“Is there any tenderness around here?” she asked.
“That’s a goddamn armoured scale, Gledna. I can’t feel shit,” I growled.
“Parthenogenesis. It’s like a self-fertilising egg. Common among insects, some plants, and dragons,” Kat added helpfully. “Maybe try probing his nethers?”
A new theory for the brown finger presented itself, and I was not willing to risk it. A tail swung round and swatted Gledna away from my draconic delicates.
“It would be easier if you just let me use magic,” the witch grumbled, picking herself back up.
“I do not want to leave a snail-trail behind me for the next week. No magic! So what you’re saying is the system forcibly impregnated me? I feel… violated.”
“You picked the evolution. It’s a one-off, so don’t worry, you’re still a manly man-dragon. You’re just going to be a mummy as well!” Kat failed to suppress a giggle, and it erupted like a high-pitched belch. “I foresee one hell of a bowel movement for you in a couple of months.”
“I’m not ready to be a parent!” My tails flicked out and curled around my hoard for reassurance. “I’m not exactly nurturing!”
“Dragons don’t do that anyway. Lizard-brains don’t really allow for much affection; that’s mammal stuff,” Gledna offered. I glared at her.
“When did you become so knowledgeable?” I muttered.
“I just know things,” she said defensively.
“But you’re an idiot,” I replied, not unkindly. Well, as kindly as you can be when saying something like that.
“I can see my skills aren’t required here. Good luck with the birth,” she hissed, then stalked towards the hatch, disappearing into the dungeon below.
“That was uncalled for,” Kat said.
“But she bloody is! Can’t cook, can heal a little if you don’t mind oozing for a week. Last time I got back to the lair, she was sealed up in Luckdire’s suite with some others, and they–”
“I think you ought to leave bullying the minions to me, Bob. It’s not a good look.” Kat crossed her arms and glared up at me.
“Why? A sexy teacher outfit makes it all better?” I deflated, sagging down onto my treasure. “What the hell am I going to do, Kat?”
“Look, focus on staying calm. Take deep breaths and relax. You need to think about the baby!” she burst into laughter again, and I glared at her. “I’m sorry, I swear it’s out of my system now. Well, maybe I’ve got a few more, but I can keep a lid on it for now… This is pretty normal for a dragon, Bob. Before you start freaking out again–” she raised both hands to forestall an anguished outburst from me, “–think back to how you hatched.”
“It was a pain in the cloaca,” I grumbled, remembering the epic battle against my shell and the subsequent couple of days. I wriggled myself deeper into my beautiful pile of golden– “Shit! The little bastard is going to want to inherit my hoard!”
“Hardly. You hatched alone, didn’t you?” she replied soothingly.
“Yeah. Except for you.”
“I was a bonus, a highly under-appreciated one, I might add. Most dragons just hatch alone and make do. You guys don’t do the happy family thing.”
“So I just find a suitable place, drop the egg, leave it a couple of grand as a starter hoard, and bugger off? That seems… irresponsible?”
“Right now, there is a soul winging its way through the Ether, likely hand-picked by some low-ranked member of the WOO, to take over that body you’re gestating. It will be born with an adult mind, at least.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better. Jesus, if I didn’t have you–”
“You’d have died. But you had the Dungeon to get started, as well as your mental handicap. The baby-scale-brain won’t. And people who end up as dragons… are often a bit odd to start with.”
“No offence taken,” I muttered unhappily.
“Look, it’s a long time off. A couple more months before you lay your egg–” she snorted, “–then at least six months before it hatches. You just need to find a good spot for it in the meantime, then your job is done.”
“Am I going to get fat?” I wondered.
“No, Bob. For Tribulation’s sake, you’ll feel full because your internal organs will get moved about a bit to accommodate your widdle baybee, but the outside is bloody armour and doesn’t have much give in it. Draconic vanity is really strange. To most people, you’re a flying tank that breathes fire and eats virgins, but you think you’re pretty!”
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“I am pretty! Well, handsome,” I corrected quickly.
“Sure you are, gorgeous. Just chill out about the egg. Honestly, draconic parenting seems ideally suited to you. Dump and run.”
“I should try to find the Titans of the Skies. The TOTS will know what to do,” I said softly as a plan came together. “The dwarves seem to know all about them.”
“Sure, but they’ll just say the same things I have. Maybe stick a pin in that idea for a while? You don’t know what you’re getting into with that lot,” Kat said, sitting down cross-legged on the cavern floor.
“But you do. Why not just tell me?” I asked.
“Where’s the fun in that, Bob? I’m not a bloody wiki you can just demand information from. I’m more accurate than most wikis for a start.”
“So you’re only sixty percent wrong?” I snorted. “Can I still evolve while I’m, er, carrying?” I needed to get some levels, preferably with Increase Mass as an option. The Arena loomed in my future, and they didn’t do half measures. It was fight or die.
“Of course you can. All it means is that your biomass will deplete at a faster rate, seeing as you’re eating for two now!” I glared at her, and she smirked back up at me.
“Speaking of eating, we’ve got fifty dwarven miners arriving next week.”
I wouldn’t recommend eating dwarves. They’re gritty.”
