Fool's Gold (8 page)

“He does, Da.
He does
.”

His father's smile faltered, and he nodded his head, and sat down on the edge of Will's bed. “How about you put that down and we talk about this?”

“He does, Da.” But Will put the trowel down. More than a little of him was glad he had not gotten into trouble for that.

“Firkin told you about the fighting when the dragons first came, did he?”

Will nodded fiercely.

“That was a scary time. A whole way of life changing. A whole way of life being ripped away from us. And we were all scared, and we all fought—”

Will might be six, but he could see where this was going. “I know he didn't fight, Da. He told me.” His da was about to tell him about how Firkin was a coward, he knew. He was about to say Will shouldn't put his trust in the man, but Will had listened to Firkin. They had talked about this as men. His da had no words to dissuade Will of what he knew of Firkin.

Will's da nodded, slow and steady as the season's ticking over. “Aye, lad. Do you know what he did do?”

Hesitantly, Will shook his head. Firkin had remained tight-lipped on this subject.

“Firkin didn't go to the fields or the forests to fight, Will, that's true enough. But he didn't stand by. He didn't run or hide. He wasn't a coward. He was… The word people use is,
strategist
. He told us
how
to fight, if you understand me. He was the one who knew where we should be. How we should get there. What we should do when we got the there. How best to achieve our goals. He knew things that no one else knew. And I still don't know how. If he had other men and women who told him things. Sometimes he would go off and wander, and maybe then he found things out. I don't know. But round in this part of the valley, he was the most important man in the fight.”

Will's da put his arm around Will, pulled him close.

“We lost, Will,” he said, and there was a world of heartbreak in his voice, a sadness that at six years old Will could only just begin to understand. “That's what all Firkin's plans came to. Mattrax sitting up in his fortress sending his guards to take our money. And it's not that they weren't good plans, Will. They just weren't good enough.”

And with those words, Will understood a little more about heartbreak. His da looked down, and understood, and he held Will a little tighter.

“I love Firkin like a brother, Will. I fought for him too back in the day. But the dragon war, our loss… that broke him a little Will. Like a plow that won't give you a straight line.”

He looked down at Will, and his words died out. There were none left that could help.

Will looked around the cave, focused on Lette's expectant face. And he wanted to please her, to tell her what she wanted to hear.

That's probably what Firkin felt,
he thought. But Firkin was passed out drunk on the floor. Firkin was a weak man. Will wouldn't be like him.

“So,” he said, “because of everything I know, you're probably thinking I know how it can be done, and you can use me to plan something.” He grinned at them without an ounce of mirth in his body. “Except, all my knowledge does is tell me that it can't be done.”

There was a long pause after that. Will finally began to relax. Maybe he could salvage a decent night's sleep, and plan out the rest of his life in the morning.

Then Balur looked over to Lette, and said, “What are you reckoning?”

Lette rolled her shoulders in what might have been a shrug. “Always a way,” she said.

Will felt his jaw tighten. He was terrified that they'd actually try it. That they would think that their competence with goblins was somehow enough to let them pull it off. Then not only would he be running for his life from the Consortium, but he'd be doing it with all this guilt on his hands.

He tried to lay out the impracticalities for them. “The only way to get that portcullis open would be to get everyone from the village to go up into the mountains and stand on it.”

Lette nodded. “Yes,” she said. “That would work.” There was a matter-of-factness to her tone that worried Will.

“No,” he said, “it wouldn't.” But he could almost see the set of scales behind Lette's eyes, weighing the opportunity. “The villagers would never go. They have this silly little thing called a desire to live through to tomorrow.”

“We could be inciting them.” Balur nodded to himself.

Will laughed. “With what? There's no money to tempt them. That's why we're talking about robbing a dragon in the first place.” He shook his head. “Unless you know someone who can cook up enough Fire Root potion to drive an entire village into a homicidal rage.” He snorted.

Quirk straightened suddenly. “I could do that,” she said. She sounded surprised. Then she caught Balur's expression. “Alchemy,” she said quickly. “It's sort of a hobby for me. I find it… relaxing.” She checked Balur's expression again. “It's not magic!” she said defensively. “I told you. I swore that off.”

“No!” Will managed. What had he done? Somehow everything had gotten worse.

“Oh,” Quirk said quickly, “I'm not advocating for any of this, of course. All just a thought experiment, of course. Except it really would be fascinating to see what sort of lair a dragon has. What it collects. That really would be a coup.”

“A coup?” Will clutched at his head. He'd had Quirk marked as the sane one, despite her odd notions about the local overlords. She had exuded an aura of intelligence. But it turned out that what she really was, was a carefully created human mask over a sack full of crazy.

