This time, there was a hint of a smile on the old man’s lips as he answered, “The ocean.”
“Oceans cover a large area. Does this part of the ocean have a name?”
“Some call it the Dunsmuir Sea.”
Better. Trying to get information from the old man was as difficult as getting it from the teachers. Gareth ignored the widening grin while listening to the pop of the sails, creaks of rigging, and the hiss of water slipping past the hull. The boat stank of rotted bait and fish. No need to ask the purpose of the boat. His shirt felt almost felt dry already from the warm wind and sun. “Do you know the reason for the name?”
The old man showed a few brown teeth. “Might be because the town we’re sailing for has the same name. Dunsmuir.”
“You’ve been playing with me.”
“Nope. Not playing at all. Just trying to figure out why a dragon dropped into my sea and if’n you’re smart or stupid. Haven’t gotten around to asking you how or why you’re in this fix, yet.”
The invitation to talk was clear, but Gareth held off. The bag around his neck contained a treasure. The old man might spread the tale of a boy dropping out of the sky with the egg of a dragon, and then others would seek him out. Not all would be friendly. “I don’t think I’m too smart. Especially after this morning.”
“Son, I hate to disagree with someone I just met, but you figured out the important stuff in a skip of a hurry, if’n you was to ask me. Later on, you can find Dunsmuir on most maps, and yes, the mountains lie to the west, so you can figure pretty close where you came from. Now that you’ve managed to figure all that out, all you got to do is get yourself back over them same mountains to your home. Never heard of anyone doing that, though.”
“Heard of what?”
“Anybody crossing those mountains. Not saying it can’t be done, just that I never heard of it until today.”
“I’m too scared to think, right now.”
“Imagine that. You got a right to be. Most boys would spend their time puking out their guts over a dragon taking them for a ride while they dangle on a rope like a toy on a string.”
“How’d you know?”
“Saw you hanging from that rope when she was flying around like she was crazed. Never looked at my boat once. Figured you for dead, but I got curious about what sort of man a dragon would carry around like that, so I went chasin’ after her.”
“I can’t pay you for a boat ride.”
“Never asked you to, not that I remember anyhow. Out here on the water, we help those in need, ‘cause someday it’ll be us needing help. That’s just the way of things.”
Gareth felt his breathing slow to near normal, and the clean air in his lungs helped revive him. He’d lived. Faring was probably safely at his Da’s house, trying to explain what happened and getting a whipping for his actions. Odd would be looking for him too, and so would the teachers. Hopefully, nobody blamed Faring. But the simple truth was that nobody really cared, other than Faring. He had no family and few friends. Yes, he might be the topic of conversation at the inn where the old men spent their days spinning yarns, but there would be other stories to tell in days to come. He said, “My name’s Gareth. I owe you a debt.”
“Some call me Tom, or Captain. A few call me wors’n that when I’m out of earshot.” He pointed to the bag and the egg it held. “Never met anyone who stole a dragon egg and lived. Most die trying if they have the guts to try at all.”
Gareth held the egg closer to his chest, determining what to do next. “Maybe they are stupid to try. Or too smart.”
“Son, you don’t know where you are, and you got a valuable egg and a passel of other problems I’m thinking, most you don’t even know about. I’m not only talking about that black dragon returning. I figure you don’t know anybody in these parts. And I’m thinking all those things and wondering who’re you gonna sell that egg to.”
“None of your business.”
“Course it’s none of mine, but I’ve never seen a buyer for dragon eggs in Dunsmiur Town. Besides, I’m just passing the time with pleasant conversation while we head for the fish docks. That, and wondering if you understand there’s many a man who’ll kill you for what you’re holding in that bag. Ya can’t just walk into Dunsmuir Town and start asking about the docks for who wants to buy a dragon egg, can ya?”
Gareth closed his eyes and thought about it. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
Tom barked a laugh. “Listen, there’s a water jug in that box beside you, along with a loaf of hard bread and a quarter of good Dunsmuir cheese. Help yourself.”
Gareth wanted a drink, and he hadn’t eaten all day, but he still hesitated.
“No charge,” Tom said, his eyes now watching the sky, a slight smile again playing on his lips.
Gareth looked up, too. No sign of the dragon. He opened the lid of the tankard and tore off a piece of bread and took a long drink of water. “I owe you an apology. I guess some of it is your business after all. If not for you, I’d have never made it to land if you hadn’t come along.”
“No, you were right. You have your right to privacy. I just want to know enough of the tale for a good story to tell over a tankard of ale, son. To tell you the truth, I like stories with happy endings.”
Gareth watched the sky for a long while before speaking. “How would you go about selling the egg?”
“Only one honest buyer for eggs is what I know. King’s army. It buys them and trains hatchlings for fighting in the wars down around Backcomb, and Enders. Both sides fly dragons and sometimes they fight in the sky, and people watch them spin and twist in the air, biting and spitting at each other, like fireworks on a holiday. Other times dragons drop rocks on towns and smash houses, or they spit slime into the watching crowds of people. They eat farmer’s cattle and sometimes even people, they say.”
“Are any of the King’s army in Dunsmuir?”
“Nope. Nearest army post I know is down around Drakesport, about three days’ sail with a good wind, or ten days of walking if you’re on land and manage to evade the thieves and muggers on the roads, which is almost impossible.”
Gareth heard the warnings on the words. He’d also heard of highwaymen and how they earned their living. A man carrying a dragon egg would draw them like flies to fresh dung. The old man owned a boat. “Ever been there?”
“Drakesport? A few times. Lived there many years ago.” Then Tom’s attention returned to the empty sky, and he quit talking for a few moments as if making up his mind about something. After ensuring no dragons flew in the cloudless blue above, he checked the wind in the sails and glanced around at the surface of the water. “But I might consider goin’ there again under the right financial circumstances.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gareth’s options were few, a sure indication that he hadn’t planned well, but who could have foreseen being snatched by a dragon and carried across the mountains to a distant sea? Gareth could either swim to shore or ride in an old fishing boat to the town of Dunsmuir, where he had no means or contacts to sell his egg. Once ashore in Dunsmuir, he’d be at the mercy of anyone he offered to sell the egg to, and many working deals in back alleys who heard of the egg would plan on taking it without paying. Tales would fly. Few thieves would hesitate to murder him for the value of the egg. Or he could strike a deal with the fisherman. “You don’t think Dunsmuir is where I should be going, do you?”
The old man tilted his head and watched the wind beat the stained and patched sail. His eyes didn’t shift as he spoke. “What I think shouldn’t make a hill of beans to you, boy. There’s them in Dunsmuir Town, who’re good people and will help you when you don’t even ask. There're others who’ll slit your throat for a few silver bobs.”