Tears of a Dragon (17 page)
Arriving at the town square, they crossed the street to a traffic island that acted as the focal point of the road network. Scattering pigeons as they jumped up to the island, they stopped in the middle of a patch of green grass where a statue of a man on a rearing horse rested atop a brick pedestal. “Here’s the plaque,” Bonnie said, pointing at the cornerstone of the foundation. “Captain Timothy Autarkeia . . .” Her lips turned downward. “It’s different. When I was here there was a poem underneath. Now it just says, ‘Founder of Dragons’ Rest.’ And there’s no pitcher pump that watered Shiloh’s plant.”
A little pug dog sniffed at Billy’s shoe. Billy jerked his foot away, and the dog barked at him, obviously indignant. He laughed and knelt, petting its wrinkled, round head. “Was this dog here with you and Shiloh?”
“Yes.” Bonnie rested her hands on her hips, her head swiveling as she searched through the dozen or so people milling about. “Look for a woman with a parasol. She’s its owner.” The pug darted away, chasing the pigeons and scolding them with a blitz of scornful yips.
A few people, including Jasmine, had gathered at a building with iron bars in one window. The constable stood next to her, fiddling with a pocket watch dangling from his vest pocket. He nodded over and over while listening to Jasmine and glancing periodically at Billy and Bonnie.
Billy dipped his head, not wanting to provoke Jasmine. He hoped his new clothes would smooth over any suspicions, but he didn’t want to take any chances. His gaze moved to the building next door. “There it is,” he whispered.
He nodded at the constable and walked straight to the bookstore. A garland of fresh greenery in the front window surrounded a handmade sign that read, “Pages of the Ages.” Billy pulled on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He peered through the window, but with the morning sun reflecting on the glass, he couldn’t see anything inside except a light coming from a room far in the back. He searched the front for another sign. “See anything that tells when it opens?”
“No,” Bonnie replied. “I guess everyone in town just knows.”
“Eleven o’clock,” another voice said.
They turned to see Constance walking toward them from the direction of Town Hall, her hair now tied up under a kerchief. With her navy blue dress sweeping the planks and her lacy sleeves covering her wrists, she seemed the picture of a more innocent age. She stood no more than five feet tall, making her look like an early-blossoming twelve-year-old, yet her eyes revealed the maturity of a woman.
Wiping her hands on a long white apron, she stepped between Billy and Bonnie. “She’ll be here in less than an hour.” With her head tipped upward, she gazed into Billy’s eyes. “Have you had breakfast? There’s plenty left at the inn. I saw you over here while I was washing the dishes, and I thought you might like a bite to eat.”
Billy rubbed his stomach. “Sounds good to me.”
Bonnie reached around Constance and touched Billy’s elbow. “What about the theatre?”
Constance widened her eyes and stepped out of the way. “Oh, don’t let me keep you from anything. I wouldn’t dream of it.” She waved her finger between them. “So are you two . . . related?”
Bonnie closed the distance between them and took Billy’s hand. “I guess you could say we’re covenanted,” she said, smiling sweetly.
Billy felt Bonnie’s fingers tightening. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s sort of like a prearranged deal.”
Constance pressed a finger to her chin and nodded. “I see. It’s a shame your parents won’t let you decide on your own.”
Bonnie’s lips thinned out, and the corners turned downward.
Billy cocked his head. Obviously, Bonnie didn’t trust Constance. But why? Did the remark about her parents upset her? Maybe it would be a good idea to change the subject. “Well, we don’t want to starve,” he said, “but we have to make it quick.”
Constance took Billy’s hand and began leading him away. Billy glanced back at Bonnie. Her frown deepened as she followed.
After passing Town Hall, a post office, and a linen store, they entered the double doors of an old inn. When they had crossed the threshold, Constance peered down the sidewalk and closed the doors quietly.
“Something wrong?” Billy asked.
Constance kept her voice low. “I thought I heard Jasmine. She’s been gossiping about you two from one end of town to the other.” She curled her finger. “Let’s go to the dining room, and we can talk. All my guests have already eaten.”