“You're all mad.” Will pawed at his forehead. “You think you can feed an entire village fermented Fire Root? I mean what in all the Hallows is your plan for that? Are you going to mix it with the bread?”

Lette and Balur exchanged a glance. “That,” said Lette, a note of admiration in her voice, “is a really good idea.”

“No!” Will screeched again. He looked around for a safe harbor in the shit storm of madness. Firkin was still snoring on the floor. And Will knew that when he was looking to Firkin for sanity then things had really gone awry.

“Say…” He could barely get the words out, but he forced them. “Say that all works. What do you then do about the giant fucking dragon that would notice his front door being forced open?” He pointed at Quirk. “What do you do about all the people you just sent to their deaths? Do you have a potion to fix that too?”

Quirk shrugged. “Well, it depends how much Snag Weed grows in these woods, I suppose.”

Will reeled. Sitting down as he was, he reeled. “Oh.” He threw up his hands. “We're poisoning Mattrax now, are we?” He shook his head. “Of course we are. And how are we doing it? I suppose we're drugging some oxen he's been given to eat, and having him chow down on that. Just smuggling it into the castle disguised as guards or something?”

Silence followed this. Will took a breath, let it out as a sigh. Finally.

“Gods,” Lette breathed. “You really have thought this all out, haven't you?” she said.

Balur was nodding. “You are being really very good at this,” he said.

No. No. No. No. No. Will clutched his temples.

“Why?” he asked them. He was begging them, really. He grasped around for something they couldn't twist. “You're talking about poisoning the villagers' morning bread. Mattrax doesn't eat until the evening. So your plan requires him to hold off on killing the villagers stomping around on his pressure plate all day?”

Balur looked to Quirk. She shook her head. “On a creature that big, Snag Weed would give you a few hours at the most.” She caught herself. “I mean, academically speaking. Obviously a few hours to study an unconscious dragon would be amazing, but I'm not condoning any of this.” She sounded neither convincing nor convinced.

Balur's shoulders slumped. “Goddess Betra's saggy tits,” he said finally.

Will knuckled his forehead, trying to push the tension out of it. He was done. He should let it go.

When he opened his eyes, Lette was looking at him intently. “How would you deal with that, Will?”

There was an edge to her look, almost a hunger. It gave him pause.

“How would I…?” he started. “By not trying to rob a dragon in the first place.” How had she not picked up on that?

But Lette wouldn't stop looking at him, wouldn't stop smiling. “You already know the answer,” she said. “I know you do. You've already figured it out.”

Will clamped his lips shut very tight indeed.

Irritation flicked across Lette's face. Her eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she said. “We bring the villagers up to the portcullis, open the door. The dragon comes, and scatters the villagers. So”—she turned and smiled at Quirk—“no one is killed.”

“No one?” Balur cut in. “What is being the point of this plan?”

Lette closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she said, “probably some guards,” she said.

“Guards?” said Quirk.

Lette's breath was considerably deeper this time around. “They're arsehole guards,” she said. “They took Will's farm from him. Now can I get back to figuring this out?”

Will felt like saying, “No,” but he wasn't sure about the wisdom of that.

“Okay,” Lette said. “We've opened the door. The villagers have fled. And…” She thought. “Okay, we've got to poison the dragon later. So…” She pointed at Will. “Someone hides inside the cave. So they can wait for the dragon to be poisoned, for it to fall asleep.”

Balur nodded. “I am liking this.” Then his almost-eyebrows furrowed. “Where are you hiding?”

Lette looked at Will expectantly. “I don't know,” she said. “I should be able to find some shadow in a cave to hide in…”

Will tried to keep his lips shut. He really did. But he honestly wasn't sure if she was bluffing. And he knew, knew for a fact, that there were no safe shadows in Mattrax's cave. Mattrax wasn't stupid enough to leave any, gods' hex upon him. If she went in, she would die.

He looked at her.

She would die.

Bugger it.

“The locking mechanism,” he finally blurted.

Lette cocked her head. “The locking mechanism?” she said. “How would I get in there?”

“Well…” Will sighed. But he couldn't have her life on his hands. “To operate a portcullis that size you need a very large chain, so there's a very large hole cut into the rock for it. It leads down to the locking mechanism that's buried beneath the plate. That's the weak point in the whole setup.” He looked at her, grimaced. “You can slip through that hole and hide down there.”

Balur clapped his hands. Slowly a broad, beatific grin spread across Lette's face. “Of course,” she said, still grinning. “Of course.” Her grin was still getting broader. “The coup de grâce.”

Will was grimacing again.

