Dragon Three Two Niner    
by Peter L. Manly
     
     Dark Castle Approach Control, this is Princess Iru-lana aboard dragon November Bravo three two niner requesting landing instructions." Georgine was laboring beneath me, sensing that the long flight was almost over. Her silver-dark wings stretched outward as she caught a slight updraft and made the most of the altitude gain. I mused that the castle tower operators must be asleep at the switch and was about to call again when they finally answered, "Ah, dragon three two niner, this is Dark Castle. Hold at the outer marker over the Enchanted Forest beacon. We have some traffic to clear."
     
     "Dragon three two niner, holding," I acknowledged, slipping the empathy shell into my tunic and making sure it was secure. Its twin was kept at the castle, and whatever was said into one shell came out the other. It's a neat spell and it works well. The only problem was that I had to have a separate shell for each castle at which I might land. With the recent proliferation of landing fields, one accumulates a rather lumpy collection of shells. I hated holding over the forest. It was full of downdrafts, probably caused by the constant use of magical energy and arcane forces. Georgine responded to my slight nudges, banking off to the right in one of her perfect turns. She was a good old girl and she really liked to fly. I could see her glancing off to the left at the castle, however, and sensed that she would rather have taken a straight-in approach. I began searching for the beacon, an energized jewel placed on a golden pillar for all dragon flyers to navigate by. Off to my right was a large gray passenger dragon, circling high over the forest, and we flew to a point underneath them. The pillar was there but the jewel was gone, probably taken by the elves again. They'd give it back later, after some concessions and maybe the sacrifice of a virgin, but meanwhile, night flyers would have no beacon. Local politics, ugh!
     
     The downdrafts weren't too bad over the forest, but Georgine had already flown the long distance from the Blue Mist Mountains and I wanted to get her bedded down. She kept looking longingly toward the castle, her large green eyes searching for a rookery which could provide shelter. The Lesser Sun had already set. Its sharp blue cast was now missing from the landscape below. In the slanting rays of the Greater Sun, the scenery took on a soft ruby glow, enhanced by the leaves of the trees preparing for winter. The first snows had fallen in the mountains and I wanted to finish my business at the castle quickly, lest my return trip become a winter ordeal. It shouldn't take too long. All I had to do was find a reasonably competent sorcerer, have him break the counter spell on my older sister's gown, and return home. Any little trinkets I could scare up-a magical amulet or a portable curse-would be pure profit. Maybe I could flirt with one of the King's knights too-but business came first.
     
     The Oracles had predicted that if my older sister, the Greater Princess Katrashkip of Granite Keep, couldn't wear this gown at the Midwinter Ball, then she probably wouldn't wed the prince of the Dark Castle. Without a wedding to cement the uneasy truce among the castles of the Northlands, a terrible war would break out and we would be plunged into a dark age for millennia. The seers were very specific about the point. I, for one, was glad to be a Lesser Princess so I wouldn't have to marry for politics.
     
     Above me, I noticed the passenger dragon turning toward the castle. Georgine watched the larger dragon head for the rookeries and grunted a bit as we kept wheeling over the empty golden pillar. I patted her neck and hugged her tighter with my knees. "Don't worry, old girl. We'll probably be next." She made the humming rumble which indicated she was pleased with me, and I let her drift a bit from the pillar, in order to catch a weak updraft. She played with it for several minutes. The empathy shell came to life. "Dragon three two niner, come to a heading west by northwest. Maintain altitude."
     
     "Dark Castle, where are you vectoring me?"
     
     "Dragon three two niner, we're sending you out over the ocean for a long approach to runway niner zero left at the castle. You can follow dragon one twelve heavy in."
     
     "Ah, Dark Castle, we're a small flight. Request a straight-in approach to the timber rookery."
     
     "Negative, dragon three two niner, your dragon hasn't been fire suppressed. New Air Transport Safety Regulations prohibit fire-breathing aircraft from utilizing timber facilities. You'll have to land on the old stone parapets."
     
