Page 57 of The Discount Damsel

“He’s over a third of the way up,” she informed testily. “How’s it going?”

Bradley didn’t reply. He was dabbing his quill in the inkwell and preparing to write the second word.

“I’m coming, wifey!” Ivar called, and the piolet’s blade grated against the wrought-iron railing as the barbarian resumed his climb.

Millie watched in dismay as the barbarian paused at each window he encountered to slam his warhammer against the sill, seeking to widen a port of ingress without having to climb the entire length of the tower. But whatever magic or miracle of architecture kept the tower from collapsing under the strikes of the enchanted weapon also fortified the windows, and none broke under his assault. Undeterred, Ivar continued to climb up the chain and roar his encouragement to her that soon they would be making vigorous love on whatever surface was closest after the defeat of the dragon.

“How long does it take to write a spell?” she demanded.

Her palms had started to sweat, and the calm assurance and bold confidence she had in her dream to become a pirate started to waver. She did not possess the skills (yet) to defeat that thing if Dirk and Sir Roger failed, and if marriage was the furthest thing from her mind, rearing children was in the next galaxy.

“High Aetherial has many diacritics,” Dirk snapped back. “Lots of curls and dots. It takes time!”

The two humans clung to the wall and desk, respectively, and the luck dragon maintained a hover when the warhammer struck again.

“Ugh, he’s two-thirds of the way up now! I can’t believe it’s come to this.” Millie thrust the cinquedea letter opener into her belt and marched out onto the balcony.

“My sweet ice flower,” the barbarian crowed. “Prepare your loins, for our coupling is imminent!”

“Can’t wait.” Millie fussed with her skirts, wiggled her hips, and shucked something pink and lacy out from under her hem. She drew back like she was sighting with a slingshot and fired.

The barbarian yelled as he was struck in the eye. He lost his grip on the chain, falling thirty, maybe forty feet until, strictly by chance, the desert wind blew the chain back into range and the brute caught it between his thighs. They clamped shut like the mouth of a saltwater crocodile, that is to say, with a force equivalent to approximately 3700 pounds per square inch, and smoke rose from his groin where his hide trousers melted from the friction.

Then his meaty hand seized the chain. Ivar slid another yard before his callused grip tightened hard enough to arrest his fall, grunted when he bounced against the tower before regaining his footing. His other hand remained firmly, stubbornly around his warhammer.

But now there was a pair of pink panties hooked over one ear and clinging to the bristles of his beard.

Ivar the Bane’s eyes sparkled with delight. “I love the way you foreplay!”

“Piss and plagues,” she muttered, retreating into the workroom.

Bradley and Dirk were staring at her, the apprentice’s blue eyes wide as a cloudless sky behind his spectacles, the luck dragon’s jaw slack and dangling.

“I did not just use my only pair of panties as a projectile weapon so you two could waste the time advantage I earned us by staring at me.” She clapped her hands to snap them out of their stupor. “Finish the spell!”

Bradley shoved the thought of the princess’s panties from his mind, pushed the stress aside, and focused on the third and final word. Dirk fanned more briskly.

The apprentice shouted, “Done!” just as the princess said, “Brace for impact!”

Once the tremors had subsided, Millie rushed away from the balcony as Bradley handed the cracker ever so carefully into Dirk’s paw. The luck dragon didn’t wait. He crunched down, and smoke puffed almost instantly.

Two impressive dragon wings sprouted from Dirk’s shoulder blades. His mane and tail tuft were gone, and an impressive crown of yellow horns sprouted from his forehead. The amplio spell he had reserved in his satchel would do the rest.

“I’m still pink,” the baby dragon whined.

“Dark pink,” Millie said. “Who really knows the developmental cycle of dragons anyway? Red dragons could start out pink and mature to that deep ruby as they age.”

“But dragons stay the same color as they are when they hatch,” Dirk protested.

She waved that aside with her customary hand flick. “Does Ivar the Bane know that? I doubt it. Now it’s time to grow big and strong and show that barbarian what’s what.” She leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek for good luck. “You’ll do wonderful, Master Dirk, you’ll see.”

CHAPTER 25

DIRK IS VERY UNCOMFORTABLE AND MISS CORDELIA WOULD BE VERY PROUD

Dirk, in fact, did not do wonderful.

Despite Sir Roger’s coaching, the baby dragon struggled to put the instructions into practice. He had no real idea how to throw his magically enhanced size around, as he’d only used it to intimidate farmers and transport princesses thus far, and the extra bulk proved cumbersome to maneuver. He tripped over his own feet, his barbed tail threw him off balance, the crown of horns upon his head made his neck ache, and after a frantic five minutes where he whimpered and evaded Ivar the Bane’s warhammer to the best of his ability, Millie concluded the dragon was done for.