I was too alarmed to make an amazing comeback. Fortunately, I’m the author of this book, so I can rewrite history as I feel necessary. Let’s try that again.
Ahem.
I glanced to the side, whereupon I noticed a dangerous scaly lizard slithering its way along the sides of the buildings, obviously bent on devouring us all.
‘Behold!’ I bellowed. ‘’Tis a foul beast of the netherhells. Stand behind me and I shall slay it!’
‘Oh, Alcatraz,’ Bastille breathed. ‘Thou art awesomish and manlyish.’
‘Lo, let it be such,’ I said.
‘Don’t be alarmed, lad,’ Grandpa Smedry said, glancing at the reptile. ‘That’s our ride.’
I could see that the wingless, horned creature had a contraption on its back, a little like a gondola. The massive beast defied gravity, clinging to the stone faces of the buildings, kind of like a lizard clinging to a cliff – only this lizard was large enough to swallow a bus. The dragon reached Keep Smedry, then climbed up to our balcony, its claws gripping the stones. I took an involuntary step backward as its enormous serpentine head crested the balcony and looked at us.
‘Smedry,’ it said in a deep voice.
‘Hello, Tzoctinatin,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘We need a ride to the palace, quickly.’
‘So I have been told. Climb in.’
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘We use dragons as taxis?’
The dragon eyed me, and in that eye I saw a vastness. A deep, swirling depth, colors upon colors, folds upon folds. It made me feel small and meaningless.
‘I do not do this of my own will, young Smedry,’ the beast rumbled.
‘How long left on your sentence?’ Grandpa Smedry asked.
‘Three hundred years,’ the creature said, turning away. ‘Three hundred years before they will return my wings so that I may fly again.’ With that, the creature climbed up the side of the wall a little farther, bringing the gondola basket into view. A walkway unfolded from it, and the others began to climb in.
‘What’d he do?’ I whispered to Grandpa Smedry.
‘Hum? Oh, first-degree maiden munching, I believe. It happened some four centuries back. Tragic story. Watch that first step.’
I followed the others into the gondola. There was a well-furnished room inside, complete with comfortable-looking couches. Draulin was the last one in, and she closed the door. Immediately, the dragon began to move – I could tell by looking out the window. However, I couldn’t feel the motion. It appeared that no matter which direction the dragon turned or which way was ‘up,’ the gondola occupants always had gravity point the same way.
(I was later to learn that this, like many things in the Free Kingdoms, was due to a type of glass – Orientation Glass – that allows one to set a direction that is ‘down’ when you forge it into a box. Therefore, anything inside the box is pulled in that direction, no matter which way the box turns.)
I stood for a long time, watching out the window, which glowed faintly to my eyes because of my Oculator’s Lenses. After the chaos of the explosion and my near death, I hadn’t really had a chance to contemplate the city. It was amazing. As I’d seen, the entire city was filled with castles. Not just simple brick and stone buildings, but actual castles, with high walls and towers, each one different.
Some had a fairy-tale feel, with archways and slender peaks. Others were brutish and no-nonsense, the type of castles you might imagine were ruled over by evil, blood-thirsty warlords. (It should be noted that the Honorable Guild of Evil Warlords has worked very hard to counter the negative stereotype of its members. After several dozen bake sales and charity auctions, someone suggested that they remove the word evil from the title of their organization. The suggestion was eventually rejected on account of Gurstak the Ruthless having just ordered a full box of embossed business cards.)
The castles lined the streets like skyscrapers might in a large Hushlander city. I could see people moving on the road below – some in horse-drawn carriages – but our dragon continued to crawl lizardlike across the sides of buildings. The castles were close enough that when he came to a gap between buildings, he could simply stretch across.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Bastille asked. I turned, not having realized that she’d joined me at the window.
‘It is,’ I said.
‘It always feels good to get back,’ Bastille said. ‘I love how clean everything is. The sparkling glass, the stonework and the carvings.’
‘I would have thought that coming back would be rough this time,’ I said. ‘I mean, you left as a knight, but have to come back as a squire.’
She grimaced. ‘You really have a way with women, Smedry. Anyone ever told you that?’
I blushed. ‘I just . . . uh . . .’ Dang. You know, when I write my memoirs, I’m totally going to put a better line right there.
(Too bad I forgot to do that. I really need to pay better attention to my notes.)