A Rebel, an Untamed One
“She’s a likely looking runner,” the Monopole commented, “I’ll raise you ten.”
“Don’t let the strong looks of her legs turn your brain upside down,” Mudpot replied. “She’s a Wood Cow—strong as you like, and looks to be fast, that’s for sure—but a rebel to the bone. She’ll be fighting the rope every step of the way. We’ll start with her, but mark my words—we’ll be replacing her before we make the Steep Crossing, and not because the Dragon’s get her either! This one’s a fighter like we’ve not seen in a long time. Them type’s get their freedom. You keep raising your bet and all you’re doing is giving me your money.” The Dragon Boss laughed. “So, come on, Colonel—raise me as you please!”
Colonel Snart considered the coin he was about to throw on the ground in front of Mudpot. As was their custom in the last few minutes before a Dragon Train left Norder Crossings on its passage to the Hedgelands, the Monopole and the Dragon Boss made bets about the likely fate of the various Tilk Duraow runners. Sometimes several runners were needed to complete the caravan passage to the Hedgelands—but now their attention was focused on the Wood Cow that Mudpot had selected to be the lead-off runner.
Mudpot, a jet black Weasel, was Boss of the Dragonwackers and a good judge of the runners condemned to lead the Dragon Trains. He had seen many a runner win freedom in the so-called ‘Feast or Freedom’ run—and many more end up as chow for the monitors. The Monopole, on the other hand, had never ridden a single mile with the Dragonwackers. The dirty, dangerous business of ‘running the Dragons’ repulsed him, although he liked the profits of the ‘tidy little trade’ as he called it.
“She can run like the wind,” the Monopole declared, throwing a coin on the cobblestone street before Mudpot. “A successful run of the Dragons requires speed, not obedience,” he continued. “It is your job to make sure she cannot escape. We are wagering on her speed and endurance, not your watchfulness and brains—if we were wagering on your care and intelligence, I would not be betting so much,” Colonel Snart laughed. “So long as you have her in a strong harness, so that she cannot break away, her only safety from the monitors is speed and endurance. She will be running for her life, not plotting an escape.”
So saying, he tossed another coin on the ground, casting a sarcastic grin in the direction of the beast being wrestled into a harness at the front of the monitor train. A crew of three burly Dragonwackers struggled to subdue and harness the thin and wiry Wood Cow. Groping for the harness fastenings, one of the Dragonwackers slipped on the muddy cobblestones and went down in a murky puddle. “FUUL! Cursi ya, Trash Cow!” the Dragonwacker yelled as he picked himself up, muddy water dripping from his leggings.
“Never mind the cursing,” Mudpot said, “it’s not words, but muscle that wins the day in this business.” Stepping forward, he added his force to the job of containing the wildly resisting beast. Taking a small key from his pocket, he locked the clasp that secured the chain harness.
“She’s powerful strong, that’s for sure,” Mudpot observed, returning to where Colonel Snart waited. “There’s no question about her endurance—but that gold-red sparkle in her eyes bears watching. She’s a rebel, an untamed one. She’s got more than speed. She’s got a will to break free—that’s what makes her a good runner. But it also puts the will of a demon in our midst. If she does not slip her harness or destroy us, this will be the fastest run of the dragons ever.”
“Speed is a risk,” the Monopole agreed, “but that cannot be helped. These infernal rains have put the caravan weeks behind. We will all be ruined—I will be ruined—if the monitor train does not make a fast crossing to the Hedgelands. The traders are like a pack of hounds at my back. If the caravan does not make the passage before the trallé traders have left, the Norder Crossings merchants will replace me as Monopole. Speed is a risk—but slowness is a bigger risk.”
Colonel Snart tossed a handful of coins at Mudpot’s feet. “There—that’s my wager on this runner, Mudpot,” he said. “My future as Monopole rides on the success of this run of the dragons. If I must bet my future and my fortune on the spirit of a demon, so be it.”
Mudpot bowed before the Monopole and scooped up the coins.
The key to a successful run of the dragons to the Hedgelands was speed. Once the monitor caravan was loaded and the monitors were fully awake again, the monitor train had to make the passage between Norder Crossings and the Hedgelands before the monitors grew ravenously hungry again. A skilled Dragon Boss knew precisely how to make the run to the Hedgelands with great speed. Mudpot was the best of them all. Stuff the monitors with shark, load while they dozed, then as they began to stir, set a swift—and tasty-smelling—runner at the front of the caravan. For the runners it was a chance to escape the fate of the slave works at Tilk Duraow. As the runner ran for life and freedom, the monitors raced after the scent of their next meal. The faster the runner, the faster the caravan traveled. If the runner was fast and strong enough to endure the grueling race, he or she might stay just ahead of the monitors all the way to the slave works and win freedom. Runners that faltered or stumbled became an impromptu snack for the monitors. A Dragon Boss wanted the fastest, strongest runner possible. A failed runner meant delay and other problems as the lead monitors snacked, and then turned sluggishly sleepy—while the rest grew dangerously restive. The delay could be even longer if replacement runners turned to “shakes and gibbers”—quivering piles of terrorized flesh unable to stand, let alone run. When “shakes and gibbers” struck it could hold up a Dragon Train for days while new runners were brought from Norder Crossings.