Dragon Removal Service Page 11

  Soltanabad frowned, dug his foot in the soft soil. A glowing red tendril crept around the ankle of his cork boot, reaching almost to the silver crescent at the top. Soltanabad took out a small pouch and sprinkled glacier water on it, covering the oozing thorns. The tendril stopped moving. Soltanabad picked it up, examined it closely, then threw it to the ground in disgust. "Worthless!"

  "For the honor?" Gulchima said quietly.

  Soltanabad embraced Gulchima, pulled her close with one arm. He smelled like mint tea and garlic. "Okay okay. For the honor. But next time I need more product."

  Gulchima agreed, noting how the man's grammar had improved after he got a better deal.

  "Next time, you need less hungry cousins."

  ✽✽✽

  In a different part of the haunted wood, Brunhild waited. Her tooth necklace glinted in the sudden spread of sun between clouds.

  Brunhild flashed her steel mirror, aiming for the upper right window of an abandoned warehouse in Bayadev. Immediately, she received a response, three flashes in quick succession. Her agent was eager. All was in readiness.

  Brunhild started to giggle, but fought down her glee. One couldn't eat one's fairies before they hatched, she reminded herself. Still, all was in readiness. Brunhild could prepare for the next stage of her plan.

  Would Rattbone predict it? Doubtful. He was busy with the blossoming problems which all work brought.

  Could Rattbone stop it? Impossible. Rattbone had no experience with this sort of thing. Even Brunhild had needed help setting it up.

  Yes, this time her plan would work. Brunhild's voices had led her to the correct point of attack, one which Rattbone would never see coming.

  It could not be stopped.

  The next person to touch the dragon would die.

  Horribly.

  "Well I was stressed out, so I did what adults do: I went to the beach for five years. I got mixed up with the wrong kind of lobsters, then a sea-witch stole my singing voice—

  What do you mean, 'Now I'm just making this stuff up'? You've already heard that story? It's a popular fairy tale? Oh. Right. Then let me tell you what really happened . . . ."

  -The Collected Lies of Gulchima Brixby

  (12/100: A Lazy Liar!)

  Chapter 19: Gulchima Searches for "Ting Waffles"

  A week later, Gulchima was at the fizz factory, which was housed in the caves outside of Bayadev.

  Gulchima wasn't exactly afraid of the cave. First of all, it was large enough to be called a cavern, and secondly, it was well-lit, contained fizz factory machinery, and had dozens of people scurrying around.

  So she wasn't exactly afraid, and her hands weren't exactly sweaty, because it could have been condensation from the cave. And her heart wasn't exactly hammering in her chest, it was just thumping loudly, like a person frantic to get out of a damp enclosed space, where they were trapped, and the air was running out, and—

  "Stop!" Gulchima said out loud.

  Hubward looked up from his position at the bottle washing station. "Okay. So now you don't want me to finish up this last bottle?" He wiped a dripping forearm against his chin. "Because you just said you were fine with it."

  "No, not you. I mean, yes, you. I mean . . . ."

  Hubward put down the bottle. "It's okay, I get it, you're busy." He wiped his hands down his tunic, in that unthinking gesture that all boys had. "You’re a magic removal expert and time is thalers. I can go now. I'm red-to-goop-it, as they say. I am a plucky orphan, remember, so I'll drop everything to help interesting strangers." He winked at her.

  Gulchima felt a constriction in her chest, but it loosened as they walked deeper into the factory. Movement helped reduce her anxiety.

  She didn't exactly dislike Hubward. He was entertaining. A little.

  But Gulchima felt like they were being forced into a friendship. Just because he was about her age, and he existed, didn't mean they had to be best friends. They worked together to destroy magic. That was it.

  "What do you know about the fairies in this factory?" Hubward asked.

  He stretched his lower back. At least his hair was pulled back, and not flopping into his eyes.

  "They're small."

  Hubward nodded, but when Gulchima didn't continue, he said, "Yes, but I mean compared to the varieties you've faced before, how do they stack up? Have you trapped southern gold-smacks before?"

  Gold-smacks? She'd never even seen a fairy. "No . . . um, just normal swamp fairies. They were green. And sparkly."

