Legend Of The Highland Dragon (17 page)

Dragons, Mina was rapidly learning, could be as boring as anyone else.

She was a quarter of the way into the journal she was reading, was reasonably sure that the author was a dragon—he made frequent mentions of “transformation” and of flying—and had spent half her time almost pinching herself to stay awake. The man had done half of his estate records in his journal, for one thing, and had also apparently had very decided opinions about his nearest neighbor.

In between sheep and hounds, Mina had found a few interesting bits: a paragraph about what seemed very coldly cordial relations with the “Great Ones of the East” (or, the way he spelled it, “ye Great Ones of the Eaft”) and a mention of sending his priest to “settle” a haunted house.

Like half-buried gems, those few sentences kept her digging.

Eleanor arrived today from France,

the latest entry began,

and brought with her the children, who are growing well. She wishes to add to their number, and I have no objection, but I would wait a while before the rite, so as to ensure that our youngest may be born in the spring. Meanwhile, as I’ve observed before, it does no harm to practice the mortal portion of the marital act.

Mina stared.

The writing, though old, was very proper. The author hadn’t yet in her reading been vulgar or even profane, which had come as a bit of a surprise to Mina in the first place. Just when she’d gotten used to a nobleman apparently fitting the image of the kindly and proper lord in children’s books, he was writing about the “marital act,” which apparently had extra aspects if you were a dragon and wanted to achieve the traditional result.

She knew that a number of human rituals concerned themselves with that part of life. She’d read a few books she wasn’t supposed to read, and she’d typed a few pages of notes that Professor Carter had harrumphingly warned her about beforehand. From a scholarly perspective, mentions of “the rite” were quite interesting and not at all surprising.

What the journal writer meant, unless Mina was very wrong, was that if a dragon-man and a human simply had a bit of fun—as they might have said back home when they were being polite—then the lady wouldn’t end up in a fix for it. At least, that seemed to be the case.

For example, if she and Stephen—

Of course, that was when the door opened.

Mina was up from her seat before she knew what she was doing, putting her back to the wall and wishing she had a better weapon than a fountain pen.

“Easy, lass,” said Colin MacAlasdair, laughing and leaning against the doorway. “I promise I’ve not come to muck up your filing, nor yet to steal a book.”

“They’re your books,” said Mina. She dropped the letter opener back on her desk. “I’m sorry. I’m a bundle of nerves today, it seems.”

“Spending as long as you have here, I’m surprised you’ve
not
tried to kill anyone yet. Though I’d prefer it not be me you target when your mind does snap. You’d break the hearts of so many women.”

“God forbid,” said Mina. On a whim, she closed the book and handed it over to Colin. “Do you know who might’ve written this? Stephen didn’t, but—”

A second too late to catch herself, she heard Stephen’s Christian name come from her lips. Done was done; flinching or correcting herself would only call more attention to what she’d said.

“He’s foisted himself on fewer of our relatives than I have,” Colin said, as if he’d heard nothing out of the usual. After a few minutes flipping through the book, he laughed and shook his head.

“You don’t know?”

“Oh, I do. I was just feeling sorry for you reading it,” said Colin, “and a bit for my cousins, living with the man. It’s my Uncle Georgie, and a man more fond of speeches you never met. Though he was a good sort, at that.”

Mina glanced out past the door and saw that the hallway was empty. “A dragon named George?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet despite the immediate lack of witnesses. “Your family likes irony, doesn’t it?”

“As it happens,” said Colin, shutting the door, “the legend’s gotten it a bit twisted. Which is just as well for us, really.”

“Oh?”

Ignoring the several perfectly good chairs around the room, Colin perched on the windowsill like an overgrown schoolboy. “From time to time,” he said, “one of us gets stuck, ye ken. The oldest ones didn’t, from everything I can tell, but the oldest ones were free from all sorts of difficulties that we have now.”

“Like, ah, continuing the line?” Mina asked. She gestured at the journal. “He mentions a, um, rite.”

She looked away from Colin’s face as she spoke, lest he see too much interest in hers and connect it to his brother, but his reply came easily and casually. “Aye—it’s why we’ve not outnumbered you mortals, living as long as we do. Something about being neither truly mortal nor truly not. We’re somewhere in between, like—”

“—a stuck window?”

