The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set

by William David Ellis

  Every head nodded; every eye opened.

  “Sarah huddled around the small coal fire. It was almost time for the dragon to bring in a deer or small calf or some type of bird for her evening meal. Sarah had forgotten what it felt like to be clean or rested. Her beautiful green dress was in tatters, her hands dirty, her fingernails filthy.

  “Sarah hadn’t seen a mirror in months. She longed for a bath, perfume, a soft bed. Something to eat besides half-cooked wild game. She had managed to hold on to a small satchel that held a pretty brush, but with no way to wash her hair, it had reverted to untamed ringlets that jutted out in all directions. When she was first captured, she had struggled to impose order and discipline on her daily routine, but as the days, weeks, and finally months flew by, she had stopped caring. The state of her hair and dress had begun to reflect the way she felt—hopeless—and her once stunning dark ringlets now resembled an unruly bird nest. As she sat in the dim glow of the fading fire, she began to stroke her hair. She drew out her brush and began to comb it, angrily pulling at the tangles. She thought, I must make myself presentable for when he comes for me. Only she wasn’t thinking… about Harry.

  “Noise carried easily down the lonesome cavern tunnels. Soon Sarah heard rumbling steps and felt the temperature of the air around her rise. The dragon was coming. She smelled his musky odor; it was, as always, mixed with the scent of freshly killed blood. When the dragon had brought her meat at first, she had gagged. She didn’t know how to cook or butcher, but as the weeks passed, her appetites had evolved, and now she unconsciously began to drool. She wiped her mouth with the filthy sleeve of her tattered dress and waited anxiously for her supper.

  “‘Nice to see you again, my dear,’ the giant beast’s baritone echoed. ‘Your features are becoming more and more dragonish every day. Soon you will be more dragon than human and cast off your frail, weak human body like a snake casts off its dead skin, won’t you, my Sarah?’

  “Part of Sarah still resisted the thought of becoming a dragon. It still rose up in her heart to rage against the hypnotic voice of the great serpent. But that part of her was failing; day by day it had become weaker and the evil part of her that wanted to give into the dragon had strengthened. When Harry was near her the part of her that wanted to resist had been aided. It had found hope, but the days had worn at her, and the darkness and the dragon’s voice had worked on her heart, till it had become frail and weak. She had put up a good fight, but she had lost hope, and somewhere deep inside she knew that lost hope made the heart sick.

  “The dragon looked down on Sarah and saw her unruly hair, and the attempts she had made to comb it, and laughed. ‘Oh, Princess Sarah… you don’t have to worry about your hair. When you give yourself fully over to being my dragon bride, you won’t have hair to worry about.’”

  Several “Ews!” and “Oh nos!” broke loose in the library.

  “But I like my hair, it’s naturally curly,” Maggie whimpered, holding her beautiful locks like they were a precious treasure.

  The little cowboy in the room looked around at his fellow library mates, stood up, took off his cowboy hat, and rubbed his head. It was cut in burr and resembled a bristle brush. “My pop says that hair is greatly overrated. Ain’t no big deal about losing it.”

  Grace did not agree. “Your dad is not a girl! I bet your mama doesn’t think that way.”

  Ryan the future rodeo rider scratched his chin and answered, “You know, Gracie, she sure does take a lotta time with it. I mean, one time last week, it was black, then next day it was almost white it was so blonde. Scared the heck out of my little brother, who took one look at her and started squalling for his ma. Wanted to know where she was and why the lady with the funny hair was in our house. Yep, Grace, you might be right about that…”

  Lizzy was also a little concerned about Sarah losing her hair, then remembered. “Now, girls and some of you guys who don’t like super short hair, think about this… number one, the dragon that kidnapped the princess is a liar. He loves to create despair. Number two, remember how Sarah looked when turned into a dragon? She had hair.”

  Maggie, Grace, and the other long-locked girls in the room stared back at Lizzy, their eyes all fixed on a memory. Maggie spoke first. “Yes, she does, look at it.” She pointed to an invisible object the girls focused on and Lizzy was not privy to.

