The Crucible of the Dragon God

customer, already? And a fop from one of the cities or larger towns by the look of him, even if he seemed slightly on the down-at-heels side. City dwellers were the worst kind of customer, because even though everything in his store was genuine they never believed it so, for the simple reason that they had never encountered it — as closeted as they were in their own, small and so-called 'civilised' world. Moon sighed then opened the door, and even before he could say good morning, it started. Except this time it wasn't about the provenance of his stock.

'By the Lord of All! The butcher across the way was right'

'Excuse me?'

The fop jabbed him in the chest, and Moon got a whiff of a pungent underarm. 'This ogur thing — great idea and I have to say you have it almost bang on. The perfect way to advertise your shop. Harmon Ding, by the way, consultant to the retail trade. Consultancy's quite the big thing in the cities, you know.'

Oh, it would be, Moon thought.

The Old Races constructed unimaginable wonders but now that man was the dominant race, it concentrated its efforts trying to find a better way to sell sprabbage. But what was the man on about regarding 'this ogur thing'?

'Something I can help you with, Mister Ding?'

Ding gave a cursory glance around the shop, clearly uninterested in its wares. 'Maybe, maybe. All in good time. The important thing is you. Like I said, almost bang on.' He shook his head and sucked in a breath. 'This ogur thing,' he added slowly, 'not quite right.'

Moon stared at him, nonplussed. 'Not quite right?'

Ding stared back, in a way that suggested he was dealing with someone with the brains of an ogur. 'The costume! The mask!' He narrowed his eyes, leaned in and then whispered conspiratorially. 'Between you and me, looks a bit fake.'

'Fake?'

Ding nodded. 'Fake, yes. It's like you're half man, half ogur. Look, I know ogurs — I've seen pictures of them in storybooks — and while we both know they're not real, if you're going for the effect, you've at least got to go all the way.'

'Oh, ogurs are quite real, Mister Ding. Trust me, I know.'

'Yes, yes, of course, of course. What else could you say with this,' he waved his hand dismissively, 'novelty shop being your going concern?'

Novelty shop? Moon felt a rumble beginning in his throat and the lobes of his ears warmed slightly. 'Let me rephrase my question, Mister Ding. Is there anything you would like to BUY?'

'Buy, Mister Moon?' Ding looked almost aggrieved. 'No, no, not buy. I'm here to sell. My services. For a period of one month. For a one off fee of fifty full silver.'

'Why on Twilight would I pay you fifty full silver?'

Ding stared at him, swallowed slightly, and then suddenly snapped an upright finger into the air, as if to demonstrate a point. Unbidden, he began to prance around the shop, pointing things out and occasionally gazing at the ceiling as if he were somehow receiving divine messages from the old man's bedroom.

'Because I'm seeing special ogur days to bring the punters in. I'm seeing spit- roasts and I'm seeing chase-the-child competitions. I'm seeing captive princesses, donkeys, face scribing and pig's bladders on strings. But most of all, I'm seeing you — yes you! — in a brand, spanking new costume designed by me. Huge, flappy ears. Big teeth. Green.' He paused, finally, then pointed directly at him. 'You, Mister Moon, will make a fortune!'

There was a moment's silence, then -

'I'm not paying you fifty full silver for anything.'

'Forty, then!'

'No.'

'Thirty?'

'Nothing at all.'

Ding gazed at him, open-mouthed. 'You're making a big mistake.'

'I don't think so. For one thing, you're clearly not a full tenth. For another, I'm not wearing a costume or mask.' His voice deepened. 'Of any kind.'

'And you're saying I'm not a full tenth?'

'Twilight is an unusual place, Mister Ding.'

Ding laughed. 'Oh, here we go! You mean the Old Races and their ancient technology? The Pale Lord? The Clockwork King? And these new things — the k'nid?' Ding curled his fingers at Moon and made nibbling sounds with his teeth. 'Just stories, my friend — tales to be told around the fire during Long Night and that's all. Not real.'

'Oh, you'd be surprised.'

Ding smirked. 'Trust me, Mister Moon. There is nothing in this world that could persuade me otherw…'

Ding trailed off, his mouth hanging open as, right in front of him, there was a crackle of energy, a whoosh of charged air and a yelling, half-naked woman appeared out of nowhere, right in the middle of the shop.

The woman was riding a roaring horse. Except it wasn't a horse, not really, but a huge, armoured, horned thing that looked like a Vossian siege machine. And clinging to the Horse — apparently trying to eat it and its rider — were a number of thrashing, clawing, slashing things that Ding found… indescribable. He would have blinked and rubbed his eyes, had he not been busy flinging himself out of the way, because the horse had arrived moving, and was still moving.

Taking in its surroundings with insane looking, rolling green eyes, it whinnied and tried to come to a halt but failed miserably, demolishing two of the shop's display stands and heading inexorably for the building's rear wall. Ding continued to watch transfixed as the beast's rider spotted where it was heading, shouted something like 'oh, farking hells,' and promptly threw herself from her saddle. The woman landed on her feet on a display counter, wincing slightly, and span immediately to face three of the things that detached themselves from her mount to fling themselves after her. As they did, she unsheathed a vicious looking gutting knife and slashed it in an arc across the air before her, sending the creatures scrabbling back with yellow goo spurting from their flanks. The horse-thing, meanwhile, skidded itself into a half-turn as it approached the wall and hit it side on. The things still clinging to it were crushed with a sickening crunch, spraying yellow goo upwards in a fountain of gore.

Ding swallowed hard as dust streamed from stressed, supporting beams and the shop began to creak ominously.

The woman threw herself into the air and across the room, taking the time to wave at the old man as she passed. He, in turn, waved back but Ding could see that he was clearly not as pleased to see her as she was he. As the old man regarded the wreck of a room before him, Ding could have sworn that his nose and ears throbbed a bright red, and that he appeared to grow slightly. This did not, however, stop him coming to the aid of the woman when she needed it. As she was now engaged in a losing hand-to-hand battle with the remaining creatures, the old man opened a cupboard beneath his sales counter and, with a yell, threw her a glove.

Oh, very useful, Harmon Ding thought.

But then his ears flapped as she slipped the glove on and blasted one of her assailants over each of his shoulders with an pulse of energy that drew crackling red circles in the air. Ding watched the two creatures crash screeching through the windows of the shop and then turned back, white-faced now, just in time to see the third creature lunge for the old man. The odd thing was, though, he didn't seem to be the old man anymore, and as the creature reached him something big and green and roaring that stood in his place simply tore it apart.

Nice costume, Ding thought, and fainted.

Or at least tried to. For as he began to collapse something shot from the horse-thing's mouth and wrapped itself about his neck, holding him up.

Oh, he thought, it's a tongue. An impossibly long, slimy tongue.

Instead of fainting, Ding decided, instead, to scream. As the girlish wail erupted from him, the tongue released him and Harmon Ding ran. Ran as fast as his legs could carry him, out of the shop and away. The last