Dragoncrown

By Emery Garriott

A place of great beauty, Thuringland and its tributary states exist on the edge of perilous balance of power, resources, and control. Every aspect of life on Thuringland is connected, but there are those who will risk that precious equilibrium for their own needs. The Dragonlord Seldric, bearer of the all-powerful Dragoncrown, controls the dragons upon which so much of life depends. Their fiery breath produces magical coins, used for both commerce and energy. The dragons protect the realm and enforce control of the tributary lands; all are dependent on them. Life in Thuringland could not exist without the odious burden of slavery, and too many races are considered to be little more than commodities by those in power.

In the jungle of Sinjer, a race of proud warriors fights for survival, freedom, and dignity. The Sinjeryan all-female raceleft the world of men behind to free themselves from oppression, but Seldrics demands for tribute women as his protectors and concubines challenges that. As one of the proud Sinjery Dragonflyers, Seldrics present concubine Trallalair will do anything to end her races odious tribute.

At Hells Breach, an open portal to the underworld from which demons and zombies threaten all life, poets wielding magical words fight to save their world. When a seemingly unconnected string of events frees the dragons, no one is safe from their wrath.

Can brave champions of many races come together to restore the realms balance of power before it is too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491755426

Emery Garriott

As a child, Emery Garriott’s love of science, writing, and science fiction served him well. Inspired by the power of the mind to solve problems creatively, his ambitions took him through medical school. His career as an internal medical specialist spans three decades. Emery and his wife live in California.

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Copyright © 2015 Emery Garriott.

Cover Art by: Ben Witzke

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-5543-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5544-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5542-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922189

iUniverse rev. date: 05/19/2015

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Into the Dragon’s Mouth

Chapter 2 Hell’s Breach

Chapter 3 Trallalair

Chapter 4 Forty-One Commands

Chapter 5 Community

Chapter 6 The Wishing Drop

Chapter 7 Prisoners of the Drop

Chapter 8 Jiminic

Chapter 9 The Black Coach

Chapter 10 The Clan of the Laughing Skull

Chapter 11 The Unicorn Horn

Chapter 12 The Rod of Coercion

Chapter 13 The Dragonegg Festival

Chapter 14 The Strangling of the Community

Chapter 15 The Sundered Realm

Chapter 16 The Dragonlord

Chapter 17 Death Versus Life

Chapter 18 The Doom of Jonathon Forthright

Chapter 19 Rhazburn, Dungeon Master of Isseltrent

Chapter 20 A Slight Delay

Chapter 21 The Jungle

Chapter 22 Liquor of Sustenance

Chapter 23 The Lord of the Sea

Chapter 24 The Knife of Life

Chapter 25 The Garden of Stone Statues

Chapter 26 Repose

Chapter 27 Isseltrent’s Demise

Chapter 28 Hell

Chapter 29 The Demon Rhazburn

Chapter 30 The Hellpit

Chapter 31 The Unicorn

Chapter 32 Sverdphthik

Chapter 33 Tower of Bones

Chapter 34 The Final Confrontation

Chapter 35 999 Commands

Chapter 36 The Flight of the Dragons

Chapter 37 The Only Way to Go to Hell

Chapter 38 Seeds of Trust

Chapter 39 Jonathon Forthright, Bane of Demons, Friend of Dragons and Savior of Verdilon

Chapter 40 Sinjer

Chapter 41 Things Change

Chapter 42 The Wrath of Molgannard Fey

BOOK I

THE ROD OF COERCION

CHAPTER 1

INTO THE DRAGON’S MOUTH

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The highest Green Dragon in the sky that morning saw the sun first. She was the first to speak. From her throat poured a note so low as to be inaudible. It rose in pitch and volume slowly, mournfully, until the sound of it resonated out and down over the entire city.

The first to reply was another Green flying just west of the city over the ocean. The howl of that Dragon climbing its rueful scale added a shudder within the first as she felt the pain of her Sister Dragon’s cry. Down below at the docks, a Blue began its rumbling so sonorously and intensely that the water quivered far out into the harbor. Drops spattered the air, making a patrolling Merman instinctively dive for the depths. Beside that one Blue (bound by unbreakable cables to its Dragontailer ship), more Blue Dragons (equally bound) joined the chorus.

All the Dragons - the Greens in the sky, all those on the ground, the Blacks in the Travel Plazas, the Whites in the granaries, and finally within the coin kilns deep beneath the towers of the palace called Blaze, the Red Dragons - all joined with their voices of woe. Because the seventy-seven Dragons of Isseltrent stayed enthralled to Seldric the Dragonlord through the ancient and unassailable Dragoncrown, every morning, the Dragons mourned their slavery to the Dragonlord. Every morning for centuries and countless generations the Dragon’s Lament had awakened the people of Isseltrent.

Jonathon the jeweler awoke to the mournful howling of the Dragon’s Lament. He usually hid beneath his covers during the frightful chorus, but that day something was different. Something in the howls or behind the howls shook his bones and jerked him right up in bed as if he had been yanked by a noose. Even though his Warming Blanket slid off the bed with the jerk, his wife, Arlen, lying beside him, snored on. She was far too tired from caring for their seven children to be wakened by a mere seventy-seven Dragons all howling together. The little smile on her plump face was something Jonathon seldom saw while she was awake. In the daytime, she was far too busy with the chores and problems attendant in caring for their children to bother with a relaxed smile.

Jonathon bent to kiss Arlen’s cheek but was stopped by a thump out in front of their cottage that rattled the bedroom window. There was a strange thrashing of the bushes, and his pet lark fluttered and chattered about in his cage. Jonathon watched in awe as the ancient oak outside the window majestically rose into the air. The rising was accompanied by the squeaking, groaning and popping of the tree’s roots protesting as they were pulled from the ground. The oak tilted slightly and flew with a swish of leaves to land with a splintering thud behind their cottage.

Jonathon felt himself rise as the bed and the whole room lifted briefly just before the roof above him gave way. With a shattering report, one corner slowly lifted up and away. Beams burst. Ceiling plaster crumbled and rained down upon him. One large slab smacked him squarely on his upturned forehead.

Arlen woke with a start. She glanced up, took a look at Jonathon, and yelled, The children! She leapt from the bed and made for the children’s rooms.

