Thanks to @armoury for the beta!
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My hand landed on the wyvern’s head as I laid back against its body. The beast rumbled slightly, it’s head had turned towards me to watch as I rested my head on its barrel. “Well, if ya ain’t comfortable, ah ain’t gonna be comfortable either ya big dumb lizard. Sides, yer warm.” Indeed the beast was, an internal heat radiating from it that did well to fight the chill of the wind. It wasn’t a particularly cold day, but with how rapidly I was travelling through the landscape it was a godsend against the wet and cold Atlantic air.
The beast let out another grunt, head laying down onto the train’s car as it stared off ahead. “Aye, ah know ya want to fly beastie. We’ll get this all sorted, and we can both be happy, sound good?”
Another growl sounded out, and I chuckled and pointed off towards the west. “See that? Torquhan, me great great great grandfather was from there.” The train passed by the rolling hills, manor houses dotting the landscape. It wasn't a good farming country, but my ancestors made do regardless. The blood of farmers had been running in my veins as far back as the tales could tell, da’ had always told me we were descended from the MacAlpin’s, but I certainly never felt particularly kingly. That and nary less than half of all Scots said there were descending from the first king anyways. I was never sure whether they were lying, if the MacAlpin’s were horny as an uncut goat, or both. During my internal musings, the scene had shifted, going from the distant homes of Torquhan, to the relatively bustling village of Stow. The train continued on, not bothering to stop at its station as it sped along the borders.
I leaned back against the barrel of the beast again, letting out a breath as Scotland passed me by. It was still several more hours to London, and I would admit some interest in seeing it pass by me, I was already farther south than my father had ever been, and in due time I would have travelled further than my grandparents as well. It was an odd feeling, not… wrong exactly, but nervousness I supposed, the feeling one tends to get when they are standing outside the schoolhouse for their first day, worried they won’t fit in properly, or that they are stepping into a world they knew nothing about.
Though I supposed the latter was accurate regardless.
I glanced back at the beast, its eyes had closed as it laid down. It clearly wasn’t fascinated by the countryside, though given its rather excited entrance it probably saw more of it at a better angle than I ever could. Still, it had the right idea, and I closed my own eyes as I let the warmth of the beast suffuse me.
Soon, London.
Soon… opportunity.
---
I was awoken several hours later by the deep booming whistle of the train, my eyes snapped open, both I and the wyvern raised our heads in curiosity to see what the fuss was about. Then my eyes widened. Stretching as far as I could see in either direction was a truly gargantuan city, a roar of wind passed me back, and I shrunk back as a train screamed past on a track going the opposite direction. It’s horn blasts in the air, momentarily deafening me as I stumbled up and onto my feet.
The sky above the city was a hazy gray, smoke rising from chimneys and stacks that choked the sky despite the afternoon sun. Buildings of brick, none of wood, were what made up the sprawl, their shapes near uniform and faded reds and whites. As I approached I took note of the people, out here in the outskirts it was all workers, men dressed in overalls, women dressed in what could generously be called sacks, moving about, disappearing in and out of factories and warehouses. There were no rooftop wyverns here either, a few were on the roads that I could see, mostly the brute types used for hauling heavy loads, but the roofs all had spikes installed on them to rather disenchant any hopeful wyvern’s idea of acting like a hawk.
The train curved, turning towards the city center as the buildings changed in both scope and purpose. Factories and warehouses transitioned to long and straight streets filled with shops, and beyond them, a large and stinking river choked with boats. London was the center of all industry for England, and it seemed quite proud to show that fact as I watched it all pass by me. Pure waters turned brown, brick buildings turned… brown, thousands if not tens of thousands of people visible as we hurtled past.
… I didn’t admittedly have much taste for it.
It was a good ten minutes more of travel before the train turned once more and started to head for the railway station. A gigantic structure built like a tent, with large openings in the front and back for a train to slide into. Glasgow was busy, this was worse. Dozens of trains have pulled in here, and my view to either side was quickly blocked by stocky cargo cars. The walkway in between them, however, compared to Glasgow, was massive. Easily two dozen feet or so, lined with carts and carriages waiting to pull passengers or cargo off the trains and into London itself.
