The Dragon Men
A Story about Human Nature
Remie knocked softly on the green wooden door to her grandmother’s bedroom, and waited for the quiet call to enter. She stepped inside the half-dark room, under the watchful gaze of her grandmother’s youthful face, which stared down at her from a portrait on the opposite wall. Painted when her grandmother was Remie’s age, the portrait’s teenage face showed the first hints of maturity, but her eyes held the same gravity they did today, nearly eighty years later.
“What is the news?” called her grandmother from the bed where she was seated, reading a book of poetry by candlelight. Remie’s grandmother had never been one to waste time on pleasantries. Even at ninety-nine, she was keenly interested in city politics and in the health of the kingdom. She maintained shares in a variety of profitable and speculative business interests and followed local and international affairs closely. She had been pleased to see her granddaughter’s budding interest in social questions, although she disapproved of some of Remie’s choices.
“They are saying the election will go to the dragon-men,” said Remie. “Sir Valter Draco is…”
“A threat to the integrity of this great kingdom,” said her grandmother. “He will depose the king and end our constitutional line of succession in favor of a one-party dictatorship. He will abolish the parliament and…”
“Grandmother,” said Remie, stepping closer to the bed. “How do I look?” She turned her head this way and that, hoping her grandmother would want to talk about something other than the election.
“Very beautiful, my dear,” said her grandmother. “You’ll have all the young men of the city after you, I’m sure. When I was eighteen, I did as well, you know. I told them all to stay away, though. In my day, we believed that chastity was the height of feminine virtue and…”
“Grandmother,” interrupted Remie, deciding that politics was a safer topic after all. “Will you vote tomorrow?”
Her grandmother sat up sharply, leaning forward from the pillows. “Will I vote? Of course, I will vote. I have voted in every election since I turned seventeen, and I am not about to miss this one merely because I can’t walk very much, most especially not when the nefarious demons which have until recently been held at bay in our kingdom are back at the door of power.”
Remie went over to the corner and picked up the tiny wooden chair. It was really only large enough for children, and any man over six feet or woman weighing more than two-hundred pounds would have been too large for it. But Remie could fit in it just fine.
The chair was very light. She carried it easily to her grandmother’s bedside and sat down.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been hanging out with those dragon-lovers again,” said her grandmother.
“Grandmother,” said Remie. “I thought you wanted me to report back to you on them.”
“I’m certain their influence upon you is not salutary,” replied her grandmother.
Dragon-lovers, as Remie had informed her grandmother, were the youth of the city who were partisans for the dragon-men. They gathered in pubs and held rallies in parks. They contended for dragon candidates and canvassed in working-class neighborhoods.
Drune was a working-class city for the most part. The river Clid cut it down the middle, with the wealthier neighborhoods, the university, the government buildings, the nicer parks, and the museums on the west side of the river, and the poorer neighborhoods and shipbuilding yards on the east side. Even in the century of the horse, these neighborhoods were still mostly divided along racial lines, with dwarves and humans living on the east side of the river and elves and dragon-men living on the west.
The dragon-men, despite their wealth, held outcast status within the city. For fifty years, they had been barred from public life. Their scaly skin and forked tongues still adorned the covers of novels about the war of ’25, which Remie’s grandmother had lived through. Her grandmother still contended that dragon-men couldn’t be trusted.
Ten years ago, the dragon-men had been re-allowed to vote and hold public office. After fifty years, it was said, they were no longer a threat. Some of the more skeptical members of parliament pointed out that the war of ’25 wasn’t the first time the dragon-men had tried to overthrow republican government and establish a species-based dictatorship. But they were ignored by those who pointed out that myth became distorted over time and perhaps it was time to give the dragon-men back their rights, given that the fifty-year punishment period had ended.
For ten years, dragon-men hadn’t held any significant number of seats in parliament. But in the past year, interest in their platform had rekindled among the youth of the city. It was said that they had a kind of solidarity that humans and dwarves lacked. The elves would always exploit the humans and the dwarves, it was said, even though there weren’t very many elves. If only men and dwarves could learn the kind of solidarity the dragon-men had, they wouldn’t be exploited.
“They believe all of us are inferior to them,” Remie’s grandmother had told her. “In Drune, we treat all of the races equally. The only reason the dragons lost their vote is that they tried to take over last time. They had dwarves down at the bottom and men and women weren’t much better. They killed a bunch of elves, but let the ones who worked with them live. But they don’t believe in the equality of species.”
