Marginalia in a copy of The Consultants’ Handbook
The place was a narrow chasm between two towering sandstone cliffs. When it rained the sandy bottom was probably under several feet of water. About twenty feet of water, Wiz judged from the bits of driftwood and debris caught in cracks and ledges up the wall. He devoutly hoped it didn’t rain while the dragonmote was in progress.
Not that it would matter to the dragons. They dropped in through the narrow crack of sky above and settled themselves along the cliff faces, hanging head-down like bats.
The smell of snake and sulfur was well-nigh overpowering and garbled bits of dragon speech rang in his head.
With a minimum of hissing and squabbling the dragons settled into their places. There didn’t seem to be any strict hierarchy, but the larger, older dragons clearly got the best seats in the house.
A smallish dragon slipped in through the crack of sky, but instead of choosing a spot on the sandstone walls, it dropped down onto the sand next to Wiz. All dragons looked pretty much alike to Wiz but as soon as the creature “spoke” Wiz recognized Griswold.
“You cheated me!” the young dragon said. “Cheated me out of my rightful prey. That spell you showed me was a phony.”
“No it wasn’t.”
“But it doesn’t do anything!” Griswold protested.
“I never said that it did,” Wiz said blandly.
“But, but, but . . .” Griswold did a fair imitation of a turkey gobbling.
Wiz just smiled sweetly.
The young dragon drew back his head as if to say something else, but Wiz shushed him as the meeting came to order.
“This mortal is here under my protection,” Wurm declared as the dragons settled in. “Are there any objections?” There was a certain amount of shifting and hissing, but apparently no one objected strongly enough to try to tackle Wurm.
There was no introduction. The dragons fell silent and stared at Wiz, waiting for him to begin.
Wiz gestured and his equipment appeared. It included an overhead projector, complete with a green demon to operate it, a screen, and a large easel holding flip charts. Beats heck out of lugging this stuff down the hall, he thought. He picked up the pointer lying on the easel and launched into his prepared spiel.
“Uh, good afternoon ladies and, uh, well dragons. My name is . . .”
“We know who you are,” a steely voice rang in his head. “Get on with it.”
“Certainly, Mr. ah . . .”
“Ralfnir,” came the cold voice. Looking up and to his right Wiz identified the “speaker” as a dragon nearly as large as Wurm and just as ferocious looking.
“First slide, please. Now, as you can see here . . .”
The demon flipped on the projector and a gorgeous rainbow-tinted slide appeared on the screen. It was not, however, the title slide. Wiz didn’t recognize it at all. Then he looked harder and realized it was in upside down. At least it seemed to be upside down. Since it was titled in Japanese it was hard for Wiz to tell.
“Uh, next slide please. Now, as you can see here . . .” He stopped. This one was the Miss July picture from the presentation to the council. Trying to look at the slide from the dragons’ perspective, Wiz realized her pose and lack of clothing made her resemble something on a buffet. The dragons seemed mightily unimpressed.
“Uh, next chart please.”
Finally, mercifully, the demon got the right slide.
“Now as you can see . . .” But that was as far as he got. Ralfnir drew back his head and aimed an incandescent blast of dragon fire down at him.
The world blinked as Wiz’s protection spell cut in. When it cut out Wiz found himself standing beside a heap of smoking ashes holding the charred stub of a pointer. Behind him the reflected heat from the canyon wall warmed his back unpleasantly.
Damn. There have been times I’ve wanted to do that to a presenter.
“Ah, perhaps it would be better if I dispensed with the visual aids,” he said weakly.
“Now,” said another frigid, metallic “voice,” “tell us something we wish to hear or begone.”