Stalking the Dragon (24 page)

C
HAPTER
33

5:07
PM
–5:41
PM

“How many animals compete for Best in Show?” Mallory asked Murray, when they'd returned to the grooming area, which had emptied out considerably as most of the losing animals and their handlers had left the premises.

“At the beginning of the day, perhaps two thousand,” answered Murray. “By the time the Group winners meet, five: Winged, Clawed, Fire-Breathing, Water-Breathing, and Miscellaneous.”

Mallory resisted the urge to ask how a legless water-breathing sea serpent could trot across the ring.

Winnifred decided to exercise Fluffy again, which Mallory concluded was far more for Winnifred's benefit than the dragon's. Murray began packing his equipment, though like most of the beaten exhibitors he planned to remain for the Best in Show judging, and Mallory wandered over to a nearby kiosk and ordered an Old Peculiar. He nursed it while the other Groups were judged, and by the time he'd finished it the announcement came over the public address system that the five Group winners were due in the ring for the Best in Show judging.

Winnifred was waiting at ringside with Fluffy, and Mallory studied his competition. The Grundy was approaching with Carmelita. The Water-Breathing Group winner was a serpent that resembled nothing more than a six-foot-long version of the Loch Ness Beast; it wore a water-filled transparent helmet and undulated to the ring at the end of a leash that looked remarkably like a piece of seaweed. The Miscellaneous winner was a ten-legged spiky monstrosity that seemed almost puppyish in its love for everybody. Finally the winner of the Winged Group appeared, and a collective gasp arose from the crowd.

The gasp was not for the banshee that had won the group, but for the handler at the other end of the rope that kept the banshee from flying up to
the rafters. It was Bubbles La Tour, star of stage, screen, centerfold, and numerous indecency trials, and most of the males at ringside just stared, unblinking, mouths open.

“You wouldn't think she could fall out of her clothes in so many directions at once,” remarked the Grundy to Mallory.

Even the judge was staring, transfixed by her.

“This is going to be even harder than I thought,” muttered Mallory.

“What has that hussy got that I haven't got?” complained Belle.

“You want me to enumerate?”

“Go ahead, insult me!” said Belle. “Break my heart! See if I care!”

“Be quiet,” said Mallory. “It's hard enough to concentrate as it is.”

“Fine! I hope you and Miss 44 Double-D will be very happy together!”

“Enter the ring, please,” said the steward, suddenly coming to his senses.

The five Group winners walked into the ring. The crowd and the judge ignored four of them.

“Trot them once around the ring, please,” said the judge.

The five winners and handlers trotted around the ring. No one looked at the animals or four of the handlers.

The judge wiped some drool from his chin and approached Bubbles La Tour. “Will you trot around the ring once more, please?” he said. “I'll hold your banshee so she doesn't get in the way.”

“Just a minute!” complained the serpent's female handler.

“Be quiet!” said the judge.

“This isn't fair!”

“You're disqualified,” snapped the judge immediately.

“
What?
”

“You heard me,” said the judge. “Get out of my ring.”

The woman turned on her heel and led the serpent out. “You'll be hearing from my lawyer in the morning!” she promised.

“Damned nuisance!” muttered the judge.

Mallory looked around ringside and saw Harry the Book whisper something to Big-Hearted Milton.

You'd better think of something before it's too late
, thought the detective.
He's going to give her Best in Show as soon as she takes about two more deep breaths.

Big-Hearted Milton began muttering something, and made a mystic sign in the air—and suddenly Bubbles La Tour was no longer wearing a low-cut blouse and a high-cut miniskirt, but was covered, neck to ankle, with a shapeless Mother Hubbard.

“Saved me the trouble,” said the Grundy.

“Why didn't you do it sooner?” asked Mallory, who was lined up next to him.

“I don't want it said that I used magic to win,” replied the demon.

“You cut it awfully close.”

The Grundy shook his head. “I'd have stricken him mute before he could declare her the winner. This is between you and me, John Justin Mallory.”

“You mean between Fluffy and Carmelita,” the detective corrected him.

The Grundy shrugged. “Same thing.”

The judge showed no further interest in Bubbles or her banshee, and it was clear that he couldn't decide whether the Miscellaneous winner should be more horrific or more cuddly, but he clearly felt it lacked some intangible
something
. It soon boiled down to Fluffy and Carmelita, as everyone had known it would. They were gaited, they were posed, they were examined, they were put through every pace they had, and finally the judge stood them side by side and stepped back to study them.

It was obvious that he was about to make his decision, and Mallory reached into his pocket to withdraw another chocolate marshmallow elephant cookie and get one last vibrant pose out of Fluffy—and discovered that he had used the last of them to get her to leap up and fly around the ring. He desperately dug into his other pockets, but came up empty.

Carmelita was on her toes, baiting for a small, wriggling snake that the Grundy dangled just in front of her, and Mallory realized that he was going to lose.

