One Realm Beyond Read online

  The mischievous twinkle in the dragon’s eyes made it clear that Totobee-Rodolow enjoyed the outrageous statement she’d made.

  Cantor sat at Mistress Dante’s kitchen table, exhausted from the walk down the hall. He’d had a real bath before that and no nap. At the moment, he felt like a dillyfish strung too long on his catch string. He was better and itching to continue his hunt for a dragon but not well enough to walk out the door. He’d have to be patient. He hated being patient.

  Bridger said he and Bixby had stopped by his home territory and persuaded his sister to join their expedition. Cantor shook his head, wondering what a sibling of his unwanted shadow would be like. Bixby said she was wonderful and made him practice saying her name. It was a mouthful.

  His eyes closed, and he couldn’t quite get up enough oomph to open them again. He practiced saying the sister dragon’s name to keep from falling asleep at the table. He even remembered to stress the Ro syllable. Totobee. Rodolow. Toto. Bee. Ro. Dolow. Totobeero. Dolow. Totobee. Rodolow. Totobee-Rodolow. If she was anything like Bridger, he might be able to get by with calling her Toto or Bee.

  Someone bumped into his leg, and the jolt sent a shiver of pain down to his toes. Cantor opened his eyes but couldn’t identify who had disturbed him. He’d learned Mistress Dante had more children than Marta, Gimo, and Rutzen. Seven children tumbled about the room, some of them actually helping. He tried to ignore the bustle around him as mother and children worked together to fix their feast. He managed very well except for Marta.

  Marta claimed she helped by keeping everyone in the room cheerful. She danced and sang and banged on the pots until Cantor thought he’d gladly pay her to entertain the ducks by the pond. But he had no money.

  The few traps he’d had were gone. He’d foolishly pinned the coin bag into his shirt. The sea water had disintegrated his clothing, and he only had theories as to what had happened to the traps. Swiped by the Brinswikker men? Dropped out of his pockets somewhere between the hostel and the sea, or between the sea and his present abode? Fallen into the deceptively shimmering waters while the men dunked him? Confiscated by Mistress Dante for the trouble he’d put her through? Fortunately, his knapsack was made by a hampersmith and had protected the things within. His knife, Slice, and the hat Ahma had made were safe.

  Mistress Dante had brought him what remained of all his clothes when he asked for them. He could see that the sea had made tatters of the material — in fact, they fell apart when he carefully lifted a corner. He doubted the coins in a pouch ever made it to her home.

  With his big toe, he poked at the braided rag rug on the floor. He thought he recognized some of the fabrics as matching the Brinswikker clothes Rutzen had given him. The pants hit just above his knee since he towered over the little men. But the Brinswikker men were round in the middle, so the waist fit Cantor fairly well. They were broad in shoulder and chest, so the shirt Cantor wore buttoned nicely, but the sleeves came to his elbows. If he reached above his head, the shirt lifted to expose his stomach. And of course, there’d been no shoes his size.

  He examined the hair on his toes and pondered where a man could acquire suitable clothing. And how to pay for said clothing with no money and nothing to barter with. He wondered if Bixby would take pity on him.

  Over the prattle of Marta and her more vocal siblings, Bridger’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  In a moment, the dragon came through the door, greeted by squeals from the Dante brood. They tackled him from all sides but couldn’t bring him down. He good-naturedly dragged them out the side door to the yard.

  Bixby came in next. Cantor’s eyes popped at her outfit, layers upon layers of brilliant colors on delicate fabric. He’d always thought her rather untidy and dull, but this array of skirts and tops and the thing on her head made her look spectacular.

  Behind her petite form, the new dragon eased into the room with the grace of a sailing ship and the beauty of a well-tended garden. Together, Bixby and Totobee-Rodolow stunned him.

  Bixby stepped aside and allowed Totobee-Rodolow to come forward. Even as her dragon smile flashed gleaming teeth, Cantor stood to welcome her as Ahma and Odem had taught him. He suddenly remembered Bixby’s summary of Totobee-Rodolow’s career, a constant whose partner wanted to climb to the top of society in all seven planes. This dragon had been in many high courts and palaces throughout the known worlds.

