The Outsorcerer's Apprentice Read Online Free

band, little kids throwing rose petals, bishop in a red dressing-gown, the full nine yards. I had to pretend I was already married before they let me go. And even then they gave me a bloody funny look. I think they’d probably been checking up beforehand.” He sighed. “That’s not right, if you ask me. Leaves a nasty sort of taste in your mouth, that sort of thing.”
    “You’ve got to be so careful,” the knight agreed.
    “Too right. You know, sometimes, for two pins I’d pack the whole thing in. Still,” he added thoughtfully, “nine shillings, in these hard times.”
    The knight sipped his beer, shuddered, and put the mug down on the floor. “What I want to know is—” He stopped, having realised what he’d just started to say. But there was no going back. “What I want to know is, where do all these dragons come from?”
    Bedevere looked at him. “You what?”
    “All these dragons.” The knight couldn’t remember when he’d felt so foolish. Still. “Think about it. How many have you had this month? Nine? Ten?”
    It was one of those things you simply didn’t ask. “Actually, twenty-six. Not, if you don’t mind my saying so, that it’s any of your—”
    “Sorry,” the knight said quickly (and he was thinking; twenty-
six
? At, say, three shillings a head? My
God
.) “You’ve got to admit, though, that’s a lot of dragons.”
    Bedevere shrugged. “Loads more where they came from.”
    “Exactly,” the knight said, “that’s my point. That’s a hell of a lot of dragons.”
    Bedevere sighed. “You’re not going to turn out to be one of those wretched tree-hugger types, are you? Because dragons are pests, they burn crops and eat sheep. They kill people, for crying out loud. If it wasn’t for us—”
    “Of course,” the knight said quickly, “I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. I just can’t help thinking—”
    “I can.” Bedevere stood up abruptly. “Good lord, is that the time? Think I’ll turn in. Nice bumping into you and all that. Cheerio.”
    After he’d gone, the knight sat alone for a long time, thinking; twenty-
six
. That’s three pounds nine shillings. That’s—
    He stood up, yawned and stretched. His earlier exertions, together with a long ride on an unsprung cart, were beginning to set hard, rather like slow-drying plaster. I’m getting too old for this, he thought. He was twenty-two.
    By the time he reached the wizard’s house, the night shifthad finished skinning and quartering the dragon; they’d hung the quarters on a great steel frame on little wheels, and the bronze doors were open so they could take it inside. Through the open doors Turquine caught a glimpse of a vast, high-ceilinged chamber, brilliantly lit, its walls and floor white as snow. It was filled with row upon row upon row of skinned dragon quarters on steel frames, hundreds, thousands, of them. A bitter chill from inside wafted over him, and he shivered. The night-shift foreman was marking one of the quarters with a stencil. He turned to Sir Turquine, and grinned.
    “You all right, mate?” he said.
    Turquine nodded. “That’s a lot of—”
    “Yeah, well.” The foreman shrugged. “You go on down the office, they’ll give you a blue form and a receipt. All right?”
    “Thanks,” Turquine said. He was peering over the foreman’s shoulder. Right at the back of the great white chamber, set into the furthest wall, he could see–what? A gateway? A portal? It was round, maybe fifty feet in diameter, surrounded with a sort of golden-brown frame that glistened and sparkled in the pure-white glare, as though studded with thousands of diamonds, though the hole in the middle was as black as soot. The men working inside had loaded a dozen racks of dragon quarters on to a crane, which swung across into the black hole in the centre of the portal; a moment later, the crane swung back again, empty.
    The foreman was looking at him. “All right?” he repeated.
    “What? Sorry.” Turquine got the