Constance seated them at a small, round table. A gray tablecloth draped the top, blue napkins enfolded silverware at four place settings, and a white pillar candle decorated the center, a tall flame biting its wick. “Eggs and toast okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” Billy replied. Bonnie just nodded, a slight crease just barely noticeable in her brow. Constance disappeared through a swinging door.
Bonnie lowered her head and whispered. “There’s something strange about that woman.”
Billy unrolled his silverware. “Well, she’s kind of short, but—”
“That’s not it. She’s . . .”—Bonnie wiggled her fingers—“creepy.”
Billy laid his napkin on his lap. “I wouldn’t call her creepy. Maybe friendlier than most.” He balanced his knife on his finger. “No one else offered to feed us.”
“Friendly is right. She’s hunting for a man, and she’s got a bulls-eye painted right on you.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Don’t you remember? She said she saw us while she was washing dishes.” Bonnie rolled her eyes. “Billy, the kitchen is at the back of the building. She had to be looking for you.”
Constance pushed the door open with her foot, carrying three plates in her arms, each one heaped with scrambled eggs and wedges of toast. “I have not had time to eat, so I’ll join you.” After setting the plates on the table, she scooted away again, her voice ringing gaily. “I’ll be right back with coffee and tea.”
As soon as she left, Bonnie switched her plate with Constance’s.
“Wow!” Billy said, dropping his knife. “You don’t think she’d poison you to get me, do you?”
Bonnie set the plates in the exact positions Constance had left them. “I’m not taking any chances. Besides, there’s something else weird going on. Do you think they ate eggs back at whatever time period this is supposed to be?”
“Probably.” Billy poked the eggs with his fork. “They had hens, didn’t they?”
Constance reappeared with two steaming pots and a stack of three china cups. As she set them on the table, she kept her eyes trained on Billy. “Coffee or tea?”
“Tea, please.”
She turned to Bonnie. “And you?”
Bonnie turned her cup over. “None for me, thank you.”
Constance squinted at her for a second, then poured tea in her cup and Billy’s. When she sat down she began talking immediately, keeping her voice low. “Jasmine is the minister of the church and the mayor of Dragons’ Rest. She watches over the spiritual lives of the citizens and their public behavior. She also supervises the constable and acts as judge in all criminal cases.”
Billy scooped his fork under the eggs but waited to see if Constance would eat hers. “Isn’t that a lot of power for one person?”
“Too much, if you ask me.” Constance flapped her napkin and laid it on her lap. “She speaks from a fiery pulpit, though, and her prophecies have always come true, so the people trust her . . . or fear her.” Constance took a bite of toast, then sipped some tea.
“I take it you don’t trust her.” Billy took a bite from his own toast. He noticed Bonnie hadn’t touched her food at all.
“No, but I do fear her”—Constance pointed at Billy—“and so should you. She’s telling people your white rings prove you’re the fulfillment of a calamitous prophecy. She would have your head in a noose if she could do it discreetly. That’s the penalty her prophecy proscribed, but she would want to first prove your guilt in order to save face with the people.”
“How could she prove guilt?” Billy asked. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“She’ll watch you, or have others try to catch you doing something that proves what she is already calling you.” She paused, apparently waiting for the obvious question.
Billy obliged. “What’s she calling us?”
Constance reached for the base of the candle and turned it slowly. “Oracles of fire. She’s been prophesying against them for as long as I can remember. She says the oracles will tell about the destruction of our world and of new life in other worlds.” The flame reflected in her eyes, and an aroma of wildflowers tinged the air. “Actually, it sounds pretty good to me,” she continued, “I get an odd sensation when I walk through town, when I serve customers, when I sweep the floor. Haven’t I done all this before? Isn’t today just like yesterday, and the day before?” Her eyes misted, and she sighed. “It’s a feeling . . . like I don’t belong here. I feel a coldness, even on warm days . . . loneliness, even when I’m surrounded by people. It’s almost as if I’m . . .” She glanced upward as if searching for a word.
“Far away from home?” Bonnie asked, a sympathetic curve in her brow.
Constance smiled as she continued rotating the candle, her eyes still fixed on the flame. “Yes. . . . Yes, I think that might be it.”
