Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier Page 9

  As I had now avoided married women for years, I felt this was quite unfair. Anonymous had it all wrong. My own relations were the ones trying to kill me.

  Everyone back in my home kingdom of Sendren seemed to have read the first book, as had everyone in Highcliff, the kingdom-next-door. For some unfathomable reason I was cast as a romantic cipher, a green-eyed, blonde hero with a manly physique. I might be blonde and green-eyed, and aye, my shoulders were good, but I was no hero.

  Most people would agree I was a lucky and rather dissolute young man who had too much money and too much sex. Even the dragon attack, which could be considered bad luck, led to a duchy and incredible wealth. It would be closer to the reality perceived by most of my friends if Anonymous had written about a lucky profligate. My enemies had crueller names for me. While far from my experience of my life, the books were correct in telling sexual detail, but the detail pointed to a different person providing the tattle every few hundred words. I was sure Anonymous was someone who knew me playing a joke, but didn’t know who it could be. Unless they were all writing it.

  ****

  Chapter 11 – The End of the Holidays

  Azrael and I were in my bedroom, getting high, on our way to see a band. There was good bourbon and Sendren Gold, a particularly good mindweed. Azrael was assuring me he really didn’t think he was gay any more.

  “I’m bisexual,” he said, “but then you are too.” I shrugged, taking a hit on the pipe. He was on the floor. I looked down, wondering when he landed there. I was still in a comfortable armchair.

  “Labels,” I said, and exhaled. “Who needs them? I am who I am.”

  “You’re always Polo,” he said from the floor, and I laughed. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

  “So am I,” I said. He smiled. I knew he was thinking that I loved him. “I don’t love you,” I said, and paused. “Not in that kind of way.” I passed the pipe.

  “As if we were brothers,” he said. I raised my glass.

  “Weird depraved brothers,” I said, “with issues.” He tried not to laugh. I grinned. “Here’s to omnisexuality,” I said, taking a mouthful of the bourbon.

  “Say no if I come on to you,” he said. I frowned. Had he come on to me? I missed it. He looked up at me. “That’s all you have to do.”

  “I do say no. However, I need to stop drinking.” He looked smug. “You know,” I said, waving my glass, “when I drink, I lose control.” He smiled.

  “Aye,” he said, “I know.”

  “You must be desperate,” I said, grinning, “if you have to hang round and pick up the drunken ones.”

  “Drunken ones give the best head,” he said, and bit his lip at me. I ignored him. He hadn’t had head from me for years.

  We went out, and to my surprise came home with Miri Westwych, the girl I was once in love with, who helped me change into a dragon the one time I did it. Miri decided she wanted to do us both.

  It was fun, and to my relief I wasn’t still in love with her. In reality, I barely knew her, though I liked her well enough. Sexually she was still as interesting, and wore me out.

  ****

  I woke up to someone’s tongue. I opened my eyes and pushed Azrael away.

  “Nuh-uh,” I said, “no you don’t.” I looked around. “Where’s Miri?”

  “She’s gone,” he said, and pouted at me.

  I’d been good for over two years, since his sixteenth birthday, careful not to encourage him or take advantage of his feelings for me.

  His black hair was almost too short to knot my fingers in but it was enough purchase to pull him up my body towards me. I sank my teeth into that full bottom lip and heard the whimper in his throat, already so hard I ached. I was digging my fingernails into his shoulders, he was responding with enthusiasm, then suddenly he pulled away. “I can’t do this, Polo,” he said. I thought I misheard him.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “I can’t do this,” he said, wriggling away from me, “it’s not what the kingdom needs.” That stopped me cold.

  “What in the name of freaking Zol,” I said, “does the kingdom have to do with this?” That earned me a long lecture about how Azrael being gay meant the kingdom fed a mockery. He needed to forget about me and the best way to do that was to stop doing this. I groaned.

  “But you’re not gay, Azrael. We agreed. You told me. And you’re the one who started this. Every damn time it’s been you. You woke me up with your bloody mouth!” He shook his head. “And we hadn’t done it for two years,” I said firmly, “it’s not like it’s a habit.” He gave me a solemn look. I sighed. “So this is the last time?”