Colin laughed. “That’ll do, though it’ll never make a poem. At any rate, the same thing goes for changing form. Sometimes we get trapped in one shape or another. When it’s man shape, there’s no worry in it, save that the man sometimes misses dragon’s form. When one of us loses himself—or herself—in the dragon, though, that’s a worry.”

“For more than being conspicuous?”

“So I hear. It’s not happened any time in my day, but…” From the windowsill, Colin eyed her for a minute, considering whether to go on. “The thing about…beings that aren’t human…is that most of them aren’t people.”

“I’d rather assumed that,” said Mina.

Colin shook his head. “No, I mean they’re not just men in funny suits. They see the world differently. They see
humans
differently. You’ve grown into certain sentiments that I don’t have, but I’m far more human than the…Elder Folk, let’s call them. Not all of them see human beings as prey, mind—Stephen and I wouldn’t be here otherwise—but when a dragon goes mean, it goes very mean very quickly. And a man stuck in dragon shape can slide almost as fast.”

In dragon form, Stephen had been about five times Mina’s size. She remembered flaming eyes and teeth like razors. “What happens then? When someone does get trapped?”

“Depends on how it happens, I’d think,” said Colin. “I’ve heard that some of them go away to live…elsewhere…and I suppose they do well enough at it. There’s more society than the human sort, after all, if you know how to find it. But if they become a danger to others, then the rest of us generally see to the matter.”

“And that was Saint George,” said Mina, a little faintly. Part of her was still trying to deal with
elsewhere.

“That was Saint George,” Colin agreed. “Not actually my uncle. The name’s been passed down, you understand. The name of the one he killed…hasn’t.”

“Seems like hard luck for him.”

“It might have been. Stories say he’d been an unpleasant sort even before the change. But then, we’d say that afterward, regardless. We’re not completely immune to certain human tendencies, after all, and one of them is rewriting history.”

Colin didn’t really look anything other than human, not then. Lounging in the faint sunlight, wearing a gray tweed suit that probably had cost more than Mina earned in two years, he could have been any idle young man about town. Stephen gave off a much greater feeling of power. Certainly he was the less forthcoming of the two.

Despite those considerations—or perhaps because of them—Colin’s presence was much less comfortable. Mina couldn’t imagine talking to this man over breakfast, and not just because she’d never seen him there. She certainly couldn’t imagine trying to reassure him when he felt guilty.

Kissing him was completely out of the question. Mina would as soon have tried to hug the tiger at the zoo.

“You said I’ve got certain sentiments that you don’t,” she said.

“It’s a bit of an assumption, I admit,” said Colin, “but yes. We all grow up with a set of rules, aye? And even if you break them,” he went on, with an arch smile that said he had some experience with that idea, “you still know you’re crossing a line and you might have to pay for it later. Your rules are different than mine. So are your consequences. When you can’t just outlive your enemies—or your friends—it gives you a different perspective on the straight and narrow.”

Mina took a deep breath. “And Stephen’s perspective is like yours?”

“Oh, in some ways. But he’s always known he was to be the next master of Loch Arach—our lands back home. That makes a difference too. An heir isn’t an
entirely
separate species from his younger brother, perhaps, but then, neither are my people an
entirely
separate species from human beings.”

Thinking of Florrie and Bert, and then of herself and Alice, Mina laughed. “Siblings, then? Our two…peoples, I mean?”

“As metaphors go, it’ll do well enough. If you’re worried over Stephen,” Colin said, looking at her with sudden clarity, “don’t be. He’s an honorable man, and I don’t mean like Brutus. Poor fool.”

“Brutus or Stephen?”

“Either, I’d think. Though I’ve only known one of them personally.”

“Good,” said Mina. “I’d hate to think you’d been keeping bad company.”

“Oh, I always do that. Except now, of course.”

A wink turned him back from an ancient and strange creature into a feckless young man, and Mina had to giggle. “Of course,” she said dryly, “and I appreciate the courtesy. Did you come in here just to compliment me?”

“Not at all. I thought I’d take a bit of a tour around the place. After all, Stephen’s left me in charge of the defenses, reluctant as he might have been. I’ll have to try very hard to live up to his example.”

“At least in some ways,” said Mina. Handsome as Colin was, she’d prefer he didn’t try to follow his brother’s lead in all things.

