The Pitchfork of Destiny (10 page)

“Okay,” said the donkey, “but could you ease up on Rooster there, he's turning blue, man.”

“I'll consider it,” Charming said coldly, “depending on how you answer my question.”

“What happens if I don't give you the right answer?” the donkey asked.

Charming said nothing but instead shifted his weight forward so that the sword tip now dug into the skin on the donkey's throat, and the dog under his foot gave a yelp of pain.

“I swear we don't have anything against you or your friend,” the donkey pleaded. “We were just afraid he was a robber like the last cats that came in here. Dig?”

Charming did not respond but tightened his grip on the rooster so that the bird squawked in pain.

“Okay, man,” the donkey brayed in alarm. “Ask your question. I'll try to answer.”

“Normally,” said Charming, and his hard eyes bore into the donkey's, “I would care about my friend, and normally I would be asking why you are in my house, but this isn't normally. My question, and answer very, very carefully, donkey, is . . . where is my wife?”

 

CHAPTER 5

DINNER FOR TWO

W
hen reading fairy tales, it is never a good idea to think too much about the realities of a damsel's distress. Sleeping Beauty sleeps, but it is a mystical sleep, and so she can wake fresh as a daisy kissing her prince after one hundred years without brushing her teeth. Cinderella sweeps, but despite all the time she spends on her hands and knees scrubbing dishes and cleaning out hearths and how callused and bruised those same hands and knees must have been, all she really needs is a new dress and a pair of pretty shoes to make her a princess. And, should we even discuss what state Ms. Riding Hood and her grandmother would have been in after having been extracted from the guts of a wolf via a woodman's axe?

Rapunzel actually had a bit of experience with the pain and inconvenience of being a fairy-­tale damsel. The stories she could tell about how much time and effort it took to maintain her hair were, well, hair-­raising. But the trials she'd had detangling her hair and preventing split ends were as nothing compared to the sheer discomfort of being abducted by a dragon and its wolf henchman, or henchwolf, and flown up to a barren cave in the mountains at the end of winter in nothing but a nightgown.

At first, Elle was far too nervous to complain. When your jailers are a distraught dragon and its deranged and constantly hungry pet wolf, being the squeaky wheel might get you eaten. However, in the end, she decided that she would not survive long if she did not complain, and so complain she did.

She complained about the cold, and the dragon used its flaming breath to heat the rocks of the cave until they fairly glowed with heat. She complained about her state of undress and about sleeping on the rock-­hard ground, and so the dragon and the wolf raided several noblemen's estates and brought back wardrobes full of dresses (this took some time as neither the wolf nor the dragon had any concept of sizing, cut, or color). They also brought back a beautiful canopied bed that she swore she'd seen in the Duchess of South Southingham's boudoir. She complained about the food, what there was of it was all raw meat, and so the wolf was sent to fetch all the pots and pans and dishes and implements necessary for a proper meal. He was also later sent to fetch some spices when Elle complained of the blandness of the fare, and some lovely spring vegetables to serve as an accompaniment. The wolf balked briefly when, later still, the dragon, on its own initiative, suggested that for Elle to really appreciate the fresh game properly, she would need a nice wine, but when the dragon reminded the wolf, quite forcefully, that its continued existence depended entirely on the dragon's good humor, it grudgingly agreed.

So on this particular night, Elle was seated at a lovely polished dining table (slightly marred from where one of the dragon's claws had grazed it as the creature was liberating it from Lady Greenleaf's castle) beneath the glow of two silver candelabra (both slightly askew from being clutched in the wolf's teeth as he carried them back from one of his most recent raids) eating a delicious meal of roast venison with smoked eggplant on china (mostly unchipped), which from the gold-­plated crest looked to have come from Lord Easterly's formerly famous collection. She lifted a crystal goblet and took a sip of a wonderful Chardonnay the dragon had recommended, and sighed contentedly.

Volthraxus lay on the floor on the other side of the table, his massive head resting on his crossed forelimbs and his red-­gold eyes half-­ lidded but fixed intently on her as she ate. “Didn't I tell you that the '56
Chateau de Chateau
would be a perfect complement?”

She nodded and wiped her mouth delicately on a linen napkin the dragon had insisted she must have, his exact words to the wolf being something like, “We are not barbarians, Beo. You would not set a table for your guest without a clean tablecloth (which the wolf had also been forced to obtain), and you certainly would not ask a lady to wipe her mouth on the back of her sleeve.”

