"Partners In Exile" (due South/Temeraire fic)

[luzula]

Re-posting my Big Bang for backup; originally posted at AO3.

Title: Partners In Exile
Fandom: due South/Temeraire
Characters: Benton Fraser & Diefenbaker, Ray Kowalski, Ray Vecchio, Bob Fraser, Buck Frobisher, original characters
Rating: PG
Length: 20,200 words
Summary: A retelling of the due South pilot as a Temeraire fusion: When Benton Fraser's father dies, he teams up with his father's dragon partner Diefenbaker and together they chase his father's killers to Chicago.

Notes: This is for Mergatrude, who wanted a modern-day due South/Temeraire fusion and told me I should write it. I doubt I would have written it without her! ♥

I am very grateful to my betas and cheerleaders: Keerawa read and gave feedback on an early version, and so did Mergatrude. Sage helped me brainstorm at one point. Most of all, Seascribe was with me all the way, reading new bits as I sent them to her, and Skyping with me to give me feedback. Finally, Malnpudl read the whole thing at the end and gave me valuable feedback. (I hope I didn't forget anyone!)

I am blessed with wonderful art by Mific for this story; do check it out! Wow, I love it so much. ♥

"But he's so...small," Dief said dubiously, looking down at the baby bundled in Caroline's arms. He bent his snout down to it.

"Watch what you say about my baby," Caroline warned him in mock affront, but held Ben up for Dief to sniff without fear, despite the dragon being more than twice her height at the shoulder.

"You can't have been big when you came out of the egg," Bob said.

"But at least I ate meat, so I could grow. Ben is going to--suck food from your body?" Dief sounded vaguely disgusted.

Caroline sniggered. "I think Dief needs a lecture on how mammals work."

Dief huffed out a breath. "I know how it works. I just think he'd grow better if you gave him meat."

"So now you're showing a paternal interest?" Bob elbowed Dief in the forelimb. "Didn't you sneak off to mate with that Gyuu in Whitehorse, without caring if there were going to be eggs or not?"

"That was different. We were just having some fun, you know?" Dief looked down at the tiny baby, with its scrunched-up red face. "But this is my future captain."

***

Ben watched his father's coffin being lowered into the ground. All around him were RCAP officers in their red dress uniforms, somber and still. He didn't cry. Instead, he concentrated on maintaining his posture, his chin at the proper angle. He was the last of his family now, except for some distant cousins. And he'd talked to his father, what, twice during the last year?

Ben's eyes were drawn to the dragon sitting at the head of the open grave. He could hardly avoid it--Diefenbaker was a huge form with his shoulders almost twice the height of a man, with his red ceremonial harness a striking contrast to his sleek white feathers. There was a healthy distance between him and the nearest officers, including the other dragons in attendance, and no wonder. Dief's shoulders were hunched up and tense, and his claws had dug deep into the snow in the churchyard. He was staring into the grave.

Ben hadn't spoken to Dief for some time, either. He remembered the dragon vividly from his childhood--Dief had seemed even bigger, then--and how he'd always begged to go flying on his back. He hadn't been allowed to do it alone, of course, but his father had taken him sometimes. Ben remembered the exhilaration of the ground dropping away beneath him as Dief swooped up and up, until the pine and birch forest became just a carpet of green underneath them, and the cabin shrank to the size of a toy.

Dief had used to tell him that Ben would be his captain one day.

But he and his father hadn't had the best track record when it came to keeping in touch, and so Ben hadn't really spent any time with Dief, either, in the last years. Since his childhood, really. So Ben didn't have any expectations that Dief still intended...well, it wasn't as if Dief wasn't a free citizen, anyway. It wasn't like the old days, when dragons were practically enslaved.

"How are you bearing up, son?"

Ben looked up at the voice. Buck, of course. Ben shrugged, rather than try to express his muddled feelings in words.

"Let's go aside for a bit, eh?" Buck gestured off into the graveyard. The crowd was breaking up, heading for the wake, and Ben emphatically did not want to go and shake all the hands and acknowledge all the condolences that were undoubtedly waiting for him there.

Ben nodded, and glanced at Dief, who was still looking down at the grave, settled down on his haunches now.

"I'm sorry," he told Buck awkwardly. "I know you were...he was your partner."

"He was. If I'd been there..." Buck shook his head. "We hadn't really worked together for years. Promotion will do that to a partnership." He looked wryly at the insignia on his sleeve.

"Do you know what happened? They say it was an accident."

"They say that, yes. Hunting accident."

Ben had his doubts. "And Dief? Was he there?"

Buck shook his head. "I don't know. He's...distraught. No wonder."

"So, will you and he...?" Ben made a vague gesture.

Buck looked surprised. "Me? I'm not his captain, and I'm not going to be. Sure, I flew with him and Buck a lot, back in the day, but no. You, though..."

Ben looked away. "I know he said so, but it was long ago. I was a kid." And it was a kid's dream.

"Well, Dief was always traditional."

The crowd was gone now, and only Dief was left. Buck glanced over at the grave. "I should check up on him."

Buck approached so that Dief could see him coming. "Dief?"

Dief lowered his nose and butted at Buck, shoving him back a few steps, and Buck patted his neck and murmured to him in a voice too low to hear, Dief making a high-pitched whine. Ben felt an absurd stab of envy. They'd known each other for many years, after all.

He abruptly turned away from the still open grave and sat down on the ground, heedless of his dress uniform. Ben leaned against a gravestone, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He was not going to cry. He hadn't even seen his father properly in what must be years. Staring down at the snow, he breathed evenly, fighting back the tears. He should go to the wake, but he couldn't bring himself to get up.

There was a huff behind him, warm air stirring his hair with the smell of carnivore breath. He looked up, right into Dief's brown eyes, startlingly close.

"Ben," Dief rumbled, and nosed at his shoulder. He almost fell over.

"Dief?" Ben swallowed, trying to gather himself together.

"He was murdered."

"What?"

Dief blinked his slitted eyes. "Bob. I know he was."

Ben scrambled to his feet. "Are you sure? I had my suspicions...there was hardly any investigation, but--"

"I don't have any proof. But I'm sure." Dief growled, the feathers on his hackles rising. Ben backed away a step involuntarily. "You have to help me find the proof."

"Yes," Ben said immediately. "Of course I will."

"Good. I knew you'd do it." Dief said with finality.

***

So this was the place.

There was still blood on the snow, and Ben gritted his teeth and made himself look at it professionally. A crime scene, like any other. Dief bent to sniff at it, and growled, a deep vibration in the air.

"So. Why did he go alone?" Ben asked.

"I'd told him not to! I think he wanted to be...subtle about it, and he thought I'd be in the way. He didn't want anyone to know he was looking into it. But it was too late for that."

"Hmm. Did he have proof of what the dam was doing?"

"That's what he was looking for." They looked around at the white field of snow. A dragon was flying over the treetops, then landing some distance away and scrabbling at the snow. Ben recognized him--it was one of the local Tsimshian Ksayłk dragons, Eric Kitikmeot. He uncovered a frozen caribou.

"Hey! Eric!" Ben shouted, walking towards him. Dief spread his wings and glided down the slope.

Eric looked up, hissing a little at Dief. "This is mine. Hunt your own caribou."

Dief backed off a little, just enough to show his friendly intentions. "You didn't kill that, did you?"

"Nope," Eric said.

"See any hunters come through here?" Ben asked.

"Yep."

"Did they kill that?"

"Nah," Eric said, putting his claws into the caribou.

"Then who?"

"Nobody. They just drank too much." Eric rose into the air, taking the caribou with him.

"Now what on earth did he mean by that?" Ben asked. There was frozen fur sticking up from the snow a few meters away, and he scraped the snow away. Another caribou.

Dief sniffed at it. "It smells weird."

"Weird how?"

Dief scraped the snow away around it, and sniffed at it more carefully. "Like something that died in the water."

"Let's get it to a coroner, then."

Dief gripped the caribou in his claws, flapping heavily at lift-off, and Fraser hiked back.

***

"Look, I questioned the pilot, and he said--"

"We've been over this, Ben." Gerard sighed, with a paternalism that got Ben's hackles up, though he didn't show it, standing at attention as he was. "There were a hundred hunters out in the woods that day. Most from God knows where. You found six."

"With respect, sir, I'd like to investigate this lead. And Dief--"

"Dief? You realize that dragon isn't in his right mind? No wonder, poor thing, with Bob dead. And you want to take him along with you to Chicago? Have either of you been in a large city before?"

"No, sir. And I realize we wouldn't be allowed to work the case, but if we're in the same city, we can at least check on the progress."

Gerard shook his head. "They'll eat you alive. And what's Dief going to do, hunt for caribou on the streets? Sorry, no."

Fraser straightened. "I understand. But you also understand that nothing is going to stop us from finding my father's killer and bringing him to justice."

***

"Can we go now?" Dief's tail lashed out, hitting the branches of a pine, which let go their load of snow with a muffled crash.

"Soon," Ben said. "Not quite yet. The paperwork needs to go through, and I need clothes for the flight."

Dief hissed in impatience, but then settled down. "You need a harness, too," Dief reminded him.

"How long will it take?" Ben asked.

"Maybe a week?" Dief said.

"We'll need enough food, then," Ben said, privately wondering whether Dief's estimation could be correct.

Dief whuffed. "We can hunt on the way."

It took Ben two days to track down what they needed and for the bureaucratic wheels to grind their way through the transfer, and the morning after that, Ben was dressed and ready to go.

Dief thrust his muzzle and front legs through his old-fashioned regulation harness, much less ornate than the dress harness he'd worn for the funeral. It was made of thick straps of supple brown leather, with rings of metal at the joins.

"Come on, help me buckle it," Dief said, crouching down.

Ben did so, stretching up to reach. "Where do you want the baggage?"

"On the sides. One on either side, so it's balanced." Ben strapped it on, tugging at it to make sure it was secure. Then he hesitated, looking up at Dief's back.

"What are you waiting for? Come on," Dief said. "Climb the straps. You're not going to hurt me."

Well, this was it. Ben took a deep breath, then swung himself up. Up on Dief's shoulders, he clipped the carabiners of his harness into the metal rings on Dief's harness, one on each side.

"All right, I'm done."

He held onto the harness for dear life while Dief rose from his crouch, extended his wings, flapped experimentally a few times, and then rose into the air with one powerful leap. Between his legs, he felt Dief's great chest muscles working as they gained height.

Ben had been on dragonback before, at Depot, when they'd all been instructed by one of the dragon instructors there, a strict and demanding old Regal Copper. The Royal Canadian Aerial Police had its grand old traditions, of course: RCAP officers of a hundred years ago, or even fifty, had patrolled the vast areas of the Dominion of Canada on dragonback, but now they were simply a modern police force, even if some of its members were still dragons.

Robert Fraser, though, had been one of the last hold-outs of the old traditions, him and Buck and Dief. His father had flown like this for years.

And now Ben was here in his place. But he wouldn't assume it meant anything permanent. Dief wanted his help to find the killers, that was all.

Ben's eyes watered in the freezing wind, and he blinked and put his goggles and face mask on. Dief was still climbing, slowly and steadily, and he could see the frozen channels of the Mackenzie River wind their way through the forest below. The tree cover was not uniform, but shaded in continuous gradations from the dark forest in the valleys to the sparser cover on hilltops, and to flat white wetlands. Here and there were the stark squares of clear-cuts.

It was dawn, and the rosy glow in the east brightened by slow degrees, until the first rays of the sun broke the horizon. Ben squinted against the sudden blinding light. The sky above was clear and so entirely blue that it felt like staring into infinity. The land below was thrown into sharp relief, with long shadows stretching from the hills.

Ben turned, to see that Inuvik was already far enough behind that he could hardly make it out. Dief seemed to have reached his preferred flying height, at what Ben would estimate was perhaps half a kilometer of altitude from the hilltops, and he had settled down into a steady unhurried rhythm.

There was some satisfaction in having set out, despite everything. They had a goal, and every beat of Dief's wings were bringing them closer to it. At that moment, Ben could believe that they would in fact succeed, and he was determined to hold fast to that conviction.

