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Authors: M. Henderson Ellis
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away.”
“I am trouble?” I asked, half-offended, half-proud.
“The worst sort,” said Abel. “But I don’t mind.”
I needed to find Luma, but before I could search further, I was interrupted by a commotion on the floor. The tworacing dragonka had gotten into a fight after the winner nipped the loser’s tail with too much enthusiasm. Soon they were a tumbling ball, whirling around the room, a blur of fangs and scales into which nobody dared intervene. This caused another sudden wave of betting, this time on the results of the fight. I watched the brawling dragonka spill into the spectators and the crowd surge back. To distract the audience a Half Not band started up, playing on spoons and blowing jugs. A troop of Sibernian soldiers began dancing a high step, and some celebrants took the opportunity to settle old scores—I saw a pocket picked, a cup of mead poured over a woman’s head, and more than one fistfight break out; and for a few minutes the room was pure chaos, like a wedding party that had been overrun by a riot.
Suddenly, the audience regrouped, as another competition had begun, and the issue of betting needed to get underway. I was pushed into the midst of the crowd, and was beginning to panic because there was no sign of Luma anywhere. But the ferocity of the spectators’ cheering retrained my attentions to the pit and the two dragonka racing around it. It took me a moment to believe what I was seeing: Luma was one of the racing dragonka. And from the looks of it, he was winning.
I SHOVED MY WAY TO THE FIRST ROW , all the way up to the perimeter of the pit. Luma was moving quickly as a ferret around the ring, chasing the tail of a dragonka pup that looked like a squat lizard, its tongue hanging from the side of its mouth in fatigue. It was not long before Luma inflicted his bite on the other beast, which let out a high-pitched whimper before scampering from the pit. There was a collective groan from the crowd, as it seemed Luma had been heavily bet against. I noticed only a few cheers, the loudest being from one of the Blackhearts. There I saw Deklyn collecting a purse of kuna from the Half Not bookmaker.
I pushed my way over to him. As I did, a Half Not attendant delivered my panting dragonka to Deklyn’s arms. The Blackheart held Luma, stroking him behind his ears. I immediately felt an anger rise in me. When Luma sensed me there, he immediately fluttered from Deklyn back into my arms.
“What are you trying to do?” I yelled over the noise.
“What do you mean?” he replied casually, tossing his bag of coins from hand to hand.
“With my drangonka? With Luma!”
“Luma,” said Deklyn, trying the name out on his tongue. “I like the name, maybe we will even keep it.”
“
You
will keep it?” I was so angry that my words sputtered like a misfiring engine.
“This creature never belonged to you. I don’t know where you got it from, but it’s not yours. I asked around after we saw you,” he said, reaching into his pouch. “Have a few kuna for your trouble.” But I knocked the brass kuna from his hand.
“He
belongs
to me,” I shot back.
“You? You can’t even take care of yourself. And see how lean Luma is? That is not right. Even a racing dragonka needs a little fat to fire his breath with. You haven’t even trained the beast to do
anything
.”
Deklyn was right. And though I could barely feed the both of us, I would find a way. But I wasn’t going to admit that. Not to him. We both fumed at each other for a few silent, unhappy moments before the Half Not girl spoke.
“Stop it!” Isobel commanded, stepping between us. “It is obvious that we need each other. Listen,” she said, turning to me, “we need a beast of trainable age. There just aren’t many left, with all the quarantines and confiscations. And you, well, you need to survive. Deklyn is right. We know all about you, and your mother, and we have seen you hitting the bins at night. You might survive, but
“I am trouble?” I asked, half-offended, half-proud.
“The worst sort,” said Abel. “But I don’t mind.”
I needed to find Luma, but before I could search further, I was interrupted by a commotion on the floor. The tworacing dragonka had gotten into a fight after the winner nipped the loser’s tail with too much enthusiasm. Soon they were a tumbling ball, whirling around the room, a blur of fangs and scales into which nobody dared intervene. This caused another sudden wave of betting, this time on the results of the fight. I watched the brawling dragonka spill into the spectators and the crowd surge back. To distract the audience a Half Not band started up, playing on spoons and blowing jugs. A troop of Sibernian soldiers began dancing a high step, and some celebrants took the opportunity to settle old scores—I saw a pocket picked, a cup of mead poured over a woman’s head, and more than one fistfight break out; and for a few minutes the room was pure chaos, like a wedding party that had been overrun by a riot.
Suddenly, the audience regrouped, as another competition had begun, and the issue of betting needed to get underway. I was pushed into the midst of the crowd, and was beginning to panic because there was no sign of Luma anywhere. But the ferocity of the spectators’ cheering retrained my attentions to the pit and the two dragonka racing around it. It took me a moment to believe what I was seeing: Luma was one of the racing dragonka. And from the looks of it, he was winning.
I SHOVED MY WAY TO THE FIRST ROW , all the way up to the perimeter of the pit. Luma was moving quickly as a ferret around the ring, chasing the tail of a dragonka pup that looked like a squat lizard, its tongue hanging from the side of its mouth in fatigue. It was not long before Luma inflicted his bite on the other beast, which let out a high-pitched whimper before scampering from the pit. There was a collective groan from the crowd, as it seemed Luma had been heavily bet against. I noticed only a few cheers, the loudest being from one of the Blackhearts. There I saw Deklyn collecting a purse of kuna from the Half Not bookmaker.
I pushed my way over to him. As I did, a Half Not attendant delivered my panting dragonka to Deklyn’s arms. The Blackheart held Luma, stroking him behind his ears. I immediately felt an anger rise in me. When Luma sensed me there, he immediately fluttered from Deklyn back into my arms.
“What are you trying to do?” I yelled over the noise.
“What do you mean?” he replied casually, tossing his bag of coins from hand to hand.
“With my drangonka? With Luma!”
“Luma,” said Deklyn, trying the name out on his tongue. “I like the name, maybe we will even keep it.”
“
You
will keep it?” I was so angry that my words sputtered like a misfiring engine.
“This creature never belonged to you. I don’t know where you got it from, but it’s not yours. I asked around after we saw you,” he said, reaching into his pouch. “Have a few kuna for your trouble.” But I knocked the brass kuna from his hand.
“He
belongs
to me,” I shot back.
“You? You can’t even take care of yourself. And see how lean Luma is? That is not right. Even a racing dragonka needs a little fat to fire his breath with. You haven’t even trained the beast to do
anything
.”
Deklyn was right. And though I could barely feed the both of us, I would find a way. But I wasn’t going to admit that. Not to him. We both fumed at each other for a few silent, unhappy moments before the Half Not girl spoke.
“Stop it!” Isobel commanded, stepping between us. “It is obvious that we need each other. Listen,” she said, turning to me, “we need a beast of trainable age. There just aren’t many left, with all the quarantines and confiscations. And you, well, you need to survive. Deklyn is right. We know all about you, and your mother, and we have seen you hitting the bins at night. You might survive, but
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