Stalking the Dragon (7 page)

“You keep the painting, I'll keep the cat-girl,” said Mallory.

“Deal,” he said, walking back to his display.

“You think you can stay by my side and keep out of trouble for the next few minutes?” Mallory asked Felina.

“Yes, John Justin,” she said.

“You're sure?”

“No, John Justin.”

He grimaced. “Serves me right for not settling for the answer I wanted.”

They walked two more blocks, turned right, and soon found themselves at the corner of Christopher and Remorse, where they saw half a dozen people lined up in front of a makeshift booth. Inside it a small, slender man, wearing dark glasses and a suit that had seen better decades, was speaking briefly to each of them.

“Get in line,” said a woman irritably as Mallory approached the booth. He did as she said, and was joined by Jeeves and Felina.

The flow of advice from the raggedy man seemed to cover all subjects.

“Tell her you're sorry and buy her at least half a pound of chocolates.”

“Sell Anaconda Copper short and take a spread on Worldwide Wickets.”

“Next time try a two-iron instead of a three-wood, and watch out for the sand trap just beyond the dogleg.”

“Not a good enough base at Aspen this year. Go to Barbados instead.”

“Flyaway? You've got to be kidding!”

“The Dusenburg is a nice automobile, but for your needs I recommend a Tucker.”

Suddenly Mallory was first in line.

“Well, bless my soul, it's John Justin Mallory, the famous detective!” said Blind Boris.

“How do you know that?” asked Mallory.

The raggedy man smiled. “What's the point of being a wizard if I
don't
know who I'm talking to?”

“You're solving everyone else's problems,” said Mallory. “Can you take a shot at mine?”

“Yours is a little more complex than doping out the market or choosing the right club to use at Pebble Beach,” said Blind Boris. “But buy me something to drink and we'll discuss it.”

“What would you like?”

“Anything but cappuccino,” said the Wizard of Christopher Street.

C
HAPTER
8

9:48
PM
–10:09
PM

“Whiskey for me and coffee for my friends here,” said Boris as the four of them sat down at a small table.

“Make that two coffees and one cream,” said Mallory.

“You mean one with cream and one without?” asked the waiter.

“I mean what I said: two cups of coffee, one cup of cream.”

The waiter shrugged and went to transmit his order to the bartender, as Mallory surveyed his surroundings. He'd been in taverns that had paintings of nudes over the bar before, but this was the first one that displayed a nude with four breasts, four eyes, an eagle's beak, and one leg. He'd been in bars that had fish on display in a tank, too, but until now he'd never seen one with a bunch of four-inch-tall men playing water polo. Finally, he'd been in many bars that catered to a mixed clientele, but as he surveyed horns, tails, hooves, and snouts, he concluded he'd never seen quite as mixed a clientele as this bar possessed.

At last, he turned back to Blind Boris. “So is Fluffy being hidden as a familiar?” he asked.

“
Fluffy?
” said Boris. “What a name for a dragon!”

“I didn't name her,” said Mallory. “I'm just trying to find her.”

“She's not posing or being presented as a familiar, and she's not in Greenwitch Village,” said Boris.

“Okay, she's not here and she's not being passed off as a familiar,” said Mallory. “What else can you tell me?”

“That you've got yourself a complex problem.”

Mallory nodded. “Trying to find a dragon the size of a cat in a city of eight million with a twenty-hour deadline. I know.”

“You don't begin to know,” said Blind Boris. “Everything is not as it seems.”

“You want to explain that?”

“I just did,” answered Boris. “Everything is not as it seems.”

“How about a more useful explanation?”

Boris frowned. “How about: There are enigmas inside of puzzles inside of riddles?”

“That's even less helpful,” said Mallory.

“My fault,” said Boris. “I did it wrong. How about: There are riddles inside of puzzles inside of enigmas?”

“You start making a little more sense or that's the only drink I'm buying you,” said Mallory as the waiter arrived with coffee for himself and Jeeves, whiskey for Boris, and a cup of cream that Felina began slurping noisily.

“I'm
trying
, damn it!” snapped Boris. “But I have to obey the rules of the Wizards' Guild. I
am
Third Vice President of the Lower South Manhattan Chapter, after all.”

“Does the Wizards' Guild tell you to sound mystical and all-knowing and not say a thing worth listening to?”