Then a familiar voice yelled, “Mallory—
catch!
”

He looked up and saw Gently Gently Dawkins hurling something at him. He caught it, and found it was a chocolate marshmallow elephant cookie.

“I forgot I had it,” said Dawkins with a guilty smile.

Mallory held it out, and Fluffy's response was electrifying: she stared at it with famished interest, her whole body tense and alert. The judge took one
last look, and then pointed to Mallory and the dragon. “Best in Show!” he announced.

The Grundy walked up to Mallory. “I'll beat you next year!” he said in a cold fury.

“I'm afraid not,” said Mallory. “Fluffy and I are both retiring from the ring.”

“You can't!” snapped the Grundy, his eyes blazing.

“Watch us,” said Mallory, starting to walk back to the grooming area.

“John Justin Mallory!” yelled the Grundy as the crowd gasped. “As of this minute we are at hazard again!”

“Until the next time you need me,” said Mallory without turning around or breaking step.

E
PILOGUE

Evening, February 15

There was some confusion concerning what to do about Fluffy.

Dragons weren't allowed in jail, and besides, it was generally considered that Brody had lost all claim to her. Jeeves would soon be serving a minor sentence for collusion, and couldn't take her either. It was even suggested that she be given to the Grundy, who had the funds to continue showing her, but Mallory decided they couldn't trust the demon not to take his wrath out on her and vetoed it.

Winnifred decided that she and Mallory would take the little dragon back to the office until they could figure out how to dispose of her. Then Fluffy took matters into her own hands: she absolutely refused to leave her source of chocolate marshmallow cookies, and before dinnertime Gently Gently Dawkins had a pet.

Winnifred went home to her apartment to feed her songbird, Felina heard things scurrying in a nearby alley and decided to spend a few hours making and eating new friends, and after he grabbed a sandwich at a local greasy spoon, Mallory went back to the office.

“So this is where we live,” said Belle when he closed the door behind them.

Mallory realized he'd forgotten that she was still in his pocket.

“Some of the time,” he said, pulling her out and holding her up. “That's the kitchen, this is my desk, that's Winnifred's desk, this is our magic mirror Periwinkle, that's—”

“Forget all that,” said Belle. “Where's the bedroom?”

(speech delivered before the Blood Sports Enthusiasts
of Lower South Manhattan)

Before I begin, I want to make it clear that the true sportsman not only gives his prey a fighting chance to escape but also gives him a chance to become the predator as well. Hence, my remarks are aimed only at those who hunt the humongous dragons that stand more than eight feet at the shoulder, produce a flame in excess of 300 degrees Fahrenheit, and cruise at an altitude of more than two thousand feet.

Now what (I hear you ask) is the best weapon to use on a dragon?

If you are a Christian saint, a charmed sword is more than sufficient. If, on the other hand, you are like the rest of us, the first thing you have to do is identify your prey so you will know how best to bait him.

For example, the tree-dwelling dragon of the Ituri Rain Forest lives almost exclusively on a diet of okapis and chimpanzees. The rugged Namibian dragon thrives on young pachyderms, especially the hippopotamus and the black rhinoceros.

Here in New York, the favorite prey of the wild dragon is the drunken sot, followed by the unleashed Great Dane. Either of these should attract your dragon in a matter of a very few minutes, especially in daylight.

Now, I have always preferred the stopping power of the .550 Nitro Express, especially if you are using soft-nosed bullets. The poisoned arrow usually works, but it simply isn't sporting and we won't mention it here. The Amulet of Kobassen will slow him down enough to deliver the death blow with a blade blessed by a Mage of the Fifth Circle or higher.

If you're going to meet him in close quarters, which where a dragon is concerned constitutes anything his flame can reach, you're going to want protection from the intense heat and fire. My suggestion is that you stop by Alastair
Baffle's Emporium of Wonders and pick up a tube of the same ointment magicians, acrobats, and ecdysiasts use to protect their bare flesh from the fire they work with. Failing that, an asbestos bodysuit and helmet seems to be your best bet.

I've seen would-be daredevils try to douse the dragon's flame with water, totally overlooking the fact that the average six-ton dragon drinks thirty-five gallons of water a day and is not above bathing in it. Actually, the very best way to eradicate a dragon's flame is to toss him something to eat: they're especially fond of suckling pigs, cheese blintzes, and chocolate marshmallow cookies…and it is a little-known fact that dragons do
not
like their food to be well-done, or even medium well. Feed a hungry dragon and you won't have to worry about the flame until he digests his meal.

Once the kill has been made, it's time to enjoy the spoils of conquest. I've never been partial to dragon steaks, but there's a cut of meat along the base of the tail, especially on young dragons, that is almost indistinguishable from veal, and this is the part of the dragon you should reserve for yourself, while doling out the rest to your trolls. Dragon whiskers—on those rare occasions that they haven't been burned away prior to your encounter—are prized religious artifacts, and you should always pluck them out and give them to your gunbearers (or swordbearers) and skinners.

