Good Luck, Bad Luck Read online

  _______________________________

  JENNI WARD

  _______________________________

  GOOD LUCK,

  BAD LUCK

  _______________________________

  MIRAWORTH BOOKS

  First published in 2020

  by Miraworth Books

  ABN 44 964 848 123

  Copyright © Jenni Ward 2020

  The right of Jenni Ward to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  MIRAWORTH BOOKS

  PO Box 3523, Mount Gambier, SA 5290, Australia

  Cover design by Maria Spada Designs

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Dedication

  FOR MY CHILDREN

  Never stop believing

  in yourself.

  Dreams are as important

  as goals are.

  Chapter 1

  After lighting the fire, Mary stretched her white hands out towards the small flickering flames that began to dance inside the blackened, stone fireplace. Despite its long sleeves and ankle-length hem, her thin, brown, cotton dress offered little protection from the cold. Her home, the book building, had high ceilings and thick stone walls that made it almost impossible to thoroughly heat the space.

  A well-worn tapestry chair sat near the fireplace next to a small walnut side table with legs carved into the shapes of dragons soaring up into the sky. Sitting down, Mary picked up the book on the table and ran her finger along the spine. As a child, Mary had hated dragons, maybe even more than anyone else in the village, since she had lost her entire family the night the books were to be burned. Her opinion had changed with the discovery of the book she now held in her hands, the book that had been tightly wedged into the corner at the far end of a very tall shelf, titled: Dragons.

  When Mary had first found the book and tugged it from its home, Yansa had warned her, “There are some books best left unread. A little knowledge can be uplifting and refreshing but too much can be the bearer of many consequences.” Mary had listened–that time–and replaced the book, conceding that Yansa’s knowledge far exceeded her own, and she feared misreading, or misinterpreting, important information.

  She had ignored the book as best she could, but the book seemed to call her to it, especially after Yansa passed away. Finally, she dismissed the book-keeper’s advice and began reading it. It had been difficult; the book was over three hundred years old. The pages were stuck together along the edge, the ink smeared from the moisture that had seeped in from the exposed edges.

  Dragons, Mary learned early on, were not easy to identify. The dragon blood didn’t run in families but appeared to be a random phenomenon, unlike sorcerers who inherited their powers from parents. On the pages of the book though she found a series of calculations that could be made about a village, such as the size, number of people, and the crops that nourished them all, that could predict a dragon’s arrival in a village. By following the formula, Mary had her lucky number: fifteen. To save and be bound to a dragon would be her way out of the village and finally give her the good luck she craved.

  Voices outside stirred her attention, and Mary allowed a smile to play on her lips; her new life was about to begin. In silence, she closed her eyes, thanking whatever higher powers existed in the world. Standing up, Mary smoothed the creases of her dress, checked her snood still tamed her hair so it looked passable, and headed to the passage room to get her shawl.

  Walking outside, the cool evening air lingered, and Mary pulled the shawl tight around her shoulders. The villagers’ torches lit the scene with flickering indecision. Near the village centre, Mary saw that a large crowd had already gathered around Prater.

  Prater’s tall stature and solid build made him an imposing figure as he sat astride the cream-coloured mare, flicking the excess of the well-used rope back and forth over his hand. His face, framed with short black hair, intensified the shadowy colouring of his eyes as they watched the crowd. His light brown skin, the only trait he had inherited from his mother, set him apart from the villagers. The horse’s right hoof pawed at the ground while her head jerked up and down as the crowd pressed in.

  Mary moved closer to get a better look at the man at the other end of the rope, the man who would change her life. Her soft leather-soled shoes moved over the dirt until she stood amongst the other villagers. All around her whispered comments were shared and agreed to with a nod of the head.

  “This is the creature responsible for our bad luck. The failing crops. The dead cattle. He will pay and we will all be better off,” Prater’s voice cut through the whispering, and the villagers became silent.

  “It’s not...” the faint whisper of a hoarse voice started but was cut short by a fierce tug on the rope.

  From her new vantage point, Mary could see him lying on his stomach. His clothing was in a deplorable state of tatters with one sleeve missing from his shirt and a tear up to his knee on the right leg of his pants. His face was badly swollen and covered in a splatter of blood mixed with the dirt. In the firelight, thick gold cuffs glistened on his wrists, in stark comparison to the grime that coated his clothes and skin. Mary’s cherished book had said nothing of gold, but other books indicated it as being the one thing that could bind a dragon in its human form.

  Prater continued his speech about how the dragon would hang at sunrise, but Mary was no longer listening. Her attention was fully on the dragon and she wished for him to look up at her, to see a friendly face, but he did not. To him she was just another person in the crowd, another person calling out for blood and death.

