Free Dragons Luck by Robert Asprin Page B

power-hungry, arrogant beast. You’ve hated them for as long as I have.”
    “Yes, and I’m telling you Flynn is worse. The kid on his own, he’s no threat. He might even be okay. If Flynn gets his hands on him, then it will be a real mess. If Flynn drops him, well, it won’t be so bad, but do you really want the reputation spread that a human could do a job we couldn’t?”
    “That’s not—”
    “You know that’s the way Flynn will spin it,” George said.
    There was a long pause. Long enough that George poured himself half a cup from the still-brewing coffee, just to keep from saying more. A few drops steamed and sizzled on the hotplate.
    “Okay, but we keep this quiet. You might be all right with breaking the rules, but I’m more in the trenches when it comes to office politics. And, George, no markers if you take the hitter. No cards.”
    “Why?” George asked.
    “Because Flynn was also prying into your other assignment. Apparently ‘someone’ left a Knight of Swords on his door.”
    “Hmm…”
    “No. No card, George. You are not hunting this man. Don’t poke the bear more than you need to, at least not till we have paper on him.”
    George sighed.
    “You are right. If I interfere, and I haven’t decided I will yet, I will keep it anonymous.”
    “Good… thank you. I’ll keep you informed.”
    The phone went dead. George sipped his coffee. He had a minor tinge of guilt. He really shouldn’t have lied to her. But at the very least he had already decided to interfere.
    He’d have to think about a card.

Thirteen
    Griffen was brooding. He had holed up with a whiskey on the very end of the “family side” of the Irish pub bar. Which meant that other than when the bartender and the occasional person headed to the men’s john, he was left alone with his thoughts.
    Those thoughts were all about the conclave. He had started to feel more and more overwhelmed, a surge of near panic pushing him out of his apartment late afternoon. He just couldn’t seem to get his head straight and was feeling antsy and nervous. Eventually, he had stopped by the A&P and picked up a new notebook and a pen. His plan was to sit at the bar and write out what he knew, and some of his own thoughts. Mostly he was hoping to pin down some thoughts in words he could organize and examine to get his own head straight.
    That notebook was depressingly empty. He had filled up a whole two pages with the various groups supposed to be involved and the little he knew of each thanks to Slim and Flynn. Then he had drawn a blank. His own thoughts were too chaotic to get a toehold on. And he had begun to realize he only had the smallest clue of what actual issues were going to be discussed.
    What was worse, he didn’t quite know what a “moderator” was supposed to do. Was it his job to settle debates? Or just hold the peace? How far was he supposed to go to keep order? Much more, how far was he willing to go? Maybe it was just his mood and Irish, but he was beginning to feel even more lost than he had when he first found out about dragons.
    He was so wrapped up that he didn’t notice Jerome till he was pulling up the stool next to him. Griffen looked up, eyes not quite tracking, then did a double take and smiled. He reached out and shook Jerome’s hand.
    “Hey, Jerome, haven’t seen you around for a couple of days. How are you doing?”
    “Same old, same old, Grifter. You?”
    “Still trying to get my damn head around things. If the others in charge of this conclave are even a third as disorganized as my head right now, it’s going to be a real mess.”
    “Are they keeping you in the dark on purpose?” Jerome asked.
    “Possibly. Been thinking just that. I’ve been wondering if maybe I shouldn’t put word out among our network to keep an eye on the delegates. I mean, if I don’t know what to expect, the more viewpoints the better. We might even have to think about considering security.”
    “Oh, that’s a great idea,”