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  ‘But I don’t care to argue about it,’ the CyberQueen continued briskly. ‘Just give me back the treasure you stole from me, and I’ll get out of your face.’

  Count Orsini scowled. ‘I never stole anything from you. I won a dragon’s hoard, fair and square – with my friend’s help.’

  ‘And what does your friend say?’ The CyberQueen looked at Roberto, her voice becoming softer and more reasonable. ‘Do you think it’s fair? That it’s all right for Count Orsini to keep what he stole from me? You’re a kind soul, aren’t you? Even when you thought I was a dragon, you knew it wasn’t fair to slay me as I slept. It would have been a crime. And so is this. Your friend’s no better than a common thief.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Count Orsini erupted furiously. ‘And where did that treasure come from in the first place? If it’s not mine, it’s not yours, either. Are you going to tell me you didn’t steal it?’

  ‘The jewels I created myself,’ said the CyberQueen, with a toss of her head. ‘I dug them out of the earth – unpromising-looking chunks of rock they might seem to the human eye, but I could see their potential, and melted and fused and polished them into beauty with my scorching breath. It’s one of the things dragons do.’

  ‘And what about the gold coins? You’re not going to tell me you made those, too?’

  ‘The coins are troll-geld, which I won in a fair fight. They belong to me, not to you, thief.’

  ‘Taking a treasure hoard from a dragon is not usually accounted theft,’ said Roberto.

  ‘It is when the dragon is me! And I say that your friend is a common thief.’

  ‘If he is, then so am I,’ responded Roberto, while Orsini was still struggling to master his fury and compose a reply. ‘Because we shared it out between us. And why not? The treasure was in a cave, marked on a map. We thought it was for the taking. There was nothing to tell us otherwise. If you had laid claim to it when Count Orsini first arrived, if you had spoken to him as one reasonable being to another, instead of trying to kill him, then of course we would have left your treasure, and you, in peace.’

  (‘Well said, friend,’ Count Orsini whispered.)

  ‘You left me in peace, anyway,’ said the CyberQueen, her strange yellow eyes glittering through the mask’s eye-holes as she gazed speculatively at Roberto. ‘Your friend would have killed me – a common enough fate for a deadly serpent! – and proved himself a murderer as well as a thief. But you spared my life. I wonder why? What did you see when you looked down at the sleeping dragon? Was there something in my glittering coils, something in my sensuous shape, which attracted you?’

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ said Count Orsini coldly. ‘You’re a serpent who pretends to be a woman, not the other way around. You don’t deserve his mercy.’

  ‘Do you wish to challenge me, thief?’

  ‘We’re neither of us thieves, as I’ve told you,’ said Roberto, stepping between the two antagonists.

  ‘She knows full well, and she chooses to insult me in her lust for a fight,’ said Count Orsini. ‘Very well, dragon-lady. I won’t take your insults lying down. But you, I think, are better prepared for this fight you are so obviously seeking. Give me a little time. I propose our champions meet here on the village green, in full view of anyone who wishes to observe, on Saturday night.’

  ‘You’re free on Saturday night? My, what an exciting life you must lead,’ mocked the CyberQueen.

  ‘If that doesn’t suit you, give me a time that does,’ replied Count Orsini.

  ‘Saturday night suits me fine,’ said the CyberQueen. ‘Since you’ve named the time and place, it’s my privilege to choose the weapons.’

  (‘Damn her,’ Count Orsini whispered. ‘She’s planned it all; I don’t like it. How about you – are you free on Saturday night? Would you act as my second?’)

  (‘I’m honoured by your trust,’ Roberto whispered back. ‘Yes, of course I will.’)

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Count Orsini grimly. ‘Name your weapon.’

  ‘Bare hands, bare feet. The body is the only weapon.’

  ‘Both champions to be in human form,’ said Count Orsini.

  (The CyberQueen whispered to Roberto, ‘How about you, cuteness? Are you free on Saturday night? Want to be my date, honeybuns? I promise I’ll show you a good time!’)

  (Roberto whispered back, ‘No thank you.’)

  (CyberQueen: ‘Ahhhh … what’s he got that I haven’t? Maybe you’ll feel differently after I wipe the floor with him. Want to meet for a private chat in a few minutes?’)