Ben secured the fur-lined hood tightly around his face. Winter flying was exceedingly cold, as there was no exercise involved for the rider, and Ben was grateful that the Inuvik RCAP detachment was still equipped with proper flying gear.

The sun rose, though never high, and turned gradually to the south, until they were flying directly into the sunlight. Ben bared his hand for a few moments to dig out some pemmican and a thermos of tea, then quickly stuck it back in his thick bulky glove to warm up. He ate, while Dief flew on. Neither of them spoke.

The land flowed on below them. Ben found his eyelids drooping, and he lay down on Dief's back, sheltered from the wind to some degree. His nose burrowed into Dief's thick feathers, and he felt the working of Dief's great muscles beneath his body. It was a regular movement, soothing, and he slid down into sleep, trusting in Dief and in his harness to keep him in place.

He woke with a jolt, confused.

"Ben?" He felt the rumble of that voice in the body beneath him.

"Yes?" he said, sitting up. He felt vaguely ashamed of having fallen asleep. "Where are we?"

"On the ground," Dief said.

Ben looked around. The jolt that had woken him had apparently been Dief's landing. They were in a clearing, and the light was waning.

"Could you get off? I want to hunt."

"Yes, of course." Ben scrambled to unclip his carabiners, still a little muzzy-headed. He slid down Dief's side into the deep snow. "Do you want the harness off?"

"Yes."

Ben unbuckled the harness, and Dief shrugged it off, along with the baggage.

"I'll make space for a fire." Dief scratched at the snow with his powerful hind legs, for all the world like a giant rabbit, until the bare ground showed through. Then he reared up, looking around, and tugged at a standing dead tree until it gave way with a crash. "Here's some firewood for you."

"Thank you kindly," Ben said, bemused at the way in which a dragon could simplify the necessities of survival in the wild.

"I'm hungry now," Dief said. "See you in a while." And he crouched down low and sprang up into the twilight.

Ben settled down into camp chores, starting the fire and setting the tent up in the area already flattened by Dief's belly. He made tea, cooked, and was halfway through his meal when Dief returned. The whoosh of his wings almost extinguished the fire.

Dief carried a deer in his claws, and he settled down to eat it, tearing loose chunks of it and swallowing them almost whole. The entrails were slurped down like delicacies. When he was almost done, he hesitated. "Do you want some of it?"

"No, thank you. I've eaten."

"Oh, good," Dief said, and made short work of the rest. Evidently he'd only asked to be polite. He nosed at the red snow, saying wistfully, "I could've eaten two."

"You can hunt again tomorrow before we leave, if you want? We're not in that much of a hurry."

Dief rumbled something that was probably meant as a yes.

"Well. I should probably go to bed," Ben said, feeling a little awkward. "Good night."

"Good night," Dief said. His eyes reflected the firelight with red glow.

Ben retreated into the tent. He had no difficulty falling asleep, despite having slept during the flight--the previous week had been a strain on him. Just when his thoughts were drifting off, there was a sound of something large shifting outside. "Ben?"

"Yes?" he said, startled. "Is something wrong?"'

"No. I just wanted to...see if you were there."

"I'm here," Ben said, a little muddled with sleep.

"Okay." Dief shifted outside again, the snow creaking under his weight.

***

The deer Dief caught the next morning was small, almost malnourished.

"We can wait, if you want to hunt for another," Ben said, slathering butter on his oatmeal.

"No, that's all right," Dief said around a mouthful of deer. "It's harder to fly on a full stomach."

"If you're sure," Ben said. Dief finished the deer, and groomed himself, using the snow to rub the blood off his feathers. Ben consulted the map. "Do you know where we are?"

Dief gave an affirmative whuff. "I've flown this area for years, but when we get down south of the Northwest Territories, I won't know the way. Well, I always know which way is south, but other than that. But I guess we can follow the highways," he said practically. "Lots of roadkill there, too."

"Right you are," Ben said, and stood up to pack the tent.

That evening after another long day's flight, Dief caught himself a moose. It was obviously fairly heavy even for him to carry, but he proudly dropped it down in the clearing where they were staying.

"You didn't eat yet, did you?"

"No," said Ben, who had just got the tent set up.

"I'll let you have a bit of the backstrap," said Dief magnanimously. "Bob always liked that."

A brief awkward silence, then Ben swallowed and said, "Thank you, I'd like that."

He cut loose a generous portion for himself, and set it up to roast over the fire. It was, indeed, good, after he'd sprinkled it with salt and eaten it with some bread. "It was delicious, Dief. Thank you."

Dief rumbled a little in acknowledgement. He had finished off most of the moose, leaving some of it for breakfast, and was lying contentedly with his head close to the fire, blinking into the firelight.

Ben made himself some tea, cupping his hands around the warm mug.

Dief stirred. "Do you have any sugar?"

"No, sorry. I don't usually take sugar in my tea."

"Oh." Dief put his muzzle down again.

"I have a few Nanaimo bars. Would you like one?"

"Oh, yes!"

Ben produced one, dropping it carefully on Dief's outstretched tongue. He watched as Dief ate it with every indication of delight, although it couldn't have been more than a fleeting taste for him. Ben couldn't help smiling a little at the sight.

Then Dief turned his head suddenly to look into the darkness. He made a strange little noise, huffing air through his nostrils.

"Something out there?"

Dief said nothing, then turned his head to look at Ben. "No. Nothing."

"All right." Dief's seeming unease spread to Ben, but he tried to dismiss it. "Time to sleep, perhaps?" he said, with a forced heartiness.

In the tent, on the verge of sleep, he thought he heard Dief murmuring, surprisingly low for such a large creature. Ben couldn't make out his words.

***

South of Lake Athabasca, they followed the highway south, high enough that the cars looked like tiny ants creeping along. They saw other dragons occasionally, once passing close enough for Dief and the other dragon to dip their heads in greeting.

But the population was still sparse enough that finding a secluded campsite at the end of the day's flight was easy. Ben found himself not particularly thinking of what they would do when they arrived. It felt as though the journey itself consumed his attention entirely, and he didn't think of the whys or hows. Dief didn't talk of it, either.

It was the end of a rather tedious day's flight--the clouds were low, and snow was falling steadily. The clouds had forced Dief lower, and the winds had changed from the earlier prevailing westerlies, to blow almost straight in their faces. Ben wanted to tell Dief that they could stop earlier, but it would be no use to shout against the wind. He realized that he was staying upright out of some sort of useless sense of shared effort, and lay down to lessen the wind.

They finally did land when Dief spotted some roadkill, and then they both hunkered down by the fire.

"Do you...well, I hope you'll tell me if you need more rest," Ben said, hesitant.

Dief huffed out a breath. "I can do it."

Well, he had tried. And he didn't know Dief well enough to know whether he would suffer in silence or not.

Dief's eyes closed to slits as he gazed into the glowing heart of the fire, and his breath came regularly. Was he sleeping? Ben fetched a battered black journal from his pack, tilting it toward the fire to let the flames illuminate it. He hadn't had time to read in his father's journals yet, and he stroked the edges of the pages, worn fuzzy and soft, with a strange feeling in his heart. Opening the book at random, he read.


May 17, 1955



We've been on the wing for almost a week now, flying in a grid to try to find that missing kid. I still think he went through the river, but who wants to tell his mother and father so? Dief's getting tired, though he won't let me say so.


Well, that answered that question.

"What is that?" Dief rumbled. Ben jumped a little.

"One of my father's journals."

Dief whined and nosed at it, as if it had any smell left. Perhaps it had. Ben had the sudden urge to stroke his muzzle, scratch the delicate feathers behind his eye ridges, though he didn't. He didn't want to presume.

"Read it to me?"

"All right." Tactfully skipping over the part about Dief getting tired, Ben read the rest of the entry.

"He always wrote in that journal by the fire," Dief said. His head was turned slightly away, staring out into the darkness. "He'd read it to me, sometimes." ¨

"Did you find that child?"

"No, but someone else found him. He'd run away to Tsiigehtchic." Dief huffed out a breath. "Quiet!"

"What?" Ben said, startled.

"No, not you, I mean--nothing." Dief's tail lashed as he stirred, and he stood up to shake the fallen snow off.

"Well. Perhaps we should sleep--it's late." Ben stood up and likewise brushed the snow off.

Dief made a noise of assent, and then sniffed at Ben, butting at him with his muzzle so that he almost lost his balance.

"Hey, take it easy," Ben said, steadying himself. He patted Dief awkwardly on the neck.

***

They reached the American border a few days later. Ben was about to shout to Dief to descend to the border station he could see off to the right, by the highway, but before he could do it, he spotted a dragon flying purposefully up to meet them.

"US border patrol," the dragon said, hovering in front of them. It had a patch with a logo prominently displayed on its chest. "Come on down and state your business," it said, peremptory and bordering on rude.

The other dragon was rather smaller than Dief, and Dief raised his feathers with a huff. But the border guard was obviously armed, and Ben hastily shouted, "Dief! Let's go down."

They did, and Dief submitted to being searched with poor grace. But their papers were in order, and in due time they flew on over American soil.

Flying down over Illinois, Ben tried to convince Dief he couldn't just hunt for his dinner any more. The one time he tried it, they were threatened with a shotgun and barely managed to talk the irate man down, and after that Dief was forced to accept that food couldn't just be plucked from the ground any more.

"Let's try a town," Ben said, and they did. From the air, the dragon-friendly part of town was obvious: a large open square, bordered by an open-air restaurant catering to dragons, obvious from the stylized picture of a cow on the horizontal sign visible from the air. When they landed, Dief drew a fair amount of stares. It was probably the feathers.

"Where are you from?" the server at the restaurant asked, a Winchester with the restaurant logo on a badge on its chest. "Never seen somebody like you before."

"I'm from the Northwest Territories. Canada. And this is my captain," Dief said, indicating Ben. His captain? Ben felt a jolt of something he refused to look at too closely.

"Your captain? Seriously?" the Winchester said disbelievingly. "Like you're some sort of old war hero or something?"

Dief bristled a little. "We're from the Royal Canadian Aerial Police."

"Hey, no offense, okay? Cool. So, what do you want? The menu's over there on the board."

"A cow, maybe?" Dief asked hesitantly.

"Sure. We've got a real good Texan barbecue."

"Can't I just get it raw?"

"Raw? You sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's your dinner."

Dief was a bit disconcerted when the cow was brought to him skinned and with the entrails taken out. "I like the liver," he grumbled. "It's the best part of it. And the heart, too."

Dief, Ben was realizing as he ate the hamburger from the limited menu for humans, was quite as lost here as he himself was. It was both a comforting and a frightening thought. To the child he had been, Dief and his father both had always seemed all-knowing and all-competent. Of course, Dief had probably never ventured so far south before, and he was half wild dragon, after all.

Dief, meanwhile, was being questioned by the other dragons. "So, your harness..." one of the larger dragons said. "I mean, are you wearing it because--"

"Because I choose to," Dief said curtly.

"Yeah, of course, of course. I just wanted to be sure--it's kind of old-fashioned, you know. Not that some of us haven't--but that was a long time ago, and it's just not done anymore. It better not be."

Ben could guess what they were referring to, but he didn't pretend to understand the subtleties of dragon culture. Especially not American dragon culture. Anyway, the dragons were ignoring him in favor of Dief.

"What kind of dragon are you?" one of the others asked.

"I'm half Arctic dragon."

That caused a stir. "Really? Aren't they, like, wild?"

Dief reared up a little. "Yes. Mostly."

"So what's the other half?"

"Gyuu."

Clearly that was not much more familiar to them. "We're First Nations dragons from the north of Canada," Dief said proudly.

It took a long time before the other dragons let Dief alone enough to finish his cow. Lit by the neon lights of the restaurant, Ben climbed onto Dief's back and performed the safety checks while the rest of the dragons pretended not to watch. Dief spread his wings and climbed into the sky, steeply enough that Ben suspected he did it for show.

***

Chicago, when they came to it, seemed endless.

They flew over suburb upon suburb before they even got to the city proper. The air was hazy over the skyline, and the buildings below marched by in an ordered grid of concrete, covering the land completely. He wondered what shape it had been before, whether it had been woodland, or prairie, or something else.

