A Dragon and A Silly-Looking Mask

[aliaspseudonym]

Well.  This is, um, finished.  I've never written anything even remotely this long or involved before... it feels kinda weird.  I hope you like it...

Here we go.


A Dragon and a Silly-Looking Mask

Just at the top of this hill, past the tall bushes, there's a cliff.  It's about ten feet down;  you'll have to climb carefully.  At the bottom there's a small stream flowing down out of the bush into a little pipe under the highway.  Run your hand along the rock wall until you find a small, round indentation.  Take something small and round -- a marble will do fine if you have the right size -- and fill the hole.  Count to five slowly, then turn back to the pipe.  You'll now find it's easily big enough to walk through.  Walk under the highway on the left side of the trickle of water, and if you hear a car approaching stop until it has passed.  If you do this wrong, you'll find yourself emerging from the pipe where you entered it.  If you do it right, you'll have the opportunity to meet some very interesting people.

---

At first Marty thought he'd done something wrong.  He'd followed the directions, and they'd just led him to the other side of the highway; he could see it behind him.  A small park stretched out before him, nothing special, just an island of green space in the middle of the city -- the sort of place people go to exercise their dogs or their children.  He'd seen it before from the highway.  He'd been told that this was some kind of gateway to the otherworld.  Yeah right.

But he didn't leave.  Instead, hands sullenly sunk into his coat pockets, eyes fixed accusingly on a very un-magical patch of grass a few feet in front of him, he shuffled forward into the park.

It was a very nice park, if sort of mundane.  The earth was carpeted by a knee-high mess of yellowed grass, small bushes and little pink and purple flowers, punctuated by the occasional deep green pine tree.  The evergreens grew thicker around the river.

He stopped in his tracks.  A little moth landed on one of his ears and was completely ignored.  River?  He looked around.  The tiny trickle of water he'd been following had turned into a long, winding river that stretched ahead much further than it had any right to in this little park.  He couldn't see the fence anymore either.  Worried, he glanced back -- good, he could still see the highway and the tunnel back.

He continued along the river until, pushing through a particularly thick patch of pine, he emerged in a parking lot.  At least it looked like a parking lot.  There were no cars, but he couldn't imagine why else someone would pave such a big area in the middle of a... wherever he was.  It was at least twenty meters in diameter with a little wood shack in the center.  Around that, about ten meters in, was a big yellow line painted on the ground.  He paused when he came to that; it seemed like the sort of thing you aren’t supposed to cross.  And, come to think of it, the asphalt on the other side of the line looked different -- darker, smooth, almost... burnt.

The air around the shack shimmered.  Marty took a few nervous steps back.  Streams of liquid light poured down from overhead, forming puddles of sky on the pavement.  A mirage, something in the back of his head informed him.  Caused by superheated air rising off of hot pavement and bending light.  So you’d better--

He turned and hurled himself back, away from the line.  Behind him the shack transformed into an enormous pillar of blue-white flames.  A wave of searing air caught him from behind, picked him up, carried him several feet and dropped him on the very edge of the pavement.

He groaned and rose shakily to his feet.  He was, surprisingly, not that badly hurt.  He’d scraped his left knee and his right elbow, but it seemed pretty superficial, and while his whole back was tender nothing seemed to have actually burned.  A red-hot pebble had burned through his jacket but it had stopped there.  Still, he felt unsteady and colourful clouds were started to drift to and fro before his eyes.  He stumbled.

No, he told himself.  You are not going to faint here, and you won’t run away either.  I’ll never forgive you if you do.  He forced his legs to move, and move they did, taking one awkward step after another along the river, giving the wall of smoke where the shack had been a wide berth.

Slowly, the shock wore off and his legs grew steady.  And his resolve to continue started to fade, now that the blood was moving in his head.  What am I doing, he argued with himself.  I could have been killed!  This is stupid, I shouldn’t be here.  I’ve already gotten hurt and this is all over someone I don’t even know!  Well not really.  I’ve never even met him in person!  I should turn around, right now.  This is too much to risk for some crazy person.

His legs, along with the rest of him, ignored this diatribe and continued stoically along the riverbank.  He was on the other side of the paved clearing when he heard the voice.

“Hey, you!  Are you ok?”

He turned and his jaw dropped.  Not only was the little wooden house still standing, there was a robed man coming out of it and running across the pavement, arms waving.  “Uhhh... I’m fine,” Marty said, stupidly.

“I’m so sorry!  Didn’t you see the sign?!”

“Sign?  What sign?  There wasn’t a sign.”

The man pointed.  There was a sign, but it was on the wrong side of the pavement to have done Marty any good.

“I came from the other way.”

“What?  I thought there was nothing down that way.  Well... oh, you must have come through the highway gate!  You’re lucky you got in; that thing is notoriously unreliable.”

The man was closer now.  Marty noted that what he had taken for a robe was really more of a full-body apron, almost like a hazmat suit.  It looked thick, heavy and probably uncomfortably hot.

“Ah where are my manners!  Sorry, sorry!” said the man.  “Vincent Morrisen, intern Warlock, at your service!  And my supervisor is, um, working by remote...”  Vincent stared at where his shoes presumably were beneath the layers of fabric.

Marty nodded.  Perfectly understandable, that.  This looked like a person best supervised from high orbit.  “I’m Marty,” he said.  “And I’m fine, really.”  Although I could have died, you idiot, he added under his breath.  “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Oh, you see, I’m starting work on a very exciting hypothesis where depending on the observer-state the form-current of a high-energy spell matrix can be warped to the point where blah blah blah...”

Marty’s eyes started to glaze.  “That’s very interesting,” he said, loudly and in a tone that meant exactly the opposite.  Vincent stopped in mid-monologue and sort of deflated.

“Oh, I suppose you’re not familiar with the current research on spell-phase distortion effects.  Sorry to bother you.”

“That’s ok.  Have you seen, um, have you...” Marty faltered.  Had Skyleth really been telling the truth?  Even after the magical gate and the giant pillar of blue fire, it was hard to swallow.  I mean, you expect to find weird things through magical portals, you don’t expect to bump into them in internet chatrooms.

“Sorry, I can’t quite hear you there,”

“Have you seen a dragon?”  There, he’d said it.  “About, um, eight feet high with neck extended, sort of a metallic greenish gold colour with green eyes?”  He was on a roll, might as well keeping going.  “Wingspan of about twelve feet?  White markings on the wing flaps?”

Vincent just stared at him.  Marty gulped and stared at the ground, imploring it to swallow him.  The seconds stretched.

“Well,” Vincent said, “There is a dragon, I believe, upriver.  If you go that way until you reach a hedge-wall, then follow that to an opening, I think that’s where he lives.  But...

“But?”  Vincent shuffled his feet.

“I dunno.  I’ve heard weird things about the guy who lives there, and theres a really strong, unpleasant sort of magic coming from that direction.”

“Anything more specific?”

“Sorry...”

“I guess I’ll have to take my chances.”

“Good luck,” Vincent said, quietly, to the retreating back of Marty, who rolled his eyes.

The trees grew thicker as he went until he felt like he was fighting for every step.  His hands and arms accumulated little scratches to match the scuffs on his elbow and knee.  The internal argument to go back started up again, now given extra fuel by exhaustion and frustration, but he never seriously considered giving up.  Deep in the core of him, somewhere just above his stomach, he could feel a warm, comforting glow.  Sky had been telling the truth.  The whole time.   He’d thought it was some sort of weird joke, but it was all real.  His feet were starting to ache but he felt like singing.

He broke out of the thick foliage and onto a neatly manicured lawn.  As Vincent had said, there was a tall hedge-wall just ahead.  He stopped to catch his breath, and to think.  Something weird was going on here, he’d best be cautious.

He moved down along the hedge but kept to the edge of the woods, ready to duck out of sight at the first sign of movement.  Then he stopped.  He was forgetting something -- he could run into Sky at any moment out here, but how would Sky know him?

He giggled a little as he pulled something out of a coat pocket.  He’d never had the nerve to use this thing in public before, but now of course he had to, and anyway he probably couldn’t compete with the people around here for weirdness if he dressed up as a giant teapot.

It was a mask, slightly burnt from the explosion earlier.  The top half was greyish white, the bottom half entirely taken up by an enormous toothy grin.  There was a pair of little cat ears on the top, and the eyes were just big black circles with little red-tinted clear plastic lenses in the middle for his actual eyes.  He put it on.  There were no mirrors in sight and he was certain it was on crooked, but oh well, the point was to be recognizable.

He grinned, matching the expression drawn on the mask.  There was something very comforting about wearing it here.  Now he was something strange and mysterious as well -- a match for whatever he was likely to come across.  That probably wasn’t true, but still a nice thought to have.

