Brother to Dragons Read online

  Although it was New Year’s Eve the weather was too much for most celebrants. They were still indoors, hoping that the snow would ease. Job had the sidewalks to himself. He stayed close to the walls of the buildings, sheltered from wind and safe from the occasional city patrol car purring half-blind through the snow, and crunched through the firm white layer. Even with the bright reflection of streetlights from the snow, street names were invisible. Job navigated by feel and counting, until he turned at last onto the deserted south-bound avenue that ran to the edge of the Mall Compound.

  As always, the Compound was ablaze. Job stood on the perimeter, nervously watching. The searchlights on their tall towers scanned the cleared zone, ready to home in on anything that moved. Their beams made oval white circles on the untrodden snow.

  Hurry hurry hurry. Job thought of Professor Buckler’s disdain for haste. Real professor or not, no other adult but Mister Bones had ever been as good to Job—and none had ever talked to him as much as an equal. But this time Job had to hurry, or he’d freeze on the spot. He started forward onto the unmarked surface of the protection zone, wincing in anticipation of the strident voice in his ear.

  ATTENTION. It came in a few seconds. YOU ARE MOVING INTO A RESTRICTED ZONE, PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT…

  Job froze, his legs telling him to run, his mind forcing him to stay. Miss Magnolia had said the defense system would be turned off. But if it wasn’t…At the end of the message he stared around in an agony of fear. The end of the warning was ringing in his ears. RETREAT AT ONCE TO THE BOUNDARY OF THE MALL PROTECTION ZONE, SERIOUS INJURY OR DEATH MAY RESULT. DEFENSE PROCEDURES WILL TAKE EFFECT AUTOMATICALLY IN THIRTY SECONDS.

  Thirty seconds. Surely it had already been more than thirty seconds.

  There was sudden movement at the inner edge of the protection zone, within the Mall Compound itself. Job shielded his eyes and peered through the driving snowflakes. No man in uniform and peaked cap, but a great cloud of blown snow with a dark blob at its center. It moved through the barricade at the edge of the Compound, then turned with a scream of air-jets to head straight for him.

  Job forgot Miss Magnolia’s instructions. He turned and tried to run. His feet skidded and slid on the snow-covered surface. He had moved no more than a few yards when the machine reached him. He knew it was right behind him, and he tried to throw himself out of the way to one side. His feet slipped again. Before he had moved a foot he was scooped up from behind by something that lifted him and rolled him end-over-end into a dark enclosure. A clang of metal sounded around him. The machine accelerated in a turn, throwing Job’s head and shoulder into a cold metal wall. He lay in total darkness, bruised along one cheek and eye socket, dizzy and disoriented.

  The ride was a short one. Within a minute the machine jerked to a halt, its side opened, and Job was decanted onto a vinyl tiled floor under dazzling yellow lights.

  “Stay right where you are.” A hand reached down, grabbed his collar, and hoisted him to his feet. Other hands searched him. They opened his coat and pulled out the square box. Job squinted around him. Already his left eye was beginning to swell and close. He stood inside a garage with a low, paneled ceiling, beside the machine that had picked him up. The snow was melting from its windowless sides, and he could see no place for a driver.

  Three men held him. Two of them wore the blue uniforms and peaked caps described to him, but Job was not naive enough to think that would help. Something had gone terribly wrong.

  The younger of the two uniformed men opened the box. He unwrapped the waterproof packet inside and sniffed at the contents. “One hundred percent, for a guess,” he said. “We’ll know in a few minutes. God, look at him. Next thing they’ll be using kids in diapers.”

  “They should be shot.” A fat, gray-haired man who was not in uniform sat down on a workbench. “All right, let’s get it over with. Who’s the parcel for, boyo? Let’s have a name.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sure. You decided to wander into the protection zone in the middle of a howling snowstorm, with a million dollars worth of brain-burner on you, just for the fun of it. What made you think the defense system wouldn’t fry you on the spot?”

  “I thought it would.”

