The Broken World by J.D. Oswald Page B

what they were saying. Their anxiety was obvious.
    ‘It’s too soon, surely. Once a year at most. Never twice.’
    ‘Well, that’s what the old man used to say. But he also said two dragons was bad luck. Maybe the youngster’s sparked off something.’
    They approached Magog, who was sprawled on the ground as if he had fallen from a great height. Loghtan kicked him a couple of times to make sure he was still asleep, then Tegwin put down the trunk and joined in.
    ‘Give it a rest, boy. That’s our meal ticket there.’ Griselda put a hand on Tegwin’s arm. He shrugged it off angrily but stopped kicking.
    ‘What we need him for? I got you another one, didn’t I?’
    ‘Quiet, the both of you. This is delicate work.’
    Benfro struggled to see what Loghtan was doing. The three clustered around the old dragon’s head, bent down and talking in low voices. Then Loghtan opened the trunk and pulled something out. It looked like a hammer and chisel, though Benfro couldn’t be sure.
    He watched for an hour or more, unable to make out what was happening save that they were doing something violent to the old dragon’s head. Then suddenly Griselda shouted, ‘There it is! Be careful, Loghtan.’ To which he merely grunted a wordless, angry retort. They all fell silent for a few moments, and then Benfro saw Loghtan hold up what looked like a pair of giant tongs. He dropped something into a cloth that Griselda held out ready. She wrapped it up and put it in her pocket, watched hungrily by Tegwin.
    ‘Heal him up then, boy.’ Loghtan dropped a number of metal implements into the trunk, closing the lid and standing up to stretch his back.
    ‘Why do I have to do it?’
    ‘Because I told you to.’ Loghtan delivered a hard slap to the back of his son’s head, then stooped and picked up the trunk.
    Griselda stood, wiping her hands on her apron, leaving dark red stains. ‘I’ll give this a quick wash then bring it to your wagon, shall I?’ she asked.
    Loghtan nodded absent-mindedly, watching what his son was doing. Benfro thought he felt something rush past him, less solid than the wind but much more powerful. His senses were so dulled that it was impossible to be sure, but it seemed likely Tegwin was performing some kind of magic. Whatever it was didn’t last long.
    ‘That good enough for you?’
    ‘It’ll do, I suppose. We’ve got the other one, after all. This one can take some time to heal.’ Loghtan handed the trunk to his son, who took it with a scowl and stalked out of the ring with it. Griselda followed him, and as she passed Benfro, he saw blood on her hands and face, so dark it was almost black.
    ‘Pick him up. Carry him back to the wagon.’ Once more the circus master’s voice acted directly on Benfro’s body, leaving his mind powerless to do anything but watch as he walked over to the unconscious form of the old dragon. The back of Magog’s head and his shoulders were slick with blood. The scar line that ran between his ears was livid, like it had only just begun to heal. Benfro knelt down, trying to work out in his mind the best way to pick him up. His body carried on regardless, scooping the old dragon up and into his arms. He was lighter than Benfro had expected, but still heavy. Wings and tail trailed awkwardly as he carried him out of the ring, round the back of the wagons and away to the edge of the camp where their shared cage was parked. No sooner had he walked up the ramp and squeezed through the narrow opening
than Loghtan shut the door behind them and locked it. The circus master walked away without another word.
    Clumsily, Benfro laid the old dragon down on the thin straw that was all the bedding they had. Magog began to stir almost immediately, one hand going up to the back of his head even before he opened his eyes. When he did, he looked around the cage in startled glimpses, as if everything was new and alarming to him. Finally his eyes fixed on Benfro and stuck there.
    ‘Who are you then?