  “You’re right, Miss Lizzy. Thank you so much for telling us that.” Gracie bounced on her toes. “It’s pretty and like a fiery orange color!”

  The girls and some of the boys’ attention was riveted on the vision they shared.

  “Uh… guys?” Lizzy said. “Maggie. Grace. Ryan. What are you looking at? I don’t see anything.”

  “Oh, Miss Lizzy! You can’t see this?” Maggie said, pointing at the invisible image they were staring at.

  “Ah, no, sorry, I don’t see a thing.”

  With that statement the whole group of mesmerized munchkins gazed at Lizzy with sympathetic expressions.

  Lizzy was amazed that they had such remarkable recall and could share a vision as simply as normal humans could watch television together. Her proud smile beamed at them. “I am not surprised dragon people, even little ones like yourselves, have a lot of wonderful gifts that not everybody—”

  An image began forming in the air where Maggie had pointed. Lizzy gaped, too astonished to finish her sentence as wispy ribbons converged into a replay of Sarah as a dragon, her fiery orange mane blowing in the air as she settled down in front of the Moab townspeople at the barn.

  “You can see it, can’t you?” Easton asked.

  The other children grinned and a few giggled. “See, it’s not just dragon people that can see visions together,” Gracie added. Then thought, Witch people can see them too.

  Lizzy stared at the vision for a few minutes, then regained her composure and said, “Well, we can stare at an image of Sarah for the rest of the morning or we can find out what happened next in the story.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sure.”

  “No problems.”

  “I want to know what happens too. We are getting close to the sad part, aren’t we?” Gracie asked.

  Lizzy frowned, sighed, and answered, “Yes, we are, and if you don’t want me to tell this part I don’t have to.”

  Maggie piped up, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Easton, Grace, Ryan, and Levi shook their heads, and Easton voiced their disagreement. “Miss Lizzy, my mama says life is hard, we found that out too soon, but if we can discover how people got better after they did bad things, well, it helps us. And besides that, we all love Sarah; she is a princess!”

  Lizzy nodded and took up where she had left off before the hair crisis interrupted them.

  “The idea of losing her hair struck Sarah hard. She looked at the dragon bending over her and smelled its horrible breath beating down on her. ‘I do not want to lose my hair. It is my glory.’

  “The dragon stepped back and growled, ‘You have no glory other than what I give you, girl! And the sooner you stop resisting me and surrender to that, the easier it is going to be.’

  “Sarah knew that what the dragon was saying was true. But another voice buried deep within her heart whispered from far away, ‘Don’t give up, Sarah. Don’t give up. Harry is coming.’ As soon as she heard that voice, she grew angry and her thoughts shouted, No, he is not! He can’t help me, no one can help me. Harry is just a boy. He cannot defeat the dragon. The whisper hardened. ‘No, he is not just a boy, any more than you are just a girl. Don’t give up, Sarah! You’re better than this.’

  “Sarah was tormented and exhausted from the battle. The last of her hope fled. The dragon’s serpentine eyes narrowed, and then he spoke. ‘Is Harry close by, Sarah?’

  “A sickly-sweet smile rested on Sarah’s lips. Her hopelessness had smothered the whisper that argued with her. ‘Yes, he is, dragon.’

  “The old beast huffed out a small blast of flame. He had finally broken her will and sh
e was handing over the boy!

  “‘Where is he, Sarah?’

  “‘He is hidden in those rocks up there,’ she said, pointing toward the place Harry had told her he was going to hide and ambush the dragon.

  “‘Really?’ The dragon’s lip curled in an arrogant smirk. He quietly pointed toward the rock that Sarah had indicated. She confirmed with a slight tilt of her chin.

  “Sarah looked back at the rocks high over the dragon’s head. It would have made a wonderful place to jump out from, but not now. Now the boy had to die. She had to surrender and the suffering had to stop. With one gesture she had condemned herself. The whisper that had tried to encourage her a few thoughts back now raged against her. ‘How could you have done that? Harry has done his best to save you, he never gave up on you, and you just betrayed him!’