  "Swamp fairies!" Hubward jumped. "Then these gold-smacks should be no problem for you. How did you handle the marshy-mallow they threw at you? I'm just wondering. Did it stick your eyes shut? I knew a guy, we called him 'no-brows' because his eyebrows had been so covered with the marshy-mallow stuff, they just fell off and never grew back." Hubward inspected Gulchima's eyebrows. "Anyway, how did you do it Gulch?"

  "That's a trade secret," Gulchima said, keeping a straight face. "Tell me about these fairies. I don't know much about gold-smacks."

  Hubward gave her the low down: The fizz factory produced certified non-magical fizz-water, so the fairies were an embarrassment. Under threat of losing their jobs, no factory worker spoke of them.

  Or if they did, it was indirect: Our little helpers, they might say. The infestation. Ting waffles (those-T'ings-WhAt-FLy-around-uS). And always mentioned with a raised eyebrow, or a small nudge, that meant, "And it's just between us—understand?"

  "That's dumb," Gulchima said. "Why would adults play pretend?"

  "Well if pretending fairies don't exist makes adults sleep safer at night, who am I to say different?" Hubward said, with a dramatic wave of his arm. "You know how cranky adults are if they don't get the exact sleep they want, or drink the exact hot drink they want upon waking, or have the exact weather they want while lounging by the sea."

  Gulchima snorted. Adults! Always wasting time on hot beverages and being sad about kissing.

  Hubward led Gulchima onto the fizz factory floor. It was loud and busy and put Gulchima at ease.

  Small bottles and clay amphora marched by them on moving walkways. Occasionally the bottles halted, and strange nozzles squirted bubbly liquid into them. From atop the cavern ceiling, enormous leather bags of gas wheezed, as if the factory had lungs. The clank and spray was a cauldron of confusion, and they had to shout to hear each other.

  Gulchima pointed at the moving belts that carried the bottles through the filling station. "Magic?"

  "No, it's all geyser powered," Hubward shouted. "Geysers turn the wheels, wheels turn the belts, belts move the bottles."

  He led them through the sticky fizz factory, waving hello to the other workers. Hubward seemed to have a special handshake or elaborate greeting for each person he met. Near the bubble-laths, an older factory worker sat on the floor. He was bleeding from a large gash on his head.

  The factory herbalist, Ninestone, was attending to the wound. The Fizz-Meister, the man who ran the factory, watched over the proceedings, while several fairies, visible as puffs of giggling light, zipped around them. The Fizz-Meister smelled strongly of sulfur. He seemed nervous.

  The worker monotoned, "Oh how clumsy of me. It appears," he licked his lips, "that I have dropped this bottle, poured out its contents onto my head and then gently tapped the bottle against my skull several times until I fell into unconsciousness. Alas. This completely normal, non-magical accident hath ruined my day."

  Ninestone grimaced. "Very believable," she said. She sprayed the air with lavender oil, and the fairies sped away.

  A fairy zipped by Hubward's head, and he reached out as if to slap an invisible hand. Gulchima heard an indignant squeak, like a snail who stubbed its foot.

  "How many fairies are there?" Gulchima whispered.

  "Only a few dozen here, and another colony set up in the Bakery in the burgh," Hubward answered. "But they're all based out of the caverns. They've set up a fairy land." He waggled his eyebrows, ominously.

 
; A fairy land? What was that?

  The Fizz-Meister became agitated when he heard the word fairy. He was a thin nervous man, his eyes darting about, as if trying to see around corners. His clothes were baggy, and his arms seemed to be 90% elbow. She'd seen him at the docks the day the dragon had crashed, but he had only seemed concerned with the loading ramp.

  "Those bats again," the Fizz-Meister said in a clipped tone. "Alas, it is common and completely normal to have bats inside a cavern such as this."

  "Bats?" Gulchima asked. "But I saw light. Unless those bats were carrying lanterns, I think those were—"

  "Bayadev bats are known to carry lanterns," Hubward said smoothly. He stepped on Gulchima's foot so she would stop talking. "Otherwise they'd get lost in the dark."

  The Fizz-Meister grinned nervously. He spoke in an overly loud voice and said, "The factory is perfectly safe. This man was injured because he was clumsy. Terrible thing, that clumsiness. Why I've had three reports of extreme clumsiness and one just-plain-bad-luck in the gas-baggery this morning. Perhaps someone should visit it? Anyone up for it? Anyone?"

