Light My Fire
Page 43
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“In the absence of information. This guy is a mage, right? Assumedly a big, powerful mage if he’s shooting for Venediger. And you don’t get to be big and powerful without someone taking notice of you. So if he’s been around the block a few times—dammit, that cab should have been ours! Damned pushy tourists. If he’s been around for a while, why hasn’t he made it into any of the books or magazines that detail Otherworld history and society?”
“Maybe because he’s not as big and powerful as he says he is?”
I joined the queue at a taxi stand and thought about that. “Doubtful. Amelie said the other contenders to Venediger weren’t as powerful as him, and they ended up killing each other. So it’s pretty much a granted that this guy is all that.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just been in the Far East like he said he was.”
“Even so—” An awareness of someone behind me caused me to turn as I was speaking. My body changed position just far enough so that the dart that was intended to pierce my neck zipped past me and embedded itself in the taxi sign.
“Whoa,” Jim said, its eyes big as it looked at the two-inch thin metal dart tipped with a plastic cone. “You don’t see one of those every day.”
I didn’t waste time examining the dart. I spun ninety degrees, caught sight of an Asian man turning away as he tucked a long, thin metal pipe into his jacket, and flung myself forward in a leap that would do a long jumper proud. “Jim, attack the dragon,” I yelled as the man sprinted away. He crashed into two elderly ladies emerging from a shop. Jim’s dark form raced past me as I paused to help the ladies up and make sure they weren’t hurt.
Jim’s muffled woofs clued me in to its location, a fact I was grateful for, because the red dragon had managed to find a way behind the row of shops, into a narrow access alley devoid of anything but crates, garbage cans, and the usual detritus of city life. I caught sight of them next to a large square metal garbage can, the red dragon trying to climb a fire escape, but Jim, bless its demon heart, threw itself at the dragon. The two of them went down with a loud crash. I snatched up a half-empty can of paint and ran over to where the dragon was bashing Jim’s head into the wall.
“You son of a bitch,” I snarled, swinging the paint can at his head. Words from my self-defense instructor regarding the best way to disable someone echoed in my memory, causing me to switch targets. The can slammed into the dragon’s left knee, connecting with a sickening crunching noise. The dragon screamed and went down again, both hands on his leg. Jim shook its head, a long line of bloody slobber flying from its mouth.
“Stay back,” I warned Jim, in case it had thoughts of attacking.
“No problemo,” it croaked, making an odd face as it ran its tongue over its teeth.
“All right, you bastard,” I said, raising the paint can (which now had a big dent in the side). “If you don’t want your other kneecap smashed to hell and back again, you’ll hand over that blowgun and any other weapons you have stashed on you.”
The dragon said something in Chinese. Judging by the face he made as he did so, I assumed it wasn’t “I surrender.”
“Have it your way,” I said, swinging the can again, praying the threat would be enough to make the dragon talk. I have no issues with defending myself and those I love, but I was not really a fighter. The fact that I’d already disabled his knee was enough to live with—I didn’t want to be responsible for crippling him.
“No!” he shouted, pulling his body into a fetal shape as he rocked back and forth with pain. “I give you gun.”
“Jim, how’s your head?”
“It hurths. I think he knocketh a tooth looth. I thay we kill him.”
“It’s a thought,” I answered, hoping to scare the dragon into believing I was callous and cold. “You’re Shing, aren’t you? One of Chuan Ren’s bodyguards?”
The dragon refused to answer me. It didn’t matter—I remembered him. “Look, it’s not going to do you any good to cop an attitude. You’re at our mercy here, so if you don’t want to die, you’d better start telling me what I want to know.”
“Kill me,” Shing said, his face grim. “There is only honor in death at the hands of an enemy.”
I thought for three seconds before snatching the two-foot-long plastic blowgun that peeked out of his jacket. “I’ve got a better idea.” He glared at me. I smiled. “One that just reeks of dishonor.”
Fifteen minutes later Jim (drooling excessively) and I grimly marched up the stairs to a nondescript hotel while I maintained a firm grip on the collar of the dragon. Shing had adopted a hunched over, half-shuffle, half-limp, shooting me periodie glares of outright loathing, but most of the fight had gone out of him once he realized that he was in a vulnerable position. “Chuan Ren will repay you for shaming me!” he managed to snarl as I dragged him into the hotel.
“Uh-huh.”
“You will die the Death of Ten Thousand Screams!”
“Only ten thousand? I thought she was good for at least eleven.”
Shing tried to straighten up, but the pain of his dislocated kneecap was too much even for his stoic self. “Followed by the Dismemberment of a Thousand Slashes.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that one in the cab. Jim?”
“Right behind you.”
“I myself will participate in the Ceremonial Rending of the Flesh!”
“Good for you. Hi. I’d like the room number for Lung Tik Chuan Ren,” I told the reception clerk, who was looking somewhat flustered at our sudden, unkempt appearance into polite company. “I have something of hers I think she’d like returned, but he doesn’t seem to be inclined to tell me what room she’s in.”
“Never will I talk! I will die before I reveal anything to you!”
“For thomeone whothe not talking, you thure are blabbing a lot,” Jim said in a low voice.
Shing’s face went red.
“I will ring the room and announce you,” the woman said, glancing at the dragon nervously.
