Page 25 of The Discount Damsel

For a moment, the three in the tower remained craned over the balcony railing to watch the little man in his three-piece suit go about extracting a cabin tent, a cot, a petite wood stove, a cast-iron skillet, a potted tangelo tree from Lagunas, a canteen, and all manner of camping equipment one might need for a prolonged stay.

“Wonderful,” Bradley groaned as he signed. “Nothing like a bunch of tin cans with delusions of grandeur showing up here, hurling insults at my friend, and trying to break down the tower while I’m working. It’s only my whole future on the line.”

Either Millie and Dirk didn’t notice he was signing, or they ignored him entirely.

“The Discount Damsel Protocol.” Dirk tapped his chin with a claw, releasing a sprinkle of carmine dust. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that one, but how exciting! Just think— Oh, Millie, I’m sorry. How are you, um, feeling? You know, now that anyone who comes to rescue you is only doing so for the half-off-the-Amberly-throne sale?”

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, turning towards them. The delight on her face was borderline manic. “Don’t you see? In ninety days, I’ll be legally free of the throne. I’ll be free to become a pirate! And there’s no one in the Amberly court who can do a thing about it.”

Dirk let out a whoop and corkscrewed through the air.

“You’ll see to it, Master Dirk, won’t you? You’ll thwart every rescue attempt for the next eighty-nine days?”

“Of course I will. Just think of all the Heroes I’ll be able to test my mettle against.” He rubbed his paws together and cackled. “Think of the loot!”

“No,” Bradley said firmly, then signed, “You know how a knight rescues a damsel? By killing the dragon, that’s how! You are confined to the tower for the next ninety days. Let the two hundred feet of tower deter them.”

“But, Bradley⁠—”

“No buts. Your heart is going to stay in your chest where it belongs, you hear me?”

“More like I see you signing,” he grumbled. “This is going to absolutely ruin my budding reputation, you know that, right? Dirk the Dangerous will downgrade to Dirk the Deserter, for I won’t be seen terrorizing anyone for the next three months! I’ll have to start from scratch all over⁠—”

A sly grin spread across his muzzle, and he flew up to poke the air in front of the sorcerer apprentice’s nose. “I’ll stay in the tower if you can say it. Aloud. A Designated Sorcerer Companion only has to obey direct verbal orders.”

“Dirk,” Bradley growled.

The little luck dragon merely folded his arms over his chest and maintained a hover, tufted tail flicking. “Say it. Or the first Hero who comes here I’m meeting on the desert sand and lighting on fire.”

Now it was the sorcerer apprentice’s turn to grow smug. “And how are you going to do that without a fireball spell?”

“We have some matches, a bottle of cooking sherry, and some very ugly curtains,” the little dragon shouted. “I’m sure I’ll think of something!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe I won’t even need fire! I still have all these—” Dirk drew out a fistful of crumbled rice paper spells from his satchel.

He had forgotten they were all cracked and broken from yesterday’s coin purses. The black ink, which was a beautiful jet made from acacia resin, the juice of Kyoho grape skins, and olive oil, degraded to red if the spell was compromised in some way. Usually from a letter breaking off or a crack running through the word.

The broken scraps of red-streaked rice paper drifted through the baby dragon’s claws, caught the desert wind, and drifted away. Dirk’s golden eyes grew glassy, and Bradley wiped the smug expression off his face.

For a moment, the little dragon’s bottom lip quivered with defeat, then he seized two wafers with a violent, “Ah ha!”

Fulminis and amplio were written in careful, precise, black lettering.

Bradley was quick to protest, signing, “So you’ll strike one knight down with a lightning bolt and then quadruple in size and what? Sit on another and squash him into chutney? That’s two spells. And then what?”

“Weren’t you listening? Fiery Curtains of Death.”

Bradley threw up his hands.

“I mean it, Bradley, I’ll find a way to defeat those Heroes. I need this.”

Memory stirred, bringing with it visions of that rainy day in the lilac garden by the lake. Bradley’s heart ached for the little dragon, but his will was just as strong. He shook his head. “You are a luck dragon. You don’t need treasure. You don’t need to fight!”

Tears threatened to spill. “Then order me not to. Aloud.”

The two best friends faced off, the air between them tightening with the threat of irreconcilable ideologies.