One Realm Beyond (17 page)

Cantor spoke up again. “Be careful. Stretched like this, his hide will be slick and the scales become sharper as he sleeps. I believe it’s a self-protection contrivance.”

“I know that. That’s why I put on the gloves. Be quiet.”

Digging her toes in between scales helped, but the colorful half-disks cut into her shoes. She liked these shoes. They had bright red straps winding around her leg. The color didn’t show much in the poor light, but she knew the blue stockings underneath provided just the right background. And the shoe itself was more of a sandal with sides that glittered and a thick heel to make her taller.

The scales also sliced the leather protecting her hands. “Listen, Bridger. You owe me one pair of snazzy shoes and two pairs of gloves.”

He didn’t even snort in reply.

Cantor moved around. His footsteps scuffed the dirt and soft shale. “How are you doing?”

“Almost there. Looking for a place to perch.”

One foot slipped, and she grabbed the leathery flap that made up the dragon’s outer ear. No razor-like edges adorned them, so she held on tight with her hands while her feet searched for toeholds.

“Do you need help?”

She grunted. “No. Be patient.”

Bixby hooked her leg over one of the twiggy spikes sticking out from Bridger’s neck. Another protrusion provided a stable place for her other foot. The hole at the base of the leathery flap looked dark and deep. Confident that she wouldn’t fall, she leaned into the dragon’s ear canal.

“Bridger,” she whispered.

He shivered as if her breath tickled. She raised her voice. “Bridger, wake up.”

He raised his head and shook it. “Something’s on me. Get off! Get off!”

His head thrashed back and forth, and he raised a skinny arm to swipe at whatever clung to his neck.

“No, Bridger. Stop! It’s me.”

With the next flick of his head, she went flying through the air. She managed to squelch the scream that rose to her lips and only allowed a strangled, high-pitched squeal.

Strong hands snatched her out of her flight. Cantor pulled her close to his chest. He muttered, “Dragons!” then let her go.

Bridger’s deep voice whispered through a puff of hot air. “Are you all right? I’m sorry. I thought you were a big bug.”

Somewhere on the street, a door slammed.

“Shift, Bridger.” Bixby put fingers on his arm and jiggled his scales. “Before you’re seen.”

Cantor grabbed Bixby’s hand and jerked it away as the dragon shrunk and became the same horse he had formed the day before, only impossibly big.

“Too big,” said Cantor.

Bixby tugged her hand out of Cantor’s grip and again patted the dragon, but this time on his chest. “You
are
quite massive, Bridger. Could you compact yourself a little more?”

“In a couple of hours, I could. But not right away when I’ve started from the biggest I can grow as a dragon.”

A man sauntered toward them. His dress indicated he was a working man. Bixby’s pulse quickened as she realized he probably worked in the textile factory just down the street. If they weren’t in such a predicament, she’d take the time to find out what fabrics were being made, where to find the best prices, and which outlets carried quality light materials. She momentarily considered pulling out a different tiara so she could delve into his mind, acquiring the information without bothering the man with her questions.

“Whoa!” the man exclaimed as he drew near. “That is the biggest draft horse I’ve ever seen.” He stopped and pushed his cap back on his head. “How’d you get him in the city without the King’s Guard confiscating him? They’d surely prize a giant horse.”

“He came in as a baby,” said Bixby.

The man walked around Bridger, admiring the horse. “You better get him off the streets if you want to keep him. There’s a big bloke lives in this neighborhood. He likes to take things he runs across without bothering to ask.”

Bixby thought through her acquisition of cart and donkey. She had asked. She asked the wrong person, but she had asked.

Cantor gave a low laugh. “I think we met him earlier.”

“I best be off to work. If you run into trouble that requires eluding the authorities, there’s an innkeeper who dislikes the guard with a real boiling anger. He’ll help you. Name’s Rock, and the inn is The Sundown.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’m off now. Can’t be late for my shift. I’m Tooney, should Rock ask who sent you.” He turned and sauntered away.

Cantor picked up the cloaks. “We best get moving too.”

“Do you think we can get to the healer’s shop by alleys and side streets?”

Cantor scratched the back of his head as he eyed the horse. “I think Bridger is too big for some of the alleys. He couldn’t squeeze through.” He reached to pat the dragon’s horsey cheek but pulled his hand back.

Bridger chuckled. “See, you’re beginning to like me. We’ll be constants. I feel it in my bones.”

Cantor grunted. “As we go along, try to make your bones smaller from time to time.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Don’t call me boss.”

“Right, partner.”

“Not partner, either.”

Bridger laughed. It sounded rather horsey, like whinnying.

Cantor stopped and looked into the horse-dragon’s eyes.
He noticed the pupils were slightly reptilian, not as round as a mammal’s. “How long does it take you to lose your voice after you shift?”

“I don’t believe I ever have.”

Cantor sighed and started walking again. “I should have known.”

“Why?” asked Bixby. “What is the significance of losing his voice?”

“Nothing, really.” Cantor lowered his voice. “I just hoped for some quiet, a break from the chattering.”

“He doesn’t talk any more than I do.”

“I know that.”

“You’re saying you don’t like my conversation either.” She pressed her lips into a thin line, for a moment reminding Cantor of Ahma.

“Don’t put words in my mouth or erroneous meaning in my words. That’s a sure way to start a disagreement over something that was not said and something that was not meant.”

“Is that in the Primen Guide?”

Cantor stopped at an intersection and peered down each road. He led them down the narrower side street.

Bridger groaned.