The hedge wall curved onwards out of view.  He followed it for some time and was starting to wonder if Vincent had given him bad directions by the time he came to an opening.  Or, rather, a gate, and rather a large and ornate one at that, covered with engravings and with little sockets in some places that looked like they had once held gems.  It was securely locked.  It was also pointlessly locked, since there was a gap between the gateposts and the hedge that a person could easily squeeze through.  Marty was considering doing just that when a distant rumble sent him scrambling back into the bush for cover.

What came down the road was a small but expensive-looking car, painted silver with some very interesting black decals along the sides, but Marty barely noticed this.  His eyes were yanked forcibly toward the man in the passenger seat, a tall man with a striking profile and golden hair that matched the shining medallion he wore at his collar, setting off his pale complexion, making his face radiant.  Tall?  All Marty could see of him was the profile of his face.  But still, he knew the man was both tall and imposing.

The man spoke softly but imperiously and the gates unlocked and swung open, letting the car drive through.  Marty blinked a few times.  Apparently he had dropped to his hands and knees while the car passed.  Who was that, he wondered, that just being near him could cause such a trance?  He felt his mask again.  It was still there, but it hadn’t shielded him -- he was still just Marty, only with a silly mask on.

He was in deep now.  Sky being a dragon seemed completely believable, and now that the pleasant shock of that idea had sunk in and faded, he was worried.  The last he’d heard from Sky was about a new job with some wealthy noble type, though he’d been vague about what the job was, exactly.  The dragon had said he’d be off the net for two, three days tops while he moved stuff around and got settled in, and he’d even given a phone number to call if anyone wanted to see about visiting.  That was four months ago, and since then he had posted all of two journal entries, both extremely strange, the first an angry rant against someone or something he didn’t name, the second a sloppily written assurance that everything was perfectly fine.

Marty had called the number on a whim, during a weekend off work when he had nothing to do.  A young man had answered and given him the address of a strange old woman, who had given him directions she’d said would take him to the otherworld.  A month or two later, he’d felt bored and lonely enough to actually try the directions, weird as they sounded.  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting -- maybe some kind of inside joke, or a hidden message from Sky that might give him a clue what was going on.  He’d been curious and, he had to admit, a little bit worried.  Now that he’d found more than his share of clues, he was a lot worried and there was no way he’d go home without at least seeing Sky.  Even if he had too--

His thoughts were interrupted by a rush of wind and the sound of enormous wings overhead.  A huge, graceful, greenish shape flew just overhead.  Marty was stunned for an instant, but recovered just as quickly -- he might not have another chance this easy.

“SKYLETH!” He yelled at the sky.  It felt a little odd saying that name out loud, although that got sort of lost in the much more definite oddness of yelling at a passing dragon.

The great green shape sort of flinched and dropped a few feet in midair, then whirled in a much tighter circle than ought to be possible with a twelve-foot wingspan and headed straight at Marty, who felt rather like a mouse facing a hawk and had to fight the urge to hide behind a stump.

Then the dragon landed and folded its wings.  The change was dramatic -- it went from an enormous, noble flying predator to very large, rather nervous looking lizardish thing with a sort of knobbly nose.  Marty relaxed a little bit.  “Um... Skyleth?” he said.

"Vaxis?"

"It's 'Vaksis', not 'Vazis.'  It rhymes with faxes," Marty corrected automatically.  "Um, I mean... hi?"

Technically Vaxis was a fictional court jester who secretly controlled the kingdom with magic and trickery, but Marty had never actually gotten around to writing most of that story.  Or rather, Marty had never really come up with a good story that used Vaxis -- just a few scenes of introduction and one dramatic reveal scene he felt would work really well near the end of some sort of story.  For the most part Vaxis was just the name Marty went by online.

"You look... different, than I imagined," Marty said, grinning under (and on) his mask.  A few people had drawn Skyleth as a dragon, but none of them had come anywhere near the scaly, leathery-winged, slightly scrawny looking reality, and obviously Sky hadn't felt the need to correct them.

"You look pretty much exactly like it," Sky said, brushing the Vaxis mask with one claw.  Marty flinched backward a bit.

"Well you know.  It was pretty simple to make actually, I just took--"

"Vaxis, what are you doing here?"

"W-what?  I came to see you, obviously!  How are you--"

The dragon turned his head away.   "You shouldn't be here.  You should go."

Marty stared in horror.  The mask rebelliously retained its fixed expression of mischievous glee.  "B-but... I came a long way to see you here... there was this explosion... and... and..." he struggled for words.

"I'm sorry, really, but... but you can't be here.  There's nothing you could do anyway?"

"About what?  What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong.  I'm fine, really."

Marty glared.  Vaxis grinned like a idiot.  "No it's not!  Why don't you just tell me, you stupid dragon?!"

Sky glanced around nervously.  "Be quiet, he might hear!  Look sorry I don't have any more time, I've got to go."

"YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE WITHOUT--"

Sky spread his wings.  Marty fell silent, suddenly and acutely aware he was yelling at a creature many times his weight with claws half as long as his forearm.  The dragon took flight and within seconds had vanished over the hedge wall, leaving Marty stunned and miserable.

Several minutes later, he was still sitting on a patch of damp moss and it was starting to soak through his clothes.  This was all wrong; it wasn't supposed to go like this.  Awkward silences and lame introductions were par for the course, but Sky had just blown him off.  Told him to go away -- he wasn't wanted.  He was crushed.  He sobbed a little behind the stupid grinning facade of Vaxis.

Then he stood up and kicked a rotten log really hard, so little chips of wood went flying all over the place.  That made him feel a little better.  Then he calmed down and tried to think.  He was hurt, but not stupid.  Sky was obviously in a bad way somehow and trying to keep him out of it, and that was not going to happen if he could help it.  He'd have to find some way in.

---

Meanwhile, Her Grace Lady Roselynda The High Baroness of The Upper River Ways was playing with alphabet blocks.  She had spelled 'DUAAGN.'

"Dwagon!" she announced proudly.  A tired-looking man in a fancy but threadbare suit rearranged a few of Her Grace's blocks.  "There you go, D-R-A-G-O-N.  Dragon."

But the young Baroness had already detected the approach of her favourite giant green flying-thing and was tottering off to greet it.

An eight-foot tall flying lizard, Skyleth to his human friends, swooped through a window that had been specially widened for the purpose and into the playroom.

"Nye-uhl!" proclaimed the Baroness, and flung herself at the creature's belly.  'Nye-uhl' caught her in the crook of one forearm with practiced ease and squeezed her gently against his neck.

"Hewwo Your Adorableness!" he said to the child, then "Hullo Percival," to the man.

"Greetings,  Nigel," said Percival.  "You're a few minutes late, you know." (Nigel made frantic cutting movements across his throat with his tail, which Percival ignored.)  "You should really work on your punctuality.  You know what his Lordship would say..."  Nigel sighed.  He knew exactly what His Lordship would say, and Percival would keep raising a fuss until it had been said.  And there it was: a certain ominous weight in the air, a disquiet breeze ruffling the curtains and knocking over a fairly impressive block tower for someone of the Baroness' size, and then...

"I have come to expect a certain degree of PUNTUALITY in my servants, NIGEL," came the voice, booming like a galley drum, cracking like a whip.  Nigel turned, positioning himself firmly between its owner and the Baroness.

The man was tall and wide in the shoulders, shoulder-length golden hair flying free in the faint breeze.  He radiated authority like red-hot metal radiates heat, and his face was a twisted mask of rage.  Around his neck, the golden pendant that proved his noble title gleamed evilly.

Nigel saw all this and still felt sorry for the man, because he knew what it meant and because as a species dragons have developed an impressive resistance to magical glamour.  Lord Kurtis of East Falls Gate was, for a noble, not a very good magician.  Magic, you see, naturally creates glamour the way fire creates light and heat.  Glamour makes things seem bigger, better, deeper, more impressive and intimidating and mysterious than they really are, and every spell requires a little spark of glamour to begin the magic.

Good magicians never stoop to using magic just for the glamour.  Good magicians know that extended exposure to glamour can be addictive and hurtful.  Good magicians take precautions to protect themselves and those around them from the long-term effects of magic use.  Lord Kurtis was not a very good magician; glamour followed him everywhere, exaggerating, amplifying, twisting his every thought and action into a near-caricature of himself.

"Do you even REALIZE the favour I did you when I brought you in, you destitute worm?"  Do you even realize you're three months behind on my paycheck, Nigel silently countered.  And it's 'wyrm.'  Pronounced the same but you say it like something that's capable of biting your head off, not like something you scraped off of your boot. 