  He took her outstretched hand and bent over it, hoping his bow passed muster.

  She laughed and caressed his chin as he stood straight.

  “Darling, you are impeccable, totally suitable for your calling.” She withdrew both hands and clasped them at her waist. “And your knees have adorable dimples.”

  Cantor stood straighter but couldn’t help looking down at his legs. “My knees?”

  Her arm came around his shoulders. “Never mind, dearest. We’ll cover them with proper trousers, so the female populace will be safe from at least that part of your charming person.”

  Mistress Dante erupted in laughter. The children poured back through the door and joined in without having a clue as to what the joke had been. Totobee-Rodolow left his side to seat herself at the long plank table.

  Cantor stood in a stupor until he felt Bixby tugging at his sleeve.

  She tiptoed to be closer to his ear as she whispered. “She’s the only dragon I could find who will go with us. Besides Bridger.”

  He looked down at the beautiful girl at his side. He sighed. “To be honest, I did a split second of ruthless scheming. I thought perhaps I could persuade her to be my constant.”

  Bixby nodded, looking wise. “I thought you might. But I knew once she opened her mouth, you’d change your mind.”

  Bridger joined his sister at the table. Places had been set with tin plates, wooden bowls, thick ceramic mugs, crudely carved forks and spoons, and burlap cloth napkins. As Bridger settled into the chair next to Totobee-Rodolow, he leaned heavily on the end of the long plank table. The table tipped, and all the dishes slid toward Bridger. They bounced over the rough wood, collided with one another, and rattled an alarm of impending catastrophe.

  The dragon stood, jerking his hands away from the disaster coming his way. The other end of the table hit the floor and recoiled once.

  Totobee-Rodolow stood and stroked Bridger’s shoulder. “You are so clever, dear brother. You stopped the dish-slide before I even knew their world had tilted.”

  She trailed her hand down his arm and clasped his hand. “Come, Bridger-Bigelow. We shall put the pieces back where they belong.”

  The children rushed to help.

  Cantor barely shook his head as he sighed. “We’re going to Dairine, officially summoned by the council, with two — two — ”

  “Two clever, remarkable, extraordinary dragons.” Bixby patted his arm. “Yes, it will be astounding.”

  EQUIPPED

  Cantor waffled in his opinion.

  Totobee-Rodolow fascinated him. She had a lilting accent that Cantor suspected was an affectation. But he would forget to be put off by this ruse every time she began relating her life as the constant to a diplomat realm walker. Cantor listened intently as she told stories about the aristocrats on Derson. When she veered off topic to gush over the markets and fancy eateries in the city of Peadmahar, the capital of Errinpau, he lost interest.

  He couldn’t understand why someone given the opportunity to work with the heads of state for the betterment of the people could be passionate about shopping and blasé about trade agreements.

  And the tales she told of the two realm walkers who were her companions disturbed him. He’d always thought that realm walkers by definition had committed themselves to a noble way of living. Honor, integrity, courage, compassion, and courtesy marked these men and women as an elite group. The most telling aspect of their character was a devotion to Primen, His teachings and His mandates.

  Yet Hilarill stole an identity and forged a lifestyle he couldn’t rightfully claim and Rackama, who
could have been a realm walker, chose instead to stand behind Hilarill, to feed him the information he needed, do his bidding on the sly, and deceive all those they came in contact with.

  Such dishonesty from both men, the arrogance of Hilarill, and the cowardice of Rackama made Cantor’s stomach clench. Thinking about all the times Ahma and Odem had whispered exchanges about the Council, Cantor came to the conclusion that they had known about this type of misrepresentation. They’d purposely taught him a lofty view of the chivalry of being a realm walker and hidden the seamy aspect of corruption.

  Why? Why had they hidden the truth for so long — gone so far as to release him into the world laboring under such delusions? Bixby’s mentor had clearly done no such thing.

  He decided to visit Ahma before he reported to Gilead and the Realm Walkers Council.

