Jinx On The Divide (18 page)

It wasn't Fuzzy. It was a fire-breather -- a fire-breather without a saddle, or a harness, or the name of a travel company painted on its side. And it was heading straight for him.

Ironclaw leaped into the air, doing the first vertical takeoff he'd done for decades, and hovered on an updraft. The fire-breather overshot and skidded to a halt on the ledge. It turned its head toward him, its bloodred eyes pinpointing his position, and breathed out a jet of flame. Ironclaw flapped his wings furiously and rose higher. The fire-breather was hunting
him.
The sheer nerve of it! He was so incensed that he didn't take the sensible option and turn tail. He just hovered there, out of reach of the beast's breath, but close enough to take a good look at it with his magnifying vision. What he was looking for was some evidence of the corporation that employed it, because he fully intended to report its behavior to the appropriate authorities. It was outrageous behavior, absolutely outrageous. Perhaps the creature was mentally ill, because it certainly wasn't old and doddery and two kidneys short of a pot pie. Nor had it downsized and decided to retire here; it was far too young. It was in tip-top condition, and it looked very mean indeed, although it didn't seem inclined to chase him into the air -- which showed some sense, at least. Fire-breathers were no match for brazzles in the air; they couldn't maneuver as well, and they were usually rather leery of them. Scared, even. Your average fire-breather was something of a coward.

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[Image: A brazzle and a fire-breather.]

Unless it was a female.

Ironclaw felt sort of silly. Why hadn't he noticed that this one was a much lighter green than the ones he'd encountered in the past? He'd never seen a female before -- travel companies hardly ever used them, for they were far too aggressive. Females -- on the rare occasions they were used at all -- transported goods, not passengers.

She sat on the ledge and watched him, her tail nicking back and forth and striking sparks when it hit the rocky side of the crater.

That was when Ironclaw noticed the crack in the rock wall, a little farther along. The fire-breather saw him looking, and her tail went rigid.

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She's made herself a lair,
thought Ironclaw.
Well, I never. I'd have expected her to be lost without a nice comfortable stable. I wonder what's in there
--
a pile of old bones? Or does she have some sort of instinct to make her home in a cave, the way female brazzles just seem to
know
how to construct a nest? And has she remembered that fire-breathers used to collect gold, when they were wild animals?

Suddenly, the fire-breather looked the other way and started to behave very strangely. She went stiff-legged, and her head bobbed up and down. The ridge of scales along her spine stood up, and her throat blushed a deep, startling red. Then she rattled her wings threateningly, advanced a couple of paces, hissed, and bobbed her head up and down again. Ironclaw allowed himself to lose a little altitude so that he could see what had attracted the fire-breather's attention and caused this reaction.

It was another fire-breather.

Ironclaw didn't hesitate. His leg pouches were practically empty -- Thornbeak had relieved him of most of the gold he'd brought home with him. The fire-breather wouldn't have made an inventory of everything she had collected -- if indeed she
had
collected anything. Good grief, she couldn't even speak, let alone add -- and if she couldn't add, she could hardly be called an intelligent being, could she? She wouldn't miss a few nuggets. The nuggets would have been stolen from elsewhere in the first place, anyway. He felt a little uncomfortable with

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this reasoning -- he could hear Thornbeak saying,
Two wrongs don't make a right, Ironclaw.
Perhaps he could return the gold to its rightful owner, if any of it had been engraved with an identity mark -- minus his commission, naturally. He landed on the ledge a couple of paces from the fissure, and slipped inside while her attention was elsewhere.

A flock of birds lifted off the ground as Felix and Betony approached them, and scattered like windblown litter. "What are they?" Felix asked.

"Don't know," said Betony. "I'm not one of those sad beings who go around with notebooks, jotting down things like the 'lesser spotted tease.'"

"The what?"

"Lesser spotted tease. It hardly ever stays still long enough for anyone to identify it. Those white things are just birds, OK?" They were taking turns carrying the harpoon, and it was proving to be heavier than she'd expected. Getting close to the nobble-heads was nearly impossible as well. A while back, one of the creatures had spotted them. The rest of the herd lifted their heads and turned to look. Then -- rather than galloping away in fright -- they just moved off a little, out of range. Every time Felix and Betony got close enough to think that maybe, just maybe, it was worth cocking the crossbow, the same thing happened.

"Those birds," said Felix. "I think they've been eating something. Let's go take a look."

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And sure enough, there were the remains of a nobble-head on the ground. Betony made a face.

"This is a real piece of luck," said Felix. He noticed Betony's expression. "I'll carry it. You carry the harpoon."

Betony handed it over and looked the other way as Felix hefted the remains of the carcass onto his shoulders. It was unpleasant business, messy and a bit smelly, but it had to be done. The terrain was too bumpy for the sleigh, and Fuzzy had to eat. They started to walk back.

"There's something very odd about this," said Felix.

"What?"

"Something killed this, presumably. My first guess would be snagglefangs -- those rocky outcrops over there look just like them."

Betony turned to look, and a smile crossed her face. "They do, don't they? That could be one sitting on its haunches, and that lump there could be two of them lying down.... The only thing that spoils the effect is that they're covered with snow. There weren't any paw prints leading to the kill, though."

"Maybe it died of old age."

"Maybe."

They made their way back to the sleigh. Fuzzy said she'd butcher the remains of the carcass for them when they reached a fissure they could use as a makeshift stove. The snow began to melt as the ground got hotter, and the sleigh runners grated on the rock a couple of times. Eventually, they

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found a suitable spot. There was a kind of natural chimney, and they could see glowing red magma deep down below. Fuzzy climbed out of the sleigh and sliced off a couple of steaks for them. She then retired to a polite distance and started to consume the rest of it.