"I had Percival's perfectly capable service and, out of CHARITY, I still decided to hire your useless carcass as a NANNY for Her Grace."  Percival meant well in a sort of dry, officious, unlikable way, but he hated children and the sentiment was usually mutual.  "You, you IGNORANT, MALINGERING, TREASONOUS..."

Nigel tuned out.  Kurtis had lost track of who he was yelling at by now; there was nothing to do but wait it out.  He extended one wing a tiny bit for Her Ladyship to hide under.

Lord Kurtis raged and yelled and threw a few random objects (mostly at Percival, because watching things bounce off of Nigel's tough hide wasn't emotionally satisfying).  Nigel took a sort of guilty comfort in watching the pompous servant scramble to and fro dodging flower-pots.  This was his fault in the first place, after all.  Well, mostly.  If Nigel hadn't been late...

Kurtis ran out of steam and sort of pulled himself together.  Whatever glamour he'd had on him was wearing off, revealing a tall, thickly built, slightly lopsided man with straw-coloured hair badly in need of a cut.  His face looked strained and unhappy, a dramatic shift from the avatar of pure rage he'd been just seconds ago.  He looked around guiltily at the mess he'd made.  "Percival, clean this up, would you?"  Percival nodded and began picking up broken pieces of pottery.  He had a particular gift for looking proud and uptight even while sweeping up dirt and dead flowers.

The Lord of the East Falls Gate moved awkwardly toward Nigel.  "So, where's my favourite little cousin?  How is she today?"

"Cus-in Kutis ska-ee," Rose whispered to Nigel.  Then she confidently pushed his wing away and ran to hug the big man.  He never yelled at her, after all.

Nigel's eyes narrowed, and he watched Kurtis very closely as he hugged the toddler.  To be honest, this nanny job was a lousy one for a dragon.  Other dragons would look down on him for doing it, and while he did need a job quite badly there was no point in continuing here when he wasn't  being paid properly.  The reason he hadn't left was simple -- he didn't trust Lord Kurtis to be anywhere near Her Ladyship, and since he couldn't separate them he at least felt he had to keep an eye on things.

Roselynda, you see, was the only thing standing between His Lordship and being the High Baron of the Upper River Ways.  And while the Upper River Ways saw heavy use both as trading ground and as territory for spell-working, the East Falls Gate was essentially desolate.  Kurtis' father had had to sell most of his jewels and silverware to keep his family fed, leaving Kurtis to inherit a strong sense of entitlement and nothing to be entitled to.  Even without the glamour fogging his head, he wasn't the most stable of men.

Kurtis smiled warmly at Rose, who was clinging to his coat-tails and babbling animately.  Nigel softened a little.  Despite all that, the bitter Lord seemed to genuinely care about his young cousin.  For all that he was, Kurtis wasn't a plotter.  He'd never hurt a fly in cold blood, only smash it in an unplanned, frenzied rage.  In a way, that made it worse -- if Kurtis had been a genuinely evil person, Nigel could have played the hero, found some proof of foul play and fled with the Duchess to live with some more stable noble family until she'd grown up.  As it was, there was just this shadowy, unprovable threat that the other nobles would laugh at.

Also, Nigel was lonely.  He felt a bit guilty for thinking of himself when a child's life was possibly in danger, but there it was.  There was no-one to talk to here but Kurtis, who was dangerously volatile; Percival, who had the personality of an excessively gilted sofa; and Rose, who turned three about a month ago.  This would have been quite survivable if he'd been able to keep in touch with people online, but His Lordship was insanely paranoid about any outgoing communication and monitored everything; sending any message back to anyone would start him frothing at the mouth.

Then Vaxis had turned up, and turning him away had been heart-wrenching.  But he'd had no choice -- Lord Kurtis would be certain to jump to some insane, paranoid conclusion and someone could get badly hurt.  Probably Vaxis, since Nigel had a dragon's natural strength and resistance to magic on his side, but if Kurtis got angry enough he could be in danger too.  He'd had no choice.  He just hoped Vaxis would understand.

Nigel groaned and rubbed his head with his tail.  This was giving him a headache.  Or maybe it was all the blasted glamour floating around the place; it wasn’t exactly healthy, even for a dragon.  He reached around with his tail and pulled a sort of rucksack up and over his neck.  It was full of food and a few things for Rose.

"It's getting close to Her Ladyship's bedtime, my Lord," he said, cautiously.

"It is, isn't it.  Go see the nice dragon, little cousin."  Kurtis pointed the toddler at Nigel and let her go; she made it about ten steps before he had to catch her with his tail.

"Weeeeeeee!  I fwy!" she chortled with glee as he lifted her up through the air and onto his back.  She attached herself firmly to a familiar spine by the back of his neck and let him carry her from the playroom to the nursery.

He set her down in her cradle and read to her from his old Dragonriders of Pern fanfiction until she started snoring (the mansion contained very little along the lines of reading material.)  Then he settled himself down on the stone floor just across the room.  The rough, unkempt stonework in this place was bad for human footing but good for sleeping on if you were a dragon; it felt just like an old mountain cave.  He curled up facing one wall, then, carefully, he drew his laptop computer out of his sack and set it up so the glow couldn't been seen past his body from the door.  Then he pretended to sleep, keeping one eye open on the laptop.

<Vaxis:>  Heya --  and ack what kind of crazy keyboard is this? >.<

"A dragon keyboard," Nigel muttered to the air.  Dragons have long prehensile tails that can fork slightly at the very end, allowing them to grasp things and do fine manipulation.  Since they essentially have only two fingers, their keyboards have a more ovular shape with the keys radiating outward from two starting points.

<Vaxis:>  Thx 4 the keyboard but how did u know i was here?

"Dragons are resistant to magic.  I can sort of catch glimpses of you through the invisibility spell.  It's nice, where did you get it?"

<Vaxis:>  Warlock named Vincent.  nice guy, nearly blew me up earlier. thought he owed me something to mak up for that.  Can't talk out loud, tht'd break the spell.  but enough of that Nigel, yr a meanie! >:|

Nigel made a low, sad sound in his throat.  "Sorry Vaxis.  I had no time, I had to convince you to either go back or be very careful before Kurtis got on my case.  Which I guess he did anyway, so I'm sorry..."

<Vaxis:>  Alright then Nigel.  But srsly what is going on here?  This lord of yrs seems crazy but then sddnly he's hugging some kid?

"She's the Baroness of the Upper River Ways; that's one of the biggest noble titles still around.  She'll be responsible for a lot of the magical stuff that goes on along this river when she's older, but for now everything's held in trust and she can't get at any of her own money."

<Vaxis:> and the crazy guy?

"He's the Lord of the East Falls Gate, which is essentially a useless title.  He's the Baroness' closest living relative though, so he's her guardian for now.  Unfortunately."

<Vaxis:>  and where do u come into all this, Nigel?

"Would you believe me if I said taking care of rich children is a proud and time-honoured tradition of draconic society?"

<Vaxis:>  not even a little.  Nigel.

"Didn't think so.  In that case, I'm doing nanny work because I can't get a real job.  And do you have to keep calling me that?"

<Vaxis:>  it's yr name isn't it?  Anyway you hurt my feelings before so i get to bother you now.  plus it sounds kinda funny.

"Does not."

<Vaxis:>  totally does.

Nigel smiled.  What a silly, pointless conversation to have in the midst of mortal peril.  He really did love humans.  "Well what's your real name then?"

<Vaxis:>  It'sa secret.

"You got to hear mine, its only fair.  Anyway you're not even online.  Practically face to face.  Ought to be using real names from this distance."

<Vaxis:> ......oh all right.  it's Marty.

The dragon giggled.

<Vaxis:> it's not funny!

"I didn't say it was funny."

<Vaxis:>  u laughed!

"I did no such thing."

<Vaxis:> ;-; liar.

"Alright maybe a little..."

There was a long silence.

<Vaxis:> so...

"I'm afraid that Kurtis will kill the girl.  He's the next in line for her title."

<Vaxis:>  ...oh.  and that's why u won't just leave?

The dragon nodded slightly.

<Vaxis:> ...so whts the story here?  how come a noble kid's practically penniless and living with her crzy disnt cousin?

"Uh, that's kind of a long story..."

<Vaxis:>  got all night.  Spell will lst till morning so long as i don't talk and nobody's looking for me.

"Ok, but I'm still gonna try to tell it fast.  Don't want the glamour getting to you..."

<Vaxis:> the what? O.o

"Do you feel kind of like you could get away with anything?  That's the spell's glamour.  People who use invisibility spells all the time sometimes do really stupid stuff because they feel like they can't get caught."

The laptop screen remained blank for about half a minute.  Then,

<Vaxis:>  ...that's what's wrong with this noble guy isn't it?  He's magicing himself up all the time.

