1910
Dragon wealth management meets Edwardian high society. An alternative history
Neumann stood on the rooftop in the heart of London, waiting for his master to land. It was the Spring of 1910, and the light from the horizon smoldered in the early evening, blossoming like a line of fire. “Aus dem feuer kamen sie” or “Out of the fire they came”. Those words came to mind as Neumann stared out across the city. How many years had it been since that infamous headline stood stark across Berlin, then London, and beyond? When Jörmunwyr and his kind appeared, clawing themselves out from under Iceland, changing not just his life but all human affairs forever.
Worry gnawed at his stomach — not simply rolling like at sea, but a stabbing feeling, like some unseen thing scratching on the other side of his bedroom door in the dark of night.
He’d served his master faithfully for nearly twenty years. Just as his father before him and his father had. As Neumann’s son would too — if only he had one. But no, he had but one daughter, now nearly of age and ready to join society. And there would be no more children now. No more would the old Wyrm be able to confide in a Neumann.
He sighed and stopped wringing his hands. So that was that. He tapped absently again at the letter of resignation folded in his pocket and knew it was the right decision. He would even help find a new Major-Domo for his master. But what then?
A dark shape appeared across the fading red blush on the horizon, moving in from the west, as always along the path of the river Thames. From his vantage point, he watched its blurred edges take shape, wings beating, a long tail rippling in their wake. No human, even one borne into his service, couldn’t feel awe watching the magnificent creature, as it swung lazily over the gothic rooftops and smoking chimneys, huge wings the size of a tall ship’s sails, beating a dance as it came to land atop the mansion. Once known as Queen Anne’s mansion on the corner of Petty France, everyone called it Wyrmhouse now. Even his master didn’t mind the nickname.
“Papa,” said a small voice behind him.
Neumann turned and saw his daughter. He tried to smile but only his eyebrows moved. Her gaze remained fixed on the sky, to her fate which winged its way towards them both. So she’d come, he thought. This will be easier now.
The great dragon, impossibly large, hung in the air above the rooftop, then shimmered mirage-like before them. Suddenly it dropped, its shape billowing like a flare in reverse, clouds forming and rippling as it folded in on itself. In seconds a graceful polished shoe and then a suit leg landed gently on the rooftop and the human form of Jörmunwyr was striding across the rooftop towards them. Six feet six tall and wearing a worsted three-piece, he looked every inch a politician if you ignored his red hair, bright like a bonfire, swept back and shoulder length.
“Neumann, my man. Is everyone here?” Jörmunwyr began, smiling to his Major-domo while pulling a pair of gloves off.
No matter which way you looked at it, thought Neumann, those gloves hadn’t existed until seconds previously. But he knew his master tried hard to go through the forms as he would say. He was quite like the royals in that — two of whom waited on him downstairs with the other guests.
“Yes master,” he replied.
But Neumann didn’t move. His heart began to race up a hill to catch up with his thoughts, which were spinning and colliding now, far ahead.
Jörmunwyr cocked one eyebrow and swiveled his gaze towards the young lady standing beside Neumann.
“Hello Delphy,” he remarked casually. He would have gone further, but sensing Neumann’s racing heart, waited on Neumann, who clearly had something on his mind. Manners were just as crucial to old Wryms, more so even. It was how one stopped mutual destruction.
“Master…” Neumann began, but faltered.
“Neumann, you want to ask me something, yes?”
“No master, tell,” he replied somewhat breathlessly.
The old wyrm pursed his lips, then said “Know that while we stand on this rooftop, you may speak freely. Unless mention of my siblings of course.”
At the mention of ‘siblings,’ the shadows lengthened around them and the dragon’s great shaggy red hair darkened. But a wide smile appeared on his face, a smile that Neumann knew meant well, but could just as quickly indicate a malevolent force strong enough to stop sinners and nations.
“Master, my family has served you for three generations,” Neumann said.
Jörmunwyr reached forward and placed a hand lightly on Neumann’s shoulder, and looked from father to daughter. “Your father believes this sale a mistake,” he said, a grin curling his mouth. “Well, I am done with it. But not with your family.” Young Delphyne continued to look the old wyrm direct and hold his eye, no mean feat.
