Demons Don’t Dream (27 page)

The snow stopped falling. The mist cleared up.

There was a snort. The dragon spied them!

"Get up to the ledge!" Dug cried.

They scrambled, leaving their last snowballs behind.

The dragon whomped toward them. But now there was a thick layer of snow on the ground, interfering with his navigation. He spun to the side and rolled tail over snoot. That gave the three of them time to make it to the ledge.

The dragon righted himself and blew out a thick stream of steam. The snow shrank nervously away from it. The dragon walked slowly toward the wall, melting snow before him. It was impressive.

Then Sherlock realized something. "The ramp! He can use it too!"

Oops! "We must knock it away, quickly," Dug said.

He and Sherlock sat on the edge of the ledge and kicked at the ramp, while Jenny hauled in the loose rope and coiled it. But the ramp was packed solid now, and gave way reluctantly. "We built too well," Sherlock said.

The dragon reached the base of the ramp. His steam melted the packed snow. He paused, considering. He was not all that stupid, it turned out. He aimed his steam upward, and started mounting the ramp.

Dug got out his club and whammed at the snow. But this too was ineffective, because he didn't dare swing hard enough to do real damage, for fear of hitting Sherlock. "Stand back," he cried. "I'll bash this out."

Sherlock got out of the way. Dug braced himself and swung a huge swing. The club bashed into the snow, caught—and jerked out of his hands.

"Oh, no!" Dug cried, diving for it. He got his hands on it, but overbalanced, falling onto the ramp himself. He scrambled to get back, but couldn't; instead he toppled off the ramp. He grabbed at it, but succeeded only in breaking his fall somewhat. He landed on his feet beside the ramp, holding the club.

Now he was in for it! One moment of carelessness had dumped him into the worst possible situation. He was pretty sure he couldn't fight the dragon; it would steam him before he got close enough to do any damage.

But maybe the dragon was too dull to realize what had happened. Maybe the creature would keep climbing the ramp and—

And what? Gobble up the other two people?

"Hey, steamsnoot!" Dug cried, waving his weapon.

The dragon spied him. He pondered again. Then he got smoothly off the ramp and advanced on Dug. He was not so dull as not to realize that the morsel on the ground was easier to nab than the two on the ledge.

Dug ran. In a moment he heard the dragon whomping after him. But again the snow interfered, and the dragon got fouled up in his own torso. It seemed that it required a delicate balance to whomp, and the snow prevented this. That gave Dug slightly more of a chance than otherwise.

Dug ran in a circle, pursued by the dragon, who had to melt a path ahead of him. Even so, he wasn't exactly slow. Dug looped back to the ramp and charged up it.

But the dragon whipped back on his tail, much faster. He had a cleared area where he had been. As Dug tried to cross to the ledge, the dragon whomped. His foresection sailed right up and came down across the ramp. His weight and mass knocked out a section of it.

Dug slid to a stop, almost falling on the dragon's back. The monster was already bringing his head sinuously back, ready to chomp him. Could he smite that snoot with his club? He lifted it in both hands—and the dragon sent a waft of steam and almost boiled him where he stood. Had he not still been protected by pillows, he could have been finished right then. Dug had to reverse and run back off the ramp.

Now the ramp was out, and he was trapped on the floor of the chasm. The dragon was getting steadily more savvy.

Well, could he fight after all? It seemed ridiculous to have the club and never even try to use it. If he timed the blasts of steam, so as to dodge them, then struck from the side—

He stood his ground as the dragon closed on him. He watched for the steam. The dragon inhaled, started to exhale, and Dug threw himself to the side.

But his foot slipped in the slushy snow, and he fell on his face. The blast of steam passed just over his back. The snow melted around him.

Dug scrambled up. He plunged to the side, trying to get into position for a strike. But the dragon's snoot was tracking him, and the dragon's torso was inhaling. Could he strike before the dragon's breath reversed and cooked him?

