‘The Tower,’ he said.<\/p>\n
\u2018The Tower of London?\u2019 I laughed. \u2018You\u2019re as mad as the rest of your kind.\u2019 I looked again at the bracelet. A girl needn\u2019t be a stowaway with a piece like this in her pack. A girl could buy a cabin for herself on a sailing ship and have money left over to live the good life when she got to wherever she was going.<\/p>\n
The gulls cawed overhead, and one of them darted for the water and brought up a fat, wriggling fish.<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019ll need another one of these, maybe two,\u2019 I said. \u2018And if I want out, I\u2019m out. No comebacks.\u2019<\/p>\n
The old man smiled, showing off two rows of sharp and uneven teeth, and nodded for me to follow. He had a cart and an old mare a little further down the road. The back of the cart was full of sacks of coal.<\/p>\n
The cart seat was hard on a girl\u2019s arse, and the roads were poor, throwing us around with every mound and dip. Sometimes, was all I could do to stay upright. I was looking forward to a proper bed and some warm grub as we neared Shrewsbury, but we weren\u2019t staying in no inn. Idris pulled the cart over to the side of the road and led the horse into the woods. \u2018We camp,\u2019 he said as he pushed his way through some giant ferns. The sky was a deep blue, the stars just twinkling into life, and the lights of Shrewsbury were so close. I gritted my teeth and picked up my bed roll.<\/p>\n
We found a rough clearing, and I left the Welshman to set up camp while I took a piss. By the time I got back,\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0he had a fire going.<\/p>\n
\u2018So how am I supposed to get into the Tower of London then?\u2019 I said as we sat around the flickering flames. He was turning a coney on a spit, fat dripping off the little body and sizzling in the fire.<\/p>\n
\u2018You\u2019re the thief,\u2019 he said.<\/p>\n
\u2018Aye, and you\u2019re the one with the pet dragon wants rescuing. The castle has a moat and two curtain walls, and a whole regiment of soldiers willing to open thieves from crotch to collarbone and shove their heads on spikes. Lions too, I hear they have. I am a thief, I may even be a good one, but I\u2019m not a bloody army, and nor am I a wizard. I need a way in and a way out, and I need a way of getting it done without being seen. I\u2019m handy with a knife when it\u2019s dark and folk don\u2019t see me coming, but put me up against a bloody Beefeater and I am one dead burglar. So you want me to do this thing for you, you best help me.\u2019<\/p>\n
He lifted the rabbit off the flame and took a bite from it right off the spit. I watched while he chewed and swallowed it down. \u2018We walk in,\u2019 he said. \u2018We wish merely to see the menagerie, like all the other tourists.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018We walk in. All right,\u2019 I said, nodding, and he handed me what was left of the coney. \u2018And what about getting out?\u2019<\/p>\n
It took us three more days and a change of horse\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0to get to London. I smelled the city before I saw it, a stench like all the filth of the world was rising up to meet me. And there it was, the biggest city in all the land, clustered around a bend in the River Thames like a sore on a harlot\u2019s mouth. On the north bank of the water was the Tower, the place that I knew I was more than likely to be killed in very soon.<\/p>\n
It seemed to take forever, but eventually we made it \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0down the narrow streets of the slums and through the gate, passing beneath the murder holes and between the two square towers either side. The air was no better in the city proper. The timber-framed buildings were all too close together. Some of them leaned across the street so far they almost touched. The streets seemed several feet deep in filth, so that the poor sods on foot had to fight to pull their boots up after each step. And there were many of them, so many people I had not seen together in a long time.<\/p>\n
We stopped at an inn called the Hoop & Grapes, Idris pulling up the cart in the coachyard and paying the stableboy to take care of the horse\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 . \u2018Go get us a room,\u2019 he said, slipping some money into my palm. \u2018I will return in a few hours.\u2019<\/p>\n
I looked at the small pile of coins he had dropped into my hand. \u2018Won\u2019t be buying much ale with this, not after the room.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018No,\u2019 he said. \u2018I don\u2019t suppose you will be.\u2019 Then he smiled and shouldered his way into the crowds.<\/p>\n
I weighed my options again. The Tower of London was not some merchant\u2019s townhouse, it was a fortress made to keep people like me out, and other people like me in. And more gold was only useful so long as I kept my head on my neck.<\/p>\n