Billy was glad to see Bonnie soften toward Constance. He knew Bonnie well enough to listen to her advice about anything she doubted, and he really wanted to trust Constance. With Jasmine whispering murder in the streets, they could use all the help they could get.
“Do you ever go to the theatre?” Bonnie asked.
“I did for a while.” She sighed again, this time staring right at Billy, her fingertips inching onto his. “But a promise left unfulfilled for years is like a flower without water. It eventually withers and dies.”
An odd warmth flowed into Billy’s ears, sending a hot flash across his cheeks and into his eyes, as if her voice carried more than sound waves through the air. The candle’s scented smoke stung his eyes, making him blink sleepily. He cleared his throat, hoping his face hadn’t turned red. “I . . . uh . . . I think I understand.”
Bonnie slipped her hand into Billy’s and pulled it away from Constance, her tone sharp and urgent. “We’d better go.” She slid her chair out and stood, holding Billy’s hand at her side. “I apologize, but we have a lot to do and no idea how much time we have to do it all.”
Constance dabbed her lips with her napkin. “But you have hardly touched your breakfast. I thought you were hungry.”
Billy knew better than to doubt Bonnie’s discernment . . . or her resolve. He rose quickly and stood next to her. “I really appreciate the food, but she’s right. We don’t have time to hang around.”
Constance lowered her head and closed her eyes. “If that is your wish.” She stood, glancing first through the passage to the front room, then back at Billy, a flush of pink rising in her cheeks. “I will visit the theatre today, but I do not know if I will stay long. We are having our Founder’s Day picnic at the town square at one o’clock. Everyone is expected to participate, but whatever you do, stay far away. Jasmine will surely look for an opportunity to condemn you there.”
Billy flashed a thumbs-up sign. “Stay away from the picnic at one. Got it.”
He headed for the door, stopping to open it for Bonnie. Constance lingered at the dining room entrance, a teacup cradled in her hand, her sad eyes watching them as they crossed the threshold.
Bonnie halted on the planks outside and waited for him to close the door. “I’m sorry, Billy, but I had to get out of there.” She hugged herself and shivered. “Her voice was like icicles under my skin.”
Billy pulled the front of his vest and flapped it against his chest. “That’s too weird. I felt the opposite, like I was in a sauna.” He looked back through the window. Constance was nowhere in sight. “I got the impression that you were starting to feel better about her, like maybe you trusted her.”
“Well, I guess I do feel sorry for her, but . . .” An elderly woman hobbled by, leaning on a cane each time her right foot touched the planks. Bonnie waited for her to pass, then shook her head. “I’d better not say any more.”
Keeping his eyes open for Jasmine and the constable, Billy stepped out onto the street and checked the clock. “That’s strange. It’s ten-thirty. I didn’t think we were in there that long, did you?”
Bonnie shivered again. “Sitting across from Miss Antarctica made it feel like an hour to me.”
“Maybe hours and minutes aren’t the same here. Or maybe . . .” Billy raised his arm and sniffed his sleeve. The candle scent lingered in the material. “Maybe something in the air messes up our perceptions of time somehow.”
Bonnie took in a whiff of her dress. “A drug of some kind? Was the candle like a scentser?”
Billy pulled on his cuffs, straightening his sleeves. “It could be, but I had a dream last night that time went in reverse, and the day started over again. So maybe it’s just something about this town, like time bends funny here.”
“Could be. But I’m not ready to trust Constance, no matter how pitiful her story is.”
“Fair enough.” Billy scanned the walkway, watching two women and a man window-shopping. Still no constable in sight. “We won’t trust anyone until they prove themselves.”
“Look!” Bonnie said, pointing. “There’s a light in the bookstore.”
“Let’s check it out. My father always told me to find the answers in books, and we’re already hip deep in questions.”
Chapter 11
Bonnie peeked through the bookstore window. “There’s a lantern on the counter. Someone must be inside.”
Billy tried the handle. “Unlocked. I guess it’s okay to go in.”
Bonnie backed away. “I remember this place now. When I was here with Shiloh, an old lady disappeared when she went in the door.” Bonnie flared her hands. “Poof! She was gone. Scared me half to death. But then Shiloh told me they did that all the time.”