  “The dragon, whose gaze had begun to sweep the high cavern walls, looked down on her and said, ‘Feels good, doesn’t it, Sarah? To betray an innocent soul? To surrender a would-be rescuer, to betray someone who loved you? A few more of these types of moments and you will grow so numb and so consumed with guilt that it will be your normal frame of mind. It’s really quite liberating. All restrictions, all moral chains are broken and come tumbling down like the rusty iron rotted braids they are. You really are a dragon at heart, Sarah, and soon you will be in body as well.’

  “Sarah’s eyes began to tear up; then she noticed her hand as she moved it to wipe her eyes. It had scales. The transformation had begun. She had given herself over to evil and it had begun to take her.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Volkisch Observer, the official newspaper of the national socialist party, reported today that Renate Müller, the famous actress noted for her roles in patriotic films, died suddenly. She was an epileptic and had been suffering from depression. Apparently, the death was self-inflicted.

  Harry cursed as he read the Berlin paper. He wadded it up and threw it down on the coffee table in front of his leather lounge chair. She had beaten him again, and all he had to show for it was a wounded friend and bruised ribs. He should not have left the mansion until he knew where Belle Rodum had fled. The poor actress. It didn’t take much for Harry to realize how she had died. Belle had found a fragment of the nightmare creature and somehow harnessed its power to drive the poor woman insane.

  Harry was seated in the dining room of John Timothy’s underground quarters. His head was in his hands and his sighs were long and loud to everyone but him. As he sat there oblivious to the world around him, his eyes closed, his thoughts raging, he heard someone sit down in the leather chair across from him. He didn’t hear any other movements. He thought he should raise his head and acknowledge them but just didn’t care to. Finally, a slight cough nudged him to acknowledge whoever had entered. He sighed, lifted his head out of his hands, and looked up. Winston Churchill sat in the chair across from him, his eyes fixed on Harry, the ever-present but unlit cigar in his mouth.

  Harry sat up straight and was about to apologize for not noticing the leader, but Churchill raised a hand to stop him.

  The future leader of England stared at Harry, his face unreadable. The bulldog look that would become world-famous was still in the process of being chiseled onto the politician’s face. His eyes were wise and just. But Harry also sensed an incredible power radiating through them. He wondered if Churchill had dragon bloodlines running through his veins, maybe say a dragon rider or servant of the King?

  Harry broke the silence stammering, “I am not sure I am the man that everyone around here seems to think I am, sir.”

  Churchill smirked. “Who is, Harry Ferguson? I am not here to help you wade through your commiserations and self-incrimination. I am not your critic nor have I spent the time with you to call myself a friend. But I am an observer; I do know the bitter taste of failure. I still wake up at night dreaming of Çanakkale, and the thousands of soldiers who died because of my decisions.”

  Harry started to speak but Churchill stopped him. “Harry, courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. It is also what it takes to sit down and listen. It is time for you to listen.”

  Harry nodded, rebuked, and leaned toward the man who sat across from him.

  Churchill noted Harry’s response and continued. “I do not assume any words I can muster can serve to bolster you or inflate your pierced confidence. But nonetheless, I feel compelled to say them. In the course of my life, I have often had to eat my words, and I must confess that I have always found it a wholesome diet. So, I have little dread of speaking them now. Harry, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts. Success is going from failure to failure without the loss of enthusiasm.”

  Harry tried to smile at Sir Winston’s last remark but bogged down in the remorse that still held the ground. Churchill was not done.

  “I am an optimist; it does not seem to be much use being anything else.” Churchill was in his early sixties, but stress, alcohol, and constant cigar smoke had prematurely aged his round features, and when he spoke with intensity as he did now, his jowls shook. Harry saw that and once again a smile made a mad dash across his darkened features. Churchill took it as a sign he was getting through and continued on… “Harry, through the years I have learned not to worry about actions, even ones that seem to fail; I do not take counsel with my fears. Most of the time… unless, of course, they are ones clustered around a certain female MP… Do you know, sir, she once accused me of being drunk? She was right. I was… disgustingly drunk is how she put it… and she was right, of course, which made it all the more embarrassing, but I got the best of her; yes, I did. I replied, ‘Yes, madam, I am, but you are disgustingly ugly, and in the morning, I shall be sober, but you shall still be ugly!’”