Felix was thinking very practically now. He speared their dinner right through with the harpoon, and rested the two ends of it on the ledges on either side of the chimney. The meat began to cook right away, and before long there was the most delicious smell.

Betony grinned and said, "You're learning." She produced some herbal tea she'd stuffed in her pocket, and they hung the kettle from one end of the harpoon and made themselves a hot drink. Then they unfolded the blankets they'd packed and wrapped them around their knees. Felix decided to use his backpack as a pillow, but it seemed to be very lumpy all of a sudden. He reached inside. His hand closed around something hard and round and knobby, so he pulled it out.

"Where did you get that?" asked Betony.

"What is it?" asked Felix. The object was actually rather ugly -- sort of a sickly green, with orange lumps all over it like a rash of boils, and a bulbous little lid. He unscrewed it and sniffed.

"It's a gourd of fertle juice!" exclaimed Betony. "It's the really expensive stuff, too. Let's have a swig."

She leaned over to take it, but Felix lifted it high above his head and said, "Me first."

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"
I
asked first," said Betony, trying to snatch it.

"Tough," said Felix, pushing her out of the way.

"Ouch!" said Betony, and she lunged for it again.

Felix tried to fend her off, but he was too late. Her hand caught the top of the gourd, turned it on its side, and flipped off the lid. There was no splash of bright red liquid -- in fact, nothing whatsoever spilled out of it.

"Well, hi there," said a familiar voice. "Sorry, ran right out of fertle juice. Disappointed? Never mind. I've got something else that might interest you."

Felix and Betony froze.

"It's the jinx box," said Betony. "I might have guessed. Throw it
away."

"Don't listen to her, human child," wheedled the box. "I do have something you want ... something you
need....
All you have to do is say a couple of words for me ..."

"Don't be an idiot, Felix," snapped Betony. "Get
rid
of it. Can't you see, it wants something from you?"

Felix hesitated. OK, jinx boxes didn't sound altogether trustworthy, particularly the old kind, but there was something special about this one. It knew all about their search for Rhino, and it
had
helped them in the past. It had actually
shown
them Rhino, in Yergud, the two peaks of the volcanoes behind him like a legend on a map. They'd never have found him the first time without the box.

"Stop worrying, Betony," he said, not quite meeting her eye. "Let's listen to what it's got to say."

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Betony's eyes flashed with annoyance. "It's out for number one, Felix; it has no one else's interests at heart except its own. In fact, it doesn't even have a heart. It's a
box.
I wish you'd talk to Fuzzy about it."

"And what would she know?" said Felix impatiently. "She's still just a chick."

"She studied K'Faddle products in her last history module."

"So?" He knew he was being unreasonable, but suddenly he didn't care all that much. "It's no one else's business but ours."

"It's trying to turn us against each other," said Betony sharply, "and so far, it's succeeding pretty well." They glared at each other.

"What are you talking about?" asked Fuzzy, coming over. She'd finished her own dinner a little too quickly. Nobble-head was unbelievably delicious, and she suspected she'd pay for it later with a touch of indigestion.

Felix put the lid back on the gourd, looked hard at Betony, and returned it to his backpack. "Just complaining out loud that my backpack was too lumpy to act as a pillow," he said. "Ow! I think it's bruised my shoulder."

"No, you weren't," said Betony.

Felix looked at her, confused. He knew they'd had a quarrel, but he couldn't remember what it was about. "What was I saying, then?"

"Can't remember," said Betony. "Are those steaks done yet?"

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A little later on, as they sat with their backs to the warm rock, sipping their drinks and eating their meal, things didn't seem quite so bad anymore. Of course, Rhino was still out there somewhere, either in or out of control of a fire-breather, with a gunpowder recipe for sale to the highest bidder. Fuzzy's hex still hadn't worn off, and Nimby was still missing. But life always seems a little better when you're warm and you have a full stomach.

As the brandee turned from a gas to a solid once again, he discovered that he had materialized in an office of some kind -- and that the creature that had summoned him was no less than a sinistrom. He felt sick, which was really unpleasant because he could never actually
be
sick and get it over with. Being summoned by a sinistrom was no laughing matter. How on earth had it happened? He couldn't see his lamp anywhere. He glanced around. The walls of the room were lined with books, and there was a big wooden desk in the middle of the floor, covered with papers -- along with a plate of cookies and a little plaque that read thornbeak, with a picture of a brazzle beneath it. Nothing made sense.

The sinistrom just stared for a moment, his jaws agape, which gave the brandee a particularly good view of his canines. Then he shook himself, padded across to the door, and checked that it was locked. After that, he sat back on his haunches and shook his head in bewilderment.

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"Greetings," said the brandee, between gritted teeth. "I suppose you want either wealth beyond your wildest dreams or the most beautiful female of your species in the world."

"I'm a sinistrom," said the shadow-beast. "Sinistroms don't have a gender. We've always been referred to as males because we're so violent. Other than me."

"Well, that's a relief," said the brandee, trying to sound convinced. He glanced around the room. "Look," he said, "I don't know how you've managed this, because you don't have my lamp, do you?"

"No," said the sinistrom. There was an awkward pause. Then he said, "My name's Grimspite, by the way."

"Grimspite?
Not the Grimspite who wrote
Dining Out on Mythical Beasts?"

The sinistrom looked ridiculously pleased all of a sudden. "Yes."

The brandee managed a weak smile. "Terrific production values," he said. "The illustrations are first-rate. I know quite a lot about you, you see. You became separated from your pebble, and now you have free will. That's what / want."

"You may already have it," said Grimspite. "You see, I've been researching the Big Bang spell, and I found this reference to a word that was stored in a jinx box. I think it may have been a powerword...."

The brandee stiffened.

"I wasn't sure it
was
a powerword," the sinistrom continued. "So I spoke it out loud, just to see what would