Dragon's Claim Page 8

  I can see that Jackson notices the realization of what the city has taking hold of his people.

  And he does not like it.

  He quickly moves on to a different subject in an attempt to take control of the conversation again.

  "Obviously, Rosalind has an underlying motive for sending you here. So—what is it?" he asks harshly. A clear attempt to bolster the villagers' wariness of us and what we have to offer.

  "She wants to be sure you are well," Penelope responds carefully. "That's why she sent the food and supplies."

  Jackson frowns.

  "There is no such thing as a free gift. She must want something in return. What is it?" he pushes. "I will not let you stay under false pretenses."

  I lay a hand on Penelope's arm to stay her response. I see more than one pair of eyes notice the gesture, but I will not pretend to be so distant from her even for the sake of the mission.

  I meet Jackson's eyes calmly, considering my approach. We cannot meet emotion with emotion. That will only escalate the situation when we need to do the opposite. We need to approach this with calm and level heads.

  "We must all work together to survive," I say after organizing my thoughts, looking around at all gathered. Not just Jackson. They are all thinking beings. It is not only their leader I must convince. "It is Rosalind's hope that we can cooperate to that end."

  Murmurs grow louder, the gathered crowd reacting to this announcement. It does not sound completely negative. Jackson hears this, but his expression remains suspicious, as do his words.

  "We don't want to be under anyone's thumb," he responds with a slight sneer. "You may rest here for a few days. But then we'd like you to go back and tell her our response. We're not making any deals with a tyrant." He spits out that last word with clear disdain.

  Penelope balls her fists, ready to defend Rosalind's honor. She admires the human woman greatly, but this is not the time to antagonize these people. I take her hand in mine. There is anger in her eyes as she turns the glare in my direction. I shake my head at her slightly. I can see her need to throw caution out, to do what she feels is right, but she reluctantly subsides, looking away. I admire her control and give her hand a quick squeeze. This all flashes by in a moment.

  "Of course," I respond to Jackson for us, nodding. "We thank you for your hospitality."

  Jackson does not respond, simply nods at a waiting man who leads us over to a building some distance away from the crowd. The quarters he shows us are meager to say the least, but we thank the man politely. Penelope is only waiting to speak her mind until we are alone. The fire of her anger is only banked, not extinguished.

  "You should have let me put Jackson in his place!" she growls, hands again in tight fists as she paces the small confines of the room. "Rosalind is far from a tyrant! And what the hell does he think Gershom was?!" she rants, turning to me. "Are we going to pretend Jackson wasn't one of Gershom's unthinking followers? That idiotic hypocrite! If it wasn't for Rosalind, everyone here would be dead! That's not an opinion—it's a fact!"

  I make agreeing sounds as she continues to unleash her anger. She needs to release it, so I allow her to do so, now that we are in private, and it cannot affect the negotiations.

  "I'm right!" she bursts out, turning to me for confirmation, her face incandescent with her righteous anger.

  "Of course," I agree.

  She nods decisively and continues on with the rant. She is right. But we are on a diplomatic mission and being right is not the goal. It is crucial that we not alienate the very people we have come to convince to work with us. However, she is not ready to listen to that reasoning at this point, so I will wait until she has spent her anger and frustration. She has a right to that frustration.

  It comes from the empathy that is a natural part of her large heart, something she has been careful to keep hidden and guarded until recently. I am glad she feels free to show me this side of her now, this facet she did not want to expose before.

  As she continues, spending her emotions, I notice the position of the suns in the sky. It will be time to eat soon. I should go hunt down our meal.

  "I need to go hunt," I inform Penelope, gathering my weapons.

  She stops mid-tirade to frown at me, bracing her hands on her hips.

  "We brought plenty of food," she counters. "Why do you have to go find more?"

  I sigh. She is not going to like this.

  "It is easy enough for me to hunt and leave the rations to the New Villagers as a show of courtesy, of our intent."

