Windmane had known that it was easier to be brave for the sake of a herdmate than for herself, and she was reminded of it now. When Razorscale directed the group to follow him, Windmane squared her shoulders and urged the flying carpet to a more visible height along the road.
Stomp was walking behind Razorscale as promised. She looked ready to try to intimidate people. Windmane was there to make sure she didn't have to do it alone.
Twig also crowded close, wearing that foolish expression that he clearly thought was fierce. Silver trotted at Razorscale's side like before. Only Beak hung back, and when Razorscale noticed the awkward huddle forming behind him, he told everyone to give him some space and stop being such “absolute children.”
Windmane was pretty sure that they'd all be children to someone his age no matter what they did, but she backed off. There was no one to threaten yet anyway.
The gorgons had apparently said to look for people from a short list of professions as likely members of the anti-mage faction. It was an odd list, including things like doctors and cartwrights, and Windmane didn't pretend to understand it.
They found the cartwrights first. It was a small shop, with a large open space full of vehicles in various states of repair. Some were the regular wheeled sort while others flew in much the same way the carpet did.
An angry voice as they approached answered the question of why the people here might not like mages.
“Three weeks for that?” a man yelled from inside the shop. “You could fix it right now! Just take off the cover and bend it straight!”
A long-suffering woman’s voice answered. “Removing the cover would break the enchantment. We have to send it out to the magical repairs department for deactivation before we can touch it, and then again for re-activation.”
“Just break the enchantment, then have them re-enchant it!”
“That’s a different department, and their backlog is months instead of weeks. You’re lucky the accident didn’t crack the sigil. A fresh enchantment would be far more expensive.”
The man swore while Razorscale brought the group to a halt outside. Windmane was perfectly happy waiting to go in.
“This is all a racket,” the man was complaining. Various sounds told Windmane that he was paying anyway.
“You’ll have to take it up with the magical side of things,” the woman said. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
The man scoffed and grumbled, but finished the transaction without any further complaints. He stormed out of the shop a few moments later, red-faced and scowling. The group waiting to the side didn’t get so much as a glance.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Razorscale caught the door and strode inside before any other cranky humans could. Windmane and the others followed. The room was suddenly very full. It held a front door, a back door, chairs, and a counter with a visibly surprised human woman on the other side. She hid that well after the first blink, instead giving off an impression of middle-aged competence that matched the gray braid and durable clothes.
“What can I do for you?” the woman asked with a quick look at Silver.
“We have a common enemy,” Razorscale declared. “A group of at least five powerful mages.”
“Why are they my enemies?” the woman asked, taken aback.
“You tell me. Can you help us find them?”
“Sir, this is a repair shop,” the woman told him. “I can get your cart fixed up if you have one, but that’s it.”
Razorscale leaned forward, showing teeth again. “I am asking for information. Where do we find mages who have just tested out a powerful new spell?”
The woman was looking suspicious. “I am sure I wouldn’t know. Please take your private grudges elsewhere, sir.”
Windmane edged higher while Stomp took a half-step forward. Twig made faces while Beak stayed by the door. They all glowered at the human.
“Is this a setup?” she exclaimed. “Why are you even here? Go bother the mages!”
Razorscale hissed, “Tell us where they are, and we will.”
“How the hash would I know?”
Windmane spread her arms and yelled. “You live here! You hate them too! Please, I can’t walk because of them! They’ve done us all wrong! Just tell us where the powerful magicians live!”
There was a silence while the repairwoman appeared to be wondering why this was happening to her.
Beak spoke up calmly. “We’re not from around here. Where would you go if you wanted to find a mage, but didn’t know which?”
“I don’t know, the royal court?” the woman said in exasperation. “Wait outside and hope you don’t get hassled by the guards?”
Razorscale stood up straight. “Where and when.”
The woman gave directions that apparently made sense to the dragon, since he nodded once and turned to leave. “Thank you. Farewell.”
Windmane gave a silent wave as the others filed out. The perplexed look on the woman’s face remained until Windmane brought up the rear and closed the door behind herself.
Outside, Razorscale was bent over whispering with Silver, probably to keep up the charade of the “unintelligent pet.” Twig was jabbering excitedly at Beak. Stomp stood alone, looking rattled. Windmane moved to comfort her.
A stranger got there first.
“Hey, shady lady, are you lost? You can come home with me.” The pale man spoke with the cockiness of pickup artists everywhere, and the confidence of someone who had no idea he had just given the gravest of insults.
“Lost?” Stomp asked, turning her head slowly. Windmane watched her stand taller, flare her nostrils in rage, and flex the muscles she had been hesitant to use a moment earlier.
The man seemed to be realizing his error. “Uh, I just haven’t seen you around here before,” he tried.
“LOST?!”
“She’s not lost!” Windmane cut in, hovering by Stomp’s shoulder and looming over the man. “Now kick off!”
The man took in the sight of the pair of them, with the others turning in his direction, and he bolted down the road. He nearly tripped someone in the process.
Windmane put a hand on Stomp’s shoulder. “Good job.”
Stomp snorted and shook her head as if flapping ears she didn’t have. “I better not see him again,” she said.
“I’ll kick him in the head if you want,” Windmane volunteered, shifting position. “I may not be able to use these right, but I can kick with the best of them, especially at head height!”
“Enough of that,” Razorscale announced. “We have a high society party to infiltrate.”