Dragon's Fire

by Emily Martha Sorensen

  “Oh, no!” Rose burst out. “Please don’t —”

  Two telepathic screams burst out and mingled with the hideously loud one from Virgil’s mouth.

  Rose seized the opportunity to grab the doorknob as soon as her son stopped to take a breath, then made a rapid exit from the room. She glanced back through the closing door with a mixture of apology and humiliation, and Mr. Teedle merely jerked his head in a nod, looking rather wild-eyed. The door swung shut.

  Rose ran down the hallway, the pram bouncing before her, and both the urgency of her mind and the movement seemed to distract Virgil. Away from the instigator, he quieted quickly.

  Could Virgil play with Violet now? Virgil liked Violet better. Violet was more interesting. She could roll around and play.

  Rose ceased moving, stopping to bury her face in her hands. She had had enough of other people’s children for the day, especially draconic ones. Her patience was completely shot through, her nerves were frazzled, and she wasn’t even sure where she would find the emotional resources to deal with Virgil’s constant pestering, pestering, pestering all day.

  “Why,” Rose murmured, removing her face from her hands and glaring at Virgil, “why must you be even more difficult than a human infant would be?”

  Virgil stared at his mother. Virgil didn’t understand. Could Virgil play with Violet now? Violet was more interesting.

  Rose breathed in deeply, trying to calm her shredded nerves. She was upset on behalf of the new dragon, disappointed that the introduction hadn’t gone as well as she’d expected, frustrated with Virgil for making the situation much worse, embarrassed at the stress he had caused Mr. Teedle, and worried that Director Campbell would now treat her like a troublemaker as much as Henry.

  How? Rose wondered, smacking her hand on the handle of the pram in fury. How am I supposed to deal with anything when Virgil keeps making himself such a pest?

  A terrible wave of misery rushed up from the pram. Virgil’s mother was sad! Virgil’s mother was sad because of him! Virgil had made his mother sad! He was going to cry!

  A thin wail rose from the pram, increasing in volume.

  “No!” Rose said hastily, moving to draw the blanket back from its curtain concealing her son. “No, Virgil! It’s all right. See? I’m fine. Look! I’m fine!”

  A fancily-dressed man walked by, bowler hat in hand, and stopped with his mouth gaping open as he saw the individual in the pram.

  Not again, Rose thought, tugging the blanket back around the front. She gave a look that dared him to come any nearer. Taking the hint, the man hurried on, though not without a dozen backward glances before he reached the end of the hallway.

  Virgil felt better now. Virgil still wanted to play. Could Virgil play? Virgil still wanted to . . .

  “All right, all right!” Rose burst out. “You can play with Violet! Just stop pestering me!”

  Virgil was happy! Virgil was excited! Virgil would shred this blanket and pretend it was prey!

  A terrible ripping sound came from the front of the pram.

  “No!” Rose screamed, diving to save it.

  Chapter 8: Friends

  Inside the zoo, the crowds were nearly as crazy as they had been at the museum. Rose should, perhaps, have expected this.

  “Mommy, I wanna see the dragon!” a small child was shouting, dragging a frazzled-looking woman forward as she attempted to juggle a toddler and a purse without letting the toddler grab things out of the opening of the purse.

  I know the feeling, Rose thought dryly, and then realized that she didn’t. She only had one child, not two, fraying her nerves constantly. The thought of two was terrifying. She amended silently, I’m glad that I don’t know the feeling.

  It took a while to find a zookeeper among the crowd squeezing around Violet’s cage, no doubt enjoying another of her ancestors’ memories rather than communicating with her as a person. When at last she did make contact, the zookeeper was stressed and less than happy to help, but he did take Virgil, unlock Violet’s cage, and place Virgil in with her. Rose managed to squeeze close enough to the front to watch them and be in range of their communication, hoping that this time her son would behave and not be violent in his rambunctiousness.

  Hello, Violet! Virgil was saying hello to Violet!

  Violet was saying hello to Virgil, too!

