After eating her breakfast and scrubbing the dishes clean, Virgil came crawling into the kitchen.
He was hungry. Could Virgil eat breakfast? He wasn’t sure if he should burn that book yet.
“Breakfast yes, breathing fire on books no,” Rose said sternly. “Your father was just joking. You should never do that.”
Virgil didn’t understand, but Virgil was hungry and wanted food now. Could Virgil have his breakfast?
“Say please,” Rose instructed. She was trying to teach their son manners.
Could Virgil have his please?
“Close enough.”
She served him breakfast, and as she was doing so, she found her mind wandering to the mystery she’d learned about yesterday. If the fourth dragon had parents, why hadn’t they come forward? What reason could they have for keeping silent?
She badly wanted to meet them and ask, but it wasn’t like she could predict when they would be in front of the cage.
Oh, Virgil knew when they would be there. They always came in the morning. Violet said so.
The small dragon’s head ducked down as he munched out of the bowl she’d left on the floor for him.
Rose paused. “How early in the morning?”
They always came after Violet’s breakfast. Virgil liked breakfast. Virgil was eating his breakfast now. It was yummy.
Rose’s mind worked feverishly. Violet usually had breakfast at nine o’clock. Right now, it was eight twenty. If they started getting ready immediately and walked quickly . . .
Virgil’s head poked up from the bowl. Were they going to see Violet? Virgil wanted to see Violet! Virgil wanted to go right now!
That decided it, of course.
“Yes, we’re going to see Violet,” Rose said.
Preparing the pram for their perambulation, Rose reflected that perhaps her son was spending too much time at the zoo for her liking. It was only natural because the child could not be trusted around human infants, and Violet was the only other dragon egg who had hatched, and thus she was his only playmate. But if another dragon egg hatched . . .
Philomel was close to hatching. But taking Virgil to play with Bessie’s son on a regular basis seemed a dreadful option. Rose had had enough of the woman’s pompous attitude to last a lifetime.
But a fourth egg . . .
A fourth egg who would not live in the zoo, who would have parents that Rose could stand to be around . . .
That would solve so many problems.
The walk to Central Park Zoo seemed to go quickly, as it always did now that she’d traveled the route so many times, despite the fact that it went no faster than normal in terms of time spent: a little over twenty minutes.
There was a slight delay when Virgil sneezed and set his blanket alight, resulting in a horrified scream from a passerby, but Rose beat that out with rapid familiarity born of entirely too much practice, and then assured the panicked woman that her baby was, in fact, the source of the flames, and had not been a victim of a stray cigar dropped carelessly upon him.
Then she had to deal patiently with the woman’s shock that the baby wasn’t human.
Still, events such as those were extremely commonplace, more’s the pity, so she arrived at the zoo with very little delay and no further thought about the incident.
Virgil was ecstatic to see his friend.
He poked his head out of the pram and swished his tail back and forth, which lashed the blanket along with it until it flopped to the ground. Rose scooped the blanket up and dropped it back over him, reflecting that since it was charred in a corner, it would require washing tonight anyway, so a little dirt would not harm the child.
Virgil was saying hello to Violet! Virgil was excited to see Violet! Virgil wanted to play tail face!
Violet was busy. Virgil should come back later.
Virgil’s tail lashed harder, and he emanated indignation. That wasn’t fair! He wanted to play!
What is Violet busy doing? Rose started to wonder, but the question was answered even before she finished the thought.
A memory of Violet’s mother washed over her.
She was a beautiful, vain dragon, vibrantly blue, the most beautiful dragon in the whole wide world, except her daughter was even more beautiful. She stretched out her long neck to show off her horns to her prospective mate who she’d already married. Her purple husband ignored her, so she snorted sparks at him. Must he be clueless? She had been hoping to be coy. Their daughter was going to bonk him with her horns when he got home for being so silly.
Rose sighed aloud as the scene continued, and pulled herself out of the not-really-quite-a-memory.
She knew this memory well. It was one Violet loved to share with curious crowds. Rose had personally experienced it six times now, which is why she had no problem divorcing herself from the experience, unlike the rest of the crowd. But the memory had changed a great deal since Violet had first shared it.
It was now muddled with the future and from a childish perspective, and it kept including recollections of incidents that had never happened, such as Violet-as-a-hatchling interacting with her birth parents.
In other words, it was now far more a product of Violet’s imagination than a true memory from her mother, and yet, she portrayed it as if it were true.
This is going to be a problem in the future, Rose reflected. How many people are going to trust these “recollections” as fact when they are, in fact, sometimes closer to fiction?
It was particularly disturbing when she reflected that the easily-muddled memories of these infants’ ancestors would be the only clues their human parents would have as to what was normal for the children in each developmental stage. How much of the information they were likely to rely on would be accurate by the time these children came of age?
It was much like having an oral tradition rather than written records. And Rose knew of no way to record memories in a more trustworthy and dependable way.
As the more-or-less-daydream progressed, Virgil poked his tail out of the blanket and lashed it back and forth.