The ceiling gaped between two huge hands that gripped it. They dug into the hard plaster like it was mush. The whole ceiling of the bedroom folded upon itself upward into the morning haze, exposing a huge angry face with wild bloodshot eyes that pinned Jonathon to his bed. Through flabby, snarling lips inside a great hedge of a beard came a voice that sounded like a cross between a bear’s growl and a cow passing wind. Hey, you little rat, gimme my money!

The Giant who had abruptly unroofed Jonathon’s house was none other than Molgannard Fey, the meanest criminal in Isseltrent. And Jonathon owed him money. A lot of money. A whole Glass Command to be exact, more money than Jonathon made in his jewelry shop in an entire year.

If the abrupt entrance and the sight of the Giant hadn’t been enough to make Jonathon faint, Molgannard Fey’s breath would have done the job. The pungency of sour wine mixed with bile from some poor soul’s liver and mule grease slapped Jonathon in the face, making his head swim and his eyes water. Jonathon wondered how many casks of wine Molgannard Fey had guzzled that morning.

Jonathon was far behind on the interest the Giant demanded, but the jeweler’s finances were stretched to the limit and at that moment he did not even have enough to pay one Moon’s interest. He blurted out, I don’t have it! before he could think better.

I don’t think you heard me, the Giant said. Maybe your ears need to be a little closer to your brain. He grabbed Jonathon’s head between his thumb and forefinger and began to squeeze. Tremendous pressure built up in Jonathon’s head, and he heard things inside his skull cracking.

No, no, please … he blubbered. The crying didn’t help. The pressure kept building. I can get it tomorrow, he lied through his tears. At least his crying was true.

Not good enough, the Giant stated and began to pull up as if to pop Jonathon’s head right off.

With a squeal, Jonathon made a desperate grab to catch hold of Molgannard Fey’s fingers and save his own neck. He barely caught onto the huge digits. With all his trembling strength, Jonathon just managed to keep his own ample weight from stretching his neck for a few frenzied moments. He felt his sweaty hands slipping. Good Lord Tundudil, save me.

You’re going to need someone a lot stronger than a god to save you, the Giant snarled.

Jonathon knew Molgannard Fey needed but to give his hand a little twist, and Jonathon would be dead as a chicken dinner. He prayed the Giant’s greed would temper his revenge. I can give you something special right now!

The Giant turned the poor jeweler to look into his eyes.

Yeah, what? The Giant’s breath was so disgusting Jonathon had to breathe deeply through his mouth to keep from throwing up. He didn’t want any sudden jerks from the Giant’s hand as he dodged Jonathon’s vomit.

Please, can you let me stand? Jonathon’s grip of the Giant’s fingers was about to fail.

Molgannard Fey screwed up his lip, looking uglier yet, if that were possible. His nose was mashed to one side, dribbling snot in his anger. One ear was bulbous, and his face was chock full of lumpy scars. Jonathon gave him a quivering, hopeful smile.

You little inconsequential wimp, what could you possibly have that would stop me from killing you? He set Jonathon down next to his bed and let go of his head, much to Jonathon’s relief. But he couldn’t let Jonathon alone. He set the scratchy, rough palm of his hand atop Jonathon’s balding scalp.

Talk, wimp. The Giant increased the pressure enough that Jonathon knew he’d better not move even when he heard movement at the bedroom door.

He looked out the corners of his eyes and saw his twelve-year-old son Theodore gripping their ax tightly in his hands, with Arlen beside him brandishing the Moving Broom.

Jonathon gave a little shake of his head. Arlen restrained Theodore with one hand.

Go help Judith, she said. Judith, their ten-year-old, would be keeping the other children safe. Jonathon could hear the baby crying and little Luella calling for her father. Theodore looked briefly at his mother. He apparently knew she meant what she said, because he turned and ran back toward the crying.

Molgannard Fey spat a half cup of slimy spittle at Arlen’s feet, making her hop back a step. With a grin, he increased the pressure on Jonathon’s head by a fifty weight, making Jonathon gurgle as his chin threatened to split his own breastbone.

You’ve got to the count of ten to make me happy, or you’re going to have to take your shoes off to eat. One … two …

Jonathon’s mind raced, and he looked around his room anxiously. He had only twenty-four Copper Orders, barely a tenth of the interest on the amount he owed the Giant. He needed something to placate the Giant long enough that he could come up with some kind of a plan.

I’ve got a Replenishing Pitcher you could have if you give me just one more day.

Huh? Let’s see it. The Giant lifted his hand ever so subtly. Jonathon just stood there and shook.

Well, go on. Molgannard Fey twitched his head at the white porcelain Replenishing Pitcher, letting Jonathon slide out from under his hand and run to the wash basin so he could pick it up.

Jonathon held it up for the Giant to admire. Nothing but the best. See the gold filigree incantations on the sides? Turgold the Elder himself made this when he was court artisan to Dragonlord Gojorlingast. This is unmatched. Infinitely finer than the new crude ones they turn out by the boatload. Inlaid gilt, not paint. It has retained its properties for decades. See? He held it up and turned it slightly. Jonathon was really sweating now, but at least he was alive as long as he could buy time. He heard the back door creak as Theodore and Judith snuck the children out to secrete them in the back shed.

Arlen’s worried scowl softened a bit, apparently relieved the children were further away from the crazed Giant. Still, she stayed poised in the doorway, ready to swat Molgannard Fey with the Moving Broom.

Hrumpf. What does it do? Molgannard Fey growled.

Jonathon fished a Clay Suggestion out of the leather coin pouch he’d grabbed from the dresser top. Into the empty pitcher he dropped the Suggestion. As soon as the coin clinked onto the bottom of the Replenishing Pitcher, it filled with a gallon of clear water.

Try it. It’s fresh as dew, Jonathon said, handing him the pitcher.

The Giant snatched the pitcher and up-ended it.

Pah! he spat. Water, and hardly a drop. With a flick of his wrist sent the expensive pitcher, the pride of Jonathon’s household, shattering against the bedroom wall in a puff of tinkling shards. Jonathon gasped.

Three, four, five… The Giant’s stretched his arm a bit so it was again over the jeweler like some teetering half-cut oak ready to fall on Jonathon’s head.

Jonathon threw up his hands and waved, Wait, wait! My warming rug. Cringing and grimacing, he motioned to the rug he stood upon. Believe me, it’s a treasure from the far hills of the Commonwealth of Dis, woven by thirty maids over three seasons to make its design peerless. It can warm a room the size of a banquet hall. Please?

