by Tom Nicoll
So I looked directly at her.
“Pan is the kindest person or Mini-Dragon I know, Mrs Long,” I said. “These things he’s done, they were all to help others. You don’t have to worry about him learning those Mini-Dragon qualities. He already has them.”
Everyone was looking at me in amazement. There was complete silence.
“I’ve never heard such rubbish in all my life,” said Aunt Maria.
“Oh, put a sock in it, Maria,” said Pan’s dad. “Can’t you see what’s happened here?”
If she did then she was too outraged to say.
“At some point in their life, every Mini-Dragon will seek out a companion,” said Mr Long in a solemn voice. “The bond that forms between them will last a lifetime. Of course, the companion is almost always another Mini-Dragon, but it has been known for it to be a human. It happened to my own brother, actually. He became friends with a man – a mountain climber who stumbled across his cave one day. They ended up writing a book together, all about dragons. It was called—”
“The Encyclopaedia Dragonica?” interrupted Min.
“Oh, you’ve heard of it!” said Pan’s dad, looking impressed. “Anyway, a Mini-Dragon companionship is not something that should be broken lightly.” He turned to his wife. “I think perhaps we should reconsider…”
I was ready to start celebrating there and then, until I saw Mrs Long’s face.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Everything you’ve told me is wonderful, Eric. Pan, I’m so proud of you. And I’m very happy that you’ve met these wonderful people. But a Mini-Dragon’s place is with other Mini-Dragons. I won’t change my mind on the subject.”
“But Mum—” protested Pan.
He was cut off by the sound of the door opening.
“All right, Eric, that’s time,” said Mum, standing in the doorway, decked out in her yoga gear.
Everyone froze. The Mini-Dragons had actually frozen, but Min, Jayden and I were glued to the spot as well. In fact, as Mum looked around the room, it felt like time itself had stopped.
Eventually, she let out a little chuckle. “What is it with you kids and dragons at the moment?” she said. She looked at Min and Jayden while pointing towards Aunt Maria and Uncle Fernando. “I presume those two are yours?”
Min and Jayden nodded slowly.
“And that’ll be the video game, no doubt,” she said, pointing towards the laptop where Mr and Mrs Long stared, motionless, from the screen. “Anyway, wrap things up, Eric, I’ll be starting my class soon.”
“Yes, Mum,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
When the door closed behind us, I almost fell over in relief.
“That was close,” said Jayden.
“Pan can stay,” a voice murmured.
“Yeah, I know,” I said to Jayden. “I thought Mum was definitely about to… Wait, what was that?”
All heads turned towards the screen.
“Pan can stay,” repeated Mrs Long.
“He can?” said her husband, looking as shocked as everyone else.
“Don’t you know who that was?” she said, as she fanned her face with her tiny claws. “That was the yoga woman! Pan’s staying with the yoga woman!”
“The one from the internet?” asked Pan’s dad.
Mrs Long nodded, giddy with excitement. “My son is staying with the famous yoga lady. Wait till I tell all my friends!” She looked at me. “Can you get her autograph for me, Eric?”
“No problem,” I laughed.
I couldn’t believe it. Pan was staying. I had never felt so happy in all my life. I looked around to find him.
He wasn’t there.
Neither were his aunt and uncle.
“Hold it right there!” I said, bursting into the bathroom. Instinctively, I knew that’s where they would be. Pan’s aunt and uncle were perched on the edge of the toilet with Pan trapped underneath Uncle Fernando’s right arm. He was wriggling furiously, trying to escape, but his uncle was far too strong for him. The three of them were already dressed in their wetsuits. Aunt Maria slammed the glass helmet on to Pan’s head.
“Adios, humans,” said Uncle Fernando, giving us all a farewell salute.
“Don’t you dare!” shouted Pan’s mum, as Jayden and Min arrived behind me, Jayden carrying the laptop in his arms.
“Honestly, Isabel, you’re not thinking straight,” said Aunt Maria. “Letting your son stay with a human? It’s preposterous! No, you’ll come to thank us for this, trust me. It’s for the best.”
“Leave him, Maria,” demanded Pan’s dad. “Or so help me, we’ll come and get him from you ourselves.”
Uncle Fernando let out a dismissive chuckle. “Good luck with that, Cheng,” he said. “Mexico is nearly two-million-square kilometres and we don’t stay in the same spot for very long. Actually, maybe we won’t even go back to Mexico. Wherever we go, you’ll never find us. We’ll be sure to send you a postcard from time to time though.”
A desperate Pan managed to wriggle his arms free and flung the helmet to the floor, smashing it to pieces once again. Min, Jayden and I let out a cheer, but our celebration was short-lived.
“Thought you might try that,” said Aunt Maria. “You can wear this instead.” She strapped a tiny scuba mask on Pan’s head – it was the one from my Scuba Dave bath toy.
“Don’t worry about Pan,” laughed Uncle Fernando. “He’ll be much better off with us. Now, as the British like to say: Cheerio!”
And with that, Aunt Maria and Uncle Fernando dived into the toilet, dragging Pan along behind them.