Virgil was bored. Violet was boring. Virgil wanted to go play with the other baby.
“She hasn’t hatched yet, Virgil,” Rose reminded him.
But Virgil wanted to go play with the other baby! She was awake! The other baby’s parents were playing with her now!
What?! Rose’s head whipped around to look at the people nearest the other cage. They’re here already?!
Chapter 6: Surprise
At first, she thought, It couldn’t be them. She looked for another couple staring at the cage with the egg. But everyone else in the crowd near them was walking somewhere else, watching Violet, or staring off into space.
If only two people were currently watching the unhatched egg, those had to be the people Virgil had referred to.
Rose sucked in her breath.
She should not have been shocked. It should, in fact, have been obvious that it would happen sooner or later. A fetus could not see what humans looked like, nor would a dragon care if they could. After all, the shape of humans was so alien compared to their own form that all humans probably looked alike to them.
The parents were colored.
It’s not 1821, Rose thought frantically. It’s 1921. I can walk over there and make their acquaintance.
She could, she knew she could, but her feet stayed frozen in place. She was terrified to take even a single step forward. This was outside any of her social experience. Was she allowed to talk to them? Was that something that was done?
She tried to think of what her mother would say. But her imagination failed her.
How could she possibly know what was appropriate and what wasn’t in this instance? In all her years of school, in her neighborhood, in all her family’s social circles, it was simply a question that had never come up.
Cowardice rose in her throat, and she started to consider fleeing before Violet or Virgil announced her presence.
Why was Virgil’
s mother running away?
Rose froze. She looked down at her questioning son, who now seemed very confused.
She swallowed deeply. Did she want Virgil to grow up to believe that external appearance meant everything?
No. Because he wasn’t just a different color. He was a different shape.
Perhaps . . . perhaps it didn’t matter what the rules were. Perhaps it didn’t matter if there were rules. There had been no rules laid out when she’d adopted Virgil, and she had done it anyway, because it had felt like the right thing to do.
She could transcend species. Surely she could do something much more trivial.
Choosing to accept Virgil was the most difficult thing she’d ever done. But putting one foot in front of the other right now was the second most difficult. She pushed through the crowd around Violet’s cage, reaching the other side and the empty expanse in which only two people stood.
Both of them had their back to Rose, and now that she was much closer, she realized there was a silent conversation going on between them. Almost a one-way conversation, in fact.
The eggbound dragon was . . . chattering?
Her feathery, fleeting impressions were nothing like Virgil’s insistent nagging, Philomel’s demanding fury, or Violet’s exuberant flamboyance. They came and went rapidly, so fast that Rose could barely take in the images, and the range was so short that Rose didn’t even notice they were happening until she was nearly behind the two parents.
It was like the new dragon was whispering. And whispering at an insane speed.
The two parents turned around at once.
“Um,” Rose said, gulping, “hello. I’m Rose Palmer. Wainscott, I mean. Rose Wainscott. I was only recently married, so I’m not used to it yet. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The man and woman both stared at her. Their expressions were not unfriendly, but they were not particularly chummy, either. They both stared at her silently.
Panic fluttered in Rose’s throat. Had she truly broken some rule of propriety? Were they judging her harshly for that? She didn’t know. Why had she felt the need to go over to them? What had she thought could be gained?
“And . . . y-your names?” she asked nervously.
The silence stretched on, and Rose tried to distract herself by looking at their clothing. The man’s tweed suit was shabby at the elbows, and the woman wore a shirtwaist and a long, pleated skirt. His hat was a fedora with black ribbon, while hers was a tight-fitting cloche that wasn’t really in fashion.
Virgil poked his head out from behind the blanket, and his clawed forelegs followed as he pulled himself up on the side of the pram.
Hello! Virgil was saying hello! Virgil wanted to meet the other baby! Virgil thought she’d be more interesting than Violet, who was being boring. Hello! Virgil was saying hello to the other baby!
A smile split across the woman’s face. “Oh! You’re the one Ophelia keeps talking about.” Her voice was quiet, much like the eggbound dragon’s telepathic equivalent. “She says you’ve been wanting to meet us. It’s a pleasure.”
Rose breathed out a desperate sigh of relief. “Yes. A pleasure,” she said rapidly. “I didn’t know, um . . .”
. . . that you were . . . No, no, she couldn’t say that! That had to be taboo.
“. . . that her name was Ophelia,” she finished frantically.
The man smiled slightly. “We love Shakespeare,” he said. His voice was quiet, too.
“How long has it been since she chose you?” Rose asked.
Husband and wife exchanged looks.
“It happened on the second day she was here,” the man said in a low voice. “We’ve come to see her every day since.”
Rose stared at him in astonishment. It was unfathomable.
“Why did you not talk to the zoo staff? You should ask to bring her home with you before she hatches!”
The two looked at each other.
The woman said quietly, “We didn’t particularly want to be told no.”
Rose felt a sudden, stabbing shame. Of course they had to worry about that. Why, she had been afraid to even walk over and start a conversation. What would happen if Director Campbell refused point-blank? What if he chose to have the newest dragon transferred into another zoo to get her away from them?