Molgannard Fey screwed up his lip and brought down his hand. Jonathon ducked and clutched his head as if his hands could save him from the falling tree. He felt the rug lift and slide, tossing him onto his back on the bare wooden floor. He opened his eyes to see the rug gathered into a peak, pulled up in the middle of the room by the Giant.

It’s cold as stone! His head spun around at Jonathon so fast the jeweler had to dodge snot flying from the Giant’s flattened nose.

That’s only temporary, Jonathon explained and pointed, It’s just that little spatter of plum brandy obscuring the inscription that interferes. It can be washed off in a trice.

Six…Seven…, the Giant said, balling his hand into a boulder.

A Bracelet of Potency! Jonathon shouted, snatching the item from a pocket in his nightshirt. He was desperate, but he collected his wits when the Giant relaxed his hand and stopped counting. It’s delicate and unobtrusive, a silver armlet made in my shop. He held it up. I believe it would fit on your finger. Jonathon had had plenty of time to assess the size of Molgannard Fey’s hefty digits.

The split roof trembled with the sound of Molgannard Fey’s laugh, sending a fresh shower of plaster pattering down around Jonathon. You’re not only a wimp. You’re as limp as a noodle.

Only sometimes, Jonathon said, looking aside briefly, sheepishly at Arlen who looked querulous but remained poised at the door.

When the realization of what Jonathon had said made it through the thick bone of Molgannard Fey’s skull, he tightened his shaking fist again so his knuckles whitened with rage. Are you trying to insult me? You little piece of dirt!

No, sir! Heaven forbid! This will just sustain your talents endlessly. That’s all.

Eight…nine. He raised his fist to splatter the jeweler.

A Mirror Lock. My door. My door! Jonathon screamed.

A door? said the Giant, puzzled.

Yes, if it pleases you, my front door is a dedicated Mirror Lock, keyed to the reflection of its owner. He gestured toward the parlor at the entrance to his cottage. A charm has been etched in the mirrors facing both surfaces of my door, conceived by the Court Poet of Dragonlord Hildriberin decades ago and laboriously tooled by Pixits in the bowels of Blaze, Jonathon rattled on, buying precious moments, racking his brain for yet another inducement to stay the Giant’s fist. He sincerely hoped the next number Molgannard Fey shouted would be nine and a half and not ten.

The front door? the Giant asked, lifting his head out of the bedroom, peering around the front of the cottage, and shifting his bulk, which sent another tremor through the entire house.

Not the door, Jonathon! Arlen rasped, but Jonathon waved her silent, pleading with his eyes.

Allow me to demonstrate, sir, Jonathon said, running through the parlor to the front. When he came to the door, the mirrored surface reflected his robed, fifty-year-old, portly frame. The sparse strands of his white hair were reminiscent of wispy cirrus clouds high in the sky on a bright summer day. His left eyebrow was lowered as if in worry, but anyone familiar with him and his hours using a jeweler’s eye held in place by his tight left eyebrow would know different. Even in alarm the twinkle in his eye looked like the sparkle deep within a diamond. As soon as he looked squarely at his eyes in the mirror image, the door swung open to reveal a huge gnarly knot in a newly grown elm tree. No, on second thought, Jonathon realized, that was Molgannard Fey’s kneecap.

The Giant bent over and ripped off the door, tearing away hunks of the beam it was attached to. He lifted it to his face and jumped as if he were frightened by his own horrible visage.

Whoa! he exclaimed. Oh. It’s a mirror. How does it work, wimp?

The Mirror Lock is dedicated to acknowledge all the members of my family by opening for their countenance alone. If this item would suit your needs, I will change its dedication to respond only to your ug… uh… uh… face. Jonathon smiled like a fool blinking sweat out of his eyes.

Hmmm. I have a box I don’t want my wolves looking in. I’ll take it. Change the lock. He handed down the door. The weight of it made Jonathon stagger until he propped it up against the outer wall of his cottage.

Jonathon took out a Wooden Request and touched the surface of the mirror which absorbed the magical coin. Being careful to look directly into the mirror, Jonathon said, The lower inscription cancels out the previous dedication. He read the lower verse etched in the glass: Gluttonous Sun, Quaff the stars.

The Giant said, That’s it? Will it open for me now?

At your leisure, read the top verse aloud after activating it with a Copper Order, Jonathon replied. The top verse read: Mistress Moon, Scatter your babes.

Molgannard Fey twitched his head toward his monstrous red Flying Carpet, with which the Giant had apparently flown to Jonathon’s home that morning. The carpet had mercilessly crushed Jonathon’s prized herb garden. The Giant nonchalantly tossed Jonathon’s framed glass door onto the carpet where it thumped alarmingly on the dense brocade. Jonathon winced, imagining the mirror cracked and ruined with the Giant’s careless abandon. For an instant, he felt his heart stop with the prospect of having to search for one more of his dwindling number of trinkets to dangle before the Giant. With a gasp, he put a hand to his breast but felt the steady beat return when he saw seamless clouds reflected in the mirror indicating it was, indeed, unbroken. Jonathon tensed again as Molgannard’s wiggling sausage of a finger took aim at his face.

You hear this, wimp. If you don’t have my money by tomorrow when the lizards bleat, I’ll use your head to knock your whole house to kindling. Then I’ll to chew you up and spit out your bones to stomp into the dust. The rest of your family out in that shed, I’ll take them home for breakfast.

When the huge finger stopped shaking in his face, Jonathon collapsed in a heap. The Giant climbed aboard his virtual acre of a carpet. At a word, it rose quickly into the air and sped off toward the center of Isseltrent.

From the ground, still limp as a boned fowl, Jonathon watched and wished he could hire whoever broke Molgannard Fey’s nose to do his bargaining for him the next time he saw the Giant. Jonathon would need many Moons to repair and regrow his devastated herb garden. Of course, that was irrelevant since Jonathon couldn’t possibly come up with two hundred Copper Orders’ interest in one day. Tomorrow he would probably be part of that very garden.

Jonathon hadn’t had time to get up off the ground when Arlen cried, Jonathon?. Before he could reply, she yelled, He’s dead! The Giant killed my husband! AARHH!

Jonathon sprang up. My Sweet! I am alive.

She jumped back a step and grabbed her throat, apparently thinking Jonathon had risen from death to scold her. Oh! I thought you were dead. She composed herself, thought a bit, and said, "You are going to be dead, because I’m going to kill you! Who was that? And how much do you owe him?"