  The gray-haired man studied him. “Damned if I’m not inclined to believe you.” He handed him a white cloth. “Here, kid. Wipe your face.”

  Job did as he was told. Until that moment he had not realized that he was crying.

  “Did you know what you were carrying in the package?” said the fat man.

  Job thought about that. He didn’t know, but he had been developing his suspicions. “I wasn’t sure.”

  “But now you are? So who sent you? Tell me that, and take us there, and you’ll do yourself a favor. If we can get someone good, we won’t worry much about you. Come on, now.” The man could see Job’s hesitation. “They dropped you in it, didn’t they, without one word of warning? What do you owe them?”

  Tracy hadn’t done anything to him—she had done her best to protect him, even argued with Miss Magnolia. She had wanted to warn him. Job shook his head. The fat man shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it. Take him away, Lou. Let him stew for a while.”

  The younger of the uniformed men nodded, grabbed Job by the arm, and led him through to another room. This one was warmer, not just a garage and repair shop. The man gestured Job to a chair.

  “Want a drink? You must be frozen.” Without waiting for an answer he filled a cup from a big metal jug and handed it to Job. It was a hot, sweet liquid that Job had never tasted before, and it burned his gullet all the way down to his stomach.

  “There. Warming you up a bit?” The man had a cheerful dark face, and when he took his cap off his hair stood up in damp spikes. “Hell of a night to send a young kid out, ’specially for a drug run.” He was studying Job. “Just how old are you, anyway?”

  “I’m ten.” Job paused, then added, “Ten today.”

  “God love us. What a birthday present. Did you get any presents?”

  Job shook his head.

  “Well, happy birthday anyway. Like your drink?”

  “It’s good.” But it was making Job dizzy.

  “More there when you want it. So what’s your name, kid?”

  “Job Salk. Job Napoleon Salk.”

  “Good. And where do you live?” The man’s voice was casual. “Not out on the streets, I’ll bet money on that. You’d freeze to death in this weather.”

  “At Bracewell Mansion.” Job had answered before he thought. “And before that I was at Cloak House,” he added.

  “So they sent you here straight from Bracewell?” The man ignored Job’s feeble attempt at misdirection.

  Job knew he had been trapped; but it was too late to do anything about it. He nodded.

  “Good lad.” The man seemed pleased, but he wasn’t gloating. “Sit there and drink as much as you like. Keep warm. I’ll be back.”

  When he returned the other two were with him. They were wearing overcoats, and the young uniformed man was carrying Job’s gloves and hat.

  “Horrible night for it, but we have to take a little ride,” said the fat man, his gray hair hidden now by a fur cap. He was holding the square packet in its waterproof wrapping. “Can you identify the person from Bracewell Mansion who gave you this, and sent you here?”

  Job nodded unhappily.

  “So you’ll do that. You won’t need to talk. Fasten your coat. You’ll be in a car most of the time, but wrap up.”

  He led the way out, with the uniformed men on either side of Job. Under other circumstances, the trip back to Bracewell Mansion could have been thrilling. First they rolled nearly a quarter of a mile underground on a labyrinth of smooth transportation belts that rose, fell, and merged with each other. Some were deserted, some carried dozens of people. At last they came to another garage and Job was led forward to a long, black car. He sat in front between the driver and the fat, gray-haired man. The dashboar
d was filled with gadgets that Job didn’t understand: range sensor, radar navigator, thermal tracker. The engine was not running, but when they were all aboard the car began to move. It entered a tunnel, traveled for thirty seconds in total darkness, then unexpectedly emerged at ground level outside the Mall Compound and protection zone. The engine started with a low-pitched purr. Although the night was dark and the snow drove down harder than ever, the opaque front windscreen of the car showed the passengers a clear, hard-edged view of roads and buildings in black and white.

  The car eased forward, lights off. As midnight approached more people were refusing to let the weather halt New Year party plans. They were in the streets, many of them ignoring the sidewalk in favor of the center of the road. Drunk or drugged, they took little notice of the dark car sliding past them. It took almost as long to get to Bracewell Mansion as it would have on foot.

