by Shutta Crum
Thomas caught his breath, and then he let it out in one incredulous sigh. They were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen! Their smooth, iridescent baby scales shimmered, even in the gloom of the cave. Tiny wings glittered—gold and silver—as they unfolded from rippling backs. Their fuzzy topknots fluttered with excitement. Their deeply lidded bronze-colored eyes swept from Eleanor to Thomas and back to the princess. They seemed to be wondering who, or what, this other thing was that walked on two legs.
Several of the dragonlets crowded around the shallow basin to drink. After they had their fill, they came to Eleanor, who was perched on the ledge that surrounded the pool. She scratched under chins and ran her finger down their backs. Her eyes had a faraway, dreamy look. “See their gold and silver wings, and their glinting eyes? This is the dragon’s real treasure, her children. I think the old tales of dragons sitting on hoards of treasure were brought back by wanderers who didn’t know that they were seeing a mother with her young.”
Thomas stood quietly by Eleanor’s side. One of the biggest babies had the courage to come down to the floor and nudge Thomas’s ankle with his snout. Then he looked up at Thomas as though expecting … what? Thomas bent over and scratched it along the back of its head, and was surprised to hear a purring sound. He didn’t know dragons purred! It was a soft, sweet rumble.
Thomas smiled—but only for a moment. Suddenly there was a splashing tumult in the pool. Two of the dragonlets were wrestling, wrapping their sinewy bodies around each other and rolling over and over in the water. Princess Eleanor jumped up and cried, “Here! Stop that! You’ll awaken your mother, and you know how grouchy she can be. You don’t want to do that.”
Thomas reacted instinctively from his years as a big brother. He leaned over the pool and pulled a dragonlet from the snarling ball with one hand. Then he picked up the second dragonlet with his other hand. He tucked the creatures firmly against his sides. They were wiggly and solid, but no more so than his brothers and sisters were when he had to separate them.
“Enough of that,” ordered Thomas as loudly as he dared, “or there’ll be no special treat tonight for you!”
The two little dragons suddenly stopped wiggling and craned their necks around to look up at him. “He started it,” complained the one with bluer scales.
“I did not!” snarled the one with redder scales, jutting his jaw out.
Thomas almost dropped them.
The astonished look on Sir Thomas’s face made Eleanor laugh. She put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. “Aren’t they absolutely wonderful?” she said.
“I—I didn’t know, my lady, I—” Thomas stuttered as he set them both gently down.
“No, I don’t suppose many do know they can speak,” Eleanor said. “In battle, I doubt that anyone takes the time to sit down and chat with them.”
Suddenly a soft question came from behind the princess. “Who’s this?”
Eleanor twisted around upon the wide ledge to reveal a much smaller dragon hiding behind her. “Bittany,” the princess said, lifting the tiny dragon onto her lap with one hand. “There you are! You don’t need to hide. This is Sir Thomas, a friend of mine.”
Bittany tucked her sleek crimson head under Eleanor’s arm; the rest of her wiggled excitedly in the princess’s lap. “Hello,” came Bittany’s muffled response from her hiding place.
The princess stroked Bittany’s back. “She was the last one hatched, and so she’s the tiniest. The eggs hatch over the course of several years. However, don’t let this shy performance fool you; she is a little terror when she wants to be.”
“Me?” asked Bittany, suddenly whipping her head out and looking up at Eleanor.
“Yes, you are, sometimes,” the princess answered, and tapped the tip of the dragonlet’s nose.
For that bit of good news, Bittany clambered partway up Eleanor’s chest with her short front legs and licked the princess under the chin with a dainty tongue.
Thomas smiled and then felt something tugging at his legs. He looked down. The two dragonlets he’d separated were chewing at his breeches.
Thomas pulled the cloth out of their mouths. “Hey!”
Princess Eleanor leaned over and raised a warning finger at them. “Sir Thomas is our guest,” she said firmly. “It is not mannerly to chew on the breeches of guests.”
Then, to Thomas’s surprise, the two dragons lowered themselves and rolled so that their stomachs were exposed.
“They turn belly-up when apologizing,” Eleanor explained. “It’s as though they are offering their softest spot to be hurt in return, in case they have unwittingly offended.” She added, “You need to touch their bellies, or tickle them there, so they know you’ve accepted their apology.”
