Brownian Motion
My overnight saviours identified, I set a portion of my hind brain to thinking about suitable rewards and encouragements and grabbed a stack of books on family law to read over breakfast. That is, I thought I grabbed a stack of books on family law – when I got back to my desk I realized that it was really one about divorce, two about trusts, one about corporate liability and an atlas of a plane called Erehwon. Obviously as well as rewards, I should be thinking about motivating my Brownies to do a little bit of library cataloguing work...
By noon I had read enough. Not necessarily enough to win the case – just enough to start my eyes crossing and my brains melting. I decided to stretch my wings. Perhaps a visit to the tree in question would make things clearer. Whether it would or not, it was a beautiful day, and a quick flight over the forest – followed by lunch in town – would certainly leave me feeling much happier.
Forest dwellers are not usually friendly towards large creatures who divide the world into “burnable” and “not burnable,” and who continually attempt to enlarge the former category. That is to say I was not expecting a friendly – better not use the word “warm” – welcome from anyone except my client. Fortunately among the documents she had provided were several maps and zoning plans that made the location of her tree quite clear. Or so I thought before I arrived, and discovered that most of the elegantly described landmarks were just trees to me.
Plan “B” was asking for directions. It only took one or two tries before I figured out that asking would have to be plan “C”, while catching someone to ask would be plan “B”. Then it seemed that asking might have to move to plan “D”, as keeping the creature I caught from fainting... umm... is it still just a faint if there’s no more heart beat?
Planning was obviously not getting me where I wanted. Perhaps a site visit would not be as useful as I had hoped. It also seemed that Ever would need to do far more public relations than my winning this case would provide if he really wanted the woodlands to send us clients. Mulling over the fragility of the local fauna, and my ecological virtue in not wasting a potential lunch, I flew back to the city to visit with the Bakers.
Sometime over the course of the morning, my hindbrain had provided the answers I wanted for thanking the Brownies. If they liked cookies, Matt and Flower Baker should be able to provide an assortment suitable for a feast. And I even had a client to bill it to!
Despite rumours to the contrary, a flying dragon cannot stop on a copper piece. The copper and the dragon may end up at the same spot, but that’s because we’re good at grabbing while flying by. Except in emergencies, any civilized dragon will resist the impulse to fly into town, knowing that there would be less of the town left by the time she had come to a full stop. Fortunately the firm paid for the upkeep of several stone landing pads just outside town, close enough for the walk to the Bakers’ shop to be a pleasant stroll.
I swore Matt to secrecy, casually reminding him of his file at our office and how quiet we had kept certain trading license matters. He seemed to understand. Then I explained about the Brownies. One of the things we like about Matt, along with his propensity for getting into expensive legal troubles, is that he is thoroughly modern for a human. He understands that his is not the only world, and that sentients have as many different tastes in what is good as they have flavours. Though I don’t suppose he would phrase it quite like that...
At any rate, he keeps a baking library almost as extensive as our law library. The Old Man’s sweet tooth ensured he brought almost as many cookbooks back from his travels as he brought law books. The arrival of a new book was always an occasion for Matt to invite the Old Man to sample the baking. Sure enough, after some thought, Matt dashed off to his shelves to bring back a copy of 101 Recipes Brownies Love. Checking my memory of my hoard, I suggested that he start with two recipes a day, two cookies each. And, of course, dragon-size that! He promised to have the first four cookies delivered before dinner. I thanked him, purchased a snack to tide over my next bit of research, and made my way back to the office.
The exercise had worked to revitalise my brains and I soon had an argument based on principles of unjust enrichment, trust, and trigonometry that I felt confident would win at court. Granted my confidence was no doubt also due to having noticed that Flash, the no good ex-husband, was being represented by Raven, Ravyn and Rayvn. If it had been one of the three Rs on the case, I would have been worried, but Robin had been a classmate, and I felt confident I could out argue him with one brain unconscious and the other reciting poetry.
I spent some time wandering my office moaning about the difficulties of working with an uncatalogued library. I didn’t want my Brownies to get bored once they’d finished with Spring Mulch’s files. The cookies arrived with dinner. I had no problem leaving them for the Brownies, as, fortunately, one had dried grapes and the other, a dark brown, had a strange decayed sugar smell. As long as chocolate did not show up in the Brownies’ top 101, the cookies would be safe. I made sure to leave lots of milk, and reminded myself to double my order for the next day.
All preparations made, robes laid out for Court the next morning, I marched off to sleep leaving the office to the Brownies.
It shouldn’t need saying at this point in my tale, but I am not a princess. Never have been, never want to be. I don’t sleep on six feather mattresses, and if I did, I wouldn’t feel an anvil under the bottom one much less a pea. I sleep on my hoard. Granted, it’s not as big as some, but that means it’s mostly coin and smoother than one of the big hoards full of crowns and chests and armour and things. When I was just a nestling, I sometimes slept on my father’s hoard – back when he was just Dad, not the Old Man. His hoard had more lumps and bumps and sharp poky bits than a princess’s bed has feathers, yet I always slept well curled under his wing. So why could I not find a comfortable spot on my hoard that night?
Sometime around the fifth time I woke up, I realized that it wasn’t that my body was uncomfortable, my brain was uncomfortable. It was chock full of what ifs, maybe nots, did I remembers, if onlys, and why mes; and they were all bouncing around creating such an unholy ruckus that there was no way I could sleep.
Giving up, I slipped up the back stairs and curled on the tower top blowing smoke rings at the moon. As the sun started to rise, I could feel the anxiety gradually give way to exhaustion. I couldn’t resist just closing my eyes for a minute...
The sun in my eyes disoriented me for a moment, although the noise that woke me was quite familiar. Rattle, the secretary that Ever and Happy set to mind me, was coming up the staircase in a truly foul mood. The rattling chains were normal, crashing pots and pans meant it was angry, breaking glass meant it was truly incensed, and the banshee-like wailing? I had not heard that before, but discretion suddenly seemed a good idea and I took the back stairs down at a barely controlled running tumble.
The sight of my robes hanging in the doorway reminded me that this was the day. My first trial would begin in ... quick glance at the sun ... about five minutes. I dashed into the cleaning room, flamed once to burn off any dirt, shook myself and dashed to get dressed. A panicked look around the office noted that the books I had left open on my desk were now closed, with tidy leather markers showing my pages, and bookstrapped together on top of the box of papers I needed. I grabbed the package in one claw and staggered up the main stairs, passing through Rattle midway up. That chilled me just enough that I could register a thankful thought in After’s direction for making sure that robes were designed so dragons could fly in them. At this point I would have leaped off the tower whether or not my wings were bound.
It must have been a nice morning, I could feel the warm thermals beckoning me to soar. The tower height was just perfect, though, for a power dive to bring me near to the roof of the Court house. Another thankful thought in After’s direction for the rooftop landing pad, designed especially so that dragon claws would not screech if we slid across the roof and thumped into the retaining wall. Not the most graceful of entrances, but I was there, and ... thank the gods, not late. I could just here the bell warning counsel to gather to enter the court.