“In essence,” answered Boris. “They never do anything directly. It would spoil the mystique.”

“I noticed you didn't have any trouble giving straight answers to all the people who were in line ahead of me,” complained Mallory.

“They had simple problems, so I gave them simple answers.”

“What is so fucking complex about
my
problem?” demanded Mallory. “A dragon was stolen. I'm trying to get it back.”

“Ah…but
why
was it stolen, and by whom?” replied Boris. “The only logical reason to steal it would seem to be for ransom, yet no demands for ransom have been made.”

“How do you know?”

“I'm a wizard. I know almost everything.”

“Almost?” repeated Mallory.

“I still don't know why all the elevators arrive at once, or how to open a childproof bottle, or why Fifi Malone refuses to hop into the sack with me…but I know almost everything else.”

“Including who stole Fluffy?” persisted Mallory.

“I said
almost
,” replied Boris.

“I think I want my drink back,” said Mallory.

Boris clutched his glass. “I'll make a deal with you, Mallory,” he said. “If I give you three hints, will you buy me another drink and stop hassling me?”

“Three clues for one drink?”

“I said
hints
, not
clues
.”

“What's the difference?” asked Mallory.

“Clues are tangible.”

Mallory stared at him for a long moment. “Deal,” he said at last.

“Fine,” said Boris.

There was a momentary silence.

“Well?” said Mallory.

“I didn't hear you order the drink.”

“I didn't hear the clues.”

“Hints, damn it.”

“I didn't hear them either.”

“Okay,” said Boris. “Your first hint is the literature of the unshaven.”

“What?”

“You heard me: the literature of the unshaven.”

“That's
it
?” demanded Mallory. “That's the whole clue?”

“Hint, not clue.”

“And it really has something to do with the case I'm on?”

“Of course.”

“What the hell does it mean?”

“That would be telling,” replied Boris. “And we wizards always put a little sping on the ball.”

“You mean ‘spin.'”

“I know what I mean.”

“I'll be damned if
I
do,” said Mallory, thinking about the first hint. “All right, what's the next one?”

“I gave you one as a sign of good faith,” said Boris. “Now I want my next drink.”

Mallory signaled to the waiter and ordered it.

“Thank you,” said Boris. “You next hint is: All is not gold that glitters.”

“Are you giving me hints or platitudes?” said Mallory irritably.

“What's the difference as long as they're valid?” retorted Boris.

“Fine. What's the third one?”

“After my drink arrives and I taste it to make sure you're not duping a trusting old man with flavored water.”

Mallory stared at Blind Boris. “You know,” he said, “I liked you about five minutes ago.”

“I have that effect on people.”

“But right now I'd like to strangle you.”

“I have
that
effect, too,” said Boris. “Usually on attractive women.”

“I get the distinct impression that all they have to be is alive,” said Mallory.

“Well,” replied Boris, “it's a start.”

The waiter arrived and handed Boris his drink. He took a sip, uttered a satisfied “Ahhh!” and put the glass down.

“My third hint?” said Mallory.

“What's three inches long, possessed of a minimum of eight legs, and has a painful bite?”

“That's my hint?”

“No,” said Boris. “That's what just started crawling up my leg.” He reached down and brushed it off. “Okay, Mallory, your hint is as follows: four plus nine times two minus one divided by five.”

“That's
it
?” demanded Mallory. “That's my last clue?”

“Your last
hint
,” said Boris. “And don't sound so annoyed. There's more to it than you think.”

“There damned well better be,” muttered Mallory.

A tall cadaverous man dressed all in black entered the bar with a raven on his shoulder. The bird took one look at Felina, who stared at it with rapt attention, and uttered a single word: “Nevermore.”

“Nice bird,” cooed Felina. “Pretty bird. Pudgy bird.”

“Nevermore,” repeated the raven as a note of desperation crept into its voice.

“Cute bird,” said Felina getting to her feet. “Plump bird.”

“Uh…boss?” said the raven nervously.

“Tasty bird.”

“Boss, either turn around and walk right back out, or at least change me into a Rottweiler,” said the raven.

The tall man turned to Mallory. “Can't you control your familiar?”

“I haven't got a familiar,” said Mallory.