“Ah, I see. I am wrong,” Jörmunwyr added, quietly, sensing an unusual taste in his mouth. Surprise.
“Master, my wife could not bear me a son,” Neumann said, blinking, his eyes suddenly moist.
“I know,” said the old Wyrm.
“Well, the thing is…” he’d reached inside his breast pocket but hesitated to pull out his resignation letter.
“Neumann,” added Jörmunwyr “I expect you to select and train the best of your protege” keeping his gaze on Delphyne and placing his other hand on her slight shoulder “and they will, I’m sure do everything in their power to make you proud.”
Neumann couldn’t believe his ears. How could even such a thing be possible?
He cast a quick look at Delphyne, who for once actually looked demure and proper.
“But, but Master” Neumann looked between Jörmunwyr and his daughter, confusion shaping his features. “For two generations it has always been. Well, you see Delphyne is — ”
“What, I’m a woman?”
The great hall melted from the vision in the pool, to be replaced by a view of a great waterfall, high up in the mountains. Then the view lurched and they were hurtling towards the great sheet of water. As they felt themselves hit the waterfall, they and the image crashed through into darkness. Both Neumanns held a hand out to each other, to steady themselves from the Dragon’s vision. It was like nothing Delphyne had ever seen.
Then, from within the darkness, flecks of light glinted across the circular pool. Then brightness flared like a hundred thousand city lights suddenly switched on. Laid out beneath the light, piles, and piles of gold glittered across a huge cavern and more riches beside. The young Neumann simply gasped, but the older Neumann did not. He frowned and then just as quickly kept his face bland.
“And my final question. What would you do with all this Delphy?”
She turned from the horde of unlimited wealth and looked at the dragon, her eyes wide, her heart hammering.
“This is not my final answer mind, I’m just thinking out loud,” she began, looking back at the vision adding “But I’d not give it to any of them downstairs Master.”
Jörmunwyr gave away nothing, but it was the first time she’d ever called him master. Then tilting her head, she looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. “This isn’t real. It’s just a memory isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.
The old Wyrm grinned and waved a hand casually, and an image of a huge warehouse appeared, one filled with stacks and stacks of boxes of all sorts of shapes, with shadows for edges. One corridor between the crates she could see, stretched off as long as the street outside her home, disappearing into the darkness.
“How many of these do you have master?” she asked.
Jörmunwyr turned his gaze to Neumann, who looked between his master and daughter. She was doing very well, he thought, and fought to keep pride from his voice.
“273 in continental Europe, 97 across Africa, 24 I know of with various parties in India,” it was Neumann’s turn to return an enquiring look to his boss, who looked away, not embarrassed, but pained again. “And there are 14 now in — ”
“Thank you, Neumann,” said the old Wyrm and placed both hands behind his back, looking now more like a professor than a politician. “You see Delphy, I’ve tried hard to modernize since my return. But I must go much further, I must stop, well hoarding. But all my instincts fail me…” he looked tired, pained even, and a desperate look came over him.
Then with a casual flick of his wrist, the vision was gone and the water slowly trickled back into itself, a simple puddle among many on the rooftop.
“Do you know my story Delphy?” Jörmunwyr’s voice sounded all vulnerable to Neumann, who was reminded of the range of emotions his master would often flick through — a far greater range than any human.
Delphyne simply nodded.
“It was 1783 and a previously unheard spot in Iceland blew up,” she began, quoting the story every adult and child knew. “Across a whole week, the land under Laki rolled, and great volcanic explosions rocked the land. A terrible spew of sulfur dioxide covered the sky with a dark portent.” Delphyne spoke in an unhurried voice, her words clear to her audience of two on the night-shrouded rooftop.
“Out of the fire and ashes, four nightmares from myth strode the earth’s skies. One flew north and was never seen again. One flew east, across Russia settling his great girth around Beijing’s palace and telling everyone he met his story. A story so powerful, that he became an Emperor that night.”
“My brother does have a way with words” added Jörmunwyr. Delphyne looked at him enquiringly, but he waved for her to carry on.
