Read Online The Dragon Book by Gardner Dozois, Jack Dann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gardner Dozois, Jack Dann
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Romance, Fantasy, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Short Stories, Young Adult, Anthologies
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“Marcus Antonius, at your command.”
“Mm,” the general said. He was not very well-favored: a narrow face, skinny neck, hairline in full retreat and headed for a rout. At least he had a good voice. “Grandson of the consul?”
“You have me,” Antony said.
“Caius Julius, called Caesar,” the general said, and tilted his head. Then he added, thoughtfully, “So we are cousins of a sort, on your mother’s side.”
“Oh, yes, warm family relations all around,” Antony said, raising his eyebrows, aside from how Caesar’s uncle had put that consul grandfather to death in the last round of civil war but one.
But Caesar met his dismissive look with an amused curl of his own mouth that said plainly he knew how absurd it was. “Why not?”
Antony gave a bark of laughter. “Why not, indeed,” he said. “I had a letter for you, I believe, but unfortunately I left it in Rome. They’ve shipped us out to”—he waved a hand—“be of some use to you.”
“Oh, you will be,” Caesar said softly. “Tell me, have you ever thought of putting archers on her back?”
Bob Choi’s Last Job
J ONATHAN S TROUD
Jonathan Stroud is one of the most popular and acclaimed authors in young adult fantasy today. He’s best known for his Bartimaeus Trilogy, depicting the adventures and misadventures of a genie, and including The Amulet of Samarkand, The Golem’s Eye, and Ptolemy’s Gate, but his stand-alone novels include Heroes of the Valley, The Last Siege, The Leap, and Buried Fire. He’s also written several illustrated puzzle books for young readers, including The Viking Saga of Harri Bristlebeard and The Lost Treasure of Captain Blood, and one nonfiction title: Ancient Rome, in the Sightseers series. He lives in Great Britain.
In the powerful story that follows, he takes us along with a grimly determined dragon hunter out on a dangerous job—one that may turn out to be more dangerous than he had ever imagined it could be.
OF the victim’s body, only scorched bones remained, and these had been neatly stacked in the refuse bag for disposal in the trash. The pelvis lay at the bottom, with the leg and arm bones set diagonally across to form a platform for the skull. The ribs, vertebrae, and smaller fragments had been piled around the skull in snug, intersecting layers, but the arrangement had collapsed when Bob Choi opened the bag.
Bob made a sad, dispirited sound behind his teeth. He removed a glove, and, with the tips of his fingers, touched the dome of the skull. Just the faintest trace of heat. So—one hour since the feeding, maybe two. The creature would be soporific in its room.
Bob bent low, so that his long coat sighed and whispered in the alley dirt. The smell upon the bag was fresh and strong: pitchstone, copper sulphate, a subtle mix of other mineral residues. Not a hatchling, then. An old one, subtle and experienced … Bob Choi clicked his tongue against his teeth.
Straightening, he looked up at the apartment block that rose above him in the rain, a slight, stoop-shouldered man with dark, receding hair. Small drips of water beaded his forehead and ran across his face. He did not move to brush them away but held himself still and watchful. His face was doughy, soft and unspectacular, his eyes weary and a little lined.
From a window on the fourth floor of the apartment building, an orange-yellow radiance gleamed. It might be a simple light or lantern; then again, it might not. Bob Choi shook his head, blowing out his cheeks. Why couldn’t they stick with legal meat? They didn’t have to kill, and no one would be any the wiser if they just stayed quiet—their cloaks worked all too well. But no, they were beasts, of course; their hunger was ungovernable. They had to screw up every time. Some of them took years to show themselves, but it always ended the same way. With his gloved hand, he patted the pockets of his coat to check the location of the weapons. Always the same way.
He
“Mm,” the general said. He was not very well-favored: a narrow face, skinny neck, hairline in full retreat and headed for a rout. At least he had a good voice. “Grandson of the consul?”
“You have me,” Antony said.
“Caius Julius, called Caesar,” the general said, and tilted his head. Then he added, thoughtfully, “So we are cousins of a sort, on your mother’s side.”
“Oh, yes, warm family relations all around,” Antony said, raising his eyebrows, aside from how Caesar’s uncle had put that consul grandfather to death in the last round of civil war but one.
But Caesar met his dismissive look with an amused curl of his own mouth that said plainly he knew how absurd it was. “Why not?”
Antony gave a bark of laughter. “Why not, indeed,” he said. “I had a letter for you, I believe, but unfortunately I left it in Rome. They’ve shipped us out to”—he waved a hand—“be of some use to you.”
“Oh, you will be,” Caesar said softly. “Tell me, have you ever thought of putting archers on her back?”
Bob Choi’s Last Job
J ONATHAN S TROUD
Jonathan Stroud is one of the most popular and acclaimed authors in young adult fantasy today. He’s best known for his Bartimaeus Trilogy, depicting the adventures and misadventures of a genie, and including The Amulet of Samarkand, The Golem’s Eye, and Ptolemy’s Gate, but his stand-alone novels include Heroes of the Valley, The Last Siege, The Leap, and Buried Fire. He’s also written several illustrated puzzle books for young readers, including The Viking Saga of Harri Bristlebeard and The Lost Treasure of Captain Blood, and one nonfiction title: Ancient Rome, in the Sightseers series. He lives in Great Britain.
In the powerful story that follows, he takes us along with a grimly determined dragon hunter out on a dangerous job—one that may turn out to be more dangerous than he had ever imagined it could be.
OF the victim’s body, only scorched bones remained, and these had been neatly stacked in the refuse bag for disposal in the trash. The pelvis lay at the bottom, with the leg and arm bones set diagonally across to form a platform for the skull. The ribs, vertebrae, and smaller fragments had been piled around the skull in snug, intersecting layers, but the arrangement had collapsed when Bob Choi opened the bag.
Bob made a sad, dispirited sound behind his teeth. He removed a glove, and, with the tips of his fingers, touched the dome of the skull. Just the faintest trace of heat. So—one hour since the feeding, maybe two. The creature would be soporific in its room.
Bob bent low, so that his long coat sighed and whispered in the alley dirt. The smell upon the bag was fresh and strong: pitchstone, copper sulphate, a subtle mix of other mineral residues. Not a hatchling, then. An old one, subtle and experienced … Bob Choi clicked his tongue against his teeth.
Straightening, he looked up at the apartment block that rose above him in the rain, a slight, stoop-shouldered man with dark, receding hair. Small drips of water beaded his forehead and ran across his face. He did not move to brush them away but held himself still and watchful. His face was doughy, soft and unspectacular, his eyes weary and a little lined.
From a window on the fourth floor of the apartment building, an orange-yellow radiance gleamed. It might be a simple light or lantern; then again, it might not. Bob Choi shook his head, blowing out his cheeks. Why couldn’t they stick with legal meat? They didn’t have to kill, and no one would be any the wiser if they just stayed quiet—their cloaks worked all too well. But no, they were beasts, of course; their hunger was ungovernable. They had to screw up every time. Some of them took years to show themselves, but it always ended the same way. With his gloved hand, he patted the pockets of his coat to check the location of the weapons. Always the same way.
He
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