Deadly Pink

by Vivian Vande Velde

He wasn't shiny as he'd appeared the night before, as though being in this junkyard had dulled and bedraggled him. He was as big as ever, but he was ... I don't know ... Can a dragon droop? He was slouching, as if he was tired. Or—I suddenly realized—depressed. That could well have been because he had a chain around his neck. Like a dog's choke collar. A longer chain hung from the collar: a leash that wound around the piles of ruined cars and discarded furniture and leaky bags of garbage, and must have had its other end fastened to something to keep him from wandering.

  Instead of running, instead of saying, “End game...,” instead of any other reasonable response, I asked, “What happened?”

  “Captured by the sprites,” the dragon said, his voice as diminished as his stature, no more than distant thunder. “Forced to...” He sighed, and the hem of my dress started to smoke from the spark that escaped his lips, but I could tell it was unintentional. I beat at my skirt to keep it from igniting while the dragon finished, “...guard this place.” Another sigh, this one flameless. “I am reduced to being a junkyard dog.”

  “I am so sorry,” I said. And I leally was. I mean, for someone who loved gold and shiny things, this had to be especially hard.

  “Ah, well,” he said, “the only good thing is that the terms of my imprisonment aren't long.” Before I could say, Well, at least there's that, he finished, “Only ninety-nine years.”

  Which just goes to show the difference between dragons and humans.

  “Still,” I said, “I am sorry. But I was desperate to rescue my sister.”

  “I understand,” the sagging dragon assured me. He explained, “I, too, had a sister, once.”

  The past tense didn't escape me. “What happened to her?” I asked, feeling we were connected, two of a kind after all, sharing similar personal tragedies.

  “I had to eat her,” the dragon said, “to keep her from stealing my gold.”

  Which, I guess, points to an even bigger difference between dragons and humans.

  “Listen,” I said, “my sister still needs rescuing. If you help me, I'll help you.”

  A little bit of the glint came back into the dragon's eyes, and I was glad he was at the farthest extent of his leash. I still took a couple of steps back, even as the dragon told me, “Been there, done that.”

  “I need to return to your cave to fetch my sister,” I explained. “Plus, I need eighty-eight thousand gold coins.”

  “At least you're being up-front about it this time,” the dragon said.

  “I'd planned to use the magic carpet, but it doesn't seem to be working.”

  The dragon gave me a long, level look. “The carpet is mine. That is why it does not obey your command.”

  “Well, then,” I said, “will you give me the carpet, too, if I release you?”

  “Eighty-eight thousand pieces of gold?” the dragon asked, in a tone that indicated the very thought was painful—in a tone that, in fact, indicated I might be following in the footsteps of his sister.

  “It's not doing you any good while you're here,” I pointed out. And because I knew more was always better with this dragon and his gold, I added, “And if I let you go, maybe you can get some of it back from the sprites.”

  The dragon thought this over, then said, “You'll understand, of course, when I say release me first, and THEN I'll give you the carpet and the gold.”

  “Promise?”

  The dragon sighed, this time remembering to turn his head away from me. “Promise.”

  “All right, what do we have here?” I said as the dragon settled himself down to bring the choke collar within my reach.

  “Combination lock,” he said, though by then I could see. “Three numbers: Left, right, then left again.”

  “And the numbers?”

  The dragon shook his head.

  Of course he didn't know the numbers.

  Which was a shame, because this lock went from I all the way to 100. Emily, being the math genius sister, probably knew a formula to figure out how many possible variations of a 3-number combination you could make with 100 numbers, but I was just as well satisfied to think, Too many. The good thing was that in games, they don't count on you just randomly trying every possible combination.

  “Okay,” I said, “the numbers have to be significant somehow. Are there any numbers around here?”

  The dragon shrugged. “Not that I've seen.”

  “Does this place have a street address? Or an established-on date? A poster with an in-case-of-emergency phone number?”

  “Don't know.”