It was a good minute later when the train slowed to a stop, and I found myself walking out of the cage lest I be carried off with it. A crane, before unnoticed, lowered itself from the ceiling to grab onto the top of the cage, the beast within letting out a noise of fright as it was shakily lifted up, then dropped onto a cart hooked onto a nearby carriage. Then as I watched the carriage pulled around the one in front of it and made its way down the row of cars. I stepped off myself, my shoes clicking on the stone walkway as I made my way down it towards the front… section, of the train. By the time I made my way there, it was to find Crawford waiting for me besides the carriage in question, a slight smile on his face as he looked me up and down. “How was your trip?”
“Well enough,” I replied, stepping past him into the carriage. “Bit windy.”
“I would say. In fact, I dare say you probably had a better view than I did.” Crawford said glibly, sliding into the carriage and shutting the door behind him. The man’s clothes had a fair bit less wrinkles than yours did, but I hadn’t exactly planned on spending the day in a windstorm either. It didn’t matter in the long run, my clothes, in comparison, were far less than fancy, and it was damn hard to make a tartan wrinkle, to begin with. As I stared at him Crawford knocked his hand on the wood behind him, and a few seconds later the carriage started a slow movement forward. “Welcome to London Arthur.”
I continued to stare at him for a moment, then turned my gaze to the window. “This all seems too well planned, the crane, the carriage.”
Crawford shrugged. “I make multiple trips to London a year, it only takes a telegram message to let my associates know I’m coming.”
“Associates?” I asked.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Business partners,” Crawford explained. “I don’t sit on the family wealth, I expand it. And I do believe you have led us both to a rather… interesting opportunity.”
I arched a brow, bringing my gaze back from the street the carriage just rode onto to focus on him. “Are ya tryin’ to sound ominous? Or is this just how ya are normally?”
Crawford grinned, leaning back in his seat and propping his arms up so they rested along the top of it. “Apologies my good man, merely making business plans. What do you think of London so far?”
“Ah can appreciate how much effort it must have taken to build it, but the average building here is probably worth more than the three towns that surround my farm,” I replied.
Crawford chuckled, “a not inaccurate assessment of this part of London. But we should be coming up on our first stop now actually. The stables.”
“Stables?” I blinked, looking out the window to see the carriage turning into a tunnel. It was a large brick building, three stories high and built rectangularly like everything else around it, but what separated it from its peers was the large tunnel in the front, a stone construction gently going down that the horse carefully worked its way through. It went down what I’d estimate to be a good thirty feet or so before it levelled out, and I found myself in what appeared to be a gigantic cellar. It was not a gigantic structure, mayhaps just a small amount larger than the building above in total size, but it was filled with barrels and cages. A glance at the barrels showed them to be containing water going by the markings, hoses going into them to spray at a moment's notice. The cages are… well, at this point I had well and truly figured it out. “You keep the wyverns underground?”
The carriage came to a stop as Crawford replied, a group of men shouting behind my head. “To avoid a fire hazard, yes.”
The carriage lifted slightly, and I glanced back to see the entire cart behind separated and pulled away, the wyvern standing in its cage and trying to steady itself as a group of men pulled it along. “Ah understand the dangers of a fire hazard, but would ya keep ah bird underground? It’s an animal, how long do ya plan on keeping it caged underground like a miner’s bird?”
“Unless a home is specifically built to house one, which most people that work in the arenas or keep one as pets long term does, it is simply unfeasible to keep one around,” Crawford explained. “In any case, this one will not be kept here for very long.”
I stared at him but said nothing as the carriage started moving again, and I didn’t speak until we reached our next destination.
---
London was an ugly city, filthy, noisy, and full of a stink I couldn’t describe. Despite the nice clothes of the men and women on the sidewalk as I made my way up to the building, that was the main thought that played through my head as I moved through the thin crowd and towards the door Crawford was standing beside. It was a relatively squat building compared to those around it, but far grander despite. Two stories and made of white marble, large windows on the front dark like lacquer gave glances inside to men sitting behind desks, and more than likely doing the work of numbers. A look above the door names the building, a golden plaque set behind two wyvern busts, ‘Royal Wyverns’.
The transition from outside to in was stark, the stink of the city outside was replaced by that of ink and paper, and I blinked my eyes several times to adjust to the relatively dim light of the interior before I got a look around myself. The interior was made of wood, segmented into little offices that men and women are working diligently inside. Each office had a little plaque above it, denoting its purpose: ‘Registration’, ‘Processing’, and more that I couldn’t make heads or tails of.
