The Dragon's Lair (4 page)

Char sighed, and limped to the door of the room. He held it open for the cat, who strolled out regally, then shut it behind him.

"Well, this day is off to a
lovely
start," he said. "At least it will leave an interesting scar. Come on, Ven, we better hightail it to the kitchen." He checked himself in the mirror, ran his hands through his straight black hair, then hurried from the room and closed the door behind him.

Char never leaves our room without trying to make himself look presentable, because the girl he has a terrible crush on works with him in the kitchen of the Crossroads Inn. Her name is Felitza, and she's very shy and quiet. When I first met her, I wondered what it was that Char saw in her. She has rather large teeth, and neither her hair nor her skin has much color in it. But there is something about her that has appealed to Char from the moment he met her. At first I thought it was that she is a wonderful cook, and he was named Char by the men he sailed with because he burns everything. But now it's clear that he just really likes her, and he does his best to look good and behave properly when she's around
.

This isn't easy for him, because Char is an orphan, like many of the other kids who live in the dormitories behind the Inn. But unlike them, Char was sent to work on the sea when he was too young to remember any other life. So his clothes are more ragged than everyone else's, and he learned his manners from sailors, so it's sometimes either comical or disturbing to watch him eat. But he is the best friend anyone could ask for, and I'm really glad he's mine. He is smart, resourceful, and more loyal than anyone I've ever met. He follows me everywhere, because Captain Oliver once told him to look out for me. He's even saved my life a couple of times
.

So if he says Felitza is beautiful, he must be right. Now I think of her that way, too
.

Ven climbed out of bed and got dressed quickly, then left Hare Warren and hurried up the path to the back door of the Inn. The air around him was cool and heavy with vapor, and the sky was still dark. The edge of the horizon was the faintest shade of gray, meaning the sun would not be up for almost another three hours.

Inside the Inn the fire on the enormous hearth was burning, as it did year-round. Sitting in front of it, as he always seemed to be, was McLean, the Inn's resident Storysinger. He smiled and waved from across the vast room, and Ven waved back, even though he knew that McLean could not really see him.

Most of the other people in the Inn, including Char, have no idea that McLean is blind. McLean is a Lirin Singer, a race of people who have a special understanding of the vibrations of the world, especially music. While his eyes do not work, he's able to see things in other ways. Once he showed me how to see the Spice Folk the way he does, and it was amazing. Sometimes even I forget what I know about him
.

Which I'm sure is the way he wants it
.

"Good morning, McLean," Ven called as he headed for the kitchen.

"Morning, Ven," the Singer called in return. "Enjoy your big day."

Ven stopped where he was. "What big day?" he asked.

The Singer shrugged and went back to tuning his instrument.

"You just have the feel of a big day about you," he said idly. "Like something important is about to happen to you."

"That's interesting," said Ven. "Important good, or important bad?"

"No way of telling," said the Singer. "Sorry. I hope it's good."

Me too
, Ven thought. He pushed open the door that led into the kitchen.

Unlike the main room of the Inn, which was quiet except for McLean's soft music, the kitchen was bustling with noise and activity. Mrs. Trudy Snodgrass, the innkeeper and Captain Snodgrass's wife, was walking rapidly around the cabinets, sorting and moving containers as she gave orders to the kitchen staff. Her brisk manner reminded Ven a lot of her husband calling orders to the sailors on his ship, the
Serelinda
. The
Serelinda
had rescued Ven when he was floating, helpless, on a piece of wreckage in the middle of the sea, so Ven felt he owed both the Snodgrasses a large debt.

"Get those sacks of dried peas and beans out of the cupboards, Char, and move them to the pantry," Mrs. Snodgrass was saying. "We need to make space for the fresher fruits and vegetables. Felitza, make sure the sausages and porridge are started. We can't let breakfast be overlooked just because we're getting deliveries. Ciara, you wipe the cupboards down inside and out." She spun around and came within inches of bumping into Ven. Even though she was human and Ven was Nain, a race generally a head shorter than humans, Mrs. Snodgrass was a Knuckle or two shorter than he was. Her eyes twinkled, but her expression remained stern.