“
Oh, shit!
” cried the raven. It began flapping its wings, and took flight just before Felina launched herself through the air at it.

“
Nevermore!
” it screamed as it flew out the door.

The cadaverous man glared at Felina, uttered an obscenity, and went out after his familiar.

Mallory stared disgustedly at the cat-girl. “I'm starting to understand why Winnifred always suggests you come with me whenever we split up.”

“She's right, John Justin,” said Felina with a happy smile. “I would have saved you.”

“From the animated corpse?” said Mallory. “I doubt it.”

“From the bird,” she corrected him.

“I'll give you a fourth hint, on the house,” said Blind Boris.

“What is it?” asked Mallory.

“Put that damned cat-girl on a leash before she gets you into even more trouble than you're facing.”

“I'm not facing any trouble.”

“The night's young yet,” said the Wizard of Christopher Street.

C
HAPTER
9

10:09
PM
–10:33
PM

Mallory checked his watch as they walked out of the tavern.

“We're due to meet Winnifred in twenty minutes,” he announced. “We'd better get up to Central Park.” He raised his voice. “Unless someone would like to make my life easier and tell me where the damned dragon is.”

“Making your life easy is not part of my job description,” said the Grundy's disembodied voice.

“What was that?” asked Jeeves nervously.

“The owner of tomorrow's likely winner, if we don't find Fluffy,” replied Mallory.

“Then he must be the culprit,” said Jeeves.

Mallory shook his head. “No, he's not.”

“
That's
a relief!” said Jeeves. “How do you get something back from the Grundy if he doesn't want to release it?”

“He's not a bad guy for someone who's Evil Incarnate,” said Mallory. He raised his voice again. “But he could be a little more helpful.”

He thought he heard an amused chuckle floating on the cold night air, but there was no reply.

“Where the hell's the subway?” asked Mallory. “I must have gotten turned around.”

“We
did
walk a few blocks before we found the wizard,” said Jeeves.

“
I
know where it is,” offered Felina.

“Okay, where?” said Mallory.

She smiled. “I'm hungry.”

“What else is new?” said the detective.

“I'll lead you for three sardines, a goldfish, a blue jay, and a hipponoceros.”

“I think I'll just ask the first person I see,” countered Mallory. An unkempt young man whose nose was crusted with white powder and whose eyes possessed wall-to-wall pupils staggered past. “Okay, the second person,” Mallory amended.

A little old lady wearing a woolen shawl around her head and shoulders approached them, carrying a basketful of poppies in bloom.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” said Mallory. “Could you tell me where to find the subway?”

“I didn't know it was lost,” she said, uttering a toothless cackle at her own joke. “Just go past the art fair and the folksinging fair. Then turn right at the drug fair, left at the sex fair, and when you come to the panhandlers' fair you're there.”

“I saw the art fair,” said Mallory, “but I don't remember all those others.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding her head knowingly. “You probably turned left at the Young Republican.”

“There's a Young Republicans fair?” asked Mallory, surprised.

“No, just a Young Republican,” she replied. “Unless a second one has moved into the Village.”

Then she was gone, and Mallory and his little group made their way to the subway entrance, took an escalator down to the platform, and waited for the train to arrive.

“Uh…what are
those
?” asked Jeeves nervously, pointing to a trio of dark, hulking shapes some fifty feet away.

“Gnomes of the Subway,” said Mallory. “Don't worry about them. They're just scrounging for food.”

“Aren't
we
food?” asked the gremlin.

Mallory smiled and shook his head. “They feed on subway tokens.”

“Really?”

Mallory nodded. “They damned near starved to death a few years back when the subways were so dangerous almost nobody rode them. But they're both making a comeback these days—the subways and the Gnomes.”

A train pulled up, and Mallory and his party got on.

“I've never ridden the Manhattan subway before,” remarked Jeeves, looking around. “It's nicer than I thought.”

“It's nicer than the ones I grew up with, that's for sure,” said Mallory. “There's a dining car, an observation car, even a sleeper car for commuters who are going all the way out to Queens or Brooklyn.”

“A sleeper?” repeated Jeeves, frowning. “But Brooklyn can't be forty-five minutes from here.”

A couple passed through the car, hand in hand, and Mallory gestured to them. “If truth be known, mighty little sleeping gets done in the sleeper cars. On the other hand, it makes for a very happy commute.”