     "Three two niner out." God, but I hate bureaucrats! Georgine wouldn't belch any fire in a rookery. She's much too civilized. I searched for and found the large passenger dragon descending ahead of me. We turned to line up with it and Georgine strained to catch up. She likes to fly tight formation, but I held her back. We were going to have to allow the larger dragon time to land and clear the apron before we swooped in. I kept up my altitude over the Troll thickets. The last time I'd gone through their airspace they'd fired off a few arrows at me, and at least one of them had a dragon spell on it. Although they were supposed to be civilized, they were not above plundering booty from airliners which chanced to crash in their territory, and I'd always suspected that they pushed the concept of "chance" to its limits. As we approached the cliffs of the coast, I knew there would be updrafts. Georgine could sense it, too; I could see the fine tendrils on her snout feeling for the change in wind direction. I was going to ask Approach Control for permission to spiral in the wave of air which climbed the cliffs, but they called me first. "Dragon three two niner, traffic alert at your three o'clock position. Please acknowledge."
     
     1 looked off to the right and saw six military dragons flying in formation in two flights of three. They were cruising down the coast, taking advantage of the updrafts from the cliffs. "Dark Castle, this is dragon three two niner, I have them on visual." Their wings were unmoving as they glided in precise, tight groups. It was a pretty sight as they soared over me and then peeled off to the left, one by one. As they came around in wide sweeping left banks, they separated into a line of dragons, following me as I flew out to sea. The passenger dragon ahead of me had started his crosswind turn, and 1 lengthened my downwind leg to give him more unloading time.
     
     It was a normal approach. The passenger dragon was unloaded quickly and the landing apron cleared. 1 looked behind and saw the six military dragons strung out behind. "OK, girl, just hit the big D in the white circle and we'll be down for the night. Make it a clean one, we're visitors here." Georgine hummed and straightened her wings, preparing for the final swoop and stall. As we came in over the parapet, she dropped her clawed talons and placed the tips lightly on the lettering of the dragon port. A single beat with her wings and she was down, without even ruffling the banners on the watchtower. It was a perfect landing, and 1 was proud of her. She folded her dark silver wings and hummed as I patted her back.
     
     Swinging one leg over her thick neck, I urged her head downward so I could slide to the ground. Once down, I called to her, "Come on, girl, give Mamma a kiss." She dipped her large fanged head and I kissed her below the eye, while rubbing the huge tooth which protruded through her lips. She hummed and exhaled a mixture of gas and breath, but she didn't ignite it. As I said, Georgine's a cultured lady.
     
     I still had the reins in my hand, so I led her off the landing ground before the first of the military dragons arrived. The ground crew was approaching and I said, "We'll be here several days. Need a rook for the dragon and a refuel." At their hesitation, I proffered my Wizard's Express credit card-I wouldn't leave the Keep without it. They were satisfied.
     
     The red Greater Sun was on the horizon as I walked Georgine down the old stone ramps to the dragon rookeries. I could look out over the leaden water and see a storm approaching from the north. The parapet to the ramp supported stone gargoyles of hideous shapes which would effectively hold the ghosts and wraiths of the night at bay. The rookery was a well-sheltered cave, with bays for individual dragons. Several of the animals were permanently quartered, and one of the females was tending two cute babies. They were barely as tall as I and must have been newborns, although they were already spitting sparks. There were other dragons quartered in the visitor's spaces, it being late in the flying season. We were shown a large dry cove for Georgine, and before the ground attendant left, I said, "Georgine will sleep for an hour or so. Then she'll feed. Let her have two barrels of Dragon Chow and half a barrel of water. I'll come down later and give her a treat. Now, help me get her saddle and pack off. I'll need a bearer to take these to my rooms." Georgine hummed as I bedded her down, and I sat with her until slumber overtook her. The attendants took my saddle and packs up the ramp, while my guide ushered me to a small door in the cave wall, which I hadn't seen on my previous trips to the Castle. I was unsure of what he was doing until he disappeared upward in a whoosh of scintillating light. I'd heard of elevator spells before, but I'd never used one. Dark Castle was certainly acquiring all of the modern conveniences. I was lifted easily to the main courtyard of the castle. Getting my bearings, I walked toward the great door of the Royal Arms Hotel. As 1 approached the gate, I was met by a Grade Two Flunky, who made a medium bow and said, "My Lady, how may I serve you?" He had enough deference not to offend even the highest queen, but not so much that he'd be making a fool of himself if I turned out to be a swineherd. I stopped, straightened my back, held my head high, and placed one hand on the hilt of my dagger. "I am Irulana, Lesser Princess of Granite Keep, Dragon Rider First Class, and Acolyte to the High Priestess of Imbriana." He stood his ground. I flashed the credit card and he bubbled over with welcome. "My Lady, please follow me. Have you luggage?"
     