  Cantor got up from the chair where he’d been resting. A feast and the fellowship were fine, but he needed to concentrate on the future. Daily, he pushed himself to walk farther and longer. Soon he would be able to travel. He’d spent a total of ten days with the Dante family, during which time the father had visited from the men’s camp and taken Rutzen back with him. He found the family dynamics to be odd and fascinating. And he grew more impressed with his traveling family as well. Their discussions revealed his companions’ intelligence. Bixby and both dragons had opinions worth listening to.

  Totobee-Rodolow was the only one of them who’d been to the training center for realm walkers. She told him that such friendly discussions were common during the round in which he would study cultural diversity. She warned the discussions at the guild often turned into debates, and the debates sometimes turned into arguments, but still the idea appealed to Cantor and renewed his eagerness to get to the next part of his adventure.

  He believed he had recovered enough to take the journey. But he still didn’t have any clothes of his own. A minor problem, perhaps, but one that stopped him any time he considered leaving the Dante household.

  He stepped out of the long, low building that was Mistress Dante’s domain. Being barefoot didn’t bother him, as he had spent plenty of his time at Ahma’s without shoes. He stepped carefully, mindful of how many ducks used the whole yard to deposit their waste. The ducks came toward him in a frenzy; they expected any two-legged animal to toss them food. Fortunately, he’d grabbed Mistress Dante’s refuse bowl and had scraps to throw to the quacking crowd.

  He emptied the container, shook it upside down, and tucked it under his arm. The ducks knew the gesture indicating no more food and waddled off, some complaining and others just making noise.

  From the Dantes’ yard, Cantor had a good view of the treacherous sea, the curve of the mountain range, and the expansive green valley to the west. Three settlements dotted the grassland. In the sky above this tranquil vista, dragons flew, diving and swooping for the pure joy of flight. Cantor counted a dozen. By comparison, even the large hunting birds looked small.

  Two of the dragons flew side by side, approaching the Dantes’ end of the sea with a more businesslike trajectory than their fellows exhibited. Totobee-Rodolow and Bridger were returning, with Bixby on Totobee-Rodolow’s back. They’d been to market. Again. Shopping took up a great deal of Bixby’s time, and her female dragon friend aided her in her quest to visit every market and shop in the valley. So far, Cantor had not seen any indication that these three had serious intentions toward the lifetime commitment to the realm walkers’ creed.

  The dragons swooped in and landed in a lower pasture. Bixby slipped off Totobee-Rodolow’s back, and they walked up a hill to the house. Bixby waved to Cantor, and he raised his hand to wave back. She looked excited. Cantor grinned. She always looked excited. Excited, disheveled, and eager. Bixby was fun to be around, even though her presence sometimes wore him out.

  Before she reached the crest of the hill, she called out, “We brought you something. You’re going to like it.” She ran a few steps up the incline. “Them! You’re going to like them!”

  Cantor shook his head, trying to imagine what they could have found at the market that would please him. Let it be clothes.

  Bixby stopped and frowned at him. “No fair. You weren’t supposed to guess.”

  He laughed. “I think I read your mind, as you did mine. I never would have thought of clothes on my own.”

  Bixby lifted one hand to the crown on her head. She pulled the circle of gold and glittering gems off as she reached his side. Her hair clung to the curves crafted in the shining metal, and she had to tug and wiggle it to free the last strands of whitish curls.

  “So you did. I forgot I was wearing this crown so Totobee-Rodolow and Bridger could easily find me should we become separated.”

  “And did you?”

  “Get separated? Yes. Mostly, it’s Bridger wandering off. He spots something in a booth down the lane and can’t forego examining whatever it is up close. We had to rescue him from trouble several times. The merchants know mor dragons rarely buy anything, and they don’t like their goods being pawed without good reason. Of course, Bridger and Totobee-Rodolow object to their attitude, and Totobee-Rodolow does buy things.” She grabbed his arm and turned him toward the house. “Come on. I can’t wait to show you what we got.”

  They went straight to Cantor’s room. Once there, Bixby pulled a hamper from her skirts and laid the innocuous-looking bag on his bed.

