The Tale of Briar Bank

by Susan Wittig Albert

  When Bailey put his paw to the door, his surprise turned to apprehension, for he could feel it faintly vibrate, as if whatever was making the grumbling, rumbling, growling noise was just on the other side of his back wall. And what was more, the door felt rather warm to the touch—inexplicably warm, since the climate in a badger burrow deep underground is always temperate and (at least as far as Bailey was concerned) even a bit on the chilly side, so that a fire is usually quite welcome. A warm door, underground, while not of itself threatening, is difficult to explain.

  Now, boldness is not among our badger’s many fine qualities. He pulled his paw back quickly from this warm, throbbing door, as I’m sure I would have done, and took quite a large step backward, happening to bump into a tall stack of books and tumbling them all across the floor, completely out of order. In the circumstance, he thought it was best to ignore the door, in the same way he had ignored the noise. So he stacked up the books again, being careful to get them in the correct order, and busied himself with dusting, first one stack and then another, pausing now and then to turn a few pages and humming carelessly under his breath to help with the ignoring.

  But the more he ignored the door, the larger and more mysterious it grew, looming behind him until it seemed to take up the whole of the entire wall with its strange rumble, its pulsing vibration, its weird warmth. I know that I could not have ignored that door, and I daresay you couldn’t, either. And—finally—neither could Bailey. He turned and regarded it for a very long moment with a deep foreboding. And then, reluctantly, he surrendered. Feeling that he was doing something he would be sorry for later, but completely unable to resist doing it, he fetched a hammer and took down the shelves and stood face to face with the door.

  Now, you may remember that even as a boy, Bailey had never put himself to the trouble of exploring the whole of Briar Bank. He had, in fact, rather come to understand that there was some reason (which was never made very clear) that he shouldn’t bother exploring, and had developed the vague sort of sense that there might be something not quite worth the trouble (or the difficulty or the danger) of looking into, something ill-mannered and rather uncivilized, or perhaps merely unpleasant, living in some distant corner of Briar Bank, as a great hairy spider and her brood of small hairy spiders might take up residence in a dark corner of your basement, so that you avoided all commerce with that corner unless it was absolutely necessary.

  It was therefore possible that a very strange creature was sharing Briar Bank with Bailey. As I have said, all sorts of animals come and go in the distant, unused parts of a badger sett, some staying for a short time, others for a longer. Not only that, but from time unremembered, the Land Between the Lakes has been the home of fairies (such as Mrs. Overthewall, whom we met in The Tale of Hawthorn House) and dwarves and trolls and other magical creatures, some who are courteous and helpful and others whom one might not wish to encounter in a dark, dead-end, underground corridor. For all Bailey knew, he might be sharing Briar Bank with a troll.

  But as he contemplated the door, other, more attractive possibilities came into the badger’s mind. What if this were actually a door into a secret part of the library, into a part that his father and his grandfather had never known? What if there were more and rarer books—or perhaps even banned books!—on the other side of the door, deposited there by ancient badger book collectors and then walled off and forgotten? What if the rumbling noise and the vibration and the warmth were created by some sort of ingenious ventilation system that had been installed in the burrow and completely forgotten? This made a certain sense, for dampness was a persistent problem in the library and Bailey (and his forebears) had gone to great lengths to combat it with vents and ducts and suchlike.

  Having glimpsed this possibility and by now willing to admit that there was at least a chance that it would be be better to know what was on the other side of that door, Bailey became bolder. There was no doorknob (which might have been a signal, if he had stopped to think about it), so taking down the shelves and opening the door required a bit of doing. But at last, confronted with the right tool (a pry bar) wielded with the right force, it was done. Taking a deep breath and holding his candle high, Bailey stepped through. He was still wearing his apron, which you might think a rather incongruous costume for an intrepid explorer. But apron or no, he was nonetheless an explorer, and I think should duly be recognized as such.