     "It will be brought from the dragon rookery. Have it placed in my room. Gently. I should also like a bath drawn for me immediately and a pig, only half roasted- for my dragon- to be ready in one hour. For now, I shall enter the salon and quench my thirst while the room is being arranged."
     
     He hurried off across the echoing lobby. I headed for the bar. The hotel seemed moderately busy, with travelers and locals. In the dim light of the bar, I could make out the usual bands of soldiers, salesmen, and scalawags. There was one knight present, but he was surrounded by several fat merchants. The jukebox was playing Country. (Isn't that a law in most bars?) The ladies present were not totally decadent, but I felt I shouldn't tarry too long if I hoped to maintain my reputation in the castle. While accepting a tankard from the proprietor, I mused over what my reputation should be. As the younger daughter of a minor nobleman, I was probably unknown in the bigger castle. My older sister Katrashkip carried all of the responsibility of marriage to noblemen for political purposes. Indeed, the object of my mission of Dark Castle was to rid a magic gown of a counterspell, so she could wear it and snag a husband. Imbriana knew she wouldn't catch one without a spell: Katrashkip had buck-teeth, a hook nose, and the personality of a wounded viper with cramps. I, on the other hand, was free to dabble in magic, a trade normally forbidden to women. I could also ride dragons-and ride them better than most anybody else. I wore green leather flying pantaloons and a jaunty cap, and I carried a weapon (only a small dagger and it had just the slightest blood spell)-all to the distress of my parents, who wished that somehow I would act more like a princess. As I gazed at the heavy oak beams of the salon, I remembered their attempts to civilize me. The music from the bar reminded me of my failed studies in the gentler arts. First the dance lessons, and then music. When I showed an interest in the veil dances and salty sailor's tunes, they hid my musical instruments, dispatched my instructors to the hinterlands, and started me on classical studies.
     
     They had made me an Acolyte to a High Priestess. I fingered the talisman of my office as I waited in the dim lounge. Imbriana, the Goddess of Domesticity, is a minor deity, but she lent sufficient respectability to my status as a Lesser Princess. The Priestess was also a closet magician and a powerful one. From her I learned both the arcane ways and the practical knowledge of being a young woman. She encouraged my work with the dragons and fueled my interest in spells. She tolerated my dress, and usually my outrageous ideas. The doorkeeper, accompanied by a footman, interrupted my reverie, and announced that my room was ready. "My Lady, if you will walk this way ..." I'd be damned if I'd walk the foppish way he was sliding along, but I would follow his lead. We crossed the lobby and ascended a grand staircase. Someday I would have to make an entrance down such a staircase, just to see what it was like. Perhaps wearing the magic gown ... naw, not my style. The footman rushed ahead to open the room door and said, in a nearly breathless voice, "Princess, your luggage has been delivered to your room, and the chambermaids are drawing your bath." He held the door. "After you ..." The room was very adequate: comfortable, not too large, with a view of the ocean. The footman stood with his hand out, waiting for a tip. As an Acolyte of a Priestess, I can circumvent a tip by bestowing a magical blessing. I bade him bow down, and said the sacred words. A slight yellow corona passed over his face, and he felt the tingle of a truly unique spell. He thanked me profusely and backed out the door. Should he ever become married, the spell would make him more adept, and at peace with the role of being a subservient homemaker. Before sliding into a warm bath, I decided to call home and tell them I had arrived safely. I rummaged in my pack and located the empathy shell. As I whistled into the opening of the hand-size pink seashell, my mind envisioned the dark crags of Granite Keep, my home castle. A disgustingly cheerful voice on the other end said, "Hello, the Baron and his staff aren't available right now, but if you'll leave your name ..."
     