They passed several areas that seemed to be sized for dragons, but most streets in the other parts of the city were narrow enough that landing would be a challenge for a large dragon.

Dief circled indecisively, until a small dragon flying by slowed down. "Hey, you need any help?"

"Do you know where we can find the police?" Dief asked.

"You want the dragon squad or the human police?"

"Human, I think."

"Well, there's a good landing spot in that park over there, and I think there's a police station somewhere there? I'm not sure. I usually stay in our parts of town, you know? But you can just ask someone when you get down."

"Thank you," Dief said, and they went down for a landing in the short mowed grass of the park, sending a flock of pigeons scattering.

Ben glanced at the narrow streets that led off the park. "Do you want to wait while I find the station?" He felt a little reluctant to leave Dief there in the park. Not that he thought Dief couldn't handle himself, but they'd spent so many days together on the wing.

Dief snorted in reply, looking with annoyance at the inaccessible streets. "Go on, I'll wait."

Ben stripped off his heavy flying gear and left it with Dief, and a few questions to passersby soon directed him to the station.

"That's Kowalski and Vecchio's case," the desk staff told him when given the case number. "The Rays." He jabbed a thumb towards a door.

"The Rays?"

"Well, they're both called Ray, so."

He paused in the doorway to observe what he presumed to be the Rays. They were questioning a harried-looking young man, who was looking back and forth between them.

"Now, you know it's in your best interests to tell us, right?" one of them said, leaning in towards the young man, as if inviting him to a confidence. This Ray was tall, with dark balding hair, and was dressed in a rather loud shirt. "You don't owe them a thing. And maybe we can cut you a deal, you know? Depending on what you can tell us."

"I told you, I don't know anything," the young man said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That is bullshit and you know it," the other Ray said, leaning forward in a way that could only be described as menacing. He had blond spiky hair, and in his worn black t-shirt, looked more like an aged-up punk teenager himself than a police officer.

"Fuck you, I don't know anything!"

"Look, we saw you right there on the scene, and if you don't tell us about it I'm going to kick you in the head!"

He could not in conscience allow that. Ben stepped forward. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I believe that would be police brutality, and while I'm not fully familiar with the American law, I can't imagine it would be lawful."

Both the Rays turned to glare at him. "Look, I don't know who you think you are..." the Ray in the colorful shirt began.

"I'm Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Aerial Police." Fraser filled in.

"Yeah, whatever. But keep out of our investigation, okay?" the blond one said.

"I believe you're in charge of a case that concerns me. And I'm sorry for interrupting you, but I really can't countenance police brutality." Ben stood his ground, and the two Rays exchanged a glance.

The dark-haired one said, "I'll put this guy in to stew for a while, okay? Be back soon."

"Right," the blond one said, turning to Ben once the other two were gone. "What, you really think I was going to kick him in the head? I was just saying that! Haven't you ever heard of 'good cop, bad cop' in Canada?"

Ben set his jaw. "It certainly looked like you were."

"Well, I wasn't, okay." The man glared at him, then shook his head, as if shaking it off. "Right. You got an interest in one of our cases?"

Ben blinked at the man's lightning change of mood. "Yes."

"Which one?"

"The death of Sergeant Robert Fraser, RCAP."

The other Ray had come back by now, and he said, "Oh yeah, the dead Mountie, like I couldn't have guessed. Look, we've got your list of names, okay? We're going to check them out when we get a chance, and we'll call you when we're done. Anything else?"

"Yes. The dead Mountie was my father, and I would appreciate it if you'd check the names while there's still a chance of catching the man who killed him."

The men glanced at each other, and the one who'd just spoken sighed. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"That's all right."

"Right, I guess we should introduce ourselves. Detective Ray Vecchio." He reached out his hand, and Ben shook it.

"Ray Kowalski," the other man said, and shook his hand as well.

"You'll be able to reach me and Diefenbaker at the Canadian Consulate," Ben said.

"Diefenbaker?" Ray Vecchio asked.

"Diefenbaker is my..." Ben hesitated. What was he, really? "...my partner," he finished awkwardly. It seemed the best word, although not one he really felt he could lay claim to. "He was my father's partner, as well."

"Right. Well, we'll get back to you as soon as we've checked out the leads."

***

Ben found himself quickening his pace until he could see that Dief was, in fact, still where he had left him, hunched up like a great roosting ptarmigan.

"Did you find out anything?" Dief rumbled.

"I did. I found the detectives in charge of the case, and they said they'd contact us when they'd checked the leads."

Dief snorted impatiently. "We could do that ourselves. It would be faster."

"I'm afraid this isn't our jurisdiction--we do need their help."

Dief growled a little, but subsided. "So where is the consulate?"

"Ah, well. I have the address, but..."

They asked their way there, finding that it was better to ask dragons, who could describe it from above. The city seemed a maze of streets, buildings, traffic, and it all looked equally chaotic to them, and the occasional signage for dragons on the rooftops was not much more comprehensible to them.

When they finally reached the consulate, they recognized it by the Canadian flag painted on the roof. It was late afternoon, but it hadn't closed yet, and Dief landed awkwardly on the narrow street outside. Some of the cars honked at him, and he shifted, trying not to block the traffic.

"You're Constable Fraser, yes? And...Deputy Fraser?" Inspector Moffat looked confused, looking up at Dief. Dief's last name, which nobody much used, was also Fraser--he'd been an orphan when Bob found him, and Bob had given him the Fraser name.

"That's right," Ben said. "I'm Constable Benton Fraser; this is Deputy Diefenbaker Fraser." Dief had never attended Depot, and thus wasn't a full constable.

"We properly only had one vacancy, you know," the inspector continued. "But Inspector Underhill convinced me to take both of you. Well. We haven't had a dragon at this consulate for some time. Sorry about the bad access." He waved his hand at the building behind him, which was not exactly adapted for dragons.

"I'm sure we can both be of use," Ben put in. He glanced up at Dief, trying to impress on him the need to not blurt out anything about hunting down killers. They were dependent on this man's good will, after all.

"Yes, well. Chicago does have a sizeable dragon community. You might be of use, at that." The inspector looked thoughtful, then glanced at his watch. "Anyway, we'll see tomorrow. We were just closing up for the day, so come back tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir," Ben said.

He watched the Inspector lock up and leave, pulling away in a car. The traffic swallowed him seamlessly. It felt like the city closed itself up, people walking by giving them brief glances of surprise, then turning their gazes away and quickening their steps, their heels going tap-tap-tap on the sidewalk. The streetlights came on as evening fell.

"Where do you suppose we should spend the night?" Ben said, his shoulders slumping. He wanted to sit down in front of a campfire with the stars overhead and miles of open country around them.

Dief shifted slightly closer to him. "There was a big park a while back? We could try that."

"I suppose we could," Ben replied, slightly dubious, but willing to give it a try. He wasn't about to check into a hotel without Dief.

The park was mostly abandoned now that it was dark, and it didn't look like they'd be in the way.

"Are you hungry?" Ben asked Dief.

"No," Dief said mournfully, then amended it to, "Well, yes."

Dief had eaten that morning, but Ben was beginning to see that he was pretty much always hungry.

"Well, I'll go get myself something from the diner out on the corner, and I'll get you a burger or something too, all right?"

"All right." Dief shifted in the dark, a ghostly shape.

He got a burger and fries for himself, and two of the same for Dief. Then, remembering Dief's taste for sweets, he bought a couple of the sugar-powdered donuts on display.

Dief sniffed the burgers and fries dubiously, then wolfed them down.

"I know there's not much meat in that," Ben said apologetically.

"No, it's good. Lots of fat, I like that."

"I got you these, too." Ben produced the donuts.

Dief's tongue came out as he tasted the air, and then he delicately took the donuts from Ben's outstretched hand. He made a sighing little noise of pleasure when he tasted them. "Oh, these are good! Is there more?"

"Sorry, no. But I'm glad you liked them."

Ben had finished his own food, and spread out his bedroll next to Dief. It was dark enough, since the trees kept out the streetlights, but the noises of a nighttime city were very different from those of a forest. The constant low murmur of distant car engines, the more distinct noises of nearby ones, the honk of a horn. The voices of people walking some distance off.

Ben wondered if he'd be able to sleep. Dief shifted a little beside him, but said nothing.

Then something swooped down through the air, and Dief startled and reared up a little in reaction. A light shone on them.

"Hey, what are you doing? Camping out or something?" In the glare of the lamp, Ben could make out a small-to-midsize dragon with an official-looking badge on the chest. "You can't do that."

"I'm sorry, is it against city statutes? I didn't know that," Ben said.

"It sure is." The dragon eyed them suspiciously, as if trying to see if they were vagrants, and was seemingly confused by Ben's uniform.

"But it's not like we're disturbing anyone," Dief objected.

"Doesn't matter, it's the law," the other dragon said. "Move along."

"Right," Ben said with a sigh, and began to pack up. "Do you know any place we could stay? I'm afraid we don't know the city very well."

"Well, sure. There are dragon pavilion hotels over in Orland Park."

"Which way do we fly to get there?" Dief asked.

It was not, in the end, that difficult to find, with a glowing neon sign featuring a stylized pavilion.

"A midsize pavilion for you, yes?" the dragon clerk asked Dief. "With or without walls?"

Dief blinked. "Without." Ben doubted if Dief had ever slept within walls.

"Thought so, with those feathers--I've never seen anything like that before. How long will you be staying?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, just tell us when you know." And to Ben: "I'm afraid we don't have beds..."

"That's all right, I have a bedroll."

"A bedroll?" The dragon cocked its head at Ben. "Oh, well. I suppose you can stay too, then."

The floor of the pavilion was slightly soft and springy, with a few large sturdy pillow-like objects.

"Well, this will be comfortable," Ben said, deliberately cheerful.

They settled in, and Ben found that it was, after all, not as difficult to fall asleep as he had feared. He was exhausted, and felt his eyes falling shut as soon as he lay down.

Ben woke in the morning to Diefenbaker's low voice rumbling. "Yes, I do remember. But that's not like this at all."

"What?" Ben said, stirring.

Dief snaked his head around fast. "Oh, you're--nothing. Nothing."

Ben blinked. "But you were talking to someone."

"No, just--nothing."

He had heard it, he knew that. Had Dief been talking to himself? It hadn't sounded like it. But all right, if Dief didn't want to tell him...well.

Ben fumbled out his watch, looked at it. "We should be at the Consulate in an hour, better be going now."

Dief got up with alacrity, as if glad of the change of subject. "Breakfast?"

They ate at a nearby dragon diner, then headed for the Consulate. Inspector Moffat looked them over and frowned, and Ben stood straighter automatically.

"Well, I'll put you on sentry duty for now," the Inspector told Ben, then turned to Dief. "You, I'll have to think about. You're dismissed for now--just don't stir up any trouble."

Dief stuck around for ten minutes while Ben stood on sentry-duty, but began to fidget more and more, and finally said, "I'm going off for a while, to explore. I'll be back for lunch."

Ben could do nothing but stay motionless at his post, and he watched Dief fly off with what would have been a worried frown, if he had permitted himself the expression. Dief would stir up heaven and earth to find the murderer--as would he himself, to be sure, but Dief seemed to have less restraint and the possibility for collateral damage was much greater.

Time crept slowly along, and he tried to ignore the rudeness of the passers-by.

"Hey, there," a voice said, and he did his best not to startle. It was the American detectives from yesterday.

"Look, we made some calls," Ray Kowalski, the blond one, said. Ben felt his hope rising--he hadn't thought they'd get back to him so soon--but didn't move.

"Hey," Ray Vecchio said, waving a hand in front of his face. "You're putting us on, right?"

Would that he was. Ben gritted his teeth a little, counting down the minutes.

Ray Kowalski rolled his eyes and muttered, "I can't believe they pay people to do this in Canada."

"Well, just call us up when you get off, okay? I feel like I'm talking to a corpse here," Ray Vecchio said.

Finally, the bell, just as they were turning to leave.

"Wait," he said, and they turned. "Tell me what you learned."

***

"There's really no way you can come inside," Ben told Dief, trying to soothe Dief's temper. Secretly he was glad of it--he didn't need Dief looming over the man they wanted to question.