  Maybe I needed to count the number of links on his chain leash ... but I could easily see that there were more than one hundred links, and besides, it was dragging through some pretty yucky stuff, so I convinced myself, Probably not.

  The dial was set at 1, so I spun it over 100 to 99, since 99 was the length of the dragon's sentence. I put my ear to the lock, like safecrackers do in the movies, and heard a very faint click. Great! I turned the dial to the right. Click! That was a surprise. What were the chances that I had figured out the first number and accidentally found the second: 99 and 100? I turned to the left. Once more it clicked at 99. But the lock didn't release. I turned to 100 again. Click. I spun the dial. 1: Click. 2: Click. 3: Click. Okay, it clicked with every single number. Still I listened carefully as I turned the dial from 1 to 100, hoping to hear something a little different, to feel something. But no. Evidently, I'd have to get all three numbers right before anything happened.

  “I hate this,” I muttered.

  The dragon shrugged.

  I used the numbers from my birthday. From Emily's birthday. From the dragon's birthday. Nothing.

  What numbers were significant in this game?

  There weren't any, I told myself. The only numbers ... the only numbers...

  I turned the dial quickly to hear the tiny click click click click.

  The only numbers of real significance had been the ones on the gypsy king's wheel.

  I reset the lock. Then turned left to 100, which was the optimum score, the one the game characters or someone just entering the game had. Turned right to the number the wheel had landed on for me: 87. Turned left to go to Emily's score of 22.

  But luckily, I was turning very slowly.

  And listening.

  I heard a distinct click! before I got to 22, when I hit 9.

  The lock released.

  100-87-9.

  Yay!

  Except...

  I sucked in a breath as I realized that 9 must be what Emily's level had fallen to.

  While I was working on not panicking, the dragon wriggled out of the collar. He instantly stood taller, and his scales regained some of their luster. “Thank you,” he rumbled at me. “Be quick, before I change my mind.” To the waterlogged wad of pink shag rug, the dragon said, “I give you to Grace Pizzelli. Obey her as you would me.”

  The little rug just lay there.

  I looked at the dragon and held my hands out, as in, Well?

  He mimicked my gesture.

  Which must mean, I figured, that the answer was obvious.

  So I said the obvious: “Carpet, up.”

  The carpet rose, a bit unsteadily, I thought, and hung in the air at about my chest level, dripping water. I was about to say, “Carpet, wring yourself,” when it shook itself off like a wet dog.

  “Aw, geez!” I said, wiping the splatters off myself. At least—at the very least—it wouldn't feel as though I were sitting in a puddle. “Carpet, down.”

  The carpet went down so that I could sit on it. “Thank you,” I said to the dragon.

  “Hmph!” he said.

  “Carpet,” I commanded, “to the dragon's cave.”

  Chapter 24

  Going Back to Where?

  RIDING BY MAGIC CARPET is smoother than being carried by dragon. In case that question ever comes up.

  The little area rug, now that it was dry, now that it was in the air, was thick and soft and comfortable. It didn'
t flap, just soared, steady and noiseless.

  Over the water we went, and over the forest. I guess I'd become blasé as a magical frequent-flyer, and after a short while I lay down rather than sit, remembering to repeat the dragon's order: “Do not lose your cargo.”

  I put my head on my arms and didn't exactly nap but rested. The carpet hadn't picked up any bad smells from having been soaked and spending the night in a garbage heap. Instead, there was a scent somewhere between vanilla and incense.

  The sun was pleasantly warm on my back, drying the fabric of my once-white dress, and the front edge of the carpet curved inward, acting to deflect the air up and over me, so all I felt was a gentle breeze, no tearing wind.

  Peaceful and relaxing, it reminded me of drifting on the float in Aunt Kathy's pool. Without the possibility of obnoxious cousin Brandon making rude comments.

  Occasionally, I would open my eyes a crack to watch the world pass beneath me...

  ...until one time I opened my eyes and saw the world tipped over on its side.

