Everyone stared at the Marshal. “Relationship?” Matthew asked, repeating the word like it was unfamiliar to him.

“Strabos?” Maine asked. “Strabos the Dragon?”

Dakota nodded wryly. “It’s not as strange as it sounds. You do know that your Grandmother hosted him for several months, here in this very house?”

“What? Of course not!” Maine said, but to her surprise, everyone else in the room was nodding along as if nothing was odd about it. She blinked, looking around in astonishment.

“Hoo!” Kelphin said, dabbing at his brow with a lacy handkerchief. “Who can forget? I was terrified the entire time, practically lost control if he so much as glanced at me. Half the staff nearly quit on us before he finally left.”

Even Seward was nodding. “It was a difficult time for us all,” he agreed.

Maine continued to stare. “You’re kidding, right?”

Matthew was looking at her in surprise. “You don’t remember?” he asked, but then he seemed to reconsider. “But I guess you were pretty young.”

Kelphin gave a fond chuckle. “The two of you were practically inseparable,” he recalled. “He’d carry you everywhere, throw you high into the air. Oh, but that’s how we lost the chandelier, of course” he sighed, his voice catching.

“I don’t remember any of that-” Maine started to say, but then something stopped her. A very queer feeling came over her all at once as she remembered, or thought she remembered, a huge pair of hands reaching down towards her. A great booming laugh seemed to echo in her ears and she had the impression, just for a moment, of flying through the air, the world flashing and whirling in front of her eyes. She braced herself against a table, suddenly disoriented, as the laughter slowly faded to an echo in her ears.

What was that, she asked herself. Was it a memory? Before this moment, she would’ve sworn that she’d never heard that laughter before, but why did it sound so familiar now?

Mrowr??

Ifri stood on his back paws, leaning up against her legs. His electric blue eyes seemed concerned as he stared up at her, meowing plaintively. She reached down and picked him up, cradling the kitten to her chest, her mind still all in a whirl.

Dakota, meanwhile, was looking with interest at the rest of the staff. “What was he like?” he asked suddenly. “Strabos, I mean? The Strabos?”

“Terrifying,” Kelphin said at once. “Absolutely terrifying.”

Seward’s snout twitched. “He never did anything overtly threatening, of course,” he said

“--At least not when Lady Maierson was around,” Kelphin added.

“--Yes, but sometimes he’d just look at you…” The Naga’s voice trailed off and he shivered, a rare sight.

Kelphin leaned close to Dakota. “You must have heard about what happened in the Astoria dining room?” he asked him.

Dakota nodded eagerly. “Three waiters and a maitre d, right?”

“I heard it was the whole cooking staff! A puff of fire and smoke and they were gone, just like that…”

“I never liked him,” Matthew said suddenly. He was frowning, arms folded, like he was lost in his own memories. “He was too… big, too loud.” He glanced at Maine, smiling out the corner of his mouth. “No matter what he did or said though, you just loved him more.”

Maine shook her head. “I don’t remember at all…”

Dakota looked between the two of them. “Did your Grandmother give you any idea at all, why she invited him? Why she even got to know him in the first place?” Maine and her brother looked at each other and then shook their heads. Even Seward looked at a loss.

Fengmi’s snores cut off abruptly. “Well, at least someone in your family knew how to follow instructions,” he growled.

Dakota eyed his partner nervously as he sat up in his chair, folding his arms. “Feelin’ better there?”

“As good as I’m gonna,” he said shortly. He glared at the two Maiersons. “Excuse me losin’ my temper there. It’s a nasty habit I got, so don’t make me do it again.”

“To make a long story short, Strabos’ visit wasn’t a social call,” he told them bluntly. “Your Grandmother was trying to figure out a way to kill him.”

There was silence in the room. No one seemed to even breathe.

“Is that even possible?” Matthew asked.

“Well, that’s what we were hoping to find out,” Fengmi shrugged.

He sat back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. “Where to begin? Well, I suppose you have to start with Strabos. Many of you might have heard him called the only living Act of God, the Unnatural Disaster. That’s pretty close to it. He’s a wicked old Wurm, the oldest dragon in the world, which means he’s also the biggest and most powerful, ‘cause the damn things keep growing and they don’t die of old age. Luckily, they’re as likely to kill each other as kill us, so they’re not too bad to deal with, but Strabos is different. He’s got no rival, not another Wurm even a tenth of his size. And for the last hundred years or so, he’s chosen to live within the United States, just a few hours flight from so many breakable cities…”

“Boston, Chicago, Philly, New York, Washington…” Dakota supplied.