     "Lizzie, is that you?" Lizzie was my rather scatterbrained maid-in-waiting. Being a lesser princess, I wasn't entitled to the best or the brightest of help.
     
     "Irulana?"
     
     "Yes. Can you take a message?"
     
     "Not really, I can't see to write. The candles . . ." She couldn't read or write even in the broad light of both suns.
     
     "Yes, I know. Now try to remember this. I've arrived at Dark Castle safely. I'll see the sorcerer tomorrow. If everything goes well, I should be on my way home in a couple of days. Got it?"
     
     "Well, I'll try to remember."
     
     "OK. I'll call again tomorrow afternoon. Anything going on that I should know about?"
     
     "Well, your sister Katrashkip stormed out of here right after you did."
     
     "Oh, any reason why?"
     
     "Well, the scuttlebutt around the lackeys' quarters is that she thinks you're going to use the gown to enchant the prince yourself. She's flying to Dark Castle to stop you."
     
     "Great! All I need is old Horseface mucking around while I'm making delicate negotiations with a feisty sorcerer."
     
     "Pardon?"
     
     "Oh, nothing, Lizzie. Look, just tell Pops-ah, the Baron-that I've arrived safely and will call tomorrow. OK?"
     
     "OK. Have a nice day."
     
     "Lizzie, how many times have I instructed you not to tell me what kind of day to have?"
     
     "Uh, three?"
     
     "More like three hundred. Good-bye."
     
     I went to the next room, anticipating a long relaxing soak. There were perfumed scents and soaps handy. There was a glass of chilled wine by the tub. There were soft dry robes waiting. Unfortunately, in the center of it all was my elder sister Katrashkip, her bony shoulders and fatty thighs submerged in the tub which I had ordered. One look at me and she threw a bottle of scent, screaming, "You think you can sneak off with my magic gown and capture the heart of the Prince? Well, you've got another thing coming, you little ... you little ... you little ...!" I calmly closed and lock-spelled the door to the bathroom, and picked up the room's empathy shell. "Front desk? I'd like a different room, please. Yes. Preferably one without a screaming demon in the bathtub. Thank you. I'll return the key on my way down to the dragon rookery. And please have my things moved. Thank you again." I'm going to be really glad when she does marry some poor hapless prince and is out of my way once and for all. The walk down to the dragon rookery was cool, the sea breeze bringing a salt tang to my nostrils. As I approached Georgine's cove, she rumbled with pleasure. She even stopped eating for a few moments while I rubbed the spot behind her ears which causes her to go limp. After a while, the half-roasted pig arrived; Georgine smelled it long before she saw it. Her humming rumble reverberated throughout the cavern and she sat up, her tail banging against the wall with a solid thumping sound. It was at times like these, after a long and successful journey, that the bond between dragon and rider was cemented. I sat leaning against one of her large legs as she slowly finished roasting the pig to perfection. Then with my dagger I cut off a token slice and left the rest to her. Since I had missed dinner, I made my token a bit larger than usual, but Georgine, ever the grand hostess, did not begrudge me the extra meat. The leather flagon of wine I had brought added the last touch to a perfect meal. Soon, Georgine was lying on her bloated stomach, snoring peacefully at about two point eight on the Richter scale. I was becoming drowsy myself, so I quietly stole away and headed for the hotel. After I'd gotten my new room key and was heading toward the stairway, I was confronted by a rather garishly dressed fop with ladies of questionable merit on either arm. He was obviously drunk. He let one of them go and reeled toward me, slurring, "Hey, baby! You wanna grab a little gusto?" He wrapped his arm around me and placed his hand on a portion of my anatomy normally reserved for sitting. If I'd been able to reach my dagger, he'd have pulled back a bloody stump. As it was, I merely loosened several cartilage joints in his wrist, then returned his hand to a more polite location, saying, "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's gustoes that are ..." I looked at his midsection "... little!" It made my day.
     