Thomas knelt down and wonderingly touched their soft underbellies. What a surprise dragons were! The two rolled back up and settled comfortably by his feet.
The princess said, “The larger ones are teething, so they like to chew on soft things. It makes their gums feel better. Still, they need to learn their manners.”
“Me have manners,” Bittany piped up.
“I have manners,” Eleanor corrected her.
“Me too!” said Bittany.
The princess laughed and rolled her eyes at Thomas. “You see, Thomas. The young ones need someone to help with their training. Otherwise, we may have another unwanted dragon war in a hundred years, or less. It can only help to raise a clutch of educated dragons. Their mother, when she wakens for short periods, trains them in fire-breathing, flying, and other dragonly subjects such as dragon history and storytelling. I teach manners, elocution, and courtly subjects like—”
Bittany interrupted. “Tumbleson knows lots of stories! Sometimes I want to climb up, up, up on Mama when he tells a scary one. Only, Nursie said no when Mama’s sleeping, ’cause Mama gets angry.” Bittany looked up at Eleanor.
“That’s right,” said the princess.
“Tumbleson is that one, there.” She pointed out a pale gray dragonlet sitting off to the side. “He was named Tumbleson because immediately after he hatched, he tumbled out of the nest. He’s being trained to be the family historian.” She smiled at the quiet Tumbleson.
Turning back to Bittany, she added, “But remember, Bittany, we are not supposed to interrupt when someone is speaking.”
“Me sorry, Nursie,” Bittany said as her topknot quivered. Then she turned so her belly was exposed. Eleanor tickled Bittany’s belly, and the tiny dragon righted herself and proceeded to bathe a back leg with her darting tongue.
“They call me Nursie,” Eleanor explained.
A dragon from the floor spoke up. “We’ve had seven nursies, counting this one.”
Thomas looked down. Around his feet had gathered the rest of the brood.
Thomas fleetingly wondered what had happened to the other nursies, but did not have time to ask before another dragon said, “Rendall knows how to count.”
Yet another chimed in, “I can count to thirteen. One, two—”
“Who wants to hear you count?” scoffed a bigger dragonlet.
“Show-off,” one of them muttered.
“Dragons!” warned the princess in a low, stern voice. They fell silent. “That’s better.”
After a moment, Tumbleson nosed forward through his siblings and wobbled a bit as he sat back on his haunches. The dragonlet raised his head high. “May I ask a question, Nursie?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Our guest said there might be a special treat tonight. We were wondering what it might be.” Suddenly twelve sets of eager, glowing eyes fastened on to Thomas.
Thomas licked his lips. He hadn’t thought that far ahead; he’d just said what he usually said at home when he had to break up a row. He thought of the bedtime rituals in his home. “Do you like stories?”
“Oh, yes …,” came the reply from all of them at once. There was a chorus of “Tumbleson tells stories!” “Are your stories scary?” “Are you a historian?” �
�I loooove stories!”
“Shhh!” warned the princess. “Please. One at a time.”
A larger dragonlet spoke up. “Do you know a scary story?”
Thomas thought a moment and said, “Scary? Like about fighting drag—” He caught himself and stopped in time when he saw Eleanor shaking her head vigorously. “Oh. Ah …” He floundered, trying to think of a suitably scary topic that did not involve dragons. “Um …”
“Do you know a story about battling with shiny two-legged men of metal?” asked Tumbleson.
“Carrying long stingers?” added a sibling. “Or men of metal riding atop long-legged beasts with flowing manes and tails?”
“Knights,” whispered the princess. “And horses.”
“Oh, yes!” said Thomas. “I know those kinds of stories.”
“Can you make it not too scary?” came one timid voice.
So it was that after the dragonlets had eaten a supper of raw fish from the bay, and he and Princess Eleanor had eaten a delicious meal of cooked fish, Sir Thomas found himself lying on a bed of sweet grasses surrounded by sleepy baby dragons and one tired princess. Thomas yawned and, as promised, told a story of Sir Galahad riding off in shiny armor on a quest to save a damsel locked in a tower.
It was one of his father’s favorite stories. Thomas was happy to share it, for as he spoke, he thought of his father and how excited Da would be to hear of the dragons. Thomas told himself he needed to remember every detail about them. Oh, what stories he’d be able to tell when he returned home!