Crawford stepped past me, making his way over to the door marked ‘registration’, “Ah’ll just find a place to sit,” I remarked. “Already feel well enough out of place already.”
Crawford gave me a wry smile but said nothing as he made his way over to the door and stepped inside of it. I myself made my way over to a seat parked next to one of the windows and plopped right down on it. The scent of ink was heavier than it was even in my school days, and I let myself settle in and rel-
“A Scotsman?” a female voice spoke up, sounding more surprised than accusatory despite how the words could be construed.
I glanced to the side, looking to find the speaker. It didn’t take long, standing just beside the bench, having apparently walked out of one of the offices is a young woman. A rather pretty face with green eyes and curly red hair tied up in a bun. She was wearing a white dress and staring down at me with curiosity.
“Is it the tartan that gives me away?” I asked.
“The smell.” She replied, a slight smile gracing her features.
I stared at her, “ah, Irish.”
“Morrigan,” the woman supplied with a nod. Her accent was upper class but had that Gaelic lilt to it that shows her true colors. Those colors being of course, green.
“Arthur, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Do ya insult all the men ya meet or just the Scottish?”
The smile on her face grew a touch. “Oh, no, don’t be insulted. You smell of sweat and dirt, that mixed with the tartan tells me you couldn’t be an Englishman.”
“Aye, and thank the gods for that ya paddy,” I replied, a smile gracing my own face.
“What brings you to Royal Wyverns, jock?” Morrigan asked.
“Looking for the owner of one that crashed into my barn,” I replied, gesturing to the window across the way where Crawford was talking rather animatedly to a rather fat gentleman. “... Friend of mine helping me out, what’s it to a mick?”
“Pure curiosity,” Morrigan said, head tilting slightly before she glanced towards the front door. “What’s the breed?”
I thought back to what McDunnough said. “A Caucus Skyracer I believe.”
Morrigan’s eyebrows rose. “Fascinating, a rather fast breed, good agility. Poor in anything related to strength however.”
My own rose. “A fascination with wyverns, lass?”
“A professional interest,” Morrigan answered. Then her eyes move to the door. “But I must be going, pleasant talking to you.”
I nodded. “Same to you lass.”
With that she walked past me, pausing briefly at the door before looking back. “Good luck scotch.”
“Aye, same to whatever you are doing, bog-trotter.”
With that she opened the door and stepped through… at least someone talked normally in this town. I stared after her, idly looking at her form before I heard the door click open across the way. Looking back I saw Crawford stepping out of the office, a wide smile on his face. “Mr. Wellbrook. They are sending him a telegram now with the meeting details.”
“... Pardon?”
Crawford paused midstep, a slightly embarrassed look on his face before he recovered. “The owner of the wyvern is a Mr. Wellbrook, a lord actually. They are sending him a message to meet us in the stables so we can discuss the situation.”
A lord? Well, he may attempt to just buy me off and send me on my way then, that, or make me kiss his shoes. “When is this meeting?”
“A half-hour,” Crawford answered. “We best make to the carriage.”
---
“Aye, I know it isn’t comfortable,” I said quietly. Glancing over to the cage beside me the beast was laying in. The cage they had it in was almost smaller than the one on the train, and it was looking particularly miserable as we waited. They had moved the cage of the beast off towards the back, it is one of two present, the other being a truly gargantuan brute they have in an equally large cage, all four of its limbs shackled to the ground and a steel muzzle over its mouth. “Do you know anything about this Wellbrook?” I asked Crawford, the man leaning against the wall next to me.
“It’s an old family, made their name in the civil war. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the man himself, beyond the fact he is quite wealthy.” Crawford answered.
I nod, “wealthy enough for a carriage with gold decoration?” I asked, gesturing towards the carriage that was making its way down the ramp.
The carriage in question was rather… ostentatious, even compared to Crawford’s. Blue siding with gold trimming all around. It came to a stop just a few feet away and the driver quickly hopped off the side to open the door. Stepping out was… an Englishman, pure and simple. He was dressed in a fine red jacket with golden trim, laying over a pure white silk undershirt. His hair was pure white, not wig nor powered, but rather a product of the rather advanced age the man was. If I was to guess I would say the man was in his mid sixties, but despite his age there is a spry to his step as he made his way over to us.
… But he wasn’t what I was focusing on.
What I was focusing on was the fact that the moment the man became visible, the wyvern’s wings began to twitch.