Youth interest in the dragon-party platform had been sparked by the fiery rhetoric of one orator, named Sir Valter Draco, who liked to stand on a carton in public parks and harangue the crowd about economic revolution and the exploitation of the current system. The dragon-party was running on a platform of working-class solidarity and community. Rapacious individual self-interest and economic inequality had contrived to make the western half of the city rich, while the eastern half did all the work, the dragons said. It was time for humans and dwarves to benefit from the fruits which rightly belonged to labor.
“That’s what they said last time,” Remie’s grandmother had told her. “That’s what they say every time.”
But Remie thought they had a point. Her family lived in one of the nicer houses on the east side, but she’d been over to the western side of the Clid and the poorest elf family had a house twice the size of her family’s. Her grandmother had been alive for nearly a century and surely something had changed in that time. She was sure her grandmother was probably right about what the dragon-men did in ’25, but that didn’t necessarily mean they would do it again. After all, everyone knew that Drake, the dictator who had assumed power back in ’25, had been psychologically disturbed. Perhaps if some other dragon-man had been in charge, the platform of returning power to the working class wouldn’t have devolved into racial oppression and beheadings on the banks of the River Clid. Remie thought her grandmother made good points, but so did her friend Drie, who was in love with a dragon-man named Snake.
Remie told her grandmother that the dragon-men were by far the most popular party among the city's youth. Their promises of a new era of equality, subsidized wages for all workers, expanded civil service jobs for intelligent young people, a minimum wage, and the nationalization of the corn and grain industries, had proven overwhelmingly popular among voters under thirty-five years of age. To her surprise, Remie told her grandmother that the platform was more popular with the relatively affluent youth than with the city's working-class population, but among those members of the working-class youth who spent time with their more affluent peers, the platform was more popular than it was among the general working class.
Her grandmother snorted. "I wonder why that is," she said.
"Why?" asked Remie.
"It's all a bill of goods. They're selling you a river. It's what they said last time around. Liberate the workers. Equality for all. Strike back against the owners. Then they get in power and it's all secret police and anyone who opens his mouth gets tossed in prison without a trial."
"Grandmother, Draco gave a speech at the park last week where he apologized for all that. He said the dragon-men had done some terrible things the last time they were in power and it was right that they be barred for fifty years, but they'd learned their lesson."
"Oh yeah, it's a pile of manure," retorted her grandmother, shaking her head vigorously and closing her eyes.
Remie felt chagrined. She leaned forward. "Grandmother, don't you think you're being a little unfair? Don't you believe people change?"
"I'll believe they've changed when they don't run on the same platform they did the last time around. I'll believe they've changed when they stop talking about the oppressed and start talking about the run-of-the-mill issues the other parties talk about. Keeping the crime down and the streets clean and public education. No more corruption. That sort of business."
Remie crossed her arms. Her legs were already crossed, even though her grandmother disapproved of young ladies sitting with their legs crossed. Her grandmother noticed and pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
"Grandmother, but the reason they have to talk about that stuff is because they're the only ones. They see it and the Whigs and the Classicists never do anything. It's because the regular parties don't do anything that the dragon-men need to. If the other parties were already doing all that stuff for workers, it wouldn't be a problem."
Her grandmother shook her head again.
"They've won you," she said. "You've been spending too much time down there in the coffeehouses."
"Grandmother," burst out Remie. "You always say I'm too young to know anything. You say you didn't know anything at my age and that means I don't know anything. You always say that because you've lived so long you've seen it all already, but what if it's different today? What if they really have changed?"
"They haven't changed! I'll believe it when they stop voting as a bloc. Notice as soon as they could vote, they all voted together. No dragon man ever votes for anyone but another dragon man. What do you say to that? They don't let their own vote for a dwarf or an elf, or God forbid a man."
Remie pondered this. She thought her grandmother had a point.
"Besides," said her grandmother, "This is all what they said last time. This Draco fellow probably said that the reason the dragons had been so terrible last time around was that the dragon-men were oppressed for so long before that and when they got into power the ones in charge couldn't keep their people in check."
"That is what he said," said Remie. "It makes sense."
"Of course," said her grandmother. "That's what they said last time around."
The election was held on a Friday. Across the city, the youth turned out in record numbers, electrified by the possibility of social change. The Dragon party won an outright majority on the backs of near-unanimous support among the youth, combined with record turnout for voters under thirty-five. The Populists attempted to form a majority with them, but the Dragons rebuffed their offer. They had gone from less than ten seats in Parliament to four hundred and twelve. They needed no governing coalition. They were the government.
