The dragon by this point had returned to his cave, where he could not resist showing the tablecloth to his mother. She did not share his delight, however, and slapped him and called him names (dragon insults such as "Ice Lung" and "Pappy Tooth") and told him to return the fabric to the draper and get their gold back. In fact, he should take all the man's earnings, and anything else of value the man might have. "Which does not include cloth," she added, with a final blow across the young dragon's snout.
And so, heartbroken, the dragon flapped slowly back to the valley. He landed beside the draper, curling his nose at the stench of beer. But no matter how the beast shook him, the man would not waken. The dragon sat back on his haunches and stared sadly at his lovely tablecloth, and then at the cloth merchant, who was rather plump, even with all that cart pushing.
At once an idea came to the dragon, and quick as aflame he wrapped the draper in the cloth and flew back to his mother. "Look," he cried, slithering into the cave. "Look at this!"And with a great flourish he pushed aside the litter of bones and treasure and spread out the tablecloth, the draper centered upon it.
His mother pursed her dragon lips. "Hmm,"she mused, smoke curling from her nose. "Is that what you've been talking about all this time?"
"Yes!"cried the dragon. "Tablecloths make everything look better!"
"Well, son, I stand corrected," she said at last—for while dragons may be greedy, selfish, envious, and altogether cruel, they are not above admitting their mistakes, at least sometimes. "You have an excellent point, and, I must add, you have made an incomparable presentation. Shall we?"
With that, the two dragons lunged at the draper and gobbled him up, pausing only to squabble over the juiciest bits and to set aside the man's purse. Afterward, their bellies bursting, they happily flossed their teeth with the shredded remnants of the tablecloth, the mother dragon praising her son for his excellent choice offabric.
Another upbeat story from Gory Dragons Galore
"Sottocenere" from The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax, and the scene that inspired Gory Dragons Galore
A good fairy tale >
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Bonus Entry: "Pass The Bucket, Queenie!" >
This humorous ballad, of unknown origin, remains a tavern favorite, with the largest, hairiest drinker invariably playing the part of the lady-in-waiting, using as props a handkerchief and two melons.
PASS THE BUCKET, QUEENIE!
Oh, it's oysters we love and oysters we ate.
Oysters for breakfast 'cause oysters taste great.
Had them with stuffing all piled on plates.
Now it's two hours later and we're in a state.
'Stead of sated and happy, we're sick and irate,
It's a bucket we're needing—at once! We can't wait!
So...
Pass the pail to us, Queenie! Your Majesty's fine,
But others around you ain't feeling benign.
We're puking up oysters: his, hers, and mine.
Pass us that bucket! Pass it right down the line.
I'm a lady-in-waiting, well-born, we all know.
I never once sneezes; my ankles don't show.
I walk with a mince and can't sweat, only glow.
But I ate too many oysters an' here comes quid pro quo—
And I'm moaning for buckets as nausea grows
From those scrumptious wee critters of hours ago. So...
Pass the pail to us, Queenie! Oh, Your Majesty's fine,
But others around you ain't feeling benign.
We're puking up oysters: his, hers, and mine.
Get the lady that bucket! The poor girl's supine!
I'm a lord secret'ry wit' my nose in the air,
My spectacles polished, my eyes full of glare As I watch for mistakes, even one misplaced hair.
Now I'm green as a celery, muttering prayers,
Convinced that I'm dying and God doesn't care
'Cause he won't help my barfing—and I barf with such flair! So...
Pass the pail to us, Queenie! See, Your Majesty's fine,
But others around you ain't feeling benign.
We're puking up oysters: his, hers and mine.
Pass him the bucket! He shall think you divine!
I am an aristocrat, knight of the land,
I travel by coach because walking ain't grand.
I eat only rich stuff; plain food tastes like sand.
So of course I eat oysters 'cause they're in demand.
But what happened today was not quite what I'd planned—
Oh, please pass the bucket! I beg, I command! So...
Pass the pail to us, Queenie! Your Majesty's fine,
But others around you ain't feeling benign.
