by Ed Clarke
‘Mum’s put some pretty strong poison down,’ replied Mari breezily, ‘so they won’t scratch for long.’
Dylan’s face contorted again. Mari found she was beginning to enjoy wielding the power her lie had bestowed on her.
‘Crisps?’ she asked cheerfully.
Dylan nodded, and took a gulp of his cola. Mari smiled and set off for the kitchen. But just as she snatched up the last packet of own-brand ready salted from the darkest recesses of a cupboard, she heard the unmistakable sound of feet running up the stairs.
‘Dylan!’ she yelled as she raced out of the kitchen.
‘I just need to see for myself!’
Mari leaped up the stairs two at a time, and burst through the door into her bedroom. But she was too late. The wardrobe doors were wide open, and Dylan was staring into it, open-mouthed.
‘That’s not a rat,’ he said.
‘This absolutely, positively, has to remain a secret,’ said Mari.
Dylan wasn’t listening. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the tiny creature cowering in the corner of its box, caught in the sudden glare of attention.
‘It’s … it’s a dragon.’
‘Technically,’ said Mari, ‘it’s a gwiber.’
‘A gweeby?’
‘Gwee-ber,’ corrected Mari. ‘It’s Welsh for wyvern. A two-legged winged dragon.’
‘It can’t be real …’
Dylan reached out to touch it, but the gwiber flapped its wings and flew up to perch on an empty hanger, making it swing back and forth.
‘Does that look real enough?’ Mari asked as Dylan’s eyes widened in awe.
‘Can I hold it?’ he asked.
Mari shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’ll let you.’
‘Does it have a name?’
‘Pterodraco jonathani.’
‘Terry what now?’
‘It’s the Latin name I’ve given it. Jonathan’s Dragon. After my dad.’
‘I see.’
Mari braced herself for another question about him, but Dylan seemed to think better of it.
‘It’s a bit … formal, isn’t it?’ he continued. ‘Maybe he needs some kind of pet name.’
‘I don’t see why,’ replied Mari stiffly. ‘It’s not a pet. It’s a major scientific discovery. Nor, for that matter, do we know it’s a “he”.’
‘Well, he looks like a “he” to me. And I think the gwiber needs a proper name,’ said Dylan. ‘In fact, why not “Gweeb”?’
At that very moment the dragon leaped off its perch, swooped out of the wardrobe and landed on Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan gasped, then chuckled. ‘Well, there you go. That’s settled then!’
Mari rolled her eyes. ‘He probably just thinks you’ve got food,’ she said, exasperated. ‘He’s not recognizing his name like some sort of puppy.’
‘I think you underestimate him,’ said Dylan. ‘And you just called him “he”. Twice.’
Mari let out a sigh of frustration. ‘Fine,’ she said impatiently. ‘We can call him a “he”. For now. Until we know for sure. But “Gweeb”? Really? It sounds like a cartoon alien.’
‘I think it’s a perfectly good name for a tiny dragon who lives in a wardrobe. Don’t you, Gweeb?’
Gweeb nestled into Dylan’s neck, which made Mari feel oddly jealous.
‘I think I need him back now,’ she said, reaching out a hand.
‘You’re not putting him back in that plastic box, are you?’
‘Why not? What would you do with him?’
Dylan laughed. ‘Well, you need help from a grown-up, obviously. You’ve found the world’s first ever real live dragon – we’ve got to tell someone!’
‘I’m going to,’ said Mari. ‘Dr Griff Griffiths. I’ve got his email address.’
‘The Dinosaur Hunter off the telly? What’s he going to do?’
‘We’ll take the dragon to the Natural History Museum together. So I can make sure they name him after my dad.’
Dylan nearly spat out his cola. ‘Who do you think you are? David Attenborough? You’re eleven years old! Just tell your mum and we’ll all be on breakfast TV tomorrow. It’ll be amazing.’
‘I’m twelve in September. And you don’t understand, Dylan. If we don’t tell the right person, they will take him away. It’ll be, Thanks very much, little girl, we’ll do all the important stuff from here. You’ve had your fun, now run along home. This is the chance of a lifetime, Dylan. For me to change my life. To be the person I want to be.’