Billy eyed the doorframe. “Looks safe to me.” He entered first, grimacing. When no energy field zapped him, he breathed a sigh of relief, took another step into the store, and motioned for Bonnie to follow.
Stained glass in a side picture window cast a dazzling hodgepodge of flickering colors all around the little shop. Books filled shelves that lined three walls, each book spine wearing a different shade of the spectral splash. An aroma of pine rose from the spotless wooden floor.
Billy tiptoed toward one of the shelves. Most of the books seemed to be novels—some romance, some action and adventure, and a few mysteries. He found a book on Italian art and flipped open the cover. A handwritten note said, “On consignment from Mr. Collins.”
Bonnie pulled a cookbook from a low shelf and thumbed through it. “What are we looking for?”
“I just thought we’d do a bit of detective work while we’re waiting for the owner. I’m looking for a history book or maybe a biography, something to explain what this town is all about.”
While Bonnie searched one side of the room, Billy searched the other, moving from shelf to shelf and sliding out book after book. The process seemed to take forever, but with the mystery of Dragons’ Rest deepening, he was determined to get some kind of clue that might help them find Merlin’s wife.
From a high shelf along the far wall, he removed a small, leather bound book. He traced the imprint on the cover with his fingers. Aha! Here’s something. He carried it to Bonnie. “Take a look at this.”
The shadow of her head dimmed the cover as she whispered the title.
“The Prophecies of Jasmine, the Seer.”
Billy opened it to the first page, and they read together silently.
What is past, is past, and only ghosts lurk in its shadows. Memories are but dreams, and they fade with the rising sun. Only a fool worries about the troubles of days gone by, and no wise man puts his faith in yesterday’s triumphs. For both troubles and triumphs are wilted roses, and neither thorns nor fragrance will remain at the season’s end.
So let the shadows of the past fly away, for they are hopeless thoughts, dreams of addled minds, invisible playmates of street urchins. We are no longer children, nor are we foolish enough to entertain the oracles of fire.
A loud clap sounded from the rear of the store. Billy closed the book and stooped low, pulling Bonnie down with him. The squeak of door hinges ushered in an angry, female voice.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do just what I say. Report every word they speak to you, or I’ll run you out of town with the rest of the underborns.”
“Jasmine,” another female voice answered, “you should know by now that your fiery rhetoric is neither intimidating to my senses nor welcome in my establishment.”
“Mark my words,” Jasmine snapped back, “your rebellious tongue will someday dig your grave.”
The bell in the tower gonged, interrupting the quarrel. Billy laid the prophecy book on the shelf and tapped Bonnie’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.” Staying stooped, they sneaked to the entrance. Billy threw the door open and ran outside, checking to make sure Bonnie was following. With her long dress clutched in one hand, she bolted through the doorway and sprinted behind him.
They flew down the street, first backtracking toward Dorcas’s shop. Slowing to a furtive march as the eleventh and final gong sounded, they followed the directions to the theatre. After turning onto the side street, they came upon about ten people waiting in line for something, each one dressed in black. As Billy hesitated, a matronly lady with a gray bonnet joined the line, then a short, swarthy man wearing chaps and a shirt ripped on one shoulder.
“Think this is it?” Billy asked.
“It has to be.”
They walked past the waiting line and stepped up to the box office window. A sign on an adjacent wall read, “The Waiting Room. Doors open at noon; close at three.” Billy cupped his hands on either side of his eyes and peeked in through the cashier’s cage. Not a soul lurked inside the theatre lobby. Several empty chairs lined the walls near a set of double doors, probably the inner entrance to the seating area. On the wall, posters with yellowed paper and marred lettering advertised a play called “Witnesses” and another entitled “Of Things Unseen.” Next to a long table that looked like a food service counter, a pendulum clock on the wall read eleven thirteen.
Billy backed away from the window, then turned to Bonnie and muttered to himself. “Obviously there must be a caretaker. Someone has to wind the clock.” He studied the growing line of people, trying to read their expressions. Their somber faces revealed only grim resignation, neither sad nor mournful—faraway gazes, flat-lined lips, and pale complexions. No one said a word.