  He didn't pretend to look around. He just pointed at Gulchima and Hubward. "You two. You're orphans. You both have inspiring life stories, with your post-war experience, and whatever. It's good for morale. You will go there, to the gas-baggery, and improve morale."

  Gulchima understood. "And where would you say the morale is the worst?"

  "I believe bad morale was almost at the top of the ceiling in the gas-baggery," the Fizz-Meister said. "Likely it is hidden behind a stalactite. That is where bad morale was. So go there and take care of it. Ninestone has some lavender bombs that are good for morale."

  A pack of fairies dove down, pelting the Fizz-Meister with eggs. They whirled away, giggling.

  "Eggs!" the Fizz-Meister exclaimed. "Where do they find eggs inside a cave?" He caught Gulchima's eye. "Those bats I mean; the ones that carry the lanterns."

  Ninestone rolled her eyes, then started to clean the factory worker's wound again. "Birds have eggs," she muttered.

  The factory worker licked at the goo on his face. "Alas. It must be bat eggs. Normal non-magical—"

  A bag of flour fell onto his head, turning him white as a geyser ghost.

  The factory worker smiled, looked up at Ninestone. "Oh that's sweet, actually. The bats-carrying-lanterns must have remembered: Today is my birthday."

  He wiped the flour from his eyes. "They're making me a cake."

  ✽✽✽

  It was quieter in the gas-baggery. The cavern held several large stitched leather bags, some as big as a house, which captured the gas emanating from vents on the walls and floors. Smaller bags of sealskin, some deflated, lay near rainbow colored bubbling pools on the cavern floor. Thinner hand-stitched balloons floated off the ground, just above small lanterns which were cemented to the stalagmites. Buckets of glue, probably used to seal the bags, lay overturned on the floor. In one, Gulchima saw quite a bit of hair, and a pair of wooden false teeth.

  "What is this place?" Gulchima asked. She pushed between two mid-sized balloons of gas and immediately regretted it. Her body didn't like tight spaces. She was okay with it mentally, but her body had other ideas. Her body wanted her to run into the blissful open air and forget all this cavern-fairy-magic stuff. Gulchima tried to take in a deep breath to steady herself and failed.

  "This is the fizz in the fizz factory," Hubward said. "Different flavored gases come up out of these vents. Then, in the factory they put the gas back into the water."

  "I thought the fizz-water just came out that way," Gulchima said. "What are the lanterns for?"

  "Well they help separate the flavors of gas from the regular air," Hubward explained. "And if the lanterns go out, it's a warning to go find fresh air. Bad air doesn't burn."

  Bad air? Like poison? Gulchima felt her chest constrict again. There was light here, which was good. But somehow, being away from the others made it hard to breathe. Was she getting nervous? No, not nervous. Just . . . ready. Ready to face the fairies. Ready to get the heck out of this cave!

  Gulchima poked experimentally at one of the sealskin balloons that floated above the cavern floor. "I suppose you'll tell me this isn't magic either."

  "Just gas," Hubward said. "That's the kind that goes into Spring-Evening-Mist fizz-water. They say it’s a gas lighter than air."

  "And what's that used for?" Gulchima asked. She pointed at an oily black sludge pool, that shimmered and popped. Several dead rats floated in it. The gas bag above it seemed corroded around the edges.

  "That's Pure Clean Snowmelt fizz-water, 'fresh from the mountain meadow,'" Hubward said with a laugh. "Which is technically true. The water came from the mountain meadow before all that sludge got into it. Tastes great though. Our top seller."

  "And the rats?"

  Hubward shrugged. "Why mess with the secret formula?"

  ✽✽✽

  Hubward yawned and watched Gulchima as she prodded the bags, and chewed her bottom lip, and thought smart thoughts.

  She seemed interested in everything about the factory; everything except him. She hadn't asked about his orphanhood even once, or how he was getting along. She didn't feel sorry for him, or want to punch and rob him. She was indifferent. And she wasn't the Sorcerer.