‘What do you mean?’ Dylan frowned. ‘What’s wrong with your life anyway?’
‘It’s my chance to be a proper scientist,’ Mari explained. ‘To say, Here is my discovery: the Pterodraco jonathani.’
‘So, let me get this straight,’ replied Dylan. ‘Your plan is to send Dr Griff an email and say, Hello, I’m Mari, I’m eleven and three quarters and I’ve discovered a dragon I can fit in my pocket? You think his first thought is going to be, Yes, I can trust her scientific opinion. I’d better get right over there to check it out?’
Now Dylan was saying it out loud, even Mari realized that her plan was not brilliantly thought through. Particularly as she’d not made the best impression on Dr Griff that afternoon. What would Dad do in this situation? Her eyes fell on one of his scientific journals, and a plan began to form in her brain.
‘I’m not going to tell him how old I am,’ she announced suddenly. ‘I’m going to make a proper scientific study of Gweeb and send my findings for Dr Griff to verify. I’ll say I’m Dr Mari Jones from the University of Such and Such, and then he’ll have to take it seriously.’
Even though it was entirely off the cuff, Mari was quite pleased with her new scheme.
‘What kind of scientific study?’ asked Dylan.
‘One like Mary Anning would have made,’ she told him. ‘Drawings, observations, hypotheses. Her work won over the scientific community, even though she was a woman in a man’s world. I’ll do the same, but as a kid in a grown-up world.’
Dylan nodded slowly. ‘OK.’
‘OK? What do you mean, “OK”?’
‘OK, I’ll help you.’
Mari blinked. ‘I wasn’t asking for your help.’
‘No, but you need it.’
‘No, I don’t. Gweeb is my dragon. I’m doing this on my own.’
‘Only if I don’t tell anyone.’
Mari spluttered with indignation. ‘But – but …’
‘But I can really help you, Mari. You might know everything about fossilized animals, but I know about living ones.’
‘I can learn all that stuff,’ Mari protested. ‘I’ve got books.’
‘That’s why you’re keeping a cold-blooded animal in an ice-cream tub in a chilly, dark wardrobe, is it?’
‘I was in a rush – I …’
Dylan raised his eyebrows.
‘All right, all right,’ Mari conceded. ‘You can help. But remember: you don’t need this like I need this. You’re my assistant, not my partner.’
Dylan shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
‘So, now what?’
‘I thought I was your assistant … Shouldn’t you be telling me?’
Mari threw back her head in exasperation. Why did the only other person in the world who knew her secret have to be so infuriating? ‘I would value your advice,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘Well,’ said Dylan. ‘First of all, we have to make sure the animal is fed and watered. What does he eat?’
Mari had to admit that this hadn’t even crossed her mind … well, she had to admit it to herself at least.
‘I … I don’t know yet,’ she stammered. ‘He likes milk …’
‘But he’s a reptile, not a mammal,’ said Dylan. ‘I wouldn’t be feeding him that, if I were you.’
Mari gulped. Dylan didn’t know the half of it.
‘Whatever,’ he went on. ‘You really can’t keep him in a wardrobe. If he’s like other reptiles, he’ll need a terrarium.’
‘A wha
t?’
Dylan reached up very slowly to lift Gweeb down from his shoulder, making sure to hold his wings tight against his body.
‘A terrarium. A glass box to put reptiles in, with heat lamps at the top. They’re cold-blooded, so they need artificial warmth.’ Dylan carefully turned Gweeb over in his hands, fascinated. ‘He really is incredible. Part lizard, part bat, part bird.’
Gweeb didn’t seem to care for Dylan’s inspection though. His emerald-green eyes sparkled as he swiped at Dylan’s hand with one of his talons.
‘Argh!’ Dylan yelled, letting go.
Gweeb hit the carpet with a thud, but before Mari could gather him up he darted into the air and out through the bedroom door.
‘Quick!’ she cried.
They dashed after him, giving chase down the stairs and into the living room. But Gweeb was nowhere to be seen. Then Mari noticed a curtain blowing slightly in the breeze. There was a small window open in the corner of the room. She closed her eyes in disbelief.
‘I told you not to let him out,’ she said. ‘He was doing just fine in the wardrobe.’
