Shannon Costello

No intelligent monarch would dream of raising more than two children, unless he happens to be non-human, in which case the number of offspring is limited only by the number of available eyes to watch them, and to watch them like hawks. And so, when the Lord Royal Monarch found that the Lady Monarch had slyly born him four children (including 3 daughters!) instead of the two he had commanded, he bribed Croc the dragon to sink her pleasure yacht (with the Lady Monarch aboard, naturally). That was how Croc, who came from a line of rather poor dragons, became wealthy.

The source of the problem taken care of, the Lord Royal Monarch proceeded to have the two feistiest of his daughters placed in the care of a an old she-troll, who sold them for a fine price to the childless owners of two neighboring estates. And so Melonie Vintra and Lucreame B. Lethern grew up with the roots of monarchal jealousy and royal lust for power well-established. With such a background, how could one expect less?

In time the Lords of the estates died, leaving Melonie and Lucreame to fend for themselves and against each other.

The time in which our story takes place finds Melonie in possession of vast orchards of pink-striped melon trees, which, of course, bear pink-striped melons. The crowns of these melon trees more than anything resemble the red crown of a rooster. The short, stocky trunk splits several feet above the ground into 5, 7, or 11 thick branches all growing along the same plane, like the ribs of a lady’s fan or human fingers on a hand. The bark is yellow and scaly and difficult to glimpse through the masses of enormous shiny dark red, palmate leaves, which can grow to over four feet in length, effectively hiding the melons from view. The rind of the melon is unusually tough, with the color and texture of avocado. The melon takes its name from the sweet bright flesh of the melon, shot through with pale pink stripes. The fruit is prized for its distinctive appearance almost as much as its flavor, which is enjoyed by humans and animals alike.

Melonie’s burning ambition would not allow to her to settle for merely finishing with a hefty profit every year. Her experiments and competitive spirit had led her to introduce a new and very popular way to serve the pink-striped melon. When blended with wild-strawberry juice and crushed ice (no milk added, Melonie insisted on that), it made for a summertime treat that was accessible in price to the smaller landholders. What had begun as a fad was demonstrating staying power, the price of pink-striped melons was up, and Melonie was momentarily content.

Unfortunately, the price of Melonie’s content turned out to be Lucreame’s supreme envy and subsequent economic vengeance. Up until Melonie’s brainstorm, Lucreame B. Lethern had maintained a firm grip on the summertime dessert market with her higher-priced frozen blue stone-cow cream, made in assorted flavors. The Lethern estate was not quite as well-watered as the Vintra estate and was considerably less flat and so they had been forced to seek out other paths to prosperity. The result was the finest herd of blue stone-cows in the kingdom, ruled with iron hooves by the bull, Bg. Blue-stone cows are prized for their rich, creamy milk, which far surpasses the milk of any other bovine. They are not very common, however, because besides standing six feet at the shoulder, the cows are extremely skittish, sensitive animals. Caring for a herd of the bulky beasts is a full-time job. We can see them right now, lumbering peacefully about in the southeast field. Their milky-white hides are blotched with the blue smudges that give them their name. Their tails are tipped with the heavy black bristles that are prized in heavy-duty scrub brushes (Croc uses one for his yearly bath). A swipe from that tail can take out a herd dog or mark a herder for life.

Bg watches over them now from the top of a low hill. Nine feet tall at the shoulder, he towers above the cows. His massive head is topped off by a pair of shiny black horns, measuring 5 feet from point to point. He is eyeing one of the farm-hands, who is in turn eyeing the shovel propped up against a nearby stump. He wants the shovel and Bg is hoping he will try to get it. Bg snorts and shifts about. The farm hand sends his herd dog in, who yaps impudently at Bg, all the while keeping himself between Bg and the fence. Bg loses his cool and charges after the dog. By the time the dog squirms back under the fence (with plenty of room to spare), the farm hand is himself clambering over the fence, shovel safely in his grasp. Bg bellows angrily, his small eyes rolling and glaring. The cows chew tolerantly. They know Bg.