"Ah, you're here too, good," she said. She looked over at Char, who had already completed his task. "You two boys go out and wait at the crossroads for the wagons. One has already dropped off a load of cheese, which will need to be taken to the icehouse. While you're waiting, you can move some of it in. But keep an eye and an ear out for the wagons. Some of the drivers won't wait if there's no one to meet 'em because they'll think we don't need anything this week. I've got a full house for the first time in a long while, and I don't want to get caught short on food. Hungry guests are grumpy guests. The only one allowed to be grumpy around here is me."

"Yes, ma'am," Char said quickly. Char was terrified of Mrs. Snodgrass. So was every sailor that had ever served on one of her husband's ships. Even though she barely came up to Ven's chin, her temper was legendary and known in every port across the seven seas.

The boys hurried back into the main part of the Inn and headed for the front door. They were within a few steps of it when it opened. Otis the barkeeper was just coming in for work, carrying a pile of clean dishcloths.

"Mornin', Otis," Char said.

"Hmmph," snorted the barkeeper. "Not for a few more hours, lad."

"Hope your day goes well," called Ven as they hurried past him and out to the crossroads.

"Sure," said the barkeeper, closing the door behind them.

The sky had not grown any lighter since he had first come into the Inn, but Ven was beginning to hear the occasional twittering of birds and could feel the mist getting thinner. Dawn was still a long time away, but at least he could tell the morning was coming.

By the side of the road lay three large wooden wheels of cheese in different sizes. Ven looked down the road leading east to the Great River. In the distance he thought he could hear the clopping of horses' hooves and the rattling of wagons.

"Do you want to start moving the cheese now?" he asked Char. "It sounds like we have a few minutes before the first wagon gets here."

His friend looked at the cheese wheels. "I think I could prolly take the smallest two by myself," Char said. "You wait here for the wagons. Then, once all the deliveries are done, we'll move the big one together."

"Sounds good," Ven agreed. He helped Char stand the two smallest wheels up and watched as his friend rolled them toward the icehouse shed near the stable. He could see a tall figure come out of the stable in the dark as Char approached, and realized it was Vincent Cadwalder, the house steward of Hare Warren. Cadwalder took one of the wheels and held the icehouse door open for Char.

As he was watching the two boys store the cheese, the sound behind him grew louder. Ven turned to see three wagons approaching, though he could not make out what they were carrying in the dark. He waved his arms, feeling a little foolish, but not wanting to miss the deliveries.

By the time the first wagon slowed to a stop at the crossroads, Char had returned.

"Gah, look at all those apples," he murmured. "That should take a while to unload."

"Not all of them are for the Inn, I'd bet," Ven said. "I'm sure he's taking the rest of them to Kingston."

Char nodded as the farmer stood up, pushed his straw hat back and pointed into the wagon.

"Those ten bushels are for Trudy," the man said crisply. "Make haste, young'uns, I want ta be to town before daybreak."

"Yes, sir," Ven said as Char climbed into the wagon. The two boys unloaded the bushels as quickly as they could, then waved to the farmer as he started west. Char picked up two bushels and headed into the Inn while Ven waited for the second wagon. That one was full of corn, and just as they were finishing unloading Mrs. Snodgrass's order, a third wagon pulled up, full of parsnips, with one man driving the horses and a second following behind on a mule.

"Give us just a moment, please," Ven called to the man driving the third wagon. Beneath his straw hat, the farmer nodded. The boys finished quickly, then waited for the third wagon to replace the second in front of the Inn.

"Thank you for your patience," Ven said to the driver, who nodded again. The second farmer came down from the mule and walked over to the wagon. He reached inside, gave Char a large sack of parsnips, handed another to Ven, and then hauled two more up onto his shoulders. He turned and started for the Inn.

"Want these in through the front or at the back kitchen door?" he asked. There was something vaguely familiar about his voice, but Ven could not see him clearly in the dark. Besides, all farmers and people who worked outdoors wore broad-brimmed straw hats in the summer, making it hard to see them anyway.

