by Patty Jansen
Henrik lowered the bow, but the dragon had woken up and opened an orange eye.
It uncurled itself from the bed.
First it set one forepaw, with its fearsome nails, on the mat next to Nellie’s bed, and then the other. The paws were bigger than dinner plates.
Then it added the hind paws. The tail pushed against the far wall, threatening to swipe the books and oil lamp off Nellie’s bookshelf.
It moved towards the door. Henrik stepped back into the corridor.
“Look at the cat,” Henrik said.
The little kitten sat on the dragon’s back, between the folded wings. It showed no signs of panic.
The dragon lowered its head, letting out a low hiss.
“Stand back!” Henrik raised the bow again.
“Don’t!” Nellie said. Did he really think a puny weapon like that would make an impression on a dragon?
The dragon turned its head to her. Both orange eyes met hers. It blew out, and Nellie could feel the warmth of its breath.
The dragon looked at her, and she looked at the dragon. It had grown far too large to go back into the box, and there was no way she could subdue it by covering it with an apron.
But why was it here? She had given it freedom.
It wanted to come back.
No, she wished it to come back. Ultimately, it wasn’t her dragon. It belonged in the box, and the box belonged to Prince Bruno. But Prince Bruno had been dead ten years and the poor dragon didn’t have a master.
The kitten still sat in princely fashion between the dragon’s shoulder blades. It was looking at Nellie, too.
Once, when King Roald was still alive, a wild boar wandered into the palace garden. The guards were all atizz and telling the king not to go outside until they caught and shot it.
But the king said, “I saw it run across the lawn with some of our dogs. Animals know when something is evil and won’t go near it. The boar is lost. If we leave it alone, it will eat some dogs’ food and then go back to where it came from.”
And that was exactly what had happened.
The kitten was not afraid of the dragon. In fact, it seemed to like it. The dragon was also happy being in Nellie’s room.
For whatever reason, the dragon had ended up with her. It had taken swipes at the church deacons, Lord Verdonck and Madame Sabine. It had not attacked her even if she had been forceful in getting it back into the box.
Nellie wanted no one else to have it. Not Adalbert Verdonck, the witch Julianna, Madame Sabine, or the Regent. She didn’t want the Guentherite monks to have it, or the church. Not while Shepherd Wilfridus ruled the main church.
Nellie had no magic and knew little about it, but this dragon was hers. If Prince Bruno was still alive, she would keep it in custody until she could deliver it to him.
She stepped into the doorway to the room and held out her hand.
“No, come away from the door,” Henrik said.
“You don’t understand. I have to do this, because so many people want this dragon, and they all want to do ill with it. It has accepted my custody. It’s my responsibility to make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“Nellie, I don’t want anything to happen to you. You’re the only reason that a little light shines in the darkness of my life. I never thought I’d find it again after Martha died.”
Nellie stared at him, dumbstruck.
He was—what?—two or three years older than her. She wanted to laugh and ask if he didn’t think he was too old for declarations of eternal love.
But he was not joking about any of this—that was clear in his expression.
And she was utterly taken by surprise. Yes, he had shown more interest in her recently. She’d had no idea that his wife had died until this afternoon. She had no idea he had even remembered her from back when they lived in the same street. She had no idea that the thing that had stopped them getting together back then was the same thing that ruled the rest of her life: her father.
“Just come away from the door,” Henrik said, his voice kind. The lamp lit his face from below.
Nellie took his hand, which was warm and dry. He still held the bow with his other hand, but the dragon didn’t seem interested in violent action. If anything, it looked curious. Like mistress Johanna’s tree, it was not good or evil until instructed to perform acts of good or evil.
Henrik pulled her out of the room and pulled the door shut before the dragon’s snout. “You must run. People will find the dragon here. They will know you were the last servant of the palace to see Lord Verdonck alive. They know you brought him herb tea.”
“I had nothing to do with his death. He was already ill.”
“I know, but they’ll readily believe otherwise. They might even know whose daughter you are and they might draw any kind of conclusions from any of those things. They might think you stole the dragon from the church. Or that you tried to infiltrate the church with evil.”
“I did none of that.” And what was this about whose daughter you are? Her father had been nothing more than a bookkeeper and the only sign of his discontent had been in his “book of thoughts”, right? Just what sort of rumours circulated about him?
“You’re not at fault, but once they find this creature, they’ll recall whatever rumours others tell about your father’s knowledge. They’ll know they are right and you are wrong about everything. Once people see this dragon, no one will believe you, or think you should be alive.”
It was true, and she realised the horror in his words. What could she do? Her home was in the palace. She had nowhere else to go.
“There is an empty warehouse at the east end of the harbour. You can find shelter there.”
“I don’t want to run. I have nowhere else to go.”
“They’ll put you in jail. They’re looking for excuses not to have to jail monks. You make a much better criminal. They’ll tell the Regent you were upset that Lord Verdonck refused to pay you for services and so you poisoned him.”