“That's it,” Lette said. “That's the whole plan, isn't it? The one you and Firkin came up with.” She didn't wait for any acknowledgment from him. “We drug the villagers. We take them up the mountain. They open the portcullis. Mattrax comes bellowing. They scatter. But before they do, I sneak in, hide in the locking mechanism. And I can pick it. I know how to do that. So I sit there. Everything settles down. And then I set to work on the mechanism. Rig the counterweights so all it needs is a small weight, not a big one. In the meantime, someone sneaks a drugged cow to the dragon. Night falls. Mattrax falls over unconscious. You guys sneak up the mountain, step on the sabotaged pressure plate, waltz in, and clean out the dragon. Done.”

Will hung his head. But there was no getting away from it now. “It's Firkin's plan,” he said. He pointed at the messy sprawl of a human being. “You've seen him. You know what he's like. It won't work.”

But Lette shook her head. “It
wouldn't
work. Because you didn't know how to drug the dragon. Because you didn't know how to pick the lock. Because you had to worry about the guards. Because you're a farmer. But,” she said grinning, “we aren't.”

And for a moment, just a brief instant, something like hope flickered in Will's chest. A momentary glimpse of the future that might be. As quickly as he could, he blew that flame out.

“I am seeing a three-person plan,” Balur was saying. He pointed to Lette. “We are needing you to be up there and be hiding in the mechanism. We are needing someone to herd up the villagers. And we are needing someone to be taking the drugged cow into the fortress and to be feeding the dragon.”

“And someone to drug the cow,” said Lette, looking at Quirk.

Quirk looked like a deer caught in the glare of a midnight torch.

“Who is saying the alchemist cannot be pulling double duty?” asked Balur. “It would be good to be having her in the fortress so she can be making sure that the drugging is going as planned.”

“Wait,” Quirk managed. “This was all just an academic exercise.”

Lette arched an eyebrow at her. “This works,” she said, “and you get undisturbed access to that dragon for as long as he's unconscious.”

Will had to say it would have been more reassuring if Quirk had not licked her lips at that point.

“I don't—” Quirk started.

“Yes, you do.” There was no give in Lette's voice.

Balur smiled. There were far too many teeth involved. “So that is being it,” he said. “Three people for a three-person plan.”

“I want Will,” Lette said.

Will felt his heart stop in his chest for one beat, two. He tried to speak. To tell them this was all madness.

But the vision of that beautiful future he and Firkin had imagined was flickering in the back of his skull again, like a candle fighting a hurricane of common sense.

“Why are you wanting the farmer?” Balur asked. “He is being just a farmer.”

“It's his plan,” Lette pointed out.

“What?” scoffed Balur. “It is not seeming fair to you to take his plan from him?”

They were, Will thought, discussing him as if he were a chicken sitting on a table, neck snapped, and feathers plucked.

“I don't—” he started, but they ignored him.

“It's not fairness,” Lette said. “It's practicality. Plans change. They adapt on the fly. He knows the most about the dragon. He's a virtual dragon-thieving savant. I want that in our back pocket.”

Balur still looked as skeptical as it is possible for an eight-foot-tall lizard to look. “It is not even being his plan. He is saying it's the drunk's plan.”

“Fine.” Lette was unperturbed. “We bring the drunk too. We have to split up anyway. Best we both have access to this information.”

Balur arched an eyebrow. “Access to diseases and halitosis?”

“Don't I get a say in this?” Will finally said.

Lette looked at him. He felt she would look at him the same way if he challenged her to see who could kill the most goblins in a minute.

“Really?” she said. “You really don't want this? You don't want everything you ever dreamed of as a child to come true? You don't want Firkin to finally have his day in the sun? You don't want Mattrax to look around his bare cave and see all his wealth, his power stolen from him? Stolen by you?”

Lette's voice was low, seductive. Will was slightly aware of Balur, behind Lette, rolling his yellow eyes. But he didn't care.

“And,” Lette went on, “when you've taken everything from him—just the way he took everything from you—you'll have enough money to buy ten farms. You'll be absolutely, absurdly rich. You can leave this whole valley. You can walk away from the shadow of every dragon if that's what you want. Be your own man, free from debt, from worry. A young man with the means to cut his own path in the world.”

How did she know him so well? How could she land words with the same accuracy as she flung her blades? But he knew resisting this now would be like resisting the ground when you fell from a tree. She had done it. She had delivered the coup de grâce.

He looked down at Firkin. At his old friend. Maybe not his friend for a long time now. But if he could recapture the magic of those summer afternoons, planning and laughing… Could Firkin recapture something of the man he had once been?

Finally he nodded. Lette smiled.

“Well,” said Quirk, “I suppose if everyone is getting involved…” No one was paying her any attention, though.

Abruptly, Firkin sat up, stared about wildly. He pointed at Balur. “Dibs on inciting them there villagers,” he said blearily. “All about the inciting, I am, so I am.” And with that he collapsed back to the ground and began to snore.