  I suppose that you have encountered, a time or two in your life, a door like this one—a door through which you might step, or might not. Perhaps it was just an ordinary door, a door that looked like any other, and you went right through it and surprised yourself by tumbling down a steep flight of stairs. (I hope you weren’t badly hurt.) Perhaps it was a door that seemed somehow different from other doors, and you hesitated for a time before you found it convenient to turn the knob, push it open, and step through. Or perhaps it wasn’t a real door at all, but an opening, a chance, an opportunity to move from one place or situation in life or even from one kind of self to another.

  Well, Bailey’s door was of these latter two sorts. It was a different door, in a place where a door was completely unexpected, and he was understandably apprehensive about what he might find on the other side. In another sense, it wasn’t a door at all—or rather, it was more than a door. It was a portal into the unimaginable, and the Bailey that stepped so bravely through it, wearing his apron and carrying his candle high over his head, would never be the same again.

  If the badger had expected a room filled with books like the one he had just left, he would have been disappointed, and indeed, rather frightened, for the door opened onto a long, dark corridor. The air was warm but with a distinctly disagreeable odor, rather like wet woolen socks hung before the fire to dry, and left an oddly sulfurous taste, like burnt matches, on the tongue. The sound—the grumbling and rumbling that had first attracted his attention—was louder now. It seemed to pulse and wheeze, rising and falling, in and out, like a creaky leather bellows. And in the dark distance, a faint reddish glow, like that of a banked fire, was just visible. A fireplace, beside which a badger might warm his chilly paws? Or a furnace, designed to dry the air?

  But as he went closer, Bailey realized that what lay ahead of him was not as convenient and comfortable as a fireplace or a furnace with a hot-air system. By this time, his knees were knocking. His breath was puffing harder and faster, and his eyes were round as guineas with astonishment and fear, as he crept closer and closer.

  Was this—?

  No, of course it couldn’t be.

  Bailey gulped. Well, yes, it was.

  A dragon.

  You couldn’t say that this was a large dragon, however. Compared with the pictures of dragons Bailey had happened across in books, it was very much on the smallish side, perhaps three times as large as himself, although its tail (which was wrapped around itself and tucked under its nose, like the tail of a sleeping cat) was as long as its greenish body, and its membranous bat-like wings, now folded against its scaly sides, when they were stretched out were likely to be as wide as its tail was long. Unfolded and unfurled, even a smallish dragon was a formidable beast, even when he was having a nap.

  And Bailey could not help but recall one of the Badger Rules of Thumb that his father and grandfather had taught him—the eleventh, if he remembered right: Never wake a sleeping dragon, for badger flesh is firm and fat and tastes better grilled. (Nervously, he recalled the corollary: If you come upon the carcass of a dragon, do not linger, for whatever killed it may still be in the neighborhood.)

  And this creature, small as it might be, was nevertheless and unmistakably a dragon. The grumbling, growling noise was coming from within him as his breath rose and fell, the translucent scales of his belly glowing with the banked fire that burned inside. And even though Bailey was some yards away, he could feel the heat emanating from the dragon. The chamber within which the beast was sleeping was a good deal more pleasant (temperature-wise) than the badger’s chilly apar
tments.

  And then, as Bailey watched, transfixed and trembling, the dragon, eyes still closed, sleepily straightened one long foreleg, clenching and unclenching his scimitar-like claws, and then the other foreleg, as a cat does, stretching. Eyes still shut, he rolled over on his belly, then arched his back and opened his jaws in a magnificent jaw-splitting yawn that showed gleaming fiery tonsils. Tendrils of gray smoke curled out of his nose. Finally, reluctantly, he opened one large ruby-colored dragon eye.

  “Iszs it time to get up?” He spoke in a sleepy voice, exactly like the voice of a boy who does not want to get out of bed and be on his way to school, but with an occasional steamy sibilant hiss. His gaze fell upon Bailey, and both eyes popped open.

  “I szsay!” he said, quite surprised. “What are you?”

  Bailey was offended. “I am a badger, of course,” he said huffily. “My name is Bailey. I live here. Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?”

  “Your houszse?” The dragon rolled over onto his back. “Excuse me. I thought it was mine. That is—” He stopped. “Excuse me,” he said, and put one claw under his nose. “A-a-a-choo!”

