The Birthday Dragon Read online

“It’s really disgust-”

  “Mother, what did you say?” I said. She stopped, making an angry gesture with one hand.

  “We eat off that bloody table, you idiot child! Can’t you keep it in your-”

  “No,” I said, not to be deflected, “that wasn’t it. What was that about leaving? Leaving Blue Hill Farm? We’re leaving?” What now, were we heading into the wilderness to live in a tent? As she shook herself and sat up, I braced for the next crazy idea.

  “Oh yes, I was going to tell you,” she said, “well I meant to tell you earlier but what with your exams, I didn’t think it was a good time.” I opened my mouth, closed it. Opened it again.

  “Where are we going?” I said. She suddenly smiled. Her gracious smile, the one that said she knew I’d be pleased.

  “You’re going to Peterhaven!”

  “What?” I said, flabbergasted but not horrified. “Father’s finally agreed to live there?” She smiled again and now the smile was very bright.

  “Don’t be silly, Polo, your father would never agree to live at Court. Even if he did, I don’t want to. I want to stay in the country. Your father,” she said, and chewed at her lip, “well, he wants to be in a city, but not one where my relatives are the local bigwigs.”

  Why had they suddenly given into Grandmama Daeva’s advice about my future, which for years she’d said would be better-served at Uncle Theo’s? My life didn’t make sense any more. Mother had never made sense so that was nothing new.

  “I thought we had no money,” I said, remembering something else, “but you just gave away twelve golds. Are we rich after all?” She shook her head.

  “No,” she said, “but I told your grandmother I was expecting to pay off the cleaning lady you were tumbling and she sent twenty golds.” I blinked. Molly and I had fallen into a trap. Then I winced at the idea of Grandmama Daeva knowing I was having sex and who with, and also at how beholden I now was to her.

  “Twenty golds?” I said aloud. Mother grinned.

  “I haven’t been bargaining at markets all these years for nothing, eh? Dealing with Molly came in under budget. I can buy myself a present.” I laughed.

  “So you made a profit,” I said, “but you lost a cleaning lady.” She sighed and patted my leg.

  “And a son. After your grandmother wrote and tipped me off to your affair with Molly,” she said, “your father and I decided-” I made an incoherent noise then managed to speak.

  “Grandmama Daeva told you?” I was horrified.

  “Someone wrote to her, darling,” said Mother, as if I should have known this would happen. “She can’t keep it a secret, not to her own daughter, not if the whole village knows.” I thought she bloody could and was sure the village didn’t know or Molly’s husband would have been trying to kill me. I felt devastated. I’d trusted Grandmama.

  “Must be nice,” I said, miserable and angry, “all these people nothing better to do than interfere with-”

  “Save the teen angst for your father, Polo,” Mother said, sounding firm and taking the moment right away from me, “he appreciates angst. No idea why that man doesn’t love sheep. As I was saying, you’re going to Peterhaven. Your Uncle Theo has invited you, again.” She pulled a sheaf of papers out of her apron pocket. “We decided it would be good for your last year of school.” So I was going in a few months, which was alright. I wasn’t going to be nice about it.

  “He’s not my uncle,” I said, sounding sulky.

  “Second cousin?” Mother said. “And your third, I think. On Grandmama’s then Grandpa’s side. Whatever it is, darling, you’re invited. His grandson’s your age and there are other boys, all at the Citadel School. It’s the best school in Sendren, which will set you up nicely for whichever guild you want and it won’t hurt that you get to meet some of your cousins and the other Blood children. Networking is very-”

  “Wait,” I said, suddenly paying attention, “where will you be?” She smiled that overly bright smile again.

  “We’re going to Torc, dear. You know, over on the west coast? Your father wants to make a new start-” Not again. I tuned out. “Polo?” I’d missed a cue, what had she said? I had no idea. “You could listen,” she said, and smoothed a paper on the bed. “See?” She tapped the letter as I dutifully looked. “Uncle Theo hopes you and his grandson get on. He’s mad for war games too, he says.” I imagined some nutcase cousin who slept with a sword and wore armour at the breakfast table. He would enjoy self-flagellation and going running at dawn.