  Penelope crosses her arms and shakes her head, though she does not argue. I can see she does not like it, but she will see the reason behind this decision soon enough. I do not make the mistake of saying that now, when she is not thinking as clearly.

  I enjoy my head attached to my neck, after all.

  "I will be back shortly," I reassure her as I leave.

  These people cannot hunt for themselves, and they know it. They will have to accept Rosalind's offer of cooperation eventually simply to survive. There is no way around that fact. They simply need time to see that.

  And they need to see what I can provide. There is no better way to do that than to feed ourselves while we are here, not depend on them or what we brought. I predict that they will invite us to stay longer as their food stores dwindle, in the hopes that I will gather more food for them.

  For now, they need to cling to their illusions of control, but soon enough, they will be all too willing to relinquish the reins.

  Chapter Eleven

  Penelope

  After I calm down, I realize that Bashir is right about not antagonizing Jackson and the others, even to defend Rosalind. I still have to bite my tongue quite a few times as we spend time around the New Village.

  I leave our quarters by myself the next afternoon, figuring I might be able to do more good on my own without Bashir there to remind them that I'm with one of the dreaded Zmaj. After getting to know him like I have, the whole thing seems even more stupid. I don't know anyone kinder or more level-headed than he is.

  As I make the walk to the well for water, I smile at the people I pass, trying to look friendly and inviting. I don't always get a return smile, but the few that I do get give me hope. Maybe everyone here isn't as opposed to us as I fear. Even a small crack in the general shunning is a good sign, right?

  Right.

  Near the well, a small group of people catches my eye. They're gathered around a beady-eyed little man, his balding scalp shining and red in the sunlight. I frown. Elmer? If I remember correctly, he was the tailor on the ship. Sounds pretty innocuous, but he was actually quite a nuisance. His favorite pastime seemed to be riling people up with harmful gossip whenever he had the chance. Some people are just not meant to be around others, as far as I'm concerned. What is he saying that has people gathered around him like that?

  When I slow to listen, he turns those small, mean eyes over to me, glaring as I walk past the little knot of people to get to the well.

  "...Gershom was a lying fiend who nearly killed us all. However, he had some points that we should consider..."

  Some of the crowd turn to look at me as well, their gazes unfriendly.

  "...we have to be smart, we have to be in control of our own fates moving forward..."

  I frown as I catch snippets of what Elmer is saying. What is he doing? I slow down to catch more of his impassioned tirade, hearing internal alarm bells ringing as rhetoric that sounds eerily familiar hits me.

  He's espousing some of the anti-Zmaj, human traditionalist ideas that Gershom had made popular. Is he trying to carve out a new identity based on the previous leader's persona? How can he call him a lying fiend and then co-opt some of the man's ideas for himself?

  My sense of unease grows as I listen. This sounds like the same kind of incendiary commentary that caused the trouble between us and the Zmaj before. Between us and ourselves, honestly. And I don't like it one bit.

  I also don't like being
watched like a hawk while I fetch water, those hate-filled eyes locked on me as though I'm invading his space.

  "It's a public square, buddy," I mutter under my breath as I retrieve the water.

  "He doesn't care," a woman scoffs next to me.

  I look over at the voice. It's the first time anyone has actually spoken to me. I get the feeling that isn't a mistake. Most of the New Villagers seem to be bent on giving me the cold shoulder.

  "Does he do this a lot?" I ask, trying to get a conversation going.

  She glances over at the small crowd gathered and shrugs.

  "More than he should."

  "The problem is those idiots over there who keep listening to the shit he's spewing," the man next to her says. "I'm Alec by the way," he adds with a small smile. "Sorry your welcome was so..."

  "Unwelcoming?" the woman finishes, making Alec grimace. "I'm Sabrina," she adds, nodding at me. "And Alec's right. Elmer hasn't changed much since the ship days. Still causing trouble for the sake of it."

