Chapter 52

Those who can’t fly will never understand the joy of wind and sky, of watching the land speed by in all its texture and shape. Feel sorry for the land bound. Never forget what a lovely treasure the Lifegiver gave you. And don’t get so caught up in everyday life that you let your wings too weak to work.

Aphorisms for a Quiet Life by Ruddtha Redstone, Chairman of Toolets Manufacturing, Sunderland

It was a lovely morning in Goblin Market – not a cloud in the sky, and here in the town, it wasn’t even that cool, even though it was still early spring.

“What a day for flying,” Umber Madrona said as he made his way out of the dorm room he lived in at the Dragon Web station. He headed towards the back of the complex where some people were already lining up to drop off shipments.

Gob Hezney, the Spriggan porter who was his most common work partner was leaning against the wall, in his work apron and gloves, but still wearing the huge leather cap he could barely fit over his oversized head he favored when off duty.

“So off for the day with your lovely blue lass?” he said, giving the young dragonkin a big grin.

Umber’s spikes colored a little, but he nodded. “We’re going to meet at the park.”

“Better than meeting up in this dungeon,” the Spriggan said. “You have a good time playing with the girl. Just remember what I told you about Dragonkin women. They can be, well...rather determined once they make up their minds about a fellow. Hope you have a good time.”

Umber’s spikes did more than color a little, and even a little pink reached his cheeks.

“That’s enough out of you, Gob. Let the young one have a good day off for a change,” Gillin Jabot, the manager of the Freight department said. He placed his clipboard of the day’s departures on his desk. “At least he’ll get to miss today’s mess.”

“Oh, I hope he does,” Gob said, nodding. “Get out of here, lad. We’ll cope with whatever gets thrown at us.”

Umber left, but as he left, he heard Gob shrieking at Jabot. He closed his eyes briefly, shook his head. “Will they ever stop fighting with each other?” he asked.

He walked on and soon, he left the sights and sounds of the Dragon Web station behind, and headed for the park where he had talked with Gan Thistleberry the day before. The young Dragonkin man felt amazingly free, maybe for the first time since he arrived in Goblin Market. That feeling was reflected in how he was dressed. Instead of wearing his usual DIC uniform, he was dressed in a casual outfit of a bright blue shirt, especially designed to allow freedom of wing movement and tan trousers. Around his waist was an expedition belt with a built-in bag of holding that held all sorts of things useful for taking on a flight – rain gear, water, field rations, first aid kit, and a special little present he had picked up after his shift yesterday. He lifted his wings and gave them a good stretch. The shirt was just as advertised – he felt no rubbing or constriction anywhere.

Letting his wings relax back into place, he looked around the park. There was a Bauchan woman leading a child through the paths, and a Daoine man meditating in the direction of the morning sun, but no sign of Lana.

“I guess I got here a little early,” he said, and sat down on one of the benches to wait. “On a day this lovely, waiting can’t be a chore.”

Suddenly, there was a light giggle as everything went dark. He felt warm hands covering his eyes and a soft, amused breath tickled his ears.

“Surprise!”

Umber wiggled free and turned around to see a laughing Lana standing behind him, her now free hands covering her face trying to stifle the merriment she had at catching him off guard. “I caught the mighty Investigator off guard!” Her blue ruff glowed at full attention with her pleasure, and something inside of Umber felt an unfamiliar but pleasant tingling at the sight.

“I looked for you, but I didn’t see you when I got here,” Umber said. “Where were you?”

“Well, I saw you!” she said. “I hid behind that tree there. I wanted to see if I could catch you off guard.”

“You did indeed,” he replied, giving her a big smile. “Are you sure you don’t have any Gray blood line? That doesn’t happen every day.”

She looked down, and dragged her foot across the grass. “Maybe…” She looked back up, the smile still plastered to her face. “Maybe my grandmother was from an Investigator family. She was a Bloodstone.”

“Bloodstones are a good family,” Umber said, actually somewhat pleased at the knowledge. “They’re strong with the fade out of sight talent. I’ll have to remember that maybe you can be as sneaky as me.”

She nodded at his approval.

Like him, she was dressed in traveling pants and a shirt made for flying, with an expedition bag around her waist as well. She also carried a dagger in a sheath on her belt. He reached into his pouch and found his own knife, and quickly added it to his belt.

“You look like you’ve got some experience taking overflight trips. It’s been a while since I’ve done this last,” he said.

“You’re not going to whimp out on me and need to come home early, are you?” she asked.

“Me? With you there? Never.” He spread his wings once again. “Ready to fly?”

She gave one more laugh, and launched into the air. His spikes glowed with happiness, and he quickly followed.

>>>>>>>>> <<<<<<<<<

The morning wasn’t just beautiful at Goblin Market. At Pixie Hollow, Leila the Nymph sat in the warm sunlight in the front of Gan’s cottage, wrapping her hands around a cup of tea, and closing her eyes, just letting the light pour over her.

“I wish I had a sunny face to my house like this,” she said. “But I’m too deep in the woods to get sunlight like this. I barely get enough for my little herb garden.”