     The room was better this time, and the bath was excellent. After a long day traveling, it was comforting to know that Georgine was well bedded down and all I had to do was relax. As I stood on the balcony, wrapped in a long warm robe, I finished the last of the wine and felt at peace. Sleep came swiftly, and the morning slowly.
     
     I was up early, as usual, and checked on Georgine. She was too bloated to fly now, but tomorrow we'd make a short flight for the exercise, and just for the fun of it. I made a note to find somebody else to fly with. Perhaps they would know the good soaring areas locally.
     
     After breakfast, I set out along the narrow passageways above the market to find the old sorcerer. The scents and sounds of foreign traders arose from the stalls and tables of the hawkers, following me through the slim corridors of the ancient guilds. Finally, I reached the crooked door of the sorcerer. I could sense a lock spell on it, so I knocked. There was no answer. I knocked again. The lock spell wavered, then held steady. Somebody or something had moved through the field: probably someone on the other side of the door, looking at me through a spy-hole. I knocked again and waited. Finally, I shouted, "I'm going away to get a good book and something to eat. Then I shall come back, sit on your step, take my meal, and read until I finish the book." There was no answer. "Then I'll get another book and come back."
     
     The spell disappeared and the door creaked open. There were cobwebs across the opening, as if nobody had entered the sorcerer's shop in a long time. The dark room was mostly empty, but the hearth smelled of recent use. On the mantel was an owl. I couldn't tell if it was stuffed or alive, so I watched it for more than a minute until it blinked. Alive, then. I scanned the musty interior, noting the vials and potions lining the walls.
     
     "All right," I said to nobody in particular. "When do I see you?" I waited in silence, the owl watching my every move. Near the window was a tall stool, and I sidled over to it. As I sat down, I called out, "Remember, I am prepared to spend a long, long time waiting." After another minute, a short balding man came bustling through a doorway from the back and said, "The sorcerer will not be able to see you today. Perhaps tomorrow. Now please ..." He was motioning to me with his hands, almost as if he were guiding a flock of chickens. "I must ask you to leave. He is a very busy man. An appointment is required. The proceduies, you know ..." I could feel the power in the funny little man and knew he was the sorcerer. The fact that he did not have an assistant to shoo me out bespoke only his poverty. In an age of increasing technology, magicians and sorcerers were falling on hard times. I reached into my pouch and withdrew a large gold coin. He didn't notice it until I spoke his name: "Fastasertine!" Knowing a sorcerer's true name deprives him of some of his power over you. It was only a quirk of luck that he had, in his younger days, tried to bed a Priestess of Imbriana, and she had, in later days, given the secret to me. He froze and said, "You guess!" His eyes locked on the gold piece as they would devour a lover. I smiled and countered, "I know, Fastasertine!" I know who you are, and I know how much you want this gold piece. It would warm you in the winter, lend power to your spells, and ward off the cold fate of age which gnaws at your bones." The sorcerer licked his lips and asked, "What is it you want?"
     
     "A simple task, really. I have a magic gown. She who wears it is irresistible. Unfortunately, some magician has put a spell on it, rendering it useless. I need the spell removed." A light beamed in the sorcerer's eye, "Surely you have no need of such a gown, for you are indeed irresistible."
     