That was Molgannard Fey. My thankfully-restrained benefactor.

I’ve never heard so much drivel. Restrained benefactor? Thank The Three he wasn’t your angry benefactor, she sputtered in exasperation until her eyes lit up with a new astonishment. "Molgannard Fey? You’re not talking about the Molgannard Fey? Not the money-stealing, animal-slaughtering, skin-splicing, bile-spewing son of Hell Molgannard Fey. Not that Molgannard Fey. Surely you’re not telling me that you had dealings with the Molgannard Fey that terrorizes half the city by consuming the other half. Tell me he’s not that Molgannard Fey. Please."

Yes, Sweetheart, he’s the one.

Arlen shook her head, her words quavering with an incredulous chortle of disbelief. What is wrong with you? Restrained? She wiggled her hand toward the roof, the door and the garden. You call that restrained.

He held up a finger to designate his reasoning. He did not crush me, nor did he tear off my head, although he had every right. I was tardy on our agreement.

In the name of The Three, what in this world could have made you go to that maniac for money?

Expenses, Jonathon thought. Dowries for his three daughters, now married and off with their own families. Then came the dozens of children they had adopted through the years, orphans or Royal Bastards, illegitimate children of the Dragonlord, thrown from the court. Someone had to provide for them.

He had no courage to answer before Arlen reiterated her first question, And just how much do you owe the most evil person in the world?

Jonathan sighed. A Glass Command.

A Glass Command! she shrieked.

At this, Theodore ran all the way from the shed through the children’s bedroom clutching the ax, ready to attack any foe no matter what the size. I’m coming, Mother! He skidded to a halt when he saw only his mother and father. Jonathon saw Judith peeking around at the back door jamb, holding back the twins. Luella called from the shed for her mother. A wail came from the baby.

Jonathon reached out to touch Arlen to calm her worries, but she balled her hand into a little fist and poked him in the arm.

He recoiled. Oohh. She was surprisingly strong for her diminutive stature, probably from the decades of hard work caring for all those children.

Arlen glared at him with those pretty green eyes of hers. But he saw a flash of red in them, probably just a reflection of the red clouds in the east, he thought. I told you your softness would get you in trouble!she barked.

You never told me that.

Well, I thought it. And you should have known I was thinking it. Arlen’s long brown hair undulated in waves as her head trembled with fury. In the daytime she twirled her hair into an efficient bun, but he preferred her freer nighttime hair, even in anger. You’re too generous, Jonathon!

Someone has to provide for the welfare of the unfortunates of this city. For lack of pity from the true believers in Isseltrent, you and I have assumed the burden. I am satisfied with our lot. I thought you were as well.

I’m not talking about that! You’re too obliging to your customers. They’d pay twice as much for your jewelry. Why don’t you charge more?

My loyal customers are dedicated to quality. They stand by my ideal of perfection. You want me to abandon fairness just to match prices with those that raise them at every whim of the economy?

She just raised her eyes to the heavens beseeching The Three for the thousandth time to grant her husband a particle of sense.

You pay Bob way too much, she said, referring to his apprentice.

Bob is a diamond in the slurry. His worth far exceeds his salary. You love him like one of ours, Darling. I’m amazed no other jeweler has snatched him from me.

He told me they’ve tried, she admitted, But he’s loyal, and he admires you too much. All right, he deserves what he gets.

His loyalty and admiration are worth more to me than a few Coppers.

She snorted. And the Pixets? Why pay them so much?

You know Hili is the only one left and, besides, their pay is prearranged by Guild standards. My salaries must adhere to those guidelines.

So, you’re fettered by the standards? Aren’t you Master Jeweler and Guild Steward? You’re the one who makes those rules. Change them!

Jonathon pursed his lips and shook his head, flustered. Manipulating the guidelines for my own self-interest? I’d be no better than Molgannard Fey.

Arlen wasn’t about to stop. Well then, what about all the things you buy your daughters? They’re married and have their dowries. You should be done with them. Just last Moon, you gave Laurel six cows. Six! Herkimer will be harvesting his flax in a few Moons. Let him buy his own cows. And Heather doesn’t need a Lullaby Crib for little Jacobi. A mother shouldn’t let a bed sing to her children. She should do it herself. I do, and there’s nothing wrong with my children.

Jonathon just shrugged and looked down, sliding his foot back and forth over the polished oak floor. He knew where all the money went, a hundred Orders for the cows, twenty for the crib, home expenses by the hundreds for their many adopted children, not to mention all the dowries and apprentice fees for the ones who left home. Rent on his shop was an ongoing expense. When all his workers, except Hili and Bob Thumblefoot, had to be let off because Jonathon could no longer pay their wages, he insisted they be paid a Moon’s salary each. That was another forty Copper Orders. It all added up, piece by precious piece, to a thousand Copper Orders. They were borrowed here and there from a dozen sources until that idiotic day when he got the idea to get one loan to pay them all back. When he looked for money to borrow, Molgannard Fey was the only one who would accommodate him, as long as he paid the Giant’s outlandish interest. Jonathon knew of Molgannard Fey’s reputation but rationalized he was just like a guildsman. He fantasized the Giant would treat him fairly, since Jonathon was so well known in the city.

He said, "I thought you agreed we should follow The Transmigrant in our everyday lives." As he referred to the holy book of Tundudil, Jonathon looked past her into the house at their well-used copy on the living room mantelpiece.

Never mind that. We’re not Querites, sacrificing our whole lives for the comfort of others because of some crazy interpretation of the scripture. We have to live ourselves to take care of our children. She bit off each word saying, And, by the way, what gave you the idea of borrowing that much money without even telling me?

I didn’t want to worry you

Worry me? she said, incredulous. So I’m not supposed to worry when you’re dead?

He shrugged again. I guess I’m not very good at these things.

Huh? That’s for sure. Do you owe him all that money by tomorrow?.

Two hundred Copper Orders.

Oh. I see. So you don’t have to pay him the moon, just a star out of the sky. Real good. And how are you going to do it, may I ask? Borrow more money?

I don’t know, my Sweet, he said, hanging his head. There’s no possible way. I’m a dead man. Maybe it’s for the best. I’ve made such a mess of things.

She kicked him in the shin, making him hop for a few moments. Stop it! I don’t want to hear that. I’m not having you killed. Go to the constables.

I tried that, but the captain declared I received everything I deserved as just payment for dealing with Molgannard Fey.

We pay taxes for that? Go to Rhazburn. He can handle Molgannard Fey.

