All The Skills

Arthur went into his Personal Space and let out a long sigh at the amount of clothing he had remaining. Or the lack of.

Luckily, he had basic, well-worn, civilian-type outfits. The type that would let him not stand out among non-dragon riders.

He dressed, exited his Personal Space, and went out to the ledge to wake Brixaby up from his nap.

His dragon must have seen his dour expression because he said, “What is wrong? Is it that your mate has gone practicing in another wing?”

“No!” Taken aback, Arthur found himself blushing at the word “mate.” Then he had to admit, “Though I wish that we could bring her into my wing. Horatio too,” he added, not to be disloyal to his friend.

“Why can’t you?” Brixaby asked.

“Because the whole reason why they went to another wing is to separate and not look suspicious. But . . . maybe I should just have them join Wing Purple anyway,” he said and resisted the urge to rub at a spot between his eyebrows. He had just gotten fixed up by Marion but felt on the verge of another headache. “I’m sure her wing captain would make me pay for it, but it’s not like that’s a problem anymore.”

That cheered him up a little. His dragon, though, was still giving him the stink eye.

“That is not why you woke me up, and why you are no longer dressed to your proper station? What happened to your clothing? Is that why you look so upset?”

“Larry wants to speak to me, and I was just looking at what is left of my wardrobe after emptying out my Personal Space. I . . . I like having things on hand,” he finished, feeling like a child for complaining.

His dragon rose and shook himself like a dog. “Look at it this way: now that you have disposed of useless things, you can fill up your Personal Space with much better-quality items. While you were with the healer, I unloaded almost everything into that cave, except for my best blacksmithing gear. And now I get to upgrade.”

That actually helped somewhat.

He had Brixaby fly him down to the crater. From there, Arthur walked on his own to the civilian part of town. There was no point in dressing like a non-rider if he was going to have his dragon drop him off right in front of the pub.

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He found the Onion and Hammer quickly. It was open, but as it was daylight, the pub was empty. This was the type of place that did most of its business at night.

Certainly the puddles of . . . leavings . . . on the street looked hours old.

He purchased a mug of house beer from a surly-looking bartender and took a seat. Then he took a taste and recoiled. It was awful: bitter yet with a weirdly sweet aftertaste. As he looked closer, he saw that there were little bits floating on top.

He quickly checked his Master of Body Enhancement card and was surprised not to receive any notification of new poison resistance.

“From the look on your face, I see that you’ve tried the beer.”

Arthur looked up to see Larry standing before his table, wearing a sardonic grin. Arthur pushed the mug away toward Larry, offering it to him. “I’m not that big of a drinker, and now I don’t think I’ll ever start.”

Still grinning, Larry sat across from him. He made no move to touch the beer. “Apparently, the story goes that the owner makes the house drinks out of fermented onions.”

Arthur stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was joking.

“No, really,” Larry said. “And it packs quite the punch. Which is, I think, the only reason people put up with the taste.”

“And why it’s so popular at night,” Arthur muttered. “I didn’t think that fermenting onions was possible.”

He shrugged. “Apparently, it’s the owner’s card’s power. It’s a Rare, too. Or so the story says. He’s the son of a blacksmith, so that’s where the name of the pub comes from. The Onion and Hammer.”

Arthur shuddered. “I think he should have stayed a blacksmith. So, what have you found out so far?”

“That this pub is full of drunken idiots. Actually, make that the whole town,” Larry said with far more cheer than Arthur thought it deserved. “But you definitely did the right thing by sending me out here.”

“Oh?”

The smile faded and became a sardonic twist of his lips. “There’s definitely a conspiracy against you. You’re the talk of the town.”

That wasn’t good. “Go on.”

“There’s nothing specific,” Larry warned. “But this pub is popular with some of the riders. Some of the more cynical ones hate the hive leadership but can’t do anything about it, so they come in and drink. Well, apparently one is buddies with one of the wing captains, and he said that he wanted to make sure that the new purple captain pays the full blood price. I don’t think he meant in shards.”

Also not good. “Anything more?”

“No. I couldn’t even get a name. Though I’m hoping to drink with him tonight, and I might get to know him. But the talk was worrisome enough that I wanted to make sure that you were on your guard.”

“I see,” he said. “Thank you for letting me know.”

He looked Larry up and down. The older man seemed to be in much better spirits than he was previously. Then again, last time he had been upset and disappointed from not linking with a dragon.

“How are you doing here?” Arthur asked.

To his surprise, the man grinned. “Why, I have nothing to do but eat in pubs and drink—but not too much. I need to keep my wits—and listen. It’s a good job. I feel like one of those fancy nobles, with nothing to do—”

He was interrupted by the sound of bells ringing, first distantly, but then almost immediately picked up by nearer bells.

Recognizing the tone, Arthur stood. “That’s my cue,” he said grimly. “There is an eruption.”

And it was early.