dragon is a dead one.”

Norton sighed inwardly. Perhaps it was a good thing for the world that Gawain was now a ghost.

“That was my specialty,” Gawain continued. “The hand-slaying of dragons. It was dangerous work, to be sure—but the rewards were considerable. Because it was quasi-legal, fees were high. I estimated that five or six years of dragon slaying would make me independently wealthy. That was the point: to prove that I wasn’t simply inheriting wealth, but could produce it on my own. I knew my family would be pleased; every man in it increased the fortune, if he lived long enough.”

Gawain meditated for a moment, and Norton did not interrupt him. What would be the point? Norton had on occasion spotted the traces of dragons in the parks and had always given the monsters a wide berth. He might be an environmentalist, but he was no fool. It was said that some dragons in parks were halfway tame and would not attack a person if he gave them food or jewelry, but Norton had never trusted such folklore. The best way to deal with a dragon was to stay clear of it, unless a person had a really competent pacification-spell.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gawain said. “Obviously I met one dragon too many! But in my defense, I do want to say that I was successful for five years and had almost amassed my target level in bonus money. I would be alive today if that last dragon I faced had been genuine. But you see, it wasn’t; it had been mislabeled. Oh, I don’t blame the natives—not much, anyway; they were a fairly primitive tribe in South America and they spoke a mixture of Amerind and Spanish, while I spoke the language of champions, English. Normally language is not much of a barrier; my armor and sword bespoke my profession, with the dragon design on my shield; and as for the women—a man never needs a language of the tongue to speak his use for them, especially when he’s a warrior. These things are fairly standard, anyway; the conquering hero always gets his pick of the local virgins. After all, it’s better for them than getting chomped by the dragon!”

He paused a moment, his lips twitching. “Funny that some of those girls don’t seem to see it that way.”

He shrugged and returned to the main theme. “But I think they were honestly ignorant of the nature of their monster. Of course, I should have checked it out in the Dragon Registry—but I had traveled a long way, and the nearest civilized outpost was a half day’s trek distant—couldn’t use a standard flying carpet for this, of course, since those things are coded into the tour computers, and that would have given away my business—it would have delayed me a day just to do that, and maybe alerted the Dragon Patrol. So I tackled that dragon blind, as it were. I’ll never do that again! I was cocky and foolish, I know—but I was familiar with the specs on just about every type of dragon in the world; I figured I was okay this one time.

“So there I was, afoot and armed with sword and shield, as is proper for such encounters, and I boldly braved the lair of the monster. And monster it was! I could see claw marks on the big trees some ten feet up. A real challenge! I marched up to its cave and bellowed out my challenge, and the monster came charging out, no fire, just growling—and then I realized my mistake. That was no dragon—it was a dinosaur! A largely bipedal carnivorous reptile—allosaurus, to be specific; I looked it up after it was too late. It was supposed to be extinct; I think Satan revived it, just to take me down a peg.”

Now Norton spoke. “Isn’t a dinosaur much like a dragon?”

“Yes and no,” Gawain said seriously. This was his field of expertise. “It should be as easy to slay one as the other, as they are of similar nature. Dragons have fire and better armor, and some are unbecomingly smart, while the ancient carnosaurs—well, they have to do it all by tooth and claw and power, so they’re both more single-minded and desperate. I was geared and trained for dragons; I knew their typical foibles. A dragon, for example, will always try to scorch you with its fire or steam first; dodge that jet, and you can often get in a lethal stroke while it’s recovering its breath. It’s blast-oriented, you see, not thinking about
what comes next. But the allosaurus—that monster didn’t even pause to see how it scored, because it had no attack heat. It simply charged, catching me off guard. I had been ready to dodge to the side, and that was no good this time. I stabbed it in the neck with my sword, but it didn’t seem to notice. That’s another difference—a dragon will roar with pain and rage when injured—they are inordinately proud of their roars—and whip about to snap at the wound. I’ve seen a dragon get stabbed with a knife and reach about and bite that knife right out of its body, along with a few pounds of its own flesh, and toast the wound afterward to cauterize it. This carnosaur just kept going for me. Its system was more primitive. You know how a snake’s tail will keep twitching after you cut it off? True reptiles are slow to die, even when hacked to pieces. So again I misjudged it—and again I paid. The brute knocked me down and took a chomp of my body, armor and all. I didn’t even try to scramble free; I knew a body-chomp would only dent the monster’s teeth.

