One Realm Beyond (16 page)
Cantor stepped on the wheel. The cart creaked and sagged in his direction. Now Bixby could see him better.
He peered down at the dragon between them. “How about Bridger?”
“He’s fine.”
He paused a moment, and Bixby watched the frown deepen on his face.
He opened and shut his mouth twice before he spoke what he was thinking. “What’s wrong then?”
“I didn’t say anything is wrong.”
“No, you didn’t. But . . .”
Bixby let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Would you help me out of here? I’m jammed into this teeny tiny crack, which is probably getting smaller as this mor dragon grows.”
Cantor smiled and reached out to her. “Take my hand.”
Bixby grunted as she strained to reach it. Cantor climbed over the side of the cart and found two small spaces on that side of the dragon where he could cram his feet. Now he gave her two hands. Bixby and Cantor both grimaced as he tried to pull her out.
He let go. “How’d you get in there?” His eyes wandered over the sleeping dragon, the cat who’d come awake, and his fellow realm walker.
She rolled her eyes. “Does it really matter?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t, but I think time is a critical factor. Seems to me I read that as mor dragons get closer to their natural size, the process speeds up. Bridger really is growing faster. You really are in danger.”
“Don’t tell my parents.”
Cantor gave an experimental tug on Bridger’s bony spine. He didn’t move. “Tell your parents what?”
“They expected so much of me.”
Cantor continued the examination of the problem. “Don’t tell your parents what?”
“I don’t want the herald announcing, ‘Bixby D’Mazeline dies in freak accident, squished between a growing, drugged mor dragon and the bottom of a stolen cart. She is survived by another realm walker, the stolen donkey pulling the stolen cart, the cat belonging to the dragon, and the dragon, who eventually woke up.’ My mother would not like any of that.”
“I don’t think Ahma would either. I’m supposed to watch out for my fellow citizens and do what it takes to keep them or remove them from harm’s way.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take off that side of the cart.”
“Do you think you can?”
“Bixby, this cart is held together by dirt. I wouldn’t be surprised if it crumbled all together after we get you out.”
Cantor moved around the back of the cart and stood where Bixby could not see him. She heard him tugging at the brittle wood boards. His heavy breathing convinced her the job was harder than he’d anticipated. Nails squealed as he forced them out of their embedded places in other old, creaking boards.
“What are you doing, bantling?” The deep, raspy voice surprised both Bixby and Cantor.
Cantor’s boots scraped on the cobblestones as he spun around.
“My friend is stuck.”
Bixby wanted to look through Cantor’s eyes. She tried reaching her hamper to select a tiara. Her predicament limited her maneuverability. She couldn’t twist far enough, and her arms didn’t bend in the right direction. The right hamper was inches beyond her grasp.
She heard heavy steps approach the cart. “Let me help you.”
Jesha stood, arched her back, then squinted a disapproving look at Bixby.
“It’s not my fault, cat. Go growl at the stranger.”
Jesha hopped up on the edge of the cart. Her bits of white fur glowed in the moonlight. The gold tips of her ears and tail glittered. And her dark fur blended with the night. She looked like a cat with pieces missing.
The cart squeaked. The stranger’s reddened face and long, tangled hair hung over her head. If his body matched the size of his head, the man must be one of the giant breeds. Bixby had seen a few during various travels, but only from a distance.
The odor of sweat and gin flowed down. Bixby gagged and turned her face away. Either the pressure of Bridger expanding
against her chest or the man’s presence choked her. Her lungs ached. Her arms and legs tingled. The imprisonment between wood and dragon became excruciatingly tight.
A grinding chortle introduced a larger, bellowing guffaw. “She’s shy.” While the uncouth man still raised a ruckus with his unexplainable cheer, he placed his hands on the wood and with one jerk pulled off the side of the cart. Cantor caught Bixby as she tumbled out from her confinement. He dragged her a few feet away from the ratty old cart and the uncouth savior.