Dylan looked chastened. He licked a bead of blood from his finger. ‘I didn’t realize his claws were so sharp.’
Mari was unimpressed. ‘I thought you knew all about animals.’
‘I’m hazier on mythical ones,’ Dylan shot back.
‘Well, we’d better start learning fast,’ said Mari, ‘if we haven’t already lost him.’
Suddenly, from somewhere outside, a cow bellowed in pain.
‘Oh no,’ said Mari, turning pale.
‘What is it?’
‘Milk!’
Mari bolted for the back door and pelted out into the night, with Dylan right behind her. They rounded a corner and careered into an open cowshed. Mari flipped a light switch to reveal a cow lying in the hay, its udder beginning to swell unnaturally. Mari knelt down next to it. There was no doubt what the issue was. Gweeb had bitten it.
‘Where is he?’ asked Mari, looking around.
‘Up there.’ Dylan was pointing up into the rafters of the barn. Mari followed his finger, but could see nothing but shadows. That is, until a pair of headlights approaching up the track illuminated the ruby-red body of Gweeb, perched high up on a crossbeam. For a dragon, he was looking very sheepish.
Mari turned round to see the bright yellow car crackling up the stony farm track, and glanced at Dylan in dismay.
Their parents were back.
‘Oh no,’ said Rhian as she ran over to tend to the cow. ‘What happened? What did you do?’
‘Nothing! We just heard it and ran out …’ Mari tailed off, guilt weighing heavily on her.
‘I’ll get my bag,’ said Gareth, rushing to the back of his car.
‘Dad’ll fix it, Mari,’ said Dylan, coming over. He ushered her off to one side, nodding towards the roof of the barn to remind her of the other problem they had. How were they going to get Gweeb down without their parents noticing there was a dragon in the cowshed?
While Gareth knelt down next to Rhian to examine the cow, Mari stole a glance up at the dragon. He was buzzing from rafter to rafter, obviously full of energy from the milk he had swiped from the injured cow. Every now and then he paused to look down at them like a naughty toddler who knew he’d done something wrong, and thought running away afterwards was part of the game.
Mari wondered if she shouldn’t just confess here and now. Surely her mum was going to find out the truth any minute – wouldn’t it look better if she didn’t try and hide it?
‘I think it’s an adder bite,’ announced Gareth suddenly.
‘What?’ said everyone else at once.
‘There are two little puncture wounds on the udder. Sometimes cows can lie on a snake they don’t know is there, and they get bitten.’
Mari saw her mother turn to look at her, the frustration in her eyes turning to apology.
‘She doesn’t look like she’s been badly poisoned,’ continued Gareth. ‘I’ll give her an injection for the swelling and antibiotics for any infection. She should be fine in a few days.’
‘Thank you, Gareth,’ said Rhian. ‘It’s very kind of you.’
While Gareth and Rhian were distracted by the cow, Dylan leaned close to Mari and said, ‘Worms.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Worms. Maybe that’s what little dragons eat …’
Mari followed Dylan’s eyes down to the ground, where a worm was poking out of the mud. She quickly bent down to retrieve it. Gareth and Rhian were still busy with the cow, so she waved it in the air in the direction of the dragon.
‘Gweeb!’ she hissed, as loudly as she dared.
In a flash he swooped down from the rafters and on to her hand to feast on the worm. She cupped him between her palms and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
‘Bit of excitement at the end of the evening!’ replied Gareth with a strange snorting laugh as he closed up his bag. ‘Time to go now, Dylan. Say goodbye to Mari.’
‘Goodbye, Mari,’ said Dylan.
‘Bye, Dylan,’ she replied loudly. Then, more quietly, she added: ‘Tomorrow morning, back here, nine o’clock. That’s when the work really starts.’
Dylan nodded as Gareth shouted over from the car: ‘Come on, son! Don’t be dawdling.’
Rhian turned to Mari as the yellow estate pulled out of the yard. ‘You two get on then?’ she asked hopefully.
Mari just shrugged. She wasn’t going to give anything away.
‘Well, if you can be nice to him, I’d really appreciate it,’ Rhian continued. ‘You know, in case you see him again.’
