Snuff the Magic Dragon (and other Bombay Family Bedtime Stories) (Greatest Hits Mysteries) by Leslie Langtry Page A

I called after him. “Where are you going with my wood?”
    He did not stop.
    With a sigh, I shouldered my axe and walked across the road to the governor’s house.
    “I cut down that wood with my own two hands,” I protested to the governor of the colony. “It took me an hour, and then he took the wood!” I used my most innocent face as I sadly shook my head. “He reeked of beer, too, and threatened me.” This wasn’t much of an allegation. Everyone here drank beer. They thought it was safer than water. Schmucks.
    Governor Bradford pushed back from his chair and let loose a long sigh. He nodded. “It’s John Newcomen, isn’t it?”
    I nodded, pleased that he wasn’t entirely sure who I was, and didn’t even remember that he gave me that name. The goal was that when this was over, people might remember my name, but no one would be able to remember anything else about me.
    The Governor shook his head. “John Billington has been a problem since we set sail.”
    “I am sorry, Your Lordship.” I did not make direct eye contact, trying to make sure he remembered my story but not my face. “But I am frightened for my life.”
    The official nodded and waved me away. “I’ll see what I can do.” And that was it. I left the room and made my way back to my one-room house.
    Part one of my plan was initiated. Now came the trickier part. I tried to consider all angles as I boiled water in a cauldron in my fireplace. These people didn’t trust the water. I tried to explain about boiling out the impurities, but they looked at me like they might start screaming “witchcraft!” so I left it alone. I’m really not fond of being hanged, and slightly less so of being burned alive.
    The Bombays have known how to make water safe for centuries. It’s just science. We just came through the Age of Reason! Helllloooooooooo! These people drove me crazy. If you tried to make your own soap or simply brush your teeth with a frayed twig, they’d start imagining that they saw you dancing naked in the woods with demons. No. England, even with its civil war, was much safer. I had to get back there.
    I would have to be careful from here on out. In order to make this work, there could be no mistakes. Blowing out the candles, I slipped quietly out the door, bolting it behind me. Within moments, I was sitting behind a haystack outside of Billington’s home. Clouds shrouded the moon, making the light spotty at best. I waited. Depending on how early John started drinking, that’s when I could move again.
    There was a slight breeze, lifting up the scents and sounds of the night. Livestock grunted here and there. A twig snapped in the distance every now and then. But no one came out of the Billington home.
    Normally, this would be a good thing. The joke in the colony was no Billington was a good Billington. But I was getting worried. It was late and yet lights still burned through the oilskin windows. Sure, the haystack was comfortable, but I had a task undone. That drove me crazy.
    The creak of wood caught my attention. Venturing a peek from behind the hay, I saw John Billington stagger out the door, cursing at someone inside the house. He was carrying his blunderbuss. Swaying violently back and forth, he lurched into the woods, leaning on his weapon for support. He was heading away from my home. Was he so drunk he thought he could hunt at this late hour?
    I waited until he was out of sight before following him. It’s pretty easy to follow a stumbling drunk through an empty forest at night. People battened down the hatches, worried about getting lost or running into Indians.
    Billington muttered to himself as he lurched around trees. I didn’t really think he was going anywhere in particular. During the day he was usually clearing his fields, starting fights with neighbors and yelling at his family. But it helped to know his movements.
    The clouds began to lift and the moon cast shadows around the trees. This kept me back, farther from