"If it's all the same to you, the back would be great, thanks," said Char. "We appreciate the help."

"Always happy to lend a hand," said the farmer. He trudged around behind the Inn, with the two boys following him, lugging their sacks of parsnips. When he got to the door, he held it open for Char, who went through first, then nodded to Ven to go next.

"Thank you," Ven said as he struggled with the heavy sack.

The man chuckled. "Not at all," he said. "How are you this morning, Ven?"

Ven stopped in his tracks. He stared up under the broad brim of the man's hat and saw two blue eyes twinkling at him in return. His mouth dropped open.

"Your Majesty?" he asked, thunderstruck. "What are you doing here?"

2
The Big Day Begins

K
ING VANDEMERE PUT A FINGER TO HIS LIPS
.

"Shhh," he whispered. "I'm delivering parsnips."

"Well, yes," said Ven quietly in return. "I can see that. But why? I just saw you yesterday. I thought you couldn't even get out of the castle without all of Westland and the entire Castle Elysian knowing about it."

"That's usually true," said the king. "But first things first." He followed Char into the kitchen, with Ven coming a moment later, dragging his sack of parsnips.

Mrs. Snodgrass was still bustling around the kitchen, unpacking the apples. She didn't even turn around as Ven and the disguised king came in. "Put those over there," she ordered, pointing to the corner. "And don't bruise them, you oafs." The king complied, then touched his hat respectfully before leaving the kitchen. Ven followed him, but paused at the door.

"I'll get the rest of the deliveries, Char," he said. "And I'll put the last cheese wheel in the icehouse. You and Felitza can get started on breakfast."

"Thanks, mate," Char said. Ven grinned, then caught up with the king.

Vandemere stopped in the middle of the main room and looked around in wonder.

"It's just as you described it," he said. "There's magic everywhere in this place."

"Did you just want to see the Inn? Is that why you're here?" Ven asked. His scalp was burning like wildfire.

Ever since the day I left my father's factory to do an Inspection of the new ship he had just finished, my curiosity has been raging almost non-stop. I am an odd Nain, like my great-grandfather, Magnus the Mad, who left the mountains of Castenen to set up the shipbuilding factory centuries ago
.

The Nain consider this a sign of madness, by the way, hence Magnus's nickname and the strange looks people give me
.

In the course of having my wish for adventure come true, I have had my ship attacked by Fire Pirates and blown up, been shipwrecked, arrested, thrown in jail, captured by assassins, lost in underground sewers, chased by thugs and all sorts of other dangerous things
.

Maybe this proves the Nain are right after all
.

But I still haven't gotten the itch of curiosity out of my head
.

Fortunately, King Vandemere understands this
.

He has the itch, too
.

For a brief moment I was officially his Royal Reporter, searching for magic left over from the dawn of Creation that is still alive in the world today, much of it hiding in plain sight, just as the king had done when he was my age. The king fired me almost immediately so that I would not become a target of people who might be looking for that magic themselves for evil purposes. But I still am out in the world, being the eyes of the king. Nobody knows this but the king, my friends and me, but I am willing and happy to do it for him
.

Because I understand how much the curiosity itch can drive a person crazy
.

"Seeing the Inn is wonderful," the king said, "but I would never risk leaving the castle just for the sake of curiosity, especially these days. Let's move your cheese to the icehouse and I'll tell you more." He took a final look around the Inn, sighed contentedly, and made his way to the door, with Ven close behind him.

As they passed the hearth, McLean, who had been playing a soft windy-sounding song to a group of invisible Spice Folk, stopped in mid-note. His head turned in the direction of the king. He bowed slightly, then returned to his song.

"Well, McLean knows you're here," said Ven once they were outside the Inn. "If you were hoping to remain totally in disguise and have no one notice, I think that hope is dashed."

"We have far more pressing worries, Ven," said the king, taking hold of the largest wheel of cheese and standing it on its end. "You need to leave Westland immediately, as soon as humanly possible." He started to roll the wheel toward the icehouse. "Or Nainly possible, if there is such a thing."