Fengmi nodded. “Of course, it’s not like anyone could do anything about it,” he remarked. “Armies, navies, countries have all thrown themselves against Strabos over the centuries, and he’s still here without so much as a scratch on him.” He nodded to Matthew. “Hell, there’s a lot of people who say he can’t be killed. Still…” he laughed, an ugly, bitter sound. “That wasn’t going to stop the US Government from trying.”

Dakota nodded sagely. “Someone had the bright idea, if force of arms couldn’t do it, maybe magic could possibly find a way.”

Seward, however, was frowning. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought magic has never been all that effective against dragons in the past.”

Maine nodded at once. Here, she was back on familiar territory. “They’re too fast and too powerful,” she agreed, setting Ifri down on the table as she started to dig into her bag. “You’ve got to use special Vulcan rifles! Here, you see!” She pulled out a few issues of Dragon Hunters of the West and slapped them down. On the covers, cowboys in tall, bucket hats crouched behind boulders, aiming rifles with extra long barrels at a pair of dragons in the background. The dragons were locked in some sort of fight, biting and clawing at each other as flames filled the air around them. The ruins of a nest were at their feet, the eggs trampled to pieces during their struggle.

“You have to shoot them in the eye,” she explained, “the rest of their scales are just too thick.” She demonstrated by aiming an imaginary rifle and lining up the barrel towards Kelphin’s head. The Elf blanched and ducked away, even as Maine continued to track him. “It’s the only way to do it. A real dragon would burn you to cinders before you could even get a rune circle drawn.”

Fengmi shrugged. “That’s about the gist of it,” he admitted. “Still, even the biggest rifle in the world wouldn’t mean a thing to Strabos.” He tapped his head then lightly. “But then someone thought, Madelyn Maierson - the greatest witch in the world, she might be able to find a way.”

Kelphin started to shake his head quickly. “No. No, I can’t believe that Lady Maierson would take part in such an endeavor. Making weapons… It would be beneath her!”

“She’s done it before,” Fengmi reminded him. “Phosphorus paper, Greek Fire shells…”

Dakota nodded grimly. He touched the brim of his old Union cap lightly. “My Grandfather served with her in the Army of the Tennessee as a scout. He told me stories about how they left the countryside burnin’ with a fire that wouldn’t go out for weeks.”

“Hell, there are still parts of old Atlanta smoldering,” Fengmi nodded.

“That- that was the war,” Kelphin explained lamely. “She was ordered to…”

“And how is this any different?” he asked him. “In any case, she took the job, and six months later, she struck up a friendship with the old Wurm himself.” He spread his hands wide. “Don’t ask me how she did it. Must be that Maierson charm, I’ve heard so much about,” he said, glancing wryly at Maine.

Her brother was chewing on the edge of his thumbnail. “So that’s what she was doing? Trying to get close to him to learn if he had any weaknesses?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the Marshal shrugged.

“Did she manage to do it?”

The room fell silent again. Fengmi pushed his hat back up on his head.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It was years before she announced anything, and tens of thousands of dollars in grants and materials-”

“All of which came out of our budget, thank you very much,” Dakota added. “I haven’t had a raise in three years, but--”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Fengmi swatted at him with his hat. “--But yeah, about two years ago, she sent a wire back to Washington, saying she might have found a way to kill him.”

“How?” both Matthew and Maine asked together.

“I don’t know the details,” he admitted. “Apparently she built a weapon of some sort, with the help of the Dwarves.”

Seward’s eyes lit up briefly. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I remember. She was working on some sort of project with them. She never offered to explain, and, ahem,” he cleared his throat, his eyes flickering to Matthew for a moment, “I knew better than to ask. I do remember that messages were flying back and forth from here to Oroborus for weeks, notes, schematics, all manner of technical diagrams… I had no idea it was something like this though.”

Matthew was still frowning. “Did she really manage to do it?” he asked again.

“Of course she did!” Maine scoffed at her brother. “Gran was the greatest witch in the whole world!” She then paused, glancing at the Marshals. “Didn’t she?”

“Well there’s only one way to know for sure, right?” Fengmi reminded her. “Still, a ‘maybe’ from Madelyn Maierson was better than anyone else had been able to come up with, so our bosses were thrilled.” He gave a lop-sided smile. “Then they asked her to hand it over…”

“And…”

“And she refused.” He looked frankly at Matthew and Maine. “I gotta take my hat off to your Grandma,” he admitted wryly, “she refused letters from the Marshal’s service, Congress, even the White House. They threatened her with fines, jail time, what-have-you, but she refused to hand it over.”

“Said it was better off in her hands than in any politicians,” Dakota said lightly, “and that it’d be ready and waiting if it was ever actually needed.” He shook his head, whistling lightly, then he leaned down towards Maine. “Your Grandma was one scary lady,” he whispered. She smiled a bit nervously.