“And roses. Don’t forget the roses,” Dahlia said, flittering next to her. “I love your roses. My best dresses come from them.” She landed on Leila’s shoulder. “Are any of them blooming yet?”

“It’s a little early yet, Dahlia dear,” Leila said, taking a sip of her tea. “Don’t you remember last spring?”

“No,” the little Pixie woman said. “What happened?”

Just then, Gan stepped out of the house, with a tray of sweets and a small, folding serving table.

“Let me help you with that, Gan,” Leila offered. She took the tray from Gan’s hands.

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In just a moment, Gan had the table set up, the treats on the table, and a dozen Pixies hovering over the two women.

“Sugar cookies!” Moxie said, landing on the table next to the tray. “Did you bring these, Leila?”

“No, not I,” the Nymph said, shaking her head. “All I brought was a book and a question to ask Gan. I was thinking about going to Goblin Market, but the sunlight today is so wonderful, I might not leave this seat all day.”

Moxie gave Leila a doubtful look, and she flittered up to look Leila in the eye. “Why do they look just like your sugar cookies. You always have the best ones!”

Rosebud, stretching like she had just woken up from a nap, drifted from the eave over the door to the table. “Maybe it’s because Mistress Gan got them from the same place Leila gets hers. I got to go there yesterday! I couldn’t believe all the wonderful things they sell there!” She shook off her sleepiness as she got excited about her topic. “So many types of cookies! Cake! Pie! And the bread! Enough bread to make a house out of.”

“I don’t think Master Ambris has quite that much bread,” Gan said, as she sat down and began to break up a cookie into small, Pixie-sized pieces. “At least not enough bread to make a big person’s house.”

“But he does run a very good bakery,” Leila said. She helped herself to one of the cookies, and dipped it into her tea.

Moxie turned to Rosebud, her eyes narrowing in jealousy. “How come you got to go with Mistress Gan and the rest of us had to stay home.”

“She fell asleep in my bag,” Gan said, handing a piece of cookie to Moxie. “She wasn’t invited.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Moxie said. “It’s just not fair!” She took a bite of her cookie. “But this is so good!” She flittered over to Gan and landed on her shoulder. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Gan said, as she began handing out pieces of cookie to the rest of the Pixies.

Leila was trying hard not to laugh at Moxie’s indignation. “Sometimes the Pixies remind me of the three Woodwives who live near me. Su, Lu and Du, all sisters, sometimes talk like that.” She took another sip of her tea. “I’m impressed with how you get along with the Pixies here. I wonder how you’d get along with the sisters?”

“I’ve never met any Woodwives,” Gan said, sipping her tea. “Well, maybe I did when I was quite little, but I only have a fuzzy memory. I think I was intimidated.”

Leila nodded. “They can be rather pushy at times. I would imagine that would be hard for a small child. Not that they are much bigger than a child.”

“You could bring them with you sometime,” Gan said.

“Nooo!” Arne shouted as he grabbed a cookie crumb. “The Woodwives hate me...er, Pixies!”

“You were rather mean to them, Arne,” Leila said. “Sprinkling dirt and Pixie dust all over the laundry they had just washed. You’re lucky Cullin came by when he did or you might have ended up in their cooking pot.”

“When was this?” Gan asked, looking hard at the little Pixie.

“Oh, it was years ago,” Leila said. “They still talk about it though.”

“They let me fly by,” Dahlia said, taking a bite of her cookie. “They even say hello and sometimes give me a flower.”

“That’s because you are nice to them,” Leila said, nodding.

“I was trying to make them a picture!” Arne said. “It was a present!”

“I hope you don’t try that on my sheets,” Gan said.

“He thought about it,” Moxie said. “I gave him a shove when he talked about it.”

“Good girl,” Leila said. “Anyway, you should come by and we can have a tea party with them. They’d love that. They’d especially love it if we could get Morvran to fly off on an errand when we did.”

Gan laughed at that.

“What’s that?” Bu asked, still holding his piece of cookie uneaten. He pointed at the sky. “I don’t know that type of bird. It’s not Morvran. There are two of them.”

“Hmmm,” Gan said, looking up. Two flying figures were making lazy circles in the sky.

“It doesn’t look like any type of bird,” Leila said. “Look, they have legs...and arms.”

One of the flying figures pointed at the mountains to the east of the valley. The other one began flying in that direction. Their passage was graceful and strong, and playful. It was obvious that one of the fliers was playing tag with the other.

“Dragonkin, I bet,” Gan said. “I’d sometimes see them flying for fun in Comrie. Wonder who it is? Are they from Goblin Market? Or Meridae on holiday?”

“Goblin Market is closer,” Leila said. “Perhaps a couple from the Dragon Web station taking a day off?”

Bu continued to stare long after the others went onto other subjects. He didn’t stop staring until Hilby tried to steal his cookie. That started a whole other round of noise and activity, and the two Dragonkin fliers were quickly forgotten.