  “Do not lose your cargo! Do not lose your cargo!” I screamed at the carpet, digging my fingers into the nap of the rug, though I did not have the sensation of sliding off.

  But the carpet clearly remembered it wasn't supposed to lose its cargo. It wasn't tilting on its side to dump me, it was hurtling through the vertical crevice that led into the dragon's cave.

  The carpet slid to a gentle stop right beside Emily, who opened one eye, mumbled, “I'm up, I'm up,” then went back to sleep. The look of her skin (gray and waxy) and the sound of her breathing (loud and wheezy) had me worried.

  “Emily, I have a plan!” I told her, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. “And this one's a good one!”

  Okay, well, I'd tell her again once she was awake. And I'd let her sleep, conserve her strength, until it was time to go.

  Meanwhile, I threw handful after handful of gold onto the carpet.

  “Almost there,” I told Emily—well, actually, told myself. “You can kiss this world goodbye.”

  Except, now that I had the carpet loaded, where would Emily and I fit?

  On top, I guess. Though lying on top of a heap of gold would be more stylish but less comfortable than lying on a plush bathroom carpet.

  Still...“Emily.” I shook my sister hard. “Emily.”

  She managed to get her eyes open. “'Lo, Grace,” she said.

  “Stand up,” I ordered.

  She groaned and shook her head.

  “Stand up,” I repeated. “You need to walk about five steps, then take one big step up, then you can lie down again, and we'll be home in no time.”

  “'kay,” she said, but didn't move.

  I took hold of her shoulders and dragged her to the carpet. She neither helped nor hindered me. “There,” I said. “Forget the five steps; all you need to do is the one big step up.”

  From behind me came a familiar flapping noise I couldn't for the moment place; then the cave dimmed as something blocked the sunlight from outside.

  Something big.

  Something that took up just about all the space of that narrow entry into the cave.

  Then a voice like a continent settling into place told me, “I'm sorry. I can't do it. I can't let you take my gold. I've changed my mind.”

  No! That was the game going just too far!

  “You promised!” I snarled—or maybe I whined—at the dragon, sounding, by my own estimation, about five years old.

  “Sorry,” the dragon repeated.

  Hard to gauge the sincerity of a creature who's big enough to step on you, except by noting the fact that he's not choosing to step on you.

  “But I helped you,” I reminded him. “I rescued you from ninety-nine years of junkyard dog duty.”

  “And I didn't eat you,” the dragon pointed out, logic it was hard to find fault with. “Carpet,” he commanded, “put the gold down.”

  The carpet didn't budge.

  The dragon told it, “Carpet, I take back my giving you to Grace Pizzelli.”

  Still nothing. It seemed the carpet didn't do take-backs.

  As though he thought I wasn't the kind of person to hold a grudge, the dragon told me, “I didn't eat you, AND I gave you my magic carpet.”

  “Liar! Cheater!”

  Taking his cue from the gypsy king, he said, “It's just good gamesmanship.” Then, sounding considerably less friendly, he added, “Now unload the gold before I change my mind about letting you and your sister go.”

  Sullenly, I gave the carpet the order, “Carpet, dump the gold.”

  The clever carpet, catching my mood, flipped, and sent the gold crashing to the cave floor.

  “My gold better not be dinged or dented,” the dragon grumbled.

  While he stepped forward to examine the spilled treasure, I saw that Emily's eyes were open. Open and enormous. Apparently, this early in a new day, after having slept most of yesterday, she had the strength to be awakened, if not by an urgent sister, at least by a miffed dragon.

  Quietly, I motioned for her to get onto the carpet. I figured quiet was good. We didn't need to draw the dragon's attention to us, now that his gold was off our carpet and safely where he wanted it on his cavern floor.

  Emily crawled onto the carpet. I'm not the one who can judge whether she didn't have the strength to stand or if that was a stealth move.

  I sat behind her so that I could hold on to her, and I did my best to ignore how I could feel the heat of Emily's skin through our clothes. She definitely had a fever. I whispered, “Carpet, up, and out of here.” I hurriedly added, “And don't lose your cargo.”

