lining the courtyard. The city wall was solid rock and immune to the flames,
though tents and banners and other flammables stacked near it were twisting
skeletons of orange-lipped black ash that writhed and shrank in the night.
Close by the main harbor gate stood several clusters of nervous animals. Some
were in uniform, others only partially so. Behind them were several large
wagons, three axled, sporting hand pumps. The rudely awakened soldiers waited
and held tight to their axes and spears while handlers behind them tried
frantically to control the baying, hissing lizards yoked to the wagons.
Tubes trailed like brown snakes from each wagon back through the partly opened
gate and doubtless from there out into the river. It was clear that the
Polastrindu fire department was equipped to fight fires, but not the black and
purple-blue behemoth they could hear raging and roaring behind the wall of flame
that had engulfed the barracks.
"Clothahump! Where's Clothahump?" Pog yelled as the little group raced across
the cobblestones toward the gate.
The leader of one of the fire teams gazed at the bat uncomprehend-ingly for a
moment before replying. "The wizard turtle, you mean?" He gestured indifferently
to his left. Then he returned his attention to the spreading conflagration,
obviously debating in his mind if it was worth the risk of attracting the
dragon's attention in order to try to at least contain the vanguard of the
blaze.
They found Clothahump seated nearby on a low hitching bench contemplating the
fire. From time to time thunderous bellows and Hephaestean threats could be
heard from somewhere inside the blazing barracks.
They clustered around the motionless wizard, looked at him helplessly. He
appeared to be deep in thought.
"What happened, sir?" asked Flor concernedly.
"What?" He looked around, frowned at some private thought. "Happened? Oh yes.
The dragon. The dragon and I were talking pleasantly. I was doing quite well,
boy." The wizard's glasses were bent and dangled precariously on his beak. His
carapace was black with soot and he looked very old, Jon-Tom thought.
"I was rationalizing my end of the discussion efficiently when a pair of our
guards joined us unexpectedly. They wondered where you were and I informed them
you were all asleep, but they remained. I think they were attempting to prove
their bravery by remaining in the dragon's presence.
"Falameezar greeted them as comrades, a word I explained to them. We all began
to talk. I would have made excuses, but the dragon was enthusiastic about the
chance to have a serious talk with members of the local proletariat." Despite
the proximity of the blaze, a cold chill traveled down Jon-Tom's spine.
"The beast inquired about their aspirations for their huge commune and their
eventual hopes for strengthening proletarian solidarity. None of that made any
sense to the guards, of course, but then it doesn't make any sense to me either,
so I was hard put to rationalize their replies.
"But that was not what ignited, so to speak, the problem. Soon both guards were
boasting uncontrollably about their plans for leaving the army and getting rich.
I tried to quiet them, but between explaining to the dragon and attempting to
silence them, I got confused. I could not work any magic to shut them up.
"They went on and on about their supposedly wealthy friends, one of whom was a
merchant who had a hundred and sixty people working for him, slaving away making
garments for the trade. They boasted about how cheaply he paid them, how
enormous his profits were, and how they hoped they would be as fortunate some
day.
"I think what finally set the dragon off was the offer one of them made to
employ him to work in a foundry, helping to make weapons so the local police
could clear the streets of 'the pitiful beggars who infest decent
neighborhoods.' That appeared to send him beyond reason. I could no longer
communicate with him.
"He started raving about revolutions betrayed and capitalist moneymongers and
began spewing fire in all directions. It was only by tucking my head into my
shell and scrambling as fast as I could that I escaped. The two rabbit guards, I
fear, exploded like torches when the dragon exhaled at them." He sighed heavily.
"Now he insists he will burn down the entire city. I'm afraid the only thing
that has kept him from destroying more of the town thus far is his own rage. It
chokes him so severely he cannot concentrate on generating fire."
"Why don't you make him stop, wizard?" Talea was leaning close to his face and
practically shouting into it. "You're the all-powerful sorcerer, the great
master of magic. Make him stop!"
"Stop, yes? I was trying to think." Clothahump leaned his chin on stubby
fingers. "Dragon spells are as complicated as their subjects, you know. The
right ingredients are required for a truly effective cast. I don't know..."
"You've got to do something!" She looked back at the searing blaze. Then she
looked at Jon-Tom. So did everyone else.
"Now the lad's willin' and good-natured," said Mudge caution-ingly, "but 'e
ain't no fool. Are you, mate?" The otter was torn between common sense and the
desire to save his own highly flammable skin.
But Jon-Tom already had the duar swung around against his belly and was trying
to think of something to sing. He could remember several rain songs, but that
might only anger the dragon and certainly wouldn't solve the problem. Falameezar
might not burn Polastrindu down, but from the smashing and crunching sounds
issuing from behind the flames Jon-Tom judged him quite capable of tearing it
down physically.
He marched out toward the barracks, ignoring the single plea that came from
Flor. None of the others tried to dissuade him. They had not the right, and they
knew he had to try. They wanted him to try.
The near barracks' wall suddenly collapsed in a Niagara of flaming embers and
hot coals. He shielded himself with the duar and his green cape. There was a
roaring in his ears from the flames, and wood exploded from the heat ahead.
"You! Deviationist! Counterrevolutionary!" The epithets emerged fast and
accusing from the fire, though so far without accompanying arcs of flame.
Jon-Tom looked up from beneath his cape and found himself only a couple of yards
away from the glowering visage of Falameezar. Red eyes burned down into his own,
and plate-sized teeth gleamed in the orange light as the dragon-skull dipped
dowr toward him....
XXI
"Lies, lies, lies! You lied to me." A massive clawed foot gestured toward the
inner city. "This is no commune, not even in part, but instead a virulent nest
of capitalistic vice. It needs not to be reformed, for it is beyond that. It
needs to be cleansed!"
"Now hold on a minute, Falameezar." Jon-Tom tried hard to sound righteous. "What
gives you the right to decide what should happen to all these workers?"
"Workers... pagh!" Fire scorched the cobblestones just to Jon-Tom's right. "They
have the tasks of workers, but the souls of imperialists! As for my right, I am
pure of philosophy and dedicated in my arms. I can tell when a society is
capable of achieving a noble state... or is beyond redemption! And besides," he
spat a petulant burst of fire at a nearby market stall, which immediately burst
into flame, "you lied to me."
Since indecision was clearly the path leading to imminent incineration, Jon-Tom
replied boldly. "I did not lie to you, Falameezar. This is a commune-to-be, and