Older voters had overwhelmingly voted against the Dragons, but the median age in the city was thirty-six and it had always been considered an obvious truth that if any party could turn out the normally disengaged youth, it could win. But year after year, even the Populists failed to win big among the youth, and no party had turned out more than twenty percent of the under-thirty-five vote in the history of the city's republican phase.
The Dragons turned out seventy percent of young voters. Remie was one of them. Once the new legislators had been sworn in, she went to her grandmother and told her.
"You fool," said her grandmother when Remie explained why she voted for the Dragon party. "I suppose every generation needs to learn their lesson the hard way."
But Remie was too busy enjoying the impromptu celebrations in the streets to take heed of her grandmother's words. The mood among city residents was exultant. All except the oldest voters were overwhelmed with feeling. For the first time in most citizens' lifetime, there had been real change.
Draco, the new prime minister, declared a week of feasting at public expense. He announced a new set of wage subsidies, so that every citizen earning less than two marks a day would have his or her wage raised to three. There was much rejoicing.
The honeymoon lasted a week. On the ninth day after being sworn in as prime minister, Draco gave a public address to the city. Thousands gathered in the largest amphitheater, an open-air forum seating close to half the city's population. Remie went to the speech along with many of her friends. "I'll report back to you, grandmother," she told her grandmother before she left, but her grandmother just snorted and wouldn't say anything.
There were vendors in the stands selling nuts and beer, and Remie paid a half-penny for some nuts and went to take her seat next to her friends. She noticed as she did so that all of the vendors were dragon-men, but she assumed it was only natural that the new leaders of the city would hire their own.
Draco was five minutes late coming out. A cheer went up from the crowd as he stepped out into the center of the amphitheater. He must have been using an enchantment to enhance his voice, for he did not shout, but all assembled could hear him.
"For too long," he said. "This city has gone on in the usual way, and problems that should not have been left to fester have festered and gone unresolved. For too long, there has been an unequal distribution of wealth and power, and those with wealth and power have taken advantage of those without. For too long, the parties in office have done nothing while the downtrodden have suffered the consequences.
No more. As of today, this ends. There will be bold change, dramatic action to put right these infirmities. It will take monumental effort, but my party and I are resolved to do what is necessary, to bear whatever burdens, pay whatever costs. It won't be easy. And in the interim, there may be much pain, but always remember that the end stage will be worth every cost.
And that is why I am declaring, as of this present moment, martial law throughout the city and its hinterlands. There will be a curfew at eight every night which will be lifted at six the following morning. Workers whose occupations require them to be outside during curfew hours will be able to apply for exception cards.
For too long, the ruling elites in this city have stood by while the downtrodden suffered. They have stood in the way of the necessary bold and dramatic change which will put an end to such suffering. And that is why I will be suspending, as of this moment, all future elections. I will be unilaterally rescinding the licenses of every party in Parliament except for the Dragon Party, the only party with the courage and foresight necessary to do what is required to meet this moment.
I have brought in auxiliary soldiers from the Farleighn Mountains, trolls and men who owe no allegiance to anyone in this city. They will be serving alongside my dragons in the city guard. They will protect me and carry out my orders. Any who wish to serve in law enforcement or in the military, or wish to continue serving, or who wish to serve or to continue to serve in the civil service, will henceforth be required to show proof of their loyalty to the animating spirit of the party through a series of tests. Those who fail will be relieved of their duties. Those who pass will be welcomed.
I urge safety. Whatever you do, obey the orders given to you by any dragon-men or by any of my mercenaries. These orders are always given with an eye towards your good and the good of the city. Please do not disobey or disrupt us as we carry out our monumental task. Violators of the curfew or of any future edicts will be dealt with harshly, in order to dissuade future violations. Always remember that this is for your own good."
A hush had fallen upon the crowd while he was speaking, but now the onlookers erupted in murmurs. The full truth of what he was saying sunk in to Remie. The worst part, she realized, was that her grandmother had been right. She had been a fool.
She turned and saw that the vendors all around the auditorium were dropping their nuts and pulling swords out of their long cloaks. A clattering of boots came through the tunnels leading into the amphitheater and hundreds of men filed out and took up position along the top rows. They were wearing red mail and carrying spears. Their pale faces and blond hair were unfamiliar sights in the city.