His hands grasped her upper arms, and she felt like she’d crumple if he let go.
He bent over to look her in the face. “Are you all right? Anything broken?”
She gratefully pulled in great gulps of air, shaking her head at the same time. “My knees are shaking.”
Cantor glanced around and guided her to a low wall around a small bit of lawn in front of a business. She plopped onto the hard surface without any of her usual grace, and she felt blessed not to have collapsed a few steps away from the seat.
A few moments of concentrated, even breathing calmed her nerves and her lungs. Her muscles, however, still felt like they’d been squeezed in a linen press.
“Oh, I haven’t hurt like this since I rode a stubborn old mule all the way across Vendasimer Desert. Perhaps there will be a remedy at Dukmee’s shop.”
Jesha let out a caterwaul that shook the leaves on a bush next to the wall.
Cantor turned abruptly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Bixby leaned way over to get a view around Cantor. “Put him down.”
The ill-favored stranger stood with Bridger draped around
the back of his neck like a shepherd would carry a lamb, or a sheep — a huge, full-grown sheep.
“What?” he asked. “This is a dragon. I’m taking him for payment ’cause I helped you.”
Bixby stood and took a shaky step to stand by Cantor. “You can’t.”
“Why not?”
Bixby stuttered a bit. “B-b-because he’s not yours to take.”
“He belongs to you, right?” The drunken man seemed to have grasped that much. He let go of the dragon for a moment to scratch his oily scalp. “I saved you. You owe me.”
“He’s not really mine. But I’ll give you money, not the dragon.”
Bridger slipped, and the man grabbed the ridge along the dragon’s back and hoisted him higher onto his shoulder. A fierce scowl darkened his face, and he shook his head with not a bit of the joviality he’d shown earlier.
“I’ve had money before. I’ve never had a dragon.” He let go of Bridger again to point his huge finger at Bixby. “If he’s not your dragon” — the finger shifted to Cantor — “he’s yours.”
“No, he is
not
my dragon.”
Bixby rolled her eyes. For once, his constant denial of Bridger might serve a purpose. She eyed the giant. Or maybe not.
The man shrugged, repositioned Bridger, turned, and whistled as he walked away.
Bixby clipped Cantor’s side with her elbow and whispered, “I think you just made a big mistake.” She cleared her throat and shouted, “Come back.”
The giant raised a hand to acknowledge he’d heard but kept walking. “Seems like this dragon doesn’t belong to either of you, so there’s no harm in my taking him.”
Jesha split the air again with an impressive howl. She leapt off the cart and charged down the street. The donkey shed its obliging demeanor and bolted in the opposite direction.
Bixby shook Cantor’s arm. “The cloaks, we need Dukmee’s cloaks.”
He didn’t stop to question but took off after the clattering cart.
Bixby heard the man holler and saw that Jesha had caught up with him and scaled his leg, using sharp claws. With a hand the size of a shovel, he tried to bat her off. Losing his grip on Bridger, the gargantuan man dropped him to the street. The dragon’s descent nearly knocked Jesha from where she now clung to the seat of the giant’s pants, but she managed to hold on. With the dragon out of the way, the cat clawed up the man’s leather waistcoat and sprang higher, landing on his straggly hair.
Jesha had her legs wrapped around the thief’s head. As he thrashed against the attack, pivoting and swinging his head around, he tried to pry her paws off his face. Jesha claimed her battlefield with a warlike yowl and clung tenaciously to the big man’s head. Blood streaked from under her claws.
Bixby’s legs gave way and she sat. The wall was a step or two behind her, so she ended up on the curb. Cantor and the donkey were out of sight in one direction. The man and cat disappeared around a corner in the other. Bridger lay in a heap, not moving.
Bixby put her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hands. “Why is it never easy?”
O
ut of the darkened side street, Jesha strutted back without the giant she’d vanquished. The cat sprang up on Bridger’s back where she settled in to do a thorough grooming. Bixby laughed. If anything, the cat looked more self-satisfied than before.