>>>>>>>>> <<<<<<<<<

At the Goblin Market DIC office, Jazlin, one of the counter workers, walked in, holding a small canvas pouch.

“Daily messages, Master Whitstone,” she said, with a cheery voice. Her female ruff blushed a little with an invitation to flirt, but Thornfield was in no mood to play.

“Thanks, Jazlin. Just drop it off on the desk.” He kept his nose buried in the book he was reading.

“If you say so, Master Whitstone.” The bag thudded lightly on the desk and she stepped back towards the door, but then paused.

“We’re having a Dragonkin party in three days after work. Sheenna’s reached her 2000th customer. I thought maybe you might like to come. Real Sunderland food and music.” Jazlin’s ruff flashed between anxious and hopeful.

Thornfield’s spikes signalled annoyance, but he marked the page in his book and looked up at the young Dragonkin woman. He had no rationale for Jazlin’s sudden attachment to him, but his curiosity lit up, and something a little dark inside of him wondered if she’d be an interesting plaything. “I’ll think about it. Real Sunderland food? Beema style pasties?”

“Of course!” she said. “Can you have a Dragonkin party without them?”

“Well...remind me the day of the party. I’ll see.”

She beamed at him. “I’ll be sure to,” then headed back out into the main room.

Sighing, Thornfield got up, walked over to Umber’s desk where the forms from the morning delivery were stacked for the younger Dragonkin to process after he got back from his day off.

“Rank has its privileges. Not that I’ll ever get many more privileges than that, if they never promote me out of this job,” he said. “Stupid DIC grays.”

Sighing, he dumped the message pouch on Umber’s desk. “Just a little more work, my young associate.” He thumbed through the contents. Two updates to the DIC manual supplement. A wanted poster for someone who got into trouble with Perma Pharmaceuticals. A letter from his contact at Brightwater. That he slipped into his pocket.

“No telling what Zerish thought about Turbot’s offer. I bet it’s bad.” He shook his head. “Why I ever get involved with that smuggler, I’ll never know. Greed, the Dragonkin weakness.”

There was one last message. A sudden jolt went through him seeing the paper. He picked it up gingerly and held the envelope in his hand. Official DIC stationary, straight from DIC headquarters. It was a rare day they got this type of messages. He ran a fingertip over the official seal. And it was addressed to Umber. From Commander Byrony’s office.

“A personal message from that stupid kid from the Commander? What could those two be talking about? Especially on official paper? Got to be more than ‘I saw your uncle at the latest get-together, and he asked me to say hang in there.’ Could...could Umber have found out about my arrangements with Zerish and Turbot?”

His throat tightened at the thought of that. “DIC agents that get caught with their fingers in the cookie jar without permission usually end up in places worse than a little dump like Goblin Market. I won’t, I won’t go downhill.”

That fear was quickly replaced by a bubble of resentment – resentment that he was still stuck at a small DIC office, with no real chance of advancement, resentment at all the gray, old bloodline DIC regulars, with their connections and family ties who basically controlled the agency. Oh, he knew they had special talents that helped them rise in the ranks, talents he didn’t have, but that didn’t matter. Whatever urge he had to be an exception to the rule, to be a good investigator had died years ago when he never got another assignment but this one after his first year. And that had been a year from hell.

And this wet, behind the ears Umber. Already, the staff at the Dragonweb station liked him better and were disappointed when Umber wasn’t on duty. He had heard them complaining today. The Spriggan porter – he grumbled the entire shift.

“Not my fault they were loading pots. It’s not like I choose the load. He needs to take it up with Jabot. Bet he sends word he’s sick this afternoon. Still mad at me for last Winter Solstice, when I crashed their party. What can he see in Umber?”

Umber, related loosely to Master Investigator, and an orphan of the DIC, whose father had died in service so he got free schooling. His uncle a friend of the Commander. So idealistic, in that wet behind the ears way that all first years tended to be. He hated it every time they sent him a new first year.

“It cost my family a small fortune to get me into the DIC academy, and look where it left me?”

At first it was rather amusing, as he piled the young man high with all the nastiest jobs, the most irritating work, all the filing. Thornfield’s first year was hell – and he wanted to share the experience. It gave him a dark joy to see the young man’s spirit beginning to bend.

But even that plan fell apart after the high and mighty Commander Byrony had borrowed him for a week for some special operation. Umber had come back full of confidence he hadn’t had before. He didn’t talk much about it, except to say what a great person Byrony was.

“Damn Bryony and everybody who is blood connected to Master Investigator,” he whispered. “And damn Umber for being related to both.”

He collapsed into Umber’s chair, ignoring the pile of receipts from the morning shipment. He looked at the envelope once again. “If I open it, all hell will break loose if they find out. But I don’t have to give it to him. Maybe…”

He picked the envelope up, walked over to the bookcase, and grabbed the DIC manual. “Let him find it when he updates the manual. If he can.”

Slipping the envelope into the massive book, he closed it, shelved it, and smiled.

“After that, I think I’ll go get some lunch. I wonder what the special of the day is over at the Lunch House?” And whistling a little tune, he headed out of the door.