“One flew west”, she continued, “across the ocean and fell on Mexico and there spread herself across the region, and those countries flocked to her banner. The region became known to one and all as Quetzaco. And the final of the four to appear flew south. Into Europe and the bosom of the great British Empire and remained. He did not bend its rulers to his will, instead moving among them, wearing their trappings and — ”
“May I take up the story?” Jörmunwyr asked suddenly, his voice quiet. At such times it felt like it arrived directly into your mind, bypassing one’s ears. Delphine fell silent.
“That first year” he began, “I witnessed many of your human affairs. Affairs that reminded me of my previous adventures among your kind. Then it was chieftains that played King or Queen. But this time around, I’ve fallen for your love of progress! Your curiosity driving such change, it’s all so infectious.”
Closing his eyes, almost whispering he continued. “It was 1783 the year we returned, you are right. The Orient Express — such a pretty invention — spun itself to Constantinople.
“England recognized the independence of those boisterous Americans. The signing was in Paris. It was a fine warm day outside the hotel. I left early and watched the leaves redden as if the trees too celebrated the end of the war as much as the season.
“The Montgolfier brothers’ went up in the first hot-air balloon, which I missed. And Mozart wrote his Great Mass, which I did not. That first year, 1783 was a very good year.”
He opened his eyes and turned his gaze on Delphyne, sadness clear in his eyes.
“Unlike my brothers and sister who would rule, I will not go that way. Delphy, you humans have all the power. Truly. We are but four, whereas you are billions. You burrow into every crevice of our mother earth, demand to count and know every star, but worse still, would harm one another well beyond anything my kind can bring you.”
He paused, then went on “There is a darkness coming. A terrible one, I can sense it.”
“This darkness master,” asked Dephyne “will it affect many here in London?”
“Yes Delpy, I believe it will affect many millions, across Europe and blight your kind like never before.”
“Then use your wealth to stop the darkness,” she said simply.
“I will not rule Delphy, that is not my way.”
“No I mean,” she groped, then pausing and straightening her skirt, and said, “Master, I have my final answer.”
Neumann stood on the rooftop, waiting for her master. She leaned on a simple wooden stick, remembering another rooftop and her entry into Jörmunwyr’s service many years ago. She didn’t regret not having children, nor a lifetime devoted to her ‘uncle’ the old Wyrm. But she did at times miss her father. She was the last of the Neumanns now.
What had started as her simple idea, just a focus for Jörmunwyr’s wealth had become a powerful machine that demanded attention — all of hers and the dragon’s. Over the years they’d been accused of many things: a secret society, a shadow government, the architects behind saving our world, and the perpetrators behind so many wars, more than she could count. In truth, quite a few of the better tales they’d concocted themselves. Such propaganda had been necessary to get behind a few closed government doors. She still disagreed with them going public in 1954.
The thing is, a dragon’s horde buys you a lot of ‘runway’, as the new kids in Silicon Valley would say. And Jörmunwyr wanted to divest himself of all his wealth and buy something for humanity.
Whenever she thought of him now, it was with a smile; stalking his London mansion office in his human guise, his great flush of red hair signaling his mood. Or lying in his cave in the Highlands, his magnificent wings folded around his long dragon’s bulk, his eyes intently watching the many screens he had on display. She would always stand, giving her account of his affairs. They were his, not hers, she just nudged and shepherded things.
He’d been gone now 23 years, the day after JFK died. He’d blamed himself the silly fool. At times, it felt like Jörmunwyr was with her just yesterday.
She looked towards the setting sun, wanting to believe that he’d simply appear over the horizon today. His great wings billowing before he’d land. And then he’d pick back up this damned burden he’d left her.
“Ma’am, they are ready for you,” said a quiet voice behind her. It was her secretary.
With one final look across the long roof of Palais des Nations, beyond the tops of the trees, and Geneva Lake, she concluded: no, he was not coming. So she turned and leaning on her stick, left the roof. Delphyne Neumann, President of the Bilderberg Group headed back downstairs to her offices, inside what was more commonly called the United Nations. There was work to be done.
Author’s note: this was written for all those who played and loved Shadowrun, the greatest tabletop RPG the world has ever seen. And for a writing competition.