We're puking up oysters: his, hers, and mine.
Get us that bucket! Hand it right down the line.
Author Commentary for "Pass the Bucket, Queenie!" >
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Author Commentary: "Pass the Bucket, Queenie!" > >
I haven't written rhyming poetry since eighth grade, and as "Pass the Bucket" illustrates, the world could easily go another thirty years without any more effort from me on this front. Here's the backstory, the you-didn't-ask-but-I'm-telling-you-anyway backstory: Wisdom's Kiss began—both as the kernel of an idea, and initially as the first scene in the book—with a girl looking up a road and sensing, via supernatural powers, the approach of something awful. This scene had to be really dramatic, the thriller that would keep readers turning pages, and so it made sense to give her a physical, easily visualized reaction to this approaching force, a reaction powerful yet mysterious and, you know, gripping. Having her collapse, gagging, in the mud really seemed to fit the bill.
As I developed the story, I also needed to get this girl (now named Trudy) searching for her beau; joining, say, a princess en route to her wedding seemed like a good solution. But why would a princess invite a nobody like Trudy, especially when she already had a bunch of staff? Because ... the staff is all sick! (Insert "Ta da" sound here.) So Trudy would have to accompany the princess, and—double bonus!—the staff's sickness would explain her sight-induced gagging! (Don't ask me about the nuances of Trudy's sight that's an article in and of itself.) As I was writing the sickness scenes, I was also trying to add grandiloquence to the Queen of All the Heavens play—I was always trying to add grandiloquence to Queen of All the Heavens—so I had the innkeeper grandiloquently declare that his oyster breakfast would be remembered forever. Ben even repeats this sentiment at the end of the scene. And then—snicker!—Trudy's encyclopedia entry describes how the food poisoning was "immortalized" (as in "never forgotten")...but in a comic ballad.
Yes, I know: no one will ever get this joke. But I had so much fun writing "Pass the Bucket" and its little foreword, and I laugh out loud every time I read it—I particularly love the "don't show/only glow" couplet in the lady-in-waiting's verse. When I first wrote "Pass the Bucket," Dizzy and Ben's carriage included a secretary and a nobleman, both with speaking parts, but I subsequently deleted them; the fewer characters the better (an excellentrule of thumb for all you aspiring writers). But I tried to keep the lyrics to "Pass the Bucket" in the Wisdom' Kiss manuscript in a footnote, and then as an encyclopedia entry, until finally it was clear even to me that the song added nothing to the main story, and I sadly deleted it. Thank goodness for enhanced e-books.
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Deleted Prose: Teddy's Correspondence To Ben >
This letter spent about eighteen seconds in one of the later drafts of Wisdom's Kiss, until I saw the light and tossed it. Logically, of course, it makes sense that if Ben is writing a response to her granddaughter's correspondence, then we readers should, you know, get a look at that letter. Right? But I didn't want Ben/us reading any of Teddy's other letters, because they might inadvertently reveal that her suitor is a spy or at the very least a snake; that horrible truth needed to remain secret as long as possi
ble. (Not to mention that Wilhelmina intercepted and destroyed all of Teddy's other letters, so we couldn't read them even if we wanted to.) Such being the case, the letter below would be the only use of Teddy's voice, while every other voice appears at least six times. This would be confusing to readers—heck, it's confusing just explaining it now. Hence the tossing.
That said, writing the letter was in no way a waste of time. It forced me to think long and hard about Temperance's character, and helped immeasurably in crafting Ben's reply: it's awfully hard to write a response if you don't know what the response is to. Plus it reinforces my general rule that all writing helps. Even if you end up deleting it, the process invariably contributes to your development as a writer. Learn to delete; it will always make your prose better. And for heaven's sake, never keep something just because you wrote it; that's like eating burnt toast. Compost the first batch and start again.
***
Temperance,
Queen of Montagne
Dear, dear Nonna Ben—I have such news! I have found—my hand quivers even to pen these words!— true love! 'Tis so wondrous I can scarce believe it—to think mousy Queen Temperance now has a swain of her own!