Nigel nodded.  "It can get addictive if you overuse it."

<Vaxis:>  ...you'd better fill me in on this story.

Nigel did so.  Roselynda's parents had been (or so he'd heard from people who'd known them) a very nice couple.  Very happy together, both very enjoyable to be with.  They had not, however, been very good landlords.  They'd largely let various merchants and magicians run wild in their territory while they coasted on their prosperity, enjoying themselves and entertaining the other nobles.  The old Duchess had set up a few charities but lacked both the knowledge and the determination to run them properly, and by now they had turned into for-profit businesses in all but name.  The Duke had taken a sporadic interest in the economic proceedings of his land and had occasionally laid down well-meaning but poorly implemented decree, which the wily tradespeople would exploit for their own gain or just avoid.

The resulting economy lacked either the ground-up, free-flowing organization of the Uplands or the rigid but fair rules of land-use of the Woods.  It was mostly dominated by a few large corporate conglomerates who had enough clout to bully everyone else.  It was these large organizations that now held, by virtue of a 'trust fund,' the entirety of the Duchess' fortune, which explained why she was living in a huge mansion with one servant and one dragon-nanny, under the care of an unstable and nearly destitute relative.

<Vaxis:>  wait, am i missing something here?  Where'd the duke and duchess go?

"Oh yeah.  Sorry, I guess I got ahead of myself.  They, um, died.  The Duke was always sort of fragile; he had some kinda immune problem.  I think he died of an infection after an injury but don't quote me ok?  That was just before Rose was born.

"The old Duchess took his death kinda hard, sort of holed up in her room.  I never really heard how she died... I think she sort of... wasted away.  Her old social circle avoided her after the Duke passed; she suddenly wasn't so fun to be around.  Then she died, and someone dug up a will that had that stupid trust fund thing on it with her seal and signature, and then the corporate guys were all over her estate, like, I don't know, wild dogs or something.  All the other nobles said it was shameful."

<Vaxis:> ...and they didn't do anything about it?

"Nah.  They never do.  To be fair, there isn't a lot they could do, short of sending money and Kurtis is far to proud to accept that."

Another long pause.

<Vaxis:>  ...so... what do we do?

"There's nothing we can do.  I'm glad to see you and all, but really, you should go.  You can't help and Lord Kurtis is crazy dangerous; he'll seriously hurt you and... and this isn't..." Nigel struggled for words.  "It's all a huge mess.  There's no way, you can't just walk in beat up some bad guy and fix it.  Its never really that easy."

<Vaxis:>  I'm not going away.  i'm going to help.

"But you could get hurt!"

<Vaxis:>  I don't care.

"That's just the glamour talking... you think you're invincible."

<Vaxis:>  Is not!  i've heard enough, if yr going to be stupid I'm gonna go find some way to help.

Nigel caught glimpses of movement and he called out in as loud a whisper as he dared, "Vaxis -- no, Marty, wait!  Promise me... promise me at least that you'll go away from here, break the spell, and think about this clearly without the glamour, ok?  Please?  I... if you got hurt because I dragged you into this..."  he trailed off. 

There was a very long stretch of silence; Nigel started to fear Marty hadn't heard him.  Then, a few last words appeared.

<Marty:> I promise.

The laptop closed on its own, and Nigel let himself drift off into a fitful sleep.

---

The next morning, Marty sat on a pile of miscellaneous lumps that Vincent claimed was a couch and started vacantly at the wall.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Vincent called from the only other room in the little shack, an unfortunate combination of magical workroom and kitchen.  "I have, um... instant noodles.  You like instant noodles right?"  He poked his head into the room, his expression suggesting he really hoped Marty liked instant noodles.  "Um... I also have this porridge packet but I found it behind this centrifuge and I'm not sure how long its been there and--"

"Instant noodles are fine."

"Ok.  Um, are you feeling ok?  You look kind of, I dunno, pale."

"I'm fine."

Marty poked unenthusiastically at his noodles with a fork.  He was not fine; he was feeling quite depressed.  Nigel had been right -- the invisibility spell had given him an incredible rush, and a sense of invulnerability.  He'd felt like he could do anything, go anywhere, nobody would ever know.  Now that the glamour had gone he felt frightened, and very small.  Nigel was a dragon, after all.  He was big and strong and could fly and was apparently also resistant to magic.  If Nigel couldn't do anything, what could little human Marty possibly do?  Vaxis grinned up at him from the table, he tried not to look at the thing.  It had felt different to him since he wore it for the invisibility spell.  Could glamour rub off on things, he wondered.

He took a bite and tried to call up that incredible, invincible feeling again, but it was gone.  It had never been real in the first place.  Glamour, huh?  He could see why it was so addictive, and dangerous as well.  He took another bite and made a face.

"Hey Vince what flavour is this anyway?"

"It might be beef.  I got the flavour packets mixed up a few weeks ago."

"It's not beef."

"Sorry."

Marty twirled his fork in the air, lost in thought.

"Hey Vincent, you know a lot about magic, right?"

Vincent nodded, his sharp grey eyes lighting up like searchlights.  "Did you want to know something?"

"Well, I was kind of curious about glamour."

Vincent took a very deep breath.  "Ah.  Well.  If you think of magic as fire, glamour would be heat.  All spells create a significant amount of glamour, and they all require a little spark to start them off.  Usually the caster can provide the spark, all it takes is a sort of... strength of belief, I guess.  The ease or difficulty of this depends on the spell and the circumstances.  Also, above all, magic is rarely safe or predictable.  Most spells can fail or misfire for no obvious reason or warning, so never bet your life on a spell that hasn't sparked yet.  Once the spell is active, you'll be able to sort of feel out what the magic is doing and know when things will go wrong."

Marty nodded.  Under the invisibility spell, he'd been able to feel the magic straining whenever someone looked directly at him, and had known it wouldn't hold up long if anyone started actively trying to find him.   Or if he tried to speak out loud.

"You got an unusually bad experience of glamour with that invisibility spell; normally the output would be split, with some of the glamour affecting you and some radiating outward to impact your surroundings and those around you.  An invisibility spell has to be hard to detect, though, so all the glamour gets focused on you.  It's cleaner than most spells, metaphysically speaking, but extended exposure... well, thieves who rely on invisibility spells tend to get caught doing incredibly stupid heists and displaying symptoms of megalomania."

Marty frowned.  "Cleaner than most spells?  Can a spell be dirty?"

Vincent nodded so hard his hat fell off.  He didn't bother to retrieve it.  "Oh yes it can.  Clean spells leave minute traces of glamour that last for a long time and can sometimes be read by people who have the knack of it.  Dirty spells spew glamour everywhere and are horrible for the mental health of the caster and everyone anywhere nearby.  The traces of really bad spells can be so thick they throw off the effects of other magic used in the area."  He jabbed a finger in the general direction of the mansion.  "That place is an absolute mess, I don't know how anyone can stand it.  It sometimes throws off my readings way over here, that's how bad it is.  That Kurtis is a menace and a blotch on the name of magicians everywhere."

"Aren't you a Warlock?"

"Um, intern anyway.  Warlock is a job, though.  Magician just means someone who uses magic; practically everyone who comes to the otherworld qualifies as a magician."

Marty nodded, absently, not really listening.  Dirty magic, huh?  And the whole mansion was full of it, and it could make spells go awry...

"Was it really safe taking that invisibility spell into the mansion then?"

"Oh yes, quite safe.  Perfectly clean spells like invisibility don't interact much with the surrounding environment."

Marty nodded, his mind a blur of movement.  He thought through the whole of yesterday's experience, looking for anything he could latch onto, any possible key to the whole mess.  Nothing.  He picked up the Vaxis mask and stood, leaving his noodles mostly untouched.  He felt a tiny tingle when he touched it, and nearly put it back down again.

"I'm gonna head out for a bit.  Don't worry if I don't come back, ok."

Vincent nodded.  Marty wondered idly how many long the Warlock would let him freeload over this whole near-vaporization thing.  Probably at least a couple of weeks, if he pushed the issue.  Speaking of which...

"Say will you be doing any, you know, volatile stuff while I'm out, do you think?"

Vincent blushed and looked away.  "Sorry.  Um, no, I'm finished with that phase of the experiment.  Today I'll be busy with the data I got from that... you know..."

"Enormous explosion?  Yeah, ok.  See you later unless I don't."

He left the shack and headed across the pavement to the river, where he sat down, hugging his knees against his chest.  The water churned and splashed in little eddies over unseen rocks.  Tentatively, weakly, he felt the thought form: should he go back?  Give up?  Even after coming this far?  It was like hiking up a punishing incline only to come up against a fifty foot high sheer cliff.

