Robert Asprin - Dragons Luck

“No, you don’t,” Griffen said firmly.

The changeling’s eyes snapped back into focus, the fog dissipating. He blinked, and small drops flew from his lashes, looking a bit like tears on his cheeks. It was so slight a physical sign that Griffen could doubt he had even seen it and knew anyone who wasn’t looking for something magical would just overlook it. It was something very outside his experience, both from before and after he had started to learn of dragons. He was beginning to be impressed by the changelings.

“Fine, if we hurry we can get there before him. Guess I could use a drink.”

With that, the changeling walked past him and turned toward Toulouse. Having made a decision, he moved without hesitation, practically bouncing along at a pace that Griffen had to hurry a bit to keep up with. Griffen shook his head again and hurried.

Sure enough, they beat Tink to the bar, though Griffen wasn’t sure how. Then again, he wasn’t sure how the fogged-over vision of the changeling with him really worked. The two sidled up to the mostly empty bar, and the bartender stared at them.

“Sorry, Griffen,” the bartender said. “Friend or yours or no, I got to card him.”

The changeling was already holding out an ID.

“Every friggin’ time,” he muttered.

The bartender looked over the card carefully, even running his nail over the seams and texture, then shrugged and went to pour their drinks. While he was a bit out of earshot, the changeling leaned over to Griffen.

“It’s not the ID that’s the problem, it’s replacing them every ten years or so. No one would buy the right birth date, and unlike some, I don’t have enough glamour to do up a fake on the spot.”

It was then that Tink came in, surrounded by the rest of the changelings. He stopped in the door, the rest gathering tightly around him like a flock of nervous geese, and his expression wasn’t happy. He moved forward again, glaring at Griffen’s companion.

“Hey, big man,” the changeling said as he approached. “You forgot to do intros last time.”

Tink stopped again, and his expression surprised Griffen. He looked startled, even embarrassed. It was very much the look of someone who had just had an obvious oversight pointed out to him. Griffen hadn’t expected it to be a big deal.

“That’s no call for going off and bothering our host.” Tink tried, but Griffen didn’t think his heart was in it.

“You didna’ say I couldna’,” the changeling said.

Griffen didn’t have enough experience with accents, but the one the boy suddenly adopted sounded an odd blend of Scottish and Irish. Again, it drew Tink up short and made Griffen wonder if there was more going on here. Was it a quote from somewhere perhaps?

“True enough,” Tink said. “Mr. McCandles. If I may introduce you to my companions as they are currently called. This is Nyx, Robin, Hobb, and Tammy.”

He pointed out each in turn. Nyx was the young woman with the piercings who had changed Griffen’s drink. Robin and Hobb had to be a couple from the way they seemed to always be holding hands. Tammy was the coltish, attractive young girl Griffen had noticed earlier. She shot a sour look at Tink and stepped toward Griffen, taking a bit of a breath to swell her modest chest.

“That’s Tamlin, Mr. Dragon,” she said.

“Tammy suits you so much better,” Nyx said.

Tammy, which Griffen had to admit was a better name for the young blonde, shot the other a dirty look and took a step back to rejoin the group.

“And that is ‘Griffen’ please,” Griffen said, still wincing over “Mr. Dragon.”

“And he skipped me over, punishment for bothering you, Mr. McCandles.”

That was from the changeling who had been following Griffen. Sure enough, Tink had skipped him over. Again, Griffen wasn’t sure why. As the changeling took a sip of his drink and held out a hand, he had a bit of a smirk.

“They call me Drake,” he said.

Griffen shook his hand.

“I notice you all say that is how you are called. May I ask why?” Griffen said.

Tink took a seat at the bar, leaving Griffen between him and Drake, with the rest all milling about on their feet. He signaled the bartender and ordered for himself. He had to wave twice to get the man’s attention. On an afternoon shift with the bar still nearly empty. Griffen had already noticed the bartender and the other few patrons weren’t paying any attention to them. By now, he just assumed it was the changelings’ influence.

Once Tink had his drink, he explained.

“It’s tradition and magic. Never give out your true name, or secret name. Most changelings pick or find or are given a name that they use in public. Many ritually discover a secret name as well, which they adopt as their ‘true name,’ ignoring whatever their human parents saddled them with. A lot of us grab our names from mythology, or popular media,” Tink said.

“So why can’t I be Tamlin?” Tammy put in.

“Because he was a man, and, by most reports, human. And Tammy just fits too damn well,” Tink said.

“You said ‘human parents’? From the little I’ve been told, you don’t think you come from humans?” Griffen asked.

“Not really. The current belief is that we are left behind by the fey for reasons known only to them. Mostly it’s believed we are half-human half-fey, products of seduction or worse. Since no one’s reported seeing a fey in ages, it’s kinda hard to confirm, but changelings keep popping up. Usually to parents with next to no magical background,” Tink said.

“Hence shunning the birth name and taking on new names?” Griffen said.

“Not quite,” Drake put in. “See, that fits in this day with the current trend of rebellious angsty teenagers. Most of us are from a generation that still respects parents. Parents who could never understand, or deal with, a magical child. Think of it as adopted children who found out the parents who raised them aren’t really theirs. All sorts of mixed reactions depending on the child. Still doesn’t change all the history and love that takes place in the sixteen or so years it takes a parent to change a baby into an adult.”

“And then there are a few, very few, who are found by other changelings and taught what they are from early on,” Tink said. “Myself included, which is why I feel responsibility to do the same for others and took on my current role.”

“The rest of us had to find our way, to find others like us.”

That was from Hobb. The young man squeezed the girl’s, Robin’s, hand and smiled affectionately. Griffen had to smile, too.

“Okay, so what about actual full-blown fairies, then?” he said.

“What about full-blown dragons?” Tink said. Then he shrugged and went on. “Depends who you ask. Historians tend to put it all down to a few tribes in Ireland who disappeared when the Romans were smashing the crap out of the Celts. But the way they tell it, they were just primitive nature-worshipping humans who hid in the woods real well. Which is about as satisfying and truthful as saying all dragons are big ravening lizards hungry for virgin flesh.”

“So a kernel of truth hiding something a whole lot deeper?” Griffen said.

“That’s what we figure; otherwise, where did we come from? But a lot of that is faith. We don’t know. There never have been lines of changelings. No history passed down from father to son. And no big, winged sprite popping up and saying ‘Hey kids, where the hell have you been?’ It’s one of the reasons we get so clingy, with ourselves and each other.”

Tink looked up from his drink.

“Sorry, Mr. McCandles, we shouldn’t be bending your ear,” he said.

“No, no, I’m fascinated. I want to know as much as possible about every group attending,” Griffen assured him. “And remember, ‘Mr. McCandles’ isn’t necessary. Just Griffen.”