Jazz, Monster Collector in:
The Lizard Wears Black
season one, episode ten
RyFT Brand
Copyright 2014
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to
persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
JAZZ, Monster Collector
Season One: Earth’s Lament
RyFT Brand
Episode-10: The Lizard Wears Black
Part One
I was strolling up Angelglo Avenue, on yet another wild goose chase, or, in that instance, alleged dragon hunt. Even then I doubted there was much hope of collecting a bond—dragons were extraordinarily rare on Mirth. Still, I had a better chance of finding one of those than a goose. I especially doubted the source of my information, a goblin captive that I’d pried the information out of, but I was desperate. Lives, my friend’s lives, were hanging in the balance.
The sun was shining, the temperature was mild, and the air was fresh. Of course this was exactly how the magically controlled weather of Nittsburg always was, at least in the shopping district.
The crowds were out in force, sporting stupid grins, making mindless conversation, and, of course, shopping—totally playing into the farce. Nothing about Mirth’s gleaming human cities was, in fact, real, especially the shopping district. A few of the stores here were run by human hobbyists, dullards idling away their purposeless lives, little more than recreationalists of old Earth. Most stores though were staffed by deferred species, tamed and broken monsters, little more than slaves.
The humans spent lavishly because, as long as they followed the Peoples Conduct Codes, and who wouldn’t follow the codes as they were all in place to create a seeming human paradise, they would have all the credit discs they wanted, everyone here was rich beyond their wildest dreams.
Me, I was consistently broke. Yeah, I had trouble following the rules.
The Nittstropolitans gave me and my companions a wide birth. Most ignored us completely as they’d been trained to ignore anything off-color, but some gave us a dirty stare or a grumbled remark.
Ass hats.
We were way off color. Me, a woman decked out in padded, leather battle gear, helmet, gloves, knee-high plated boots, the rucksack with the tall antenna on my back, and armed to the teeth. Mickey was behind me and slightly to my left. Even on a dimensionally conjoined pair of planets with a massive monster population, Mickey stood out as unique. He was seven-feet tall, covered in brown hair, and had a dark skinned, ape-like face. He’d stuffed himself into a long trench coat and a slightly oversized fedora, apparently trying, and failing, to conceal himself. And one of this big foot’s big feet were artificial—he’d lost the original in a disagreement with yours truly and I wasn’t certain he wasn’t looking to take a little piece of me in exchange.
Beside the sasquatch, Parry, my secretary, scampered along, trying to keep up and failing to conceal his nervousness. He was short and slight for a man. I was surprised that he’d never had magical augmentation to match the ‘super model’ looks most Mirthlings sported. He was probably too pain sensitive and too scared to go through the process. Then again many Mirthlings were horrendously, glutinously fat—also a magical augmentation. There fat was a sign of social standing. The fatter the human the more pseudo power said human had. I say psudo power because this was all a lie, the vast wealth, the bountiful food, the eternally perfect weather. There was a force, an unseen authority, directing that whole wretched play and I’d dedicated this, second life of mine, to exposing that force and killing it if I could.
And, after all that time, I’d never been so close to…or so far from that goal. I had a lot to accomplish and not nearly enough time to accomplish it in. But before I could even start I had to make some money—a lot of money, and fast.
Mickey touched me on the shoulder and pointed.
I turned and nodded to my companions, an unspoken order for them to wait there, and entered the Dragon’s Den, one in a seemingly endless string of collectables, curiosities, nick-knacks, and other sellers of equally useless products. As I passed through the strings of ‘dragon scales’ hanging in the doorway, they made an unsettling tinkling sound and glittered in iridescent silver, bronze, and gold. They weren’t real dragon scales, dragons hadn’t been granted inter-dimensional bridge access for over two decades, and the only known dragons were members of the wizard’s council and hadn’t been seen in many years. Frankly they’d all but fallen into legend and were impossible to find.
Except for the female red I’d killed a two weeks back.
As soon as I entered a drac shopkeeper in a white lab-style coat came from around the counter. He was wearing a lizard-toothy grin on his long snout; his scaly fingers were knitted together and his protruding brow was high over his black, soulless eyes. “Yes, can I help you?” he hissed greedily. The only way that deferred species, aka monsters, could earn credit discs was by getting humans to give them to them, and competition between species was fierce. The dracs, lizards, were especially adept at prying the humans’ wallets open. Most said it was because of their natural hoarding instincts. I believe it was a combination of the piercing stare of their unblinking eyes and the hypnotic flick of their forked tongues.
Upon closer sight of me his brow dropped and his tongue slipped behind his scaly lips. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, his breathy voice hissed and slithered like a snake. “What do you want?”
He’d heard of me, so no need to give him a card. “Information.”
“I don’t have any. Go away.” To emphasize his disinterest he took to dusting off the dragon statuary with a rag.
I walked up and stared into his reptilian eyes, fortunately dracs weren’t very tall. “Not until you tell me where to find the greater black worm.”
A portion of his upper lip rose, exposing some of those needle-sharp fangs. Draconians had once been a mighty warrior race. Their natural armor, superior strength, and instinctive obligation to violence had made them a formidable army. But here, in the lingering peace after the inter-dimensional hostile takeover, or as I called it, war, the reptiles had gone into keeping shop.
They were tamed, but still dangerous.
But he was smart enough. He covered his teeth and expressed his feeling insulted by snorting through the huge nostrils at the end of his snout. Then he held a small figurine up in his claw, a caricature of a black dragon with exaggerated, puppy dog eyes that begged a child to hug him. Real black dragons would burn said child with acid then swallow them whole.
I took it and hurled it across the shop. It smashed against the wall.
He didn’t flinch; the cold-blooded species were well adept at keeping still. “I’ll send you the bill.”
“Were is he? Were are you holding services?”
He turned and dragged his tail back behind the counter. “There are no purebloods on this side of Mirth, they’re not permitted ID bridge access, you know that as well as we do human. Now get out before I call the enforcer corps.”
I could not be so easily dismissed.
I took one, big step and stomped a foot down on his thick tail.
“Ahhh!” he cried out. drac’s tails were sensitive…and detachable if he wasn’t careful.
Risking it he spun, slashing with his claws. I dodged back and all he cut was the air. I lunged, grabbed him by the collars and slammed him back into the rack of Essence of Dragon Oils, spilling vials onto the floor. Many of them broke on impact, filling the room with flowery scents. Much better than his cat-food b
reath.
Now I showed him my teeth. “I know you’ve set up church again, and that you’ve got a live one in the sagacity. I’ll give you two choices, tell me where he is now, or wish you had.”
Dracs were tough and strong, way stronger than any human. But their entire race was on special specieal probation. He wouldn’t dare act against me.
I felt the tension flow out of his body and he went dead weight in my hands.
Crap.
He hit me hard with both open claws. I sailed across the room like a sack of potatoes, hit the wall hard and crashed, thankfully, into a large container of plush dragons. If not for my body armor the strike would have broken my ribs and quite probably crushed my lungs. As it was it only hurt like hell.
I was seeing spots and having a little trouble drawing breath. I forced myself through the pain and got back on my feet, only to stare straight into the nozzle of a mini-pulse emitter. In its other claw the fiend brandished a long steel whip, a very dangerous weapon made up of linked steel buckles that ended in a