Melonie’s innate arrogance kept her from remembering that Lucreame would be certain to do something. It never occurred to her that Lucreame would dare carry battle to Melonie’s property. And so after the first attack she assumed the melon-hawks were wild. It was after her hawk-drivers were shut down and the fiasco with the dragon that the truth dawned on her completely. It happened this way.

Once her plot was laid, Lucreame wasted little time in converting an old barn into a melon-hawk roost. Melon hawks are creamy yellow birds whose sharp beaks and claws are made on purpose for tearing through the tough rinds of pink-striped melons. They are generally frightened off with hawk-drivers, large humanoid wooden structures whose “arms” are fitted with creaky windmills. The combination of motion and noise is very effective with melon-hawks, that is, if they are not a flock of semi-domesticated birds whose owner obligingly disables the hawk-drivers. Melonie did a fair amount of yelling and stomping the second time she found her drivers still as statues and more of her melons scattered in useless bits. The scent of rotting pink-striped melon was enough to drive her wild. The third time she hiked into the hills to hunt up Croc.

“You want me to…er…chase pigeons?” He drawled. He was sprawled out in the sunlight in front of his cave.

“Hawks! Not pigeons, hawks!” Melonie snapped. In the shadows, she heard Pinfeather clack his beak hungrily. In spite of his vulture-like, threatening appearance, magnified in a 30-foot plus slouch, he was generally rather dependant on others for food. As a very young bird, he had been captured and de-clawed, which hampered his hunting rather severely. He liked to hang around Croc, who was a messy enough eater to leave plenty of good sized chunks of meat. Unfortunately Croc did not eat nearly often enough for Pinfeather, who spent the two weeks between Croc’s meals scrounging about the countryside when Croc napped and dreaming of food, even while awake.

“I’m not looking for full-time work,” rumbled Croc.

“I don’t think it will take more than an hour or two. And I’ll pay in melons.”

Croc licked his lips, a wetter and longer process for your average dragon.

“One wagon load.” He said at last. “Delivered here within 24 hours of job completion.”

“A worthwhile investment,” Melonie stated, more to herself than to him. “Thanks, Croc. See you before dawn tomorrow. Southeast orchard.”

Croc yawned as she disappeared over the lip of the valley. The noisy exhalation sent spark flying, causing steam to rise from the surface of the lake.” Pinfeather watched gloomily. He didn’t care for melons.

Croc arrived alone well before dawn. Melonie placed him where he could snake his body around the largest trees, no small feat for a dragon his size. His head rested on the ground. Even then it’s scaly top was nearly up to the height of the melons. He did his job well. Melonie felt rage building in her as she noted the hawks rising high in the air from one of the Lethern barns. She ground her teeth in a fury. Lucreame! “Just you wait!” she snarled under her breath, so as not to warn the hawks.

Croc waited until the melon hawks had broken from their glide and were flapping in for a landing, greedy claws reaching for the melons. Then his ugly head reared up. The hawks shrieked in surprise, their wings beating the air as they sought to rise to safety. Most of them made if. One or two were turned to blackened, charred crisps, frozen in mid-air for a split second before they tumbled to the ground. Melonie thought she could sleep well picturing that. Then she heard the crackling of flames and her attention quickly shifted to the melon trees.

In the end, only one or two were thoroughly destroyed, but many more were damaged. Croc wasn’t much help of course. He wouldn’t even grant her a delay in her delivery. Dragons were sticklers for detail when it came to keeping bargains. Arguing really wasn’t an option. But first she was going after Lucreame.

She hurled over the fence and was halfway to the big house when she remembered Bg. Bg wasn’t used to persons casually visiting the southwest pasture shortly after dawn. Fortunately he was resting drowsily. It took him longer than usual to react, but react he did. Stones rattled and he snorted as he heaved himself to his feet. The noise did more than anything to remind Melonie of the mortal peril she had stumbled into. She froze momentarily. Lucreame laughed mockingly from the safety of the veranda. The herd dog was stretched out beside her, dozing. “I’ll get you for this,” Melonie bit out. With a final snort Bg was up. He shook his head and bellowed. Melonie fled to the safety of the orchard.

