Page 2 of Lightningborn

The floating rock eventually circled closer to The Edge, and Remy was able to spring off the chunk onto solid ground. Quickly, he took a few large steps back from The Edge, putting a safe distance between himself and the Maelstrom, before relaxing and gazing around to get his bearings. The rocky, mud-covered chunk of land called Cutthroat Wedge wasn’t a large island, more of a sky town than a sky city. Not like the capital, where he’d heard there were places you could stand and not see the edge of the island. Here on Cutthroat Wedge, there was one high point where the airships docked that held the tavern, the warehouses, the gambling den, and all the other places that attracted the type of crowd that gave the island its name. Stilt homes and shanties were built on whatever available space was left, crammed together or piled atop each other, sometimes three or four high, so some portions of town looked like they were about to topple over at any moment. The resulting maze of narrow alleys, tight corridors, wooden walkways, and rickety bridges spanning the roads were what Remy called home. It was perfect for a mud rat like him.

Remy hefted the purse in his hands, feeling the weight of the coins through the leather. In reality, it wasn’t much, but it was still a fortune to someone who had virtually nothing. For a moment, he stood there, fighting a battle within himself, before his shoulders slumped and he gave a gusty sigh.

Tucking the pouch into his pocket, he headed into the labyrinth.

The Salty Barrel tavern sat on a point called the Jut, a large chunk of rock stretching out over open sky. It was the closest building to the airship docks, not counting the warehouses that held all sorts of illegal goods, so it was the first thing sailors glimpsed when they left their ships. Obviously, it was a popular place, a haven for smugglers, gamblers, sky pirates, and anyone else trying to avoid the law.

“What are you doing here, mud rat?” Ferus scowled at Remy as he slipped through the broken doors, gazing around the beat-up tavern. The owner of the Salty Barrel was a thin, twitchy little man with greasy black hair and dark, beady eyes. He wasn’t fond of Remy, mostly because Remy had no coin to spend on drinks and, sometimes, unattended items or forgotten bits of food went missing when he was around. Ferus didn’t really care if Remy stole from his customers, but he hated that Remy was often able to pocket any loose coins beforehecould get to them.

“Keep your sticky little fingers to yourself, boy,” Ferus warned, jabbing a bony finger in his direction. “I swear, if even a crust of bread goes missing, I’ll have Lod snap all your fingers, one by one. Then we’ll see how well you can pick up anything.”

“He’d have to catch me first.” Remy smirked. Lod was the tavern cook, but due to his immense size, he doubled as a bouncer if the customers got too unruly. He was also, not to put too fine a point on it, about as quick as the potatoes in his stew. Besides, Ferus made that particular threat at least once a month. Remy would be more worried if the tavern ownerwasn’tthreatening him with violence. When he was silent, that’s when he was plotting things.

“I’m just here to see Bart,” Remy said. “I’ll leave right after I talk to him.”

Ferus rolled his eyes and started wiping the counter with a wet rag. “He’s in his usual spot,” he said, waving a hand at the far wall. “Old windbag is in one of his sulky moods, though. Said he doesn’t feel like telling stories tonight. Bah. What’s he good for, if not that?”

Remy glanced at the fireplace. A white-haired old man in a tattered captain’s coat sat by the fire, shoulders hunched and mouth pulled into an unhappy upside-down U.

“Go cheer him up,” Ferus urged. “He likes you, for some unknown reason. Get him talking. Put him in a storytelling mood before the evening crowd starts coming in. I don’t let him sit there and drink for nothing.”

Remy walked over to the fireplace. Crusty Bart sat in a worn leather chair, the end table beside it holding an empty mug that served as a tip jar. He stared moodily into the embers of the fire and didn’t look up as Remy approached.

“No stories today,” Crusty Bart muttered as Remy stopped beside the chair. “My heart ain’t in it.” He sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions and still not looking at Remy. “Don’t get old, boy,” he said in his breathy voice. “No one respects their elders anymore. You’d think people would be decent enough not to steal from an old man who has nothing but stories left to tell. But there are no decent people in the world. Or at least, not here on this blasted, forgotten rock. Makes me want to give up storytelling altogether.”

Remy sighed. Digging the coin purse from his trousers, he held it out to the old man. “I think you dropped something,” he said as Bart’s eyes widened.

“My lucky rabbit!” he cried, snatching the purse from Remy’s hand. “You found it!”

“Yeah.” Remy nodded. “I saw it sitting on a table in the gambling hall and thought it looked familiar. Unfortunately, the pirate I took it from wasn’t quite as drunk as I thought.”

Bart shook his head. “Idiot boy,” he snapped. “What do I always tell you? Pirates are thieves and cutthroats, but they don’t forget who robs them. If you keep stealing from pirates, one day you’ll find yourself walking a plank above the Maelstrom.”

Remy shrugged. “Hasn’t happened yet,” he said casually. “And you’re welcome, by the way. If you’re feeling really generous, you might spare a coin or two. You know, for rescuing your purse and getting chased all over Cutthroat Wedge. It’s not like there are a lot of places for me to go.”

Bart’s jaw tightened. He yanked the purse open, pushing coins around with a thin, dirty finger. “I’m missing some copper,” he muttered.

“Don’t look at me,” Remy said. “I didn’t take anything. I may be a thief, but I don’t steal from people I know.”

“Hmph,” Bart said, closing the pouch back up. “Well…you wouldn’t deny an old man what little coin he has, would you?” he asked in a suddenly weak voice. “How about this: Come back tomorrow night, and I’ll tell you a dragon story. Maybe I’ll tell my grandest one about dragons and the world Before.”

“I’ve already heard all your dragon stories,” Remy sighed. He wasn’t even angry. Bart had been around since before he could remember; he could pretty much predict what the old man was going to say in most situations. “I’ve been listening to you since I was five; there’s no story I haven’t heard before.”

“Oh, is that so?” Bart’s eyebrows bristled, and he drew himself up in his chair. “Then I suppose you know what happened when Duke Cloudwright’s youngest son found an injured dragon in a cave below his family estate?”

“He befriended the dragon, saved the king from a pirate attack, and became the first anointed sky knight,” Remy quoted automatically.

“Hmph.” Bart wrinkled his nose, deflating a bit in his chair. “All right, Mr. Know-It-All. If you think you’ve heard all my stories, then answer me this: What became of the True Dragons, and where are they now?”

“Extinct,” Remy said. “They’re in storybooks and legends, but nowhere else.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong.” Bart gave a grin of triumph. “See, boy, you don’t know as much as you think you do. This old man still has a few secrets up his sleeve.”

Remy shrugged. The tale of the True Dragons was one of those stories no one could ever agree on. They were supposedly the ancestors of the regular dragons, like how wolves were ancestors of domestic dogs. But unlike normal dragons, who were more akin to large, scaly horses, the True Dragons were said to be creatures capable of intelligent thought and speech. In some stories, they could also cast and use magic. In a few darker tellings, it was the True Dragons who brought about the cataclysm and the Undoing of the World. The one thing everyonecouldagree on, though, was that there were no True Dragons in the world anymore. And Remy didn’t feel like standing around listening to Bart tell a story he’d heard a dozen times before.

The doors of the tavern swung open, and loud voices echoed into the room. A group of pirates lurched through, laughing and shoving at each other. Remy jumped, tensing to dart behind the chair and hide, until he saw that it wasn’t the trio that had chased him that afternoon. Still, he took it as a sign that it was time to leave.

“I gotta go,” he told Bart, stepping away from the chair. “See you later. Try not to lose your lucky rabbit again; I’d hate to have to do this a second time.”

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