  She clapped her hands together. “Go ahead. Look.”

  Cantor picked up the bag and handed it to her. “I’m not sticking my hand in there. You know only you can pull out what you’re thinking about. I might pull out a snake.”

  “You’re thinking about snakes?”

  “No. That was an example. Don’t you know how a hamper works?”

  “No, not at all.” She took the bag, looked at him, then the bag, and back at him. “I don’t have to know how it works to make it work. It just does.”

  “You puzzle me, Bixby. Sometimes you seem to know everything, and now you don’t know a little thing like this?”

  She let out a humph of a sigh, pinched her lips, and narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “If you put something in a hamper, only you can get it back. You know what it is, you picture it in your mind, and that thing comes to the surface. I can’t pull things out because I can’t picture what was put in there.”

  “You’re talking about a vault, not a hamper.”

  “What?”

  “A vault. You can’t buy a vault just anywhere; it has to be made specifically for you. This is a hamper. Anyone can use it.” She handed it back to him. “It’s generic. Just think of a shirt in general. Or be even more general than that and think of clothes. Go ahead. Try it.”

  Cantor scowled but pulled the drawstring opening wide. Putting in his hand, he felt soft cloth and removed a folded shirt — a shirt that would more likely be called a blouse. Lace and pretty buttons, and pale flowers. He cocked an eyebrow at Bixby.

  She laughed and plucked it from his fingers. “Sorry! That’s mine. I must have tucked it into the wrong hamper.”

  Cantor waffled again. He felt bubbling amusement trying to escape. But he also felt annoyance that this girl wanted to dress him in fancy clothes. He liked his own clothes just fine — or he had before they rotted. But he understood that part of succeeding at the realm walkers round was to present himself properly dressed and able to engage lofty individuals in conversation.

  He gave a great sigh and plunged his hand into the hamper. He should swallow his misgivings and be grateful for the generosity of Bixby and Totobee-Rodolow. At least they’d solved his clothing problem.

  And they were willing to advise him, and he should take the opportunity to learn. And he should appear to be gracious about it. He plastered a smile on his face.

  He drew out a masculine shirt. Bixby clapped her hands and bounced on her toes. “It’s a perfect color for you. Totobee-Rodolow has such good fashion sense. We bought several of those in different colors. Ke
ep going.”

  He retrieved the other shirts next, probably because Bixby’s words brought them to mind and therefore to the surface of the hamper. He rubbed his thumb across the fine weave and admired the different colors, all rich and dark, maroon, blue, green, and gray. They were much nicer than anything he would have chosen, and perfect for a new realm walker looking to properly present himself.

  His lungs felt tight, and he breathed in slowly to loosen his muscles. As Ahma had taught him, he named the emotions that affected his body. Anger. Resentment. Chagrin. And he named the source of the emotion. Bixby’s grasp of the world of a realm walker far outpaced his own. Yet she was a nonsensical sort of person who didn’t seem to value the special gift given to her.

  She had showed him up several times in being able to cope with Dukmee’s demands and performing manipulations that he had only heard about. He had held firm to the view that she was trifling with the ways of a realm walker. But this knowledge of what he needed to wear showed sophistication he sorely needed. Humility. As Odem often said, “If you don’t reach out and take a piece for yourself, someone’s going to throw the whole pie in your face.”

  He expelled the air, and the tension eased. He acknowledged to himself that the ladies’ purchases intrigued him. He focused briefly on Bixby’s smile and then plunged a hand into the hamper.

  His next surprise was shoes and socks. Now he got into the spirit of the unusual gifts. Trousers, tunics, sashes, a slicker, and a coat piled up on the bed. He imagined Ahma’s face twisted with disdain, and then an image of Odem bending over and slapping his knees, succumbing to outlandish mirth. Cantor laughed.

  “What’s funny?” Bridger appeared at the door.

  The dragon started to come in, but his sister, Totobee-Rodolow, tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Ouch.” The dragon rubbed his hand over the place she’d poked. “Why do you have your claws out?”