“Pan!” cried Min.
“No!” shouted Jayden.
“My boy!” gasped Pan’s dad.
I turned towards the screen. Pan’s mum had a steely look in her eyes.
“Do something,” she said.
It wasn’t a plea. It was an order. And once again, I got the distinct impression that when Mrs Long told you to do something, you did it.
She really was a lot like my own mum.
I ran over to the toilet, unsure what my next move was going to be. I thought about jumping in after them but decided against it because it was:
Then I saw the plunger.
I grabbed the handle, shoved it into the toilet bowl and began pumping as if my life depended on it. Then, after about a minute…
…nothing happened.
I kept going.
“Eric,” said Min after a while, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I think they’ve gone.”
“No,” I said. If I stopped I knew I’d definitely never see Pan again.
“Come on, mate,” said Jayden. “You’ve done all you can.”
“No,” I repeated.
“It’s OK, Eric,” said Pan’s dad quietly. “You gave it your best shot. Pan’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
“I’m. Not. Stopping.” I said. “Not. Now. Not. Ev—”
Before I could finish I was sent flying backwards as a stream of water shot out of the toilet, followed by the sound of one … two … three solid objects splashing back into the toilet.
“Pan!” I cried, throwing aside the plunger and fishing him out.
“Eric!” said Pan, tossing his mask back into the toilet bowl. “You saved me.”
“What are you thinking!” shouted a livid Uncle Fernando.
“You’re making a big mistake,” screamed Aunt Maria.
“The only mistake,” said Pan’s mum, “was thinking it was a good idea for you two to look after our son. I think it’s time you were on your way.”
“Here, let me get the door for you,” I added, reaching for the toilet handle.
FLUSH!!!
I looked at Pan, perched on my shoulder, still dripping wet, his mouth hanging wide open.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you want to do that?”
A couple of days later and things were back to normal. Well, as normal as life with a Mini-Dragon can ever be. Which is not very normal. It was great to have Pan back
and know that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was even better to have Pan’s aunt and uncle gone.
Min, Jayden, Pan and I had arranged to meet up later that morning, but before that I had an appointment to keep. Mr and Mrs Long had asked to speak to me. Alone.
“Hi, Eric,” said Pan’s dad. “We just want to thank you again.”
“No problem, Mr Long,” I said. “I’d do anything for Pan.”
Pan’s parents smiled. “We’re glad to hear you say that,” said his mother.
“Oh? Why’s that?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “since Pan won’t be staying with his aunt and uncle, there’s the matter of his education to address.”
I shifted a little uncomfortably. “You mean Pan … in school?” I said nervously. “We sort of tried that once before and it didn’t end very well…”
“No,” said Pan’s dad, “not school. But there are certain things a dragon must learn.”
“And as Pan’s companion,” continued his mum. “It’s your job to make sure he learns them.”
“It is?” I asked.
“It is,” said Pan’s parents firmly.
“Don’t look so worried,” said Pan’s dad. “There’s not a lot to it. I’m emailing you a file with all the information you’ll need. It’s only ten thousand words or so.”
I nearly fell off my chair.
“T-t-ten thousand words?” I stammered.
“Or so,” said Mr Long.
“Well, I suppose we’d better leave you to it then,” said Pan’s mum. “No time like the present!”
Hang on – they wanted me to start now?
“It’s the school holidays!” I said.
“Wonderful!” said Mrs Long. “So you’ll have plenty of free time to devote to Pan’s studies. We’ll be expecting regular updates on his progress. Anyway, we’ll be off now. Oh, any word on that other thing I asked you about?”
I frowned. “Yes, I’ve posted you the autograph,” I sighed, cringing at the memory of having to ask Mum for it, telling her it was for me – she thought I’d gone mad.
I said goodbye to Pan’s parents, then opened up the file they had sent. The list of tasks was endless. The first page alone said:
I did a double-take when I read the last one. Pan had once shown me how good a flyer he is shortly after we had met. He flew like a rock, trashing my room in the process. The list of things I’d rather do than teach Pan how to fly included:
Even flushing my head down the toilet sounded better.
In fact…
“You finished?” said Pan as I walked past my room. “What did my parents want? Hey, where are you going?”
I didn’t reply as I walked into the bathroom.
“Eric?” said Pan, sounding concerned. “Eric? ERIC?”
“Hey, Eric,” said the tiny short-haired girl standing outside my front door. Min Song and I were in the same class at school, but right now she was here on official business, which was why she was carrying a dozen Chinese takeaway boxes under her chin. “Sorry we’re so late.”
“Er … we ordered five minutes ago,” I said, checking my watch.
“I know, I know, but traffic was a nightmare,” she said, nodding towards her dad who was sitting on a moped with the words “Panda Cottage” emblazoned on the side, impatiently tapping his watch.
“No, what I meant was—” But before I could finish Min had shoved the huge pile of boxes into my arms.
Then she picked up a box that had fallen to the ground. “Oh, and don’t forget your beansprouts.”