I’m not involving my son in trouble that’s my own doing.

She stamped her foot and pointed her finger at him. You go to Rhazburn. I don’t want any of your excuses. Rhazburn will be glad to help you. She softened, pleading. Jonathon. He’s going to kill you. You’ll be dead. Don’t you understand? This is your last chance. If you don’t raise the money, we’ll all have to leave here and never come back or he’ll squash you flat, and probably us too, for good measure. If you can’t think of yourself, think of us. Jonathon, please. Talk to Rhazburn. He can help you. Her eyes flooded, tears streaking down her pleasantly-rounded cheeks.

I will search him out, Honey, but who knows where he hides today? Between the library, his school, the pubs, his bustling hither and yon, it makes me dizzy.

He’s probably at Hell’s Breach. Call Smurgen. He’ll know.

More fees? Our meager funds will be gutted by the clever Dwarf.

So is that worse than what Molgannard Fey will do to you?

Jonathon gulped. You have a point.

Jonathon folded her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. I heartily apologize for this, Dumpling. I’ll consult the Dwarf. You’re right. He’ll know where to find Rhazburn, and Rhazburn can help me, I’m sure. His confidence was all in his words. He wished he had more of it in his heart.

Gently, she pushed him away, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her gown. Well, get ready then. You’ll need a good breakfast. Theodore? She turned to her son who laid the ax beside the fractured wall and stood at attention, ready for orders. Light the stove. Judith, she called into the house as she trundled off, you take care of Luella and the baby. Arlen’s orders receded into the house. Carmella, she said, addressing one of the twins, it’s your turn to boil water. Persephone, the other twin, cut the fruit. Jonathon knew her instructions would be obeyed. He loved her competence and efficiency.

He went into what was left of the bedroom to get ready. His lark was still twittering, either upset by the commotion or simply demanding his late breakfast. Trying to calm himself, he spent a few moments hissing ineptly through his teeth in a lame attempt to mimic the lark’s tune. The lark’s tune fascinated him. The bird was especially voluble since the breeding season was in full swing, and he caught glimpses, outside the window, of female larks he wooed fruitlessly. Jonathon was ashamed to keep the lark caged at this time of the year, but he liked the song too much to set him free. With an apologetic pat on the cage, he finally gave into the bird’s whistles and sprinkled a handful of seeds through the bars of the cage. The lark pecked up the meal, oblivious to his incarceration, Jonathon hoped.

Caring for the bird was just one of his daily devotions to Tundudil. Finding joy in the care of others, whether a spouse, a child, a friend or a pet was a central tenet in the Faith of The Three. Jonathon tried not to dwell on the paradox of caring for a soul incarcerated in a cage. The cage itself showed disregard for the lark’s needs. Could his love and nurturing make up for it? He wondered.

At least, Jonathon was still alive. That was something to be thankful to Tundudil for. He stepped up to the metal asymmetric triangle set in its alcove, took the steel beater, and from the inside, struck all three sides in progression. The left side represented Kris, the Daughter and the Beauty in all things. The lower side of the triangle was Ilsa, the Mother, the unconditional Love one feels when he recognizes that Beauty. Finally, the right side of the Triangle represented Tundudil, the Father, the Care one provides for all he loves, which (if one is devout) includes everything in the world.

Tundudil. The triangle sang the Three Holy Notes and the name of the triune god also known as The Three. Every time Jonathon rang the Triangle of Faith and said a prayer to The Three, he regretted that the words in The Transmigrant, the original holy book of the Faith of The Three, were not always followed by the people of Thuringland. And even though no sane person would join The Querites, the Beholders, or the Choir, the major splinter sects that had developed over the centuries, he still admired their attempt at adherence to the true Faith.

Jonathon dressed quickly and left the bedroom with a little hop over a pile of fallen plaster to get into the dining room. Before he sat down, he did his daily duty. He took a Clay Suggestion from a small dish next to the Timefall and touched it to the Timefall Ball which absorbed the Suggestion. The Timefall Ball he then lifted to the top of the Timefall stand and let go. The Ball settled at Dawn Blessing, the start of the day. The Timefall Ball would slowly fall over the day, tiny Favor by Favor, a hundred Favors in each Blessing, through the seven Blessings of the day: Dawn, Breakfast, Work, Highday, Home, Dinner, and Dusk. The periods of the day were named Blessings because each day was a blessing from The Three, a blessing from The Three filled with their favors. He stood watching it for a whole Favor, just collecting his thoughts about what he must do to save himself and his family. It would not be easy, that was for sure. When he was satisfied he had the beginnings of a plan, he turned, walked to the table, and sat at the head in his favorite oak chair. Old and sturdy, its slick seat had molded itself over the years to the shape of his generous bottom, which was due to Arlen’s good cooking.

Luella burst into the room and hopped on his lap, hugging him and whimpering. Father, I’m scared! She shivered histrionically and buried her head in his shirt.

My Little Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have you frightened for the world. He pulled her back slightly so he could look into her teary but pleasant eyes. I’m so proud you stayed with Judith to help the baby. What a big girl you are.

She brightened and smiled, hugging his neck. I love you, Father. I don’t want any more Giants

If that Giant comes back here I’ll run him off, so we never see him again. Jonathon laughed at the thought, chasing away Molgannard Fey. That was a good dream. A dream with a heroic, powerful Jonathon. Not the real Jonathon, debt ridden, nervous, confused. Young children needed good dreams.

He kissed Luella’s forehead and set her down beside the table. Go help your mother. She ran off, feeling important.

Hullering, the only one of the adopted children still at home that was a Royal Bastard, came to sit beside Jonathon. Father, can I come with you to see Rhazburn? I want to see Hell’s Breach.

Rhazburn, one of his many older brothers and a Royal Bastard like Hullering, was his hero. Hullering obviously felt he deserved a chance to come along.

I’m awfully sorry, Hullering. I wish I could take you along. Alas, I must concentrate on my business and need time alone with Rhazburn. He may not necessarily be at Hell’s Breach today. Besides, even I can’t see him at Hell’s Breach. No one but Poets are allowed there.

When I’m a Poet, the eight-year-old said, I’m going to close Hell’s Breach forever. Jonathon smiled at his fantasy, as if that had not been tried a thousand times over the centuries.

Jonathon confided in the boy. I wish I could close Hell’s Breach. I fear for Rhazburn’s life every day. And Garrith, too. Garrith was another of his adopted sons, another Poet, another target for the Demons at Hell’s Breach.