But, in the end, I did as he asked\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I got us a room and then settled down at a table near the door with as much ale as the remaining coin would buy. I sat there nursing my drink for an hour or two. Once or twice, a gentleman cast an eye in my direction, and I cast him one back letting him know he’d lose that eye if he cast another. Then, just as the sun was starting to go down and the serving girl lit some candles, a stranger appeared and stood beside my table.<\/p>\n
He was tall and dressed in all the finery of the age: a black brocade doublet with brass buttons and a wide, frilled collar, a tall black hat and long, leather riding boots. His beard had been oiled and shaped to a point and his moustache curled up around the edges. Didn’t know what he thought he was doing in a place like that tavern, or what he was doing standing next to me. I thought I might rob him. It had been a while since my last bit of larceny and I had the itch. Then he spoke, and the shock sent my hand towards my empty glass.<\/p>\n
‘Good evening, young lady. Might I join you?’<\/p>\n
Idris’ voice was unmistakable, but it was only the \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0jagged teeth that convinced me I was talking to the same man.<\/p>\n
‘And who are you supposed to be?’ I said.<\/p>\n
‘A respectable London gentleman. The kind of man who takes a trip to the royal menagerie.’<\/p>\n
‘You’ll need to work on your accent then, cos you still sound like an old clod hopper from Wales.’<\/p>\n
He was looking at me and smiling, as if he was amusing himself with some secret I was not aware of.<\/p>\n
I looked down at my ragged, stained doublet and trousers, my filthy old boots. Stink as they might, they were comfortable.<\/p>\n
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head, because I could see what he was thinking. But he just \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0laughed, and from out of a cloth bag he pulled a silk dress and a French hood\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 . I hadn\u2019t worn a dress since the day I\u2019d run away from home, and I\u2019d sworn I\u2019d never do so again.<\/p>\n
\u2018You\u2019ll look pretty as a picture,\u2019 he said, and I felt like smashing that empty glass into his smiling face.<\/p>\n
It was another warm morning the next day. The mud was all drying out on the streets and cracking in the sun. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We entered the Tower through the \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0western gate, Idris and me and a flock of other gentlemen and ladies. They were all of a type, these girls, silly little things with curled hair and heaving bosoms, fanning themselves and giggling like children. The men were little better, in their stockings and horsehair wigs. Life was a lark to them. We crossed a drawbridge and went under a portcullis. I noted the thickness of those double curtain walls, the cannons lined up on the battlements, the muskets slung across the shoulders of the soldiers standing guard.<\/p>\n
\u2018Just keep quiet, and do as we discussed,\u2019 Idris whispered, slipping his arm in mine.<\/p>\n
Once we\u2019d crossed into the castle courtyard, we were greeted by a big man with a barrel chest and a thick, black beard.<\/p>\n
\u2018Welcome\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0to the Tower of London,\u2019 he said. \u2018My name is Robert Bosworth, chief menagerist, and I am here to guide you through our den of fearsome beasts. Be warned, ladies and gentlefolk, for there are animals within these walls beyond your wildest imaginings: creatures from distant lands and, perhaps, even monsters from folklore itself.\u2019 He grinned at us, very pleased with the sound of his own voice. I heard Idris grinding his teeth, felt his arm tense.<\/p>\n
The first creature we saw was a white bear, a big but scrawny thing. Its fur was matted and it had bald patches here and there. It paced back and forth, black eyes down towards the dirty ground. \u2018A great white bear,\u2019 Bosworth said. \u2018A gift of the king of Norway. Every day, a braver man than I takes him to the shore of the Thames for fish. Pray that he never escapes, my friends, for it is known that in the northern wastes these bears feast on the flesh of men as their primary diet.\u2019<\/p>\n
One of the ladies moaned and fell into the arms of her man. She recovered a moment later and we were on to the next poor creature.<\/p>\n
\u2018Lions,\u2019 Bosworth said, \u2018our national animal. Though be grateful none of these regal beasts roams free in our great countryside. T\u2019was only last month a poor lady ventured to reach a hand through these bars. She withdrew her arm a moment later, but alas, the hand was not returned.\u2019<\/p>\n
More swooning and cries of pretend alarm. The lions lumbered around in the shadows at the back of the cage, bored and uninterested.<\/p>\n
Monkeys were next, rangy little things that huddled on wooden poles at the back of their cage. Then there was an elephant, a tiger and a camel. The cages had bare stone walls and floors that were covered in straw and shit. The air reeked of it, so that by the end, the ladies were holding perfumed handkerchiefs to their noses and clearing their throats every minute or so.<\/p>\n
