The Dragon Griaule

Mind trash erupted from a shadowy place in Snow’s consciousness, like a gusher from a vent in the sea bottom, resolving into a silt of childlike prayers and wishes.

‘Calm yourself, my friend! It’s okay!’

If you fell far enough, Snow had heard, you would lose consciousness before the impact.

‘I know you don’t like it up here,’ said Jefe. ‘But I’ve got you, see? Try to relax.’

Jefe’s face was too close to read, only an ear and part of his cheek and neck visible. He had an arid scent, slightly acidic – like the smell of an alkali desert. Snow released breath with a shudder and closed his eyes again. The grinding of the chains gnawed at the outskirts of his reason.

‘Your advice strengthens me,’ said Jefe. ‘I value it greatly. I want you with me. This is a joke. A little joke I’m playing on Yara. Nothing more. Do you understand?’

Snow did not understand.

‘She deserves it, don’t you think? You were right about her.’

There were voices in the grinding noise, like those you hear in the humming of tires while resting your head against the window glass of a fast-moving car – hypnotic, hyper-resonant, trebly voices eerily reminiscent of Alvin and the Chipmunks, voices at once sinister and cheerful that sang a simple song advising him go with the flow, go with the flow, go with . . .

‘Look at me!’ said Jefe.

He pulled back, permitting Snow to see his entire face, a face composed so as to illustrate the quality of assurance, and then came close again. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. You’ve won.’

Snow couldn’t think of anything to say – he essayed a grin, but wasn’t sure he had pulled it off.

‘We haven’t had much chance to talk,’ said Jefe. ‘That’s my fault. I apologize. When I found you in the village I assumed you were a spy. I very nearly killed you the first night. But over the past days I’ve come to appreciate your insights into my situation. Others might say fate brought you to me, but someone like myself shapes his own fate. I must have sensed you and called you to my side, so you could give voice to what I know in my heart.’

He removed his hand from Snow’s throat and patted his cheek. Snow felt the pull of the gulf below and tried to sink into the wall.

‘I’m an intuitive sort,’ Jefe said. ‘I know you can help me access the portion of my life that’s closed off. I think I knew that the instant I first saw you, but I understand now that you were afraid. That’s why you refused me. You needed time to adjust, to acclimate to my presence. I tend to forget the effect I have on people. I can’t always be expected to notice it. Obviously I don’t have the same effect on myself.’

Snow would have preferred to tune him out and concentrate on his footing, but Jefe kept on bellowing nonsense into his ear, inducing him to listen. He had the cogent, albeit somewhat hysterical thought that he might have been onto something when he berated Yara after Enrique Bazan’s visit – maybe when translated into human form dragons were reduced to prattling twits with superhuman powers, yet once returned to their natural state they expanded into their bodies and became the mysterious cosmic beasts of legend. Or not. Maybe they were assholes, whatever their shape.

Jefe gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek, a move that made Snow cringe. ‘We’ve been up here long enough,’ he said. ‘We can talk more later. Let’s go down, shall we? Let’s finish the joke. Yara will be surprised to learn she has lost. We’ll show the bitch, won’t we?’

Snow had a presentiment of what was about to occur, but the idea that he might be carried down from the wall swept all else aside.