  Job stared nervously at the front steps of the mansion as the car approached, hoping to see a familiar figure. He had been sent to do an errand, and not only was his mission unaccomplished but he was bringing strangers back with him. The only person who might understand how it had happened was the professor.

  The front steps were deserted. Strangely, they had been cleared of snow. Stranger yet, the usual entrance was closed off, while the boards in front of a great pair of double doors in the middle of the steps had been removed.

  The gray-haired man opened the door of the car and motioned Job to get out. “Wait here,” he said to the others. “Give me fifteen minutes. If I’m not back you know what to do.” And to Job, “All right, kid. Take me to your leader.”

  Job ascended the steps and paused at the top. He had never been in this way, or seen the double doors from inside the building. He had no idea where they might lead. At last he opened one of them and went in. He found himself in a tiled hallway. It led to a broad staircase carpeted in pale mauve, and at the head of that, twenty feet above them, stood Miss Magnolia in a long gown of vivid green.

  “That’s her,” said Job in a whisper. “She gave it to me.”

  If Miss Magnolia heard him, she gave no sign of it. She stood unmoving and expressionless as Job led the man up the stairs towards her.

  “Can I help you?” she said at last. She was looking calmly at the man and gave Job not even a glance.

  “I believe you can.” But there was a first note of uncertainty in his voice as he held out an oval badge. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

  “No. We can talk right here.” Miss Magnolia did not even glance at the badge. She inclined her head towards the next flight of stairs. “I have important visitors tonight. I do not want them disturbed. And I would appreciate it if you would state your business promptly.”

  “You have important visitors. And I have important business. You sent this boy to the protection zone.” The man held out the packet. “To deliver this. I don’t have to tell you what it contains.”

  “I did what?” Miss Magnolia sounded more amused than afraid.

  “You sent the boy—”

  “You’re out of your mind. I have no idea what’s in that packet, or what you are talking about.”

  “You deny that you know this boy?”

  “Oh, I know him.” Miss Magnolia gave Job a brief inspection. “Slightly. He’s a local street urchin. Once or twice my assistants have given him a free meal in our kitchen. A kindness that has not been returned, by the look of it.”

  The man turned to stare at Job.

  “I live here,” said Job desperately. “I have a room upstairs.”

  But Miss Magnolia was shaking her head. “Captain, I don’t know what your game is, but I won’t play it. He doesn’t live here. He never has. If he says he knows his way around, then it’s because when he ate here he went places he had no right to. Go get a search warrant if you like, look over the mansion top to bottom. If you find any sign that the boy lives here, or ever did, or if you find a sign of anything illegal, I’ll give you free service for a month.”

  “Professor Buckler,” said Job desperately. He turned to the fat man. “And Tracy, and Toria. They live here, too. They’ll tell you about me.”

  “Captain, I ask you, does this look like the home of a professor?” There was a sound of laughter from farther up the staircase, and Miss Magnolia turned her well-groomed head to stare that way. “I don’t know the boy,” she went on, without looking at either Job or the captain. “There’s certainly no professor who lives here. No Tracy or Toria, either. I know nothing about that package you are holding, or where it came from. What I do know is that I have very important guests, waiting for me upstairs. I always try to cooperate with officials, but if you want to detain me longer, you will have to argue with my guests, too.”

  “To hell with your guests—”

  “Senator Nelson is here tonight. So is Senator Walsh.”

  The gray-haired captain said nothing, but to Job he seemed to crumple and shrink. “So we’ll find nothing upstairs, eh? I hear you. And I thought I had good sources. Who told you we were on the way?”

  She smiled, and Job saw a glimmer of satisfaction in her mascara-limned eyes. “Now, Captain, that’s a silly thought. And it’s New Year’s Eve, and awful weather outside. Why don’t you stop worrying, relax, and enjoy yourself here for an hour or two? I always like to make new friends.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure you do.” The captain hefted the package he was holding. “Senator Nelson and Senator Walsh, eh? Yep. So what happens now to the kid?”