  "Hmm."

  I glance over to see him still glaring at me, his eyes taking in the first people who've deigned to speak with me.

  "Elmer! Aren't you supposed to be on guard duty?"

  I look over to see Jackson entering the square, his stern glance causing the crowd around Elmer to stir uneasily.

  "I think we should have a more democratic way of assigning roles," Elmer argues back.

  "We all need to take a turn. That is democratic," Jackson returns. "Go do what you're supposed to be doing." He looks at the others gathered. "All of you."

  The crowd breaks up, and I see the flash of rage on Elmer's face, controlled in the next instant.

  He holds a short staring contest with Jackson, but eventually turns and obeys the order.

  Well.

  That's something to keep in mind, isn't it?

  "Elmer is trying his luck," Sabrina mutters. "I'm surprised Jackson hasn't done more already."

  Alec grunts his agreement before changing the subject now that the crowd is gone.

  I chat for a bit before they have to leave, then walk back slowly, seeing if anyone else will make an overture.

  They don't.

  This is going to be a hard sell, but we knew that coming in. I need to be patient.

  A couple of hours later, I make the trip to get water again, and along the way I run into Alec and another man he's with. We exchange pleasantries, but the whole time there’s an odd itch between my shoulder blades. I finally look over my shoulder.

  Elmer is watching me like a hawk again. What is he doing, following me around so he can keep up the glare?

  "I have to go," the new man mutters.

  When I look back at him, I realize he's watching Elmer. As he walks away quickly, Alec's mouth tightens.

  "It's like he thinks he's the fucking neighborhood police," he says, glancing over at Elmer as well. "I'll see you around, Penelope."

  I murmur my agreement, my thoughts putting together everything I've seen so far. I'm starting to wonder if the attitude most of the Villagers are showing towards us doesn't have a lot to do with Elmer. If he's constantly stirring up hate, seeding their minds with these kinds of views, no wonder many of them are keeping their distance, going out of their way to be cold to us.

  It's like the ghost of Gershom is still haunting this place. Something to keep a wary eye on.

  I wonder what Jackson thinks of this. If I were Jackson, I would be worried. Turns out, I get to hear about Jackson's thoughts from the man himself. Later that day, he invites us to eat with them.

  People mill around the square as he smokes some of the week's supply of meat. Bashir is smooth, sliding into small talk with Jackson easily enough. He keeps the topics light, getting Jackson used to speaking to him.

  I keep one ear on them as I scan the area, my eye finding a familiar bunching of people in the corner.

  And what do you know! There's that shiny bald head right in the middle of that knot again. As if I've called out to him, those mud-brown eyes turn to glare at me. Then he starts making his way over. This should be interesting.

  Jackson stops mid-sentence as Elmer deliberately plants his feet in front of us.

  "Yes?" Jackson asks in a tight voice. He obviously isn't happy to see the man.

  Elmer looks at the meat.

  "We should smoke more of it," Elmer announces. "We're tired of not having enough to satisfy a child much less an adult," he says in a voice that carries.

  The people milling around us hush. I know they're all listening.

  Jackson's face flushes with anger, but he holds on to his control.

  "We need to be careful how we ration our food, or we will run out faster," he says in tightly controlled voice. "We've been over this."

  Elmer's eyes shift over to Bashir and then to me.

  I can see him calculating his next move. Jackson's reasoning is too sound to attack directly.

  "Why are they still here?" he asks instead. "Haven't they had enough time to rest?"

  "Where do you think this food you're so anxious to have came from?" Jackson retorts, taking a step towards the smaller man.

  He finally backs off, though I can see he doesn't like being physically intimidated into it. With his small stature and less-than-sunny disposition, I have to assume it's happened multiple times.

  "You're making a mistake," he mutters as he walks away, just loudly enough to make sure everyone hears him. What a prize.