"Well, all right then," Dief said, settling down outside the building and watching the door as if it were the breathing-hole of a seal.

"He seems a little...unstable. Can you control him at all?" Ray Kowalski said. "I mean, he could cause some damage if he went vigilante."

"Well, he's a member of the RCAP. I trust him to uphold the law," Ben said, pushing aside his own doubts as to Dief's self-control. Dief had served for longer than he had, after all.

"Right, if you're sure."

The man they were to question turned out to be a dentist, with a fine stuffed speciment of Castor canadensis sitting in his office.

"Yeah, it was our usual gang, nothing strange about the trip. We've all gone up there for years together to hunt."

Ben felt his heart sinking. It had after all been a rather flimsy lead--if it came to nothing, what would they do? "Did you observe anything unusual up there? Any other hunters in the area?"

"Hmm. There weren't any other people coming out with us on the bush plane. Although now that I think about it, there was a dragon going the same way. He came up on the plane from Chicago--he was small, so he fit into one of those dragon berths in the back of the plane, you know. I remember because afterwards he flew the same way as we did in the bush plane."

"Oh?" Ben said in a neutral, encouraging tone, but in his mind, something was falling into place with a satisfying click. There had been no footprints in the area where the shot must have come from. The shot had been made on the wing, he was suddenly sure of it. "Do you remember what the dragon looked like?"

"Well, I can do you one better--we caught him on a photo, actually, just one of those landscape shots, and he was in the background."

It wasn't a particularly good photo, but Ben took it, stared at it. A Winchester, from the looks of it, carrying something in a black bag on his chest.

"What you need now is the dragon squad," Ray Vecchio said on the way down the stairs. "It's a bit of a touchy issue, policing the dragon population. They've got their own department, and we liaise with them."

Ben nodded. "I'd be grateful if you could put me in touch with them."

"Sure thing," Ray Kowalski said.

Outside the building, Dief almost pounced on them. "Did he know anything? Do you think it was him?"

"No, it wasn't him," Ben said. "But--he gave us a photo."

He held it out, and Dief crouched down low, squinted at it. When he made out what it was, he hissed, low and threatening. "So that's why there weren't any tracks."

So Dief had made the connection, too.

***

The Rays' liaison at the dragon squad was a middleweight with green and ochre markings; Ben thought she might have Dakota blood. She was a bit smaller than Dief, with a CPD badge prominently displayed. Come to think of it, Ben hadn't seen any real heavyweights in the city yet--perhaps they disliked the difficulties of maneuvering here.

"Hi, I'm Detective Sherry Zitkala," she said in a businesslike tone. "How can I help you?"

She turned to Dief first, who said, "We're from the Royal Canadian Aerial Police, and we have a photo of a dragon who might have killed my captain. We think he's from Chicago."

Detective Zitkala blinked at the word captain, but said nothing about it. She exchanged a few words with Ray and Ray about the case, then peered at the photograh, bringing out a big magnifying glass to get a closer look. "Hmm..."

"Do you recognize that dragon?" Ben asked.

"Yeah. Well, not so much the dragon as the snout. I never forget a snout," she said decisively. "Calls himself Frank Drake. Funny, right? Drake."

"What do you know about him?"

"He might be who you're looking for. He was in for a while, but we couldn't pin him on the hit we actually suspected him for."

Dief growled, and his ruff of feathers came up. "He's small. I could take him easily."

Detective Zitkala reared up a little, as if to assert her authority. "Look, you keep back and let us do our job. You don't have jurisdiction here. And second, he's more dangerous than he looks. He's a Vietnam veteran, trained as a sniper. Size isn't everything."

Ben tried to catch Dief's eye, to reinforce the message, but Dief's eyes were still locked on the other dragon. Ray Vecchio met Ben's eye, frowned.

Ben took a deep breath. "Dief!"

Dief's head snapped down. "What?"

"Please. Stand down."

Dief met his eyes for a long moment, and then sighed out a long breath, letting his ruff settle. "All right. Do you know where we can find him?" he asked Detective Zitkala.

She settled down a little in response, too. "Possibly. There's a place he might hang out, or where other dragons hang out who might know where he is, anyway."

***

"Now, you stay out of it, okay?" Detective Zitkala looked around, impressing it on them all. "This is dragon territory, and I'm glad to have you out here as backup, but don't come in unless I signal for it." She looked at Dief. "And you--you'd stand out like a heavyweight in downtown Chicago. Don't come in, okay?"

Dief settled back on his haunches. "All right," he said reluctantly.

Detective Zitkala disappeared around the corner. "I don't see why we can't just go in there and ask them," Dief grumbled. "It always worked when Bob and I did it."

"When in Rome..." Benton said.

"...do as the Romans, yes. Did Martha teach you that?" Dief said.

"She did, yes."

They waited.

"What's that?" Ray Kowalski asked, as the sound of a commotion came from around the corner.

"Perhaps we should go in," Ben said. Dief hadn't waited for the suggestion: he surged forward, and Ben ran after him.

"Dief, wait!"

The atmosphere was one of menace: teeth shown, wings half extended, breath hissing, even a little smoke issuing from the mouth of one dragon. It was enough to make Ben pause. But Detective Zitkala seemed to be holding her own, from what little Ben could see before Dief stole all attention.

Dief reared up, his ruff fully out. "Where is Frank Drake?" he roared.

A moment's silence, before all hell broke loose. Ben almost didn't hear the shots fired over the noise of dragons roaring in response to Dief's challenge. When it did, it made his blood run cold, and he made one aborted move of his hand towards his holster before he remember that he had no licence and the gun wasn't loaded. Damn.

He took cover, Ray and Ray beside him. It was now a melee of dragons either drawing their own weapons or trying to get out of there.

Detective Zitkala appeared at their side. "Damn him!" she hissed in fury, her dragon-issue gun out. Dief was only too clear to see with his white feathers shining like a target, and now he was--

"Dief! No!"

Dief's head turned for one brief moment. "Come back! Dief!"

But Dief was off, chasing after a small Winchester dragon already high up in the air.

"Is he armed?" Detective Zitkala asked, and Ben shook his head. Dief had always preferred his claws and teeth and sheer power of intimidation, relying on Bob to provide the firepower. But they weren't in Canada any longer.

"I'm going after him," Detective Zitkala said. "Get back-up, okay?"

"Already done," Ray Kowalski said, lowering the radio.

Detective Zitkala launched herself into the air after them. Ben heard a few distant shots, and prayed they wouldn't hit Dief. But not even Drake could fire well while fleeing. He hoped.

"Fuck," Ray Vecchio said with feeling. "I thought you said he'd keep in line?"

Ben shook his head, saying nothing. He'd thought he could trust Dief. Those weeks he had spent on Dief's back, flying down from the north, he'd thought they had made some sort of connection then, even if only temporary, even if only for the duration of their mission. He'd thought they were beginning to know one another.

But Dief had flown off alone, without listening to him at all.

Ben swallowed. He owed Ray an answer. "I thought he would."

They stood in silence, alone in the suddenly echoing and abandoned space. All the other dragons had been in rather a hurry to leave, presumably to avoid the blame for the brawl.

"Look, it's in the hands of the dragon squad now, okay?" Ray Kowalski said. "You can't do anything until he gets back. And neither can we."

It struck Ben that it was getting rather late and the two detectives presumably had better things to do than to wait here with him.

"I understand. Well, you don't have to wait with me. I'm sure you want to get home, and I can take a taxi if Dief doesn't return here."

"Well..." The two men glanced at each other.

Ray Vecchio said, "You know, you don't have to stay here either. I'm sure Dief will return to the Consulate if you're not here. You could come and have dinner with my family if you want--Ma is always happy to put another plate on the table."

Ben shook his head. "Thank you. That's very kind of you, but I can't."

"Right. Okay, we'll be in touch."

Ben watched them leave. He was now alone.

It was a long hour before Dief came back, and in the meantime Ben could not help from picturing various grim scenarios ranging from Dief being shot down from the air and bleeding out on a Chicago street, to Dief killing Drake and being brought up on murder charges.

But Dief, when he finally came back, was unharmed. He dropped down from the sky in an inelegant landing, spraying gravel everywhere. Detective Zitkala came down after him, followed by a smaller dragon, also with a CPD badge.

"What on earth were you thinking?" Ben shouted. Lord, he sounded like his grandmother.

Dief glared at him, his eyes yellow and slitted, and for almost the first time Ben was reminded that Dief was a creature who could kill him with one careless swipe of his claws. "I was thinking that I wanted to catch Bob's murderer. Isn't that what we're here for?"

Any reply Ben might have made was drowned out by Detective Zitkala. "And this is not your jurisdiction! I don't care if you're in the RCAP--you could be the queen herself for all I care. You don't know how we do things here, so stay out of it."

Dief bristled and hissed out a breath. But before he could say anything, the smaller dragon said coldly, "I'm afraid we'll have to report this."

The formal tone got through to Dief where Detective Zitkala's temper had only inflamed him further. He let his ruff drop like someone had poured cold water on him.

"You'll tell us when you find him, though?"

"We will. After we bring him in. And no more unauthorized investigation on your part."

"We won't," Ben hurried to say, but the dragons hardly looked at him.

"All right. I promise," Dief said, reluctant. "I'll keep out of it."

"See that you do," the smaller dragon said.

The CPD dragons took to the wing, and Ben was left alone with Dief.

"What happened?" Ben asked.

"I thought I'd catch him easily," Dief said, subdued. "But he had a head start, and--he got in among some tall buildings. It was like a warren in there, and I couldn't just barge in."

"Of course he knows the city better," Ben said. "It's his home territory."

Dief only snorted out a breath. "Let's go," he said, and lowered himself down for Ben to climb up.

He rose into the air slowly and without his usual flair. They both ate in silence when they got back to the pavilion, Dief eating the roasted meat without his usual complaining about Americans not knowing how to appreciate meat in its natural state.

They lay down to sleep, likewise in silence. Ben had almost fallen asleep when Dief jerked up, saying something that Ben was almost sure was his father's name.

"Dief?" he said, sitting up.

Dief's head swung around. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right. Were you dreaming?"

"Yes. Just--go to sleep. It's nothing." Dief turned his head the other way and laid it down again. But Ben was awake now, looking at Dief's bulk in the dim light.

No, he wasn't his father. And he could never take his place.

***

Ben reported in the next morning with a sense of dread. He almost envied Dief, who could not enter the building and had to remain outside. But his superior officer had not received any complaints against them. Yet.

Instead, Ben was left to stand guard and stew in his own thoughts, glumly wondering whether standing immobile and decorative outside a consulate would be his new career path. He'd sooner resign.

Dief sat by his side, as if he wanted to atone for last night by sharing Ben's guard duty. He seemed to be in a similarly glum temper, and he was obstructing traffic and causing no little irritation.

Just before lunch, Inspector Moffat came out, and Ben braced himself.

"What's this I hear about you two interfering in the investigation of Sgt. Fraser's death?"

Ben opened his mouth to answer, but Dief did it first. "That was me, sir. I take full responsibility." He straightened up, sitting at attention.

"You're not in the wilds of Canada anymore," the inspector said sharply. "This is Chicago, and we do not meddle outside our jurisdiction. Do you want to cause an international incident? Anyway, it's out of my hands now. Staff Sergeant Gerard is personally coming down here to take this in hand. He'll give you a hearing."

Gerard? Coming here? "Yes, sir," Ben said, and Dief echoed it. It was the only thing they could say.

That afternoon, Ben called Ray Vecchio, but he had no news on the investigation. Frank Drake had not been found.

"I feel so useless," Dief hissed that evening after they had eaten dinner. His wings rose a little, then he settled them down deliberately.

"I know how you feel," Ben said. "But I think our best course of action is to wait, at this point."

He'd been turning it over in his mind, but there really was nothing they could do to speed the investigation, not if they didn't want to inflame matters further with the authorities here. The thing was, he could understand Dief's actions of last night--Lord knew he might have wanted to chase after Drake, too, if he had had wings. But it really hadn't helped their situation, and he hated the way it made him wary of Dief, as if he couldn't quite trust him.

Dief let out a sigh that almost blew Ben's blanket away. "I suppose not." He turned around a few times, like a dog settling down.

