Betsy Costello slid up against the fence, flattening her back against the wood and craning her neck to see around the corner. She didn’t see Flametooth but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, wasn’t watching for her. Still, she had to get back to the Grandmother’s house and the thin strip of Non-Man’s Land was the only way there. The small girl moved back along the wall and breathed slowly. She looked down. The ruby-red, sparkly shoes were still on her feet and tied tightly. She clicked them together experimentally. It had to work. If she was doing this, she had to do it now. She hitched her multi-colored leggings up, straightened her ballerina skirt, zipped up her leather jacket, snapped the straps on her racing gloves, and, after taking a deep breath, pulled down the flight goggles on her aviator’s cap.The lanky nine year old slinked around the side of the watch house and, on tiptoes, made her way slowly down the thin dirt strip that was the Non-Man’s Land. As she slowly walked, she told herself that everything was ok. She would get across the barren, rocky parcel and eventually deliver the message that the Jade Host had entrusted to her. She even took a brief moment to look around and stare into the open doorway of the watch house. The small wooden structure, which always reminded Betsy of a doghouse, was dark and she could see nothing inside the gaping maw. If Flametooth were inside watching, he was taking extra-special care to disguise his telltale flame. She took another deep breath, exhaling slowly, and resumed her trek.
As the small blue blur ricocheted across her field of vision, Betsy stifled a scream she felt threatening to explode from within. “BeeBee,” chirped the small Cordwainer, one of the non-men who frequently crossed over into Midhomes through the barren borderland. “BeeBee,” it squeaked, eliciting a chorus of “BeeBees” from its fellow Cordwainers, who littered the strip of Non-Man’s Land, covering the barren strip in a furry, bouncing rainbow. The eager, friendly pests assailed Betsy as she attempted to cross without crushing them under the ruby slippers. The small creatures bounced to and fro, “BeeBee-ing” as they clinged to her, threatening to weigh down the little girl.
“Ssh,” she quieted them, finger against her lips, as the mulit-colored horde of the Cordwainers continued to hop and bounce across the thin rocky land, “BeeBee-ing” all the time. “You’re going to…”
Betsy’s words were cut short as twin spouts of flame erupted from the watchhouse on the opposite side of Non-Man’s Land. Cordwainers stopped “BeeBee-ing” just long enough to begin shrieking horribly and shrilly as they perished in the fiery blaze.
Just as quickly, on the heels of the inferno, Flametooth bound from the watchhouse. Betsy had no idea how the dragon’s fifty foot frame fit inside the barely four foot watchhouse, but fit it did until the beast fully emerged from his small haven. Flametooth rose up into the night sky on batlike wings. His long tail, uncurling out of the watchhouse as he ascended, took several more Cordwainer’s to their “BeeBee-ing” deaths. The satanic wyrm reared up and took a deep breath. Betsy knew that it was she and not the small, annoying furballs that were the beast’s true prey, so she crossed herself, and concentrated on the ruby slippers.
As fire flew from the snout of the winged serpent, the shoes glowed and Betsy found herself doing an impromptu sidestep, easily avoiding the blast. Fire continued to rain from the heavens, incinerating several more of the Cordwainers, until they stopped erupting from whatever pan-dimensional realm that birthed them and their shrill death rattles and cries of “BeeBee” waned into the dark. Betsy, however, was infinitely luckier than her furry companions. While Flametooth sent barrage after fiery barrage at her lithe, lanky little frame, the nimble nine year old, with the help of the enchanted slippers, danced between the blasts, cycling between softshoe, tap, jazz, and even a little ballroom style. She was a nine year old Ginger Rogers, lavishly sashaying amidst the pits of Hell itself. As her twinkle toes led her ever closer to the far side of Non-Man’s Land and out of the reach of the great wyrm Flametooth, Betsy thanked her stars that she had met that old gypsy woman after all.
Betsy Costello performed a final sweep that took her past the farthest watchhouse and narrowly avoided another of Flametooth’s attacks. She propped herself up against the wall of the guradshack, confident in the knowledge that the dragon’s magic would not harm her there. She bent over, breathing hard, exhausted by the extreme workout the shoes had put her through. Time was of the essence. She pulled herself together and mustered her strength, jogging off to complete her assigned task.
Behind her, confined with the borders of Non-Man’s Land, Flametooth sulked, curling himself back into the safety of his wooden guardhouse.
