Dragon Breeder 3 by Dante King (motivational books for students txt) 📗

“What?” I said, taking a swig of ale.

“Gabby is r-r-right, Mike,” Rupert said, with a lopsided drunken smile on his face. “That’s most definitely got to be a case of insider betting!”

“Yeah, you don’t get much more inside than—” Bjorn started to say until he was stopped by a dig in the ribs from Gabby.

“I’m afraid they’re right, Dragonmancer Noctis,” the booky said apologetically, handing back my scale with regret. “You’re a bit too involved to be able to take this bet. A little close to the action.”

“You don’t get much better action than—ooph!” Bjorn said, receiving a blow to the stomach this time from Gabby.

“Ah well, good luck to you,” I said to the booky. “When are people leaning toward by the way?”

The booky grinned shyly at me as he backed into the swirling crowd. “Same as you, Dragonmancer. Most of the money is on tonight!”

The four of us meandered our way through the mad throng as, over us, the moon shone out whiter and brighter as the night progressed.

There were all sorts of diversions and games where a drunken soldier might quite happily fritter away a few coins. Tests of strength, games of chance, and diversions that required a woman or man to have that rarest of qualities—in that whirling carnival, at least—a good memory.

Rupert made a complete ass of himself at a pin the tail on the minotaur stall, somehow managing to pin the tail into the arm of a passing trooper as she walked by the stall. Only Gabby’s timely and smooth interjection stopped the woman laying hands on the blindfolded Rupert.

“How the fucking hell does he do it?” Bjorn asked, staring morosely from Gabby and the pretty trooper to the empty tankard in his hand. “I mean, the fella doesn’t even have a tongue for fuck sake!”

“Chicks love a man with a bit of mystery around him,” I said, smiling at the big albino-looking warrior next to me. “And old Gabby wears mystery like you and I wear underpants; unthinkingly and every day.”

Bjorn looked startled. “I don’t wear—I mean, yeah, boss, I guess you’re right…” The half-Jotunn frowned as he watched Gabby. “Are you going to let him get away with that, boss?” He asked me, in a slightly jealous voice, as we watched the mute and his companion vanish into the crowd.

“Let him do what?” I asked.

“You know, neglect his duty,” Bjorn growled.

I patted the big man on the arm. “Tonight is a special case, Bjorn. If you can find a partner drunk enough, I’ll gladly let you neglect your duty all night long, so long as you report bright and early tomorrow and only allow your hangover to get the better of you when I’m not looking. That goes for you too, Rupert.”

Bjorn’s big, scarred face brightened. He started scanning the crowd around us, as if he hoped some hammered chick would sweep him off his enormous feet and take him back to her barrack bunk for a few rounds of doing the greased-weasel tango.

It was the most remarkable thing, but whenever I found my ale cup empty or my tankard drained, some well-wisher would be standing at my elbow, intent on buying me a cup of wine or do a merman monsoon shooter. Manners dictated that I should refuse these offers and save the well-wisher their coin, but when I tried to do this graciously, the look of disappointment on the man or woman’s face was such that I ended up crumbling. After about the sixth drink I gave up, accepting the proffered beverage with either a crisp high-five or a hug.

Time blurred as it always does when you get caught in the converging currents of good food, excellent music, flowing drink, and top-notch company. The stars wheeled overhead. Bonfires leapt up into the night sky, clawing at the heavens with their flickering orange fingers.

At some point, I turned around to ask Bjorn and Rupert a question and found that my two friends had vanished. Where and when and why they had left me I had no idea, but I hoped that they were even now enjoying the company of women who would leave a kink in a man’s back the next day.

I was strolling casually along one of the wooden promenades when, with a shattering crash that must have made itself heard down in the abandoned streets of the ratfolk settlement, the window that fronted the alehouse exploded out into the street. Shards of thin, poorly made glass scattered across the wooden walkway and out into the mud beyond it. Two soldiers landed hard on the boards only a couple of feet in front of the toes of my boots.

Both women lay groaning on the deck for a moment. Then, catching each other's eyes, they rolled to their feet and went at one another once more. They moved unsteadily, as if the boulevard was actually the moving deck of a ship. I realized that they were, unsurprisingly, filled to the back teeth with beer.

Moving instinctively, I grabbed the women by their uniform collars and pulled them apart and held them on their tiptoes. I had to give them their due, they were still keen to get at one another, swinging haymakers through the air and lashing out with kicks that wouldn’t have hurt even if they had connected.

“Ladies!” I said. “This isn’t the time or the place! What the hell are you fighting about?”

One of the women looked at me blearily. Finding it difficult to focus on however many of me she was seeing, she closed one eye and said, “We were fighting ‘bout… Um… We were fighting about…. What the fuck were we fighting about again, Corsa?”

The woman in my other hand, who had gone limp and looked like she might be quite happy to nod off in my