  Slowly, the conversations between everyone there start back up, and Elmer is again ensconced in what I'm starting to think of as his groupies. How many pissing contests does Jackson have to have with that little twerp? It doesn't bode well for the strength of his position here that Elmer feels confident enough to defy him so often. Not only defy him but come at him with the intent to make him look bad, in this case.

  Jackson is silent for a bit after the confrontation, staring at the meat, but obviously thinking of something else.

  I exchange a glance with Bashir.

  "I have heard some...concerning talk around the village," Bashir broaches cautiously.

  Jackson's jaw tightens and he looks up from the meat.

  I can see him debating with himself whether or not to say anything, to address the elephant in the room. He finally decides to speak.

  "Elmer is an extremist," he finally admits in a low voice. "And he's definitely channeling the wrong guy."

  The guy he's referring to has to be Gershom. Bashir tries to draw him out more, but Jackson has said what he wants to say of the subject. I understand that. I'd have a hard time truly confiding in strangers as well. I glance over at Elmer. That's someone that requires monitoring.

  After dinner, Bashir and I go back to our meager accommodations. Not that I'm complaining. Just being able to relax out of the sight of so many judgmental eyes is nice.

  "There aren't that many people who are willing even to just talk to me," I admit glumly once we're alone. "I feel like a total pariah here. So much for my role on this mission."

  Rosalind would be so disappointed. Bashir sighs.

  "You are doing a good job," he counters quietly. "Do not take offense at how wary the New Villagers are around you—it is my fault. They realize there is something between us."

  "I don't think that's all of it," I say, shaking my head.

  Bashir shrugs.

  "Even so." Pulling me into his arms, he gives me a warm hug. I snuggle in, enjoying the sturdy feel of his body. After a long moment where I just listen to his hearts beat, he stirs. "Come. Let us find comfort where we can."

  Bashir encourages me, grabbing our supplies and padding the beds, pushing them together to make a bigger one. Setting our things to the side. Hanging up a cloth to add some more privacy at the open window. It isn't much, but it definitely helps make the place cozier.

  When we finally lie down, Bashir spoons me from behind, the hard warmth of his body helping me relax. But then he trails soft kisses up the side of my neck, his
hand sliding down my hip. And another, even harder part of him, pokes me at the small of my back.

  I'm not nearly as relaxed anymore.

  "Bashir..."

  "Hmm?"

  He continues kissing the sensitive skin of my neck.

  "Bashir...I don't think we should...do anything while we're here." Damn it.

  He pauses in his caresses. I half hope he argues against me. I bet if we keep going in this direction, we'd both be really relaxed. But instead, he sighs, gathering me close.

  "You are correct. It would be smarter to wait," he agrees.

  Damn. This is one time I wouldn't mind being wrong. It's no surprise that sleep doesn't come easily after that. I want to go on that wild ride again with him, want that connection, especially while we're here in the heart of what almost feels like enemy territory. And I know Bashir feels the same, the hard length of him nestled against my backside.

  When I feel myself weaken, I try to think of what Rosalind would do in this situation. It doesn't help all that much. Not when I know she would never be in this situation to begin with. Needless to say, what follows is a very uncomfortable night of sleep.

  It doesn't get much easier the next time we lie down either. It's more frustrating than before we were together. Now I know what I'm missing! We do manage to get through it. But when the day we're scheduled to leave finally approaches, I'm ready to jump Bashir the first moment we have real privacy.

  However, that need is tempered by the very real disappointment I feel over the fact that we didn't make more progress while we were here. I guess Bashir wasn't right after all. They didn't go back on the initial time period for us to stay and rest.

  We start to ready ourselves for the journey back, going out to the well one last time to fill our water bags, when a commotion draws our attention. Frowning, Bashir grabs my hand and leads the way through the crowd to the two in the center of the noise.

  Unsurprisingly, it's Jackson and Elmer.

  "...you want us to be crushed under Rosalind's authority! You do not have our best interests at heart at all!"