I leaned across the reception desk and put my free hand on the phone, my eyes on hers as I opened the door in my mind and focused my attention. “You just need to tell me the room number. I’ll find her on my own.” I gave a little push as I spoke. Her eyes went blank as her hand fell limply to her side.
“Maybe because he’s not as big and powerful as he says he is?”
I joined the queue at a taxi stand and thought about that. “Doubtful. Amelie said the other contenders to Venediger weren’t as powerful as him, and they ended up killing each other. So it’s pretty much a granted that this guy is all that.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just been in the Far East like he said he was.”
“Even so—” An awareness of someone behind me caused me to turn as I was speaking. My body changed position just far enough so that the dart that was intended to pierce my neck zipped past me and embedded itself in the taxi sign.
“Whoa,” Jim said, its eyes big as it looked at the two-inch thin metal dart tipped with a plastic cone. “You don’t see one of those every day.”
I didn’t waste time examining the dart. I spun ninety degrees, caught sight of an Asian man turning away as he tucked a long, thin metal pipe into his jacket, and flung myself forward in a leap that would do a long jumper proud. “Jim, attack the dragon,” I yelled as the man sprinted away. He crashed into two elderly ladies emerging from a shop. Jim’s dark form raced past me as I paused to help the ladies up and make sure they weren’t hurt.
Jim’s muffled woofs clued me in to its location, a fact I was grateful for, because the red dragon had managed to find a way behind the row of shops, into a narrow access alley devoid of anything but crates, garbage cans, and the usual detritus of city life. I caught sight of them next to a large square metal garbage can, the red dragon trying to climb a fire escape, but Jim, bless its demon heart, threw itself at the dragon. The two of them went down with a loud crash. I snatched up a half-empty can of paint and ran over to where the dragon was bashing Jim’s head into the wall.
“You son of a bitch,” I snarled, swinging the paint can at his head. Words from my self-defense instructor regarding the best way to disable someone echoed in my memory, causing me to switch targets. The can slammed into the dragon’s left knee, connecting with a sickening crunching noise. The dragon screamed and went down again, both hands on his leg. Jim shook its head, a long line of bloody slobber flying from its mouth.
“Stay back,” I warned Jim, in case it had thoughts of attacking.
“No problemo,” it croaked, making an odd face as it ran its tongue over its teeth.
“All right, you bastard,” I said, raising the paint can (which now had a big dent in the side). “If you don’t want your other kneecap smashed to hell and back again, you’ll hand over that blowgun and any other weapons you have stashed on you.”
The dragon said something in Chinese. Judging by the face he made as he did so, I assumed it wasn’t “I surrender.”
“Have it your way,” I said, swinging the can again, praying the threat would be enough to make the dragon talk. I have no issues with defending myself and those I love, but I was not really a fighter. The fact that I’d already disabled his knee was enough to live with—I didn’t want to be responsible for crippling him.
“No!” he shouted, pulling his body into a fetal shape as he rocked back and forth with pain. “I give you gun.”
“Jim, how’s your head?”
“It hurths. I think he knocketh a tooth looth. I thay we kill him.”
“It’s a thought,” I answered, hoping to scare the dragon into believing I was callous and cold. “You’re Shing, aren’t you? One of Chuan Ren’s bodyguards?”
The dragon refused to answer me. It didn’t matter—I remembered him. “Look, it’s not going to do you any good to cop an attitude. You’re at our mercy here, so if you don’t want to die, you’d better start telling me what I want to know.”
“Kill me,” Shing said, his face grim. “There is only honor in death at the hands of an enemy.”
I thought for three seconds before snatching the two-foot-long plastic blowgun that peeked out of his jacket. “I’ve got a better idea.” He glared at me. I smiled. “One that just reeks of dishonor.”
Fifteen minutes later Jim (drooling excessively) and I grimly marched up the stairs to a nondescript hotel while I maintained a firm grip on the collar of the dragon. Shing had adopted a hunched over, half-shuffle, half-limp, shooting me periodie glares of outright loathing, but most of the fight had gone out of him once he realized that he was in a vulnerable position. “Chuan Ren will repay you for shaming me!” he managed to snarl as I dragged him into the hotel.
“Uh-huh.”
“You will die the Death of Ten Thousand Screams!”
“Only ten thousand? I thought she was good for at least eleven.”
Shing tried to straighten up, but the pain of his dislocated kneecap was too much even for his stoic self. “Followed by the Dismemberment of a Thousand Slashes.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that one in the cab. Jim?”
“Right behind you.”
“I myself will participate in the Ceremonial Rending of the Flesh!”
“Good for you. Hi. I’d like the room number for Lung Tik Chuan Ren,” I told the reception clerk, who was looking somewhat flustered at our sudden, unkempt appearance into polite company. “I have something of hers I think she’d like returned, but he doesn’t seem to be inclined to tell me what room she’s in.”
“Never will I talk! I will die before I reveal anything to you!”
“For thomeone whothe not talking, you thure are blabbing a lot,” Jim said in a low voice.
Shing’s face went red.
“I will ring the room and announce you,” the woman said, glancing at the dragon nervously.
I leaned across the reception desk and put my free hand on the phone, my eyes on hers as I opened the door in my mind and focused my attention. “You just need to tell me the room number. I’ll find her on my own.” I gave a little push as I spoke. Her eyes went blank as her hand fell limply to her side.