Would that you were here to share my rapture! Never have I believed, however much you might comfort me, that my soul would ever bind with another's! I know you will adore him—he is so very handsome and courteous, I have never been so charmed! He arrived in Montagne the very day of your departure and is much saddened to have missed you—we now spend every moment together (though you need not fret, for we have chaperones); even a moment from his side brings me gloom. And—I can barely absorb such good fortune—he is an expert on dogwoods! We have so much to discuss, and he has so much knowledge and discernment to convey! He speaks even of marriage —is that not dazzling? Although he is so gentlemanly—he says it is not his place to ask a queen, but rather her place to ask him! Is that not marvelous? And he is so helpful, so willing to offer judgment when I know not what the future holds—he tells me what it is I should think and should do, and also when it is not my place—it is such solace to know I need not suffer over every decision. Yes, I realize it is a queen's responsibility to rule, but I am far happier following, and on this truth our two hearts beat as one.
I am so happy! I do hope that you are happy, too, and Dizzy—I wish her the best in her connubial bliss. I look forward to hearing of your travels and your safe arrival in Froglock, and trust that your voyage will pass without incident.
Your devoted granddaughter,
Teddy
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Bonus Recipe: Cuthbert En Croûte >
I wrote my dissertation on women's drinking and prohibition, a fascinating topic that I cunningly transformed into a very dull book. Part of my research involved reading dozens of nineteenth-century cookbooks to see what women were actually drinking, or at least what publishers and cookbook writers thought was appropriate for women to drink. ("Ladies' Luncheon Punch" made with four cups of gin, for example, is quite different from "Ladies' Luncheon Punch" made solely with lemon juice.)
Old-time cookbooks can be great fun so long as you're not hungry—a lesson I learned the hard way—and so long as you have enough cooking knowledge to understand what the heck they're talking about. For example, this is how Cuthbert en croûte might have appeared circa 1850:
Sauté several large handfuls of sliced mushrooms with an appropriate amount of onion. Season well, then bake in a good glazed crust in a hot oven until done.
No measurements, no temperatures, not even a list of seasonings, because everyone knows which herbs work with mushrooms. (You do know this, don't you?) This is doubtless how Ben's handwritten recipe would read, and in a perfect world it's how I'd include it here ... and then I'd be hunted down by dozens of aspiring but frustrated cooks. So the user-friendly version is below, less Montagne-y but far more functional.
As a side note, the French don't capitalize recipe names, which is why "croûte" appears lowercase in Wisdom's Kiss. Now you know.
CUTHBERT EN CROûTE
(translation: "Cuthbert in Crust," or Mushroom Pie)
This savory pie works as a delicious and meat-free entrée, a glamorous holiday side dish, or a memorable breakfast. While it can be made with only white flour and white mushrooms, both texture and flavor improve with whole wheat and a range of mushrooms—I prefer combining shiitake, cremini, and portabella, but use whatever's available. You can chop the mushrooms in a food processor, but the end effect won't be quite as elegant. The pie may be made ahead and reheated in a 250°F oven. The relish—gloriously pink—makes a delectable accompaniment.
FILLING
1 LARGE ONION, CHOPPED OR SLICED THIN
1 TABLESPOON BUTTER
1½—1¾ POUNDS MUSHROOMS, STEMMED AND SLICED (ABOUT 12 CUPS SLICED)
1 TABLESPOON DRIED THYME
½ TEASPOON SALT, PLUS FRESH PEPPER
Preheat oven to 400°F. Sauté onion in butter until translucent. Add mushrooms and seasonings, and sauté until mushroom liquor has cooked out and the mixture is relatively dry.
