From her vantage point, she watched the elderly man walk slowly toward the stove. She looked at the doorway to the front room. Her eyes grew wide. The visitor’s legs were green, scaly, and thickly muscled. A broad, pointed tail hung behind the legs, reaching to within inches of the floor. The tail swayed as the stranger followed Barnstack into the kitchen.
Barnstack stirred the coals in the fireplace as he hung the teapot on the metal hook within. He tossed a slender wedge of wood onto the coals. The smoke reached Zeeky’s nose; she prayed Poocher wouldn’t sneeze.
“There,” Barnstack said as the flame took life. “It will only take a few minutes.”
“Your hospitality is appreciated,” the visitor said. “I hope this means you are receptive to our offer.”
“What?”
“Our offer,” he repeated, louder this time. “I hope you intend to accept it?”
“It’s generous,” Barnstack said.
“Yes.”
“Too good to be true, almost.”
“It may seem that way at first. But think about it. All of Albekizan’s wealth flows from the labor provided by your village and countless other villages like it. Is it any wonder he would choose to repay you?”
“Everything good comes with a price,” Barnstack said.
“Consider your past labor as advance payment.”
“But if everyone accepts this offer, who will plant the crops next year? Who will harvest them? If everyone goes to this Pre-City…”
“Free City.”
“What?”
“Free City.” The visitor said the words in a warm tone, as if he were talking about someplace wonderful. “It'’s called Free City, not Pre-City.”
“Oh,” Barnstack said, sounding confused. “I thought it was called Pre-City because they were still building it. They only started it a few weeks ago, yes?”
“True. It’s a testament to the king’s leadership that he’s devoted enough money and labor to the Free City that it is already open to humans. Free City awaits those lucky few who will live the rest of their lives in peace and plenty.”
“Lucky few? You said it was for everyone.”
“Everyone in this village, yes. Of course, it couldn’t be for everyone everywhere; as you say, who would do the work? No, Free City is a reward to those villages that have served Albekizan faithfully and completely over the years of his reign. Your village is among the chosen. We are especially pleased by the teachings of your spiritual leader, Kamon. His vision of harmony between man and dragon is most enlightened.”
The hair rose on the back of Zeeky’s neck as Barnstack pulled the chair across from her from under the table. Poocher started to wiggle but Zeeky held him tighter and rubbed his belly, calming him. Barnstack sagged into the chair.
“Forgive me for sitting. My knees ache when the weather turns cooler. You insist we meet so late. Yes. Yes that was my other question, Dekron. The secrecy. You want me to move all the people of my village from their homes into this Free City. You say it’s for their good. Yet you insist that we meet in secrecy.”
“The very fact that you ask that question answers it,” Dekron said. “Humans distrust dragons. I want to persuade you before we approach the others. Many of them will no doubt speak against us. I must know that you will stand with me and won’t be swayed by their objections.”
Barnstack sighed loudly. “I’m an old man. I have good land and a comfortable home. Leaving for a city so far away, a place I’ve never-”
“Barnstack, may I remind you, you have no land,” Dekron interrupted. “You humans may divvy up its usage however you please, but the land belongs to Albekizan. This house, this kitchen, the chair you sit it, belong to him. You are his guest. If your host offers you the use of more spacious quarters, it is impolite to refuse, just as it would be impolite of me to refuse your tea.”
“But-”
“Albekizan has allowed you to farm his land for generations. The years of his rule have been marked by peace and prosperity. Now he offers further largesse.”
Barnstack paused a moment, contemplating the dragon’s words. “I suppose it’s as you say. I promise to talk to my people. Perhaps the young will want to go. But I want to stay.”
“I understand,” Dekron said, walking to the table. “Perhaps this will change your mind.”
A sudden metallic clatter rained upon the table. A gold coin rolled from the table’s edge and bounced against Dekron’s clawed foot. He leaned down, reaching for the coin, his beaked, tortoise-like profile suddenly visible to Zeeky. He then tilted his head toward the fire as the kettle whistled. He rose, taking the coin with him.
“There must be a hundred coins here,” Barnstack said.
“More than enough to start a new life anywhere, even at your age,” Dekron said as he moved to the fireplace, his claws clicking against the wooden tiles. “In Free City your housing, food, and clothing will be provided at no cost. The gold can be used for luxuries befitting a man of your authority.”
Poocher’s snout twitched as Dekron carried the aromatic kettle to the table. Zeeky sniffed deeply; the steam smelled of spiced apples and sassafras.
“Very well,” Barnstack said. “When we finish with the harvest, I will ready the town to move.”
“Then it is settled?”
“Yes,” Barnstack said with a grunt as he rose from his chair. “Come, let us return to the front room. The chairs there are easier on my back. You’ll still have some tea, won’t you?”
“Of course, friend.”
Barnstack left the room carrying the kettle and a pair of cups. Dekron followed. Zeeky let out her breath in relief. Dekron suddenly turned toward the table. Zeeky held her breath again as Dekron walked toward her. He reached the table, and with his clawed hand he scooped the coins back into the leather pouch. He then turned and walked into the front room, closing the door behind him.
Zeeky crawled from beneath the table and stood on shaky legs. She saw a basket of fruit sitting on the counter near the cutting board. She grabbed it and silently slipped out into the night.
“Poocher,” she said. “We sure picked a good time to run away. Free City or not, I don’t trust nobody green.”
Poocher snorted and shook his head in agreement.
Dekron pulled his cloak close about him as he hurried along the dark streets of the town. He checked his pocket again for the agreement Barnstack had signed, wondering at the ways of kings. Only Albekizan would want a soldier who couldn’t read to obtain the mark of a man who couldn’t write on a document that would never be honored.
Barnstack had been right about one thing; the night had turned cold. He turned from the road, going deep into the woods, his eyes searching the darkness for a good spot to rest. He wished he weren’t so far from the rest of Kanst’s army. He would have to sleep on the ground tonight. He’d rather spend the night in a warm tent heated by a proper fire. He could almost smell the smoke.
He stopped to sniff the air. He did smell smoke. Was it from the village? The wind was from the wrong direction.
He followed the scent, moving cautiously through the darkness. His attempt at stealth, however, was foiled by his surroundings. The leaves crunched beneath his heavy feet with each step.
He came into a small clearing and found a circle of stone, within which smoldered the dim remnants of a fire.
He knelt down and grabbed a stick, stirring the coals. Feeble golden flames flickered to life.
Dekron looked around. He could see no sign of whoever had built the fire. He listened, but the night made no sound now that he’d stopped moving.
No sense in letting the fire go to waste. He tossed in the stick he used to stir the fire, then gathered some pine needles and tossed them on as well. As they flared up he searched the area for more sticks and branches. In a moment, the fire was burning properly again. He held his claws toward the blaze, warming them.