Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“Which I take as a stroke of great luck,” Pelmen admitted.

“What is this caravan for. Player? It’s too early, I’m still full!”

“I suppose it comes as no shock to a dragon of your experience that these merchants are not in business entirely for your benefit,” Pelmen said quietly. Vicia shook his mighty head, and looked at Heinox.

“Did I understand that?”

“I didn’t, did I?”

“I don’t think so.”

“There is a trade war going on right now, your Dragonship. Each house is striving to get the better of the other houses. In the struggle, one might say the ethics of the League of Trade have… slipped, somewhat.”

“Ethics?” said both heads together. Vicia-Heinox was amazed at this little spokesman. Not only was Pelmen the player not trembling, he even took his eyes off of the dragon as he spoke.

He behaved as if he conversed with a peer at the gaming tables.

“Now what is happening here is an indication of the kind of thing that has been taking place in Chaomonous for some time,” Pelmen continued. He motioned the dragon to come closer. Both heads moved fluidly down to listen as he whispered conspiratorially: “You see, Pezi there has kidnapped the daughter of the royal house of Talith, and he carries her to Lamath to sell her for trading favors.” About this time, Pezi was regaining his consciousness, if not his composure. “Where am I?” the fat merchant groaned, and Heinox slipped to the front of the column to answer him.

“You are under your horse,” the dragon said, which was true; and though Pezi’s question had been rhetorical, the dragon’s answer did bring back to him the realities of the situation. He jumped up. Rather, he tried to jump up, but bumped his head against his horse’s underbelly and fell down again. He rolled over with great effort, and tottered slowly to his feet.

“What’s going on?” he muttered.

“Quiet,” hissed Heinox, “I’m talking to the man from the house of Player.”

“Nonsense,” snorted Pezi without thinking.

“There is no house of Player. I know all of the royal and noble family names of all the districts, and the only Player I know is Pelmen the player, and he’s—” It suddenly struck him. “You’re not talking to Pelmen the player! Don’t believe him! A pack of lies! The man’s a public nuisance!” Pezi forgot himself. He ran toward the rear of the caravan, so upset at this turn of events that he forgot who it was he was talking to. The dragon reminded him.

Quickly. Suddenly Pezi was running into the opened jaws of Vicia; when he managed to get his belly turned in the other direction and looked away from those gaping jaws behind him, he found himself looking down the throat of Heinox. He stopped dead in his tracks, and clapped both hands over his mouth. The two pairs of teeth snapped shut together, with an almost metallic click. Pezi swallowed with some difficulty. “Excuse me, your Dragonship.” Four eyes focused intently on Pezi, and the fat man sank to his knees under the burden of that steel-hard double gaze.

Pelmen’s rich, melodious voice broke the silence, filling the narrow canyon. “Of course, you really can’t blame Pezi for his actions. Any of the trading families would do the same if they had the opportunity.” Relief surged through Pezi as the giant heads lifted up and drifted back toward Pelmen. He fished his handkerchief out of his handbag and mopped his sweaty forehead. He was seriously considering retiring from the business.

“I have not seen a human of royal blood since I ate six of them during the last great rebellion. I want to see this girl.”

Vicia dropped down to look Pelmen in the eye. “You show her to me.”

“I would rejoice in the pleasure of introducing the lady to you, your Dragonship, but—as you see—I am chained.” The dragon really hadn’t noticed, but the fellow was indeed bound. Vicia-Heinox rarely observed such things, in any case. Only when he got pieces of chain caught between his teeth were they ever any problem to him. Heinox spoke to Pezi: “Release this man.” The chubby salesman waddled down to Pelmen as quickly as he could, fishing keys from his handbag. Once free, Pelmen walked to the beautiful golden litter with a style and grace that belied his rags. Here he paused dramatically.

“I am sure the lady would have spoken to you sooner, your Dragonship, but as you see—” He swept aside the drapes.

“—she, too, is bound.” Pelmen shot Pezi an accusing look. The merchant hung his head.

The dragon yawned. “So release her.”

“With pleasure,” Pelmen said, and he bent nobly to his task. He was a spry and energetic figure, not an old man by any means, but neither was he young. He had expressive blue eyes, and shoulder-length brown hair, and a face that was ordinary enough to allow him to remain unnoticed if he chose to be. It was his voice that most impressed the dragon, for it climbed and dropped with such personality and dignity that Vicia-Heinox was nearly mesmerized. He could not recall hearing any man speak with such assurance.

And speak Pelmen did: “This lovely young lady, savagely ripped from the home of her father, will impress you, I think, with her gentleness. She has had the best of training in the art of being ladylike, for she’s been surrounded since birth by the loveliest women of the realm. Now her father and I have not always seen eye to eye on every matter, I’ll grant you, and the last time we spoke we did have a bit of trouble communicating, but I think he would agree with me that of all the ladies of his court, this one is the loveliest. I present to you the gentle Lady Bronwynn.” At this Pelmen removed the scarf that had gagged the young woman’s mouth.

Free from her bonds at last, she leapt to her feet on the satin and brocade pillows of the litter and, pointing a finger at Pezi, shouted, “You fat little Lamathian mudgecurdle! I’ll have the royal chefs carve your belly and roast a hunk of it for—” Pelmen clapped a hand over the girl’s mouth and struggled to hold her quiet while saying, “Of course, the lady is a bit upset at the moment…”

“Quit that!” she managed to blurt out around his hand, and he let go of her as she fought her way out of the litter. She straightened her robes and lifted her chin, and muttered “Where’s the dragon?” to Pelmen. He pointed behind her, and she swept grandly around to get her first good look at this beast she had heard so much about.

Pelmen heard her sharp grunt, and he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. She backed into the security of his arms, and gasped, “He’s… big…”

“As I said,” continued Pelmen, “a Princess of impeccable manners and great modesty. Try not to shake so much, will you?” he added quietly in the girl’s ear.

“You think I’m doing this on purpose?” she whispered back.

Vicia-Heinox sat back on his hind legs, and raised his heads high into the air.

“What do I do now?” Vicia muttered.

“What do I mean, do now?” Heinox asked.

“With this caravan. I’m not hungry. I don’t need any new jewels. What does this merchant have that I want?”

“I don’t know, what does he have that I want?”

“The girl perhaps?” Vicia asked. “After all, she is a Princess, and there must be something important to that. Otherwise, why would they clothe her in such delicate wrappings?” This statement was overheard by the little group below, and Bronwynn gathered her gown around her and shivered.

“Perhaps Princesses taste better than ordinary folk,” Heinox suggested.

“Perhaps… perhaps I should…”

“If I might interrupt, I believe you would be wasting this Princess if you were to eat her. Consider keeping her, as a—a companion,” said Pelmen.