And what if you spend a day tracking your dragon through Central Park, down the wilds of Ninth Avenue, through the caves of the Park Avenue subway, only to find out that he's a mere five feet at the shoulder, or that she is being followed by a brood of infant dragons?

That is why you should always carry a squirt gun filled with indelible and phosphorescent ink. Using the gun, squirt your initials onto the beast's left shoulder. This will tell all other members of the Lower South Manhattan Blood Sports Enthusiasts that you have claimed killing rights to this dragon, and are merely waiting for more sporting circumstances to end its life. Now, the police and the military probably will not honor this claim, especially if the dragon is attacking a lovely, terrified, half-naked woman, which seems to be the kind of human dragons prefer to attack, but under normal circumstances that dragon will be considered untouchable until you once again go a-hunting. (Indeed, an entire religious sect—The Cult of the Untouchable
Dragon—has grown up around this practice. In fact, so has the Cult of the Lovely, Terrified, Half-Naked Woman, but that needn't concern us here.)

Once you do slay your dragon, check to see if it is a female, and if so, assiduously seek out her nest, as a clutch of dragon eggs will usually bring a high enough price on the collectors' market to finance your next safari.

So get those weapons ready, assemble your team of trolls, make sure all your mystic protections have been thoroughly upgraded, pack your anti-burn medical kit, and good luck to you!

GENERAL CHARACTER: The Dragon is a gentle, loving creature except when enraged, which is altogether too often. He is loyal to a fault; his loyalties may shift on the spur of the moment, but he is always loyal to someone or something. He has a sly sense of humor, and enjoys pyrotechnics. The DCA (Dragon Club of America) has been in existence since 1873 and has yet to find anything that will frighten one of these courageous creatures, except a larger, meaner Dragon.

HEAD: The Dragon's head is bullet-shaped, with a prominent occipital bone, sharp teeth (all Dragons are carnivores, except for the ones that aren't), flaring nostrils that emit and occasionally aim streams of exceptionally hot smoke, and (usually) a slight overbite.

EYES: Set wide on the head, the eyes are round, and come in a variety of colors, including brown, green, puce, mauve, and magenta. Most Dragons possess a truly phenomenal range of vision, and can pick out a prey animal or an attractive member of the opposite sex (or sometimes the same sex, depending on the Dragon) at upward of a mile.

EARS: Yes. Two (2).

FLAME: The Dragon's flame runs upward of 300 degrees Fahrenheit (225 degrees for Toys; 250 degrees for Miniatures), shoots out one to two times the length of his body, and never needs refueling.

NECK: Approximately fifty percent (50%) of the body length, the best specimens have a noble arch to their necks. For the record, the head sits at one end and the body at the other.

BODY: The Dragon's body is covered with scales—the reptile kind, not the tell-your-weight kind. His musculature exudes a sense of raw power, except when he is morbidly obese (yes, even Dragons get morbid). His withers are somewhat higher than his hips, his tail tends to drag the
ground when walking, and there is a slight ridge down the center of his back, which most riders find distinctly uncomfortable and a small handful find sexually stimulating.

WINGS: The Dragon's wings are approximately the length of his torso. On some—the West Coast Dragon, the Patagonian Dragon, and (especially) the Albanian Dragon—the wings are vestigial. On others—the Beverly Hills Dragon and the South Beach Dragon—a display of the wings attracts members of the opposite sex. (One is inclined to say the weaker sex, but there are no weaker sexes among the Dragon population.) The Dragon can fly long distances, but like any reasonable creature prefers to glide and be carried along by the wind.

LEGS: The preferred number is four. The claws are long and not retractable. Even a Toy Dragon can, when annoyed, rip your face off, if he chooses not to melt it, so always have his favorite snack in your pocket and his favorite toy within reach.

GATE (TROTTING): The Dragon double-tracks fore and aft, and gives the impression of absolute grace, unless he happens to trip on something.

GATE (FLYING): The Dragon is a graceful flyer. The smaller, lighter Dragons will ride the warm thermals, but the larger ones will flap their incredibly powerful wings, making enormous progress while disrupting the air currents for all insects, birds, and three-seat propeller planes.

TAIL: The Dragon uses his tail, which is broadest at the tip, as a rudder when flying, a balance when walking, and a weapon when attacked from behind.

COLOR: The most common color is green, but tan, gray, chocolate, and licorice are acceptable. Points are deducted for red, purple, or multicolored Dragons, and white Dragons, with or without halos, are disqualified.

SIZE: Dragons come in a variety of sizes. They include Toy (under 12 inches at the shoulder); Miniature (12 to 15 inches at the shoulder); Standard (15 to 60 inches at the shoulder); Large (5 to 8 feet at the shoulder); and Humongous (8 feet minimum at the shoulder).