\u2018So concludes our tour,\u2019 Bosworth said. \u2018I trust you have all enjoyed your view of our little bestiary. I, for one, am glad that\u2013\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I was informed you had a dragon,\u2019 Idris said, and his voice had an edge like a blade.<\/p>\n
\u2018Good sir. The patron saint of our glorious isle saw to the last dragon many moons ago. No such beasts walk the earth now.\u2019<\/p>\n
The crowd tittered, and Bosworth began to motion everyone towards the exit. The wealthy men and their ladies made their way outside, and it seemed to me that Idris had forgotten our scheme. The Welshman waited till the others had gone and then approached the zookeeper. I hung back a little, just close enough to hear them talk but far enough away to make a run for it if it came to blades or fists.<\/p>\n
\u2018The\u2026 dragon,\u2019 Idris said.<\/p>\n
\u2018Does not exist,\u2019 Bosworth said.<\/p>\n
Idris held up a bag and pulled it open. Bosworth looked inside, and his eyes went wide with greed.<\/p>\n
\u2018This way,\u2019 the zookeeper said.<\/p>\n
He led us across the courtyard and to one of the fortress\u2019s many towers. Then up we went, step after blasted step to right near the top. I was dripping sweat by the time I got \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0there. Bosworth was panting too. Only Idris seemed unbothered by it, driven on by his sense of purpose.<\/p>\n
\u2018This is my private office,\u2019 Bosworth said, fingering a key from the chain. \u2018This particular specimen is not for public viewing, at least not yet.\u2019<\/p>\n
He pushed open the door and motioned for us to enter. There was a small chamber beyond, made even smaller by the bookcases around the walls, each one creaking with volumes of all kinds. I thought of a dealer I knew who would make me a rich lass for just a few of those old tomes. But that was not why we were there. Hanging up above a big writing desk by the window was a birdcage. In the birdcage was what looked like a small lizard, a sinuous little thing the colour of autumn leaves. As I stepped closer, I could see it had two delicate wings. Closer still, I could see a thin trail of smoke drifting from its mouth, like the dregs of a campfire in the early morn.<\/p>\n
\u2018Capture this one all by yourself did you?\u2019 Idris said, stepping into the room.<\/p>\n
\u2018The creature was recovered from the mountains of savage Gwynedd,\u2019 Bosworth replied. \u2018I have long believed these animals still roam these isles in part, and for many years have I searched. There was no sign of either parent. I wonder if perhaps it is the nature of these beasts to abandon their young.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018It is not,\u2019 Idris said, and his voice had a heaviness to it I had not heard before, a doleful edge that was as clear to Bosworth as it was me.<\/p>\n
\u2018An amateur draconologist, perhaps?\u2019 Bosworth said. \u2018Myself, I have studied the tales of these beasts my entire career. I shall make a close study of this specimen as it grows. I shall have to train it, of course, to ensure it is tame when I make a gift of it to the king.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018You cannot give what is not yours,\u2019 Idris said.<\/p>\n
\u2018God made man ruler of all beasts, did he not?\u2019 Bosworth said. \u2018Now, if you and your lady<\/em> could take your leave, I have my duties to attend to.\u2019<\/p>\n Idris stood with his hands balled into fists, but then I pulled on his arm and led him out.<\/p>\n \u2018We still doing the plan then?\u2019 I whispered to him as we came back into the sunlight, but he didn\u2019t answer. \u2018It\u2019s now or never.\u2019<\/p>\n He grunted and gave a little nod, and I let his arm slip from mine. Bosworth had followed us down and now stood \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0at the bottom of the steps, fingering his keys. \u2018Please make your way to the gate,\u2019 he said, and it was then Idris began to cough. Great, hacking coughs shook him like an old cart rattling down a bumpy road. When Bosworth turned to look at him, Idris took his chance, and a cough that sounded like he was trying to push both his lungs out his mouth came flying from him, and with it a big gob of blood that spattered over the zookeeper\u2019s doublet.<\/p>\n \u2018Father!\u2019 I cried, in my girliest voice.<\/p>\n Bosworth stood frozen, blood spattered all over him. \u2018My medicine!\u2019 Idris rasped, holding a handkerchief to his mouth. \u2018Get my medicine!\u2019<\/p>\n I hitched up my dress and ran back towards the main gate crying about the medicine being in our carriage. Once I was around the corner, I pivoted to the right and down past an outbuilding\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 . There was a storeroom there, and once inside I ripped off the stupid dress and shoved it into a barrel of fish heads. I had my usual rags on underneath. Feeling once more like the thief I was,\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0I hid myself in a corner\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0and \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0waited. I trusted them not to look for me, Bosworth having bigger worries than a vanishing girl. They would turf Idris out, and that would be the end of it. Or so they thought.