From a human perspective, “Mr. Green’s” home was one towering new building in a large square of them. At noon, they cast long shadows over the street, and the door that Stephen approached was a full foot taller than he was. It was ornate as well, covered with gold leaf and fanciful designs, as well as the ironwork he’d seen when he’d flown overhead.

The whole building challenged the would-be visitor. The size and the ornamentation drew the eye but asked a question at the same time:
Are
you
good
enough
for
this
place? What can you offer?
Stephen, who’d seen the whole square from a vantage that made it look the size of a postage stamp, felt not a single moment of hesitation, but he recognized the demand nonetheless.

The butler who answered the door, dubious and remote, made the question more apparent. Taking in Stephen and his wardrobe with a single glance, he switched from suspicion to respect. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that Mr. Green isn’t at home today.”

Mina had tried the same code. Mina had, even as an obstructive stranger, possessed a great deal more in the way of personal attractions, and Stephen’s business had been somewhat less urgent.

“Then,” said Stephen, “I’ll wait until he is.”

The butler coughed. “That may be some time, sir.”

“As a matter of fact,” Stephen said, “I rather doubt that. I’ll wait in the parlor while you tell him I’m here.”

Their eyes met. The butler was an old hand and doubtless
could
freeze most unwelcome visitors with a glance, but Stephen was constitutionally immune to being frozen. It rather went with the heritage.

Bowing slightly, the other man stood away from the door and showed Stephen in. “In here, sir,” he said, gesturing to a doorway. “What name shall I give Mr. Green?”

“Lord Stephen MacAlasdair,” said Stephen. Then, remembering what Green was—or more accurately, what he was
not
—and the urgency of his mission, he added, “Alasdair of Loch Arach’s son and heir.”

Stephen had always had a surname. His father had gone by “MacAlasdair” as well for the last few centuries and had laughed at it occasionally—“The youth is father to the man,” he’d quoted—but he’d come of age long before a man needed more than one name. When dealing with creatures like Green, he’d always dropped the pretense.

No reaction crossed the butler’s narrow face. “Very good, sir,” he said without expression and retreated, leaving Stephen to make himself comfortable in the parlor.

Blues and browns predominated there, in a small room full of overstuffed chairs and strange crystalline carvings that demanded much less than the outside of Green’s home. Outside, Stephen thought as he toyed with a peacock-feather pen, the original owner had wanted to announce himself to the world. Inside, Green evidently didn’t care as much.

He wondered if he would have realized any such thing before he’d known Mina. He’d always had people to deal with his lodgings and his wardrobe; he’d left the details to them. Stephen couldn’t recall, now, ever thinking how the world must look to a man who was confined to one shape, or to one who didn’t have money and lineage at his back.

Frowning, Stephen put the pen down and picked up a deck of playing cards. On their backs, strange creatures wandered through unearthly woodland scenes, all obviously hand-painted with some skill. He turned one over.

A blue-eyed woman looked back up at him. Her golden hair fell from beneath an equally golden crown with heart-shaped rubies marching around the band and curled on the shoulders of her rich red dress.

The Queen of Hearts.

Stephen flipped the card back over and put the deck down. Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and paced a circle around the room, glad of the challenge that avoiding footstools and end tables posed. Where the devil
was
Green? Slipping out the back, perhaps, while his man kept Stephen waiting? Stephen had half a mind to go looking.

“Mr. Green,” said the butler, opening the parlor door.

At home, Green looked even less conventional than he had in Mrs. O’Keefe’s club. He entered with his flaming-red hair loose around his shoulders; he wore a smoking jacket in black and gold brocade, loose silk trousers, and no shoes. His bright green eyes ran over Stephen for a long, unsettling moment. The gaze might have been lecherous or it might have been knowing; it could well have been both.

“Lord Stephen MacAlasdair,” he said. “Unexpected and, I hear, insistent. How very…dramatic. You may leave us,” he added, waving a hand at the butler.

Colored fire flashed in the lamplight. Green didn’t wear shoes, but he did cover his hands with gemstones. Stephen wasn’t surprised.

“My business is important,” he said, “and a matter of some haste.” Etiquette advised that he apologize for the intrusion, but etiquette didn’t generally handle men who made deadly homunculi.

“So I’d inferred. Still, I’ll take the liberty of assuming that it won’t take us out of this house,” said Green, draping himself over one of the chairs, “and ask you to make yourself comfortable. I’d offer refreshment, but I’m not entirely sure I have your sort of food.” He met Stephen’s eyes squarely and smiled. “Maidens are very rare these days, you know. I’ve seen all sorts of articles saying as much.”