  “No,” he said, “my sixteenth was the last time.” I curled my lip.

  “You could have freaking warned me before you went all out with your tongue!” I gave him my best tousled-and-seductive look. “I understand, Azrael,” I said, “but let’s have a last time. Please? One to remember.” I kissed him gently then let him go, making as if to pull away a little. It always worked with the girls. Made them think I was being both polite and respectful whilst at the same time completely broken-hearted. It had never failed.

  “You’re not going to talk me round again,” he said, echoing that crazy Isabella, “I know what you’re like. It’s like hypnosis. You and that Stefan.” I was about to deny it but then I thought for a moment.

  “If I was, Azrael,” I said, “seriously, I didn’t mean to. However, you’ve been coming on to me for so long now I didn’t think some sex would hurt. Not doing it hasn’t stopped you wanting me.” He laughed.

  “I don’t think you are hypnotising me,” he said, “not really. It just feels that way. Usually it’s how you look, I want you. You don’t have to say a word.”

  In reply, I put arms around him and held him close. He pushed me firmly back. “And you’re very good at doing and saying the right thing,” he said, “so that despite my good intentions I always want you.” I leaned on one elbow, looking him in the face.

  “The road to Haka’s kingdom,” I said, “is paved with good intentions.” I was hoping to distract him long enough to get my rocks off, then he could go be pious and angst-ridden in his own bed. Maybe I should get dressed and head for the House of Silks. I looked at the window. What was it, about dawn? Maybe I should sleep.

  “I want to get over you,” said Azrael.

  Something inside me snapped. He wanted to get over me? After all this time now he wanted to get over me? For two bloody years I’d encouraged him to do that. I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Where were my pants?

  “Screw you, Azrael,” I said, running a hand through my short hair, “you’re insane.” I turned my head to look at him. “But hey,” I added, “I’ll help you get over me. Best way is to not see the other person, right?” He nodded. “I’ll go away,” I said and shrugged. “I can do my Harvesters units anywhere, back in Peterhaven maybe. I’ll leave you here to play war games.” I smiled, gave him my best sexy look. Then I stood up, turned to him and pointed to my groin.

  “Now,” I said, in a tender tone, “you want to finish sucking this, or shall I find myself another whore?”

  It was a horrible thing to say. I had no excuses. I wasn’t in love with him. I only fancied sex and after all the times he tried to seduce me, was annoyed that he was saying no. He was the one really hurting. I’d broken his heart again. He came off the bed and tried to hit me. I blocked, he threw another punch, and again I blocked.

  “Azrael,” I said, “I don’t want to fight you. Stop.” He tried again. I ended up hugging him close so he couldn’t move. He struggled a bit. “You going to stop?”

  “Aye,” he said, sounding as if he was choking. I didn’t blame him. The world tasted of ashes and salt. I said I was sorry, ignoring the tears in my eyes, gave him a hug and sent him along to his own rooms to get some sleep.

  I began to pack. I couldn’t be his friend, not while he was in love with me. Going away made sense. I was meant to be alone. Even my ghost s
eemed to have left me. I couldn’t remember seeing him since I was getting over the crossbow bolt. My only companions were those I paid, to serve me or to guard me from the people who wanted me dead.

  Back on my sixteenth birthday, the Birthday Dragon gave me someone else’s life, and now it didn’t seem to fit. Did I fit anywhere? Instead of going back to school, I left later that day, before Azrael woke up.

  First I went to Port Azrael, where I decided to take my yacht for a cruise out on the Great Star Lake. I wanted to recapture the delicious summer, but it was nearly autumn.

  I was drinking a lot. Ross warned me that I was out of control. I was sure I was dancing on that fine knife-edge over the chasm.

  ****

  Chapter 12 - Nobody to Blame

  Our voyage went as far as the Kingdom of Panswell up the lakeshore to the northwest. As we arrived in Mount Harbour, I remembered a happy holiday visiting with Grandmama Daeva, and learning to both swim and handle a small rowboat. The holiday was during one of my parents’ attempts to stop fighting. I had remembered the trip, but until then not where we went.