  Virgil wanted to play! Could Virgil play?

  No, Violet was busy.

  Bad! Bad! Virgil wanted to play! Virgil would make Violet play!

  Virgil charged forward vigorously and snapped at Violet’s tail.

  Violet let loose a loud shriek, then rolled to the side. She kicked him in the face with one of her back legs as he passed. Her terrible hooked claw caught his nose.

  Owwww! Virgil was very unhappy! Violet had hurt him in the snout with her claw!

  Rose jerked forward instinctively, despite the fact that she could not reach either of them within the cage, but they had already made up.

  Now Violet wanted to play. Violet would play claw catch.

  She thrust her leg out, displaying the wickedly hooked claw that gave Deinonychus antirrhopus its name, and Virgil dove to catch it. Violet yanked her leg back just in time and smacked him in the face with her tail.

  Rose watched with bemusement. The games they invented — or perhaps remembered — were always strange little things. They reminded her more of dogs roughhousing than of any cerebral pastime, yet that wasn’t particularly surprising with babies. What did surprise her was how terribly vicious those claws looked, yet how very little they managed to hurt each other.

  Now Virgil would play smack-the-claw!

  Virgil rolled over onto his back and splayed all four of his legs in the air, kicking them back and forth. Violet rolled over and tried to hit as many of his legs as possible with her own.

  They roughhoused back and forth for awhile, until both seemed settled next to each other, curled up on their stomachs, thwacking tails back and forth across each other’s backs.

  Virgil thought Violet was much more fun than the other baby. That one was in an egg. He was boring.

  Violet remembered being in an egg. She hadn’t liked it. It had been lonely.

  Virgil hadn’t been lonely. He had been SQUISHED SQUISHED SQUISHED!

  Violet missed her older brother. She missed her parents.

  Virgil didn’t miss the egg. He had been SQUISHED SQUISHED SQUISHED!

  Violet had met lots of parents who wanted eggs. They told her they wanted babies. Sometimes they told her without wanting to tell her. The minds at the zoo were noisy. Did the egg want parents? Violet had wanted parents for a long, long time.

  Virgil didn’t remember. Oh, Virgil remembered. Violet was remembering for him.

  Rapid impressions flashed through Rose’s mind. She realized with a start that there had been memories mixed in with those long bursts of rage. She’d completely missed them because the emotion had been so overpowering, but Virgil had caught them, and now Violet had them.

  Violet was disappointed. None of those memories were the same as the parents who came to the zoo wanting eggs.

  Well, naturally not, Rose thought. How common can it be to find two people who have similar minds? It’s astounding that Virgil found both me and Henry.

  Violet had an idea. This mind was like that ancestor. Maybe that baby would have this mind as his father.

  Rose stared at the dragons intently. As always, they showed no facial expressions, but their tails had stopped flicking, and they seemed to have an air of concentration.

  Violet would tell these two they were now that baby’s parents. Then those parents would be happy and that baby would be happy and Violet would be happy and then she could play with the baby and she wouldn’t be lonely anymore.

  Virgil didn’t like that baby’s parents.

  Violet would tell them next time they came. They came a lot. She would tell them she had found their baby. Then their baby could be in the zoo with her, and she wouldn’t be
lonely.

  Virgil didn’t like that baby’s parents. Virgil had seen one of them in his mother’s memories. His mother didn’t like that one, so Virgil didn’t like her.

  Rose sucked in her breath. Oh, surely NOT . . .

  The argument now took on the tone of a squabble.

  Virgil didn’t like that baby’s parents!

  Violet wanted that baby to have those parents! They wanted somebody else to take care of their baby, so that baby could live in the zoo with her! Violet wouldn’t be lonely!

  Virgil was really mad! Violet wanted a friend other than him! Virgil was going to scream!

  The earsplitting shriek burst across the crowd, sending hands flying to cover ears and provoking yells at her loud son to be quiet. That just made Virgil madder, and he screamed even louder and higher-pitched.