"Good night," Ben said, closing his eyes. They ought to get some sleep.

"Good night," Dief replied, in a low voice.

Ben had almost managed to fall asleep, by means of counting his breaths and determinedly not thinking about any of their troubles, when Dief spoke. "I don't think we can trust Gerard."

"What?" Ben said, startled out of the borderlands of sleep.

"Gerard. I don't think we can trust him."

"Whyever not?"

Dief was silent, then he said, "It's...just a feeling."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to distrust him without good cause," Ben said, irritated at having been woken up for this vague feeling of Dief's. "Gerard has been an officer for longer than you or I have."

Dief said nothing, and eventually Ben fell asleep.

***

"You were supposed to work through the police," Gerard said, looking between Ben and Dief in a manner no doubt calculated to make them feel like cadets. Or perhaps like they had both failed the memory of Robert Fraser. "You had no right to chase after Drake."

"I'm sorry, sir," Ben said. Dief said nothing.

"You'll both have to come back to Canada. I'm afraid there'll be a fitness board hearing. I did what I could, but..." Gerard shook his head.

"I'm sure you did, sir," Ben said. He wished Dief would say something, anything, to at least sound conciliatory. Why did he have to make this so difficult? Dief had been the one to chase after Drake, not he, and yet who was making the apologies?

The interview lasted what felt like an interminable while. Afterwards, they walked around the corner of the Consulate, towards Gerard's car. "You know what I was just thinking about? The first time I met your father," Gerard said. Well, here comes the small talk, Ben thought. Does he think he needs to put us at our ease?

"We were standing out for inspection and he had one boot on," Gerard continued. "Sergeant looks down at his feet and says--"

The crack of a gunshot echoed off the building walls, and without thinking, Ben dropped.

"Are you all right?" he yelled at Gerard, and looked around for Dief.

But Dief had already sprung into action. A truck had stopped at a red light nearby, and Dief used it as a stepping-stone to spring onto the roof of the nearby building, a white avenging blur of motion. With a quick swipe of his claws, something dropped down from the building, and Dief leapt down after it, among the cars honking their horns and stopping in confusion.

"I've got him!" Dief hissed, standing over Drake, whose gun had dropped on the street beside him. Both Dief's forepaws were holding Drake down. He looked like a cat with a mouse.

"No, I've got him," Gerard said, and a second shot rang out.

Drake lay limp on the ground. Ben stared at Gerard, who said calmly, "He reached for another gun."

"No, he didn't!" Dief snarled. "I had him."

"He reached for a gun." Gerard said. "We all saw it. This is the man who killed Bob Fraser, and he was reaching for a gun."

He did have a second gun, as it turned out. But Ben had not seen him reach for it.

***

"Well, I guess that's that," Ben said that afternoon as they were preparing to fly north again. "Drake's dead. Nothing to stay here for." And not much to show for it but a fitness board hearing when they got back. They still didn't know why Drake had done it.

Dief made a rumbling sound that was probably agreement. Ben tightened the harness a little. "Is this all right?"

"A little tighter," Dief said, holding up his wings to give Ben better access.

"But there's something nagging at me," Ben said. "Why did Gerard do that? And why did you say we couldn't trust him?"

Dief said nothing.

"Have you seen him do something suspicious before?"

"No."

"Did my father say something about it before he died?"

Dief hesitated, then said, "No."

"Well, what then?"

Nothing. Well, if Dief didn't trust him enough to tell him about it...Ben pressed his lips together and climbed up on Dief's back, clipping his carabiners securely to the harness. Dief sprang into the air, and the rush of the wind made speaking impractical.

He was glad to leave the city behind, and he suspected that Dief was, too. They flew until darkness fell, and spent the night at a campground in a state park. But the problem of Drake and of Gerard kept nagging at his mind, and he decided to take another crack at it.

"Let's try logic, then," he told Dief, looking at him over the campfire. "Either Gerard killed Drake because he was drawing his gun, or he didn't. I didn't see a gun; did you?"

"No," said Dief, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "I was pinning him down. There was no way he could have."

"Right. Let's discount that possibility. That means Gerard killed him because it was in his own interest to do so. In fact, he murdered him. Why?"

"To prevent Drake from talking. To prevent him from implicating Gerard."

Ben nodded. "Exactly." He stared into the dancing flames of the fire. "But what possible motive could Gerard have for being involved in the murder of my father? They were colleagues and friends. They'd known each other for years. I remember him visiting when I was little."

Dief stirred, resettling himself in a different position, avoiding his gaze.

"Dief, please," Ben said, in a low voice. He swallowed and looked away himself before he went on. "I know--I know I'm not my father. And I never can be. But--please, tell me what you know."

There was silence. He kept his gaze down, not wanting to see Dief turning him down again.

"You won't believe me," Dief said.

Ben looked up. "Why wouldn't I?"

Silence again, for a longer time. Then Dief said, his voice low, "I see him sometimes. Bob."

"See him how?"

"His...ghost, I suppose."

Ben shivered. "And...talk to him?"

"Yes."

Ben tried to take this in, but he couldn't wrap his head around it: Dief saw his father's ghost. Now that he thought about it, there had been times when Dief acted strange, as if he had been speaking to someone who wasn't there, or was trying to hide something.

"Do you believe me?"

"I don't disbelieve you," Ben said cautiously. But in fact, he did believe him. Perhaps he shouldn't--perhaps Dief had gone mad with grief, and was delusional. But something about Dief's reluctant confession rang true to him. Ben sighed. "I believe you."

"You do?" Dief tilted his head, regarding Ben sharply.

"Yes." There was a sharp sting of envy in his heart. He hadn't spoken to his father since before Christmas, and he should have. He should have called him. Of course, there was no reason to suppose that he and his father would have an easier time communcating now that he was no longer alive. But Dief, who had always been close to his father, that he should continue to have that now, when Ben had nothing--

Ben turned his head down again. His eyes stung with tears a little, and he blinked fiercely.

"Is he here now?" he asked.

"No," Dief said. "He's not here often. Just sometimes."

"All right." His voice felt rough.

"Ben?" Dief said.

He only grunted in reply, not trusting his voice. Then Dief's nose butted gently at his side.

"I'm sorry," Dief's low voice rumbled, close to him. Still not looking up, Ben reached up, put his hand into Dief's feathers, stroked him. He put his face into the soft down around Dief's neck and breathed deeply, drawing in the warm animal smell of him. He swallowed, fighting down his tears.

No, it wasn't true that he had nothing. At least for now, he had Dief.

***

In the morning, Ben ate breakfast and Dief watched him wistfully as he did it.

"You wouldn't like oatmeal anyway," he said. "We'll find a restaurant for you first thing when we fly off." No hunting yet, until they left the densely populated areas.

Dief made a grumbling noise in reply.

"You know, you never did get around to telling me last night. What about Gerard? What--what does my father say about him?"

"The dam. Bob was investigating it--that's what he was doing out there alone when he got killed. And don't tell me how stupid that was, because I've told him so every time I've seen him." Dief huffed out a breath. "He says he wanted to do it discreetly. Says I'm too big for that."

"And Gerard?"

"Well, Bob had suspicions, but he had no real proof. He thought Gerard was involved

with the dam business somehow, probably taking bribes. There's some real money in

the dam business, and political pressure, too. And there'd some complaints about it to his detachment that had just...disappeared. But Bob didn't want to say anything if he wasn't sure--they were colleagues. And Bob was always loyal to his friends."

Ben wished uselessly that Bob could have called him about it. Perhaps he could have helped, or done something, anything, that would have altered the outcome. But he hadn't even told Dief before it was too late, and Dief was his partner.

"Well. We don't have any proof yet."

"Except him shooting Drake. We know he did it."

"But that's his word against ours. We need something better than that."

"So we have to find it. He won't get away with this," Dief hissed.

"Agreed." Ben stood up, began to pack their things.

***

The flight north seemed to take less time than the journey south, perhaps because of what waited at the end. Ben enjoyed the routine of it, especially when they got far enough north that Dief could hunt and they could have proper camps without worrying about irate landowners driving them away. They both worried at the problem of obtaining proof of Gerard's crimes, but there was not much they could do when they were still on the wing.

They arrived at Bob Fraser's cabin in the Yukon one evening in March. The days were beginning to lengthen, and there was still some light left when Dief glided to an elegant landing on the open patch of snow beside the cabin. But of course, he was used to landing there.

The cabin was cold through, and after helping Dief take the harness off, Ben got a fire burning first thing. It felt strange to stay here in his father's cabin, almost as if he were trespassing. There were pictures on the walls, one of Martha and George, looking severe in their best clothes, and one of his father and mother on their wedding day. And, he was almost shocked to discover, one of himself on his graduation from Depot. He hadn't known that his father had it.

The cupboards, when he investigated them, were well stocked with dry and canned goods, and he heated some beans on the stove, and cooked rice.

There was a knock on the window, and Ben saw Dief peering in. He opened the window.

"Do you want some meat? I got a deer."

"No, thank you. I'm cooking dinner."

"Oh, all right. Can you bring out some sugar for me later?" Dief said hopefully.

Ben checked, and there was indeed a large supply of sugar cubes in one of the cupboards. "Of course."

He took his dinner out and ate it on the porch as Dief tore into his deer. The stars came out one by one, pale against the slowly darkening sky.

"The fitness board hearing is next week," he said.

"Oh? How do you know?" Dief said, lifting his head from the deer.

"There was a letter waiting for us." He held it up.

"Then we have to get proof by then."

Ben nodded. They fell into silence again while they finished their meals. Dief eyed him meaningfully when he was done, and Ben took out the sugar cubes, dropping them on Dief's curled tongue.

Dief's little noise of pleasure made him smile. "I suppose you'll be missing those donuts we had in Chicago."

"Mmm," Dief said. "Those were good. You could make some for me?"

"I've no talent at baking, I'm afraid."

Silence for a while again, and then Ben asked, "Would you tell me a story? How did you and my father meet?" He knew the outline of the story, of course, but he wanted to hear it from Dief.

"All right," Dief said. He put his head down on his front legs, thinking a little. "I was only a few weeks old, but I remember it. My mother was a wild Arctic dragon. I don't know who my father was, but he must have been a Gyuu. He wasn't there, anyway."

Dief had the larger size of a Gyuu, and the shape of his snout and eyebrow ridges were like those of a Gyuu, too. But the feathers were all Arctic dragon. Not that they were actual bird feathers--dragons and birds were no more closely related than dragons and mammals were. Still, convergent evolution had led to similar structures in some dragons, even if the feathers were for insulation rather than for flight, as they were in birds.

Ben broke off the intellectualizing of his brain, and focused on the story.

"I don't know how my mother died," Dief was saying. "I only know that one day she was there, and then she wasn't, and nobody brought us any food. We were starving."

"We?" Ben asked.

"My clutchmates. Finally we were so hungry that we left the nest. We didn't keep together, and after a while I was alone. I found a caribou carcass that was old and almost eaten up, but it kept me alive for a while. Barely. Then I found Bob. I'd never seen a human before, though I remember my mother telling us about them. He was down in an old mine shaft that he'd fallen into, and he couldn't get up."

Dief shifted, and the lamplight glinted in his yellow eyes. "At first I saw him as prey. I was very hungry, after all, and he was warm and smelled like an animal. But then he spoke, and moved, and even though I couldn't understand him and he didn't look anything like a dragon, I saw that he was like me. He was a thinking creature."

"You didn't understand him?" Ben didn't know why he should be surprised at this--he knew that Arctic dragons had their own language. But of course, Bob had been the first human Dief had met.

"No," Dief said. "I knew my mother's language, when I was hatched. She used to croon to us, in the egg, and talk to us. But I didn't know any human languages."

"What does it sound like?" Ben asked. "The language of your mother?"

Dief was silent a little while, as if to switch gears in his mind. Then he uttered a string of sounds, whistles interspersed with sibilants and harsh clicking noises. Ben wasn't sure a human mouth could have mimicked it.

"What does it mean?" he asked.

"It means 'I'll be back soon,'" Dief said.

Ben bit his lip. Had Dief's mother said that, before she left for the last time?

