The Dragon, the Witch, and the Railroad Read online

  Contents

  Copyright Page

  Map

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 35

  About the Author

  The Dragon, the Witch, and the Railroad

  by

  Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © February 25, 2015, Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  Cover Art and Illustrations Copyright © 2015, Karen Gillmore

  Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

  Lockhart, TX

  www.gypsyshadow.com

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-1-61950-251-2

  Published in the United States of America

  First eBook Edition: March, 2015

  Dedication

  To Kerry Isabelle Greenwood, author of mysteries and histories, friend to cats, wombats and dragons (and me). Her generous contribution helped make this book possible.

  Acknowledgments

  For artist, volunteer editor and Kickstarter cheerleader, Karen Gillmore, thank you so much for all of the ways you’ve helped bring this book to life. Karen provided both the cover and the interior illustrations, including the new map of Argonia, Brazoria and Glasssovia. The new map of Argonia and the railroad is somewhat based on the original map of Argonia drawn by the late Doug Dean. I must also thank Ron Gillmore, eagle-eyed proofreader. To volunteer editors Becky Kyle and the meticulous Carolyn Plant, thanks for helping to make this book look as professional as its predecessors. Charlotte Holley and Denise Bartlett of Gypsy Shadow Publishing have my utmost gratitude for help, advice, publication and prettification of the manuscript and presentation of the art materials. Also I’d like to thank Tania Opland for listening to half of the book before it was finished, as she has with many books before this one. Additionally, I appreciate all of the pointers CE Murphy and Tarah Wheeler Van Vlack gave me on producing a Kickstarter campaign and thanks to Jonathan and Billie Stratman for making the video for the campaign.

  And to my Kickstarter patrons, thank you so much for collectively financing the rebirth of a nation (Argonia). A fine bunch of writers, readers, musicians and music lovers, bead artists, cat people, relatives and friends you are!

  Lauri Wojcik, Dian Curtis Regan, kfieldho, Juliana McCorison, Elizabeth Lane, David Odenwald, Cea Noyes, Marcia Stacy, Becky Kyle, Kal Powell, Katie Dunn, Kathy, Suzie Buck, Beth Cook, Jamie Cloud Eakin, Ronni Eloff, Ellen, Laura Wallace, Stephanie Bonsanti, Peg Betterly Robinson, Wendy Cook, Judith Bertoglio-Giffin, ShadesOfMauve, Matthew Price, Morva Bowman, Hans van der Boom, Liza Olmsted, Ron Chance, Kris Empting-Obenland, Jan Gephardt, Richard Novak, Lindsey Ekland, Gail de Vos, Danna Garcia, Virginia Korleski, Michelle Masters, Charlotte Calvert, April Osburn-Harris, Emrya, Brian Williams, Chrysoula Tzavelas, Alyc Helms, Cat Skyfire, Dale Subitch, Sarah Wishnevsky, Tiff Arnold, Tania Opland, Kamalloy, Samanda Jeude, Katrina Oppermann, soapturtle, Jenn Ridley, Rebecca Moskowitz Hewett, Andrea Hosth, Anne Walker, Paul Bulmer, Marjorie, Marketa Zvelebil, CE Murphy, Kirsten Pieper-Scholz, Michael Bernardi, Darlisa Black, Phil Boswell, Linda Dimitroff, Paul Simmons and Michelle Biddix-Simmons, Lelia M. Guinn, Jeremy Zimmerman, Linda Bruno, Amy Browning, Tracy Lunquist, Frank Herda, Karen Cobbe, Victoria L. Sullivan, Barbara J. Loyd, Bernadette Constant, Maryrita Steinhour, Daniel Pelletier, Marilyn L. Alm and Harry L. Alm Jr., Tom Linton, Tony Kyle, Hope Ring, Susan Petroulas (Suelder), Michael B. M,oe, Carolyn Plant, Lori Lum, Jami Nord, Beth Meacham, Linda, Maria Nutick and Liz Loveday, Sarah Frazier, Elizabeth Kerner, Alexandra Cenni, Guinevere K. Buxo, Star Fitzgerald, Sue Averill, Kathleen Lane, Barbara Chandler-Young, Kevin Andrew Murphy, Shannon Scollard, Rachel Gollub, EmmaBull, aprilsrain, Carol Guess, Barbara and David Denz, Shana Worthen, Dale Swisher, Kate McNamara, Kathleen Hanrahan, Deborah Fishburn, Denise Bartlett, Charlotte Holley, Anne, Gadgetman, Juith Tarr, Rachel Reither, Marti Wulfow Garner, Carole Nelson Douglas, Jean Marie Ward, Conrad Wong, Karen Lee Gillmore, Heather Dixon, William Pint, Noel Eskew, Marsha Wiest-Hines, Juliane Elanor Thomas, Deb McAlister-Holland, Kerry Isabelle Greenood, Terri Weiner, Tara Rayner, Adrienne Robineau, Katie Johnson, Donna Mendrygal, Erika Hamerquist, Cynthia Bond. Kathy Ozog, Sally Tierney and Debby Rodrig.