“I did no such thing!”
“Shhh. I know, but that’s what they’ll say. I’ve seen this before. When something bad happens, people want someone to blame. They can’t blame those in power without endangering themselves, so they’ll jump on rumours about ordinary citizens. It happened during the reign of the Fire Wizard, too.”
“But . . .”
“Go. I want to see you safe.” And as she stared into his face, he bent over and brushed his lips over her forehead. “Go. I’m serious.”
“I need to get my warm clothes.”
“Be quick.”
Her clothes were in the room and there was still a dragon in the room. If she were to leave the palace, she didn’t want to leave it behind. People would try to kill it, and they would kill themselves trying. She went into the room, almost hitting the dragon in the nose with the door.
She touched its neck—it was warm and dry—and it made a kind of purring noise.
“Did you teach it to do that?” she asked the kitten.
It only responded with a meeeeeeww.
Nellie took her satchel and stuffed handfuls of clothes inside, including her warm knitted jumpers and her jacket and woollen socks. Then the box and her mother’s few treasures. The Book of Verses went in as well.
“There she is!” a voice yelled at the bottom of the stairs.
By the Triune, had Maartje warned the other guards?
Nellie tied up the satchel, hung it over her shoulder and went into the corridor. A couple of palace guards had come down the stairs.
“It’s all under control!” Henrik yelled at them, but he whispered to her, “Run, Nellie!”
Nellie hurried towards the dark end of the corridor. It led to the laundry and there was a little door that—when it wasn’t stuck—gave access to the courtyard, but she had barely entered the laundry when people came in from that direction, too.
“Wait.” Henrik caught up with her, holding the lamp in one hand and his bow in the other.
>
Behind them were the guards who had come down the stairs. In front of them were a couple of stable hands who had come in through the laundry.
The guards exchanged surprised looks with Henrik. “We have to arrest her. She has killed Lord Verdonck. She has the dragon.”
“She has not killed the lord, and she deserves a fair hearing.”
“I have done nothing!” Nellie called over the top of them. “I looked after Lord Verdonck when he fell ill.”
One of the guards said, “That’s just old women’s ramblings. We have never found anyone who could have slipped him poison. Are you sure you haven’t borrowed some of the lord’s wine?”
“You’re just making that up!” She looked at Henrik. “Tell them the truth. I did nothing.”
“Fine, we’ll arrest you for contradicting the guard.”
The man lunged for Nellie’s arm but only got a handful of her sleeve because she quickly withdrew her arm.
She protested. “I want to be heard by the Regent!”
They laughed.
And Nellie couldn’t win because Madame Sabine only needed to say one word about stealing Lord Verdonck’s possessions.
Another man was now grabbing her arms from behind.
And Henrik . . . he did nothing. He stared, his mouth open in horror, as his colleagues restrained Nellie and dragged her to the stairs.
“Nellie,” he mouthed. “No.”
“Help me! I’ve done nothing. Help me!”
He mouthed, “I can’t. They’d kill me.”
At that moment, there was an almighty crash down the corridor, like the splintering of wood and a hiss of fire. The door to Nellie’s room burst into fire and flew outward in pieces.
A clawed paw came out, and then a snout and a head with two fierce orange eyes. A set of pointed ears.
The dragon blew out a breath of smoke.
Several of the guards turned around and drew weapons. But if they didn’t burn up in the dragon’s breath, their arrows merely glanced off the dragon’s head.
The creature came into the corridor. It seemed as if it had grown again as it barely fitted through the door. Its wings trailed on the ground. The kitten still sat between its shoulder blades.
A guard yelled, “Shoot all at the same time. Now!”
A volley of arrows flew through the hallway. The dragon shook its head as they all glanced off and fell to the floor.
The dragon came closer. A guard threw a dagger which also glanced off. The dragon stepped on it on its way forward. It hissed.
“Run!” a man called.
A few people ran up the stairs. Someone yelled, “Get out of the way, it’s down here!”
The guards closed around Nellie. The smell of their sweat drifted on the air.
“Am I dreaming or is there a kitten sitting on its back?” one said.
“It’s a black cat. It’s evil.”
The guard at the front yelled, “After three we charge. One . . . two . . .”
He didn’t get to three.
The dragon jumped forwards and pushed the guards aside. They fell and screamed and scrambled up the stairs calling for reinforcements.
The dragon grabbed the collar of Nellie’s coat. She couldn’t help let out a squeal. “Hey, what are you doing?”
It dragged her through the corridor while the guards were scrambling out of the way. The dragon’s feet crunched over bows and arrows they dropped, breaking them as if they were mere sticks.
Then it galloped to the far end, past the stairs, past the door to the kitchen. All Nellie could do was pull her legs out of the way of its claws.
It was going way too fast and the door at the end was shut—
The dragon jumped against the door with both front paws and pushed the door right off its hinges. As a blast of cold air hit Nellie in the face, the dragon jumped out into the night—and never hit the ground in the yard. The giant wings unfolded. It flew right over the back wall of the palace yard, with Nellie holding on for dear life.
