Page 81 of Son of a Witch (The Wicked Years 2)

“And it goes on

 

; “…then the burst

Of whitened sulfur spark. The fuse is lit.

The dragon’s furnace starts to roar and ride

And time, being dreamt within, begins outside.”

Liir was awed. “You’ve had some schooling before the service.”

“We had to memorize great quaffs of The Oziad in primary lessons at St. Prowd’s,” said Trism. “I was a day student on a bursary. Got top honors though.”

“Well, it’s awfully, uh, grand,” said Liir. “The Time Dragon dreams up when we’re born, when we’re to die, and whether for lunch we’ll get the roast pfenix stuffed with creamed oysters at the head table at St. Prowd’s, or the day-old ploughman’s, the roadsweeper’s budget lunch?”

“If the unlettered farmers of Munchkinland and the factory workers of Gillikin believe that their fate is being determined by how the Time Dragon dreams them up, they don’t need to bother to take responsibility for their actions or for changing their class and station in life.”

“You too,” said Liir. “You were brought through primary school to the services, and the Time Dragon dreamed you there at the head of this horrible stable. But you don’t know what he’s going to dream you to do next. Maybe it’s scamper and leave those dragons to their fate.”

“I said already. The family.”

They came to a newsstand shuttered up for the night. ELPHABA LIVES was scratched in char on the boards. The family! Hah. “They think they own her,” Liir said, suddenly disgusted. “The Witch would be foaming at the mouth. She was a flaming recluse and a crank.” Even the handwriting had an intimate, proprietary look to it somehow.

“What do you care?”

Liir changed the subject. “Maybe it’s your job to kill the dragons. Maybe that’s why you’re there. Maybe that’s why our paths crossed again today.”

“Are you insane? I couldn’t do that.”

“You could kill me, or at least you told me that you would. And I’m the least little lick of flame in your past. If it wasn’t Qhoyre, if that hadn’t worked, your superiors would have set up some other straw threat. I was being used no less than you are now. But I left, Trism. I did. You could, too.”

“I told you. The parents,” he said. “I’m trapped.”

“How would it work?” said Liir. “Quick and permanent? Burn the stables down? Slice their heads off?”

Eleven-thirty bell. Time to start back for the barracks.

“Poison?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” said Trism. “They’ll kill my next of kin.”

“Not if you didn’t do it,” said Liir. “I’ll do it. I’ll leave a note saying I did so, and that I kidnapped you as a hostage. You’ll be exonerated. They can’t kill my next of kin—I don’t have any.”

He didn’t add: Anyway, by some rumors, Shell is my next of kin, our holy Emperor. Let them go after the First Spear, if they must.

6

“TELL ME,” said Liir as they stood outside the sentry gate, screwing up their courage, “how do you mesmerize a dragon?”

“It’s not mesmerism, quite. I focus and I—hum—”

Liir raised an eyebrow. “Sweet nothings?”

“Nothing sweet.”

“Come on.”

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