Dief was silent for a while, then went on. "Bob had a hare, that he'd caught before he fell into the hole. He threw it up for me to eat. I think he won my heart with that hare. Not just because I was hungry, although I was. But he was helpless down there, and he still gave me his food. I ate it in one gulp, and then I reached down and helped him up--I was large enough to do that, at least."

Ben had read about the old-style impressions of hatchlings that had been done in the British Aerial Service and elsewhere in Europe--indeed, even in the early history of the Northwest Aerial Police--and he wondered if this had been somewhat like that. True, Dief hadn't quite been a hatchling, but it had to have made a strong impression.

"And then?" he asked.

"We went hunting together, and ate. And I began to learn English. And then--well. By that time I thought of him as mine, and I came with him home."

Silence for a while. The cold was biting deeper now that it was fully night, but Ben had forgotten about it while Dief told his story.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for telling me."

***

The dam loomed above them, the huge concrete construction cutting off the water and drowning the land upriver. But the caribou had been downriver.

"This used to be a feeding ground for thousands of caribou," Eric was saying. They'd searched him out in the hopes that he could tell them something useful about Gerard. "They lived off the land and so did we. Till the water came. They said it wouldn't change anything, but now some nights the rivers run backward. Land becomes an ocean and the caribou die. And in the morning the ocean is gone all back here, neat and tidy."

"Why haven't you told someone?" Dief asked.

"Told your partner. He didn't do anything. Neither will you." He glanced at them both, including them equally in his distrust of the authorities.

"He tried to do something and he died for it," Dief said, suppressed passion in his voice.

"That so?"

"Yes. That's so."

Well, it seemed safe to assume that Eric would not expose their suspicions to Gerard. "Do you know anything about Staff Sergeant Gerard?" Ben asked. "We suspect him of being involved in silencing the opposition to the dam. And of involvement in my father's death."

Eric hissed. "Not surprised. But no, I don't."

By evening, their circumspect inquiries had yielded no results, and Dief dropped down despondently outside the cabin. Ben was famished, and he got dinner on the stove while Dief wolfed down the remains of yesterday's deer.

The next day, they prepared to set out again. But before they could, a truck pulled up on the road and stopped at the track that led down to the cabin. Ben squinted at the figure that got out.

"It's Gerard," Dief hissed.

"He's got a lot of nerve to come here." In an urgent undertone, Ben said to Dief, "Listen, don't--don't lose your temper, all right?"

Dief growled low, the merest vibration in the air. "No. I want him alive. I want him punished for this."

"All right." Gerard was getting near, and they had to stop speaking.

"Hello, son," Gerard said in a fatherly manner that made Ben's blood run hot. "Dief." He inclined his head.

"Staff Sergeant Gerard," Ben acknowledged.

"Perhaps you've realized by now that your father knew what was going on at the dam," Gerard said.

"He did, and he was investigating it," Ben said.

Gerard shook his head sadly, in a show of sympathy. "I know that's what you think. I'm sorry, son, but everyone has their price."

"What?" He wouldn't. He would never.

Gerard went on. "Most people around here knew what was going on. And they earn their livings off it. People want homes, jobs. You know how much money this dam brought into this community? How many people would be hurt if they shut it down? Progress has its price." He turned to look at Dief. "I know he never wanted you to get dragged into it. He didn't want you to know."

"Didn't want me to know what?" Dief's voice was tense but controlled.

"Can you blame him? He gave his whole life to the people up here, and all he ended up with was that shack of his." Gerard indicated the cabin. "He wanted to buy a little piece of land up there some place. Can you see Bob stuck in some government retirement home? Not likely. I don't think it was easy to convince him to take the money, but he finally did."

"I don't believe you," Ben said flatly.

Gerard held out a bank book. Ben took it, and glanced over it: it seemed to be his father's account, and there were several deposits of large sums of money. He found his hand was shaking. "This is just a piece of paper."

"Check the bank, it's all there. I'm sorry, Ben." The horror of it was that he knew that voice since childhood. Gerard had been his father's friend, and now--

Gerard's voice hardened, just a little. "I think you should stop digging into this, Ben, for your own sake. Your father has only got one thing left: his reputation. Do you want him to lose it? It's your call."

This from the man who must have ordered his father killed?

"You son of a bitch. He was your friend!" Ben's voice was thick, and he found he was gripping Gerard's shirt at the throat, tightening his hand. Gerard choked, tried to loosen his hand, but Ben had the strength of utter rage.

"Ben!" Dief called from above. "Stop it!"

This got through to him, and Ben abruptly let go.

Gerard coughed and glared at him. "I think you'd benefit from cooling your heels a little. Think it over, Ben, and decide what you want your father's memorial to be. I'll see you at the fitness board hearing."

He turned and strode off, and Ben watched him drive away.

"Don't lose your temper?" Dief rumbled softly.

"Well," Ben said, embarrassed. He was still breathing hard. Dief said nothing more about it, and Ben supposed they were even now. He sat down on the porch steps and put his face in his hands, feeling the heat still blazing in his cheeks. "You don't think it's true, do you?" he asked, without looking up.

"No," Dief said. "I don't think it's true."

Well, Dief would be a better judge of it--it's not like Ben had spoken to his father above a couple of times a year during the last couple of years. "Wait--" he said, "You could ask him, couldn't you?"

"Yes, I suppose I could," Dief said. "When he appears."

"Couldn't you call to him in some way?"

Dief shrugged his shoulders, a curiously human gesture. "I could try." He sat up straighter. "Bob? Bob, are you there?"

Nothing, at least to Ben's eyes. And not to Dief's either, by the way he sat down again, silent.

It couldn't be true, could it? Damn it, he wouldn't let Gerard's insinuations get the better of him. This was his own father. And since when had that meant anything? a small voice in the back of his mind said. Many criminals were someone's father, after all, and it wasn't like he actually knew his father well at all. Perhaps he only knew his reputation, his persona.

"Tell me if he appears," he told Dief shortly, and went into the cabin.

Bob did not appear, and it took a long time for Ben to fall asleep.

***

Ben only found the letter after he'd eaten breakfast the next day--it must've arrived yesterday, but they'd been too distracted to empty the mail.

"From the US?" he mused, looking at the stamp. He opened it and eyed through the contents, written in a scrawl.

"Dief?" he said, opening the door. "Listen to this." He read out the letter.


Hi there,



You ever think about getting a phone? We use them quite a bit in the States now. Maybe you've seen the commercials for them?


Ben paused to roll his eyes. Americans, they thought they were comedians. He went on.


Anyway, we figured out who did it (or, okay, Detective Zitkala helped us do it). Drake didn't have a phone where he lived. So how did he do business? We checked out the pay phone at the dragon bar we busted up. There was one call to Canada, in your area code. He called Gerard. Okay, hope that helps, and just tell us if there's anything else we can do. Good luck, guys!



Vecchio and Kowalski


"Oh, nice," Dief said, drawing out the sibilant in the last word in a hiss. "We've got him now."

Ben stared at the letter. There it was, in black and white: Gerard had called a hit on his own friend and colleague. Or, well, it only proved that he'd been in contact with Drake prior to the murder, but still.

"Yes, I believe we do. Still, I think we need more--we're accusing an officer, after all." He tapped his lips, and an idea came to him. "No one's taken our badges. I wonder if we can get hold of Gerard's bank records--he's bound to be taking money." Just as Gerard had said his father had been doing.

"Good idea."

He'd just finished helping Dief with the harness when he heard the noise of an engine slowing down on the road. The memory of Gerard pulling up by the road yesterday made him more wary than he might otherwise have been. And they were hardly expecting company.

"Who's that?" he asked, his voice low. They both stood quite still, listening.

"Quick! Get up!" Dief said, and without waiting to question him, Ben swung up and clipped on. Dief scrambled for shelter behind the cabin just as the first shot rang out.

"I don't have a gun on me," Ben whispered urgently.

Dief hissed. "We'll just have to get them some other way, then. Well, we know this area and they don't."

He crept awkwardly backwards, keeping the cabin between them and the armed men. The shots kept ringing, and Ben dropped into a sort of hyperaware state, aware of the shots, Dief's muscles working under him, his own heart pounding. They reached a hummock in the land, and from that vantage point Dief could take off without being seen, or so they hoped. He flew low, skimming over the sparse trees and the land. There was the noise of snowmobiles being fired up.

"I can outfly those, no problem," Dief said, his wings pumping faster. "And go someplace they can't get to."

Ben turned, scanning the horizon. The snowmobiles seemed distant, but there, on the left--

"Dief, a dragon. Eight o'clock," he called out urgently, no longer worried about silence. They had to assume it was hostile.

Dief whipped his head around for a look, and then began to climb, presumably to gain maneuverability. Ben tightened his straps and checked the carabiners to make sure they were secure. Lord, but he wished he had his gun. If that dragon had one--

Dief speeded up and changed direction, over rocky and fissured ground that was difficult for the snow mobiles to cross. Good thinking--they didn't need two enemies at once.

The other dragon was larger than Dief. Rather a lot larger, Ben thought, though it was hard to judge distance and relative size. It was coming on fast, but Dief was flying all-out for the steep mountainsides, keeping the distance between them. Ben flattened himself against Dief's back, to lessen the air resistance, and wondered what Dief's plan was. At least, he hoped he had one.

No shots yet, and Ben dared to hope that the other dragon didn't have a gun. Dragons didn't often use them, especially the larger ones, because of their less dexterous hands and the difficulty of reliable aim in flight. They tended to rely on their claws and teeth instead--as, indeed, Dief himself did.

Dief was flying around the side of the mountain now, following the curve of it until the other dragon was out of sight. And then he flew upwards and perched on the top of a cliff, lying flat to the ground and scattering snow onto himself.

"Get behind me," Dief said, but Ben had already caught on to the idea, and was burrowing down. "And hold on."

Ben lay there among Dief's snow-white feathers, waiting. He didn't dare to raise his head up for fear the other dragon would see, so he held onto the harness with hands that felt stiff with tension.

He felt Dief's muscles clench just before the leap, and then they were in free fall for one dizzy moment before Dief struck the other dragon. The harness caught him up with a lurch, and he held on for dear life while he was thrown around like a child as the dragons wrestled mid-air.

With one last great thump they hit the ground. Ben's face was thrown into Dief's back and the breath went out of his lungs, but even through that, he felt through Dief's body the sickening snap as something broke. A dragon screamed, high and agonizing.

"Dief!" he called in panic. Please, no. But then he felt Dief extricate himself and rise up again, hissing in triumph.

"Got you!" Dief called.

Ben looked down, and saw the other dragon, one wing broken, its angles all wrong. He winced, watching the dragon's aborted movements. It was stuck there, hissing back at Dief in pain and anger.

Dief flew up on a nearby crag, still looking down at their defeated adversary.

"That was quite a trick," Ben said.

"I know. Bob and I have used it before." There was still a tinge of that savage triumph in his voice. Then he turned his head to look at Ben, his yellow eyes narrowing. "Are you all right?"

"Quite all right." In fact, exhilaration was still surging through him, his breath coming fast. He could feel Dief breathing hard under him, as well, the heaving of Dief's muscled ribcage under his own body.

"Good."

Ben recalled a passage in his father's diary, about bruises, wrenched muscles and a dislocated shoulder, obtained after an unspecified aerial maneuver, and realized Dief's question was not an idle one. In fact, he probably would have bruises, at least.

"Right. We should get out of here," Ben said.

Then the shot came.

It echoed between the cliff faces, and Ben's heart jumped into his throat as he automatically ducked, trying to make out the direction among the confusing echoes.

But Dief jerked underneath him, and God, that was the same agonized cry that the other dragon had made. He saw blood on the white feathers, on Dief's flank. If the shot had punctured the lungs, or the air sacs--he needed to stop the bleeding--no, he needed to find the shooter.

There would be more shots.

Ben scanned the snow, the rocks, the trees. If the shooter didn't want to be seen...but then he heard the faint click of the gun being cocked again and whipped his head around.

Oh, the shooter did want to be seen.

For a long moment, Ben met Gerard's eyes and saw his death in them, above the muzzle of the gun.