He tried. But the dragon's head dodged to the side and fired another hiss of steam at Dug's feet. Dug leaped clear, and the steam melted the snow where he had stood. He landed on his back in the snow, his club waving helplessly. Some hero he was turning out to be!

As he scrambled back to his feet, he saw that there was a hole in the ground where the snow had melted. It was just about big enough for a man to fall into. He was lucky he hadn't stepped there when it was covered by the snow.

He tried once more to bring his weapon into play. But this time the dragon's tail whipped around and stung his hand. He dropped the club and retreated, his hand smarting. He was having one close call after another!

It was no good trying to fight the dragon. He just wasn't cut out for it. He really didn't know how to use the club and was as likely to hurt himself as the enemy. He was probably better off without it. But the dragon was better coordinated than he was; he couldn't outmaneuver him. What could he do to escape?

Dug turned around and ran directly away from the dragon. But the dragon whomped after him with distressing vigor. Dug tried to dodge again, and slipped again. He sat up—and there was the dragon's snoot, right before his face.

The dragon's mouth slowly opened. Dug realized that he was done for. He had blundered all the way, made a thorough ass of himself, and now would be dispatched. He was disgusted. Why hadn't he used his brain to figure out some effective strategy, instead of just scrambling aimlessly through the snow?

His brain. Suddenly, in this seemingly hopeless situation, it was perking onto high. This was the game. There was always a way through. Maybe several ways. That hole in the ground—he might have crawled into that and escaped the dragon. Of course there might have been danger down there, like biting insects, ferocious rats or goblins. Maybe it was an escape he could have used if he had chosen Goody Goblin as Companion; Goody would have related to the other goblins and gotten him through. If he had taken Horace Centaur as Companion, he might have ridden away from the dragon; he doubted that whomping could match the speed of a gallop. If he had stayed with Grundy, the golem might have talked with the plants down here and gotten information where there was a secret passage through the wall or something. Marrow Bones the walking skeleton might have—well, he wasn't sure what Marrow might have done but there was surely something. But he wasn't with any of those; he was with Jenny Elf, whose little cat had been unable to find a way out, and in any event, he was now stuck here alone. So there might be many ways out, but he had managed to avoid them all and make his situation worse. Because after provoking Fracto into hiding them with the blizzard, he had stopped using his mind and just slogged ahead physically.

He saw now that the dragon knew it was the game. Those near misses with the steam had been intentional. Maybe getting confused by the blizzard had been an act too. In real life he would have been chomped immediately. The dragon had been giving him a chance to get away, if he only had me wit to figure it out. Now the dragon was pausing, giving him one more chance. He had to take it

He reached into his pocket and found the Germ of an Idea. He didn't need to put it to his forehead. He knew what to do with it in this punnish realm. "Dragon, beware!" he cried. "I've got a germ. If you chomp me, you'll get it"

The dragon hesitated. So it did understand his words! And it was cautious about a germ. Few predators cared to eat diseased prey. Probably the dragon knew it wasn't that kind of germ, but by the law of the pun he had to accept it. Dug had finally used his brain and found a way.

"Go ahead," he said, playing it for what it was worth as he got up. "Chomp me. Gobble up the germ. Maybe it won't hurt you." For sure it wouldn't hurt the dragon!

The dragon closed his mouth, considering. Then a thought percolated through. He aimed his snoot and inhaled. He was going to cook the prey, getting rid of the germ that way.

But now Dug was on his feet. He put them into gear and ran for the wall.

A jet of steam singed the snow beside him. Another close miss. "Thanks, dragon-breath!" Dug muttered. But he knew the dragon wouldn't miss too many more times; there were limits even to the game. He had to make good his escape now, or it would surely be never.

He touched the germ to his forehead as he ran. The idea came to him. "Jenny!" he called. "Let down the rope for me! Anchor it."