  The letter was on thick cream paper, the best quality, the header done tastefully in black and gold, the green dragon embossed down the left margin picked out in exquisite detail, all of it in expensive metallic inks. As Father said, Uncle Theo was rich beyond most men’s wildest dreams.

  “There’s plenty of space for you,” said Mother, “it will be fun.” I groaned. I would be trapped with a bunch of strangers who would report my every move to Mother. We heard Father coming through the back door, and both looked towards the back of the house.

  “Fun?” I repeated and snorted. “Don’t say that. Not when you’re farming me out to some distant relations in order to perpetuate your co-dependent relationship with your alcoholic husband. Which I regret teaching you both about as you use it-”

  “Sometimes,” she said, rolling her eyes, as I tried to continue, “I regret teaching you to read. Or even to speak! Now shush, I need to tell you about tomor-” Father crashed in.

  “What are you doing in here?” He was slurring his words and missed the switch the first time, fumbling it on. Mother and I blinked in the sudden light. “You’d live in the dark,” he said, “wasn’t for me.” Mother and I saw rather well in low light and hadn’t noticed the gloom.

  “We’re talking, Evan,” said Mother, gesturing at us, “as you can see.”

  “You’re drunk,” I said, and stood up. “It’s not even noon.”

  “Day off,” said Father, enunciating his words and pretending to be sober. “Stopped for a quick one.”

  Father worked as a forest ranger, and that only because Mother had used her influence. It was the kind of job reserved for those who couldn’t function in ordinary society, so made for Father. It started early enough that he could get through to knock-off time without a drink.

  “All day off?” said Mother, sounding suspicious.

  “Not sure,” said Father, looking suddenly sly. “Mare threw two shoes in the mud yesterday. She’s due re-shoeing all four and needs her feet trimmed but the smith is busy until at least lunchtime. He’s doing new rails for the upstairs of the inn after those lads fell through the wooden ones last week.”

  “So you thought you’d get drunk while you waited?” said Mother, who was up off the bed too, hands on hips. I eyed the window. Could I get it open and get out before she noticed me? Father was blocking the door but was backing up fast, so I waited. If I played it right he might take the brunt of her explosion over my behaviour with Molly.

  I sat back down on the bed and tried to be invisible. Mother had left Uncle Theo’s letter behind. I picked it up and the paper crackled. A foolish move as Mother remembered I was there. “I’m telling the boy he’s off to Peterhaven tomorrow,” Mother said to Father, “so you and I can start over, and what do you do?” I gasped.

  “Now Tess-” said Father.

  “Tomorrow?” I said, sounding rather high-pitched. “Tomorrow? You didn’t say tomorrow! You said for my final year. I’ve still got another term to go of this one!”

  “Don’t you talk to your mother in that tone!” shouted Father.

  “I did say tomorrow!” shouted Mother. “Both of you, be quiet, I’m trying to explain what’s happening tomorrow!”

  “Talk to her like you do when you’re drunk?” I shouted back at Father. I was furious and happy to take out on him whatever Mother had done to me. “I should be rude, sneer, call her names, and treat her like dirt?”

  “Don’t talk to your father like that!” said Mother. I threw my ha
nds in the air.

  “You’re as bad as each other!” I said, losing my temper. “A pair of petulant children!” To call someone a child was one of my biggest insults. “Fine,” I shouted, “get rid of me! See if it does you any good. It won’t because he’s an alcoholic and you’re enabling him! And not only should you not have taught me to read, Grandmama should never have taught me to look up subjects in the library!”

  Father was trying to argue, Mother was trying to shut him up whilst still telling me off, and he got past her, fists up, roaring at me to get off the bed and fight. So I did. I bounced up and gave Father a nice straight right to the jaw. We’d sparred since I was small. Of course, since I was about twelve we always sparred in places purpose-built for training with armour on, and we never hit above the shoulder.