  (Roberto: ‘No thank you.’)

  (CyberQueen: ‘Silly boy! The loss is all yours.’)

  CyberQueen sketched a mocking bow, and stepped back. ‘Until Saturday night. Au revoir – je reviens!’ The air around her began to shimmer, and then to shiver. Before their watching eyes her body seemed to melt, and then it re-formed as a dragon – a smallish one, this time, and with wings. As it rose off the ground it gave a sharp little belch of fire, and the top of a tree on the edge of the green burst into flame, fanned by the beating wings of the dragon as it flew away, quickly vanishing from sight.

  5 Sweet Music

  Making friends with Jennifer Banks seemed like a good idea. When she learned that Jennifer belonged to the drama club, Rose had arranged to meet up with her and go to the auditions on Wednesday.

  At least, that’s what Rose thought they’d arranged. As she stood by the main entrance after the crowds had gone, looking up hopefully every time someone passed, she wondered if she’d been misunderstood yet again. Despite the compliments she’d received on her accent, Rose found she was often obliged to repeat herself, speaking more slowly and loudly than came naturally. It was too embarrassing, always to be asking someone what they’d said. Maybe, in the noisy cafeteria, Jennifer hadn’t understood her suggestion, and had simply nodded and smiled to be polite.

  The hall was empty. It was obvious Jennifer wasn’t coming, for whatever reason. She’d just have to go along on her own, maybe see Jennifer there. Trying not to feel hurt, Rose set off briskly down the hall.

  Unfortunately, she’d forgotten the room number. As she turned the corner, she caught a distant strain of music, and followed her ears.

  Someone was singing in the auditorium. A sign had been propped against the double doors: AUDITIONS IN PROGRESS. Could this be the drama club?

  The voice was a tenor, achingly sweet. She didn’t recognize the song, but the beauty of it made her shiver. She wanted to hear it more clearly. She opened the door and went in.

  On the stage beside the piano stood Farren Wiles.

  Rose’s jaw dropped. Farren was so unprepossessing, so small, weedy and badly dressed. It seemed impossible that he could have such an angelic voice.

  When the song ended, there was silence. Then Farren grinned his gap-toothed grin, and there was murmuring and applause. Rose noticed then that there were thirty or forty students sitting in the front rows.

  ‘Thank you, Farren,’ said the teacher in charge, and Farren took two long steps to the edge of the stage and leaped off, his arms flailing wildly. A girl shrieked, and there was an outburst of laughter from the audience.

  The teacher held up his hands. ‘All right, all right, calm down. Farren, you do that again and you’re canned, voice or no voice. Comprende?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I read you, sir. I just forgot myself for a minute there, sir; thought I could fly on the wings of song, I guess.’

  Rose giggled. Some of the students were roaring. The teacher looked around as if for help, and caught sight of Rose. ‘You at the back,’ he called. ‘Come on down here and take a seat. You’re in the right place.’

  Rose wasn’t sure about that, but there was too much noise to argue, and, now that she had been seen, she couldn’t retreat without an explanation, so she walked down the centre aisle and took the end seat in the last empty row.

  ‘Olivia Mason, we’ll hear you next.’

  Olivia was wearing an ivory silk T-shirt and a short black ski
rt. Serene and self-possessed she walked in front of everyone up the steps to the stage, and handed a sheet of music to the pianist.

  After Farren’s performance, probably anyone would have been a disappointment, but Rose had to admit that, whatever Olivia’s other strengths, singing was not one of them. She could carry a tune – although some of the notes sounded rather flat – but her voice was rather weak; at its best it was only ordinary. Rose wondered if Olivia knew how she sounded.

  When she had finished there was a smattering of applause. Olivia looked uncertainly at the teacher. ‘Was that all right, Mr Timmins?’

  ‘That was just fine, Olivia.’ Mr Timmins looked at his list, then up and around. ‘Where’s that new girl?’

  Timidly, Rose put up her hand.

  ‘Yes, you. What’s your name?’

  ‘Rose Durcan.’

  ‘Well, Rose, let’s hear you sing.’