  As Prater dismounted, two of his men hurried forward and took the rope knowing the routine well. Together, the men dragged the passive prisoner to the cells. Villagers dispersed, and Mary returned home. Her one chance to set things in motion neared, and she wasn’t going to let it pass or leave anything to chance.

  Upstairs, Mary collected bread and water from the food cupboard in her bedchamber. When Yansa had taken her in, the hidden room and the tunnels that led away from it had been hers to use and explore, but after he died, she had moved into the bedchamber. At first, she had found the larger space odd but over time became accustomed to it.

  With the food in a basket, she checked her appearance in the reflection board that hung on the wall opposite the little window above her bed. Mary observed her dress had a smear of dirt near the collar and that wouldn’t do; she changed into a clean dress identical to the one she had removed. Finally, Mary felt that she looked presentable enough
for this meeting, and she headed for the detention building.

  Smaller than her home, the detention building had only two rooms: the entrance where Prater’s desk and chair sat, and the cell where Prater’s victims were held. Going into that cell meant the person’s fate had been sealed–this thought passed through Mary’s mind as she approached the slightly ajar wooden door. She deliberated about knocking, but as she heard no chatter inside decided against it–a quiet building indicated that Prater could be elsewhere, leaving a solitary guard on duty–and pushed the door open.

  The guard, Delwyn, scrambled up from his seat when Mary entered. Short and a few years her junior, he hardly appeared suitable to be a guard, but he did follow orders well. She gazed past him, eyeing the large golden door; all that stood between her, the dragon, and her new life.

  “That’s far enough, Mary,” Delwyn’s voice sounded commanding but his boyish looks made less than the desired impression.

  “I’ve brought food and water,” Mary replied gently with a soft smile on her face.

  “He’ll be dead at sunrise so why should we bother feeding him?”

  Mary flinched at Prater’s voice. Turning to face him, she hurriedly brainstormed suitable reasons to justify bringing the food and water. Prater sat casually leaning back into his chair with his feet on the table, watching Mary with curiosity.

  At length, she replied, “True, Master Prater, but if he is fed then he can hold nothing against you or our village.”

  Mary could see Prater thinking over the idea as she managed a half-smile. She found keeping her emotions in check more difficult than she anticipated and fidgeted with the handle of the basket. Even as she stood there, his eyes never left her.

  “You’ve never bothered to bring food and water before Mary – why this time?”

  Good question, Mary thought and broke her eye contact with him. Whatever reason she provided, it would need to be good.

  “Delwyn,” Prater nodded his head towards the door, and Delwyn dutifully left, closing the door behind him. “Tell me, Mary, why this time?”

  “I...I...” Mary wanted to kick herself for stammering. It made her sound like she was lying, which she was, but that wasn’t the point. “I read something...in a book...about this particular dragon...”

  Prater’s feet abandoned the table and met the floor with a thud that caused Mary’s eyes to jump back to his face. Mary’s own feet were anxious to tap, shuffle – to do anything other than remain in one place.

  “What about this dragon, Mary?” Prater leaned forward, his hands folded in front of his body as his elbows rested on the empty desk. The light of the candle cast shadows across his face, making his eyes sink back and his cheeks look hollow like the dead.

  “He...he...he is different, Master.” Mary looked at the basket on her arm. “He will bring bad luck if we do not treat him well before...before...”

  “...before he swings from the hanging tree?” he finished for her.

  Prater looked away from Mary, and she sighed with relief at the freedom from his gaze. His fingers moved in rhythmic order as she waited for his considered response.

  “So, this dragon is more powerful...more valuable even...than the ones who I’ve dealt with before?”

  “Yes.” Mary paused for a moment, memories of that night flooding her mind before she added, “Yes, he will do more harm than what they did on the night of the burning.”

  Prater’s eyebrows rose before returning to their former position. “More harm? And by feeding him this village will avoid retaliation?”

  “The book did not say, Master. It just said that the dragon should be treated well before...before leaving this life.”

  Mary didn’t think what she had said was overly convincing – not that she was known to be a liar or even a gossip in the village, but still she wasn’t sure that Prater would believe her. She consoled herself with the thought that he couldn’t read so at least he wouldn’t be able to refute what she said.

  “I don’t wish to bring such harm on this village,” Prater stated, and Mary looked up in hope. “It wouldn’t be fair, and whether you are correct or not about this...this dragon...I need to maintain credibility in this village...in case you are right.”

  In her mind, Mary sighed once more in relief, but in body, she nodded her agreement with Prater.

  “Delwyn! Delwyn get in here.”

  Delwyn entered the building and returned to where he had stood before. He regarded Prater, waiting to receive any order the Master might demand.