  The little cottage wasn’t as resilient as the timberwork in the sparring pits. We both bounced off the walls there. To my surprise, and to Mother’s, the impact of my fist in anger put Father Right through the wall of my room. He didn’t seem surprised, only unconscious. I was mainly surprised at how thin the wall was. There was nothing more to it than a skin of plaster over some twigs and mud woven through some battened uprights.

  Mother and I rushed to see. For several horrible moments, I thought Father was dead. Then he opened his eyes, told Mother he loved her, hadn’t he taught the boy well, and passed out again. Then he woke up again.

  Mother, her fingers probing for a pulse in his neck, turned to tell me off some more, and Father threw up all over the hall then passed out once more. It wasn’t just the Blood men who were strong. Mother put Father over her shoulder, swearing so much that I was surprised she had any wind left. She marched off to the nearest doctor, in the infirmary at the garrison. I offered to carry him, but she said I could stay and clean up seeing I made him be sick.

  ****

  Chapter 5 - Last Day at Blue Hill Farm

  By the time I cleaned up and put up a temporary piece of wall, with the house airing and incense burning in the breezeway, I was filthy again. Another shower, this time thankfully with hot water, and the smell of vomit finally left the inside of my nostrils. It was almost lunchtime. The perils of early rising included momentous events before noon.

  I contemplated going back to the safety of bed for a few years, then remembered Mother had said I was leaving tomorrow. I fed myself then went for a wander round the cottage. There were paintings missing from the walls. It looked like those and Mother’s knickknacks were already packed. I found the boxes tucked away in my parents’ room. There were spare boxes flat-packed next to them, so I picked up a couple, and went back to my room. Looking through my gear, I began wondering what to take and what to leave behind.

  Mother arrived back. Father was alright, though his collarbone was broken. He’d be one of the walking wounded for a month. She flopped on my bed.

  “You’re never to spar with him again,” she said.

  “I told you I didn’t want to ages ago,” I said, from where I was sitting beside my wardrobe, going through my footwear, “besides, I’ll be gone tomorrow. Am I allowed to know when?”

  “Dawn,” she said. “Nice to see you’re packing, I forgot to remind you.”

  “You forgot to tell me at all, you mean,” I said. “I haven’t packed anything yet, I’m just getting it into piles, ‘suitable for farm work only’, and ‘others’.”

  “I’ve been busy,” she said, and shrugged as if I wasn’t important.

  “Busy doing what,” I said, “spying on me?” She rolled her eyes. I didn’t seem to be able to shut up. “Writing letters to other people to thank them for spying on me?” She snorted but otherwise ignored me. It was excruciating.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, “at dawn, you’re on the coach to Peterhaven. I have your ticket and the letter from Uncle Theo will be in with your birth certificate. I don’t think you need anything else. Oh, of course.” She got up, I heard her in their room. She came back and handed over two golds and a handful of silvers and coppers. “The crowns are from your Grandmama Daeva for your birthday.” I’d forgotten about turning sixteen in a couple of days. “The rest’s some coin for bits and pieces.” Two golds was a lot of money. I was rich. “You’re to write and thank her, please,” said Mother. I nodded. “Don’t forget.” I contemplated spending it on mindweed, bourbon and women, then writing to tell Grandmama Daeva what I’d done, to save her having to send her spies out.

  “I won’t forget,” I said, “and you’re leaving?”

  “Aye,” she said, “if your father’s fit.” I felt suddenly guilty.

  “Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” It was my turn to shrug. “Well, not that badly.”

  “He asked for it,” she said, “literally.” Mother was strange, but fair in her own way.

  ****

  We went through my clothes and belongings. Most of the former weren’t fit for my new home.

  “It’s all organised,” said Mother, waving another letter. Grandmama Daeva was giving me free rein on her accounts in Peterhaven. I hoped one of the shops sold mindweed and bourbon. I would buy by the gross. “She’s going to send you an allowance too,” Mother went on, “ten silvers a month, so you can socialise with the young folk, she says.”