  Bailey barely had time to duck. Streamers of fire and smoke shot out of the dragon’s nostrils and ignited the dust in a five-yard radius, so that it sparked like tiny coals, glowed briefly, and then sputtered out.

  “Sorry about that,” apologized the dragon cheerfully. “I hope you’re not badly szsinged.”

  Bailey felt the fur on the top of his head. “Just a little,” he said. “Who did you say you are?”

  “Thorvaald,” said the dragon. “Son of Thunnor, son of Snurrt, son of—” He yawned again. “Excuse me, but I rather looszse track. Take my word for it. There have been quite a lot of us, over the centuries.”

  Bailey looked around nervously. “Quite a lot?” he squeaked, wondering where they all were at the moment.

  “Oh, not here,” said the dragon. “I was speaking figuratively.” He stretched, his scaly green hide rippling from his nose to his tail. “Thanks for dropping in, Bailey. Rather nice to have company for a change. This has been quite a lonely watch. Boring, very. I find myself napping moszst of the time.”

  Thanks for dropping in? This rather annoyed Bailey, who considered that the dragon was the one who had “dropped in.”

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “What sort of watch are you talking about?” Bailey was beginning to recover his equanimity. This conversational dragon—quite a small one, at that—was nothing at all like the ferocious dragons that appeared from time to time in the pages of his books, and reappeared in his nightmares. That is often the way of it, you know. What terrifies us in dreams in the darkest of nights turns out to be much less frightening in the light of day.

  “Well, let’s szsee,” said the dragon. “I was assigned to thizs duty by Yllva, who said I should—” He stopped and sat up straight on his haunches, exactly like a very, very large dog. “Oh, bother,” he said, frowning. “What was it she said? Which duty was I szsupposzsed to—” He stopped again, and began to look around him, curiously at first, and then with a frantic haste.

  “Where iszs it?” he hissed. “Where is my treaszsure? I’ve been burgled! Szsomeone haszs taken my treaszsure!” He whirled on Bailey. “Did you take it, Badger? What have you done with my treaszsure?” He stood on his hind legs, flapped his membranous wings like a gigantic bat, and opened his mouth to roar, wide, wide, and wider. Inside, Bailey could see the fiery tonsils glowing, and flames flickering at the back of his throat. White smoke laced with burning sparks poured from the wide nostrils.

  “NO!” Bailey shouted as loud as he could. “It wasn’t me! You’ve got the wrong animal!” He held up his paws. “You see? I don’t have it.” He flapped his apron frantically. “Not here, either.”

  By this time, of course, Bailey realized what had happened. He knew who had taken the treasure and where it was. He did not, however, think he wanted to be the one to give Thorvaald the bad news, as I imagine you can understand.

  The dragon’s mouth snapped shut, his wings drooped, and he sat back on his haunches. “Not you?” he asked, perplexed. “But if it wasn’t you, who waszs it? Has someone else been here, messzsing about while I’ve been aszsleep?” His ruby eyes grew very wide, his tail lashed from side to side. “Oh, dear,” he cried plaintively, pulling one wing over his face, as if to hide behind it. “Oh, bleszs my scaleszs! The treasure’s gone! Yllva will be so angry with me!” He shuddered. “And when she’s angry, Yllva is ferocious. She has a fiery temper.”

  “Oh, come now, really,” began Bailey sternly, somewhat embarrassed by all this passion. Badgers, as you may know, are rather even-tempered animals, not given to emotional display. “Pull yourself together. Be a man.”

  But Thorvaald was paying no attention. He was holding both wings to his eyes now, sobbing wildly. The smoke curling out of his nostrils was thick and tarry like smoke from a damp coal fire, and had a sooty smell. His words seemed to hiss and steam with self-pity. “And on my firszst asszsignment, too! I szshall certainly be demoted. I szshall never receive another asszsignment! My mother will be ashamed of me, and my father—” Great tears, like football-sized blobs of glycerin, squeezed out of his eyes and ran down the scales of his face and neck. “It doeszsn’t bear thinking of.”