The screams of the guards faded in the distance.
The Wizard Priest
Chapter 1
IF THIS WERE a legend, She Who Rides Dragons would be an armour-clad heroine sitting on top of her fire-breathing steed, striking fear into the hearts of villains and bringing justice to all the citizens of the city.
But it was not a legend and the only fear was in Nellie’s own heart, and in particular, a practical fear she might fall off. In fact, she’d barely managed to clamber onto the dragon’s back when it had leapt from the back steps of the palace into the darkness of the night.
When it unfolded huge wings under her, she’d managed to grab onto the part where they joined the body and all she could do was hang on for her life, while the shouts of the people in the back yard of the palace kitchen receded.
Her kitchen apron was definitely an inferior type of armour. It didn’t even protect her against the biting cold wind.
She had no weapons either, not that she could have used them if she did.
So here she was hanging onto the dragon’s back, seeing the few meagre street lamps lights of the city of Saardam underneath her. She had no idea which part of town this was, only that it was a long way down there, and she did not want to fall.
None of this was heroic.
To make matters worse, the little kitten had come along for the ride, and it was now terrified, hanging onto her side, while digging its claws into her skin. She very much wanted to pull it off her dress and stick it in her pocket, but that meant letting go of one of the dragon’s wings, and that option was even less attractive.
Where was the dragon going?
What if it dumped her in a forest where she had no idea how to get home? And if she managed not to fall off and made it safely to the ground, what if bandits who roamed the fields outside the city captured her? What if they stole her clothes and let her roam naked in the forest in the snow, as had happened to some poor farmers not long ago?
But none of that happened.
The dragon, after having gained height, merely circled over the city.
Nellie sat in between the shoulder blades and hung onto a comblike thing on its back.
It was peaceful up here if you didn’t think about falling. The houses were so small and if people on the ground were shouting, she couldn’t hear it.
She patted the dragon’s neck.
“Can you please put me down?”
The dragon had never displayed signs of understanding her and didn’t react.
It continued to circle.
Nellie said again, “Please, put me down. I’m cold.” Her face was almost too numb to speak.
How did one talk to a dragon? Nellie had no magic. The dragon’s box was in the bag she held on her back, but it held no instructions on how to talk to the dragon, or how to get it back in the box.
Her notion that the dragon had come back because she wanted it to seemed ridiculous. One did not tell a magical creature what to do unless one was also a magician.
But she needed to get off. She might get too cold to hold on. Already, her hands hurt.
Suddenly, the dragon made a sharp turn—Nellie gasped—and glided down. It snorted and blew sparks from its nostrils.
What was it doing?
But then Nellie spotted another glow over the city. From a distance, it looked like a bonfire, but it moved.
“What is that thing?”
The dragon only replied with another snort of sparks. She wished it wouldn’t do that. It might set her dress on fire.
“Are you afraid of it?”
Obviously, because it was flying lower and lower, over a part of the city where streetlights were sparse.
Now she feared that it would crash into something—how could it see anything in this darkness?—or it would land on a roof and fall through, or leave her stranded there, unable to get down. She would freeze to death.
That would be a terrible thing.
She patted the dragon’
s neck again.
“Please, land somewhere in the street, so I can walk back.”
Walk back where?
She couldn’t go back to the palace after all those guards had seen her take off with the dragon. By now, her name would be on the most-wanted list.
Magician, killer.
The dragon flew lower and lower, skirting so low over the roofs that Nellie thought she could touch them.
Oh no, those houses were getting far too close. The dragon ducked into the street between them. Its wingtips raked the walls on both sides. Glass shattered.
Then the dragon’s feet touched the ground and with a great jolt it ran along. Nellie’s hands were so cold that she couldn’t hang on any longer. She slid off and fell in the street.
Ouch.
The ground was cold and wet but it was solid and familiar.
She stumbled up, numb from that terrifying ride. She was safe; she hadn’t fallen and hadn’t been left on a roof. She had survived.
The cobblestones glistened in the light of a single street lamp further down. The houses on both sides of the street were dark, although one or two windows radiated a faint glow. She thought she was somewhere in the artisan quarter.
If this were a legend, there would be an army waiting to rescue her from the terrible dragon, chomping at the bit to slay the beast.
If it were a nightmare, citizens would come out of their houses with pitchforks to slay the witch who rode the dragon.
But the only sound was the mewling of that silly little kitten. It had lost its grip on her dress when she fell and now came trotting towards her. She picked it up.
The dragon had come to a halt all the way past the street lamp. It nosed one of its front paws, and then made a little jump, jerking its wings at the same time.
She had expected it to take off again, once it was rid of that annoying thing riding on its back, but it didn’t.
It did that funny jump thing again, and again, scratching its nose with its paw. It was sneezing, blowing out smoke each time it did. It shook its head vigorously, then rubbed its head on the lamppost. And scratched its nose again.