Hullering bent in his chair, busying himself with his Sprite Slate, writing short poems. Every so often, he would groan, tell the Sprite Slate to erase the words and start over again.

Jonathon picked up a second Replenishing Pitcher and sighed. It was not nearly as beautiful as the one Molgannard had smashed, but it was useful enough and made water just as quickly. From a small pile of coins, he took a Clay Suggestion and dropped it into the pitcher. In a moment, the pitcher was filled with water which he poured into an ebony Vision Bowl. Upon the surface of the water in the bowl he floated a Wooden Request, saying, Smurgen. When the request quickly dissolved, it was replaced by the face of a Gossip Dwarf. The floating face, bearded and craggy with age and concentration, looked up at Jonathon and said, Good morning, Master Jeweler. What can I do for you?

Greetings, my dear Smurgen. Pressing matters insist I locate my son Rhazburn quickly. I would appreciate it if you could find him so I can contact him immediately. I have no time to rummage the city for him.

The Dwarf looked down past his beard as if he were consulting some notes. Ah, yes. I see where he is. He looked up, studying Jonathon’s face. Fifty Wooden Requests.

Jonathon groaned. Fifty Wooden Requests was five times Smurgen’s usual fee. His few Copper Orders could dribble away quickly while he tried to make more money. An exorbitant price for a word so simple.

My fee is higher for hostile jewelers.

Fine, I’ll pay it. I meant no offense, Smurgen. Jonathon took out a Copper Order, dropped it in a Money Changing Box to turn it into Wooden Requests and dumped fifty of them into the water.

From the Dwarf’s image, concentric circles of ripples enlarged around the fingers of his hand as Smurgen reached into the water of his own Vision Bowl to extract the fee. After counting the coins twice, he looked again at the jeweler and said, The Loremaster is at Hell’s Breach. He leads the Day Poets today.

I could have guessed that. You are a thief. He had guessed Rhazburn was at Hell’s Breach, just as Arlen had said. He had just hoped he was wrong.

I will take my leave, Master Jeweler. I have a lot more crimes to commit.

Smurgen, a moment. I apologize for impugning your character. My mind is in a dither. I’ve just been threatened.

By Molgannard Fey, the Dwarf finished his thought.

Yes, but how did you… ? Of course, all knowledge is at your fingertips. Then you must be aware of the extent of my predicament.

Master Jeweler, everyone knew how much trouble you were in but yourself.

I need to consult Rhazburn. When will he be available?

Well, the door to Hell’s Breach closed at dawn this morning. Once it’s closed, the guards have strict orders to kill anyone who tries to force his way into Hell’s Breach. I’d say your next opportunity to speak with Loremaster Rhazburn will be at Dusk Blessing tonight.

Jonathon groaned and moved around in his chair. My problem can’t wait the whole day, Smurgen. What do you suggest I do? I’ll gladly pay any price for a solution.

Hmmm. I’ll give you this bit for free.

Jonathon perked up. Free advice from a Gossip Dwarf was unimaginable.

Do you know the bracelets which calm the spirit of the wearer?.

Yes, yes. I call them Armlets of Tranquility. We make a lot of them. They’re very popular with the city folk.

I suggest you make one and put it on, Smurgen said with a broad smile across his misshapen Dwarf face.

‘Never ask advice from a Dwarf’ was a saying he had heard since he was young. Shaking with frustration but too polite to swear, Jonathon poured the smart aleck Dwarf back into the pitcher. At least he didn’t have to pay for the quip.

Before they all sat down to breakfast, everyone stood in reverent silence while Theodore, the eldest and only child privileged to use the glass beater, chimed the Triangle of The Three hanging over their table. The adults, along with Theodore, closed their eyes in meditation. Judith, holding baby Nathaniel, quietly paid homage to Heaven. Hullering took advantage of the lull by pinching Persephone who squealed, making Luella snicker and Carmella groan in disgust.

Arlen gave the children a sharp look, went to the kitchen and came back with her arms full. She set down a plate of bacon, a pitcher of milk, and warm apple tarts right in front of Jonathon. Theodore, the only child who understood all the implications of the morning’s disturbance, gave Jonathon a furtive, worried glance but kept to himself. Judith, preoccupied with family matters, scolded Luella, who was spilling her milk. The twins bustled about helping serve everyone. The help allowed Arlen to relieve Judith and cuddle Nathaniel, nine Moons old and spoiled by all his older siblings.

Jonathon barely smelled the smoky fragrance of the bacon. No one appreciated one of Arlen’s good meals more than Jonathon, but today he cogitated mutely on his predicament.

Arlen, who was spooning porridge into Nathaniel, shoveling every dribble and slobber back into his little pursed lips, broke into his thoughts. Well, did you find out from the Dwarves where Rhazburn is?

Yes, my Sweet, I did. He leads the Day Poets at Hell’s Breach today.

Good for him. I feel a lot safer with Rhazburn there. No Demon will get past him into the world. Let them stay in Hell where they belong. We don’t need the likes of that awful one in the Dead Lands anymore. I don’t know why the Dragonlord doesn’t just round the Demon and all his Zombies up and feed them to the Dragons.

Jonathon replied almost unconsciously, According to Rhazburn, one could more easily fasten a rope around a cloud or put the wind in a cage. She knew as well as he that it was useless to think the Demon could be pried out of his Hellpit and eliminated. Demons could not die.

Well, go talk with your son. Maybe for once you can take his advice.

I admit that’s a good idea, but the strategy escapes me. They wouldn’t open the door to Hell’s Breach for the Dragonlord himself once the day has started and the Chamber of Hell’s Breach is sealed.

He’s your son, isn’t he? They’ll let you in. You have to see him today. If you wait until tonight, you can’t possibly have enough time to pay back the Giant.

He nodded in silence and chewed his bacon without tasting it.