But, if he went back, could he live with himself?  That was the question.  He picked up a stone and flung idly into the water.  It bounced off a concealed rock just below the surface and nearly hit a small brown rabbit on the other side of the river.

"Watch where you're throwing that!"

Marty's brain tried to shift from a deep funk to a 'did that rabbit seriously just talk' sort of surprise without using the clutch.  It made a metaphorical grinding noise and stalled, leaving his mouth to fend for itself.

"Sorry mister."

The rabbit nodded curtly and started hopping across the river, landing on stones so close to the surface its feet barely even got wet.

"Well, at least you're polite, ‘ey kid?  Who are you, anyway?"

"Um, Marty."

"What're you doing around here anyway?  You don't look like one 'a them magicians."

"...I'm not sure."

"Would you say, maybe, that you're lost?"

Marty nodded slowly, absently.

"Wanna talk about it?"

He rubbed his head, still feeling kind of fuzzy.  The window for comments like 'oh, you're a talking rabbit!' had passed, he supposed. 

"Well, I know this dragon..."

And so, in a sort of haze of disbelief, Marty explained his dilemma from start to finish to a talking rabbit.  It was a very good listener, nodding in all the right places and occasionally making sympathetic 'harrumph' sounds.  When he had finished it said,

"So what's your plan?  What next?"

"What?  There's nothing I can do, and it's dangerous.  I was thinking of going back."

"Nothing you can do?  Isn't this guy your friend?"

"But... he's a dragon, and I'm... not.  He's bigger and stronger and he can fly and stuff.  I'm just some guy.  If he's completely given up what chance do I have?"

The rabbit harrumphed at him again.  The noise sounded like it should be coming from a sixty-something man with a big mustache.  "Look at you up there, talking about being small and weak.  How many times my weight do you think you are?  Fifteen?  Twenty?"

Marty found he had nothing to say.  His social repertoire did not contain many appropriate responses for things that were shorter than his knees and talked like his sixth grade math teacher.

"You're letting yourself get all mopey just because of some silly little size difference."  Marty pictured himself standing next to Nigel.  'Little' was not a word he would have chosen to describe the difference.  "And you're thinking about your friend differently now that you've seen him in the flesh!  That's discrimination or something, innit?  That'd be like assuming I can't run a successful business just because I'm a rabbit."

....what?  Marty's mind, which had recovered from the initial shock and started formulating arguments to defend itself, went blank again.  And he realized, the rabbit was right.  His image of Skyleth, the shy, passive introvert who hating confrontation and used to write fanfiction where literally nothing bad happened had been largely supplanted by a big scary dragon who could take care of himself.

But if you were a dragon, being a dragon probably wasn't that big a deal.  It wouldn't seem particularly special or magical.  All your family and friends (well, maybe not Nigel's friends) would be dragons too, and from what he'd heard you still needed to find work, deal with family, and so on.  In fact he was fairly sure that Nigel had a very large extended family that didn't approve of him very much (apparently he spent far too much time alone in his room with 'that silly machine.')

Still, flying would be pretty nice.

"'Ey kid, you still awake?"  Marty snapped back from his thoughts to a very talking-rabbit-dense reality.  There was still just the one rabbit, but it had a lot of presence.  "Ok, so.  Just keep in mind that your dragon friend hasn't changed just cause you know he's really a dragon now.  And believe in yourself and there's pro’bly something you can do to help (unless there isn't) and all that sorta jazz. And, um, hot tip:" the rabbit stood up on its hind legs, sticking its nose right in Marty's ear, and whispered (rather louder than necessary), "you might want to keep an eye out for gold next time you're snooping around that mansion.  Shiny stuff, y'know, ‘sgot a glamour all of its own.”

Marty nodded slowly.  In his head, a few little gears that had been spinning free clicked back into place, and the whole mechanism started whirling with a vengeance.  He stood and started back towards Vincent's little Warlock shack.

Once Marty was safely out of sight a figure materialized next to the rabbit.  It was a smartly dressed young man.  His face was hard to make out, and he sort of blurred into a silver glow around the edges as if he was somehow made of solidified light.  He frowned.

"Zimmerman, why did you tell him about the gold?"

Mr. Zimmerman flicked an ear.  "Sorry boss.  He looked sorta dense, y'know?  Thought he could use an extra hint."

“He would have figured it out by himself.  Now he’s going to over-think it and I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Ah,” replied Mr. Zimmerman, a little sheepish.  “I thought you knew everything, or something.”

The shimmering figure of Finder shook its head.  “He’s not lost anymore.  The rest is out of my hands.”

“I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

“Hopefully.”  Finder winked out of existence. 

Mr. Zimmerman scratched an ear, stretched.... and sort of kept stretching, until he was about five foot eight and not nearly as furry.  He looked pretty much how Marty had pictured from his voice, only a little bit older and without the moustache.  He picked up a sturdy-looking branch for a walking-stick and vanished into the woods.

---

Three times that morning Nigel woke in a panic, certain that he had overslept after staying up late to talk to Marty.  The third time he nearly woke Her Grace.  He checked the clock.  It was barely five A.M.  Obviously he wasn’t going to get any real sleep; he rose quietly and started making breakfast.

The rest of the morning passed peacefully, if somewhat groggily.  Nigel always felt comfortable in the kitchen, and he had a deft culinary hand (or tail, in this case) that usually went to waste on digestive tracts designed for freshly mauled bison.  He made himself a small (for a dragon) breakfast of tuna, then went to work on brunch for Lord Kurtis, who was never awake before ten.  Maybe if he surprised the man with a nice meal, he’d be pleased enough to get through the day without yelling at anyone.

At about eight o’clock the Duchess awoke.  He let her ride on his back as he worked, and lick the occasional spoon.  She was, he reflected, a good kid, easy to take care of.  This wouldn’t be such a terrible job if he was actually being paid.  And a little less yelling wouldn’t hurt either.

He didn’t get the message till nearly half-past nine.  He was just taking a duck out of the oven.  Kurtis was fond of very greasy things, and duck was one of his favorites.  Nigel didn’t much care for it himself.

At first, he wasn’t sure what to make of it.  It looked like a blank piece of slate, the sort of thing they used to use in schools, only it was sitting on his kitchen counter where it certainly hadn’t been a minute ago.  He picked it up.  On the back, there was a little logo of a cloud with trailing wires, and below that the words ‘ESOTERIC ELECTRONICS INCORPORATED’ were etched.

Nigel tentatively poked the front of the thing.  A white mark appeared, as if he had touched it with chalk.  Then that mark faded and more appeared.

What was the white one’s name?

He gulped.  Marty was still here.  He had no idea how he should feel about that.  The words faded, and he touched the screen to add more.

Ruth.

<Vaxis:>  Well met, noble Wyrm.

<Skyleth:>  Marty what are you trying to do now >.<  Kurtis will trace this and then he’ll be furious.

<Vaxis:>  He can’t.  I conferred with a qualified Warlock and he says it’s completely impossible to find the trace a small, device-to-device trail like this thing leaves in this horrible glamour-fuzzed mess of a mansion.

<Skyleth:>  You mean Vincent, don’t you.

<Vaxis:>  He’s a Warlock!  Well, an intern, but he seems to know his stuff >.>

<Skyleth:>  You know the university sent him way out here cause he kept blowing up their campus right?

<Vaxis:>  ...well sorta.  But he really is a genius >.< I bet they wouldn’t let him do research at all if he wasn’t.  He came up with that invisibility spell and he lent me this thing.

<Vaxis:>  Be careful with it by the way <.< I think he’s working through his guilt over almost killing me pretty quick and he might turn me into something slimy if I don’t bring this back.

<Skyleth:>  Marty, seriously, what is this about?

<Vaxis:>   Well obviously it’s about getting you, and the duchess, out of this stupid mess.

<Skyleth:>  Marty I told you, we can’t just fix this.

<Vaxis:>  No, listen!  I have a plan.  This might sound crazy but I need you to hear me out ok?  It’ll be tricky but I’m sure it’ll work.

<Skyleth:> ...alright, I guess.  Shoot.

<Vaxis:>  Right.  So, we’ll have to wait till this evening to pull this off properly, I think, but anyway.  I’ll be acting the part of Vaxis, Illusionist Extraordinare, to get into the place, and I’ll put on a bit of a show for Kurtis.

<Skyleth:>  ...how will that help?

<Vaxis:>  I’m not finished.  What we need to do is prove that Kurtis is a danger to her grace, right?  So we put on a little show, and, ‘by mistake’, we make him really angry.  Some kind of insult to his noble heritage would work best, I think.  Then we bring out an illusionary copy of the Duchess, give him the motive, the opportunity and maybe a little push.  He attacks what he thinks is the young Duchess.  Then we have all the proof we’ll ever need to separate him from her forever.