  ‘I … actually, I was looking for the drama auditions.’

  ‘Well, you’ve found your way to mixed chorus instead. Why not make the best of it?’

  Olivia, who had just descended from the stage, looked directly at her and smiled a teasing challenge. ‘Oh, go on. You’re bound to be better than me. If I’m not scared to sing in public …’

  This caused a ripple of laughter. Rose stood up. In fact, she enjoyed singing, although she seldom had an audience. And her grandmother would be pleased. ‘I don’t have any music with me,’ she said.

  ‘Well, have a word with Mr Miller. You should be able to come up with something that both of you know.’

  There was no time for nervousness. Rose marched up to the stage, accepted Mr Miller’s first suggestion, and positioned herself. She breathed in and out deeply, shutting her eyes, getting centred, and then she was ready. She gave herself up to the song, and nothing else mattered.

  When she was through, though, her legs were wobbly. She thought she understood why Farren had jumped off the stage: better just to take the big fall and get the uncertainty over with.

  ‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Mr Timmins. ‘Fill this out, would you? We’ll be making the selections over the next few days, and you’ll get a letter in your home room on Monday if you’ve been chosen.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She felt rather dazed. She turned to go up the aisle towards the door, and sensed someone fall into step beside her. It was Olivia.

  ‘You have a wonderful voice. You’re sure to make the selection. It’ll be good to have you in the chorus.’

  ‘Oh, thank you! You were good, too.’

  Olivia gave her a friendly smile. ‘I know I wasn’t, but I’ll get into the chorus anyway, for my second year, for the simple reason that my grandmother would raise hell if I didn’t. And we also serve who only stand and hum. We can’t all be soloists, like Farren.’

  ‘I’ve heard that your grandmother is very proud of your singing.’

  ‘I wish she’d stick to bragging about the things worth bragging about,’ said Olivia, making a face. ‘I assume you heard about that from your grandmother?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘Welcome to Duckett Green, where the grandmothers rule,’ said Olivia, and they both laughed.

  ‘Do you want a lift home?’ Olivia added. ‘I’ve got my car.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, but Gran’s picking me up in front of the school in about …’ Rose looked at her watch and grimaced. ‘Forty minutes.’

  ‘Why don’t you call her? Tell her I’m fetching you home. I’ve got a phone in my car.’

  ‘Well … are you sure? Wouldn’t it be out of your way? I’m staying out on Wishbone Creek.’

  ‘I know where you stay – you’re Maddy Simmons’ prodigal granddaughter. I don’t even need directions how to get there. If it was a bother, I wouldn’t be offering. I’ve got a new car, and I love to drive it. And it’ll give us a chance to talk. I’ve just been so curious about you since the moment you appeared in French class. Where did you get that accent?’

  ‘Actually, we lived in France for a couple of years …’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about your French accent, honey – ha, gotcha!’ Olivia laughed. ‘Come on, let’s go make that call.’

  *

  Orson watched Olivia follow the new girl out of the auditorium. He was disappointed that she wouldn’t hear him sing the song he’d especially chosen for her, but he was also intrigued. Had Olivia found a friend? For nearly a year he’d been observing her and she was a solitary figure. Without being snobbish or unfriendly, she was set a little apart from the other girls. Everyone knew her, but no one really did. He’d been watching with his usual devoted attention and had seen the way she looked at Rose. All of a sudden, he was curious about this Rose Durcan. What was it about her which had caught Olivia’s interest?

  After the auditions Orson walked home with Farren, who had waited for him. He asked Farren what he knew about Rose.

  ‘You’re in with a chance,’ said Farren instantly. ‘All you’ve got to do is ask her.’

  Orson drew himself up, offended. ‘Cut it out, man. I’m not interested. You should know.’

  ‘If you ain’t interested, why you asking?’

  ‘Simple curiosity. She’s not from around here, and Olivia was acting friendly towards her.’

  ‘And you got to know the reason for every move Olivia makes? Maybe her granny asked her to be nice to her old friend Maddy Simmons’ granddaughter.’

  ‘Oh, that’s who she is! Her Mom went away to college and married some English guy. I wonder what she thinks of us here, after living abroad?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself? Talk to her. Take her out Saturday night. I’ll bet you five dollars she wouldn’t say no if you asked her to go out with you.’