After breakfast, Jonathon went into the bedroom to pick a Charm for the day. He took advantage of the new skyward exposure, provided by Molgannard Fey, to evaluate the weather. A swath of orange in the east was all that tainted the cloudless sky. It would be another hot, dry spring day. As Arlen came in to clean up the mess, Jonathon picked through a small jewelry box and pinned a Charm of Coolness onto his favorite purple turban. Even with Molgannard Fey’s threat hanging over his head, comfort was important to the jeweler. He had a Charm for every kind of weather. There were Charms of Basking, Dryness, and Coolness. This one was a tiny platinum icicle with highlights of diamond, which could be activated by a Clay Suggestion to keep him cool anywhere, even in the desert of the Dead Lands. Like the others, it was made in his shop, so it was, of course, perfect. He had wrought it himself, and Hili, his Pixelle, had engraved the poems of magic upon the diamonds with her tiny tools. The terrifying morning left him flushed with fear so he took out a Clay Suggestion and touched it to the Charm. After the Suggestion was absorbed by the tiny icicle, a pleasant coolness suffused Jonathon, body and soul.

He was interrupted by Arlen, with Nathaniel on her hip. She was arguing with their Moving Broom. Do you call that clean? she scolded, pointing to a small drift of dust and plaster in a corner of the bedroom. The old, worn broom hovered in the air before her, slowly sweeping circles as if it were embarrassed. Go clean it up, and do it right this time. The broom sped to the corner and wiggled its frayed bristles uselessly in the tight angle. The dirt was unmoved, but the broom dutifully lowered its attached dustpan and swept up a non-existent pile. Arlen just shook her head as the broom flew up through the open roof to dump the pan in the yard. The twins cleaned up the kitchen while Judith took Luella outside. Theodore came into the bedroom to see what he could do to repair the roof.

Arlen looked up and saw Jonathon watching her, dawdling, indecisive as usual, and turned to shoo him out the door. Go on. What are you waiting for? Talk to Rhazburn.

Before he left, he said goodbye to all the children and told them he loved them all. He shoved twenty Copper Orders into his coin purse, leaving three for Arlen and the children.

He shuffled through the demolished door frame but stopped when he saw his pathetic, flattened herb garden, the bent and bruised sprouts and shoots crushed down into the dry clods. He felt sorry for his little plants and decided to give them a sprinkling before he left. From a large canvas bag at the door, he grabbed a handful of Raindust. With a prayer to Tundudil, Father, please nurture all my verdant children, he cast it into the air, above the garden. Within moments, a dark cloud formed a rod off the ground, and a fine mist began to settle on the flower bed. When the cloud began to shimmer and crackle, Jonathon scurried away with his bottom tucked in protectively. He had been struck in the pants by miniature lightning bolts too many times to take any chances.

Jonathon walked quickly to the Travel Plaza, not wanting to waste any more time. The path wound through a hedge and past a tumbledown, squawkity chicken coop. He tried to sneak past when he saw old miser Gibbel, but the surly man shook a rake at him from behind a rotten picket fence.

Scare m’chickens, will yuh? What do yuh mean, making all that noise at the crack a’dawn? M’hens won’t lay for a fortnight. I’ll make yuh pay for it. I will. Cutting trees in the morning and waking a good man up that needs his rest. I’ll have the constables on yuh.

A pleasant morning to you, Master Gibbel. Never was it my intention to waken you. I sympathize with you on this. I, too, was aggravated by the commotion. Jonathon bowed and tried to move politely onward.

Don’t ‘pleasant morning’ me. Widow Feathertop never scared m’chickens. Sh’was a good neighbor, sh’was.

Jonathon kept walking and smiling affably, but Gibbel kept up his abuse. His insults and complaints faded in the trees as Jonathon started down the hill the two properties stood upon. As he walked through a stand of oak, a doe looked up from her browsing and watched him warily. She could apparently tell by the gentle sway of his hips Jonathon had never harmed a thing in his life and never intended to. As he passed, she resumed her quiet meal.

The oaks cleared past the end of a switchback where Jonathon could hear the distant hooting of a Dragontailer’s buglemate. Through a fence of slender birch trees, he caught a glimpse of the slim seagoing vessel. The Dragontailer was being towed by a gigantic Blue Dragon slicing through the waves straight into the wind, leaving the sloops of the fishing fleet far behind in its wake. The Dragontailer’s buglemate was blaring his horn furiously, sending musical orders to the Dragon a furlong ahead. The owner of the Dragontailer had to be rich to afford the fees he paid the Dragonlord to rent the Blue Dragon. He would soon be richer still since his boat would be the first to plunder the rich schools of fish sighted that morning by the similarly paid Knights flying Green Dragons high above the sea.

By the time Jonathon walked into the Travel Plaza, a long line of travelers had already formed. He took his place in queue and waited his turn. Most of the traffic was going from the outskirts toward town as Jonathon was, but the line moved quickly. Jonathon soon came to the waiting gate.

He took a casual glance at the massive Black Dragon sprawled in the plaza and walked up to it. The livid form of the Dragon contrasted sharply with the green of the grass and weeds surrounding it. The enormous chest moved in a slow rhythm, and Jonathon could hear a deep rumbling as the creature breathed. Experts who knew of these things said the sound was similar to the purring of a cat and should reassure the travelers who used the Travel Dragons. It made Jonathon’s skin crawl. The Dragon’s eyes were, open, but the golden orbs gave no hint of thought or emotion.

Beside a talon of its right forefoot lay a haphazard pile of Copper Orders, silver goblets, golden rings, and other pieces of jewelry. Intermixed among these and scattered about for a rod or so were dented helmets, shattered swords, bits of torn clothing, and assorted human bones, a not-too-subtle warning to anyone interested in helping himself to the Dragon’s treasure.

Jonathon took out a Copper Order and nonchalantly flipped it onto the pile. With a disturbing screek of the Dragon’s tusk-sized teeth one upon the other, its huge mouth opened. Jonathon steadied himself, holding onto the tips of two teeth, as he squeezed his belly past them and stepped onto the Dragon’s soft tongue. As usual, the spongy living carpet moved slightly under his feet, as if the beast was tasting him. Jonathon kept his balance with some difficulty and called out, City Square Plaza. The maw closed upon him.

Like every other day when he traveled by the Black Dragon, his hair stood on end. After an instant of darkness and panic, the mouth opened with another screek, revealing the clustered shops surrounding the city square before him. He pushed quickly through the teeth, scraping off a button from his jacket in his haste to get out. He hopped onto the ground just before the Dragon’s mouth slammed shut with a report like an ancient pine breaking in half.

Jonathon shuddered. Every day it seemed like he barely made it out of the mouth before the jaws crashed together. He sometimes thought the Dragon did it just to see him cringe. Despite the many years he had used the Travel Dragons, he still didn’t trust them. He heard too many stories of people entering the Dragons’ mouths never to be seen again. The officials warned the travelers these hapless souls had tried to cheat the Dragons, but no one knew for sure. Perhaps the Dragons just wanted occasional snacks.