  Mount Harbour looked the same, if smaller. I wandered about the town with my guards, seeing places I remembered. On my previous visit I was young enough to not mind holding Grandmama’s hand when we crossed the road. The bittersweet nostalgia and my existing depression were a potent mix.

  By mid-morning I was drinking in a bar in the port, feeling my life had no meaning. I was on white port and lemonade, the drink I had all those years ago when I first came to Court and met my uncle the king. As I talked to the barman about life, Ross and the others stood back, watching.

  Cree appeared as I left the bar but I was so drunk I didn’t really hear what he was saying. Something about choices and living with the results.

  Muttering about being haunted I stumbled out into the afternoon and into a neighbouring shop. Though they stuck close, the bodyguards didn’t stop me. It wasn’t up to them to stop me. I was an adult. I was the Duke of bloody Starshore.

  “Mind you,” said Ross afterwards, “I was watching for people trying to kill you, I didn’t expect you’d do anything quite this stupid. I thought you’d come to your senses once we got away from everyone.” I had to agree with him. Who could have imagined the incredible heights my idiocy would reach? Aside from Cree, who knew exactly what I was going to do.

  Ross and the others stopped in the shop doorway. Cree drifted in, floated up the wall then sat, smoking, watching me. The uniformed man behind the counter smiled and nodded. He was a sergeant. In my drunken haze, I wasn’t sure why he was in the bar, but the garrison next to Blue Hill Farm was always a safe place and I found uniforms reassuring. The sarge tapped the medals on his chest.

  “Welcome,” he said, “you looking for a purpose in your life?” It was as though the gods had sent me to him. I sat at his counter and we talked while he fed me coffee. I told him about being kicked out of the Military Guild and he laughed at the story. The sarge explained that I could feel like I was making a difference. I only had to sign the form. I looked up at Cree.

  Up to you, Polo, was all he said. Feeling the echoes of the hollow spaces inside, I signed. Ross called from behind me, but it was too late.

  “Polo? What in Zol’s name are you doing? Oh gods,” I heard him say, “I didn’t think talking to an old soldier could do you any bloody harm!”

  Swaying and swallowing convulsively, my eyes were rolling back in my head as the recruiting office sergeant whipped the form out of the way, the very moment before I threw up all over his counter. I fell off the stool, tried to get up, decided to stay down and wiped my mouth with my hand.

  Then I was lying down. The room was spinning. I couldn’t see anyone and looked up. There was Cree, laughing as he floated near the wall.

  “You can laugh,” I said aloud, “I’m the one with a body.”

  Ah beloved, said Cree, you are still amusing.

  ****

  Unfortunately I’d missed throwing up on the sergeant’s copies of my enlistment paperwork, and even had my own copy, which Ross was waving as he tried to argue my case. Someone fetched the necessary to clean the office and a bucket for me to be sick into while Ross and some of the others did the arguing. We tried everything we could think of to get me out, at least my Ducal Guard did.

  I was legless. Not literally, just drunker than anyone should be who wishes to walk, talk and not throw up. Or perhaps not throw up again. They told me the details later but I did remember the recruiting sergeant being very happy.

  “He can serve his term like any of us, sirs,” said the sergeant.

  By then I was lying on the floor in front of the counter and couldn’t see him. Several of my bodyguards were around, muttering as they cleaned the desk and floor where I’d been sick – hoping them cleaning up might help my case with the sergeant -another keeping a bucket near my head in case I started heaving again.

  “Galaia’s tits,” said the man holding the bucket, “what a mess.”

  “Polo’s completely crazy,” said Ross, his voice rising in pitch, something I hadn’t heard before. I listened with interest, ignorant of what I’d done. I was particularly interested because Ross didn’t panic. He just didn’t.

  Once I nearly bled to death. Ross was the one who stopped the bleeding, kneeling in a pool of my life, and he didn’t so much as breathe heavy, talking calmly to me the whole time. He wasn’t calm now.

  I wondered vaguely what had happened. It sounded like I was in trouble. Ross could be freaked? I never imagined that. What was happening? Whose feet were those?

  “Sergeant,” Ross’s voice again, “please, be reasonable. Poor lad’s mad, not just drunk!”