<Skyleth:> ...

<Vaxis:>  So what do you think?

<Skyleth:>  Marty, that’s horrible.

<Vaxis:>  Yes.  But do you think it’ll work?

<Skyleth:>  ...I don’t know if I could be part of something like that.

<Vaxis:>  You won’t have to do much.  Vaxis will take care of the hardest part.

<Skyleth:>  But it’d be so mean.

<Vaxis:>  Do you have a better idea?  Would you rather let the kid die?

<Skyleth:>  ...wait, Vaxis will take care of the hardest part?

<Vaxis:>  I mean I will.

<Skyleth:>  Are you feeling ok, Marty?  No, um, lasting side effects from the glamour or something?

<Vaxis:>  Look, I’m fine.  Do you want to save Rose or not?

Nigel turned to stare at the toddler on his back.  She grinned and waved and ‘Nye-uhl’d at him.  He sighed and turned back to the slate.

<Skyleth:>  ...yes.  Alright.  What do you need me to do?

<Vaxis:>  Put Kurtis in a bad mood, and try to make sure he’s using glamour when I show up.  Also... I dunno, check on the gold in the mansion?  See if it’s spelled or something?

<Skyleth:>  ...what?  Gold?  There’s no gold.  We stripped the place of gold and silver ages ago for funds.

<Vaxis:>  Really?  Never mind, then...  Anyway, I’ll show up at about eight o’clock.  I need you to have Rose out of the castle then.

Nigel stared blankly at the slate for a few seconds.

“What do you have there, Nigel?”

Nigel’s head jerked around, prompting a squeal of protest from his passenger.  Percival was right behind him.  The man could move like a cat when he felt like it.

“Nothing.  I’m writing something, it’s none of your business.”

“If you say so, sir.”  The servant backed away and out of the kitchen.  Nigel gulped and wonder how long he had been watching.  He waited a few minutes before taking the slate out again.

<Vaxis:>  That ok?

<Vaxis:>  Nigel?  You there? >.<

<Vaxis:>  ...did something happen?

<Skyleth:>  Yes, sorry, Percival was snooping...

<Vaxis:>  That servant of Kurtis’?  Did he see anything?

<Skyleth:>  I’m not sure...

<Vaxis:>  Well, not much we can do about that.  Eight o’clock, remember?

<Skyleth:>  Right.

The slate went blank.  Nigel put it in his sack for safekeeping.

Nigel curled his lips up into a tight, worried smile that showed off a lot of very sharp teeth.  If he was going to be nasty today he’d best do it properly.  He put the duck back into the oven; another quarter hour would leave it nicely burnt.  Then he went around over-spicing foods at random.  It took mere minutes to turn hours of careful work into inedible garbage.

Then Roselynda started crying, and he had to go see about getting her changed.

---

Meanwhile, Marty waited outside Vincent’s shack, practicing his juggling.  He was fairly good at it, and he figured with that and a few simple magic tricks he’d be able to pass off as an illusionist.   The Vaxis mask was lying on the ground at his feet; he’d taken it off.  The thing was starting to make him feel uneasy.  He’d been drawing a complete blank for a plan until he’d tried, in impulse, to put the thing on, and then the plan he’d invented had felt just like the sort of nasty thing Vaxis the jester would do.

Nasty?  Would you rather let the kid die?

The glamour from the invisibility or the dirty magic in that mansion must have done something to it, he thought.  He’d tell Vincent or someone about it after tonight.

What, pretending you can’t hear me?  Think that makes you saner, do you?

He wondered vaguely if Nigel actually had it in him to make Kurtis angry.  One the one hand, the man was like nitroglycerine, but on the other Nigel was the definition of nice guy.  Marty couldn’t imagine him doing anything remotely mean.

Pssh.  And you think you’re some kinda bad boy, huh?

He glared at the mask.  He was only keeping it, he thought loudly, because he’d he’d need it for the... performance, that evening.  After that, it just might end up smashed into a million little pieces for all he knew.

Ha ha!  But you need me, so you can keep pretending to be a little weakling like your puny dragon friend.  Sure wouldn’t want him to find out how mean you can be when you--

“SHUT UP.”

Someone jumped behind him.  He turned.  “Oh... sorry Vincent... I didn’t... er...”

“That’s, um, ok.  I was just wondering... you didn’t eat any breakfast, when was the last time you actually ate?”

Marty stopped juggling for a second and focused on his stomach.  The answer, apparently, was ‘far too long ago.’  “I wouldn’t mind some noodles, now that you mention it.”

Vincent nodded in encouragement.  “Good, good.  It’s, um, it’s not good for you to be under, you know, heavy mental stress, and trying to use magic, while hungry... and probably tired...  I’m actually surprised you’re standing, considering.”

Marty frowned.  “Really?”  He was hungry, but didn’t really feel weak or tired or anything.  He felt awake and more focused than usual.  “Maybe I’ve just got good endurance.”

Ha ha, yeah sure go right on thinking that.

“That could be it I guess.  Come on, I’ve got lunch ready.”

Marty nodded and followed the Warlock inside.

---

Nigel’s part of the plan did not go well, although not by any fault of his own.  It had all started out well enough.  Kurtis had flown into an incoherent rage over the burnt duck and inedible food, and while the angry Lord was not the best shot Nigel was a very large target and had prepared a lot of food; by the end of the meal he was pretty much covered in gravy.  Percival had given him some nasty looks over this -- Nigel being shouted at was all well and good but he hated trying to get food-stains out of the carpet.  The trouble, in fact, didn’t come until very nearly eight o’clock when Nigel decided to make sure the flames were freshly fanned for Marty’s ‘performance.’

“NIGEL.  Get your INSUBORDINATE HIDE over here THIS INSTANT and explain to me WHAT I AM LOOKING AT.”  Kurtis was standing over a pile of children’s building blocks, nursing a hurt foot.  His face was radiant with anger, eyes blazing with a golden inner fire, light glinting off of his amulet.

“Sir, it seems to be a pile of building blocks.”

“And WHAT are they DOING HERE?!  Are you trying to KILL me?!”

“Sir, Her Grace the Duchess left them there this morning.  Perhaps if sir could keep his head out of the clouds for long enough to watch where he was going he wouldn’t stub his poor little toes,” Nigel said, sweeping the blocks into their container with his tail.

“WHAT?!  Are you -- Are you trying to be SMART with me?!”  The mask of rage cracked a little from confusion.

“Sir, with all due respect, would you shut up?  Your constant yelling upsets the Duchess,” Nigel said.  He was pretty sure it was bad of him to enjoy this, but it was for Rose’s sake.

“DID... YOU JUST... YOU TOLD ME TO...” Kurtis’ mouth worked furiously but no words came.  Nigel allowed himself a  nervous little inner smile.  If that wouldn’t drive Kurtis to murder -- ugh, he couldn’t stomach the thought.

Unfortunately for Nigel, something deep in Kurtis’ rage-choked mind had noticed his compliant, friendly nanny was behaving oddly.  The dragon was actually sort of standing up for himself.  That was out of character -- Nigel would step in to divert abuse from a thinner-skinned victim, yes, but he’d never actually talk back.

Confusion won the day.  The rage drained from Kurtis’ face, and the glamour faded.  These things almost always happened together, Nigel realized.  Odd.  Why had Kurtis had glamour on today in the first place?  He usually only used it for showing off to the other nobles.

“Nigel?” Kurtis said.  “I’m sorry... are you ok?  I didn’t mean to... is something wrong?  Would you like the day off?  I could have Percival cover for you...”

Nigel stared in utter bafflement.  The one time in his entire life he had tried to make Kurtis angry and it had somehow calmed him down?  He tried pressing his luck.  “I’m fine, sir, except that I’ve been starting to wonder if you’re ever going to actually pay me...”

“I’m sorry!” Kurtis moaned.  “There’s just not enough gold left.  I thought we had enough to pay for the extra magic but I... everything’s been going wrong and I’m so sorry, I’m stupid and awful and I can’t even control myself and I’m sure my poor little cousin is scared stiff...”  Kurtis trailed off into violent sobbing.  Nigel just stood there, staring in awe as this man he was honestly terrified of went completely to pieces in front of him.

Then the bell rang.

“Sir, there’s someone at the gate,” came Percival’s voice.  “He says he’s some sort of illusionist.

Nigel tucked his head under one wing and moaned.

---

Marty was stone-faced under the mask, but that somehow didn’t matter.  Vaxis’ insane grin was affecting him anyway, making him feel aloof and slightly giddy.  He danced into the courtyard in the mask and a set of very magical-looking robes he had borrowed from Vincent.  Based in their condition they had been worn twice, thrice at most, probably for some sort of ceremony.