“I wasn’t planning to. Do we have anywhere for them to sleep, and what the hell do dwarves eat?” I asked.
“The arachnoshroom meat from the combat floors should cover most of their basic needs. Meat and mushrooms, and ale and liquor. That’s what dwarves live on. Considering their diet, it’s a miracle they live as long as they do,” Kat said. “We’ve got space for them, and work to do. What are you going to do next?”
“Get an evolution, then go pay the Cod a visit. How are the council doing?” I asked.
“They bicker and argue and don’t get anything meaningful done? They’re fine. Mrs Hatrik keeps them on an even keel. Most of the important stuff gets passed to me, for your stamp of approval.”
“Anything pending?” I raised a scaled eyebrow.
“There is an emissary from Viscount Von Kolben staying at the pub.”
“How the hell did he get here that fast?” I wondered.
“She. And Esme is not a fan of hers. Plus, the new inquaestor has arrived. He… doesn’t know about me.” She glanced away sheepishly.
“What? He doesn’t know you’re running the dungeon?”
“He knows my name, and he knows I run your affairs. He doesn’t know about…” She waved a hand over her tiny stripper costume.
“Your inability to dress appropriately?” I smirked. Yeah, it was my fault, but earlier she had been a lot less sympathetic than a dragon in my condition deserved.
“That I’m a pixie, you baby factory!” she snapped.
“Easy! No need for that kind of talk!” Long fangs shone as I grinned down at her. “So you’re a greasy eminence.”
“A– Bob, do you mean an eminence grise?”
“Something like that.”
“While pixies are apparently tolerated as go-betweens for certain illicit activities, they certainly aren’t allowed to hold important positions. And I’m not even a proper pixie anyway! It’s bloody unfair.”
“This is my land, right?”
“Yes, Bob,” she replied tiredly.
“And I say it’s fine. Is it… Bellend? Why do I think his name is bellend?”
“Light Invincible.”
“I hope I’m a better parent than whichever bastard looked down and thought ‘Yeah, Defiant Beligerence is a cute name’–” my foreclaws clamped down over my mouth. I didn’t want to be any kind of parent!
“Thanks for trying to cheer me up, Bob. It’s Light Invincible, not belligerence, but he fits that description.” I had not, in fact, been trying to cheer her up. “The Inqaesition is not an organisation you can ride roughshod over, scaly. You need to tread carefully with him.”
“Gotcha.” I would likely choose to ignore this promise in the near future. “I’m gonna roll a level and see what I get.”
Biomass stored:
357.2 KG
Biomass required for evolution: 240 KG
Rolling for evolution choices…
Please select from the following six options:
-
Increase Mass
-
…
I didn’t even wait to see the rest. I slammed that option with my mind and wriggled about in discomfort as my body grew and shifted. A glance behind told me I was now pushing thirty feet long, maybe a bit more. Tails flicked out to gather up the spilt coins and return them to the hoard where they belonged. Nice and tidy.
“Got what you wanted?” Kat asked. I had thought she’d wandered off while I squirmed in pain.
“Yep. Now, you have my permission to take reasonable sums from the hoard to expand the dungeon. More combat floors, more mining and refining facilities. We need to massively step up production of the cyberbunnies. We’ll need them for the war.”
“I thought the civil war was only a possibility?” she asked archly.
“I may have been leaning towards optimism on that particular issue.” A dragon cannot be shamefaced, so therefore I was not.
“Ok. I can hire some more fighters as well, expand the Bonkers. Maybe give Salnia and Harold their own teams.” She cupped a hand under her chin thoughtfully. “Simeon is going to be busy getting the new mod doc up to speed.”
“I said get a couple of them!” I complained, rising from my shiny mattress and climbing down to the rock floor. Kat jumped backwards to avoid the minor tidal wave of precious metal.
“They aren’t bloody commonplace, Bob. Mod docs are rare and highly valued by their tribes. They need to be in serious trouble to get put up for hire.”
“Well, keep looking. I think… I think we’ll need them. I’m going to go check on the Mill. I need a haircut.” She gave me a flat look. “When I’m a human, of course!” I snapped.
“Can’t you just control how long your hair is when you shapeshift?”
“It never looks right.”
“But every time you shift from one form to the other, you have to recreate the other form. So you are always doing that.” Smugness filled the air.
“I just want to look nice, ok? And besides, the best way to get the gossip is to chat with the hairdresser. Everyone knows that. Moredchai is the best chap to go to to get caught up on the goings on.”
“It’s sweet that you believe that. Go on then, go get a trim.” Her smile suggested it wouldn’t be as straightforward as I hoped. “I’ll get started on the dungeon. I assume you won’t be abandoning your responsibilities and buggering off for weeks at a time in the very near future?” she asked sweetly.
“No promises. We need to move on to Longbottom next, assuming the Mill is fine. I’ll be back in the morning.”
I spread my wings as I fell forward out of the lair, turning my neck briefly to catch a last glimpse of my new mountain of gold. Damn, it felt good to be a dragon. Despite my immaculate conception, and the myriad other things pulling me back and forth. A quick trim followed by an evening with Esme in the very expensive outfit she had asked for beckoned.
What could possibly go wrong?