  Harry lost the will to wallow with that confession. He bowled over laughing and knew it was wrong to laugh about such a horrible remark but could not help himself.

  Churchill, sensing his goals were being reached, continued, “Clementine took me to task for that one, let me tell you.”

  Harry looked puzzled; he had no idea who Clementine was. Churchill caught the look and explained, “Clementine is my wife. Clementine Ogilvy Spencer-Churchill. Yes, indeed, she informed me in no uncertain terms that she had to live in social circles whether I was in office or not, and that my sharp retorts cut both ways. She urged me—no, she demanded—that I apologize. I thought about it and decided it would do no good for me to acknowledge that I was a drunk and Bessie was ugly, so I deferred. Now, where was I? Yes. Harry, I do not fear action, only inaction, and with that being said… What do you intend to do now?”

  Harry rolled his eyes and exhaled a long overdue breath. He was about to say, I have no idea, Sir Winston, when a thought raced through his mind. It was outrageous and so ridiculous that he immediately dismissed it.

  The idea must have revealed itself on his countenance because Churchill reacted. “Don’t discount anything at this time, my boy. At first glance a plan may seem outlandish… but never forget that audacity is a very viable strategy.”

  Sir Winston had stopped to light his cigar. He took a few puffs and the fragrant aroma of his extremely expensive Huffman cigar filled the room. Harry wrestled with the thought he was prone to dismiss, but since no other came forward he had nothing else to offer.

  Sir Winston, watching the expressions on Harry’s face as he weighed the idea, spoke. “Harry, you look very much like a man trying to compress the largest amount of thought into the smallest amount of words. Out with it, man. Don’t try to impress me. Just let the idea come forth, and if it is viable it will be obvious; if not, well, we can only deal with one turd at a time. So, speak, man!”

  “Okay…” Sigh… “Well, sir… ah.” Harry closed his eyes and blurted out the words, “I think I am going to ask Belle Rodum out to dinner.”

  Harry waited with eyes closed for the mocking laughter or a torrent of critical words to burst on him. When nothing came he cautiously opened his eyes to a grinning Winston
Churchill. “That is absolutely brilliant! You are on to something, Harry! Play the game for more than you can lose; only then will you learn the game.”

  Harry squinted at Sir Winston.

  “What I mean is, by asking the assassin to dinner you are playing for very high stakes. But that is the nature of this game.”

  “Well, sir, she and I seem to have reached an impasse and at the same time share a common… common… situation, issue… not sure what the word is. Now all I have to do is figure out how to contact her and arrange for the dinner. Probably ought to be on neutral ground…”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to figure that out. I am sure John Timothy can be of some assistance. At any rate, you’re a good man, Harry Ferguson, from good English stock, and even if you aren’t, you are now. By the way, have you heard from your lady dragon friend? How is she?”

  Harry shifted in his chair, his face blank. Churchill was not fooled. “You haven’t contacted her? I was told that you had access through your mental companion. Some type of telegraph or the other. Young man, life is short, even if you live it many times. Love is shorter. If I were you… no, let me put it this way. Harry Ferguson, if you have not telegraphed your friend Sarah by the time I see you again, we are going to have a problem.” Churchill moved his spectacles down on his nose with a large finger and scowled across the top of them.

  Harry got the message. “Yes, sir, I will get right to it, Sir Winston.”

  “That’s a good man… see you later, Harry.” And with that he rose from his chair and walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sarah convulsed. The world grew black. She screamed, she felt herself falling down, down, further into an abyss. Then it stopped. She opened her eyes and discovered she was lying on her back, staring up into a bright blue sky. White feathered clouds dotted it. She could smell the pastureland around her as her senses returned. She remembered where she was.