Lincoln and the Dragon

By Scott William Carter

When a dimension-hopping descendant of a Confederate general attempts to assassinate Abraham Lincoln, the plan goes awry and Lincoln is stranded in a world of brave knights, drafty castles, and a princess scarred by a one-eyed dragon. As he falls for the princess, Lincoln must make a choice: fight the dragon, or return to his native country – which may need a hero even more than this one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flying Raven Press
• Release date: Nov 18, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452385877

Scott William Carter

Scott William Carter is the author of Wooden Bones and The Last Great Getaway of the Water Balloon Boys, which was hailed by Publishers Weekly as a “touching and impressive debut.” His short stories have appeared in dozens of popular magazines and anthologies, including Analog, Ellery Queen, Realms of Fantasy, and Weird Tales. He lives in Oregon with his wife and two children. Visit him at ScottWilliamCarter.com.

Book preview

Lincoln and the Dragon

A Short Novel

Scott William Carter

Contents

Start Reading

About the Author

Preview of Ghost Detective

Smashwords Edition. Electronic edition published by Flying Raven Press, November 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Scott William Carter.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form. This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For more about Flying Raven Press, please visit our web site at http://www.flyingravenpress.com.

Lincoln and the Dragon

HE WALKED ALONE on a country road two miles from Springfield, only his labored breathing and the crunch of his boots in the snow breaking the stillness. The bright cloak of stars ordinarily would have given him some solace, but he could find no comfort in them this night.

Abe! Abe, for God's sake, man, slow down!

The voice came from far behind him, and he recognized it immediately — Joshua Speed. It was too late to duck into the woods encroaching the road to his right, his first instinct, so he turned and waited, breath fogging in the starlight, hands clasped behind him as if he was arguing a case in the courtroom. He only wished that were true; when he was in the courtroom, there was no problem that seemed insurmountable.

It took a full minute for Joshua to emerge from the darkness with lantern in hand. His flush face was the only visible skin; the rest of him was bundled in overcoat, scarf, wool gloves and hat. He was a short man, but not slight, his arms and shoulders broad from years of working in his store. When he held up the lantern, his breath formed white clouds in the sphere of yellow light.

Dear God, man, you going to walk all the way to Chicago? Joshua said.

You should go home, my friend, Abe said.

Not without you. This is hardly the way to celebrate the new year. You might catch your death out here. Then he paused, reading his friend's face. When he spoke again, it was with less levity. What is it? What's happened?

There was no on else in the world Abe trusted more than Joshua. When Abe first came to Springfield, practically penniless, the man had been kind enough to offer him free room and board. For the past five years, there had been little about their most intimate feelings they had not discussed. But he found it difficult to summon the words.

I broke off the engagement, he said, and it was all he could manage before something dark and fierce got a choke hold on him.

Why? Joshua said.

Abe, feeling the muscles in his face tighten, could only shake his head.

It's not because of me, is it?

No, no, Abe said. Although Joshua's decision to return to Kentucky, to manage the plantation of his recently deceased father, had rocked Abe more than he would care to admit. Mary Todd—she's a fine woman. It's just . . . not to be.

But I thought you loved her?

Before Abe could answer this question, they heard something crashing through the woods—the breaking of branches, the crunch of snow. Abe expected a spooked deer, but he watched as the shape of a man materialized from the darkness. He was lean and wiry, and as he drew nearer the lamp, Abe saw carrot-colored hair. The man's clothes were certainly odd: blue pants, a brightly colored shirt patterned with flowers that left his arms bare, and white shoes.

The last thing Abe saw was the Colt pistol clasped in the man's right hand, dangling from his side like an afterthought.

Abe felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Hold there, sir, he said. What's your business?

The man took a few more unsteady steps, then drew to an abrupt halt. He had a pale face and long sideburns, and his forehead and cheeks were spotted with sweat.

So here we are, the man said, his accent so thick Abe could barely understand him. It was vaguely southern.

Do we know you? Joshua said.

The man rocked a little on his feet. I thought he'd be alone, he mumbled.

Who? Joshua said.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Abe cleared his throat. We'd all feel a might bit more comfortable, traveler, if you'd give up your pistol.

The man looked at his gun as if he had just realized it was there. I'm not a killer, he said. I'll have you know that.

That's a fine thing, Abe said, advancing a step. Why don't you—

He stopped short when the man raised his weapon.

I'm sorry, the man said. The pistol trembled at the end of his outstretched arm.

Lincoln swallowed. I don't have but a few small coins—

No, no, no. I want you to come with me. There. He tipped his head toward the forest.

Why?

No more questions!

The man cocked the Colt and pointed it at Abe's face. Despite the poor light, Abe could clearly see the end of the barrel, and it seemed enormous. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Of course, friend. Just don't shoot.

Now wait, Joshua said quickly, perhaps we can discuss this like civilized—

The man swung his gun toward Joshua. It was in that moment that Abe acted. Because he tended to lope from place to place, people usually underestimated his speed, but he knew himself well: he grabbed the man's arm and pointed it skyward just before his startled adversary managed to squeeze off a shot. The blast echoed off the trees, reverberating in the stillness, but Abe did not relinquish his grip.

The small man was surprisingly strong and the two of them grappled with each other, the smaller man cursing, spittle flying from his mouth.

Then Abe tore the Colt free, the stranger tumbling to the ground. He was back up in a hurry, but the fight had gone out of his eyes. He looked at Abe, at the gun, and then he sprinted back toward the forest, kicking up snow behind him.

Abe hesitated for only a second, then pursued.

Abe, no! Joshua called after him.

The small man was fast, and he stretched out an early lead, but Abe's long legs allowed him to close