  Hubward flipped down his hair to cover his eyes, then scanned her once more, to be certain. Not one spec of magic, which was itself interesting. Weeks earlier, Hubward had hidden a Seer-Slip—a translucent cloth used to detect magic—in the front bangs of his hair. He couldn't walk around blindfolded like Jaroo's two guards, with their obvious Seer-Slips. That would draw too much attention. So instead he'd hidden the Seer-Slip in his hair.

  Hubward flipped his hair, and the Seer-Slip, out of his eyes. Nothing here, except those fairies. But wait . . . there was something.

  A white bone. That was nothing to wonder at, all bones were white, or yellow. But with his Seer-Slip on, there was more to see.

  The bone was glowing with magic, even more than the fairy land where it was embedded. It was like staring at the sun. Looking up, Hubward noticed bones scattered all over the cavern ceiling. They darkled with magic.

  Suddenly, it all made sense: The Sorcerer, the fizz factory, the dragon. He understood the connection.

  Hubward felt the exhaustion of the last few weeks flood over him. All the extra work had paid off. He'd figured it out, and now he understood. After he saved the world and captured the Sorcerer and avenged his team's deaths, then he could finally get back to writing his play. It would be epic.

  There were a few other loose ends to tie up, but at least now he understood what Jaroo had been talking about . . . sort of. And now he was certain what Jaroo was planning to do to Gulchima and the Outfit.

  He'd just have to find an excuse to go to the—

  Gulchima groaned. She pointed up at the ceiling, forty feet above them. There beneath a mass of zipping lights, was the fairy land, a disgusting nest of villainy and stolen objects. "How are we supposed to get up there?"

  A simple levitation spell could do it, Hubward thought. But of course, he couldn't do magic right now. He'd sacrificed magic for bacon.

  "Do you have those lavender bombs Ninestone gave you?" Gulchima asked. "Maybe if we take out the fairy queen with the bomb, the rest will leave. Can you hit the fairy land from here? How far can you throw?"

  Hubward picked up a small rock, then tossed it into the air. It did not come close to the fairy land, but even so, a fairy zipped over, caught it in mid-air, and then tried to drop it on his head.

  "Okay, what else you got?" he asked.

  "Let's trap one of the fairies. See if we can glue a lavender bomb onto its back."

  That wasn't a bad idea, Hubward thought. And—he flipped his hair over his eyes, so he could scan for magic—if they could knock the fairy nest off the ceiling, he could take a sample. There was something else interesting inside.

  A cave cricket blinked its eyes, sightlessly.
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  "Not now," Hubward muttered to one of the seven shadows around him. "You heard her. Get me a fairy . . . ."

  One of the shadows leapt into action, bouncing off the nearest balloon. It caught two fairies in flight, somersaulted, then placed the wriggling fairies into Hubward's hands. A second shadow, distracted by the spectacle, fell into the black oily pool, the one with all the dead rats. The other shadows rushed over to help it get out.

  Well, that was easy, Hubward thought.

  "I caught two, they were fighting!" Hubward whooped.

  Gulchima ran over to him. "Great! Now what? Can we attach the bomb—"

  "I have another idea," Hubward said. Suddenly, he knew what to do. It would impress Gulchima, he thought. And then she'd have to be his friend. Maybe, she would even read his play.

  It was a two part plan:

  Firstly, he handed over one of the struggling fairies.

  Then, he grabbed the second squealing fairy by its head.

  Hubward started to pull.

  ✽✽✽

  "Don't kill it!" Gulchima yelled. "They're just . . . insects."

  Gulchima had a hard time seeing what the fairies really were. They glowed brightly and always were in motion, like a hummingbird. They looked like miniature blurry babies clothed in white and gold feathers, except they had two sharp fangs and orange fiery eyes and they were so very angry.

  The fairy slipped out of Gulchima's hand, but she caught it by the foot. The fairy started to fly away, but its leg stretched out as if it was made of rubber. It snapped back into her hand with a giggle that sounded like a curse.

  "What! It's just a fairy. It can stretch, see." Hubward swung the fairy around by its head, like a fresh piece of taffy.

  "Yes, but you don't have to grab it by the head, do you?"

  Gulchima's fairy bit down on her hand, hard. Pain shot up her arm. It felt like a bee sting, but larger and itchier. Gulchima's hand began to swell.