The Dragon Book by Gardner Dozois, Jack Dann Page B

you.”
    “Cato says there is a war going on in Gaul,” Vincitatus put in. “Like in the poem. Wouldn’t it be exciting to go see a war?”
    “What?” Antony said.

     
    “WELL, Antonius,” the magistrate said, “I must congratulate you.”
    “For surviving the last sentence?” Antony said.
    “No,” the magistrate said. “For originality. I don’t believe I have ever faced this particular offense before.”
    “There’s no damned law against keeping a dragon!”
    “There is now ,” the magistrate said. He looked down at his papers. “There is plainly no question of guilt in this case; it only remains what is to be done with the creature. The priests of the temple of Jupiter suggest that the beast would be most highly regarded as a sacrifice, if you can arrange the mechanics—”
    “I’ll set her loose in the Forum first!” Antony snarled. “—No. No, wait, I didn’t mean that.” He took a deep breath and summoned up a smile and leaned across the table. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”
    “You don’t have enough money for that even now,” the magistrate said.
    “Look,” Antony said, “I’ll take her to my villa at Stabiae—” Seeing the eyebrow rising, he amended, “—or I’ll buy an estate near Arminium. Plenty of room, she won’t be a bother to anyone—”
    “Until you run out or money or drink yourself to death,” the magistrate said. “You do realize that the creatures live a hundred years?”
    “They do?” Antony said blankly.
    “The evidence also informs me,” the magistrate added, “that she is already longer than the dragon of Brundisium, which killed nearly half the company of the fourteenth legion.”
    “She’s as quiet as a lamb?” Antony tried.
    The magistrate just looked at him.
    “Gaul?” Antony said.
    “Gaul,” the magistrate said.

     
    “I hope you’re happy,” he said bitterly to Vincitatus as his servants, except for the few very unhappy ones he was taking along, joyfully packed his things.
    “Yes,” she said, eating another goat.
    He’d been ordered to leave at night, under guard, but when the escort showed up, wary soldiers in full armor and holding their spears, they discovered a new difficulty: she couldn’t fit into the street anymore.
    “All right, all right, no need to make a fuss,” Antony said, waving her back into the courtyard. The house on the other side had only leaned over a little. “So she’ll fly out to the Porta Aurelia and meet us on the other side.”
    “We’re not letting the beast go spreading itself over the city,” the centurion said. “It’ll grab some lady off the street, or an honorable merchant.”
    He was for killing her right there and then, instead. Antony was for knocking him down, and did so. The soldiers pulled him off and shoved him up against the wall of the house, swords out.
    Then Vincitatus put her head out, over the wall, and said, “I think I have worked out how to breathe fire, Antony. Would you like to see?”
    The soldiers all let go and backed away hastily in horror.
    “I thought you said you couldn’t,” Antony hissed, looking up at her; it had been a source of much disappointment to him.
    “I can’t,” she said. “But I thought it would make them let you go.” She reached down and scooped him up off the street in one curled forehand, reached with the other and picked up one of the squealing, baggage-loaded pack mules. And then she leaped into the air.
    “Oh, Jupiter eat your liver, you mad beast,” Antony said, and clutched at her talons as the ground fell away, whirling.
    “See, is this not much nicer than trudging around on the ground?” she asked.
    “Look out!” he yelled, as the Temple of Saturn loomed up unexpectedly.
    “Oh!” She said, and dodged. There was a faint crunch of breaking masonry behind them.
    “I’m sure that was a little loose anyway,” she said, flapping hurriedly higher.
    He had to admit it made for quicker traveling, and at least