“Oh,” said Jeeves.

“Try not to blush,” said Mallory. “It doesn't go with green skin.”

“By the way, what do you see from the observation car in a subway tunnel?” asked the gremlin.

“You'd be surprised what you can see down here if you know where to look,” replied the detective. “Now that we've got a minute or two, tell me a little more about Fluffy.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything that might prove useful,” said Mallory. “For example, how long can she go without food, and if she gets desperate enough, will she eat something besides elephant-shaped chocolate marshmallow cookies?”

Jeeves shrugged. “I don't know. She's been pampered her entire life and never goes more than a few hours without her cookies.”

“Okay, how long can an unpampered toy dragon go without food?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you mean,” said Jeeves.

“I thought I was perfectly clear. How long can a toy dragon go?”

“It's not that simple,” said Jeeves. “How long can he go before he loses his flame? Before he can't fly? Before he dies?”

“Forget it. Let me try another one. How far can Fluffy fly?”

“With or against the wind currents?”

“Goddammit!” snapped Mallory. “Can't you answer
anything
?”

“I'm trying to,” said Jeeves.

Mallory glared at him and remained silent while Felina busied herself looking at all the obscene graffiti scrawled on the door to the next car. A minute later they came to the Central Park stop and left the car, ascended to ground level, and stepped out into the park.

“Where am I?” said a familiar voice.

“Who was that?” asked Jeeves.

“Oh, God! I found him and now I've lost him!” said the cell phone.

“Your pants are talking again,” said Felina.

“Mallory?” said the phone. “Is it you? Is it really you?”

“Shut up,” said Mallory.

“It
is
you!” cried the phone. “Then it wasn't a dream!” A pause. “Where are we?”

“In Central Park,” said Jeeves, staring at Mallory's pants with rapt attention.

“Lift me out of here so I can see,” said the phone.

“You don't have any eyes,” said Mallory.

“Let
me
worry about that,” said the phone.

“If I put you in my lapel pocket and let the top of you stick up an inch over the top, will you be quiet then?”

“Yes, darling.”

Mallory withdrew the phone and moved it to his lapel pocket.

“Oh, this is much better!” said the phone.

“Fine.”

Suddenly the phone began weeping softly.

“What now?” said Mallory.

“After all we've been to each other, you haven't even asked me my name.”

“What's your name?”

“Belle.”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Mallory.

“What a team we're going to make!” said Belle.

“If one half of this team says another word before we reach the dragon pond, it's going to get left in the park.”

“
She!
” Belle corrected him. “I'm a she, not an it.”

“I'll take it under advisement,” said Mallory. “Now be quiet.” He stood still and surveyed his surroundings.

“Do you know where we're supposed to go?” asked Jeeves.

Mallory nodded. “There's a stable straight ahead. What we want is off to the right.”

“It looks deserted that way,” remarked the gremlin.

“You'd be surprised,” said Mallory.

“Is it dangerous?” asked Jeeves.

“Only to your wallet. We'll be lucky if we run into less than half a dozen goblins selling things nobody could possibly want.”

“Actually, if you're going to the dragon pond, there are eight,” said a voice from behind them.

Mallory turned and found himself confronting a goblin wearing a loose-fitting karate outfit.

“It's shameful the way they harass innocent passersby,” continued the goblin. “I'm surprised you don't hate the entire goblin race.”

“
I
hate the entire goblin race,” offered Felina happily.

“You see?” said the goblin. “That's what a few thousand bad eggs will do to you.”

“You, of course, have nothing to sell us,” said Mallory sardonically.

“Only my services,” said the goblin.

“Why am I not surprised?” said Mallory.

“I am Chou En-lai Smith, of the Vietnamese Smiths,” said the goblin. “Master of karate, kung fu, judo, jujitsu, fisticuffs, kickboxing, and the off-putting snide remark.” He proudly gestured to the sash around his waist. “Fifth-level puce belt. Hire me, and I'll rid you of any goblin who accosts you with useless trinkets to sell.”

“That's fine,” said Mallory. “But who'll rid me of you?”

The goblin threw back his head and laughed. “I admire your sense of humor!”

“I wasn't being funny,” said the detective.

