I woke up feeling I had spent the entire night laying on something hard and lumpy. It took the sound of Beithir’s breathing for me to register that that was in fact exactly what I had done. I turned my head slightly to the left, coming face to face with an equally tired-looking wyvern. Beithir stared at me, eyes half-lidded… it was also only then I noticed I could actually see her clearly. I turned my head back to the door to clearly see the morning sunlight streaming through the crack between the two halves quite well. Not much, but enough that the room was also not quite as dark as it was the evening before. It was also what lightly woke me, given the fact that I had to raise my hand to block it as I forced myself to stand.

Forced was the important word in that sentence, as the moment I found myself standing on my own two feet a sharp pain ran up my back. Moving my hands back there I rubbed it, grimacing as I carefully twisted myself to look back at my wyvern. Beithir tilted her head, watching me curious as with all of the grace of a dancing drunken highlander I stepped back, then fell backwards onto Beithir’s spine. I felt something shift and heard a definite pop as relief filled me, and I let out a long slow breath before turning my head slowly to look at Beithir again. She stared at me, with what I could swear was a look approaching judgmental. I stared back, “don’t look at me that way ya dumb lizard. Ya make fer a shite pillow.”

She let out a deep breath, bathing me in the scent of carrion. I blinked, then raised my hand to rub it along her snout. “Aye, good point. Ah best be goin’.”

Standing back up I make my way over to the door, undoing the latch and swinging it open… coming face to face with the owner in the process. An older man, with thin grey hair that hadn’t quite become fully bald, but little enough that in the right light there might as well be nothing there at all. He stared at me with a slight smile, curiosity writ large on his face. “Good morning Arthur. Checking on her?”

I nodded. “Aye, thanks for takin’ care of her on such short notice.”

The man nodded as well, looking past me towards Beithir. The wyvern was finally getting her own lazy butt up and was padding around in the stable to stretch her legs. “My pleasure. Are you taking her out again soon?”

“No,” I replied. “Not for another week at least, may borrow her for some training but the next race isn’t until next Saturday.” And with today being Sunday… it means I get a day off, without any training even, an unfamiliar feeling.

“Well, have a lovely Sunday then, Arthur,” the old man said, shuffling past me.

“Aye, you as well,” I replied. Then made my way past him up the ramp and into the yard. Stretching my arms above my head I looked up to see the sun just barely poking up beyond the horizon. Probably seven or so in the morning by my reckoning, I doubted it was much later. For once, the city was quiet during the day. There were still the usual sounds of traffic, both foot and wheeled, and a general buzz of activity seemed to hang over the city no matter the time of day, but definitely the quietest I had actively heard it during the day. The distant clangs of the factories were absent, normally running at all odd hours; it would seem that even in London Sunday was kept as a day of rest. Smiling to myself I made my way out of the yard and back onto the sidewalk, moving my hands to my pockets as my boots clanked against the ground.

My eyes moved this way and that as I walked, the general stench of it was still present in the air but with morning sunlight painting the streets it was almost pleasant to look at. The hotel was still some blocks ahead, so with my hands in my pockets, I set a steady pace down the street, watching the people pass by and enjoying my morning.

“Hey, mister!”

For a few moments at least. I had perhaps gone half a mile before a voice called out from down a side street. Turning my head I looked to see perhaps about four kids sitting on a bench in front of a small shop. The side street was more of a small park between a dozen buildings, with a large sunken area in the middle of it all where a brown pool of water had formed. The kids themselves were eating bread, the one who called out to me holding a rather small loaf between two hands. Not homeless, at least, not going by their cleanliness, but their clothes were rather ragged.

I debated the merits of just walking on for a moment before I turned and made my way down the street, coming to a stop a good dozen feet away from the children. “Yes?”

The kid, who I’d hazard a guess was the ringleader of this little band of likely miscreants pointed at my feet. “What’s with your shoes?”

I glanced down at that, they have a slight layer of mud on them along with hay from the night before. But the armor glinted in the light nonetheless. “I ride flying lizards for a living.” I answered honestly.

Four loud startled gasps was the reaction to my revelation, and I watched with some amusement as all of the kids hopped off of the bench to look me up and down. For one, an even smaller boy with curly blond hair kept poorly tucked underneath, my identity apparently clicked. “You’re Arthur Adair!”

“Aye.” I replied. Not sure if I had a fan club or if this was another attempt to rough me up. Probably the first, but with small children one could never know. Vicious wee bairns, the lot of them.

“Where’s your wyvern?” One asked.

“Back at the stables,” I said quietly, moving to kneel down as I spoke. “She’s a lazy thing like that.”

“Is racing scary?”

“Terrifying,” I replied. “But very exciting at the same time.”

That gets a chorus of giggles, before the ringleader scarfed the last of his bread down and stared at me. “Why didn’t you use your reins much in the last race?”

I blinked. “You were at the race?”

The kid shaked his head no. “No, but it was in the papers. They said you just kind of hung onto your wyvern.”

I smiled at that. “I let the wyvern do all the flying. She’s smarter than I am.”