  Orson gave his friend a pained look. ‘Plenty of girls would go out with me if I asked them. That’s not my problem.’

  ‘I know what your problem is, man.’

  ‘I’m just not interested in anybody but Olivia, OK? It’s that simple. I can’t make myself be.’

  ‘No, but maybe Olivia would be more interested in you if it looked like somebody else was. If you were otherwise engaged, instead of always being on your own, looking at her with your doggy eyes, just waiting for her to whistle.’

  ‘No, man. It wouldn’t be fair to her – to Rose – to use her like that.’

  ‘Asking somebody to the pictures isn’t the same as promising never to look at another woman. If you think it’d be too intense, tell her it’s a group thing. I could meet you there, and …’ he paused, and then added, very casually, ‘and you could bring along one of your sisters. What do you say? Six flicks to choose from at the mall. Saturday night.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m busy Saturday night. I’ve got to fight a duel.’

  Farren was not, despite Orson’s efforts, a computer person. But he was still Orson’s best friend, and informed about Orson’s adventures in cyberspace.

  ‘Come in for a while?’ asked Orson.

  ‘I guess I’ll have to.’

  Passing through the kitchen, Orson snagged two cold cans of soda from the fridge and a giant-sized bag of corn-chips from the cupboard.

  ‘Hey, don’t eat too many of those; dinner’s in less than an hour,’ said his mother, setting a pot of water on the stove. ‘Farren, you’re welcome to stay; there’s plenty.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, but I have to go home soon – it’s my turn to cook tonight.’

  When they were in Orson’s room with the door closed Farren said, ‘So how do you decide who wins this duel? I mean, it sounds like one of our kids’ games of cowboys and Indians.’

  Orson remembered their childhood arguments about who or where an imaginary arrow or bullet had struck. ‘It’s not like that. If it was an ordinary role-playing game we’d roll dice. Instead, the computer does – but more effectively, because it figures in our relative strengths. Unfortunately, I don’t know her skill-levels, but they are probably pretty high; she wouldn’t have chosen unarmed combat unless she was a master. I
stayed up late last night trying to add to my experience points so I could increase my skill-level, but that’s pretty hopeless, really. My character is a big strong guy, and if I could get hold of the CyberQueen I could probably crush her, but she’s not likely to let me. I’ve got to think up some other way of avoiding ignominious defeat. Like magic. If I could think of a really good spell, and then bribe somebody into casting it on her …’

  ‘Is that allowed?’

  Orson rolled his eyes. ‘Illyria’s not a police state. Anything’s allowed, if you can figure out a way of doing it.’

  ‘No, but you must have rules and things. Like she got to choose the weapons. Couldn’t she have chosen magic spells? Presumably she won’t decide to turn into a dragon and fry you to a crisp with her breath?’

  ‘She wouldn’t be very popular if she did. But if I tried to pull some magic stunt on her first, I’m not sure how that would go over …’ Orson sighed unhappily. ‘I guess I should stick to the terms we agreed. And if that means Count Orsini gets both his arms and legs broken, I’ll just have to deal with it.’

  There was a knock at the door. Farren, who had been lounging on the floor, sprang to his feet. Orson gave him a look of mild surprise, did not move himself, and called out in a bored voice, ‘You may enter.’

  It was, as he’d expected, one of his sisters: Jennifer.

  ‘Can I borrow your French dictionary?’

  ‘Sure.’ He inclined his head in the direction of his desk. ‘Just there.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She looked at Farren, standing bolt upright as if at attention, and smiled at him. ‘Hi, Farren.’

  He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but didn’t say anything.

  Jennifer picked up the book and went out. ‘Thanks,’ she said again. ‘Bye, Farren.’

  Farren nodded, speechless. Orson looked at him speculatively. ‘When you suggested I should bring one of my sisters along to make up a group, was it by any chance my sister Jennifer you had in mind?’

  Farren sighed gustily, as if he’d been holding his breath, and sank in a heap on the floor like a deflated balloon.

  *

  ‘I’ve always wanted to meet you,’ said Olivia.