Seward rolled his eyes. “That does sound like Madelyn…” he admitted. Matthew nodded in agreement.

“The government eventually chose to let the matter drop,” Fengmi went on. “Madelyn Maierson had powerful friends after all and some people were of the opinion that going after her might be nearly as dangerous as going after Strabos himself,” he smiled grimly. “Then, there was also the fact that Strabos has been quiet for decades. No cities burned, no attacks, hell there hasn’t really even been a confirmed sighting of him for years. Wisely, for once, the Government decided to let a sleeping dog lie.” Dakota looked slightly offended at that comment, but Fengmi ignored him. “After all, there’s no guarantee the damned thing would work anyways.”

“Of course it would,” Maine protested, but he waved his hand at her.

“In any case,” he told them, “that was the way things stood up until six months ago…”

“Till Gran died,” Matthew said plainly.

“Yes, and the attacks started happening again.”

Maine felt a chill go down her back. Ifri had been sitting on the table, idly cleaning his paws, but now he stood up and gave a long and mournful sounding call. Maine scooped him up quickly, holding him close to her chest as she looked at her brother.

“Those factories in Virginia,” he murmured. “Yes, I do remember you talking about them earlier,” he remarked as Seward raised a scaly eyebrow at him. Maine however, looked around, puzzled.

“Firearm factories have been burning down for the last few months,” Dakota explained. “We’re up to four so far. Some of them could’ve been accidents, sure, but…”

“But for the large shadow spotted overhead before the attacks,” Fengmi nodded. “That and Dragonfyre’s yet to be targeted.”

“Dragonfyre?” Maine asked.

“Years ago, a tribe of Goblins was having trouble getting a colony established,” Seward explained. “They were chased up and down the Pennsylvania river valley, till they were driven into Strabos’ territory, up near Lake Eerie. He must’ve been in a good mood, because instead of devouring them whole, he invited them to settle there.”

Dakota nodded. “They turned out to be pretty industrious Gobbers. Set up a business and everything, making guns, cannons, all manner of explosive devices. Even slapped his name and likeness on the front: Dragonfyre” He shrugged. “They’re actually pretty popular from what I hear.”

“Aye, and that business has turned them into the largest Goblin colony in the world,” Fengmi said. “Several other tribes have joined them as well, they’re even bigger than Old Coney now, if you can believe it.”

“And no one could possibly harm them, not while they’re under Strabos’ metaphorical wing,” Seward noted.

Fengmi grunted, leaning back. “Officially, he’s the owner and head of Dragonfyre, but from what I’ve heard, he’s never had anything to do with the business, he leaves that to the Gobbers. Still, that leaves a lot of well-armed, successful Goblins living within the US boundaries, and that’s something that’s never quite sat right with some people in the government.”

“And with Strabos out there attacking other factories, they ordered us to fetch that weapon back,” Dakota told them.

Matthew turned slowly to Seward. “Did we have anything like that up for auction today?” he asked, already looking like he was dreading the answer.

Seward blinked, looking unusually flustered. “Weapons? Well-well, we had several weapons up for sale, artifacts mostly dating back to First Age spearheads and–”

“I expect it’ll be more modern,” Fengmi grunted. Seward nodded quickly. He grabbed a clipboard off a nearby table, flipping through it rapidly and muttering. Matthew edged over till he could look over his shoulder, nodding along.

“Arrow shards, swords (oh, those are all centuries old), a lance…” Seward looked up. “Do you know any idea what kind of weapon it was?” he asked plaintively.

“Not a clue.”

Seward and Matthew continued to go down the list, till they came to the last page. “Nothing,” Seward sighed. “I can’t find a single thing that recent…”

Matthew nodded, looking in the direction towards Gran’s office. “Which means…”

“That whatever the weapon is, it was most likely in the Vault.”

“And now the Firstborn have it.” Matthew rubbed at his temples. “Terrific…”

The room was silent for a moment, then Maine spoke up, frowning slightly. “Actually, it might not be the Firstborn. Fink was there too, remember? Or whoever he really was. He stole a whole wagon out of the yard, maybe he’s the one who ended up with it.”

“That is a good point,” Seward admitted, turning to the Marshals. “What about this Fink character? Do you know much about him?”

Dakota looked quickly at Fengmi. The older Marshal stared up at the ceiling, pursing his lips. “Can’t say that I do. We’ll look around, see what we can dig up on him, but I’d rather focus our efforts for now on the Firstborn; they wound up with the majority of the loot after all, so they’re more likely to have the weapon.”

Matthew and Seward both nodded. It was a reasonable answer and made sense. But somehow Maine didn’t buy it for a second. There was something in the way Dakota had been staring at the two of them while his partner was talking, as if he were trying to gauge how much they believed him. Something was definitely off.