  Chapter 1

  Argonia According to the Allies

  Malady (it’s pronounced Mah Lady) Hide strutted to the front of the class, her long yellow curls bouncing, and faced the other students. “I consider my history paper something of a makeover story,” she said. “Before the Great War, we have Argonia of bygone days, a vast expanse of icy mountains and frozen tundra peopled by superstitious and backward citizens and some quite alarming fauna. After said conflict, it has become the modern, prosperous, industrial nation we call home today.”

  Verity felt one of her headaches coming on. She slouched down in her seat, and recited the multiplication tables to herself, followed by the periodic tables, and several snatches of bardic verse. Malady was every bit as pompous as her father, Chancellor Baltus Hide, the donor of the new dormitory building, a contribution neither of them ever let anyone forget. She hadn’t exactly told an outright lie yet, but Verity was sure at least one was imminent. So far her pronouncements, though wild distortions of known facts, were matters of opinion. It didn’t make a lot of difference to Verity’s curse, though she was a soothsayer, not a prophet. She could speak only the truth, but when she heard a lie, if she did not denounce it as such, she was punished with the headaches and sometimes nose bleeds.

  Her slight moan was fortunately buried beneath Malady’s continuing lecture.

  “Once upon a time, dear classmates and esteemed Sister Piston, there was a foolish little country so disorganized and careless that it lost its crown princess and so was eventually left without a queen, whereupon it fell into squabbling and feuds so divisive that when it was invaded by a powerful army from the east, its army was scattered and diminished.

  “The realm was ill-prepared to say the least. After many lazy years of peace followed by infighting, those who might have led an army were busy raiding their neighbors.

  “Thus the invaders thundered across their borders plundering crops and herds, burning forests, razing castles, and ravishing young ladies.” She said the last with relish which was met with titters from her fellow students. Our Lady of Perpetual Locomotion Scientific Academy (and Finishing School) for Young Women of Gentle Birth was, as the name suggested, a girls’ school. None of them knew exactly what ravishing meant, except that it involved men, and that was enough to interest them.

  V
erity scooted down even further, so that her head was no longer higher than that of the other girls. Her head had started to pound and she bit her knuckles to keep from speaking. If Malady thought so little of Argonia, why didn’t they send her back to Frostingdung, where her parents came from? Verity badly wanted to say so, but even her father had told her that if she was kicked out of any more schools for contradicting people, they’d have to do something drastic, though he hadn’t said what.

  In an exasperated tone, Malady continued. “All the country had for its own defense were a few old dragons and a lot of charlatans who claimed to be wizards and witches and sorcerers and such and who had kept the superstitious people in absolute thrall for as long as anyone could remember.

  “They were losing badly when Prince Beaubon Rotgut, who had married a minor princess who was a remnant of the royal family, suggested that perhaps his own family might help, in exchange for a trade agreement. “My brother and cousins are part of an amazing enterprise there,” he told them. “The Widderwinds Consortium has everything you need for a decent war.” And so it came to pass, the trade agreement was signed, mercenaries were hired, certain technologies deployed, and the invaders driven back. The little country became a permanent client under the wing of the greater kingdom of Frostingdung, with free trade between them and a sharing of resources and scientific advances, and the client country never had to fear another foreign invader. The end.”

  Malady’s voice rose and her eyes lowered, proud of her paper but trying to seem humble about it.

  “Comments?” Sister Piston, the history instructor, asked.

  Verity’s hand fell from her mouth, her hand shot up and she said, “Simplistic and prejudicial.” Oh dear. She’d done it now, but surely Sister Piston could see Malady’s condescending condemnation of Argonia could not be allowed to stand? “Nobody fights someone else’s war out of the goodness of its heart. Father says Frostingdung was in it for our resources.”

  “That will be enough from you, Miss Brown,” Sister Piston said. “Anyone else?”

  At that point, she was—possibly?—saved by the entrance of the headmistress’s secretary, Sister Coggins, who entered the room without knocking and handed the teacher a note.

  Sister Piston pulled her reading spectacles from her hair, where she stored them when not in use, and adjusted them on her nose. “Miss Brown, you are wanted in the headmistress’s office.”

  “Oh, no, not again,” Verity mumbled, picking up her book bag in case she was not allowed to return. Although—she might not be expelled this time, she hoped with crossed fingers. She had been careful with her language—no excrement of any species had been included in her remarks. She had not said bullshit, horse manure, or even fumets, nor had she mentioned other bodily functions, natural or improbable. She’d made no references to Malady’s antecedents. And she had countered the incorrect assumptions of her classmate with her own logic in support of her objections.

  But it wasn’t fair. She didn’t understand why she hurt when someone else told a lie. Surely it would be better if something happened to them? Something that would make it obvious to everyone that the truth was being distorted. Maybe that person’s hair should fall out or their fingernails grow? Or maybe her nose? Yes, that was it. The lengthening of noses would be unnatural, disfiguring, and make it clear that the truth was being trifled with, and at no cost to Verity.

  She said as much to Sister Coggins before it occurred to her that the headmistress couldn’t possibly have known of her indiscretion—she refused to call it a transgression since she knew she was in the right—so soon. The headmistress’s office was miles of hallways from the classroom.