"If you shoot me, they'll hunt you to the ends of the earth. You can't cover this up." Ben's voice was steady, but he knew the words to be hollow.

Gerard had killed one Mountie already, and when they were dead, too, who would do the digging? Who would care, against all the money of the power company? Buck, perhaps, but... Dief struggled and hissed in pain, and Ben held his hand to Dief's flank and felt the sticky warmth of blood. There was nowhere they could go.

Gerard smiled, took aim.

And then a dark whirlwind hit Gerard from above, tumbling him to the ground as easily as a hawk takes a mouse.

Ben gaped.

"Oh, sorry, I thought he was a caribou. So many hunting accidents," Eric said, ungently tearing the gun from Gerard's hand and pinning him under one clawed foot.

"Eric," Dief said, panting. "Go for help?"

"Of course," Eric said. Gerard tried to get loose and make a run for it, but Eric pinned him again. "Should I leave him to you?"

"Please do," Ben said, unclipping his carabiners. "And that one needs medical help, too." He indicated the dragon in the valley below them. Eric took Gerard in his talons, dumped him unceremoniously beside Ben, and then flew off in the direction of town.

Ben trussed up Gerard's arms and legs, and quickly patted him down for concealed weapons. Then he left him lying in the snow and turned to Dief.

"Dief? How are you doing?"

"Bleeding," Dief said shortly.

Ben took off his parka, laid it against the wound and applied pressure. He didn't know enough about dragon physiology to know what else to do, though he'd seen a human with a punctured lung once, and the blood from this wound was not frothy, like that had been. Hopefully that meant the lung was not affected, at least.

"Proud of yourself now, are you?" Gerard said.

Dief hissed. "Gag him."

Ben looked from the wound to Gerard.

"Do it. I'll be all right. I won't be if I have to listen to him," Dief said.

"Ben, listen to me," Gerard began, and Ben briefly abandoned the wound to stuff a mitten into Gerard's mouth and tie a scarf around to hold it in place. Gerard glared bloody murder at him. Well, he'd already done his best in that direction.

It seemed like a long time before help arrived. Ben kept up the pressure on the wound, eventually resorting to leaning with his whole body against Dief to do so. He scanned the horizon, though he was sure that those snowmobiles could not cross the ravines between them and the cabin, and it was a considerable distance to walk on foot. Dief conserved his strength, lying with his head down and not talking.

If Dief were to die--no, he couldn't think of that. Well, if he didn't, they might still part ways after this. They'd done what they'd set out to do, after all. But leaning against Dief's warm body, with his head down in Dief's feathers, he thought that no, no, he didn't want to leave Dief. He wanted what his father and Dief had had, wanted it so much that it was like an ache in him.

"Dief, don't die," he whispered, too soft for Dief to hear. "Please don't die."

There was--something? a sound in the air? and he looked up sharply. He could almost think that had been his father's voice. He looked around, but no. Nothing.

Eric brought help at last: two heavyweight dragons and a helicopter. RCAP and medical staff came out from the helicopter when it landed, and Ben almost had to be prised away from Dief's side. He watched as the medical staff began to treat Dief's wound, and mechanically answered questions from the RCAP officers, who were not ones he knew. Gerard was put in handcuffs.

The dragon that had attacked them had its wing put in a temporary splint, and was slung on a sort of tarp between the two heavyweights. They flew off. Dief was eventually arranged in a similar sling, and was lifted as hanging cargo beneath the helicopter.

The helicopter was already crammed, so Eric offered to take him. "Not on my back, though. Got no harness, and not going to put one on even if there was one. But I won't drop you."

Ben was glad enough to trust him on that, and Eric held him lightly but firmly in his claws on the way back. He had a feeling that Eric's testimony was what had landed Gerard in handcuffs with so few questions asked.

***

"Do you think I could I see him?" Ben said politely to the nurse. It never paid to make demands of medical personnel. "Please?"

"Hmm. Are you next of kin?"

"Well--yes? He's adopted into my family. And he doesn't have any other family."

The nurse considered this, and then gave way. "All right. Come along."

He led Ben into the dragon section of the hospital, two large clean well-lit halls almost like hangars, but lined with high-tech medical equipment.

Dief occupied one of them, lying on a large mattress. A Greyling nurse looked up as they came in, apparently just finished with changing Dief's bandages.

"He was lucky," the Greyling said. "The bullet was in his flight muscles."

Dief made a grumbling sound.

"No, you were," the Greyling said, turning sternly towards Dief. "That might sound bad, and you'll be grounded for some time while it heals, but I promise you that the alternatives are worse."

Ben found himself smiling in relief, and he stepped closer. "Dief. I'm glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you, too. It's boring in here."

"Well, I brought you something," Ben said, and fished in his pocket.

Dief tried to sit up, and lay down again with a frustrated wince. "What?"

"Donuts," Ben said, and produced them.

Dief's whole attitude transformed into one of delight. He devoured the donuts so fast that Ben privately wondered how he had time to taste them at all.

"Is that all of them?" Dief asked hopefully.

"I'll bring you more tomorrow," Ben said, smiling. Being in town did have its advantages.

The Greyling nurse bustled out, but Ben stayed. He lowered his voice, though the nurse had left. "I don't suppose my father has been here?"

"He has, but I was still kind of sedated then," Dief said. "I think he said he'd wring Gerard's neck if his hands wouldn't go right through it? But he's not here now."

"Oh," Ben said. He wouldn't mind wringing Gerard's neck himself.

Dief shifted on his mattress, and winced again. "I hate being kept still. And I'm bored."

"Well, I can't help you with the first. But I brought a book? I thought I could read to you, if you'd like."

Dief tilted his head. "What book is it?"

Ben showed him. "It's a biography of Temeraire."

"That Celestial who worked for dragon rights in the 19th century?" Dief considered. "Does it have battles in it?"

"I believe it does, yes."

"Then you can read it to me," Dief said magnanimously. And Ben did.

***

Ben stood on the courthouse steps, hearing the reporter talk in the background. They'd tried to get an interview from him, but he'd managed to avoid it--he had no wish to appear on national television.

"In a stunning setback for the defence, Gerard pleaded guilty today and agreed to testify against his co-defendant. Now, while attempting to distance itself from the murder trial the new government was quick to deny any wrong-doing at its East Bay Power Plant, maintaining that 10,000 caribou drowned in the forest as a result of a series of freak natural occurances. Phase 2 of the project is scheduled to begin construction this year, and will flood a wilderness area the size of Germany. Shelley Perry, Channel 6 news."

Well, at least Gerard had gone down--and when it was clear that he would, he'd taken one of the employees of the power plant down with him. But only a low-level one. The higher-ups had gone free, of course. Ben's mouth twisted in bitterness.

The dam would go ahead. Of course it would.

Ben wished Dief were there--there was no one here he could truly talk to. But Dief was at the cabin: out of the hospital, but strictly instructed not to fly yet.

"You didn't make a lot of friends today," Inspector Underhill said from beside him.

"I imagine not, sir," Ben said, turning to face him.

"There is no record of your father making any withdrawals. None of the deposits were made in person. People will believe what they want to believe; I know what I do."

"I appreciate that." And he did, really. His own investigations had already led him to the same evidence, but he appreciated the vote of confidence.

"I talked to your superior at your last posting. He suggested transferring you further north."

Oh, really. "Well, that would put me in Russia, sir."

"Seems the only people that do want you are in Chicago. If I were you I'd make do until things calm down."

They wanted him in Chicago? He doubted that, after the mess they'd made of the investigation there. More likely they had been persuaded to take him. "How long will that be?"

Inspector Underhill shrugged. "You turned in one of your own. It's not right, but..."

Ben kept his face impassive, trying not to react. "And Diefenbaker?"

"I imagine the general feeling towards him is similar."

He let out a breath. "Thanks for trying, sir."

"Everyone says your father was the last of a breed," Inspector Underhill said. "It's not true--you are. You and Dief."

***

Ben felt relief more than anything when he trudged up the path towards his father's cabin that evening. Away from the press of people at the trial, away from the attention fixed on him as he testified, and from the avid interest in his reactions.

The days were growing longer, and there was still some light in the western sky even at this late hour. The winter snow was still covering the ground and would be for some time, but the top layer had melted in the spring sun, and would likely re-freeze into a crust during the night. It would be perfect for skiing. He knew this land, every hill and hollow of it.

And now he was headed for a strange place, even more so than the courthouse he had just left. The people, the urban sprawl, the differences in culture. Exile.

Dief's head appeared above the cabin, his feet braced on the roof. "Oh, there you are. Why are you so late?"

Ben hoped the roofbeams could take it. "I'm sorry. The trial dragged on a bit. But I'm very happy to tell you that Gerard is now convicted. He'll go to prison."

Dief hissed through his bared teeth. "Yessss. Finally."

He dropped down from the cabin roof, his injury healed enough that it didn't impede his movements on the ground, though he was still forbidden to fly by his doctor.

"Are you hungry?" Ben asked.

"So-so. There's still some left."

Ben had taken his rifle and shot a deer for Dief the previous night, since he couldn't hunt for himself for the time being. His appetite did seem to be less while he was grounded--flying consumed a lot of energy.

"Well, I'm hungry, anyway."

"You can have a little of the deer, if you want."

Ben cut off a few pieces of the haunch while Dief watched over him. "Just, don't take all of it. I want some for breakfast."

"No worries." He went into the cabin to fry up the deer and cut a few slices of bread to eat with it. Sitting on the porch again, he ate his dinner, watching Dief gnaw contemplatively on a thigh bone.

It was past time to ask Dief what he was going to do, now that the trial was over. Ben sighed, putting it off just a little more. "Have you done your physical therapy today?"

Dief looked a little shifty. "No-oo."

Ben set his plate down and stood up. "You know it's for your own good. The physical therapist said your flight muscles needed stretching, or they'd be stiff when they've healed."

"But it hurts!" Then he heaved a sigh, and grumbled, "All right, all right, I know. I'll do it."

Dief went around to the cleared area in front of the cabin, and began to extend his wings to their widest span. He winced, but held the position with no further word of complaint.

"I'll count for you, if you want," Ben said.

"All right," Dief said, bringing his wings in again.

"Okay, that's one...two...three," Ben counted slowly out, as Dief repeated the exercise. His wings trembled a little on the last one. "And ten. Good job."

"Easy for you to say," Dief grumbled. "You're not the one who has to do it."

"True. Have you been shot before?" Ben asked, to distract him.

"Yes. Not in the flight muscles, though." Dief rested a little, and then began on the other set of exercises, bringing his wings together above his back, as far as they would go. "I got a bullet in one of my back legs, but that wasn't so bad. Being knifed was worse; that happened to me twice. And I broke my forelimb once."

"Ah. My own list of injuries is rather less impressive."

"I've been alive for longer," Dief said generously.

He settled down in the snow, finished with his exercises. Silence fell for a while. On the long flights down to Chicago and then back, they'd often been silent together without it feeling oppressive. But now Ben felt it like a weight on him, the questions he hadn't asked yet.

He finally broke the silence--he had to ask some time. "Do you--what will you be doing? Now that Gerard is convicted?"

Dief head went quickly up, and he looked sharply at Ben. "What do you mean?"

"Well--" Ben began, though he wasn't sure how to ask more clearly.

But Dief went on. "Aren't you staying with me? I thought--"

Ben swallowed. "Do you want that?"

"Of course! Didn't I say so at the beginning? You're my captain."

"You know that's not--it was the way things were done in the old days, but now--"

"This is not something I'm doing because I have to!" Dief was agitated now. "It's my choice! I mean, if you want to."

Ben looked up at Dief, the white bulk of him upreared against the night sky. "I do want to."

Dief dropped down, brought his snout down to buffet at Ben's chest. He almost fell over, but caught himself before he did. Hesitantly, he scratched the soft feathers on Dief's head.

"I'm glad," Dief said in a low voice, a deep vibration in the air.

Ben thought of the boy he had been, longing to ride on Dief's back. "Do you remember? When I was young--I used to ask Dad to ride on your back."

"Of course I remember. I used to swoop down just to make you shriek."

"I did not shriek," Ben said in mock-affront.

Dief butted at his chest again. "You so did. And you giggled."

