Copper's Choice (Companion Dragons Tales Book 3)

By Nancy A. Hansen

When Nigel Gillette, renowned action/adventure author and wizard-at-large, wins a small dragon familiar in a magical game of chance, he is initially excited. Copper Dragon however, is not so thrilled. She has a shameful and abusive past, where she was trained harshly and used for illegal activities. Copper has serious trust issues, and so she refuses to believe that any human can be as friendly and generous as Nigel seems. She decides to strike out on her own, but quickly finds that the world is a cold and cruel place when you are only a small dragon who has always lived as a tame creature.

So Copper has to make a choice. Should she return to the life of crime that she knows so well, or can she learn to trust this new human companion, who seems to have her best interests at heart? From the premiere chocolate producing world of Bulgosia to the famed magical resort island of Atlantis, Copper Dragon goes on a journey of self-discovery, meeting other fantastic creatures and getting into all sorts of difficult and sometimes dangerous situations. Along the way, she will learn not only to trust her own instincts, but to use those skills she has honed to her best advantage, in hopes of earning the life she deserves.

Fly along with Copper in Nancy A. Hansen’s Companion Dragons Tales Volume 3: Copper’s Choice! From Pro Se Productions and YoungPulp!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Jul 1, 2016

Book preview

COMPANION DRAGONS TALES

VOLUME 3

COPPER'S CHOICE

By

Nancy Hansen

Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

COMPANION DRAGONS TALES VOLUME 3: COPPER'S CHOICE

A YoungPulp Book

Published by Pro Se Publications

All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This book is licensed only for the private use of the purchaser. May not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Written by Nancy Hansen

Editing by Lee Houston, Jr., Derek Guenther, and Kristi King-Morgan

Cover Art by Michael Hegedus

Book Design by Antonino Lo Iacono

www.prose-press.com

COMPANION DRAGONS TALES VOLUME 3: COPPER'S CHOICE

Copyright © 2016 Nancy Hansen

Rudy Samuels had been cheating. Nigel Gillette was sure of that. He didn’t know exactly how yet. The chubby little man sitting across the table from him with the loud voice and even louder suit must have been reading the mice or might have used some weighted radishes, because something dishonest was going on.

They were playing the popular magical game of skill called Whush! The gameplay involved betting with produce, cheerleader rodents, and moving various boats through talisman symbols of fortune and doom that randomly appeared on a three dimensional holographic map of the ocean surrounding the legendary island of Atlantis. The idea was to get your boat to Atlantis’ coastline before it sank beneath the waves, so that your cheerleaders could run up the mountain road and be the first to punt the miniature bagpipes each vessel carried through the goalposts and into the volcano in the center of the island. They no longer punted holographic octopuses because the holographic animal rights people protested that was cruel. Nigel surmised that the miniature bagpipe rights people probably didn’t have as many vegetarian celebrities on billboard ads to get their message out. He was actually glad that the vegetable rights groups were not all that organized or the game would have been over before it started and everyone would have been stuck eating dirt to protect the rights of innocent plants.

It was getting close to the end of the game and Nigel had his miniature bagpipes tuned and ready. His white mice, who would have to run the bagpipes up through the central mountain range in sort of an Olympic-style relay race, were very good sprinters. Gambling on Whush! was very popular in the private backroom areas of chocolate bars, which are roadside diners and pubs that dot all the tourist areas of the otherworlds. The backroom was where high roller gamblers and gamers often went to relax and unwind after eating huge all chocolate meals washed down with chocolate or coffee based drinks. In the gaming rooms these patrons would spend countless hours with triple shot mocha espressos and winner-takes-all gambling tournaments. It was a very competitive atmosphere that could get ugly because the wagers were often the sort of high stakes betting that would blanch the faces of most casino regulars. Nigel was working on a new book about riverboat gamblers, and this was as close as he could get to doing field research on those long gone dangerous days of yore.

Nigel flipped out a few fresh peas and rolled a head of pungent garlic onto the game map. His Viking longboat with the bagpipe safely stowed within rowed itself closer to the rocky shoreline before turning broadside for a landing. On the shore, his mice cheered.

Samuels countered with two more radishes and a fat, lumpy tomato. His hamsters did cartwheels as that started the outboard motor on his dinghy, which puttered within an inch of the fog-shrouded beach. Nigel had prepared for that and raised Samuels another white mouse before spinning out a water chestnut and two fava beans, which were hard to come by in the magical otherworlds.

The jackal-faced Anubian to Nigel’s left threw up his hands in despair when his turn came and his hastily tossed cucumber touched a doom symbol. His miniature Cleopatra’s Barge sank, taking his cheerlessly droning bagpipe down to the depths with it. He unwillingly surrendered his last river rat and what was left in his market basket of vegetables to the house tithing box, and then slid several silver coins and one dog-eared platinum mummification certificate to Nigel. The normally silent Anubian was snarling hieroglyphics to himself as he stalked away from the table with his arms akimbo and his linen skirt swaying. The gray haired man across the table kept his weathered face impassive as he gathered in his former opponent’s bounty and prepared to rack up his produce and play another round.