Billy walked to the front of the line where the old lady they had seen at the inn leaned on a knobby cane, her shoulders bent. A wrinkled face and scant wisps of gray hair told of many years of strife, and her gleaming eyes begged for someone to ask her to share from her library of ready stories.
Billy took a few steps closer and nodded politely. “I hear you’re waiting for a king.”
She pushed on her cane, straightening her body slightly, her voice quavering with her unsteady legs. “Oh, no, young man. Not
a
king . . .
the
king. I was there myself when the prophet announced his coming, and I intend to be there again when the king arrives to take us to a new country.” With a flick of her head, she gestured behind her. “We all feel the same way, even though most of the town thinks we’re crazy, especially the mayor.”
“What’s your name?” Bonnie asked.
“Martha Stone.” She looked at Bonnie long and hard. “Who’s asking?”
“Bonnie Silver.” She extended her hand, but Martha just stared at it. Bonnie pulled her hand back and cleared her throat. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
Billy leaned toward the door. “Is anyone allowed to go in there now?”
Martha steadied herself and pointed at the door with her cane. “According to the prophecy, none but the king can open it before the hour. I tried it a few times years ago, but it won’t budge until noon.”
Billy took two steps, grasped the handle, and pulled. The door swung open easily. Trying to ignore the sound of gasps behind him, he strode inside, snagged a chair in each arm, then hustled back. “Here,” he said, setting one of the chairs next to Martha. “Have a seat.” With Bonnie’s help, he retrieved enough chairs from the lobby for every woman in line. Each lady, whether young or old, patted his hand or gazed at him with adoring eyes. He bounded to the front of the line again and spread his arms to quiet the murmuring crowd. “Everyone listen! I’m going inside, but I think all of you should wait until noon to come in.”
Billy backed toward the open door, gesturing for Bonnie to follow. A man stepped out of line and rushed forward, but Martha whacked him on the knees with her cane. “You heard him, Remus! Not until noon!”
Billy ducked inside with Bonnie and closed the door behind him, his heart racing. “They think I’m the king.”
“Why shouldn’t they?” Bonnie said, laughing. “You opened the door, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to take them to a new country. I don’t even know where I am now.”
“There’s not much time till noon. Let’s get going.” Bonnie jogged to the inner doors and pushed one open. “Hmmm. Pretty dark in there.”
Billy joined her, trying to adjust his eyes to a dim red glow that barely illuminated the theatre. They shuffled down a carpeted slope, passing between long rows of empty theatre seats. Finding a short flight of stairs, they climbed up to the stage and faced the closed curtain. Pulses of scarlet light bled through its threadbare material.
Bonnie found where the curtain parted, bundled part of one panel in her arms, and drew it to the side. Billy did the same with the other panel while pulleys squeaked somewhere in the rafters. When he and Bonnie had opened a twenty-foot gap, he hurried back to center stage and surveyed the newly exposed scene.
A floor-to-ceiling glass partition walled off a forest landscape, three-dimensional, alive, and active, though saturated with a red hue, as if a cameraman were recording it through a color-coated lens. Trees and sky bounced up and down in time with the cameraman’s gait as he seemed to be trying to keep up with a man who marched away into the background. The man in front wore a black trench coat and scabbard. White hair protruded from his cap. “Professor?” Billy whispered. Everything was so real, it seemed to be an extension of the stage, as though they could walk right into that scarlet world.
Billy inched toward the screen, putting out his hand to find where reality ended and the image began. His fingertips finally touched smooth glass. He sighed. He wasn’t sure why, but finding the boundary filled him with sadness, as if he had run out to play in the fields but found instead a set of iron bars that blocked his way.
Bonnie tiptoed to his side, and they watched the scene, mesmerized, almost hypnotized by the undulating trees and sky. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the entire screen, a human form slowly shrinking as if stalking them from behind. Billy instinctively reached for his sword, but it wasn’t there. Before he could think of another way to fight, a quiet, soothing voice drifted toward them from the screen. “Do not be frightened.”