As Jonathon walked out of City Square Travel Plaza, he turned to look back at the Black Dragon. It looked exactly like the one into whose mouth he had stepped three leagues away. The position of its splayed limbs was different, and the pile of treasure was much larger here in the center of the city, but he could see no real difference. No one could explain how people could travel long distances by stepping into the Dragons’ mouths. One theory was that all the Black Dragons were one and the same, a single creature living simultaneously in many places. Thus, stepping into the mouth of one Black Dragon, a person could instantly step out of the same Dragon’s mouth many leagues away. But nothing had ever been concluded. Only the Dragonlord knew for sure, and he seemed to relish the mystery surrounding his power. It certainly served to discourage anyone who wanted to challenge that power.

Outside the Travel Plaza, Jonathon was immediately immersed in the city’s morning bustle. Coaches clattered past him on the cobblestone streets. Flying carpets swooped over his head. High above the buildings Knights soared, riding slim Green Dragons, as they surveyed the city for commotion. Barkers and hawkers accosted him at every corner. One particularly obnoxious peddler with three Moving Brooms chased him for three blocks.

Good sir, stop please. These brooms are made by the Sylvets. Yes, it’s true. One Clay Suggestion is all it takes to keep one working for a Moon. See how smoothly they move. A broom whirled around Jonathon as he hurried along. He was so angry he almost tripped the broom as it flew past, yet he could not bring himself to take a chance on hurting it. He knew the broom was inanimate and unfeeling, but since it moved, he perceived it as alive and was reluctant to harm it.

To get rid of the peddler, Jonathon stopped a white-haired, wizened woman who walked with an ornately carved cane and introduced her to the peddler. He left her listening with a screwed up face, one hand behind her ear, saying, What was that? Speak up, young man! to the peddler’s every word.

As he tried to walk quickly away, a line of black-robed Beholders paraded in front of him. As they did every day, they would disperse in the crowds so they might silently behold and worship the beauty in all beings, objects, and places of the world. They were completely concealed within their robes without the tiniest bit of skin visible. They were also forbidden to speak. The Beholders always gave Jonathon the uneasy feeling they were not human. Maybe not even alive. He thought their supposed devotion to Kris, the Beauty aspect of The Three, ignored a central concept of The Transmigrant that first one must see the beauty in oneself before he could recognize the beauty in others.

After waiting until they passed, obeying an unwritten law that no one walked through a line of parading Beholders, Jonathon moved onward through the throngs. Sitting in the dust beside a lean-to hovel pitched against a nicely painted Coin Changery, two naked Querites bathed a leper. The two, a man and a woman, immaculately clean but completely nude, washed the leper and carefully combed his hair. The leper, missing an ear and several fingers, gorged on potatoes they had prepared for him. The Querites were too assiduous in their devotion to the role of Tundudil, the Father and the provider, to even wear clothes. Instead, they gave everything they owned and all their time to help others. The reason they were immaculate was because part of their ministrations to others included caring for the others in their cult. In fact, the beggars they cared for frequently joined their ranks, recognizing the benefits of the persuasion. The Querites were intent on caring for others to the exclusion of all else. If their nakedness spurred lust in some criminal’s mind and he attacked and raped one of the nude Querite women or men, the Querite stoically accepted the assault and even tried to help the rapist feel less guilty.

Jonathon looked back at the elderly, flabby-chested woman who cleaned the leper’s lice off the comb she held by wiping it on her own leg. He felt as little lust for her as if he had accidentally caught his own mother undressed. The Querite woman put down the comb to turn and rub her partner’s neck while he in turn gently dabbed a foul sore on the leper’s back.

No, Jonathon thought, I’m not a Querite. Besides, he knew the woman. She was the one who bought Warming Pendants for her little flock of Querites. Even though they wore no clothes, they were not completely dim. They wanted to live through the winter. She justified the use of the Warming Pendants draped around their naked necks to Jonathon as a means of keeping their caring touch warm to those they served.

Finally, he stepped into Jeweler’s Row, a prominent street of small shops frequented only by the richest. His once proud jewelry shop right in the middle of Jeweler’s Row languished, his staff trimmed to only Hili, his favorite Pixelle, and Bob Thumblefoot. His debts had even forced him to sell most of his rough gems and precious metal just to pay Molgannard Fey’s exorbitant interest, thus undermining any chance he had to make adequate pieces of jewelry to earn enough money to get back on his feet. His pride had not allowed him to accept the offers of money from his children before then, but he realized if he ever got out of this mess, he’d have to depend on his family to help him start his business anew.

Before he stepped up to the door of his shop, the jeweler who owned the shop next door, Harmon Greatflugal sneered, Master Jeweler, I’ve a need for more flawed roughs. Business is brisk. I’ll give you two Coppers a scruple. A fair price. I understand you still have fifty flawed roughs.

He was bargaining for rough diamonds. Jonathon had ties to the diamond mines of the Cajalathrium States and could get the roughs cheaper than anyone in town, but two Copper Orders a scruple? Fair price indeed, Jonathon thought sarcastically. The going price was five a scruple. Harmon was astonishingly correct. Jonathon had just exactly fifty roughs. He had none to spare. Even if he sold all his rough diamonds to Harmon, he’d only net thirty Copper Orders on the deal. His inventory was down to the bare bones.

To shut Harmon up, Jonathon laid upon him a pile of simpering lies. Harmon, your generosity is balm to my soul. Notwithstanding the attractiveness of your offer, I must demur. Another time, your kindness and patience will be rewarded, I am sure. Harmon was a tough competitor, one of the court favorites. Jonathon distrusted him immensely.

Well, when you need the money then.

Harmon’s flippancy told Jonathon a great deal, that he knew all about Jonathon’s financial troubles and was pleased he could exploit them. Every jeweler, especially Harmon, would love to replace Jonathon as the Master Jeweler.

I saw your brood at Slough Simperdribble’s. Harmon thumbed his own satin shirt. I found this there. I was ashamed to see Simperdribble didn’t even give Mrs. Forthright a discount on her linen, seeing Herkimer is one of his suppliers. Pity.

Jonathon’s family proudly wore linen while Harmon Greatflugal wore satin. Jonathon did not care how fancy his clothes were, Harmon Greatflugal was a lonely man. Jonathon was the one who pitied him. Jonathon dusted off his