“Welcome, Lords and Ladies, gentlefolk of all ages, Wyrms and Wendigos, creatures of all size and description, to the greatest performance in the otherworld!” Vaxis crowed, producing a set of juggling sticks from seemingly nowhere and tossing them high in the air one after the other.

Lord Kurtis was sitting in one of the big chairs on the balcony, with his servant Percival standing stiffly by his side.  Nigel and Rose were, happily, nowhere to be seen.  He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the Lord.  Kurtis was all slouched over; honestly he looked more depressed than angry.  Vaxis would have his work cut out for him.  But Vaxis was good at his job.

“Pray, m’lord, a token of your favour for a poor traveling illusionist?  A single gold coin, mayhap?  Surely such a thing is a small matter to one of such rich blood!”  Kurtis sunk further into his chair.  “Very, my heart is warmed to see the pride of the noble race kept strong where so many have dropped into corruption and poverty.  Woe, to such a fallen noble, surely it would be better were he never sired than to live to bring disgrace to his father’s name.”

That did it.  Kurtis rose and explained, loudly and in unnecessary graphic detail, what Vaxis could do with ‘his father’s name.

“THAT BLOODY NAME NEVER BROUGHT ME ANYTHING BUT TROUBLE.  I HATE IT.  MY DAMNED FATHER CAN HAVE IT BACK IF HE WANTS, I’LL...” Kurtis elaborated.  Marty hoped the little Baroness was far out of earshot by now.

Pay attention you idiot.  Where’s the gold in this picture?

There wasn’t any gold; the mansion had been picked clean.  No, there was one piece left, hanging around  Kurtis’ neck.  It spun and glinted with malice as the nobleman raged.  Glamour, Marty noted, was radiating out from the man.  It hadn’t been there a minute ago, and he couldn’t have cast a spell.  Something was wrong here.  The gold had a glamour all its own?

Nigel was watching the same scene from the sky, and making the same connections, except Nigel had a few more facts to draw on.  For example, he knew that His Lordship never let anyone else touch that medallion.  Except, obviously, for Percival, who laid  it out with the rest of his clothes every morning, but that didn’t really count if you were a noble.  Marty had mentioned magicked gold earlier.  Could there be a spell on the pendant, designed to activate when Kurtis was angry?  Why would Percival do something like that?  The man seemed to have no ambitions but to serve in noble house.

 Ah, but this was hardly a proper noble house, was it?  Much better to serve in a house that real money, real power, and preferably other servants to do the jobs he hated.  Percival could have done an awful lot to make Kurtis’ life a mess, Nigel realized, and Kurtis would take no notice because he had been brought up to believe that servants were essentially furniture (and Percival had certainly done nothing to combat this notion.)

Nigel felt an unaccustomed spark of anger, tempered by uncertainty.  Was the gold really spelled?  If it was, Percival was the only conceivable perpetrator.  He wasn’t sure, though, so what could he do.  Plus, he had a three year old strapped to his back and squealing in delight -- he had to get her away from the mansion before he could do anything else.  He started to fly toward Vincent’s shack.

Then, abruptly, like someone had flicked a switch inside his head, he changed his mind.  He had to be close enough to make a difference, if something went wrong.  He turned around and came in for a landing near the edge of the courtyard.

Down on the ground, Vaxis was pushing Kurtis further into madness.  “Pray, Lord, what manner of son should dare so defile his father’s good name?  Surely you owe your noble sire better than this slandering?”  The words tasted horrible in his mouth, made him want to vomit.  What was he trying to accomplish here?

Saving someone.  It isn’t easy, is it?

Kurtis was a wreck; half laughing, half crying; voice hoarse from screaming.  He wasn’t screaming any more, though -- he was talking in a voice so chilling Marty expected frost to form on his chin.  “My father was a drunk and a fool.  He drove his land -- my land -- into the ground with his sheer, stupid arrogance.  He left us destitute, worse trash than the subjects whose he ruined.  At least they knew how to do a decent day’s work.  I despise the man.”

“But m’lord, take heart!  Surely you can redeem your own noble name!  You stand to gain so much, you can start anew with prosperous lands, take beautiful wife, sire your own line...”  he trailed off.  I cannot do this any more, Marty thought.  I am trying to goad an unstable man into killing what he thinks is his own little cousin.  I am the scum of the earth, maybe, but I cannot do this.

How can you be so STUPID.  The plan has changed.  Look at this man, he’s so close.  Give him one tiny little push.  Make him see.

I won’t!

I WILL.

Marty’s whole body shook and he nearly fell over.  He tried to reach for the mask, tear it off, smash it to bits, but his hands wouldn’t obey.

“Pray, M’lord!” Vaxis called in a voice that rang with mocking laughter.  “Who is this child I see?  Some peasant who dares to  intrude on m’lord’s entertainment?  What shall we do with her?”

Vaxis drew a scroll from the robe and read it.  It was a device of Vincent’s, although Vincent had said it wasn’t his work, mostly.  It was a way to store a spell by putting a special pattern on paper.  You didn’t have to read anything aloud; just observing the pattern triggered the spell.  It took some glamour, but Vaxis was radiating the stuff.

The spell caught.  A perfect copy of the Duchess rounded the corner behind Kurtis.  Marty felt the mask’s grip on him fail and sunk to his knees, gasping.

“Kut-is, youw mean!  I hate you, you meanie!” said the illusion in a nasty, spiteful tone the real Duchess was probably incapable of.

Kurtis rose from his chair like an angered god.  The air around him shimmered, reminding Marty horribly of Vincent’s shack just before it had gone nova.  He raised a hand palm-forward at the illusion -- considering the amount of loose magic floating around him, he might has well have pointed a gun.

There was no flash, no explosion.  Kurtis sank back into his chair and started crying.

“I’m just like him,” he sobbed.  “Just like him.  Angry, stupid, proud, mean.  I hate me too.”

A loud, infantile squeal pierced the air, and with a near-superhuman effort Roselynda managed to break away from a stunned Nigel to run as fast as her little legs could manage toward her heartbroken cousin.  About three quarters of the way, she fell over and scraped her knee and starting crying.  Kurtis was at her side in an instant.

“There there, sweet little one.  Kurtis is here.  Kurtis would never really hurt you, I promise,” he whispered.  Roselyn, her fledgling sense of empathy overwhelmed by discomfort, kept crying.  Kurtis didn’t care; he just wanted to hold her close.

See!  See!  I TOLD you.

I thought you wanted, Marty started to think, but was quickly drowned out.

If he’d hurt the dummy he wouldn’t have deserved her.  But he didn’t, so he gets a chance?  See how it works?

I still hate you, Marty thought.

Couldn’t care less.

If it had been a movie, the world would have stopped then.  Time would have slowed down to make sure everyone involved got the full impact of what happened.  Maybe there would have been a drawn out ‘no’.  As it was, Marty was too distracted by his inner dialogue to notice, Her Grace didn’t see it at all, and Kurtis barely got off a scream.

Nigel saw it, though, because he was watching.  He heard a faint thump and a muffled curse from an upper story window, as if someone had kicked something in frustration.  He saw the very first glint of light, reflecting off a blade from the same window, and he flung himself into the air.  He saw, as he approached, the cruel, blunted edge of a decorative battleaxe as it spiraled through the air, arcing toward the man and child.

Kurtis saw it, screamed, and turned so his body was between the child and the approaching blade.  Dragons, as flying creatures, can instinctively calculate flight paths and trajectories and make split-second judgments; Nigel calculated that the blade would hit Kurtis on the left side of his back, just below his neck.  At that speed even the blunted edge might kill him.

There was no time to try to catch the blade.  There was no time for anything; barely time to even reach the two huddled humans.  Nigel gritted his teeth and, in direct violation of all his instincts, banked so his right wing came directly between the weapon and its intended victims.  Then the world shattered into white-hot shards of pain.

“NIGEL!”  Marty ran after his fallen friend.  The dragon had plowed right through the hedge wall after blacking out, but that was nothing for a tough-skinned dragon.  It was his wing, bent at a nauseating angle and with an awful rent in the leathery skin, that made Marty want to scream.

WHAT are you doing?  Forget him!  Use your damn head for one second, would you?

W-what?  But Nigel is --

You can do NOTHING to help Nigel now.  STOP KURTIS.

Stop Kurtis from WHAT?  Marty turned.  The noble had set the child aside and was standing in full glamour-rage, much worse than before.  He was actually floating an inch or so off the ground, and his usual mask of rage had been replaced by a cold, murderous glare.

Marty forced himself to think.  Who had thrown the axe?  There was only one possible suspect, only one person left in the mansion -- Percival.  Why?  Not important.  What was important was that Kurtis was following this same line of thought and --

“DAMMIT he’s going to kill him!”