Before she could pursue the thought further however, Matthew spoke up. “So what’s your plan with the Firstborn?” he asked. “How do you intend to find them?”

Dakota brightened up, stepping forwards. “We go hunting, that’s what we do!”

“You really expect to hunt them through all of Old Coney?” Seward asked.

“Easily,” he boasted. “I can follow a scent anywhere, and judging from your main hall, I’ve already got plenty to choose from.” His nose was already twitching, like he couldn’t wait to get started.

“They should be easy to find,” Fengmi assured him. “Old Coney isn’t THAT big, there’s not too many places you can hide a team of wagons easily without someone seeing something.”

Kelphin stood up, stamping his feet. “Well, you’ll have our support, gentlemen,” he said fiercely. “I’ll speak to Albert, we’ll have a full platoon, no- an army of our best workers accompany you! We’ll search every street, turn every building inside out, till we find our property! Oh, there'll be no place they can hide!” he cried, nearly beside himself. “Even Albert will probably want to come along, he’ll tear the very walls apart stone by stone–

“No.”

Kelphin blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, what?”

It was Matthew that had spoken. “I’m not going to have an army of Maierson workers marching through Old Coney.”

“Matthew? But it may be the only way-”

“I don’t care,” her brother said. He looked queasy, almost sick to his stomach, as he spoke the words, but there was a note of authority in his voice that Maine was unaccustomed to hearing. “People are already upset enough after the Auction, marching our people through the streets is just asking for another fight. I’m not going to have a repeat of what happened here this morning,” he said firmly. “That was a mistake.”

Seward was watching her brother, his face unreadable as always, but just Kelphin looked stunned.

“Matthew!” he pleaded. “They’re thieves! Don’t tell me you feel bad for them?” When Matthew didn’t immediately answer, he began to grow more heated. “Let me remind you that they started this! Breaking into our house, holding us all at gunpoint! They probably arranged that little demonstration outside as well!”

“It doesn’t matter who started what,” her brother said stubbornly. “They’re people, Elders, just like us. I won’t have Elders fighting Elders again. We’ll just have to find another way.”

Kelphin floundered, seeming unaccustomed to this show of resilience from her brother, and he looked to the others for support.

“There is another thing to consider, Matthew,” Seward spoke up. “If you recall, we were gambling rather heavily on the results of the Auction today. Without those proceeds–”

“I know, I know,” Matthew told him quickly. “We’ll just have to figure something out…”

“There’s nothing to figure out. We can’t float another loan and we can’t put off our creditors for much longer. Unless we can recover those artifacts quickly and somehow hold the Auction again, the Factory won’t be able to stay in business for much longer.”

“See?” Kelphin said. He grabbed hold of Matthew’s jacket, nearly shaking him. “You have to order the workers out! It’s for the greater good!”

Her brother hesitated, then stubbornly shook his head. “No, we’ll- we’ll find another way,” he told them. He slowly pried Kelphin free and patted his arm reassuringly. “We’ll find some other way to do it. There’s got to be someone else we can turn to.”

Seward sighed, as if he knew it was already hopeless, while Kelphin just looked staggered. Only the Marshal’s looked optimistic.

“We’ll move faster with just the two of us anyways,” Fengmi said. He stood up, stretching and nodded to Matthew. “Now if you don’t mind, it’s already getting late and we still have to find some lodgings for the night. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“No- no, you can stay here tonight, I insist,” Matthew said, motioning to Kelphin. “Please set them up with rooms, have Miss Imi get them dinner as well.” Still a little distracted, the old Elf nodded quickly, hurrying away as he muttered to himself.

“Much obliged,” Fengmi nodded, some of the growl going out of his voice. Dakota swept off his cap and bowed his head. Matthew motioned for them to follow Kelphin.

Before they left, the older Marshal turned. “I admire your concern for Old Coney, Maierson,” he said quietly, “I really do. However, you have to understand how important this weapon is to some people.”

“I understand the threat of Strabos is–”

“There are much worse things in the world than Strabos,” Fengmi stressed, his face suddenly deadly serious. Dakota turned back, looking shocked, but his partner ignored him. “One of them’s someone in control, who suddenly realizes that they’re not.”

“The people I work for in Washington, the movers and shakers in the country? Well, the one thing they really don’t like is to feel the foundations shake under their own feet, and that’s all Strabos is, a great big reminder that they’re only in charge so long as he allows them to be. That all their power and authority won’t mean a thing if his shadow falls on them. That’s why they want this weapon so badly, and if word gets out that it’s lost somewhere in Old Coney? Well, there are those who would consider burning this place to the ground to find it a fair trade. Keep that in mind while you worry about your conscience,” he said, closing the door behind him.