Jenny threw down one end of the rope, while Sherlock tied the other end to a crag. Dug reached it, grabbed it, and hauled up his legs just as another bolt of steam splashed against the wall where they had been. He handed himself up the rope, walking the wall with his feet. Rappelling, it was called, or something. And the dragon was letting him do it. Because it was an approved way to escape. Obviously in real life the dragon could have dispatched him instantly, but the game required that the Player be given every chance. It had surely been the same with the roc in the tall hassle tree forest. And the censor-ship. All he had to do was to learn to play the game right.

He made it to the ledge and heaved himself over. Just in time; his arms were starting to cramp from the unaccustomed exertion. No matter that this was just a game, and he wasn't really here, and his real body was sitting mesmerized by the stupid screen. He was into the spirit and sensation of it, and he felt what he was supposed to feel. Which at the moment was mostly joy, because now he understood what he needed to, to get wherever he was going. He had made the sensible decision to part company with Nada Naga, getting rid of a foolish distraction. Now he had made the decision to play the game right. After almost losing track and getting skunked.

He stood on the ledge and peered down at the dragon. The dragon peered up at him. Then the dragon winked.

But one thing nagged Dug's mind. He had been clumsy, even after making allowances. He had fallen almost right under the dragon's snoot. At that point he had made what should have been a fatal mistake, and paid the price for it Com-Pewter had shown no mercy on him when he lost the riddle contest. Why had the dragon been so much more generous?

He reviewed it in his mind, suspecting that there was some key element he had missed. Key elements were important here. They could apply to more than one situation, as had been the case with the germ. He wanted to fathom this one.

He had fallen down while trying to bash out the ramp, so the dragon could not reach the ledge. So then he was on the ground, and the dragon was mounting the ramp. The dragon was about to gobble up the two people trapped on the ledge. So Dug had cried out, attracting the dragon's attention to himself.

And there it was. He had, in the heat of the moment, acted selflessly. He had put himself in peril, to save his companions. No matter that the dragon wasn't really after them, because one was the Companion and the other was just a fellow traveler. Dug had done a generous thing. He must have earned a bonus point, and because of it the dragon had let him go, after a reasonable show.

Now he understood. So now he winked back at the dragon.

After which he turned around. "Let's see where we can go from here," he said. "I'm sure there's some way up. What does Sammy say?"

The little cat bounded up the snow steps the two had made, to the higher ledge. He knew where to go—now that they were past the dragon. The Companion could help, but the Player had to handle the main challenge. Okay.

And what would be the next challenge? He could find out "Jenny, what will we find south of the Gap Chasm?" he asked the elf girl as they followed the upper ledge to a hole in die cliff that now appeared.

"I'm not sure of the details, but I know there's quick sand and slow sand there," she said. "And the Gnobody Gnomes, and the Cow Boys and the Knock-Kneed Knights."

"Now, why do I have the feeling that those are not ordinary gnomes, or young men who herd cows?" Dug inquired rhetorically.

"The Cow Boys are bull-headed," she agreed. "And the Knights are empty. And there's also Com-Pewter somewhere in there."

Pewter! This was the one he had been waiting for. The rematch. Jenny Elf didn't realize that he had already encountered the evil machine, and had a score to settle. He should have known that his path would lead him there, because he could not win the game without nullifying whatever had balked him before.

So now he knew his next major challenge. This time he intended to be prepared. "Pewter," he murmured, "I'm going to kick your metal butt!"

Then he focused on their climb out of the chasm, because he had learned better than to ignore the details of the moment. Sammy Cat was leading the way, but there could still be complications. They were now in a wormlike tunnel wending upward, festooned with spider webbing. But the worm would have had to be the size of the diggle. Well, maybe it had been a diggle, who forgot to phase out when traveling, so left a hole in the ground. Just so long as it led them back to ground level.

Meanwhile, he would keep an eye out for anything that might enable him to handle Pewter. So that he could continue playing the game, and remain in Xanth.