“Find them,” a deep voice said. “Search every building, every closet, every flour sack, everything! Just find them!”
“Yes, Hunter,” the others answered in chorus.
Maria turned back to Castro. “Time is short, buddy. I need to know for sure what I’m dealing with.” She offered him a smile, which she knew probably came off more like a grimace. “Enlighten me.”
“They call themselves the Dragon Tongue,” Castro answered. “They practice dark magic. That is all I know, besides the fact that they are cold-blooded murderers. They took the town only a fortnight ago.”
“Dragon Tongue. So it’s really happening,” Maria said, mostly to herself.
“What is?” Castro’s face screwed up in confusion, like he’d just stuck his tongue on a lemon. “You can’t actually believe in the Rogue Dragons, young lady. Such winged-beasts could never exist."
“Oh, there’s a lot I never thought I could believe in.” She shook her head. “So nothing has happened with the lake?”
“Fever?”
“ ‘Lake Fever’? That’s the name you all gave it? That’s not really inviting.”
“Nor is it supposed to be. The fish, you see, are our main export. The founder's of this wonderful place gave the lake its name to scare away foreigners who were trying to stake their claim.”
“Makes sense,” Maria admitted. “But, no offense, I don’t think I’d want fish that came out of Lake Fever.”
Castro nodded. “Neither do the customers. That’s why we tell them we get the fish from upriver, near the Light Elves’ Kingdom. Amazing what people will pay for fresh fish these days.”
“Now, when you say fish, do you mean little floppy things with eyes on each side of their bodies, and fins, and gills?”
Castro cocked an eyebrow at Maria. “Are you kidding?”
“I’m not from here…hello?”
“Yes! That’s what I mean. The lake has the best fish I’ve ever had the honor of tasting.”
“Still…’Lake Fever’? Bleh. I don’t even know if my Bloodhound would eat fish from a place with that name. No, never mind. If he can eat dead squirrel and gush over it like it’s some fancy, five-star dining experience, then he can eat Lake Fever fish.”
“Bloodhound?”
“Right, the other worlds thing; I’ll explain in due time. You’ll probably have the chance to meet him. Just don’t say anything about Gnomes.”
“Wretched creatures,” Castro said.
“Have you ever met a Raffin? Never mind. Speaking of Gnomes, I have to find Gelbus. I know he’s here.”
“Trust me,” Castro whispered, “I’ve seen no Gnomes in town, and I have lived here all my life.”
“No offense, Castro, but I’d like to see for myself. You said there was more than one dungeon, right?”
Castro nodded. “They separated my family from me, and the one called Hunter killed them when I tried to break out the first time. He smiled the whole time he watched them bleed— Oh, no, I think I’m going to be sick.” Castro leaned away behind the front counter and retched as quietly as he could. Though it didn’t sound like anything came up.
Poor guy. Don’t worry, you’ll get your revenge…or I will get it for you.
Once Castro was done, Maria got up into a crouch and looked out the front window. The streets were bare for the moment. She saw no torches, but, most importantly, she saw no sign of Ignatius, Sherlock, or Frieda. She hoped they were safe, hiding somewhere the dragon freaks couldn’t get to them.
Suddenly, the door in the building across the street opened. It looked like a bank. Out came three hooded Dragon Tongue with their torches held low. They conversed quietly with one another, their words only muffled syllables coming through the wall. One of them nodded and pointed to the post office.
“Shit,” Maria said under her breath, and turned to Castro. “Looks like rest time is over. C’mon, let’s find a way out.”
Castro nodded, but there was fear and apprehension in his eyes.
Maria led the way through the back room, maneuvering through barrels filled to the brim with white envelopes and rolled parchment. It smelled of dust so strongly, she had to pinch her nose on more than one occasion to stop from sneezing.
They reached the back door where they had entered. Maria opened it a crack and looked down the alleyway. If it weren’t for the footsteps she heard, she would’ve swung it open all the way. Luckily she didn’t. Three more guards were near the back door, talking in low murmurs. One sniffed the air deeply.
Maria eased the door closed and turned back to Castro’s horrified face.
“Looks like that path is out of the equation. Any other exits?”
Castro’s mouth turned to a grim line, and he looked to the ceiling.
After a moment, he said, “There is one other way. We may not both fit.” He patted his gut. “The fisherman’s life has been too kind to me, but you will fit without a problem. Though, you are quite tall…”
“Yeah, I am, thanks for noticing."
“Sorry,” Castro said, giving an apologetic shrug.
Through the window, Maria didn’t see any torches. Maybe they went around the back and those guys were the same ones I’d seen. Maybe we can walk right out the front door without them noticing.
Castro gripped the handle of a large drawer built right into the wall. It was a tight squeeze, but Maria thought both of them could fit.
The old man opened it slowly, and it made a slight creak that hung in the silent air for much too long. Maria’s heart thundered in her chest, her blood raced in her ears.
“In you go,” Castro urged.
Maria peered into the slot and saw a small pile of parchment, scrolls, and boxes wrapped in brown paper and tied with white string. It was a mail slot—the place where the citizens of Ashbourne went to drop off what they wanted the Oriceran Postal Service to deliver all over the world. Maria was sure there was some kind of magic involved