     "The gown is not for me. It is for my sister. She wishes to wed the Prince of Dark Castle." The sorcerer cast his eyes downward and said, "My lady, I am perfectly willing to remove the spell, but first I must warn you. The Prince is not... Well, he just hasn't... I mean, perhaps he is not the right man for your lovely sister. The prince is, in fact, a weakling, a drunkard and a womanizer. Only last night, some wench in the hotel broke his wrist-and he had two other hussies with him at the time. I was called to mend the bones this morning and the harlots were still with him. I pray that you warn your sister of his ways. Perhaps if you were to meet him yourself..."
     
     "We've met. Now break the spell." I was removing the gown from my pack. It was a quite ordinary ball gown, neither too revealing nor too prim. I could, however, feel the power of the enchantment in the garment.
     
     The old man took it. He felt it, sniffed it, closed his eyes and ran his hands over it. "The gown is ancient. Hundreds of queens and princesses have used it to gain power. Others have used and misused its enchantment. Adulteresses have worn it more often than maids. There is much sorrow and misery in the gown, much more than there is happiness. Are you sure that it is wise to break the spell blocking the gown's use?"
     
     "Positive. You haven't met my sister. She needs it."
     
     He chuckled and replied, "Probably not as badly as the poor wench I met at the hotel this morning. The face of a beaver combined with a gargoyle, the chest of a dead man, and the hips of a rhinoceros. Now she could ..."
     
     "Then you've met her." Nobody else could possibly fit that description.
     
     "Oh my," he chuckled, "the prince would really get what he deserved." He thought for a moment. "But is that fair to your poor sister? Although she may look..."
     
     I interrupted him. "I'm not entirely sure, but I believe she had several people killed in order to obtain this gown. Good people. And if she didn't, then I still believe she's capable of it."
     
     "I see. And if I remove the blocking spell, then they will both get what they deserve. May I also suggest a spell of my own as a wedding gift?"
     
     "And what is that?"
     
     "I have one and only one portable spell left. It ensures absolute fidelity in a couple."
     
     "Absolute? How does it do that?" He gave me a fatherly frown and said, "You don't want to know."
     
     "Oh." My mind raced through several unpleasant methods of ensuring fidelity. All were acceptable. Some were funny. Some were disgustingly funny. I gestured toward the gown. "Then you can break the spell?"
     
     "Oh, yes. It's a Class Five spell, not too old, say a century and a half. Feels like a couple of rank amateurs have tried to break it recently-put some dents in the spell, but no harm done." He spread the gown out on his workbench, mumbling to himself. Gathering some powders from the glass vials on the nearby shelf, he looked, for a moment, like a man thoroughly happy doing what he does best. "Step aside, there, young lady," he said as he made preparations. "Never know when some fool has put a hidden backfire on one of these. Some people have a strange sense of humor." Smoothing the gown, pressing the wrinkles out, he said, "Oh, my!"
     
     "A problem?"
     
     "I do believe so."
     
     "Well?"
     
     "The spell was made by a Guild brother of mine. I'm afraid I can't just go off willy-nilly breaking Sorcerer's Guild spells. It wouldn't be ethical!"
     
     "Well, how can you tell who made the spell?"
     
     "It's here in the back of the neck. See the label?" It took three more gold coins to convince him that guilds weren't what they used to be. As I left the shop with the newly reactivated gown, I considered wearing it for a grand entrance down the staircase at the hotel. Then I mused that the Prince might once again be in the lobby, and shelved the idea. Back in my room, I called home and reported success in my mission. I'd stay two more days and then fly home on a leisurely southern route. Pops (the Baron) rumbled his approval, and gave me the verbal equivalent of a pat on the top of my head. Why is it that fathers feel they have to pat their daughters on the head? Then again, why is it that I like it so much?
     
     I took the gown to big sister Katrashkip's room to present it to her, but found she had checked out and gone to the dragon rookery. Since I had to check on Georgine anyway, I went to the rookery, thinking my sister had perhaps rented a dragon to fly home. The thought crossed my mind that 1 might have to rescue my elder Princess, since her skill at flying dragons really stank. She knew it, and any dragon she got on knew it.
     
     Georgine was gone!
     