“Beansprouts?” I said, looking puzzled. “I don’t think we ordered—”
“No, they’re free,” interrupted Min. “We have way too many of them. Please, just take it.”
“Oh, OK,” I said. “You know, I’ve never actually tried them.”
“You’ll love them. Probably. Anyway, I have to go.”
I put down the boxes and handed her the money, before she hopped on the moped and it disappeared down the road.
“Min took her time!”
That’s my dad, Monty Crisp. He’s the reason we were having a Friday-night Chinese. My dad manages the local football team, the Kippers, and we were celebrating their latest success – a 10 –1 scoreline.
“I still can’t believe it,” he said as I handed him the boxes. “We got an actual goal. First time in five years. All right, so technically it was the other team that scored it for us, but an own goal still counts!”
Sorry, I should have been more clear: They lost 10 –1.
The Kippers are the worst football team of all time. In their fifty-year history they’ve only ever won a single game, and even then it was because the other team had to forfeit after getting stuck in traffic.
“You should be very proud, dear,” said my mum, Maya. In case you’re wondering, her legs are currently over her head because she’s a yoga instructor, not because she’s weird.
Though she is weird.
Mum unfolded herself and joined me, Dad, my two-and-a-half-year-old sister Posy and our horrible, definitely evil, cat Pusskin at the kitchen table.
Half an hour later, the Crisp family was officially stuffed, as you can see from my helpful diagram:
The number of boxes for Posy is misleading. Those are the number of actual boxes she attempted to eat. She doesn’t bother about the food, she just loves chewing plastic.
After dinner, Dad was back talking sport.
“All I’m saying, Eric,” he said, reaching for the fortune cookies, “is that it wouldn’t kill you to take an interest in athletic pursuits. Like football or rugby or…”
“Yoga?” suggested Mum.
“Be serious, Maya,” said Dad. “Er… I mean…”
Mum glared at him. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Dad mimed wiping sweat off his brow. “Phew. But really, Eric, it was only last week you told me you thought offside was when only one side of the bread had gone mouldy…”
“He was teasing, Monty,” said Mum. “You were teasing him, weren’t you, Eric?”
Before I could reply Dad cut in: “Hey, would you look at that?”
He held up a small piece of paper.
“You beauty!” cried Dad. “It’s destiny.”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone knows fortune cookies are rubbish, Dad. The last one I got said ‘Your shoes will make you happy’.”
“And did they?” Dad asked.
“Not that I noticed…”
“What did you get this time, Eric?” asked Mum.
I cracked open the shell and unfurled the piece of paper inside.
“Hmm. Well, you do turn nine soon,” Mum said.
“A week tomorrow,” I reminded her. She probably knew that already, but my birthday was WAY too important to take any chances with.
“Ooh, look at mine,” said Mum. “‘Your son will handle the washing-up’.”
“It doesn’t say that,” I said.
“Well, all right,” she admitted. “It’s actually the same as Dad’s.”
“But you cleaning up will be a nice victory for me,” she said.
I let out a groan, but I knew from experience that I had about as much chance of getting out of it as the Kippers did of winning, well … anything.
I rinsed out all the boxes and took them outside. I’d almost finished putting them in the recycling bin when I realized that the box of beansprouts was still unopened.
Even though I was stuffed, I was curious to find out what they tasted like. I opened the lid and jumped back in fright. Not because of the beansprouts, though they didn’t look that appetizing, but because nestled inside the box was a small green scaly object. It had:
A long dragon-like snout.
A long dragon-like tail.
Big dragon-like wings.
Sharp dragon-like teeth.
Short dragon-like arms and legs.
Dragon-like claws.
There was no doubt about it. Whatever it was looked a lot like a
dragon. Its tiny marble-like black eyes seemed to stare back at me and, for the briefest of moments, I almost convinced myself it was real.
Ha. A real dragon. Can you imagine?
Were Panda Cottage giving out free toys with their food now?
“Snappy Meals,” I said out loud, before remembering there was no one around to laugh at my joke.
I took the toy out of the box and was surprised by how it felt. Whatever it was made of, it wasn’t plastic. I once touched a lizard at the zoo and it felt quite similar – rough and cool to the touch – but this was much, much harder. It really was the most lifelike toy I had ever seen. It must have taken forever to paint. Not that it even looked or felt painted, mind you. It was too realistic. Every scale was a different shade of green, with small, freckle-like flecks of yellow across the snout. Gently, I moved its arms and legs back and forth, feeling a little resistance as I did so, almost as if it didn’t appreciate me doing it.
Whoever had made it must have gone to some trouble – way more than a free Chinese takeaway toy was worth, that’s for sure.
After trying a handful of beansprouts and deciding I wasn’t a fan, I shoved the dragon into my pocket, went back inside and headed upstairs. After all, it was Friday and I had a lot to do. My comics weren’t going to read themselves.
I put the tiny dragon on a shelf before diving on to my bed and settling into issue #437 of my favourite comic: Slug Man.
A short while later, Slug Man was just about to take a call from the Police Commissioner on the Slug Phone when I felt something tugging at my trouser leg.
