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Authors: Avram Davidson
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finding places where they might be free indeed and farmers indeed and need nevermore be “dirty doghunters” save on their own account.
“Some come back quicker than they went, young outworlder. It made them content to suffer what they’d suffered in discontent but where the dragons don’t fight unless they’re coaxed or goaded. I says, ‘It made them…’ What did? Why to see how terrible them awful Bosky drags tore up them as went before them. In their blood they saw them, yesindeed, mere bones and shreds,” Ma’am Anna sighed.
Jon-Joras caught at a word. “‘Some’ came back, you say—?”
“You mean, and what’s of the others? Isn’t it clear? Them as was found torn and scattered, was them that never come back.”
He frowned and mused. There was nothing utterly impossible in this account, nothing of the historical absurdity of confusing Kar-chee with dragon nor of the physical impossibility of the one turning into the other and back again, so. But there remained one considerable question which alone put the whole matter into doubt.
“Are the dragons any bigger or any different there than here?”
“Nope.” Ma’am Anna smacked her gums. “Just fiercer, like I say.”
“But…” And this was it: “Why should they be fiercer there? I mean, with no one to hunt them and bother them, you’d think they’d be less fierce, wouldn’t you?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she said, with inflexible logic; “because I knows they be more fierce. As to why, hee hum, old as I am and not fit for much, rather than go and maybe find out and be made into salad meat, by your leave, me coney, I’ll stay over here and in ignorance.”
And there the matter rested.
They were due to meet up with the main horde at about noon; and, at about noon, they did. The camp was, like a Gentleman’s seat, a small city-state of its own. Tents and lean-tos dotted the area for about a mile, the small animals from which the fleeces evidently came milled and bleated, and ponies by the thousands—so it seemed—grazed in hobbles. And in the center was the great circular tent which was the Ma’am’s capitol.
“Mutton!” she directed, as she was being lifted down.
“I want me fat mutton—grilled and crisp and chopped fine!”
“Yes, our Ma’am.”
“And tomorrow I want the flocks taken up to the white stony brook—that was all burnt over a while back, should be nice, fresh grazing.”
“Yes, our Ma’am.”
“Tomorrow. Not today. Today I want the children to go up there instead. Have ’em bring all the buckets and baskets—there’ll be good berrying there.”
“Yes, our Ma’am.”
They set her down on a pile of fleeces and blankets raised off the floor, propped her up with pillows.
“Did Cuthy beg Brun’s pardon, publicly, like I said?”
“He did, our Ma’am.”
“Paid him twelve goats, too?”
“Twelve goats, our Ma’am. He wanted to include a wether, and Brun wouldn’t have it, but the Elders said a goat was a goat, so he took it, rather than do without.”
She nodded. “That’s right. There’s many a buck with stones that does the nannies no good; this way he won’t have to wonder… Teach Cuthy to leave Brun’s woman alone. All right! All right! Get out, now! Stop vexing me old head with all your questions. Bring enough mutton for the outworld boy, too. Come sit… of whatever way is comfortable for you… over by me. Now, then—”
She took his hand. “We’ll be here long enough for you to mend. What do you think on doing, once you can ride. again?” He said that he thought he’d rather not ride again at all, asked if she couldn’t send a messenger for a flyer to take him back to Peramis. “Ah, me cockerel, but isn’t that part of the question? What do you think on doing, once you’re back in Peramis?”
Seeing that he was still not understanding her, she explained in detail. What did he plan to say about things? The rogue dragon… the mysterious, secretive Kar-chee
“Some come back quicker than they went, young outworlder. It made them content to suffer what they’d suffered in discontent but where the dragons don’t fight unless they’re coaxed or goaded. I says, ‘It made them…’ What did? Why to see how terrible them awful Bosky drags tore up them as went before them. In their blood they saw them, yesindeed, mere bones and shreds,” Ma’am Anna sighed.
Jon-Joras caught at a word. “‘Some’ came back, you say—?”
“You mean, and what’s of the others? Isn’t it clear? Them as was found torn and scattered, was them that never come back.”
He frowned and mused. There was nothing utterly impossible in this account, nothing of the historical absurdity of confusing Kar-chee with dragon nor of the physical impossibility of the one turning into the other and back again, so. But there remained one considerable question which alone put the whole matter into doubt.
“Are the dragons any bigger or any different there than here?”
“Nope.” Ma’am Anna smacked her gums. “Just fiercer, like I say.”
“But…” And this was it: “Why should they be fiercer there? I mean, with no one to hunt them and bother them, you’d think they’d be less fierce, wouldn’t you?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she said, with inflexible logic; “because I knows they be more fierce. As to why, hee hum, old as I am and not fit for much, rather than go and maybe find out and be made into salad meat, by your leave, me coney, I’ll stay over here and in ignorance.”
And there the matter rested.
They were due to meet up with the main horde at about noon; and, at about noon, they did. The camp was, like a Gentleman’s seat, a small city-state of its own. Tents and lean-tos dotted the area for about a mile, the small animals from which the fleeces evidently came milled and bleated, and ponies by the thousands—so it seemed—grazed in hobbles. And in the center was the great circular tent which was the Ma’am’s capitol.
“Mutton!” she directed, as she was being lifted down.
“I want me fat mutton—grilled and crisp and chopped fine!”
“Yes, our Ma’am.”
“And tomorrow I want the flocks taken up to the white stony brook—that was all burnt over a while back, should be nice, fresh grazing.”
“Yes, our Ma’am.”
“Tomorrow. Not today. Today I want the children to go up there instead. Have ’em bring all the buckets and baskets—there’ll be good berrying there.”
“Yes, our Ma’am.”
They set her down on a pile of fleeces and blankets raised off the floor, propped her up with pillows.
“Did Cuthy beg Brun’s pardon, publicly, like I said?”
“He did, our Ma’am.”
“Paid him twelve goats, too?”
“Twelve goats, our Ma’am. He wanted to include a wether, and Brun wouldn’t have it, but the Elders said a goat was a goat, so he took it, rather than do without.”
She nodded. “That’s right. There’s many a buck with stones that does the nannies no good; this way he won’t have to wonder… Teach Cuthy to leave Brun’s woman alone. All right! All right! Get out, now! Stop vexing me old head with all your questions. Bring enough mutton for the outworld boy, too. Come sit… of whatever way is comfortable for you… over by me. Now, then—”
She took his hand. “We’ll be here long enough for you to mend. What do you think on doing, once you can ride. again?” He said that he thought he’d rather not ride again at all, asked if she couldn’t send a messenger for a flyer to take him back to Peramis. “Ah, me cockerel, but isn’t that part of the question? What do you think on doing, once you’re back in Peramis?”
Seeing that he was still not understanding her, she explained in detail. What did he plan to say about things? The rogue dragon… the mysterious, secretive Kar-chee
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