From the corner behind her, there was a whine as Beo begged to be allowed to eat. The wolf had been on the run for the past week, gathering all the “necessities,” as the dragon called the finery they'd looted, and the way he was drooling and panting and the way his ribs pinched together made Elle wonder if he'd eaten at all in that time. The dragon gave the wolf a sharp look, and for a moment his eyes seemed actually to be aflame. The whining stopped, and the dragon returned to his contemplation of her, his eyes gentling and the gold flecks slowly returning like fine particles rising to the top of a stream of molten lava.

Elle pointedly ignored this exchange and took another bite, and, after another sip of wine, said, “The meal is delicious, Volthraxus. You have quite a lot of skill with roast deer. I usually find the meat either dry or underdone, and often quite gamey, but here there is a wonderful browning on the outside while the inside remains marvelously tender. How do you do it?”

The dragon's eyes rolled with pleasure at the compliment, and he replied in his deep, rumbling voice, “Years of practice, my Lady. I would happily give you the recipe, but unfortunately it requires roasting the meat at a temperature that can only be obtained using the infernal fires of my kind. However, I must say that I think this venison is second-­rate.”

“You are being too modest,” Elle replied instantly.

Beo snorted at this, but Volthraxus either did not hear or chose to ignore the wolf. Instead, he smiled contentedly, and said, “No, I feel my roasted venison is only barely passable. My real specialty is pork. I am renowned throughout the dragon world as the preeminent expert on swine flesh, and I have been fortunate enough to locate a large herd of pigs that I shall soon be visiting.”

Elle had felt a bit of remorse at the wolf's and dragon's raids against her friends and relations in the court, but they had deep cellars to hide in and could afford the loss of a few bits of china and furniture if it meant keeping the two beasts from real mischief. She knew from having talked to Will that a dragon attack on a farm could mean devastation to the farmer. This was partly why she kept asking the dragon for wild game: deer, geese, elk, fish, and so on.

She decided to try once more to forestall the proposed raid. “But surely,” she said gesturing over at the enormous spit of roasted deer he had just prepared, “we have more than enough food for several days.”

The dragon glanced quickly at the side of meat and gestured at it with a dismissive flick of one of his claws. “I could not possibly ask you to eat leftovers, Lady Rapunzel. My table is not so ungracious.”

“But I hate to see such waste,” she urged. “It would make me feel a poor guest.”

“Don't worry yourself, Lady Rapunzel,” he rumbled soothingly, “If it bothers you so much, I will give the scraps to the dog.”

There was a deep growl from behind her, and Volthraxus opened one eye wide and fixed it on the wolf. “Do you have something to add to our discussion, Beo?”

The dragon's eye was blazing, but this time Beo did not back down. “Yes, I do. I have a bone to pick with you, or more precisely a
lack
of bones,” he said, or Elle thought that was what he said, for whereas the dragon had a very sophisticated accent, far more cultured and refined than most courtiers she'd met, the wolf's human speech was punctuated by odd yips, barks, and growls.

“Do you? Do the ‘scraps' from my table then turn out to be insufficient for mighty Beo?” the dragon asked condescendingly.

“Not the scraps themselves, but in
how
you have ordered your table,
yes
,” he said, biting each word short in his anger.

The dragon closed his eyes, and said contradictorily, “I am listening. Go on.”

The wolf moved to the side of the table between Elle and Volthraxus. “Why does this human get a place at your table as honored guest? She is your prisoner. Remember, it is her betrothed that slew your beloved. Why should she not be made to suffer in his stead while you await his arrival?”

Volthraxus opened his eyes, but just an inch, so that they were transformed into menacing red slits. “You have a nasty habit of reminding me of painful things, Beo. It is a trait that you should work on remedying lest one day I grow weary of your company. As for Lady Rapunzel, I remember well how her King William wronged me, but she is not King William, and I enjoy her conversation. How I choose to pass my time is my business, not yours. If you cannot behave with better grace, then you may absent yourself from our dinners.”

“We are meant to be partners . . .” Beo grumbled with something approaching a growl, and began to pace back and forth reminding Volthraxus about their bargain and about all the terrible things Will had done. The dragon in return rumbled deeply about what the wolf was doing, or more precisely
not
doing, to bring him the revenge they had agreed was the sole goal of their partnership.