The stalking shadow shrank to human size, and a man stepped onto the stage, yet remained behind the glass partition somehow, as if he were part of the screen image and in the theatre at the same time. When he reached the center, he stopped, steady and calm, while the scene behind him continued to oscillate.
He spread out his hands. “Welcome, my friends. I have been waiting for you for a very long time.”
Although he seemed to wear a red mask, the man’s face was clear. Billy set both palms on the glass. “Professor?” He pointed at the man in the trench coat still walking in the living view port. “I thought that was you over there.”
The man held out the fringes of a robe and laughed. “I don’t think your professor ever wore anything like this, but looking through the gemstone’s wall you probably can’t tell that I’m wearing scarlet.” He made a half turn and waved his arm at the forest scene. “Your first guess was correct. There is your professor, fulfilling his duty to guide your mother to an appointed task and protect her to the best of his ability. It is still night there, for time in two different dimensions rarely coincides. I have noticed that there are periods when the two are in sync, then one might streak ahead, fast forward, if you will, while the other seems to plod along in slow motion. In all my centuries of traveling across the dimensional boundaries, this phenomenon has been among the most interesting.”
Billy’s legs wobbled again, his voice barely finding any breath. “Merlin?”
Merlin nodded. “Yes, Billy. It is I.” He bowed toward Bonnie. “Welcome, my tender blossom. You look lovely in that dress.”
Bonnie curtsied, a smile bursting forth. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Rising up again, Merlin’s eyes sparkled. “You are most welcome, fair maiden.” He clapped his hands together, his voice lively. “Now, we have much to do—”
Billy held up his hand. “Wait a minute! Aren’t you going to explain why and how you’re here and what this place is all about?”
A gentle smile spread across Merlin’s face. “Ah, the young king still has so many questions. After all you have seen, do doubts still plague your mind?”
“Not doubts, really. I just want to get a handle on what’s going on. I’m so confused, I feel like I’m walking in a nightmare.”
“Fair enough, but since time is of the essence, I must be brief.” Merlin raised a finger. “To answer your first question, when Excalibur transluminated me, I transformed into an existence that allowed me to travel across almost all spiritual dimensions—into the candlestone, through the circles of seven, and even to the outer courtyard of Paradise. If you’ll remember, I even inhabited your professor for a time.” He tapped on the inner wall of the glass screen. “This partition between us is the gem of the pendant, the Great Key that opens the passage between your world and Dragons’ Rest, and it now rides on a chain around your mother’s neck. Although I am able to stand inside the rubellite, the vestibule of the world you are in, I cannot penetrate the final barrier.”
“Why not?” Billy asked.
“I am not a dragon,” Merlin said, spreading out his arms. “Those in the village are the spirits of the dragons who never allowed the Nephilim to control their minds. I suppose you could call them the uncorrupted dragons.”
“Uncorrupted?” Billy smirked. “There’s at least one in here who seems plenty corrupted. She’s been a pain ever since we got here.”
“Is that so?” Merlin asked, a hint of concern in his voice. “What does she do?”
“Her name is Jasmine. She calls herself a prophetess and tells the townspeople not to think about the past. A couple of them have told us she’d like to kill us if she could. She’s been saying we’re something called ‘Oracles of Fire’ and deserve to die.”
Merlin stroked his chin. “I see. Very interesting. I suppose she could be a self-corrupted dragon. Although the Nephilim never took residence in her body, perhaps she sought power from dark sources and uses it to control the others.” He folded his hands at his waist. “I did not expect someone like her to exist in Dragons’ Rest. I advise you to avoid her.”
“Yeah,” Billy said, adding a chuckle. “We guessed that. But why are the dragons here?”
“They are in there,” Merlin replied, “because their souls have nowhere else to go. Dragons were designed to rule with mankind in the original paradise of earth, but when man fell, paradise collapsed. As you know, the dragons who were killed after they became humans were sent to the seventh circle of Hades. They were dry bones in need of a spiritual awakening that you provided as a representative of the human messiah. The dragons you see in this village were killed as dragons, so they went to this holding place not meant for humans. They had no messiah to rescue them . . . until now.