“That was my third error. Apparently enchantment has a sizable psychological component; people believe in its power, so it has power. A dragon would have known the armor was impermeable, since the smell of the spell was on it, and protected its teeth by easing up. The crunch would have been more show than serious; just testing, as it were. But this allosaurus dated from before the time of true magic and it gave a full-hard chomp, the kind that crunches bones.”

“But magic isn’t all psychological!” Norton protested. “When I lighted this fire, the wood didn’t need to believe in magic; it was ignited anyway.”

“True. My armor was impervious to the teeth of the monster,” Gawain agreed. “But the mail was flexible, so I could wear it with comfort and not be restricted when fighting. That reptile had very powerful jaws. When it crunched, no tooth penetrated—but I was squished to death. A dragon never would have done that, for fear of hurting its teeth against the magical hardness of the armor—but that stupid reptile did. It broke a number of
its teeth and put itself in dire straits—but it wiped me out in the process.” The ghost sounded disgusted.

“Now I understand,” Norton said. “I regret meeting you in such circumstance.” That was polite; Norton might have regretted meeting Gawain alive, too.

“No fault of yours,” Gawain said. “You are a courteous listener. Many people fear ghosts or ignore them.”

“Many people are more settled than I am,” Norton said. “Perhaps that applies to their minds as well as their bodies. Since you profess no anger toward me, I accept you as a well-meaning companion and hope I may in some way help you.” For, ironic as it seemed, he found himself liking the ghost. Gawain alive stood for nothing Norton stood for, but as a ghost, he was an interesting companion. Maybe that was because his evil was safely behind him.

“I like your manners,” Gawain said. “I can see we don’t see eye-to-eye on everything and I think it’s because you’re a gentler man than I was. Be assured I offer recompense for the favor I ask. Would you like to learn how to slay dragons?”

“Oh, I do not require pay for any favor!” Norton protested. “Then it wouldn’t be a favor.”

“This is not really a minor matter. I would prefer to pay. The favor is in merely agreeing to do it.”

“Why, then, I should be happy to learn how to slay dragons, though I hope never to have to use such knowledge.” That was an understatement; he would never knowingly go near a wild dragon without defensive magic—and with that magic he would not have to slay it. “But what is this favor?”

Gawain frowned. “I prefer to provide more background first, lest you be unable to accept the request.”

Norton was growing quite curious about this. The ghost was a tough, direct sort, with quite alien values, but he was also a gentleman by his own reckoning. Why was he being so circumspect about this? “By all means, sir.”

“When I died, I had amassed a fair fortune, in addition to my inheritance,” the ghost continued. “Actually, the inheritance has not yet come down to me, as my father
lives, but I am the only heir. It is important that the estate remain in the family. Therefore, my surviving family arranged for a ghost marriage. That is, they married me to an excellent and healthy young woman of proper lineage who—”

“Pardon,” Norton said. “Forgive the interruption, but you have lost me. How can a ghost marry?”

Gawain smiled. “Yes, I thought that would throw you. It threw
me
, first blush. It is a device used when a noble family wishes to preserve its line—when the heir is defunct. They marry the ghost to a suitable girl—one he would have approved of in life—who then bears his heir.”

“But—”

“But a ghost can’t impregnate a living woman. That is indeed a problem.”

“Yes. I really don’t see how—”

“I’m coming to that. My wife may associate with any man she chooses—but she
is
my wife, by the ghost marriage, and her child is mine. He will inherit my estate and carry on my line.”

“But then she’s being unfaithful to you!” Norton protested.