With a sinking feeling, Remie saw that it was over. Resistance was futile. At that moment, Draco was ordering everyone to return to their homes to await further instruction. A new era of government had begun.
Everyone in the crowd began talking at once. Draco called for silence.
“Do not make trouble,” he said. “My men don’t want to hurt you, but we need you to return to your homes in an orderly manner. If we need to use force on you to ensure your safety, we will.”
He told them to begin leaving, starting with those in the back. The crowd erupted in chatter again, but this was carried out in whisper. Remie looked to her friends.
“What do we do?” she asked.
“We need to get out of here,” said Gerard.
Leni merely pointed. They followed her out, keeping their heads down, trying to maintain contact as the people around them pushed and jostled. Remie watched the mercenaries in red mail as she passed them, looking at their faces while trying to avoid eye contact. She’d never seen men with beards like they wore.
Once out in the street, Fanlon tried to speak, but Remie and Gerard hushed her.
“Wait until we’re further away,” Remie told her.
The crowd stayed thick until they had rounded two corners and put three blocks between them and the auditorium. Now, Fanlon spoke again.
“It was all a lie,” she said. “All of it.”
“I can’t believe we fell for it,” said Remie. “My grandmother warned us.”
But Gerard looked at them with the faintest hint of suspicion in his eyes. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “Don’t you think Draco is right? The old ways only led to inequality and exploitation. What did republican government ever get this city except oppression of the poor by the rich?”
“What do you know about it, Gerard?” asked Remie, “I know your parents have money.”
But Gerard narrowed his eyes at her. “Careful,” he said. “Things are going to be different around here. I don’t think you’ll want to talk about Draco the way you did just now.”
“Is that a threat?” asked Remie. But Fanlon hugged her and told her to hush.
“It isn’t worth it,” she said.
The four of them broke apart at the Zarin Fountain, which sat in the center of a square with eight streets coming in like spokes. Fanlon and Remie took the branch leading to the northwest and Gerard and Leni went east. Already, men in red chain mail were in the process of putting ropes on the statues around the fountain to pull them down. The statues were all heroes of the last uprising against the dragon men.
“What do we do now?” asked Remie as she walked with her oldest friend, holding her hand like they were girls again.
“I don’t know. I’m scared.”
“Me too.” Then Remie added. “To tell you the truth, I’m embarrassed, too. My grandmother was right. I don’t know what she’ll say to me.”
“You said she warned of this?” asked Fanlon, throwing Remie a glance and squeezing her hand tighter.
“Yes. Almost exactly as it happened. She told me what happened last time around and said it would happen again. I thought she was just a prejudiced old woman, but she was right.”
They parted ways at the doorstep of her grandmother’s apartment. They hugged again. For the first time in her life, Remie wondered whether her friend would make it home safely.
The upstairs door was open. Bright light streamed out of her grandmother’s room. As Remie climbed the stairs, she could see that her grandmother had thrown back all of the curtains and opened the window. She found the elderly woman in a chair pulled up to the window, staring out at the streets.
“Come in,” came the sharp voice.
“Grandmother…” Remie began, but her grandmother cut her off.
“I know the news,” she said. She didn’t tell Remie how she knew, and Remie wasn’t sure. But maybe her grandmother had intimated what was about to happen and had thrown back her curtains and opened her windows in anticipation that the crowds fleeing the auditorium would tell her all she needed to know from their faces.
“You were right,” said Remie, coming around the chair to stand so that her grandmother could see her.
“Of course, I was right.”
“I’m so sorry.”
For the first time, her grandmother took her face from the window and watched Remie. “Don’t be,” she said. “I was the same at your age. I didn’t listen either. You’re a fool. But I was a fool. The whole city was a fool.”
“The city is a fool again,” replied Remie.
“Indeed. I suppose men never learn,” said her grandmother.
“What do we do now?”
Her grandmother turned her face back to the window and Remie did, too. Out in the street, the last stragglers from the amphitheater were making their ways to their homes, their faces downcast and their steps fearful. Guards in red chain mail were already out patrolling in the streets. The gray-white sky threatened no rain, but neither was there any hint of sun. The gray cobbles, which had seen a dozen rebellions and a dozen regimes and which looked the same today as they had the day before, echoed softly with the bootsteps of the passing soldiers.
“That,” said her grandmother. “Is up to you now. There isn’t much of anything I can do.”
Reminded me of some of my childhood dreams. Well done!