CRUST
1 CUP WHOLE-WHEAT FLOUR
1 CUPS WHITE FLOUR, PLUS MORE FOR ROLLING
2 TEASPOONS BAKING POWDER
¼ TEASPOON SALT
1 CUP BUTTER (2 STICKS), CUT IN 16 PIECES
1 CUP SOUR CREAM (LOWFAT OKAY)
1 EGG
1 TEASPOON MILK
Pulse dry ingredients in a food processor. Add butter and pulse until mixture is grainy. Transfer to a mixing bowl and stir in sour cream (for best results, first with a spatula, then with your bare hands) until sour cream is fully incorporated. Knead several times.
Roll out ⅔ of dough on a floured surface until it's about 12 inches across, then lay in a 10-inch or deep 9-inch pie plate. Fill with mushrooms. Roll out remaining dough, cut into strips, and arrange in a lattice pattern atop mushrooms. Trim and crimp edges. Whisk together egg and milk, and brush onto lattice for that glorious golden crust. Bake 25—35 minutes until the crust looks done.
OPTIONAL BEET RELISH
3 BEETS
3 TABLESPOONS SOUR CREAM OR YOGURT
1½—2 TABLESPOONS GRATED HORSERADISH
¼ TEASPOON SALT, OR TO TASTE
¼ TEASPOON SUGAR, OR TO TASTE
FRESH PEPPER
Boil beets until fork-soft; slip off skins and slice into strips.
Combine sour cream and seasonings in small bowl; fold in beets. Watch the color bloom!
WARNING: once opened, horseradish has the shelf life of raw salmon. Buy a new jar for this recipe.
Recipe for Pumpkin Pudding >
Recipe for Poches Celebres >
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Bonus Recipe: Poches Celebres
I discovered this recipe—then called "Beef Empanadas"—while standing in line at the supermarket, and bought the magazine to try it out. (I think I even went through the line a second time after realizing how many of the ingredients I needed.) The original empanadas had a dough that, while doubtless accurate in empanada-dom, completely overwhelmed the filling. So I replaced it with my favorite pie crust, used in Cuthbert en croûte and pretty much every other pie I make. Trust me, this sour-cream crust is quick, easy, and almost indestructible—not adjectives one normally associates with pastry. The tarts ended up delicious and delightfully exotic—exactly the kind of delicacy I'd picture at a banquet in a foreign land. I just had to have them in Wisdom's Kiss, whatever feats of literary contortion it might take to squeeze them in.
So I did, and I even managed to combine them with Felis's gluttony—ha! But when it came time to write the recipe, I faced a crisis: what to call the darn things? "Empanadas" wasn't quite right given that I'd eliminated the authentic empanada crust. I wanted a French-ish name given that the dish is supposedly from Montagne, but France doesn't seem to do savory, portable pastries; certainly I know of no French food akin to the empanada, samosa, pasty, pierogi, calzone, egg roll, turnover
, knish, stromboli, bridie, wonton ... Crêpes, maybe? But they're not really finger food. It seems that every culture in the world has a starch-wrapped, handheld lunch food except the folks who invented cuisine. Go figure.
Regardless, I needed a name that was fun to say, traditional yet glamorous, and optimally descriptive. Hence poches célèbres (pronounced "puhsh SUH•lcb;" the singular, with same pronunciation, is poche célèbre). It translates as "celebrated pocket" and sounds rather like "posh celeb" with a glam-snobby French accent. As Dizzy would say, v. entertaining indeed.
I recognize that this dish has a lot of ingredients and requires some time, but it's worth it. Trust me. And if worst comes to worst, you can eat the filling with a spoon. Felis el Gato described them seasoned with honey, but he has no idea what he's talking about.
POCHES CÉLÈBRES >
Labor-saving tip: if you make the dough first, you can reuse the dirty food processor for the filling. Be aware that the dough will turn rock hard in the fridge; if you do refrigerate it, let it warm slightly.
2 EGGS
WATER TO COVER THE EGGS
Place the eggs in a small saucepan filled with enough water to cover the eggs. Bring the water to a boil. Turn off heat, cover, and let sit for 10 minutes. Immerse eggs in cold water. While the eggs are cooking, prepare the dough.
DOUGH
Wisdom's Kiss Page 44