  Sister Coggins did not reply, but marched her into the outer office where Verity beheld not just the headmistress, Mother Machination, but a happier surprise as well.

  “Papa!” she cried, and rushed forward but was stopped by the iron arm of Sister Coggins before she could embrace her father.

  “Use your ladylike voice, Miss Brown,” Sister said.

  “Now, now. If she has to do that, I’ll never hear from my daughter again,” her father replied in a jovial tone. Sister Coggins’s jawline did not relax even a bit.

  “I mean, this is such an unexpected treat, Father,” Verity said in as soft and calm a voice as she could muster.

  “I have an important business matter to attend at the iron mines, and I feel it is time you begin learning a bit about such affairs. Since it will be an educational trip, I felt sure the school would release you for a long weekend.”

  Meanwhile, Sister Coggins had sidled up to Mother Machination and was whispering something in her ear.

  “Indeed, Mr. Brown, you may take Verity with you and while you are about it, take her trunk and bags as well. I’m afraid she has proved a disruptive influence once more and has just sassed her instructor and insulted one of her classmates—an excellent scholar and a young woman who will be an ornament to society. We cannot expect this girl to continue her studies in the hostile environment created by your daughter’s presence.”

  If she expected Verity’s father to fly into a rage, she was disappointed. Gowen Brown bit down on his pipe stem, shot Verity an admonishing look, and said, “How disappointing. I suppose a partial refund of tuition is out of the question?”

  “Certainly not. We can only hope that Miss Hide’s parents do not sue you and us for the mental suffering inflicted upon their daughter.”

  “Ah well, our attorney will be in touch then,” Her father said and Verity ducked her head to conceal a smile. Uncle Nic would sort them out. Tod N. Balgair, Attorney, was an old friend of her real mother’s and probably the cleverest man in Argonia. “Wait in the carriage, Verity, and send in the driver to help with your trunk,” her father said.

  “The girl should apologize to Miss Hide before she leaves,” Mother Machination said.

  Her father asked. “Verity, will you take back whatever it was you said to the other girl?”

  “I can’t, Papa. I was telling the truth.” She meant it. She could not tell a lie. Her mother had told her it was a curse she’d had from birth, but not to fret. She was the third generation of women in their family to have some kind of curse so it was sort of a tradition. Her real mother had sometimes had an odd idea of what would comfort a three-year-old.

  “Of course, you were, my dear. You always do. There you have it, Madame. Verity cannot apologize. Perhaps the other girl should reconsider her remarks. You have our address if she’d like to send a note.”

  Mother Machination’s lantern jaw dropped, or at least gave the impression of dropping. She said nothing more though, and Verity practically skipped out the door to the waiting carriage.

  She could think of no other girl who would envy her a trip to an iron mine with her father, but she was excited about it. After her mother disappeared and before he married her stepmother, when she was eleven, the two of them had worked together in his workshop, where she watched him make clockwork toys and prosthetic limbs for men and beasts. She had helped him and learned to make silver jewelry.

  Other girls like Malady were proud that their parents had money and position, but her own parents were interesting, and she liked that better. Rich, too, of course, and she wasn’t exactly clear on how they got that way, but interesting.

  She remembered Mother telling her when she was very little that her family was connected to both royalty and to gypsies, specifically gypsies who were also royals. They were also a little bit bear on that side.

  Her father was also part Gypsy, which a lot of people thought was a bad thing, but he acted just like it was the same as Brazorian or Elvish or Frostingdungian. He said that metal shaping and smithing were traditional gypsy occupations. At one time settled people called them tinkers in an insulting manner, though not all gypsies worked metal, of course. Supposedly, they also had hereditary tendencies toward music, handling animals, and fortune telling. That and traveling, of course, an urge he said the business trips to oversee
his interests satisfied. As for the animals, there were the dragons. The businesses her mother left them involved a lot of dragons, and Papa saw it as his duty to look after them and see that they were well cared for.

  The visit to the iron mine was not as fascinating as she’d hoped. When she saw the beautiful and, to her, rather exotic red soil along the rails leading to the mine, she’d thought the visit might be quite interesting.

  She liked gemstones, agates, jaspers, and such, but once in the mining camp huddled around the shaft, she couldn’t really see any potential in the raw iron ore as it rose from the mine shaft in cars running on tracks like the railroad. It was ugly and the process of turning it into ingots and steel was no more attractive, even to someone who liked metal work. One large old dragon had a flame trained to the correct temperature, which was apparently critical in the smelting process that turned iron into steel, and she watched him fire the furnace while her father talked business with the mine steward. She admired the efficient way the dragon did its job. Its wrangler, who operated the apparatus feeding the furnace ore, told her that it was called Auld Smelt, though its number designation was its real identifier—369.

  She soon wearied of the unseasonal heat of the place, the din of production, and the dust that permeated her hair and pores. She was ready to get back on the train again and wandered over to stand beside her father near the entrance to the shaft, where he and the steward discussed something about dragon rations she could barely hear and didn’t understand at all.

  She was watching the miners emerging from the yawning entrance to the shaft when she heard the clatter of iron wheels flying down the tracks as a car full of ore crashed toward them.