Throughout this exchange, Elle was careful to betray no emotion, but inwardly she smiled. She had realized quite quickly after her capture that the dragon did not really like the wolf, and the wolf did not really like the dragon. They were each using the other, but there was little trust and certainly no mutual respect. She did not know how yet, but somewhere in their natural enmity she hoped was the possibility of escape.

The wolf had just finished his appeal to the dragon, and Elle decided it was time to test the dragon's hostility to the creature and, by comparison, his incomprehensible sympathy toward her.

She assumed a look of anxious concern, and said, “Volthraxus, if my behavior has been offensive to you, or if being in my presence causes you pain, I understand.” Here she paused and added a womanly quaver to her voice. “I also know what it is to lose someone you love, though for me I hope that there is still some small chance that we will be together again. I . . . I will go.” She put her napkin to the side of her plate and rose as if to leave.

The dragon's eyes flew open in alarm at this prospect. “My dear Lady Rapunzel, I am sorry that Beo and I have been airing our personal business in front of you. It was ill done.” At this, he shot the wolf such a menacing glare that the creature dropped to the ground and backed away from the table and out of the cave on his belly. Volthraxus turned back to her, his eyes molten gold. “I can only say that your company has made the last few days bearable. I am keenly aware that my own actions toward you could not have been more unwelcome and that you would be right to despise me, and yet you have treated me with a kindness that I would not have thought possible from one of your race. I thank you for that and for the wit of your conversation.”

He ended his speech with a slight bow of his head, and she sat again with a demure smile.

“Thank you, Volthraxus,” she said. “I was worried that you might have been growing tired of me.”

The dragon did not answer but smiled indulgently and asked if she needed more of anything. She declined politely and took another bite. Elle knew that the time had come to broach the topic of his plan for revenge against Will, but she did not know what the best approach would be. She picked up her wineglass and took another sip. Somehow, she had to get the dragon to understand that killing Will would not bring him any satisfaction and less still would it bring back Magdela—­heaven help the kingdom.

After pondering the topic silently for a few minutes while she ate, Elle decided that she would just have to try and hope for the best. So, laying her fork aside, she said, “Volthraxus, I wish to speak to you about something.”

The dragon had appeared to be half-­asleep, but Elle knew by now that the creature was always alert even when apparently in deep slumber, so it came as no surprise when he opened his eyes, and said, “Yes, Lady Rapunzel, is there something else you require?”

Rapunzel blushed a little at this because she'd never been more demanding than she had made herself over the last week, and she heard in the dragon's tone an undercurrent of reproach at her selfishness. “No,” she said. “I am sorry if my requests have been bothersome.”

“They have not,” the dragon said dryly. “I know that you have been trying to keep Beo and me from rampaging through the countryside by sending us on these silly quests, but I do not resent that little subterfuge.”

“You knew?” Rapunzel exclaimed.

He chuckled deeply. “Of course I knew. Do you think I am some upstart fresh out of the egg that can be turned by a kind word and a pretty face? I also know that you have been ever so subtly trying to turn me against the wolf, and that now believing that I am more sympathetic toward you, you will attempt to convince me to give up my campaign against King William.”

“But why? Why go along with it?” she asked, a growing emptiness replacing the calm confidence she'd had mere moments before.

The dragon shifted his body and recrossed his front talons under his head. The entire movement had the effect of a kind of shrug. “Because your plans, up to this point, have served my purposes also. Take the raids on the nobles for one.” He began absentmindedly scratching a complex pattern on the cavern floor with one of his talons. “It is easy for a king to ignore a dragon that attacks farms. King Rupert and Prince Charming ignored Magdela for the better part of thirty years. Ahhh . . .” he exhaled and a puff of smoke came out, “but have that same dragon attack nobles, and the entire court will rise up and demand that the King act. I do not want to be here thirty years. I do not want to be here even three months. I want King William to come at me at once, and so I raid the nobles and steal their riches. Also,” he added with another smoky chuckle, “it annoys Beo, and I like anything that annoys him.”

“I don't understand,” she said, feeling suddenly very small, very simple, and very stupid. “Is Beo your partner, or is he not?”

The dragon paused before answering, his head cocked to one side as though listening for something. Finally, he said, “Beo is a useful tool, but he is dangerous. He is the blade that would happily turn in your hand. I have enjoyed having you as a foil to remind him how disposable he is to me and also to remind me how far I can safely push him.”