<\/p>\n I had been hiding undisturbed for a few hours when the storeroom door was opened. I heard the squeak of the hinges, the gust of cold air, but I stayed where I was. The room was full to bursting of boxes and barrels, and I was well-hidden behind it all. I was sure whoever it was who had come in would get what they needed and go out again without knowing I was there.<\/p>\n But then I heard a load of scraping and swearing, and I cursed my bad luck that I\u2019d picked the one spot in the whole bloody place that this bloke wanted to get at. I slid my blade out and waited as the noise got closer and the barrels and boxes were pushed aside. It was just one man, or at least I hoped it was. I got myself ready to spring, so that when the barrel right in front of my nose was shifted, I was waiting.<\/p>\n But it was not some grizzled old Beefeater glaring down at me, it was just a boy, a lad in a black cloak with red trim. He saw me down there with my dagger, and he looked more likely to cry than run me through. But then he glanced back at the door, and I saw his partisan leant against the wall.<\/p>\n He turned, but I sprang up like a hare, vaulted over a crate, and was past him with my hands on the polearm before he\u2019d taken more than a step or two towards it. He stumbled back again and put his hands up. \u2018Please,\u2019 he cried, but I was done with hesitating. I cracked the flat of the partisan\u2019s spearhead against the side of his head and sent him sprawling to the ground.<\/p>\n He lay there groaning, and I made good use of the storeroom\u2019s supply of rope to bind his hands and feet. It wasn\u2019t as late in the night as I would have liked, but someone would come looking for this boy sooner or later, so I figured I had to take my chance.<\/p>\n There was no moon out. That much fell in my favour. The light from the torches and the shadows were long. I used them well, flitting from one dark perch to another, well out of sight of the guards.<\/p>\n The lock on the tower door was old\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 . No doubt Bosworth expected the two curtain walls and small army of soldiers would be all the protection he\u2019d need for his treasures.<\/p>\n Folk think there\u2019s a skill to lockpicking. Truth is, the only secret is to keep going. I twisted my pick this way and that, scraping and pushing against the rusted metal. The mechanism was stiff, and time was not on my side. I heard footsteps to my left somewhere and stopped, fingers reaching for my dagger again, but then whoever it was went away, and with one more push the lock clicked and the door swung open.<\/p>\n I crept up the stairs to Bosworth\u2019s chamber. T\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 he dragon was at the bottom of its cage, curled up in a ball, scraps of half-eaten meat around it and some piles of red droppings. The cage door squeaked as I opened it, and the little creature raised its head.<\/p>\n I had held plenty of hens growing up, and wrung their necks many a time too, so I knew how to be gentle, how to keep the wings down as I lifted the little thing into a leather pouch. I was all set to tie the pouch onto my belt and make my escape when the creature pushed its head back out and sent a jet of flames straight at my head. I ducked, but I still felt the heat as the gobbet of fire surged past my cheek. The shelves of tinder-dry books behind me weren\u2019t so lucky, and they went up like a solstice bonfire.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n I was scuttling out of the tower when the first cries went up. I knew the flames must have been clear from all over the castle, but I didn\u2019t look up. I kept to the shadows and prayed the little firestarter hanging from my belt would have the good sense not to light me up too. Guards were running from all over, and soon after a bell was ringing. I had planned a quiet grapple up the curtain wall, now I was pinned down in a passage off the courtyard as a troop of Beefeaters ran past. Light and noise, the last things a thief wants. I chanced a look. The soldiers were all down from the battlements, and while that was good, the fire in the tower was like a bloody lighthouse. I was about to slip back into the shadows when I happened to look over towards the main gate, and what I saw gave me a little hope. They were opening the gate to allow more soldiers in. Men were running about like ants whose nest had been kicked over. Light and noise might be a thief\u2019s enemy, but confusion was a robber\u2019s friend. If I timed it right, I could as good as walk out that gate without a Yeoman Warder laying a hand on me.<\/p>\n I kept close to the walls as I ran, dipping in and out of the shadows like a fish rising to the surface and then plunging into deeper waters, hoping to avoid the angler\u2019s hook. It was as easy a run as I\u2019d ever had, and soon I was by the gate. Black smoke was still curling up from the tower, but the flames had dampened a little. The men had formed a chain and were passing buckets up, and they seemed to be having some luck. I peered out into the open gateway just as a fresh bevy of soldiers came through. I pulled my neck in and waited for them to pass, and then I made my run. I was out of there like a fox freed from a trap, my heels pounding across the causeway and through the outer gate. Then I was on Tower Street, the dark falling on me like a cloak, and into an alleyway where no eyes could sight me no more.