Chapter 17: The Great Hatchling Adventure: Chasing Rumors
The hatchlings spent the rest of the morning ferrying messages to other merchants scattered throughout the Cloudsong’s huge central market, and dashed around that afternoon hoping for any information on the hatchling. But no word came in.
As the sun began to set Alistair closed the stall, packing away his wares into a locked chest beneath the table. He got up and stretched, before addressing the hatchlings, who were lying about in the shade behind his stall, exhausted from their day dashing about the market.
“I’m closing a little early today, how do you little ones feel about a trip through the Cloudsong?”
The hatchlings perked up instantly, excited.
They rode on Alistair’s back as he meandered through the thinning crowd, speaking to them over his shoulder about the wonderful festivals and customs of the land. The hatchlings were riveted. He stopped off more than once to chat to a food vendor, and before long the hatchlings were happily munching on all manner of delicious foods they’d never tried. Small cakes soaked in honey and spices, beetles that made their whole mouth as cold as ice, even a strange bubbly drink that turned their voices as high and squeaky as a mouse. Even booming Alistair sounded like a giant squeaky rodent, and the hatchlings laughed so hard they nearly fell off.
The Imperial took them on a walk over swaying bridges, by rippling sails and through winding alleys until at last they reached his home – a sturdy house of layered and lacquered bamboo. With a puff, he breathed his elemental magic at the sails overhanging the door. The pinwheel began to spin, lifting up the huge door up like a portcullis so the giant dragon could step inside. It was easy to see why, a door that large would block half the narrow street when opened if it were set on hinges.
Inside the house, which Alistair considered cosy and the hatchlings thought was massive, the air was warm, and smelled of scented candles. Large vats of wax and tallow sat by a workbench on one side, underneath a rope on which candles were strung up by the wicks. A fat pukasloth yawned lazily and sauntered over, flopping over to allow Alistair to rub its belly.
It wasn’t long before the hatchlings were fast asleep, sprawled out amongst a pile of cushions, the pukasloth snoozing alongside.
Alistair considered tossing the lot of them in a basket while he had the chance, and trying to get them home. In the end, he shrugged. They were as safe as he could make them right now, and though he was willing to bet that their own clan would be fretting madly, he did want to make sure this dragon they were searching for was safe too.
He mulled over Squish’s words, that eternal hatchlings were seen as a worthless burden at best, and a curse at the worst. He watched the adventurous little handful, wondering what they’d been through, to say such things, and to take such a huge risk to find a hatchling they’d only heard of. Feeling more than a little concerned, he curled up to go to sleep himself so that he might rise early and begin his information gathering again.
~
Morning came, and with it another day in the marketplace. Then another. The hatchlings were well into their third day and beginning to get very restless, and Alistair feared they would recklessly charge off to scour the Cloudsong themselves. Squish had suggested it more than once, but thankfully Adaubergine had coolly pointed out that this was the best plan they had.
“We have to move faster!” Squish had hissed at them, away from the ears of their Imperial friend “Noir will be racing off to tell our clan, you can count on it! If we don’t find a lead and move on, we’re going to get Brondelle chasing us through the market. Or worse! Magnolia!” The hatchlings shuddered at the idea of facing the notoriously hot-tempered Skydancer.
No information had come in yet, other than vague assertions of “oh I heard of that, once” and the like. One dragon had told one of the other vendors of an orphanage in the Viridian Labyrinth, but since this was most certainly Malia’s orphanage where they themselves had ended up, they elected not to tell Alistair, lest he use the information to contact their clan.
Eventually, all their efforts came to fruition.
“Alistair!” called Plumpkin, as the young snapper raced around the stall, barrelling into Squish and Awwberry and knocking the two into a tangle. “The fish seller, the Snapper! They talked to someone who’s heard of the hatchling!”
“What did they say?” Alistair asked, feeling hopeful.
“Uhh. Umm.” Plumpkin thought hard.
“They spoke to a Coatl who claimed to have heard of such a hatchling.” Adaubergine cut in matter-of-factly “They said that their cousin’s clan was home to a hatchling who never grew up. The fish merchant asked more information, and learned that the clan was a group of fabric dyers that live near the tail overhead a shop called The Dream Weavers.”
“So let’s go!” Squish yelled at him excitedly.
Alistair looked at the excited hatchlings, and knew there was no way they’d sit still for the 6 hours it took for the shop to close. “All right, all right. Give me a moment.” He said, and tried to shut up shop as best he could with the youngsters bouncing around him.
Half a days business lost would be a bite out of his grocery budget, but he could manage.
“Oh, by the way.” Adaubergine said quietly in his ear. “The fish merchant said to tell you that ‘information never comes free in The Cloudsong.” Apparently he had to pay 1000 treasure for the information, and he’s expecting you to cover it. He seemed to imply that a little extra for his trouble would be appreciated as well.”
Alistair took a deep breath and let it out very slowly and carefully.
@surfingpikachu @tigressrising @IntoTheWoods @Amehime