     There was a letter with my name on it nailed to the gate. It read, "Return my magic gown intact and I won't kill your stupid lizard. It's being kept under a fear cage spell at Bloody Cove. Don't show up without the gown. Katrashkip, Greater Princess of Granite Keep."
     
     My sister does some really dumb things, but most of them don't affect me, so I don't bother to try to beat any sense into her head, as she well deserves. This time, however, she had gone too far. Georgine was a sensitive, gentle friend who trusted even idiots like Katrashkip. I hurried to the rent-a-dragon lot, and endured a sales pitch of high order before I gave the dragon jockey the ultimatum: either shut up and rent me a dragon or point me toward his competitor. The charge card helped, although he pointed out that I was reaching my credit limit rapidly. I'd worry about that tomorrow.
     
     "Dark Castle, this is Rent-A-Wing November one two seven requesting clearance for departure."
     
     "Ah, November one two seven, we don't seem to have a flight plan filed for you."
     
     "Dark Castle, this is a local flight."
     
     "November one two seven, it's still recommended ..."
     
     "OK, we'll do it your way. Dark Castle control, this is Rent-A-Wing November one two seven declaring an emergency. Dragon theft, suspect at Bloody Cove. Do not, repeat do not, apprehend until dragon is set free. Dragon is under a fear cage spell."
     
     "What are your intentions, November one two seven?"
     
     "Suspect has requested ransom. I intend to apprehend the suspect and free the dragon. If any military forces land, she'll kill the captured dragon. Understand?"
     
     "Understand, November one two seven. You are cleared. We will scramble a military flight, but will hold off until you give the word." I was airborne without acknowledging his clearance. I could hear him shouting, into another empathy shell, "Air Force Bravo and Charlie, operational scramble- this is not a test! This is not a test! Follow that dragon!" The blare of the klaxon reached us and spooked my rented dragon. I nudged her and gave her a soothing sound. Usually I try to establish rapport with a dragon before I'm airborne, but there just wasn't time. I nudged her again to bank left and follow the rugged coastline south. The military dragons were forming up behind me. Bloody Cove wasn't far, just a few minutes' flying time away. As I circled the cove, I could see my precious Georgine cowering under an invisible net. Katrashkip was standing out on the headland, her long stringy hair blowing in the wind, revealing her bald spot. She shouted something at me as I approached, but I couldn't make it out. I circled once again and landed inland, near the grassy slope which led to Georgine's prison of fear. Katrashkip came running to me, screaming, "You little ..."
     
     "Back off, big sister! I've got the gown and I'm even going to let you use it. Now what have you done to my dragon?"
     
     "Your stupid lizard is OK. It's only in a fear cage. Now give me the gown!"
     
     "First, I've asked you repeatedly not to refer to Georgine as 'it' or 'stupid lizard.' Georgine is a 'she,' and sometimes I think she has more common sense than you do."
     
     "Well, if you ever hope to fly on 'her' again, you'd better get off that dragon and hand me the gown."
     
     "First you release Georgine."
     
     "First you get off that dragon and show me the gown." We were at a stalemate. "Remember, I can make the cage smaller and drive your pet lizard insane with fear." Round one went to Princess Katrashkip. I slid off the rented dragon, holding the pack with the gown. "Where did you get that portable cage spell?"
     
     "It's really simple, you just add water. Daddy gave it to me." She was pleased. "He said it might come in handy if I were ever assaulted-you know, by some sex-starved maniac." I mused that anybody sexually interested in Ka-trashkip would have to be certifiably insane, so I guess it made sense.
     
     "OK. Here's the gown. Now release Georgine."
     
     "Not until I'm on the rented dragon-with the gown."
     
     I smelled a rat, but I had the Air Force backing me up, so I let her get on the dragon. "OK. Now how do you nullify the cage spell?"
     
     She nudged the dragon upward into flight and shouted, "You think I'd tell you, sucker?"
     