The voice of Vaxis gloated or taunted or something but Marty barely heard over the blood pounding in his ears.  He was NOT going to let Kurtis become a murderer anyway after putting him through... that.  He had no idea how he was going to actually stop the glamour-fueled madman, but this was no time for hesitation.

Marty was already climbing the stairs to the second floor when, to his dismay, Kurtis started floating toward the upper story window.  He redoubled his pace, praying his legs wouldn’t give out or trip up before he got there.

He was almost too late.  When he burst into the upper story room, Kurtis was standing over his cowering servant with both hands raised.  Percival was frozen like a statue, a spell-scroll dangling uselessly from one petrified hand.  Marty took one step into the room and learned why.  Kurtis’ sheer presence physically pushed him down toward the ground.  He tried to take a second step and found his feet were rooted.  There was nothing he could do.

Do I have to do EVERYTHING around here?

Kurtis lowered his arms and uttered an incoherent howl of rage.  Marty felt Vaxis take hold of him for the second time -- this time he let it happen.  He felt waves of his own glamour rise around him, forcing back Kurtis’.  A bolt of ugly red-gold force formed in Kurtis’ hand and leapt toward Percival’s  frozen form.  Marty tore the mask off his face and hurled it.  It flew as if steered, directly into the path of the murderous spell.  They collided.  The mask shattered, the energy faded.  Kurtis sunk to his knees, having spent all his pent up magic in one blast.  Percival unfroze, read the scroll and vanished in a pop and rush of air.  Marty felt a sudden rush of exhaustion, as if all the sleep he’d missed in the past couple of days had suddenly snapped back on him.

There was a long silence, except for the sound of ragged breathing.

“...you let him escape.  He... he... how could you?”

“I,” gasp, “I couldn’t let you,” gasp, “kill him.  That would have been,” gasp, “murder.”

“He tried to kill Roselynda,” Kurtis said.  A dangerous glow was beginning to reform around him.  Marty’s eyes fixed on the golden medallion around the noble’s neck.  Watch the gold, the rabbit had said.  “He tried to KILL Roselynda.  I’m going to --”

Kurtis fell over sideways in mid-sentence, nearly banging his head on the hardwood floor.  Marty, who had just torn the medallion away from the man’s neck, winced in sympathy.  He checked the noble’s pulse and breath.  Kurtis was sleeping.  Marty pocketed the medallion and forced his legs, which felt like they were made of jello, to carry him back down the stairs.  Nigel is still hurt, he reminded himself over and over.  You absolutely cannot rest yet.  Absolutely not. 

This mantra carried him all the way down the stairs and across the courtyard to where Nigel had crashed.  He pulled the little slate from the dragon’s sack, then, praying it had survived the crash, managed to write one word,

HELP

before he blacked out.

---

Vincent turned the medallion over in his hand.  “Well, this is a nasty piece of work.”

Two days had passed since the incident.  Kurtis had only just woken up, and Nigel was still confined to bed (or floor, rather) and doped up on enough morphine to drop two or three horses.  Which wasn’t actually that high a dose for a dragon, but still.  The hospital people said he would fly again, but it would take just a bit more magic than before and he might not be able to maneuver so well.

“What kind of spell is it, exactly?” Marty asked, fingering a little fragment of mask he’d pocketed.  Vaxis, or whatever it had been, was gone.  Either the magic or the shattering had destroyed it.  He wasn’t sure if he’d make another mask.

“Its kinda the opposite of an invisibility spell, designed to amplify the user’s natural glamour depending on emotional state.  It sort of exaggerates the user.  Actors and performers use them sometimes to really get into character.  Not ones like this though; this is set to draw energy from the user’s emotions.  Which is a stupid mechanism in the first place, causes all kinds of mental problems, but this is even worse because the effect amplifies emotion.  Creates a positive feedback-loop.  You should never use positive feedback loops with magic.  I suspect that servant of yours didn’t really understand what he was doing when he set up this thing up.  I hope he didn’t; if he did he’s even nastier than you think.”

“I don’t know about that,” Kurtis said.  “I think he’s pretty nasty.”

“Yes, you gave us quite a lecture on the topic when you first woke.  It’s just as well the Duchess wasn’t nearby.”

A few days ago Kurtis might have snapped back at this.  Now he just blushed.  The anger problem was still there, but the medallion had badly exaggerated it.  With some effort, Marty thought, he could learn to control himself.

“Where is Her Grace anyway?”

“The hospital has a day-care, she’s playing with the other kids.  You know that she was the only one conscious when I came looking for you?  She could have gotten hurt.  You’re lucky that servant didn’t hang around, he could have picked her off.”

“Believe me, if he had stuck around, we wouldn’t have been sleeping,” Marty said.

Nigel moaned and twitched his tail.  Marty rubbed him around where ‘behind the ears’ would have been if dragons had ears.  “Take it easy, buddy.”

“I still can’t believe he just got away,” Kurtis grumbled.

“He hasn’t gotten away yet,” Vincent retorted.  “The detective they’ve got on the case came to question me, and believe me when I say the man is unreasonably thorough.  If anyone’s gonna catch this guy, he will.”

“He’d better...”

“Calm thoughts, sir,” Marty reminded.

Kurtis rounded on him.  “And who in hell’s name are you anyway?  I swear I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“I’m --”

“ee’s a good friend of mine,” Nigel muttered weakly from behind them.  “Came when he heard I was hurt.  Good of him, don’t you think.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Marty said.

“What about that crazy jester fella?”

Marty ran a finger along the mask shard again.  “He just up and vanished,” he said.  That was true, in a sense.

“Figures.  Seemed like one of those weird masked types you can never find the next morning.”

There was a silence, then, but it was a good one.  The kind where everyone has already said everything they feel like they really need to say.

The next few days flew by with little trouble.  Nigel was up and moving around with the hugest cast Marty had ever seen covering most of his wing.  Marty signed it really big.  An investigation into Kurtis’ finances (which Percival had, of course, been in charge of) showed an enormous drain on the account to pay for exorbitant use of magical energy.  Kurtis had been paying dearly for his temper tantrums.

The medallion was sold off to a collector of magical curiosities.  Apparently heavy use in a polluted magical environment had twisted the original spell into something rare and worth studying; it sold for enough to pay off almost all of Kurtis’ significant debts (including the wages he owed Nigel.)  Marty dimly wondered how much that mask might have gone for.

They all speculated on Percival’s motives.  Kurtis was firm in his belief that the servant was merely an evil-minded child-hater.  Nigel, who had probably known him best, thought it was a matter of misplaced pride.  Marty had no idea, but wondered aloud whether the axe had been meant for Kurtis or Roselyn.  Nigel figured it could have been either, or both.  If Rose had died, Kurtis could have become a proper noble, if Kurtis had died Rose would have come under the guardianship of a noble who had valuable lands of his own.  Either way, Percival would have ended up working for someone who could afford to live like a proper noble.

After four days, Marty started to feel like he was taking advantage of Vincent’s generosity.  Also, he was getting sick of instant noodles.  He bid Nigel farewell and they promised to keep in touch (Kurtis had agreed to lay off monitoring the houses’ various connections.)

Vincent took Marty back by a different route than he had come; the highway gate was, after all, unreliable.  The alternate path was a complicated series of twists and turns and going over branches not under them and walking around things three times widdershins -- the sort of gate that can be found everywhere but only the witches and wizards use them because you need to follow ten pages of directions precisely.

They emerged in a patch of bush half a block from Marty’s house.

“Well that’s a time-saver.  Thanks, Vince.”

The warlock grinned and bowed, flourishing his pointy hat.  “My pleasure.  Be sure to come by and visit sometime.  Tell Nigel you’re coming and I’ll find you a gate that doesn’t open to the middle of nowhere.”

Marty bowed in return.  “I will.  See ya.”

The warlock spun on his heels, muttered something mystical under his breath, and vanished into the tiny patch of bush.  Marty walked slowly down the street to his apartment.  After so much weirdness, the sheer mundanity of his city block was off-putting.

He opened the door, climbed the stairs to his room, settled into his computer chair, and flicked the thing on.

<Kilter:>  Heya Vaxis!  Been a few days, what’s been up?

<Vaxis:>  Oh, I went to visit some dragon ^.~

<Kilter:>  Who?  Oh, you mean Skyleth o.o  What’s he really look like?

<Vaxis:>  Well he’s about eight feet tall with his neck extended, sort of a greenish-gold colour, with these markings on his wings.  Only one wing is in a big cast at the moment.  Oh, and his nose is a little bit knobbly.

<Kilter:>  Oh come on man, I mean in real life.

<Vaxis:>  What, you mean you don’t believe me?  You should come visit some time, see for yourself. ^.^