  “I have no idea. But that’s more your worry than mine, isn’t it? You brought him, Captain. And since you will not be staying…” She turned in a rustle of skirts, and began to walk up the stairs to the third floor. “Close the door firmly when you leave, please. Heating this place costs a fortune.”

  “I wasn’t lying,” said Job, as she vanished around the curve in the staircase. “I do live here. Really.”

  “Not any more, you don’t.” The fat man’s face was twisted with frustration. “You heard her. Senators in her pocket. We’d not get to square one. I don’t know why I fucking bother.” He turned, and began to walk slowly down to the double doors.

  Job took a last look up the stairs, then hurried after him. “What will happen to me?”

  “Possession of illegal substances. Intrusion on protected property. That’s got to go in the record.” The captain sighed. “I’m sorry, kid. I believe you told us the truth, and I’ll put in the best word I can for you. But I don’t know how much good it will do. Once I file my report, it’s out of my hands.” He was watching Job’s face. “Cheer up. It’s late, and you’re tired out. Tomorrow’s another day. Let’s go to the Compound and have some food. Things won’t seem so bad in the morning.”

  But in the morning, Job was sent back to Cloak House.

  • Chapter Six

  Skin for skin, yea, all that a

  man hath will he give for his life.

  —The Book of Job, Chapter 2, Verse 4

  In the month that he had been away, Cloak House had changed enormously. Job noticed some things at once. The hundreds of dead and the handful of surviving children had disappeared, but even more new ones had taken their place. Colonel della Porta had gone. Father Bonifant was not even a memory. The doors of Cloak House had been changed, replaced by strong metal ones with double locks, and the lower floor windows were now barred.

  Those were the superficial changes. It took a little longer to discover the big one: Cloak House was no longer a simple orphanage. It had been converted to a detention center, and it was a center with a hidden agenda.

  On the first morning, Job was taken to the first floor apartment where the colonel used to live. He was assigned a number. It was painlessly and subcutaneously marked on his forehead and on his right wrist in an invisible but indelible ink.

  “Don’t complain,” said the woman who did the marking. “That’s your meal ticket. You get no food without it. Use that number to find your assigned duties each day. Today you’re free
, but you start work tomorrow. Make sure you get a sign-off from me when work’s done. No food without that, either. Lunch at twelve, listen for the bell.”

  She was muscular, short-haired, and wore a gun and a thick truncheon on her hip. She was also frighteningly casual about everything. She gave Job a chit to take out a bedroll and a blanket from stores, assigned him a dormitory, and told him to go. It took him a while to realize that this was all the indoctrination he was going to get.

  Job knew his way around the building. That was just as well. The other children, all boys, showed no interest in talking to him. He spent the rest of the morning wandering around Cloak House. Although it was cleaner than it had been under Colonel della Porta, access to some floors and to all the exits was now forbidden. Not even a trickle of hot water came from the bathroom faucets, and the whole building was freezing cold.

  He had been given a full breakfast in the Mall Compound, so when the bell rang at midday he was quite ready to eat but not ravenous. He wandered down to the dining room. It had not changed, but it was more crowded than it had ever been. Half a dozen adults, each one armed, stood around the walls watching. Everyone else was already seated. Job found a place, sat down, and stared around.

  He was probably the youngest at his table, and certainly the smallest. The skinny boy on one side of him gazed straight ahead and ignored him completely. The boy on the other side was equally gaunt, but tall and strong-limbed, with a massive head, heavy brows, and big red ears. He returned Job’s stare but did not speak.

  The mutual inspection ended with the arrival and distribution of plates of food. Job hardly needed to look at what was set in front of him. The rancid smell rising from the dish was enough. A small wedge of slimy fat meat floated in thin gray gravy, surrounded by a few small lumps of soggy pasta and a spoonful of amorphous bright-orange vegetable.

  Every one else was gulping down the food and spooning up the greasy gravy. Job pushed his plate away.