Bixby patted his side. “What’s wrong?”

“Just trying to lose a few inches around my middle. I can’t compact any more for an hour or so.”

“By then it’ll be dawn.”

Cantor looked back at the two. The horse looked twice as big as he should, and Bixby fluttered beside him in her jaunty sashay. “Do either of you have an idea as to how we can cross the city any quicker?”

“I do.” Bridger tossed his mane. “I can fly us there.”

Bixby shook her head, and her bounty of curls bobbed about just as the horse’s mane had. “You’ll be seen.”

“The longer I walk through the town, the more likely I am to be seen. As a dragon, I can shoot straight up, turn and streak down to land on the healer’s building. I’ll be visible for less than a minute. Seems I’d be less likely to be seen than if we continue this route.”

Cantor nodded. Bixby opened her mouth, but before she could give her opinion, Bridger swooshed, crackled, popped, and stretched into his own form. He still stood as tall as the horse, but he looked the right size for a dragon. His scales had lost their razor-sharp edges, and the air around him had warmed with his changing.

“I was about to say,” said Bixby, her face red and scrunched into a frown, “I’ve never actually ridden on a dragon.”

“It won’t be that hard,” said Cantor.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Straight up and straight down in less than sixty seconds?”

Bridger flexed his wings. “Probably forty-two seconds.”

Cantor reached for her hand. “You can ride behind and hold on to me.”

She stepped out of his reach and put both hands behind her back. “What if you fall off?”

“I won’t.”

“Straight up. Straight down. Forty-two seconds.”

“Maybe forty-one.” Bridger grinned.

“You can ride in front, and I’ll hold on to you.”

She shook her head. He’d never seen such a solemn look on her face. Not afraid, exactly, but definitely stubborn.

Cantor reached in his backpack and pulled out a wide length of colorful material woven into a hat. He snapped it
twice, then stretched it with two hands into a huge belt. “This will keep us on.”

He showed it to Bridger, who nodded, then went to the dragon’s side. He threw one end over his back, ducked under Bridger’s belly, and looped the ends together with a silver buckle contraption. He pulled on it, tightened the slack, and tested it again.

“All set. We won’t fall.”

Drums rolled a steady beat, paused, and rolled again.

“The soldiers’ wake-up call.” Cantor grabbed Bixby around the waist, tossed her up to the crest of Bridger’s shoulders, then scrambled up behind her. “Ready?”

Bridger craned his neck around to look at his passengers. “You know when we went into the shop during the day, I was a stretcher.”

“You’re saying?”

“I don’t know if I know where the healer’s shop is.”

“On the south wall,” squeaked Bixby.

“Her eyes are shut,” said Bridger.

“That’s probably for the best.” Cantor hugged her closer to his chest and caught hold of the colorful cinch. “Let’s go, Bridger. I’ll try to help pinpoint the shop. But I can’t do it from here.”

“Right.” Bridger spread his wings, coiled the muscles in his legs for a mighty jump, and took a deep breath. “Up!”

Cantor bent his head to speak into Bixby’s ear. “Up is a good choice.”

He’d hoped she would relax a little. He thought he succeeded. At least she giggled.

CLUTTER

B
ixby clung to the arm Cantor had wrapped around her waist. The thud as they landed on yet another roof threatened to bring her last meal up.

She swallowed hard. “Are we here? Did we make it this time?”

“Yep.” Cantor let go of her and slid away.

She opened her eyes and gave a sigh of relief. In spite of Bridger’s optimism, finding the right roof had taken four tries. Even now she didn’t know how they had decided this was the healer’s shop, and she didn’t care. It was one of the flat-roofed structures that were part of the city’s wall and therefore part of the battlement, designed so soldiers could stand on these ramparts and shoot the enemy from above. That was good enough for her. She’d walk around the whole wall if she had to, as long as she didn’t have to endure the gut-wrenching leaping and plummeting one more time.

“Look.” Bridger pointed to a huge nest. “Mizlark eggs. I
love mizlark eggs.” He lumbered over to the round collection of old papers, twigs, stolen garments, and mud. Bixby held tight to the multicolored girth. The putrid smell as they approached almost gagged her. Bridger picked up a greenish egg bigger than a grapefruit and popped it in his mouth, shell and all.

Bixby heard the crunch. “Yuck.” She threw her leg over his back and, holding on to the cinch to slow her descent, slid down his scales. “How can you eat the eggs of those nasty birds?”

Bridger tossed an egg into the air, opened his mouth, and caught it as it fell. “This is the only time mizlarks are palatable. A roasted full-grown bird tastes like carrion, no matter what care you take in its preparation. You can’t use the feathers for anything. They’re sticky and smell like moldy socks. The birds sound out constantly with raucous voices. They leave dung in the most inconvenient places. And they harass farm animals. I’m surprised they haven’t been eradicated.”

Jesha sniffed the nest from a distance, sneezed, and moved away, sitting on the far side of the roof with her back to Bridger.

He popped another egg in his mouth. “But mizlark eggs are delicious.”

Bixby gave a quick look around the skies, fearful of spying an angry flock of massive, gawky birds. “Why aren’t they here, guarding their eggs?”

Cantor stood over a trap door he’d just opened. “What? And miss the opportunity to raid other birds’ nests and eat other birds’ young? Mizlarks seem to think stolen food tastes better than anything they can come by honestly.”

“Right,” said Bridger as he downed the last egg. “And if someone is wailing over their loss, the lament provides dinner music to the brutes.”