  Finally, the zookeeper unlocked the cage, hauled Virgil out, and surged through the crowd to deposit the angry little dragon in Rose’s arms.

  “I think that’s it for the day,” he said shortly.

  Nodding while trying to plug her ears with her shoulders while simultaneously holding on to the source of the squirming, scaly temper tantrum, Rose dumped the angry dragon into the pram, yanked the blanket over the front, and set forth through the crowd. As soon as they were moving, Virgil’s scream faded, and he went to sleep.

  If he gets that mad about his friend making a new friend, she thought peevishly, I am definitely glad he does not have any siblings.

  Rose was in a fine temper by the time she got home, especially when she discovered that Virgil’s sleeping nostrils had singed a hole in his blanket.

  “So somebody else might have a dragon child they choose to put in a zoo,” Henry said shortly when she told him the whole situation that afternoon. “What of it?”

  Rose stared at her husband in disbelief. She’d thought that he, of all people, would understand how she felt. “For the good of Deinonychus antirrhopus —”

  “For crying out loud, Rose!” Henry exploded. “Do you think you can decide how everybody else chooses to raise their children? You may dislike somebody else’s choice of parenting, but it’s not your decision to make!”

  “But for the good of all the other dragons in the future —”

  “Maybe you can leave their living arrangements to their own parents, too,” he snapped.

  Rose flinched, as if struck. She realized suddenly that she must have come across as nosy. This chagrined her, because she had spent most of her childhood in a battle with her sisters for privacy. Yet this was not just something that would only affect individuals outside their family.

  “I would be willing to,” Rose said in a low voice. “But will Director Campbell be willing to?”

  Henry said nothing, and she thought she saw a hint of worry flit across his face.

  “We can’t control that,” he said at last. “We can only do what we can do.”

  But if we don’t try, Rose thought, there are children who will be affected in the future.

  She knew already that she would be going back to the museum tomorrow. She would go early, before her classes. It would be Henry’s day to watch Virgil, so she could go alone. Perhaps that would go better than bringing the infant with her.

  Someone had to speak up.

  Chapter 9: Fortitude

  Her first class started at eleven, so Rose stood at the entrance of the American Museum of Natural History at ten o’clock, waiting for the doors to open. She would have only half an hour to speak her mind before she had to leave to walk to her first class at Hunter College. She prayed that that would be enough, and that the consequences would not be disastrous.

  But consequences or not, she had to speak. There were times when one could not afford to stay silent.

  As soon as the doors opened, Rose hurried through the doors, removing her hat and coat and scarf and draping them over her arm as she took the stairs at a rapid pace. The building was far less crowded than it had been yesterday, a welcome change, though she suspected that this was only due to the time of day. Most likely it would be a surge of humanity again later.

  Despite the desperate hurry, Rose dawdled for a few minutes inside the Hall of Ornithischian Dragons, watching the Triceratops and Stegosaurus skeletons, so different from her son and yet so eerily similar. The wings of the Triceratops rose high in the air, while the wings of the Stegosaurus were spread wide, only a few feet out of reach of prodding fingers, as if it were about to lift off the ground at any moment.

  What would it have been like if our son had been a herbivore? Rose wondered. Would he have been easier to care for?

  It was a ridiculous question, of course, because species such as Triceratops and Stegosaurus had not had large enough brains to be intelligent. Still, if Virgil had been herbivorous, or even omnivorous such as Ornithomimus velox, life might have been much simpler.

  Rose shook herself, reminding herself sternly that her role as a parent was not to wish that her son had been different, and she was in a hurry besides. She tore herself away from the remarkable skeletons and headed towards her destination, the director’s office, a course which she really should not have deviated from in the first place.

  But as she stood at the door to the office, summoning her fortitude, she heard angry voices rise from inside.

  What? Rose thought dumbly. Am I too late? Is he meeting with somebody? I thought that at this time of morning, he would not be busy, but perhaps that was naive . . .