  Sternness having failed, Bailey changed tactics. “There, there, now,” he said, approaching the weeping dragon and stroking his scaly foreleg with one paw. (I shouldn’t like you to think that Bailey did this easily. Touching those scales took a great deal more courage than he knew he possessed. You can understand this, I daresay. How would you feel if someone asked you to pet a hippopotamus?) “I say, old boy,” he muttered uneasily. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

  “Oh, yeszs, it can,” cried the dragon. “You juszst don’t know Yllva! Her name means ‘she-wolf,’ if that tells you anything. She is merciless. She’s a stickler for the ruleszs, and if you break them, she’ll roast you.”

  But as the badger petted and stroked and soothed, the dragon’s sobs gradually quieted. After a moment, Thorvaald hiccupped—at least, Bailey guessed it was a hiccup. He had never heard a dragon hiccup before, and none of his books suggested that hiccupping was something that dragons were capable of. It produced a little burp of white smoke.

  “Thank you,” Thorvaald said, a little more calmly now. He glanced down at the badger’s paw, sniffling. “That’szs very nice. I’ve never been petted before.”

  Bailey, seeing that his paw was not about to be bitten or burnt off, continued to stroke, until in a moment, he became aware that Thorvaald was purring.

  “Very nice, indeed,” said the dragon in a soft, dreamy voice, and lay down on his belly like a cat. With one claw, he pulled the badger close against him. “Would you mind? Juszst a bit of a cuddle? It takes some of the sting out the losszs.”

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” said Bailey, trying to relax into the curve of the dragon’s large claw. If you want to know the truth, he felt rather flattered by this whole thing. It’s not every badger who is given the opportunity to be embraced by a dragon—in a nonthreatening way, of course.

  Thorvaald sighed, and the dark smoke curled smudgily around his head. “But feeling better doeszsn’t change anything, I’m afraid. Yllva will be furious. She insists on following the ruleszs, and of course, she will have to file a report.” He gave a long, shuddery hiss. “You’ve never seen anything until you’ve szseen Yllva angry. She’s fierce beyond description.”

  “It seems a little strange that your supervisor is a female,” Bailey mused. Badgers are open-minded animals and value the contributions of both sexes to the community welfare. In fact, the Tenth Badger Rule of Thumb states that all badgers, regardless of sex, age, and state of health, are important to the well-being of the badger clan and must be honored for the roles they play in maintaining a stable and productive family life. The females, however, are generally occupied with the children and with housekeepi
ng arrangements, and leave the administrative business to the males. Bailey had assumed that dragons operated in the same way, although now it appeared that he was wrong.

  “Of course she’s a female,” said Thorvaald, and frowned. “And a very exacting taskmistresszs, too. You’d better stay away from her, Bailey. She’s extremely territorial. And when she stokeszs those fireszs of herszs—” He shook his head. “She’s the kind of dragon that gives the rest of us a bad name. Can’t control her temper in the slightest. Flies off the handle at nothing at all. Temper is rather a liability, you know, when one has fire in the belly. Thingszs have a tendency to get scorched.”

  “I see,” said the badger, although he didn’t quite. “Yllva pops in now and again, then?”

  The dragon nodded. “This cave iszs an outpost in her territory.”

  “It is NOT a cave!” Badger corrected him firmly. “It is a badger burrow. A sett. An earth. Badgers dug it, at great expense and effort.”

  “Well, then, somebody made a mistake,” Thorvaald said. “It was clearly marked CAVE on the map. Anyway, Yllva haszs a dozen dragons in her cadre, scattered here and there in caveszs among the fells, guarding treaszsure. We’re all junior dragons. Young. Learning the trade, aszs it were.”

  “Ah,” said Bailey. “Just how young are you?”

  “Oh, very young,” the dragon said proudly. “When I got my asszsignment, I was the youngest dragon ever in this job.” His face clouded. “Which is why they’ll make such a fusszs about my losing track of the treaszsure. Higher up, I mean.”

  “Higher up?”

  “In the Grand Asszsembly of Dragons.” Thorvaald launched a giant, smoky sigh that nearly blew Bailey away. “They’ll take it as an opportunity to szsay that young dragonszs should be kept at home for another century or so before they’re allowed employment.”