  “Mary has a point about feeding this dragon; I don’t want him holding anything against the village. Let her in. Have this, Mary.” Prater handed her the fancy silver candleholder from his desk, complete with lit candle.

  “Shall I be totally safe?” her voice wavered. Mary felt determined to maintain the charade, though her nerves were taking care of the need to pretend to be scared. She glanced down at the basket and tried to keep her fingers still on the handle as she turned towards the door.

  “He is bound in gold, dear Mary. He will do you no harm,” the words rolled off Prater’s tongue in a way that made the hair on Mary’s neck stand at attention but she felt some relief now her back faced him.

  Delwyn unlocked and opened the gold door to the cell, smiling at Mary as she entered. The cell door closed behind her before her eyes had a chance to adjust. Inside, everything looked black, but then the flickering of the candle’s light made shapes emerge from the darkness.

  There he sat with his back against the far wall. His wrists and ankles were shackled in gold and his eyes were closed. As Mary stepped closer, she wondered if she wasn’t already too late, but the glowing light caught his attention. He looked Mary’s way, his eyes sharp and piercing –just like a dragon’s should be.

  He watched her as she placed the basket down and felt along the wall where it met the floor. Her fingers scraped against the bricks until she found in the corner what the detention blueprints had concealed. She pressed her finger down and, once she’d heard the soft click, covered the corner as best she could with the loose dirt that had blown into the cell at some point.

  “I’ve brought you food and water.”

  Unable to move from his position due to the restraints, the dragon leaned away from Mary as she knelt down beside him. She placed the candleholder on the stone floor and the basket beside it and busied herself breaking the bread into smaller pieces.

  With the bread held in her fingers, she moved closer to the dragon, but he endeavoured to move away again. Even her smile appeared to do nothing to calm him or build any rapport. The thought entered her mind that perhaps, given the circumstance, she appeared scary to him.

  “It won’t kill you to eat. Look, I’ll prove it.” Mary ate a piece of bread, making a show out of chewing and swallowing. “See?”

  She reoffered him the bread; he didn’t turn away. She placed it in his mouth, and he continued to watch her as he chewed it. While he ate, she considered the words she might use; she had practised in her room, but nothing seemed quite right now in the moment.

  As she sat down beside him, he continued to eat; when she offered him water from her flask he accepted without hesitation. She noticed he didn’t shy away from her being so close, and so, with the candle back in her hand, leaned in closer. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “Of course I do,” he replied hoarsely.

  “Then we must come to an agreement first,” she replied and gave him another piece of bread.

  As he chewed the bread, his eyebrows knitted together. “I have money,” he offered, but Mary shook her head.

  “I don’t want money.” Mary glanced down at her hands and played with the piece of bread she held before eating it herself.

  “Then what?”

  “Water?” Mary offered, but he shook his head in refusal, so she continued. “I’m almost seventeen and I am not bound, and since...” she grabbed the gold cuff around his left hand before touching his hand and turning it so
that the palm faced the wall, “...you don’t have a binding mark, you too are not bound. I do not want to stay in this village forever; it holds too many bad memories. I will help you escape, but only if you agree to be bound to me.”

  “But I’m already promised to be bound.”

  “Then you will need to make a decision – die for love or be rescued and live.”

  Mary moved away to give him space so that he could consider the proposition. Her offer sounded callous even to her own ears, but she had practised those words many times in the safety of her bedchamber in order to sound convincing.

  She looked him over as the candle glowed in the otherwise depressing cell. Mary felt his age would be older than her, maybe Prater’s age, as she studied the dragon’s features. He had a strong build and guessed he would stand taller than her. His brown hair fell across his eyes as he contemplated his future. His pale white skin appeared between dirt, blood and bruises. Mary allowed herself a slight smile; he would indeed make a good husband...which reminded Mary...

  “Oh, and don’t think I’ll rescue you and then you can just take off. If you do, I’ll personally put the rope around your neck,” and she meant her words, though Mary hated violence as a rule. People had always dismissed her feelings as if they didn’t exist. Mary didn’t want him to think he could treat her the same way.

  The dragon started shaking his head from side to side. “No, I won’t agree.”

  She felt something inside her chest sink and melt away but replaced it with a feeling of annoyance and then anger.

  “Fine.” Standing up, she bent down to pick up the candleholder from the floor.

  A rattle of a chain. “Wait.”

  Mary watched as he closed his eyes. “We have an agreement?”

  “Yes.” One small word spoken in defeat; she smiled and left the candle.

  “There’s a section of the wall that moves. It’s connected to the building where I live through a secret passage. I’ll come for you later.” Mary paused. “First though, we need to make sure that they won’t do their checks on you.”