     The dragon had made one tentative flap of her wings and was about to make her takeoff thrust when I shouted the secret command which only dragons and a few humans know. She was commanded to land immediately. She faltered, falling on her chest, and dumped Katrashkip in an unglam-orous heap on the ground. I ran to my ungrateful big sister and knocked her down with a flying body slam (and Pops said I wouldn't ever learn anything watching professional wrestling).
     
     Katrashkip had had the wind knocked out of her, so I grabbed her in a half nelson. She managed to get a good elbow into my ribs, but I held on, fighting for supremacy, and finally turning my grip into a full nelson. I rolled her over onto her face and spat, "OK, big sister, either you tell me how to release Georgine or you die right here. Right now." I wasn't really going to kill her, but I gave her a knee in the ribs to remind her just how serious I was.
     
     She sobbed and said, "Can't... can't breathe!"
     
     I let up on her and she squirmed out of my hold, scrambling free. She had grabbed my dagger and was brandishing it in a rather amateurish manner. Sometimes an amateur can be fairly lethal, but I was well trained in unarmed combat, and simply kicked the dagger from her grasp. I'm proud to say that I did it without damaging the blade. As to Katrashkip's wrist, well, her backhand will never be the same.
     
     She came at me again, fighting the way a girl fights. It's no match for somebody who has trained well. In a few punches it was all over. She was lying on the ground, and I stood over her. "Well?"
     
     "Well what?" She put her hand to her face. Her nose may have been broken, but I thought it was a definite improvement. "Well, how do you release Georgine?"
     
     "Just whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you?" I stuck two fingers in my mouth and let loose. Georgine shot into the air and across the sky. The Air Force boys gave me a lift back to the castle. I convinced them it was all just a big misunderstanding-family squabble and all. No charges pressed. I found Georgine in the rookery. I had to soothe her for a week before she would fly with me again. Katrashkip married the Prince of Dark Castle and they lived ever after. Now and then I wander by the castle to show the Air Force boys a trick or two-in the air. Georgine can still outfly those military nags. And the moral of this tidy little tale? Sometimes you have to damn near kill the Princess just to rescue the dragon. 


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About Peter L. Manly and "Dragon Three Two Niner"
     
     One of the misconceptions I've had to fight against most vigorously in a long career as a writer, is that I have no sense of humor. It's true that my funny bone is a little harder to reach than some; I don't, for instance, find most TV sitcoms very funny. But no one in my office who has come in and found me literally rolling on the floor laughing at-say-Dorothy L. Sayers's Busman's Honeymoon-the funniest book, without exception, that I ever read, or something like this Peter Manly story, has ever accused me of being inaccessible to something funny. My readers loved this one too; it took first place in the Cauldron vote. I remember laughing till I cried over this. Granted, this has only happened to me twice with the magazine slush pile; the other story I found equally hysterical was a story called '"Falling Apart" by one Larry Hodges, who didn't make it into this volume. Now you know what tickles my funny bone. Peter Manly says he is an astronomer and physicist by training, who puts bread and peanut butter on the table by being a consultant in aerospace, electro-optics, and instrumentation, supplemented by writing in the nonfiction field about computers and astronomy.
     
     People have asked me over the years why writers have held down such an assortment of funny jobs. Mostly it's because, unless they are among those who can successfully combine routine teaching or office skills with writing, which many of us can't, they are obliged to keep body and soul together by any assortment of work that will pay at least minimum wage, with one important qualification: the writer must be able, at very short notice, to tell the boss to take this job and shove it-which you can't do with something like teaching, where you have to finish out the year, or any career that demands dedication and a commitment of many years.
     
     I've worked telling fortunes at a carnival, selling fashion frocks and kids' clothes door to door, singing in nightclubs and at weddings (a mug's job if there ever was one, though my musical daughter doesn't mind it), teaching junior choir in a Texas church, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, even cleaning apartments; doing anything where I could cart the kids around under my arm. People used to ask me how I got 'any writing done with kids around; I always answered that it was easier to park the kids somewhere near the typewriter and let them romp, pausing now and then to make peanut butter sandwiches, than to haul them around somewhere else.