“And from what
I’ve
read,” said Stephen, “I know enough to be careful of any food you’d serve me.”

That was an educated guess and a general principle of dealing with the Unseen World, but it hit. Green’s eyes flickered, and a hint of concession appeared in his smile. “And so the dance begins,” he said. “I had wondered, you know. Reclusive as you’ve been, Alasdair’s son, your name is not unknown in certain circles. Neither are your whereabouts.”

“And you’re part of those circles?”

One didn’t ask for names or titles. There were rules.

“Indeed. You could think of me as an ambassador, if you wanted.” For a second, Green’s eyes turned from human green to the deep color of the primeval forests. “And no, I won’t tell you from which court.”

“I could hazard a guess or two, perhaps,” said Stephen, sitting down in a chair opposite Green, “but I’m more curious about other things. Whether making homunculi falls under your diplomatic duties, for instance.”

Green’s mouth opened a little in surprise and, yes, dismay. “
That’s
what you’re here about? I had no idea you’d run into that fellow.”

“No?” He didn’t quite growl the word. “What
did
you know?”

“Very little,” said Green. He sat up and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t ask, you understand. Men come to me for assistance, betimes, and their reasons for wishing it are very rarely interesting and even less often my concern. I see that I was wrong in this case,” he added, watching Stephen’s face, “and I
am
sorry for it. I hope this won’t be a source of any trouble between us.”

“Between my house and your court, you mean,” said Stephen. “And you may get your wish—depending on what you tell me.”

Relaxing, Green assumed some of his previous nonchalance. He turned his hand upward and studied his fingers. “I’m certain I can tell you a number of things. Shall I start anywhere in specific?”

“The man you worked for.”

“I work for no man,” said Green, with a scornful ring in his voice. “Say so again and I’ll remind you less kindly, Alasdair’s son or no.”

Stephen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, stifling the urge to change. A small diplomatic advantage didn’t give him all the power in the room, he reminded himself, and Green was likely to be a lord in his own manner and to serve greater lords still. The world contained mightier things than dragons.

“My apologies,” he said. “I’ve spent too long in this world, perhaps. What can you tell me about the man you…assisted?”

“He called himself Mr. King,” said Green, calming down into his prior languid speech, “and while I doubted the truth of it, I’m hardly one to question whatever name a man pleases to take on himself. He was passing tall and rather more than middle aged, as mortals go. Knowledgeable enough, in a very…scattered…sort of way. Still, he’d found out enough to know that I could make changelings and to actually assist a little in the process.”

“And why did you help him?”

“A few pages of an interesting book from America. I tried to negotiate for more, but—” Green shrugged. “He had no bloodline or prospects of heirs, no secrets, no talents such as my kind value. Nothing else but money, which I didn’t want, and service, which he wouldn’t give. He seemed rather insulted that I suggested it.”

Stephen fought back an ironic smile. “How strange. What sort of money?”

“Gold, of course. He knew better than to offer bank drafts, at least.”

“Or he didn’t have them,” said Stephen. Ward had been not quite penniless when he’d escaped, but he’d spent some time in America learning magic. Stephen had never heard that turning lead into gold was actually possible, but spiriting money out of a bank vault or jewels out of a bedroom would certainly be within the power of most magicians. “Anything else?”

Green smiled now, his eyes dancing. “Well,” he said, drawing out the word while Stephen waited and tried not to glare, “I did have him followed, of course. After he left with his new toy. He went to an office building—give me a moment.” He pulled a silver rope and summoned the butler. “Bring me the book in the top right drawer of my desk.”

“An office building?” Stephen asked when the butler had vanished. “He can’t live there. People would talk.”

“I very much doubt that he does. He came out again an hour later—but so did the sun, and my servant doesn’t do well in the full light of noon. I thought I’d spent quite enough time on the man in any case. He’s unbalanced, he lacks perspective, and he’ll die on his own in a few years. Ah.”

The butler came back and handed Green a small leather-bound ledger, then vanished.

“He has wonderful conversation,” said Green, flicking through the pages, “if only you get to know him. Or so I’d imagine. Thirty-Nine Brick Lane is the building you’re looking for. Consider this a gesture of goodwill on my part.”

“I’ll try,” said Stephen.