<\/p>\n Idris was at the meeting point as planned, in an alley next to a baker\u2019s on Pudding Lane. He had the cart ready and was pacing up and down like a man in a cell. He stopped when he saw me, and both us stood for a moment and took each other in. I glanced up at the shuttered windows and stepped out of the shadows.<\/p>\n \u2018You have him?\u2019 Idris said. He was out of his finery now, back in his old robes and tattered grey cloak.<\/p>\n I unhooked the pouch from my belt and held it up. \u2018Little bastard tried to burn the place down on our way out, but nothing I couldn\u2019t handle.\u2019<\/p>\n He reached out for the pouch, but I held it back. \u2018Job was more dangerous than I thought\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 .\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018You want more gold?\u2019 Idris said, sneering at me.<\/p>\n \u2018I want a fair wage.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Your kind are all the same. I can get you more of what you want, but it won\u2019t be till we\u2019re clear of these walls. Now give him to me.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Or what?\u2019 I laughed. It seemed then there was little this tired old man could do, whatever minor sorcery he might possess. But there was a look on his face that made me want to stop torturing him, for that was what it was, holding the dragon so close but not letting him have it. I was about to hand it over when we were interrupted.<\/p>\n \u2018Father and daughter, reunited. How touching.\u2019 Bosworth stepped out from the front door of the bakery. A company of men with swords and pikes came filing out after him, with a few more from the back door behind us.<\/p>\n \u2018I had you followed, of course,\u2019 Bosworth said to Idris. \u2018The moment you left the Tower. Pig\u2019s blood tastes different to a man\u2019s. Did you know that? It\u2019s thicker, sweeter. Now a dragon\u2019s blood, that may be the sweetest of all. I will have time to find out.\u2019<\/p>\n He turned to me and smiled. \u2018Hand the creature to me. Give me grief, and you will suffer.\u2019<\/p>\n The alley was narrow, and the men at both ends blocked any hope of exit. The wooden buildings on either side were tall, and even Cat o’the Nines couldn\u2019t climb them in a hurry. I thought about trying to cut the cart-horse loose and riding her out. With a sharp enough kick to her flanks she might make a charge at the soldiers. But the straps were good leather and the horse was old, and the men with blades would be on me before I lifted mine from my boot. Still, if I was going out, I\u2019d rather it be with a knife in my hand.<\/p>\n \u2018Don\u2019t do anything foolish, girl,\u2019 Bosworth said.<\/p>\n \u2018It is you who are the fool,\u2019 Idris said. Something about his voice had changed. It was deeper, and it grew deeper still with every word.<\/p>\n Bosworth\u2019s sneer dropped off his face. He and his men looked at the old man behind me with the dread of those who see their own death looking back at them. I turned, and I saw that Idris was an old man no longer, and I finally understood why getting that little lizard back was so important to him.<\/p>\n At first, he was still the size of a man, though his wizened old face had grown dark red scales and his nose had pushed out into a sharp snout. But then he grew; his cloak and his robes were shredded, and a muscular, reptilian body emerged from the rags. His fingers became claws the size of butcher\u2019s knives and a pair of wings emerged from his back. Some of Bosworth\u2019s men began to run, and the horse bolted, knocking over those that didn\u2019t. Bosworth himself seemed fixed to the spot. I sprinted past him and into the street.<\/p>\n Turning, I saw Idris still growing, his new body rising to the height of the buildings either side of us and then pushing out widthways and crashing into the walls. This dragon was nothing like the infant curled up in my pouch. This was a full-grown monster, a leviathan of the air, and in the fight between its body and the houses, the houses lost. The walls of the baker\u2019s crashed down, the thatched roof fell in. Idris grew as tall as the Tower itself, his wings spread wide like the blades of a windmill. His head was as big as a draft horse, and when he opened his maw, I saw his mouth was full of teeth as long as my arm. He roared, and I had to put my hands over my ears to block the sound.<\/p>\n The noise broke the spell over Bosworth, though, and he needed nothing further to turn and run. The dragon loosed a great gobbet of flame after the zookeeper, and then he beat his wings and lifted himself into the air. His talons came down as he went up and grabbed me in their vice grip, and I could do nothing but scream as the great beast rose upwards. Beneath us, the houses were ablaze.