The rain had all but stopped. I pulled my cloak out of my satchel and wrapped it around me.
Mysteries abound. I reviewed the mysteries I had already encountered: the thieving cat; barefoot Master Thiel and his jingling coins; the polite ogre hated by all; no one at the dock to meet Goodwife Celeste and her goodman, who had come to see their children; even Master Dess, who seemed perfect enough to be a whited sepulcher; the dragon willing to hire an unknown girl. An abundance.
Soon I reached the menagerie fence. I ran my fingertips from one upright log to the next, rough to the touch. I smelled wet earth, damp fur, and the rust of raw meat—some animals’ feed, I hoped. My eyes sharpened as the dark deepened.
Again I heard that rising and falling call, which jangled even more eerily in my ears now that it was night. I would have been terrified if not for the protection of the fence. Any animal that escaped its cage would still be contained.
Then my hand encountered air. The gate hung open.
I fled. Although I heard nothing behind me, I didn’t slow for a full five minutes. I was lucky not to slip in the mud. Finally I stopped to quiet my breathing. The open menagerie gate—one more mystery.
In this setting I could truly be Thisbe, out at night to meet my Pyramus, who would look very much like Master Thiel. I could indeed see a bloodied lioness and bolt, leaving behind my veil, if I had a veil.
Torchlight and candlelight twinkled in the town to my right and the castle to my left. Torches flanked the nearby castle gatehouse. The drawbridge was up for the night.
I took the final fork. Below the town’s gate, a figure approached, striding toward me on Daycart Way.
In the daylight, thieves. At night, murderers?
A few houses remained, and he might yet enter one of them, but I couldn’t wait. I darted to the town wall and stood with my back against it, hoping to disappear into its shadow.
The figure, a man, passed through the gate.
Mrrow? from near my feet.
The man halted.
I cursed Two Castles for its cats. My muscles tensed with fear.
“Who goes there?” His voice was sharp, challenging.
The cat rubbed my legs.
The man waited. I waited. The cat leaned into my calf.
Finally the man continued, and in a minute I saw him by castle torchlight. It was Master Dess! Master Dess, without his cows and donkey, but still with his kitten basket.
I almost called to him. Now that I was ITs assistant, I could return his three tins. But his voice had been so harsh, I didn’t dare.
He knocked twice on the gatehouse door, then pounded—bang! bang! bang!—then knocked twice again. A signal?
The drawbridge dropped to let him cross. I remained where I was until he must have reached the castle. The cat made tiny noises, washing itself.
I left it behind. As I followed Owe Street west, I caught a whiff of spoiled eggs. The odor grew with every step.
The street ended at a structure such as I’d never seen before, as big as four houses and twice as tall, with a roof that reminded me of interlaced fingers, pointing upward. The fingers, made of tree trunks, twisted and curved, lashed together by iron bands. Smoke filtered in wisps between the fingers and rose in a thicker plume from a chimney on the other side of the edifice. The walls were made of wattle and daub, as an ordinary cottage would be.
The shape of the building was a rough circle, ringed at regular intervals by rainwater vats as high as my shoulders. The wooden door, big enough to admit a dragon, stood open.
ITs lair. I waited in the shadow outside for a long minute before crossing the threshold.
Chapter Nine
Masteress Meenore faced me from halfway across the single enormous room, where stench seemed to have replaced air. I swallowed repeatedly and tried not to gag.
“Do you like my perfume?” The smoke from ITs nostrils changed from white to blue.
Blue smoke meant shame!
I begged my eyes not to water, but they watered anyway. Should I lie?
IT would know.
Soften the truth?
IT would know.
“Do you like it, Lodie?”
I breathed deep without choking. “Like it? Enh enh enh.”
Enh enh enh. Enh enh enh. Enh enh enh. “My odor is terrible. But you will get used to it, Elodie.”
Ah, Elodie. I shrugged off my cloak and hung it on a hook by the entrance. The lair was warm even with the open door.
“You would like to eat.” IT lumbered to the fireplace, which was set into the wall across from where I stood.
How strange, a fireplace in a dragon’s lair.
Wood had been laid, but there was no fire. Above the hearth, a cauldron hung on an iron rack from which also dangled a stew pot, a soup pot, and sundry long-handled spoons. To the left of the hearth sat the basket of coins and the basket of bread-and-cheese skewers. I crossed the room to lay my satchel down by the baskets.