  “That’s nice of Grandmama,” I said politely. I was about to escape both my parents, something I wished for every day and again only hours ago, so could afford to be magnanimous. After all, Grandmama hadn’t seen me for years so didn’t know I was a man now, quite capable of running my own affairs. Still, ten silvers a month and shop accounts? I could be polite.

  “It’s more than nice, Polo,” said Mother, “and you must remember to write to her.”

  “I will,” I said, “it’s the first thing I’ll do once I get there.” I assumed a sad face, not wanting Mother to know how pleased I was. The effort not to grin from ear to ear was quite a strain.

  “You’ll be alright,” she said, “won’t you, darling?”

  “Of course I will,” I said, smiling as if putting on a brave front, “don’t you worry. I can look after myself.” She took it the wrong way.

  “You’re not to fight with anyone. Promise me.”

  “I won’t fight with anyone,” I said, shaking my head, “it’s not like the village. I’ll still spar, there’s a garrison there.”

  “Don’t mention your father,” she said, sounding prim. I sighed.

  “He’s an officer and a Military Guild graduate, Mother, why wouldn’t I mention him? Besides, you and I both carry his sire name, and there’s nothing wrong with his war record. He only left the army to look after us, remember?”

  “You’re the one always saying he’s an alcoholic,” she said, “and you can’t figure out why you shouldn’t mention him?” My turn to roll my eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Polo.” I had to blink to stop doing it again over her even saying that. “Besides,” Mother went on, “he was never in a war, it was during a ceasefire.” This was something she liked to bring up to put Father down.

  “They still saw action,” I said, “you know that.”

  “So he says,” she said, “you know how he makes things up when he’s drunk.” I shook my head.

  “So everyone says, Mother, so his record says.” I’d read it. Father had his copy like every soldier, because when you left you were allowed to take a copy, find out what the brass thought of you.

  “It wasn’t a real war,” said Mother, “my grandfather was there in the real war, like it is now.” The real war was between my parents but I couldn’t be bothered arguing any more. Besides, I didn’t like my father’s drunkenness and didn’t want to defend him.

  “Is it a real war now?” I said, more for something to say than I needed an answer. She nodded. I looked critically at a shirt, should I keep it?

  “Aye,” said Mother, “from what I hear. Damn Sriamans won’t stop trying the border defences. People say they’re getting ready for some big push.”

  “Father says the Sriama
ns are tribal,” I said, mentioning his name without thinking, “it’s unlikely they’ll unite.”

  “All it takes is one man,” she said, “or one woman.”

  “To do what?” I said, distracted by what I was throwing away.

  “To unite a people, of course,” said Mother, “it helps if the leader speaks well, people like to be stirred by speeches. Or one can be a war hero.” She laughed. “That makes your father’s entry into politics unlikely.” I ignored her jibe and neither of us mentioned that Father was in fact unable to ever hold political office.

  Evan Shawcross would never be king, or even a duke, no matter who he married. He couldn’t. He might be my height, blonde, blue-eyed and from a distance, just like Blood, but he wasn’t. He was a peasant, from the north, where there were more blondes than here in the middle of the old kingdoms. Even if his father had turned out to be Blood, Father couldn’t rule without cat’s-eyes. He didn’t have the metallic shimmer that marked my eyes, or the opalescent glitter that marked Mother’s. His eyes were ordinary human blue.

  “I could go into politics,” I said, and Mother nodded.

  “If you marry well, darling, anything is possible. You’re related to many royal families. Uncle Theo’s grandson’s mother is a Casterton, my second cousin once-removed, I think. So you have cousins on both sides of our Royal Family. And with being half-peasant the inbred lasses will be keen on you. They need to breed out or risk birth defects and retardation. I did warn you about not marrying your first cousins?” I nodded. “Probably best to avoid them to thrice-removed,” she added thoughtfully.

  Two brothers on Mother’s matrilineal side married two sisters, adding to the genetic dangers of Mother’s inbred family. As we threw out most of my clothes, I thought about the idea of marrying some wealthy Blood heiress. I looked in the mirror, noting my face and wondering if I had what it took to marry for position and coin. I had the feeling one needed to be prettier.

  “What are you looking at?” said Mother.