Mari sighed. She guessed that meant her mum might be seeing Dylan’s dad again.
Rhian seemed to sense Mari’s discontent. ‘I think he’s a good man, Mari,’ she said. ‘A strange sense of humour, perhaps, but a good man.’
Mari didn’t want to talk about her mum’s date. It made her feel queasy. And it didn’t help that Gweeb was trying to escape from between her cupped palms.
‘Argh, you monster!’ she blurted out as he scratched her with one of his miniature talons.
‘Mari! That’s a horrible thing to say,’ said Rhian, looking hurt.
‘I didn’t mean you, Mum, honest,’ replied Mari.
‘Then who did you mean?’
‘I … um … I meant …’ Mari trailed off. There was nothing she could say without giving the game away.
‘Right,’ said Rhian. ‘In that case you can go straight to bed. And those hay bales need stacking first thing tomorrow.’
‘But, Mum!’
‘No ifs, no buts. We’re farmers – we can’t just laze around at weekends like everyone else.’
‘But I’ve got stuff to do!’
‘Important fossil-finding business, no doubt. Well, they’ve been stuck in a rock for a few million years, Mari, so another day isn’t going to hurt.’
And with that Rhian stomped off back into the house.
Mari opened her scratched hands to see Gweeb looking up at her as if butter wouldn’t melt in his dragon’s mouth.
‘You see all the trouble you’re causing, Pterodraco jonathani?’
He gave a little sneezing snort.
‘Yes, well, I only hope it’s worth it.’
The next day Mari woke bright and early. She turned straight over to check on Gweeb, who was basking quietly beneath the desk lamp she had left on all night.
He saw her looking over and immediately started opening and closing his mouth in a show of hunger.
‘Good morning to you too,’ said Mari. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
She yawned her way downstairs, hair still skew-whiff. She could hear the sound of the milking machine from the dairy and knew it would be at least another hour before her mum was back in for breakfast.
Grabbing a rinsed-out yoghurt pot from the recycling, Mari stepped into her wellies by the back door, found a trowel in the forlorn-looking shed, and trudged over to what used to be her dad’s beloved kitchen garden.
In one corner sat a compost heap that had long since sprouted weeds, but that Mari knew would provide the richest soil. She dug in with the trowel, and soon exposed a writhing mass of worms. Grimacing, she plucked out three wiggling invertebrates and popped them into the plastic pot.
Back in the house, she plucked one of the tiny milk pots she’d saved from the train out of her school bag, and creaked back up the stairs with Gweeb’s breakfast.
‘Just one pot this morning, Gweeb,’ she told him, peeling back the top of the milk pot. ‘We need less craziness and more seriousness. We have science to do today.’
Gweeb looked up from his mini-feast and let out a burp in Mari’s direction. Mari wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant smell.
‘You’re welcome,’ she said.
Mari went over to her shelves and slid out a brand-new ring binder, cracked open the cellophane on a set of ten dividers, and filled the folder with A4 paper.
‘Now, are we going to stack hay bales this morning?’ she asked the dragon, gathering up a selection of highlighters and rolling them into a dinosaur pencil case. ‘Or are we going to make history?’
There was a rattling at her bedroom window: the sound of tiny stones being thrown to get Mari’s attention.
‘Good, he’s early,’ she said.
She raced down the stairs and threw open the back door.
‘I liberated this from Dad’s supplies,’ said Dylan, holding up a large, clear plastic animal carrier with ventilation slots at the top. ‘It’s not really big enough for a flying reptile, but it’s warmer than an ice-cream tub, and a lot more secure.’
‘Perfect,’ said Mari. ‘Let’s get started.’
They carried Gweeb out to the part of the farm that was furthest from the dairy and the temptations of milk. It was an exposed field with only a few small trees dotting the hedgerows, bent over into contorted curves by the harsh prevailing winds. Off in the distance, the lighthouse twinkled, and beyond that lay the cold, grey Bristol Channel.
Dylan shivered. ‘So, what’s the plan, Dr Jones?’
‘I’ll do some tests, you take notes,’ said Mari, thrusting her ring binder and a pen into his hands.
Dylan didn’t look impressed. ‘Couldn’t we have done this somewhere warmer?’