It wasn’t implausible. She knew nothing about the man’s character save that he had been extremely unenthusiastic about both Virgil and Philomel being raised outside of the zoo. It was easy to imagine that he would take any pretext to keep the next dragon child in a cage forever.
Still, something had to be done. Not speaking up wouldn’t deliver that little girl to her parents’ home.
Unless they didn’t want her at home. Violet’s father was content to have her stay here. An entirely different fear knotted in Rose’s stomach. Suppose their idea of what was appropriate for Deinonychus antirrhopus was entirely different from hers?
To her surprise, the baby dragon answered that in rapid impressions, most of them too fast for Rose to catch. The only ones she was sure of were the ones that said that yes, she wanted to go home with her parents, and also it was empty and it wasn’t supposed to be.
Rose was puzzled, trying to work that out.
“The cradle,” the woman said softly. “Our other child died.”
Her husband reached over and squeezed her hand softly.
Rose couldn’t even fathom such a loss, and she didn’t want to try. The thought of it made her feel split down the middle.
Better not to think about it. Better to do something useful. What could she do that would be useful right now?
Ah. Yes. Of course. She could introduce them to the man who would determine their family’s fate.
“Would the two of you be willing to remain here while I bring Director Campbell?” Rose asked. “He runs the American Museum of Natural History, and is the one with legal ownership of the dragon eggs. He can give permission for you two to take Ophelia home.”
The man seemed hesitant. He looked at his wife.
She shook her head. They seemed to be holding a silent conversation. There was neither voice nor telepathic impression, except from Virgil, who started to let out feelings of being bored and chewing on his blanket. Ooh, now he would shred it!
Rose rescued the blanket from him.
At last, the man said, “No. What we have now is enough. We don’t want to jeopardize that.”
A flicker of deep offense rose from the egg.
If her parents didn’t want her, she would refuse to hatch. She would die. If her parents didn’t want her, she would refuse to hatch. And she’d die.
The woman sucked in her breath, her shoulders tensing. She looked on the verge of tears.
“Ophelia,” the man said sharply, his volume raising for the first time. “That is not right. Don’t say that!”
If Ophelia’s parents didn’t want her, she would rather die. She was starving already. She should have hatched weeks ago. She wouldn’t hatch if she had to stay here with the prying minds and the other baby who was always loud and talking. She’d told them she was hungry. She’d thought they knew what that meant. If she had to stay here, she wouldn’t hatch. She would die.
The man’s eyes darkened. He started to talk, and his voice failed him. He tried again, and he finally managed it, his voice shaking. “All right. Please bring the director here.”
Chapter 7: Suitable
Hurrying back with a sour-faced director in tow, Rose stopped as far as possible from the dragon cages and pointed at the cage that contained the egg. “Those are her parents. They are really very suitable.”
Director Campbell’s pinched face said otherwise. “You didn’t mention they were colored.”
“I didn’t mention that because it has no bearing,” Rose said defensively, though she had expected that reaction, and it was why she had stopped so far from earshot to point out the child’s parents. “For all we know, the dragon will have brown or black scales. In any case, she
isn’t human in the first place.”
The man looked unimpressed with her impeccable logic. “Well, I suppose the dragon’s life is of prime concern,” he said begrudgingly. “I’ll talk to them.”
He started forward, elbowing his way through the crowd to reach the cage that contained the egg. Wrestling with the pram through the crowd around Violet’s cage, Rose was left an increasing number of paces behind.
As they passed within range of Violet’s telepathy, Rose found herself immersed in yet another highly-fictionalized vision of events, this one of Violet and her parents flying through the sky and hunting together over a New York City skyline.
Rose severely hoped that no one here was gullible enough to believe that was an unaltered memory.
Virgil noticed how near to Violet’s cage they were walking. He climbed halfway up the side of the pram in excitement. Virgil wanted to play with Violet! Did Violet want to play with him now?
Violet, thoroughly engrossed in her daydream, barely even bothered to respond. There was a faint hint of rebuff, then a determined resurgence of her dream.
Virgil was very mad! Violet was being boring! Virgil didn’t like Violet! Virgil would play with the other baby instead!
The daydream now demonstrated Violet breathing fire at an annoying, loud insect to catch it on fire.
Rose chuckled at the metaphor despite herself.
Virgil was really mad!
Rose bit her lip to hide her mirth as she pushed Virgil back down into the pram and replaced the blanket. She had no wish for him to become a second source of curiosity to the audience gathered here.
But as before, Violet was really a remarkable distraction. It was a testament to how engrossed the audience was that nobody seemed to notice either Virgil’s interruption or his appearance when he popped his head stubbornly out of the blanket again.
Rose might have found this lack of awareness disturbing if she had not witnessed the same phenomenon many times before. When one was not used to speaking with dragons, it could be quite difficult to spare any concentration for the world around oneself. She’d experienced it herself, so while it might be rather unsettling to witness, as a source of concern, it was minimal.
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