“I had trouble with that concept, too, at first. But I came to terms with it. She knows she must provide the heir and that I can not do it personally. But I am involved, for I am choosing the man. With her consent, of course; marriage is a partnership. She has refused several good prospects.”

“Are you sure she really wants to—?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Gawain said confidently. “She is a good and honest woman. She is not trying to renege. She merely wants to do it exactly properly. She has this magic talent: she can tell by looking at a man how good a consort he would make. That’s one reason my family selected her. They didn’t want the heir sired by some ne’er-do-well bum with poor heredity. She really is special. If I had met her in life, I surely would have loved her, though I wouldn’t have had much patience with her views about dragons. She can’t bear to hurt any living creature. So if I bring her a man she deems good enough to—”

Realization struck Norton. “This favor—”

The ghost
nodded
. “Precisely. I want you to meet my wife, and if she likes you—”

“Wait!” Norton spluttered. “I take my women where I find them, when they are amenable, but never a married one! That wouldn’t be right.”

“I like you, Norton. You have the right instincts. I was afraid out here in the park I’d find only wishy-washy sentimentalists, but you’ve got style. I think my wife would like you, when she didn’t like the warrior types I sent before. Look at it this way: I have no physical body and I need an heir. I’m asking you to substitute for me in this one respect. After that you can go your way, with no further commitment. It’s like repairing my house for me, and I’ll pay you for the service—”

“Some service!”

“Literally.” The ghost chuckled. “I realize this is hard for you to accept right away and I like that in you. But at least come to meet Orlene. Maybe she’ll reject you.”

From the way the ghost spoke, Norton had no certainty of that. Gawain thought this girl, Orlene, would like him. If he went, expecting to be rejected, and then … “I don’t know—”

“Please, Norton! You’re a good man—and I must have that heir.”

“I understand that part. But to cuckold you—that’s against my philosophy.”

“I am, after all, a ghost. You can consider her a widow. If it helps, you can remember that you will have no rights over her at all. You can not marry her, and your part will be forever unrecognized. Legally there is no adultery here. So this is the ultimate chance to sow wild oats—”

“Complete irresponsibility! That’s not what I—”

“Well, then, think of it as artificial insemination, and you’re the donor. Hell, man, that’s done all the time, in life, when the living husband is infertile.”

This was haywire, but the concept helped. The ghost did have a case. “All right—I’ll meet her,” Norton said guardedly.

“And I’ll teach you how to slay dragons!”

“Oh, you don’t really need to—”

“Yes, I do. I insist on paying for it!”

Norton realized that what a man paid for belonged to him. Gawain had to have his personal, private claim on the heir. “Yes. But first we had better find out whether she’s even interested. This may all be for nothing.” He wondered what this fine girl who had sold her body in such fashion for security actually looked like. Quality and lineage could normally net a girl a good husband, unless she was ugly or had a vile temper. That latter kind might be the sort who would settle for a ghost.

“We can go right now,” Gawain said eagerly. “There’s an elevator not far from here.”

Norton thought to protest, but remembered that he was broke, so would not be able to camp out much longer anyway. A stay with a good woman, even an ugly one, was at least worth considering. He really could not claim to have anything better to do.

He doused the fire and cleaned up the area so that future hikers would not be annoyed. Wilderness hiking and camping were privileges, not rights, and were strictly licensed. He was always careful not to mistreat the cultivated wilds. He burned only deadwood, left the animals alone, and tried not to harm even caterpillars and worms. He never littered. It was not that anyone was watching; it was that Norton had genuine respect for the heritage of nature and for the parks that sought to emulate it.

They walked a quarter mile to a giant blazed oak tree. Norton touched the lowest branch and stepped inside the chamber that opened in the trunk. The elevator descended to the residential level, where they stepped out and took a conveyor belt to the ghost’s address. Gawain, of course, could simply have popped across directly, but he preferred to honor the living conventions among the living.

This was an affluent section of the city, as befitted the ghost’s description of his family’s status. Poor people did not worry much about preservation of their estates.