<\/p>\n I was lifted high above the city, held fast in that giant, scaly claw. I well-\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 near messed my breeches, but in truth there was no danger for me, not yet. I held his child, and for that he held me. He flew up, towards the clouds, up towards the heavens where the likes of me were never meant to be, and then he set off, away from the city and out towards the dark countryside.<\/p>\n He flew to a hill overlooking London, and then his great wings beat more slowly against the air, and he came towards the ground. He set me down first, releasing me just a foot or so above the grass, and then settled himself nearby, pulling his wings in like some massive bird of prey.<\/p>\n I was on my knees, staring up at his glowing yellow eyes and the smoke rising from between his jaws. I opened the pouch and lifted out the little dragon, holding it up to Idris and trying to see something of the man he had been in the monster he had become. Of course, truth was there had never been a man there; it was just a trick, a glamour now cast off. He opened his mouth, and for a moment I thought he planned to roast us both, but instead he made a kind of lowing sound, and the infant woke up, lifted its head, and flew off from my hand with the grace of a butterfly. It lifted itself up and landed somewhere in the nest of scales and horns on Idris\u2019 head. I thought I fancied I could see something of a smile on the creature\u2019s face then, and I held my hands up to him.<\/p>\n \u2018I did as you asked,\u2019 I said. \u2018I got the little one out for you, just like you wanted.\u2019<\/p>\n Idris seemed to nod, or at least he lowered his head a little and then raised it again. Smoke was still seeping from between his teeth, but the fire was not coming my way, not that night at least. He beat his wings again, making a great wind that knocked me onto my back, and then he soared into the air and was away. The last I saw of him was a great, dark shape against the moon, and then he was gone.<\/p>\n I lay back on the grass, closing my eyes and taking long, deep breaths until my heart stopped turning cartwheels in my chest. I had hoped for more gold, but I had at least made it out with my life, and that was a thing you couldn\u2019t weigh on no jeweller\u2019s scales. Then I remembered the bracelet, and I smiled. Not quite a fortune, but enough to get out of this stinking, wet country. I reached inside my doublet and pulled out the little pouch where I\u2019d kept the bracelet safe next to my chest. It felt different, looser somehow. I untied the strings and dropped it out onto the ground. Coal. That was all there was there now. Three lumps of coal as black as night. I laughed, thinking of the old rogue and all his talk of the riches of Dolaucothi.<\/p>\n I sat on the grass and watched the city below as the fire took hold. I did not know then how far that conflagration would go, how much of the place the flames would consume. That\u2019s the thing with sparks: they may be small things, but the fires they start can burn for a long, long time.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n ________________________________________<\/span><\/p>\n MR Timson<\/a> has had fantasy fiction published in a previous issue of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly as well as Swords & Sorcery Magazine and Sorcerous Signals. His story \u2018Brotherhood of the Book\u2019 appeared in The Best of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly Volume 4<\/em><\/a>. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Miguel Santos is a freelance illustrator and maker of Comics living in Portugal.\u00a0 His artwork has appeared in numerous issues of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, as well as in the Heroic Fantasy Quarterly Best-of Volume 2.\u00a0 More of his work can be seen at his online\u00a0portfolio\u00a0<\/a>and his\u00a0instagram<\/a>.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" GREAT FIRE, by MR Timson, Artwork by Miguel Santos They say all stories start with a spark, a fragment of a flame that drifts through the air, landing unnoticed on something ready to burn. The alchemists write that we all have fire in us, just waiting to be released. But to this day, I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,91,3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4536","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-issue-66-archive","category-main"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4536","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4536"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4536\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4557,"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4536\/revisions\/4557"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4536"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4536"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4536"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.heroicfantasyquarterly.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/London-1-scaled.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n