Dragon Castle Read Free Page A

something particularly foolish.
    Like that time last summer when we were in the market. One of the vendors, a Russian jeweler who had not been to our little land before, was clearly trying to deceive my father. My father should have known that. Word had already been spread that the man was a cheat. Angry glances were being cast in his direction. But because the man was built like a bear and armed with a brace of knives slung across his chest, no one had done anything.
    â€œHere, noble sir,” the jeweler said in an unctuous voice to my father. He displayed the brooch in the palm of his right hand as he held up two fingers of his left. “Fine bargain. Only twenty pieces of silver.”
    I almost spoke up then. Even though I was young, I could see that brooch was worth no more than half that amount. But Georgi elbowed me in the ribs. I suppose, like me, he wanted to see how my poor innocent father would deal with such deceit.
    â€œOh,” my father replied, a happy smile coming to his face. He plucked the brooch from the man’s hand and pocketed it. “Only two pieces of silver? Agreed.” He dropped two silver coins on the man’s table.
    â€œ Nyet, ” the Russian merchant said, spreading all ten of his fingers twice to indicate the actual total. “Nyet, nyet . More than that.”
    â€œYou want me to take more?”
    It amazed me just how confused my guileless father became.
    â€œ Vd’aka, pan . Thank you, sir.” My father reached out with his broad left hand—his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword—to scoop up the entire contents of a tray filled with rings. “These will do nicely,” he said, patting his sword hilt as he eyed the glittering palmful. “Dobre.”
    Then, before the startled merchant could speak another word, my father turned and walked away.
    The Russian stood there, his mouth open as he stared at the empty tray. Even though it was obvious to me that my father had no idea what he’d just done, that cheat had just been paid back in kind. All through the market people were nodding at my father, their pleased expressions turning into even broader smiles as my father casually passed out rings to each of them.
    For a moment it appeared the Russian was about to follow my father and protest. Or perhaps he thought to do more. His right hand was twitching toward one of those two knives. That was when Georgi stepped in front of the man and grasped the jeweler’s shoulder with such strength that the cheating merchant gasped. Georgi leaned close and whispered a few firm words in the man’s ear. The color drained from the burly Russian’s florid face. Within moments he had packed up his cart and departed rapidly from our marketplace and our land, never to be seen again.
    Good old Georgi. Who else could turn a moment of confusion on my poor father’s part into an act of justice?
    It’s a measure of how distracted I’ve been by the strange absence of my parents that I haven’t thought to seek Georgi’s counsel. Not that he would have told me directly what to do. Georgi has this way of offering diffident suggestions, hesitant hints that—when followed—may lead one to a conclusion.
    â€œThe junior groom will bury poor old Matilde, sir,” Georgi says. He pats my hand reassuringly. “No need to worry yourself about her. But just now, I do believe there is something else at which you might want to look.” He motions with his head toward the window forty feet above us. “Up on your father’s dresser.”

PAVOL’S LEGEND
Dva
    THE BOY RAN till he felt himself reaching the limit of his strength. Still, despite the knife of pain in his side, he urged himself farther. Just ahead was the crest of the hill that rose up from the middle of the old forest like the head of a bird from its nest.
    From that spot, he knew, St’astie Dom would come into view. He could see what happened.