A day in life of Lord Dragon – a Halloween Special

Baron Thornbush hated to have his meals interrupted. His servants certainly knew better than to bother him with questions or requests when food was on the table. That day he barely finished with the meat plate and picked up a spoon for the first course when the head steward quietly informed him that master’s presence was required at the entrance.

“What is it?” the baron demanded carefully setting his spoon aside. “Spill it out, man,” he commanded seeing the steward hesitate.

“I cannot properly answer, my Lord,” the steward bowed, “You’ll have to see for yourself.”

That was bloody inconvenient. The man certainly knew better than to interrupt his master’s repast. He still did this, so it must be something serious.

“Do I have to?” he grumbled, mostly rhetorically, casting a resigned glance at the cooling bowl of  soup. He didn’t even have chance to try it. Whatever it was, by the time he’d be back, the soup would be cold. Such a waste.

***

“What’s that we have here?” The baron reached the doors, and the sight had him genuinely perplexed.

He’d never seen such a sight. A bunch of kids, oldest in their low teens, youngest, maybe five or six. All of them dressed up…weirdly, was the only way that came to mind.

“Treat or treat, my Lord” the small boy in front asked pushing forward a basket that already contained some wrapped lumps inside. He was dressed in a  long robe with rope for belt, and a wide-brimmed hat. In his hand he had a staff.

“And who might you be?” the baron demanded frowning, anger rising. Was his meal interrupted for this?  Except, what was this?

“I’m a mage,” the boy declared and indeed, he did look like a mage of sort. A scruffy mage, with a fake beard askew, but still…

“And you?” He asked a trio of girls, still angry, still puzzled.

“We are maids!” the girls said in a broken chorus, with the smallest, hiding behind the other two, adding in an uncertain voice “Trick or Treat?”

“I’m a city guard,” supplied a boy with a pot on his heard and a long stick in hand, likely representing a spear. “I protect the maids!”

“And I’m his horse,” supplied another one. Since when did city guards have horses?

Dumbfounded by the bizarre situation, the baron cast a glance at the steward, demanding explanation.

“Your Lordship,” the steward whispered into his ear while two boys with capes and wooden swords informed them that they were Dragon knights. Also, apparently, protecting the maids

“There was a letter from the Lord telling that today is a popular holiday on his home world. He advised that dressed-up kids might be stopping by and asked the noble houses to help him make this a  safe and fun event. We’d been advised to provide treats,” and at his master’s incredulous look, the steward added weakly, “Otherwise, I suppose, it’d be tricks.  I’ve reported to your lordship, and your lordship told me to ‘deal with it.’”

Deal with it? Now the baron started to remember. It was several days ago and the letter was the last item on the morning agenda. Back then, his mind was already on the waiting lunch. The chef promised pan-seared pheasant stuffed with goat cheese medallions and garlic butter on the bed of grilled vegetables—leeks, asparagus, potatoes, carrots, red peppers, snap peas and corn spiced with rosemary and basil. The baron always hated vegetable mush and after the first time he tried grilled veggies at the palace reception, he immediately told the cooks ‘no more’. Grill it or leave it. He remembered now. It was a very satisfying meal. Just like the one that he was supposed to have right now. That, right away, soured the baron’s mood. Why would the steward interrupt his master’s meal for some little brats’ nonsense?

“Trick or treat, my Lord,” a girl dressed in a long black dress with a high black hat was now facing the baron. A black veil covered her face and black lace dripped at the dress’s hem,  throat, and cuffs, covering the hands. Her basket was equally black and also trimmed with black lace.

“And who might you be..?” He demanded frowning even harder and raised his hand ready to push this black-dressed gremlin and all her cohort off his steps—how did they even get past his guards? Where were the guards?

“I’m Death,” the girl explained showing a pair of large, brightly polished bronze shears, like those that a real Death supposedly uses to clip life threads of mortals. “And these are my dead,” she pointed at several kids, also in black and dripping with lace, and  trying very hard to look scary.

“They’ve been caught dead in lace, you know.” The girl supplied with a straight face, and something in the baron’s head clicked.

He knew this voice. He last heard it in the throne room, when the Lord was already leaving, with the Chosen on his hand and Maides at his heels.

“Kwe, Kwe, can we have pancakes for dinner?” the voice was asking, and a moment later, sulkily, “That’s so unfair! They are the yammiestiest!”

It was jarring back then to hear a common-born girl casually calling Lord Dragon by his first name. Only she may’ve started common. She wasn’t  so common anymore.

His hand froze. At the edge of torches-thrown light, he noticed, a young man with two women by his side. Looking over the kids like a proud parent. Noticing the baron’s look, the man nodded and smiled.

The baron recalled the stories from the Khanate battlefield. Charred corpses by the thousand burned by the Dragon’s fire. Hundreds killed in a single heartbeat, silently felled by the Lord’s otherworldly magic. Nobody harms what belongs to the Dragon. Tiger’s assassins burned to soot smears on the ground, and the enemy mage, reduced to squashed meat, that the guards collected with a shovel. Nobody lays a hand on the Dragon’s maiden. Try it and, and you don’t have hands anymore. Not a guess that. A fact.

Cold sweat beaded the baron’s brow. This girl was exactly who she claimed to be. Death. Literally. He had never been so close to death before.

“Good costume,” he heard himself saying. “Very realistic.”

“ I know,” the girl beamed and clicked her scissors. “Trick or treat, my Lord.”

Chills run down the baron’s spine, and for a second he felt the cold of an open grave. No tricks, please, no tricks… was the only thought running through his mind.

“We’ll go with treats,” the steward announced, and the baron had never been so happy to hear his servant’s voice. “There you go.”

Two smiling maids with trays in their hands started putting small packages—treats, he assumed—into the eagerly profited baskets. Thank the gods the steward was prepared.

Several minutes later the doors closed, and the baron leaned on the nearest wall, legs week, heart pounding at the nearness of the escape. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He should give the steward a big bonus…

***

“I never thought that baron Thornbush was such a great actor,” Lord Dragon was shaking his head in admiration. “He must really love kids.”

Kira, his Chosen, threaded her hand into his, and they followed Nora with her eager pack of maids, knights, wizards, and gods only knows whom into the next courtyard.