Alastair Archibald: Dragonblaster

"I have no objection, Reverend Mother,” Judan replied, curtseying. “May I continue? We have many other stipulations and conditions to consider, and the spell must be cast within the next two hours if it is to succeed."

"Please carry on, Sister. You may rise, Sister Sofia.

"Thank you for your indulgence, Reverend Mother."

Judan consulted her detailed, specific notes for the next ninety minutes, firing pointed questions at each Sister in turn; every woman present had a vital role to perform, if the spell was to succeed.

A few Sisters confessed to minor failures of attention or detail, and two nuns were condemned to minor punishments for their transgressions. At each negative report, Judan made adjustments to her calculations but, at last, she declared herself satisfied.

"Sisters, please go to your posts!” she cried, consulting a small compass. “Reverend Mother, may I ask you to move to your left a little? Thank you."

"Sister Vanar; the brand should be in your left hand, you idiot!” Judan screamed, departing for a moment from her tutelary mien.

"My apologies, Sister."

"Hmm. Tribunes; please move a little closer together… more… thank you. Sister Jana, raise your left arm a little higher… there. Thank you-hold that pose.

"Reverend Mother; we are ready."

"Carry on, Sister Judan."

"Sister Moran; the first chant, if you please!"

The spell was under way.

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The two armed guards at the entrance to Grimm's tower in Crar had strict standing orders to challenge any person approaching the building. In the case of Shakkar, however, such niceties were waived; there was little chance of any miscreant being able to disguise himself as the titanic demon Seneschal.

"Good evening, gentlemen,” Shakkar rumbled to the watchmen. “Have you anything to report?"

"Nothing, Lord Seneschal,” the two green-uniformed men chorused, saluting with crisp precision. “All is quiet."

"Is Lady Drexelica in residence?” the demon asked. “I wish to discuss next week's Archery Tournament with her."

"I've been on guard since noon, Lord Seneschal,” the senior guard said, a grizzled, shaven-headed sergeant by the name of Erik. “Lady Drexelica hasn't left the tower since then, and the last shift had nothing to report when I relieved them. We change shift at midnight, and I'll be sure to tell our replacements you're in the building, when we change over in five minutes or so."

"Thank you, Sergeant,” Shakkar said as the guards stepped aside to allow him entry to the tower.

When he had first accepted the post of Seneschal, Shakkar had felt uncertain of his ability to deal with these scatter-brained, weak mortals, and even of how to control his own temper. Nonetheless, he had found himself beginning to admire these short-lived, frail creatures, as they sought to cram their brief existences as full as they could.

At first, he had considered that wasting public money on frivolities, such as the Archery Tournament, was ill-advised at best, but he had noted that the citizens of Crar seemed more efficient in their work when thus entertained, and he had actually begun to find pleasure in the smiles and laughter of the townspeople. Likewise, he had found his duty to guard the young female to be irksome at the start of his role. She prattled, and she even consulted the demon over trivia such as clothes: he had believed such human matters beneath him.

Since that time, he had recognised the poor female's need for company and conversation, and he began to look forward to their brief meetings. He was a little late tonight, but he knew that Drex rarely retired to bed before one o'clock in the morning.

Reaching the entrance to the day-room, the demon tapped on the heavy door with his talons.

"Come in, Shakkar,” came a cheerful voice from within. “Don't worry; I'm decent."

The demon shook his head; he had never understood how the sight of an unclothed female form might be expected to arouse lust in him. However, after several such encounters, he had begun to realise that concealment of the body was important to these feminine creatures in all but a few, intimate circumstances, and he now respected her wishes to the letter.

On entering the day-room, he was not surprised to see Lady Drexelica examining herself in a hand-mirror; she seemed to do this often, although the demon never understood why; did she believe her face changed from day to day?

"Do you like my hair, Shakkar?” she asked, putting down the looking-glass and facing the demon, her head tilted to one side.

"What might there be to dislike, Lady Drexelica?” the Seneschal asked, puzzled.

Demons did not possess hair, and Shakkar had never comprehended why these conflicted, short-lived beings spent so much time trying to change its natural form.

"Oh, you're just like all men!” she shouted, stamping her right foot in a gesture that Shakkar had learned to associate with annoyance.

"I am not a man at all, Lady,” the demon rumbled. “Yesterday, you possessed hair, and it is still present on your head. Do you fear alopecia? If so, you have no need to worry."

"That's not it at all!” she cried, glaring at him. “This is a style used by the ancient court ladies of Luria, and I happen to think it's very attractive."

Shakkar began to wish he were somewhere else. The female had gone to the trouble of rearranging her hair just before she went to bed, when there was nobody to see it except him, and she expected him to pass judgement upon it, before she dismantled the complex arrangement of pins and knots again.

Shakkar remembered a puzzling mortal phrase: Discretion is the better part of valour, and he realised what it meant with a blinding flash of inspiration. Humans often lied to each other, even their friends, and this somehow facilitated social interaction.

"Your pardon, Lady; my mind was distracted by my work. The arrangement is indeed ravishing."

He picked the adjective almost at random, but it seemed to have the desired effect.

"Thank you, Shakkar!” she said, baring her teeth and twisting her lips in an expression the demon understood to betoken pleasure in humans. “I've worked on it for some time, and I'm glad you appreciate it."

"Lady Drexelica,” the Seneschal rumbled, seeking to forestall any other potential gaffes by changing the subject, “the men are asking if you will present the prizes at next week's tournament. They have been practicing for some time now, and, I believe, they would regard it as an honour."

Drex's face turned a little red. “Is that true? I'm only Grimm's housekeeper, you know, Shakkar… or, at least, that's what everybody else thinks."

The demon knew that the girl's relationship with the Questor was now an open secret amongst the people of Crar, but he decided again that diplomacy might be that best course of action.

"I believe that they would appreciate such a beautiful female giving the awards more than if I were to do it,” he said. “I still scare some of the men."

"Why, you're not scary at all, Shakkar!” Drexelica crowed, baring her teeth again. “I used to think so, but now I just see you as a friend and protector. Please tell the competitors I'll be happy to do it. Tell them… tell them I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Shakkar, relieved to be spared any more difficult questions, bowed. “Thank you, Lady Drexelica; I'm sure they will be delighted to hear of your acceptance.

"I still have a few more duties to which to attend, and so I will bid you goodnight."

"Goodnight, Shakkar. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow, Lady Drexelica."