The Tears of a Dragon by Bryan Davis

Author:Bryan Davis
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780899571737
Publisher: Candle
Published: 2005-10-31T17:00:00+00:00

So let the shadows of the past fly away, for they are hopeless thoughts, dreams of addled minds, invisible playmates of street urchins. We are no longer children, nor are we foolish enough to entertain the oracles of fire.

A loud clap sounded from the rear of the store. Billy closed the book and stooped low, pulling Bonnie down with him. The squeak of door hinges ushered in an angry, female voice.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do just what I say. Report every word they speak to you, or I’ll run you out of town with the rest of the underborns.”

“Jasmine,” another female voice answered, “you should know by now that your fiery rhetoric is neither intimidating to my senses nor welcome in my establishment.”

“Mark my words,” Jasmine snapped back, “your rebellious tongue will someday dig your grave.”

The bell in the tower gonged, interrupting the quarrel. Billy laid the prophecy book on the shelf and tapped Bonnie’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.” Staying stooped, they sneaked to the entrance. Billy threw the door open and ran outside, checking to make sure Bonnie was following. With her long dress clutched in one hand, she bolted through the doorway and sprinted behind him.

They flew down the street, first backtracking toward Dorcas’s shop. Slowing to a furtive march as the eleventh and final gong sounded, they followed the directions to the theatre. After turning onto the side street, they came upon about ten people waiting in line for something, each one dressed in black. As Billy hesitated, a matronly lady with a gray bonnet joined the line, then a short, swarthy man wearing chaps and a shirt ripped on one shoulder.

“Think this is it?” Billy asked.

“It has to be.”

They walked past the waiting line and stepped up to the box office window. A sign on an adjacent wall read, “The Waiting Room. Doors open at noon; close at three.” Billy cupped his hands on either side of his eyes and peeked in through the cashier’s cage. Not a soul lurked inside the theatre lobby. Several empty chairs lined the walls near a set of double doors, probably the inner entrance to the seating area. On the wall, posters with yellowed paper and marred lettering advertised a play called “Witnesses” and another entitled “Of Things Unseen.” Next to a long table that looked like a food service counter, a pendulum clock on the wall read eleven thirteen.

Billy backed away from the window, then turned to Bonnie and muttered to himself. “Obviously there must be a caretaker. Someone has to wind the clock.” He studied the growing line of people, trying to read their expressions. Their somber faces revealed only grim resignation, neither sad nor mournful—faraway gazes, flat-lined lips, and pale complexions. No one said a word.

Billy walked to the front of the line where the old lady they had seen at the inn leaned on a knobby cane, her shoulders bent. A wrinkled face and scant wisps of gray hair told

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