It was dusk as the wagon drew out of Croc’s valley, its rumbling finally obscuring the sound of Croc’s slurps and smackings. Pinfeather’s hulking shadow loomed up at the valley head, looking gloomier than usual. It hardly seemed polite to pass him without a word.

“Melons aren’t very filling,” she reminded him. “He’ll be hungry again soon.” Pinfeather sighed. His stomach gurgled loudly. He sighed again, shifting his big clawless feet. Her oxen shied away, trying not to look too obvious about it. One was favoring a front leg. Croc’s road didn’t need to be in good shape and the oxen suffered for it.

“I could take him off your hands for you,” Pinfeather offered without much hope.

“He’s fine. He will be fine. That’s not the big ox I’d like to feed yo- hey! Pinfeather!”

Pinfeather waited gloomily. Melonie was the type that liked her meat cooked. No good.
Melonie was talking. “Could you fly an ox over any kind of distance?”

“I’m not nursing your-“

“I know I know. But could you? If you had to- I mean if you wanted to?”

“Yeah. It’s not that. They’re just harder to kill without claws.” Thinking of fresh meat made him irritable.

Melonie paused. “What about something bigger…like, say, a blue-stone bull?”

“No difference to me.”

Melonie’s eyes glinted fiercely, triumphantly. “Would you do it for a price…say, a freshly slaughtered ox…all to yourself?” She had him there. Dragons thought a little farther than their stomachs, but Pinfeather was all about short-term investments. Melonie wanted him to ask Croc for good directions to the southeast Lethern pasture, but he seemed reluctant to tell Croc about his new job. Tired of sharing? Melonie thought about summertime dessert profits and didn’t blame him a bit.

The hard part was over…it didn’t take long at all to hammer out a deal. Pinfeather would swoop down on Bg at dawn and carry him off to the mountains. There was to be no killing. Lord Royal Monarchs really frowned on murder when other people did it, and blue-stone bulls were valuable. But Melonie thought she could deny all knowledge for the time it took Bg to figure out how to get home. She was itching with anticipation, and Pinfeather wasn’t any better. His beak clacked repeatedly in the dark.

“Until tomorrow,” Melonie repeated, and urged on the oxen.

Bg was grumpy and uneasy. Melonie could see his head tossing in the dawn’s early light. She climbed the fence. She and Bg locked eyes. She landed lightly on the ground. He lowered his head. She plucked a pink-striped melon seedling. Bg pawed the ground. She leaned casually on the fence. Bg lumbered forward a few steps. From the veranda, Lucreame urged him on.

Only Melonie saw the humongous shadow that was Pinfeather plunging through the bright morning sunlight. Only Melonie and the cows. The cows were frantic. They milled about tightly, lowing loudly to their calves. Bg paused, uncertain. Was something wrong? A shadow fell over him. He shook his head slowly, turning stupidly. The cows scattered, bawling. Pinfeather’s enormous clawless toes closed around the unsuspecting bull. Bg’s bellow of impotent rage and the sight of his flailing legs were enough to get Melonie smiling dreamily for months afterwards. Lucreame was hollering and frothing in rage long after Bg’s bellows were inaudible and even his silouette had faded from sight.

One of the smaller landowners 5 or 6 miles away stepped outside one morning to find Bg in his front yard. He lost little time in informing Lucreame. Blue-stones were expensive to feed and this one seemed particularly bad-tempered to boot.
Melonie knew the slaughterhouse price of the ox was well worth it. The Lethern blue-stone herd was terrified bone dry for over a week. The sight of any bird larger than a finch unnerved them so much that Lucreame had to dispose of the melon-hawks. And best of all, the total losses of pink-striped melons were just big enough to drive prices up over 60 dollars a crate.