  “Well, of course he’s coming with us!” a woman’s voice shouted, loud enough to reverberate through the door. “The dragon in the zoo said that he’d be ours, and he will be!”

  Hair rose at the back of Rose’s neck. There was no doubt who that voice belonged to.

  “You can’t just waltz in here and make demands!” the director’s voice said angrily. “Who do you think you are?”

  “I AM BESSIE!” the woman’s voice announced at a great volume.

  Rose put a hand to her forehead. The arrogance was astonishing.

  There was a murmur of another voice behind the door, and then an irritated grumble. Before Bessie could raise her voice yet again, Rose knocked politely on the door.

  “Who is it?” the director’s voice shouted.

  Rose turned the handle and gingerly opened the door, standing in view.

  “Oh,” Director Campbell grumbled. “You.”

  That did not bode well for a future conversation, and Rose felt a little hurt at being included in his irritation. Still, she supposed she could not blame the man, particularly if Mr. Teedle had mentioned Virgil’s behavior yesterday.

  “Is there anything else you want?” Director Campbell asked sarcastically. “Your own country club, perhaps?”

  “No,” Rose said, “I only wanted to speak with you about a matter of some importance. That can wait, however. May I make an appointment?”

  The director’s face softened a fraction.

  “Oh, you!” the woman cried, turning to look at Rose.

  She, and a man mostly obscured from Rose’s view, were standing rather than seated. The formerly-fur-coated woman now wore a dress of navy blue silk Georgette crepe with fine beadwork on the waist, cuffs, and tunic. A fashionable wool cape with knitted pom-poms was thrown back from her shoulders, and she also had not removed her hat, which had a feather perched on top.

  It was clearly not the clothing of a woman struggling to make ends meet. Rose wondered whether this was everyday wear, or whether she had dressed more finely than usual, considering this a special occasion.

  “I remember you!” the woman continued. “You gave me the idea to adopt Philomel!”

  “Philomel?” Rose asked.

  “That’s what we’re going to call him,” the woman said grandly.

  Without even meeting the child? Rose wondered.

  The director’s face had gone very unfriendly. “You gave her the idea?” he growled.

  “Not by any deliberate design,” Rose said emphatically. “W
e met in the park, and I informed her that her assessment that Deinonychus dragons were mere animals was wrongheaded. She conceived the idea of adopting one on her own.”

  “Yes, and what Bessie wants, Bessie gets,” the woman said confidently, adjusting her cape and tossing her hair.

  Rose could not believe such sheer hubris existed. What kind of life had this woman led, to have such audacity?

  Then the man, who Rose had nearly forgotten was there, spoke up.

  “We would be happy to make a generous donation to the museum, director.” His voice was quiet. “We will, of course, also defer to experts for anything the child needs.”

  Director Campbell’s expression went quite sour.

  “And who could possibly make better parents than us?” Bessie demanded, stretching her arms widely and beaming.

  Rose could think of many.

  “We have quite a few friends in important places,” the man behind Bessie said mildly. “The mayor, for instance. I can speak with him about this situation. He might, as they say, vouch for us.”

  It was impressive that he had just made a veiled threat without actually making a veiled threat.

  Director Campbell did not seem to miss the hidden meaning. His eyes narrowed, and he did not look more receptive.

  This situation seemed likely to deteriorate, and nobody seemed to be considering the most important factor of all. Rose weighed her options quickly, then decided that if she was going to speak up, now was a good time to do it.

  “Why don’t we leave it to the dragon?” she asked.

  The director and Bessie turned to look at her.

  “The dragon?” Bessie asked, as if Rose had made the most absurd suggestion in the world.

  “The dragon?” Director Campbell repeated, as if he agreed.

  “Yes,” Rose said. “You’re talking about the future of a child. Why not let the child’s input make the final decision?”

  Director Campbell frowned, and Rose thought for a moment that he would outright refuse. But then a sneaky smile spread across his face. “Good point. Then if the dragon rejects them, will they give up on all of this?”