“My dad said wyverns are as smart as dogs!” One in the back said, a freckled face covered in breadcrumbs speaking up.

“Aye, and ah’ve met many a dog smarter than me-”

Another voice, louder and booming cuts your answer off coming from up ahead. “Oi! Ah fed ya brats, don't give ya free reign to hang ‘round in front of my shop and bother the locals!”

I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could the kids ran past me, giggling and laughing all the while. I watched after them for a moment, before looking ahead to see who had started shouting so early in the morning. It was a man with perhaps a decade on me, a heavy gut sticking out from a vest that was perhaps just a touch too small for him. His hair, brown, was greying at the temples, and along his clothes and on his fingers was the familiar white powder of flour. I glanced up from where he stood in the doorway to the sign and… yes, it was a bakery. “Yer open on a Sunday?” I asked.

The man nodded. “Just about the only day those kids aren’t workin’ in the factory. Use the time to prepare for the week and to feed the little bastards.” With him not yelling, there’s a definitely familiar accent to the man, not quite the lowlands, but familiar.

I arched my brow. “Foos yer doos?”

The man blinked, then grinned. “Aye peckin!”

I grinned back, stepping forward and offering my hand. With a damn firm grip he took it, and with a hearty shake we separated. “A proper man of the country!” I said.

“Aye, an’ look at yew with yer fancy boots. Thinkin’ yer one of the queen’s knights?” He asked.

“Wyvern racer actually,” I replied. “Don’t suppose yer servin’ breakfast?”

The man laughed. “Nae, shop’s closed, but ah can whip somethin’ up fer ya.”

I patted my pockets. “‘Fraid I don’t have much on me, but if ye wanted help cleanin’ the kitchen or the like ah could help out.”

“Nae, the hen would chase ya out with ‘er roller if ah let ya in back there.” He then stepped aside, opening the door for me. “Just come on in.”

I nodded, stepping past the man and into a small bakery. It was just that, a counter covered in flour with nothing in the way of seating or comfort. The smell of fresh bread filled my senses, and caused a loud growl to escape my stomach in the process. Above the counter was a blackboard, currently wiped clean, and below it and past the counter was a large window looking into a kitchen where I could see a blonde woman rolling out dough on a long wooden table.

“So what brings ya down to London?” I asked, moving to lean against a wall as the man stepped past me towards the counter.

“Sold me land to ranchers.” The man responded. “Nothing for us up north so me and the hen wanted to try things down here in London.”

I sighed. “Ah familiar story if ah ever heard one. Ah had my barn crashed in by a wyvern so took my try at the sport.”

“That so?” the man pondered. Then reached below the counter to produce some bread to offer me.

I took it gratefully, ripping off a chunk and biting into it. It was… old, but it was also free so I had no room to complain about it. “Thank ya.”

As I did so the woman stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and looked me up and down. “Should have said something George, didn’t know we had royalty in.”

“Just because a man has shiny boots doesn’t mean he’s the king of Scotland, ya cut that shite out right now.” I replied, grinning.

The woman smiled back, and I started to laugh as the door in the front swung open. All three of us turned to look as a familiar devil with red hair stepped in. Morrigan, dressed in a white dress. Her hair hadn’t been put up, and a fair bit of sweat was on her face. “Arthur? Where the devil have you been. I’ve been looking for you for the past two hours.”

I stared at her for a moment, then down at the bread in my hand. “Breakfast.”

“Want some food miss?” the owner asked, “fraid you’ll have to pay unless yer a Scot.”

“She’s Irish actually,” I replied.

Then Morrigan started swearing. Precisely what she said I didn’t have the slightest idea as it was in neither English or Scot. But it was apparently heavily therapeutic for the woman, as once she finished her tirade a good thirty seconds later she let out a deep breath and glared at me. “Where were you?”

“Went for a walk last night and almost got jumped by men likely hired by another rider.” I replied. “Ended up sleeping in Beithir’s stable, only woke up about a half-hour ago. My apologies, was heading back to the hotel but a gaggle of children found me.”

Morrigan glared at me for a moment longer before letting out a long-suffering sigh and turning to the owner. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out some money and started to get some breakfast herself.

“You the missus?” the man asked. Causing a deeply offended look to come across Morrigan’s face.

I chuckled. “Me and ‘er only have one thing in common.”

Morrigan shot a look at me from the corner of her vision, and I continued… carefully. “Hating the English.”

She stared at me for a moment longer before nodding, handing the money over to the man before turning to face me fully. “Are ya ready Arthur?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I responded. “Not for another week though isn’t it?”

Morrigan smiled, icily. “Aye, true for the race. But you’ve made it to the final rounds, which means you are scheduled to appear at a social event tomorrow. We need to get you fitted for a suit this morning. Then I’ll be teaching you the finer points of etiquette and gentlemanly behavior.”

I stared at her for several long moments. “Don’t suppose we could just set me on fire could we?”

Her smile got just the smallest amount wider. “Oh, you will wish we could Arthur.”