Ben smiled helplessly, his face against the side of Dief's neck. Well, there was something good all this--the dam would go ahead, Gerard's conspirators free, but this at least he could have, him and Dief together.

But they could not stay here. Well, at least now he knew that Dief wanted his company, at least. "Dief--there's something I have to tell you."

Dief drew back, wary again. "What?"

"They're sending us to Chicago."

"To Chicago, again? Why?"

"Well. It seems that...certain elements in the RCAP find this whole thing embarrassing, and they'd prefer us to be elsewhere."

"What? But it's not our fault!" Dief hissed. "It was Gerard, the bastard! We were just the ones who caught him."

"I know. It's not fair. But...shoot the messenger, I guess. There's really not much we can do about it." He'd never been good at the political game, and Dief didn't strike him as the most diplomatic person, either.

"Hmm. Well, if that's the way it is. So I guess we'd be at the consulate?"

"I suppose so, yes."

Dief mulled this over. "Well, at least Chicago has donuts," he muttered.

"I'm glad you see the bright side," Ben said dryly.

It was late now, the stars out and the moon resting on the horizon, large and round. Dief was a dark shape above him. The night was mild, or comparatively so. Still, Ben shivered a little--he'd left his parka inside.

"It's late. I suppose we should go to bed."

"Would you--sleep out here? With me?" Dief said, hesitant.

Ben looked up, surprised, but saw only his silhouette. "If you like, yes. Just let me fetch something to sleep on."

He went in to get his sleeping pad and a warm sleeping bag--no need for a tent in this weather. Dief scooted over so that Ben could lie on the flattened snow where Dief's body had been, then curled around him when he'd settled down in the sleeping back. Ben looked up at the stars in the circle of sky left visible by Dief's body. He could hear Dief's slow breathing.

"Don't roll over in your sleep," he murmured.

"I would never," Dief said indignantly. "You're mine. I would never hurt you."

Well, dragon possessiveness was legendary. But Ben found he didn't mind--the closeness was unexpectedly comforting, and he fell asleep with the slow rise and fall of Dief's body, breathing beside him in sleep.

***

They headed south again as the season turned into spring. Warm, wet, blustery weather met them on the way, and Ben was soaked despite his heavy flying gear. It was almost colder than flying in winter.

"Can't we fly above it?" he called out above the noise of the wind.

"No," Dief said. "Did you never fly in weather like this? Clouds like these go really high up."

Ben considered shouting a reply, then shut his mouth and hunkered down. Now that he thought about it, nimbostratus clouds frequently reached several kilometer's height--he should probably just trust Dief's experience.

The snow was patchy on the ground below them, eroded day by day by the rain and warm weather. The Athabasca river below them was swollen with meltwater, running like an artery through the valley. Dief landed on a hill above the sodden ground in the evening, shed the harness and the luggage that contained most of Ben's earthly goods, and took off to hunt.

Ben got the tent set up, still wet from last night. The rain had finally let up, though, and he set about hanging his wet things up so that the breeze could hopefully dry them a little before the dew fell.

"There you are, son," said a voice behind him. He jumped, startled, and spun around.

There he was, looking just as he had been. Seemingly solid, wearing old-fashioned flight gear like Ben himself, with a fur cap on his head. "Dad?" Ben whispered, keeping still, as if his father might vanish if he made a sudden movement.

"I finally got through to you. Been trying for a while, but it's like trying to get through a glass wall. Then suddenly--" he shrugged.

Ben swallowed. Now that his father was here, he almost didn't know what to say to him. Well, that was nothing new. "Dief said--well, he said he could see you, and I wondered--"

Wondered if his father had nothing to say to him, but Ben wasn't about to say that.

"Well, we've spent more time together. Stands to reason it would be easier with him."

"I suppose so, yes."

"But Gerard, son, you did a fair job with that. You and Dief, of course. Lord, but it feels good to see him behind bars."

Ben looked away, with a sudden flush of feeling at the praise. He shouldn't need it, but--

"If he could see me, I'd haunt him good. I never thought he'd sink so low."

The bribes. He could finally ask now. "Gerard--he showed me a bank book. He said it was yours, and that you had--" how was it so hard to say? "--taken bribes."

His father glanced at him sharply. "He said that, did he? Well, of course he would."

It wasn't true, was it? was on Ben's tongue, but he didn't say it, though he desperately wanted to know.

Silence for a while, then his father said, "He tried to get me to take them, once I saw what he was doing, the dirty bastard. And I went along, of course--perfect opportunity to investigate. Told my superiors about it, of course. But then when I went digging deeper, it wasn't enough of a cover, and..." He shrugged. "I was stupid to do it alone. I suppose I can admit that now. One thing you can say for death is that it gives you some perspective on things."

Of course, going along with it was a logical course to take, and it was even one Ben himself might have taken. But then why had Underhill not said so right out? Had he not known? Ben bit his lip.

Well, in the end it was his father's word against Gerard's, and put that way, the decision was easy.

His father glanced at him. "You don't believe I actually took them, did you?"

"No," Ben said simply. "I don't."

"Hmmph. I'd certainly hope you knew me better than that."

"Well, it's not like we actually spent much time together."

His father looked away. "Guilty as charged, I suppose." He sighed.

There was an awkward silence, before his father looked over the valley in the direction Dief had gone. "Out hunting, is he?"

"Yes."

His father nodded. "I heard you both will stay on together."

Heard it from Dief, Ben supposed. "Yes, we will."

"Good, good. He can be stubborn as a--well, if there's anything more stubborn than a dragon when he wants to be, I don't know what it is. You save a dragon, and you pay and pay and pay...but he's a damn good partner."

"I thought he saved you."

"Is that what he said?" His father shrugged. "Well, I suppose we saved each other."

In the distance, Ben saw Dief rise up heavily, carrying something in his claws. They watched him approach and set down the deer beside the tent.

"Can you finally see him now?" Dief asked.

"I can, yes," Ben said.

"Good! It was getting a bit awkward," Dief said, tearing into the deer with relish.

"Well, good luck, then," his father said.

"Will you be returning?"

"I reckon so, yes. But it's hard to figure out, this business of being dead."

Ben turned to acknowledge this, but his father had gone.

"Well," he said to Dief, who was still there.

Dief lifted his head from the deer, jaws dripping. "Yes, he comes and goes like that. Usually when you least want him to."

"Oh," Ben said. He sat down on a rock, watched Dief eat, the two of them alone again.

***

Halfway through the trip, Dief began to scratch and shed feathers.

"Molting?" Ben asked sympathetically.

Dief made an annoyed hiss in return. "It itches," he said shortly.

"It won't interfere with your flying, will it?"

"What am I, a bird? No, of course not--it's not like the feathers are for flight." He shook his whole body vigorously, and a cloud of white down flew off to sink slowly to the ground.

Dief's thin summer coat came out in prickly little shafts that unfolded gradually, and by the time they reached Chicago, he was all over brown: paler on the underside, and with stippled patterns of darker brown and green on his back and the upper side of his wings.

They circled over the city, knowing their way now to the Canadian Consulate.

"So it's you two again, is it?" Inspector Moffat greeted them--perhaps not the most welcoming of speeches.

"Yes, sir," Ben said.

"Well, it seems I'm stuck with you both, so we might as well make the best of it." He pursed his lips. "You doubtless need to find yourselves someplace to live, so I'll let you off for today. Come back nine sharp tomorrow morning."

"Sir," Ben acknowledged.

Yes, where were they to live? That was a problem Ben had not considered yet. He had a feeling that dragons and humans lived rather segregated lives in Chicago, at least when it came to housing. So it seemed dragon housing was the only option--Dief could certainly not be accommodated any other way. And he refused to think of them living separately.

"Let's go ask Detective Zitkala?" Dief said practically. "Maybe she can help us find a place."

"Well, but...I'm not sure we made the best impression on her when we were here?"

"Do you have a better suggestion? It's not like we know anyone else here," Dief said practically. "Except for those two human police, but they wouldn't know where dragons live."

As it turned out, Detective Zitkala did not seem to hold grudges. "Oh, are you back? I heard what happened with Drake. And he was in the pay of someone in the RCAP?"

"Yes," Dief said. "But he's convicted now."

"Well, good for you. So--why are you back here, then?"

"There were some in the RCAP who did not appreciate the force's dirty laundry being aired in public," Ben said dryly.

"Oh, that sucks. Not like the CPD has a leg to stand on there, though."

"So anyway, we thought maybe you could tell us where to look for a place to live?" Dief said.

She could. By the end of the evening, Ben and Dief had flown over several dragon neighborhoods: the wealthy ones, where they could not think of living, had lavish sprawling pavilions in the old 19th-century colonial style, with gardens around them. The poorer ones had concrete towers rising up, with apartment-style compartments. It was on one of these that they finally settled, when they saw a "For Rent" notice on the wall outside.

"So you want to keep a human with you?" the dragon landlord said to Dief. "That'll be extra rent."

Ben and Dief glanced at each other, but before they could say anything, Detective Zitkala stepped in and did the bargaining for them. "He's ripping you off anyway," she muttered, over the landlord's protests.

The apartment was sized for a mid-range dragon. It was one large room, with a few furnishings and with windows on either side, with the back wall to the apartment on the other side. The whole front was one big sliding door, for launching out into the air, and the only human access was the metal ladder fixed to the side of the building. They were on the eleventh floor.

"Are you sure it's all right?" Dief asked.

Ben sat down on the ledge outside the sliding door and dangled his feet in the air. "It's not like I'm going to fall off--I'm not afraid of heights."

"If you say so." Dief lay down, sphinx-style, and dangled his front claws over the edge as well.

The sun had gone down, and Chicago lay spread out below and all around them, glittering with streetlights and neon signs. It felt utterly alien to Ben. What were they even doing here? His throat closed up, remembering his father's cabin in the Yukon, the familiarity of fir trees, of tracks in the snow. That was a world he could read and make sense of. But this one--no.

In an attempt at rationality, he asked himself how many people he even really knew and cared about up there. They were pitifully few--he had had several different postings over the course of his career, and there were few people he had kept in touch with. But that wasn't the point. It was a world where he fit in and knew his own place, and this one was not.

The lights shimmered in his eyes, and he blinked, turning his head down to gaze at his own hands in his lap.

A cold nose snuffled very gently at his ear, careful not to push him over the edge. Without looking up, he put his hand up to stroke Dief's head. Neither of them said anything, but Ben scooted in from the edge, and leaned against Dief's warm flank.

***

The next afternoon, Ben was put to guard duty. He'd hoped for more stimulating work, but complaints would probably not gain him anything at this juncture.

Dief, on the other hand, had been sent off on an orientation course with the CPD dragon squad, so at least he was doing something useful. Or perhaps it was simply that the authorities felt that the orientation might prevent a repeat of Dief's escapades during the hunt for Drake.

Ben shifted surreptitiously, to keep the blood flowing in his legs. It must be nearly a quarter to five by now.

"Hey, Fraser?"

He almost turned his head towards the voice. Anyway, he recognized it: the blond Ray, Ray Kowalski.

"Awww, not the stuffed uniform thing again!" came Ray Vecchio's voice, as they both came into his field of vision.

Ray Kowalski looked at his watch. "Well, he's got to get off by five, right? Until then, he's a captive audience." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Ben. Ben almost let the corners of his mouth curl up, but managed to stop them.

"See, we've got this case," Ray Vecchio said. "A Canadian case."

"Canadian-related, anyway," Ray Kowalski put in.

"Yeah, that's what I meant. Also possibly dragon-related. So we suspect there's smuggling going on via the lake trade, but the customs people can't get hold of the smugglers. We say nobody on our side's taking bribes, your side says the same. The usual."

A whoosh of air, and Ben took hold of his hat to keep it from blowing off.

"Smuggling? So how is this related to dragons?" Dief asked from above.

"Well, the lake trade is usually patrolled by dragons," Ray Kowalski said.

Ben glanced up to meet Dief's eyes, and caught them gleaming with curiosity.

"Yes, of course we'll help you," Ben said.

Perhaps there was something they could do in this strange city after all. It was exile, yes, but they were in it together, and perhaps they would not be as lonely as he had feared.