Between Samuels and Nigel, both of the cherub faced, blue-haired bingo grannies that had been playing also cashed out and left, their shared inflatable rubber life raft having finally sprung a leak and bubbled under, taking their off-key tartan screamer with it. Nigel hated to see them go. They had been tough competitors, coming in with no more than a couple of poker chips, some fruit, and the five dollar winning lottery ticket that bought them a place at the table. Their berries and cherries had gone soft and were staining the waves crimson where they lapped over a hidden reef. Their last ear of corn was somewhere under the table, where two gerbils were kickboxing each other over the rights to it. The taller granny handed over an eclectic collection of offworld coins and fuzzy cough drops to Samuels before she gave him a smeary red kiss on the cheek and sauntered away to the ladies powder room, where ladies go to stand in line and wait to do all sorts of things with and without powder. Their change sat in a pile in front of the grinning little weasel of a man on the far side of the board. They were the last two diehard amateur players.

Samuels eyed the man sitting across the table from him. This was going to be tough.

Nigel Gillette looked every bit the part of the riverboat gambler he was writing about. He sat dressed in a very stylishly cut, dark three piece suit with brass buttons. His vest was accented with a gold watch chain artfully draped from a pocket, a black string tie, and a wide brimmed, high crowned hat covering his thick, curly gray hair. He removed the toothpick he’d been chewing on, the big handlebar mustache leaving him almost expressionless as he gazed across the table at the smaller man.

Guess it’s just you and me, suh, Nigel said in his best imitation of a genteel voice, his rich baritone having the deep resonance to pull it off. He lifted a thick black eyebrow at the other man, but otherwise no emotion showed in warm brown eyes that appeared soft and gentle, yet were eagle sharp and missed very little. Only the barest trace of a smile showed beneath the bushy gray mustache that carpeted much of the lower half of his craggy face. You still in, or would you care to concede now? he asked, leaning forward to corral and stack his pot so that it looked much more impressive. Confidence was everything. Nigel was winning this round, and he knew Samuels was unhappy about that, so he played upon that emotion, hoping to rattle his opponent into tipping his hand.

The other man glanced at his wristwatch again, a big and flashy gold thing with a multiple faced dial set amongst bits of gemstones and attached to an ugly leopard-spotted leather band.

Yeah, yeah, sure Gillette; I’m still in. I got a reputation to maintain, ya know? Samuels said in an ultra-casual manner, but his piggy little eyes looked angry under a big dark purple hat with a wide brim and leopard print band with a huge fluffy red feather sticking up from it. Just to show he wasn’t kidding, Samuels tossed out a couple of string beans and some broccoli, and shoved half his pot forward. Care to make a gentleman’s wager about whose ship comes in foist—I mean first? he added, correcting his pronunciation quickly.

He didn’t fool Nigel one bit, for Rudy Samuels was no gentleman. He was a bit of a local celebrity for his seemingly incredible good fortune in gaming, but the taller man with the gray hair and a wizard’s raptor-keen senses knew Samuels was only a street tough elevated to his position by some very interested backers in dark pinstriped suits with red ties and special gold plated fountain pens in their breast pockets. Obviously Samuels either wanted to stand out in a crowd or his tailor was colorblind, because while everyone wore something unusual to play Whush!, the incredibly tacky raspberry red, electric purple, and black plaid suit jacket made the portly little man look as if he’d been playing lawn checkers when a truckload of overripe plums exploded on him. A lavender satin disco shirt with pointed lapels was left open to show off some expensive neck chains along with far too much blubbery chest. The violet imitation leather bell-bottoms were two generations out of date, and a size or three too small. It was almost painful to look at him.

But look Nigel did, because something about the wisecracking little man chomping on the big unlit cigar smelled fishy. Something besides his aftershave, anyway. He had not tampered with the game board at all, because the miniature mermaids still sat on the rocks, combing their long, long hair while admiring themselves in gilded mirrors, when not diving for pearls. They would be wailing like banshees and thrashing around if something had been altered.

Hey kiddo, light my stogie, and then go get daddy a latte, Samuels said to a diminutive dragon the size of a big kitten curled up on his right shoulder as he shrugged her off. The little scamp always appeared to be half asleep, but she had one eye open the entire time, watching the game with some interest. Now and then she seemed particularly fidgety, stretching and doing some sort of elaborate ritual dance step with just her forepaws.

Okay, boss, she said uncertainly with one more concerned glance at the game board before she bit off the tip of his chocolate flavored cigar