“Of course you were,” said the goblin. “You
need
me. You don't know it, but lurking ahead is my cousin Hymie, of the Brooklyn Smiths, just waiting to sell you all twelve 1962 issues of
Playboy
, and three of them don't even have their center spreads. Further up the park, lurking under that big tree off to your right, is Billybob, of the Alabama Smiths, preparing to pounce on you and sell you copper-plated fishing hooks.”

“Why copper-plated?” asked Mallory, curious in spite of himself.

“They fell out of his pocket into a vat of molten copper when he was robbing the Denver mint. By the time he reached them, they weren't the only thing that was copper-plated. If you should ever get in a fistfight with him and I'm not around to save you, watch out for his left.”

“Thanks for the tip,” said Mallory. “Now go away and leave us alone.”

“I thought we were engaging in an honest negotiation!” said the goblin.

“You thought wrong.”

“What are you, some kind of bigot?”

“I'm the kind who's not going to hire you,” said Mallory.

“Goblin hater!” screamed Smith. “Hey, everyone, we got a goblin hater here!”

Half a dozen goblins suddenly appeared from behind trees and shrubs, brandishing blackjacks and brass knuckles.

“Is that right, Mac?” said one of them. “Do you hate goblins?”

“Just this one,” said Mallory, indicating Chou En-lai Smith.

“Oh. Well, that's okay, then,” said the goblin, turning his back and walking away. “Can't say that I blame you.”

The other goblins all followed suit.

“They're just jealous,” said Smith.

“You mean they want to be hated too?” asked Mallory.

“I've a good mind to break your kneecaps, pulverize your Adam's apple, rip your head off, and spit down your neck,” said the goblin. “What do you think of that?”

“It sounds messy,” said Mallory.

“It does, at that,” agreed the goblin. “Maybe I'll just cave your chest in with a spinning kick.”

“You're absolutely bound and determined to fight?” asked Mallory.

“Damned straight,” said the goblin. “I'll tear you apart. I'll dissect you with such grace and skill that they'll award me both ears and the tail. I'll—”

“Felina?” said Mallory.

The cat-girl moved in front of him and opened her hands. An instant later each finger sprouted a two-inch razor-sharp claw.

“She's my surrogate,” said Mallory.

“I don't give a damn about your sex life!” snapped the goblin. “Let's fight!”

“You're fighting
her
.”

“I can't hit a girl,” said the goblin. “It's against the rules. Everybody knows that.”

“Felina,” said Mallory, “do you know of any rule that says you can't remove a goblin's face?”

She smiled a predatory smile and shook her head.

“You're sure you want to do this?” demanded Smith. “You're facing the guy who single-handedly stood off a village of three hundred rabid Chinese leprechauns back in Shanghai.” He paused. “Of course, it helped that I had a submachine gun and they were unarmed peasants, but still…”

Felina took another step toward him.

“All right, cat-thing,” said the goblin, “prepare to die!”

He bent over into a fighting stance and suddenly uttered a piercing shriek.

“You aren't going to scare her by screaming,” said Mallory.

“That wasn't a scream of attack,” rasped the goblin. “It was a scream of pain!”

“Oh?”

“I threw my back out,” he moaned. “I can't straighten up.”

“Ripping his face off is no fun if he can't fight back,” said Felina.

“When did it ever bother you that your prey couldn't fight back?” asked Mallory curiously.

“You're right, John Justin,” she said apologetically. “I wasn't thinking clearly. I'll kill him now.”

“No!” cried Chou En-lai Smith.

“Some other time,” said Mallory to the cat-girl.

“Thank you,” said the goblin.

“My pleasure,” said Mallory, starting to head off toward the dragon pond.

“You're not going to just leave me here, are you?” demanded the goblin.

“Well, you
were
going to kill me, remember?”

“My passionate nature got the better of me. It was rude of me to want to tear off your head and spit down your neck, and I truly regret mentioning it.”

“You're forgiven,” said Mallory. “And now we're late for an appointment, so…”

“Take me with you!” cried the goblin.

“Like that?” asked Jeeves, who had been a fascinated observer of the little scene.

“Help me straighten up and I'll be fine.”

Jeeves walked once around the bent-over goblin. “How would you suggest?”
he asked. “I suppose I could put a knee in your back and pull your arms behind you and…”