  Ah, I thought as I lay on the floor, there was a true friend. Destroying my reputation for my own good. Ross was my employee and I was feeling sorry for myself and lonely with it, so it was gratifying to find out he was also a friend. I was sick again, body in spasm, this time into the bucket. I fell back to lie on the floor.

  “You can’t hold him to a signing,” said Ross, “gods, you’ve talked to him. He’s seeing visions and ghosts!” I still had no idea what was going on.

  “Not a ghost,” I said from the floor, where I had stopped being sick for the moment. I took a breath. “He’s not dead,” I said to someone’s booted ankles. “Though obviously,” I added, and hiccupped, “seeing him makes me crazy.” I fell onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. A bodyguard looked anxiously into my eyes.

  “Put him on his side,” said Ross. He ran a hand back through his black hair, looking worried.

  “Polo should be in the asylum,” said Archie, his second-in-command, trying to be helpful. “He looks normal, nice even, but he’s completely bloody mad. He accidentally killed some lads, he’s not been the same since.”

  I’d not realised Archie also liked me so much that he’d weigh in to save me, and listened, fascinated. I was distracted by Cree, who was transparent but claimed not to be a ghost. He was halfway up the wall and laughing so much he seemed to be crying.

  “Stop it,” I said to him. The others noticed.

  “Look,” said Ross, pointing at me, “he’s talking to his imaginary friend.” I kept my next words in my head.

  Shut up, I said to the vision-in-question. Cree began fading, about to disappear, still laughing. I was pretty sure none of the others could see him. At least they hadn’t mentioned it, and people usually mentioned Cree. He was the sort of thing people always seemed to find a reason to talk about. Usually they were asking if I could see him too, because that would mean they weren’t mad. I tried to explain.

  “He’s a being-not-in-body,” I said, “instead of a being-in-body. And don’t ask me what the difference is.” Either nobody was listening or I was slurring so much they couldn’t understand. I wasn’t even sure I was talking aloud. Ross was still arguing with the sergeant.

  “He had to leave the Military Guild because he killed three cadets! Believe me, sergeant, the army doesn’
t want this one. They said so already. He’s banned from Military Guild premises!” It was true. “How can it hurt to rip up the form?” The sergeant shook his head. “You must have heard about Polo Shawcross, Duke of Starshore down in Sendren?” Ross was getting quite high-pitched. “There are books about him. He’s completely reprehensible!”

  Meanwhile I lay on the floor looking past the bucket, which was in clear focus. I was somehow able to see Ross’s words floating with the dust motes. I wasn’t sure what the words meant. They meant Ross was really panicking. He was offering the sergeant coin to buy me out of service. The sergeant was placid and sure I was completely screwed.

  “Officers,’ he said, “aye sirs, they can be bought out. Enlisted men can’t. Funny that, no provision for aristocrats joining the ranks.”

  Archie said later that was when he became sure the sergeant had read at least one of the books about me.

  Ross’s continued arguing penetrated my addled skull. I listened, learning I’d signed up for the army, of all things. How had I done that without leaving the bar? I wasn’t still in the bar, but was so drunk I hadn’t noticed the change of venue. What my nom-de-plume-ed biographer would make of this latest predicament, including the circumstances of my leaving Malion, I couldn’t imagine, possibly Stupid Twat: The Downfall of the Duke of Starshore.

  “Ah, that Polo Shawcross,” the sergeant said, and leaned over the counter to nod down at me, “you didn’t tell me you were the Duke of Starshore, Your Grace.” I waved weakly, but the effort made the room start spinning and I began throwing up again. The sergeant smiled beatifically at Ross, assuming rightly that he was an ex-officer.

  “Unlike officers, sir,” he said, “enlisted men aren’t required to be sane or of good character. Or sober. Providing they’re not dangerous to their fellow soldiers.” The sergeant gestured to his own chest. “After a very chequered youth I proved an asset to the Army of the North.” He grinned openly then, enjoying the moment. “The law is clear. Our young duke must serve his three years or be declared outlaw. Notorious or insane, it’s no matter to the army.” I punctuated his speech with a loud splattering heave. “Be interesting,” he added, like a cat that didn’t just get the cream but had commandeered the prawns too, “think of it, sirs, one of the Blood in the ranks.” He chuckled.