  Emily's fingers dug into my arm, and she didn't loosen her grip, even after the carpet straightened from flying out of the dragon's cave and into the morning light. “You have a knack for complicated plans I don't understand,” she told me.

  “That wasn't my plan,” I told her.

  “You said you had a plan, a good one.”

  She'd picked a fine time to be listening.

  “Yeah,” I snapped, “but that wasn't it.”

  “Off plan. Off plan,” Emily said. I'm guessing she was trying to mimic the slightly mechanical voice that our car's GPS uses to tell us we're off route, but her voice was a ragged whisper. “Take your first safe opportunity to make a U-turn.”

  The fact that Emily—in her state—was trying to use humor to make me feel better did make me feel better. But it made me feel worse at the same time. And, wow, did I ever wish we could U-turn right out of this hateful game.

  But speaking of directions, I realized that we weren't heading in one; we were just hovering about a carpet-length or so from the cave's entrance, because all I'd told the carpet was to get out of there. This was not a safe place to be, relative to a dragon with a track record of changing his mind.

  I considered our options. Returning to Emily's home was pointless—there was nothing there for us, not even a roof. We could go back to the arcade, where I could try to convince the gypsy king to rethink his sentence on us. I could argue that of course it counted for me to have returned the sprites' gold on Emily's behalf ... Yeah, like that was going to get us anywhere.

  I told the carpet, “Take us once more to the island of the sprites.”

  “Sprites?” Emily asked as the carpet started moving. “But we don't have any gold to give them.”

  “I'm working on that part of the plan,” I told her.

  “Okay,” she said. She leaned back against me, which I worried was a sign that she was making herself comfortable for going back to sleep, which was bad news, two and a half minutes after waking up.

  But she didn't fall asleep right away. She said, “I'm sure you'll come up with something. You're so good at this. You always have great ideas.”

  It was hard to believe my ears. “I'm terrible at this,” I argued. “My ideas stink.”

  “No,” she said. Her voice was trembling. She was trembling. All she had was nine miserable points, and that was falling fast. />
  I told her, “You shouldn't be talking. Save your strength.”

  “No,” she repeated more forcefully, “I need to say this.”

  I figured it was best not to put her in a position where she felt she had to argue, so I didn't interrupt again.

  She said, “You're smart, and you're brave, and you're resourceful, and I am so proud to be your sister.” She tightened her arms around my arms, the best she could do to hug me, given my position behind her.

  In my smart, brave, resourceful way—I burst into tears.

  “It's okay, Grace,” she assured me, her voice little more than a sigh in my ear. “Whatever happens, it's okay. I love you, and I know I can never repay all you've done for me.” This was pretty heady stuff for someone who'd always thought of herself as the “un-” sister, the one who wasn't pretty, or smart, or popular, the one whose own father couldn't come up with anything more exciting to praise her for than being levelheaded—which had always struck me as a scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel compliment. But it suddenly occurred to me that it wasn't. Okay, so, levelheaded, steady. Yeah, just like the tortoise who won the race. So what if that's not the most glamorous comparison in the world?

  It's not the worst thing to be, either.

  Emily said, “I wish I could be as quick-witted as you, as able to think on my feet. You don't need to cheat, because you never give up.”

  Well, once she said that, I had to come up with a new plan.

  And Emily even stayed awake long enough for me to coach her on what to say, while I basked in the glow of me and my sister, together.

  The morning had not progressed much beyond early when we arrived at the city of the sprites.

  Emily was slumped against me, once more asleep, her breathing loud and labored, reminiscent of my grandfather's when he was in hospice. I had the carpet swing down to a new building that was going up, where four sprite construction workers with tiny little lunch pails and orange hardhats were too busy sitting on a beam and whistling at passersby to notice us hovering beside them at their fifth-floor level. I got to deliver the classic line from those cheesy sci-fi movies that are sometimes rerun between infomercials: “Take me to your leader.”