From the other direction, Cantor came back carrying the cloaks but with no cart or donkey.
Bixby watched him approach.
“No cart?”
“It came all to pieces, leaving a trail of broken boards, nails, and bolts. The donkey ran off with the harness.”
“Maybe he’ll go home.”
Cantor sat on the curb next to her. “Yeah, maybe. Speaking of being in possession of stolen goods . . .”
Bixby raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue.
“I got stopped by the night watchman.”
“But you didn’t have any stolen goods on you?”
“Not a stitch.” He held up the cloaks. “He did ask about these. Said I wasn’t dressed like a person who wore fancy cloaks.”
She tapped his arm. “See?” She touched her head where she’d put on a tiara while he was gone. “One must look like a person of consequence.”
Cantor examined his clothes and then looked back at her with a grin. “Ahma drilled into me that being clean was more important than being fancy. With all this dirt, I’ve let her down for sure.”
His gaze went to her delicate crown. “What does that one do?”
Her eyebrows lifted, and she fought back a guilty grin. Her nanny had always been able to read her expressions. Subsequently, Bixby learned to guard what she let her eyes tell even when she controlled her tongue. A lot of lessons were about her tongue.
“I didn’t think you realized what they were.”
“I’ve read books, and both Ahma and Odem lectured me, sharing their life experiences, until their voices went out.”
Bixby could well sympathize with verbose mentors. She pointed to the glittering ring woven through her hair. “This one enhances my hearing.” She pointed at Bridger. “His heart rate is gradually increasing. I think he’ll wake up soon.”
“So you have both natural ability, as you demonstrated in the forest, and enhanced ability using tools of wizardry.”
She nodded, and her tiara slipped in her curls. She righted it with a push from one hand.
Cantor looked back at Bridger. “Will he wake before dawn?”
She shrugged. “I’m not very good at guessing the hour without a timepiece. What time is it now, do you suppose?”
“I’d figure we have an hour and a bit more before the light creeps in. Dark lingers in the city, because the wall blocks the sun when it first climbs over the horizon.”
They both turned their heads to watch the sleeping dragon. Jesha perched on the very highest point his body provided. The cat could easily look in a second-story window.
Bixby moaned. He’s grown even since he landed on the street.
Cantor laid one cloak across his lap and held up the other with two hands. He snapped the cloak and laid it out in front of him. “Not one eye-boggling inch left. The potion is gone.”
Bixby guessed what he was getting at. “We won’t be able to hide us or him or anything.”
“Bridger would be hard to hide in any case. He’s huge.”
“Right.” She slapped her thighs and stood. “Let’s go wake him.”
Circling the dragon, she took in how very, very big he’d gotten in the time since they loaded him in the cart. Cantor walked behind her. They stopped in front of his face.
White, pointed teeth showed between the dragon’s parted lips. He grunted and mumbled, snorted and snored.
Bixby patted him on the nose. “Wake up.”
“He’s too far gone for gentle.” Cantor punched him in the jaw.
Nothing.
Cantor sighed and shook his head. “Yelling might help, but we still can’t be causing a commotion that’ll wake people up and draw too much attention.”
Bixby dug out two pairs of gloves. First, she put on the pair
made of soft kid leather. The second pair, made of sturdier leather, slid over the first to give her another layer of protection. Pulling her skirts up around her knees, Bixby put one foot on the dragon’s front arm. “Give me a boost.”
She leaned forward and grabbed a neck scale. Cantor placed both hands on her rump and pushed. She sprang up and out of reach.
“Where are you headed?” he called softly.
“To his ear. It’s not far.”
She saw Cantor nod and transferred her attention to scaling the side of a slippery dragon. Her muscles ached from being squished in the cart. And now they told her she should be in better shape. Too much time reading books, and not enough time climbing trees, running races, and swimming in the lake.
