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The titanium dragons enjoyed creating mayhem and disaster.
Friday, April 17, 2167
The Gray Ward
Dragon Heights, Wyoming
It took a rain of lemurs to finally convince me that moving to Dragon Heights, Wyoming had been a mistake. Last week, it had been toads, some of which could inconvenience those who didn’t take them seriously. I hadn’t minded the toads.
A pair of gloves and a little care had bagged me ten dollars per dead head, fifteen dollars per living croaker, and twenty for the endangered ones, living or dead. The head honchos preferred them alive, but the dead ones would make themselves useful in a lab for study.
I’d gotten fifty for one of my toads, a rather nasty little shit determined to eat the world. At six inches long, it hadn’t accomplished all that much, but it had tried to take my hand off at the wrist.
It had taken a rather amused titanium dragon to pry the blighter off, and I’d been observed for two hours to make certain I wouldn’t fall over dead on them.
My gloves, which went up to my elbows, had saved the day.
Gloves wouldn’t save me from the wretchedly adorable lemurs. Without fail, they’d dig their tiny claws into my soul and refuse to let go. Their oversized, imploring eyes would do me in.
Endangered species, like the lemurs, went to the dragons for care and enrollment in their various conservatories and menageries unless they were released back into the wild. The origin of the animals determined their fate. With the ongoing weekly trials to unlock draconic powers in the petitioners, it could go any which way.
Some lemurs might be real, translocated because of the power surge associated with draconic petitioners working their rituals. Some of the lemurs would be conjured, with most of them dissolving away to ash, goo, or smoke, leaving the rest to rot. The final few would be true creations, a new species brought to life through the determination of a petitioner wishing to rise through the ranks and become a dragon.
When a dragon-kin came calling as a petitioner, the dragons took care. Sometimes, they bit off more than they could chew.
For a rain of lemurs to fall on the Gray Ward, the dragons had either forgotten to contain the dragon-kin’s power or they’d gotten an unpleasant surprise. Or both.
For the most part, the dragons did try to avoid the unwanted surprises.
It cost them a fortune in bounties.
Resigned to paying the remainder of my rent through bounty collection, I rummaged through my backpack for the canvas sack I kept just in case opportunity knocked. At the size of a large garbage bag, I’d be able to gather a bunch of the obviously dead lemurs for a decent check. I’d have to handle one injured animal at a time, however, a task destined to take up the rest of the day.
As I liked getting paid, I always made certain to keep Fridays free.
Just in case.
I put on my gloves and went to work, wondering what other insanity the rulers of Dragon Heights would inflict upon us in their quest to wake more of their kind.
* * *
Friday, April 17, 2167
The Gray Ward
Dragon Heights, Wyoming
I crammed at least forty deceased animals into my bag and carried six live specimens, all of whom had decided I made an interesting roost. The smallest of them liked to burrow in my hair, promising several frustrating hours to restore it to rights.
It took a great deal of washing to remove the creepy-crawly sensation left behind when animals used my hair as a nest.
Fortunately for my sanity, the dragons had multiple bounty drop-off stations in every ward. Ten minutes after collecting the final body, I reached the brick and stone building owned and operated by the titanium dragons, who tended to be responsible for the majority of the city’s troubles.
The titanium dragons enjoyed creating mayhem and disaster.
It gave them something to do.