When Thomas finished the story, he heard drowsy grunts, whimpers, and soft snores from the baby dragons and Princess Eleanor. Cradling them all were the humming, deep exhalations of the sleeping dragon mother.
Tumbleson crawled toward Thomas and nuzzled him. He said, “You forgot the ending.”
“The ending?” said Thomas. “You mean, They lived happily ever after?”
“No.” Tumbleson prodded him again. “The dragon ending,” he said. “As was the way, it was done.”
“As was the way, it was done?” asked Thomas.
Tumbleson had curled into a ball and closed his eyes. “Yes,” he murmured, and drifted off to sleep.
Thomas stroked Tumbleson’s soft topknot of baby feathers and whispered, “As was the way, it was done.”
What a fine ending to a tale, thought Thomas. I’ll have to tell Da.
Thomas made himself comfortable in the soft nest. Then he put his hand in his pocket and brought out the wooden horse. Clutching it close, he shut his tired eyes. Bittany scooted over and curled up behind his knees. She snuggled her tail around his foot, and began to purr.
Thomas awoke when a raspy tongue washed over his face. He found Bittany with her front legs on his chest, staring intently into his face. “Me helped you get awake,” she said.
“Bittany, didn’t I tell you to let Sir Thomas sleep?” Eleanor walked over, lifted Bittany from Thomas’s chest, and set her down in the grassy bed. “He had a difficult journey getting here. We need to treat him gently for a few days,” she cautioned.
“I’m fine, my lady,” he said to the princess, though he was feeling quite stiff all over. “I slept well.” And he had, to his amazement—sleeping so close to Bridgoltha! He shut his eyes for a moment more and felt the deep hum of the dragon mother’s breathing. Good.
When he opened his eyes again, Bittany had rolled over, letting him know she was sorry for waking him. He yawned and sat up to tickle her apologetic belly. Bittany righted herself and asked, “Want to play with your toy beast?”
Thomas was puzzled. “My toy beast?”
Bittany scrabbled around in the sleeping nest and uncovered Isabel’s horse.
Thomas picked it up and brushed away some dried bits of grass. It had been played with by Isabel for a couple of years, and Thomas had to admit that it was so scuffed up, it might be mistaken for a beast! “It must have fallen out of my hand during the night,” he said. “It’s my little sister Isabel’s horse. Da carved it.”
Bittany asked, “Does your horse-beast help you sleep?”
Thomas nodded. “Yes, it does.”
Bittany sniffed it and, leaning close, whispered, “Sister has a rock in the bed. No one’s supposed to know!”
Thomas laughed.
“And Rendall’s got a stick. Your horse-beast’s not scary. Can we play with it?”
Thomas started to say certainly when he noticed all the other dragonlets wide-awake and watching from beyond the sleeping area. Did they all want to play with Isabel’s horse? He wasn’t sure what to say.
Eleanor answered for him, “Perhaps after breakfast. And only if Sir Thomas feels strong enough to play. Now, I’ve brought fresh water for you.” There was some halfhearted grumbling, but all the babies filed out into the general nursery area and were soon interested in the pool.
Later, accompanied by the princess and Thomas, they traveled up a wide tunnel that led them beneath a towering overhang and out into the sunlight. On this side of the mountain, the cave’s entrance was immense and opened onto a high ledge. They were far above the beach in the distance.
The dragonlets crowded the edge, peering over the straight drop. Thomas kept glancing at them. He was tempted to snatch them away from a possible fall.
“The little ones take flying lessons here,” said Eleanor. “You don’t need to worry. They are quite safe, but they won’t show you their skills. Most of them are only beginning their lessons, so their mother must be here when they fly.”
Looking out at the red-pebbled beach, the blue of the bay shaded by wispy white clouds, and the green countryside beyond, Thomas said, “I can see why Queen Bridgoltha loves her island.”
Princess Eleanor nodded, scanning the horizon in silence. Then she said, “I love this view as well. And to see the young ones fly against the golden sunset … Oh! It takes my breath away. When I leave, I will miss that.”
“Wyndeth can do a loopy-loop,” said one dragon sitting by Thomas’s foot.
“Can he? I’d love to see that someday,” said Thomas.
Then the dragonlets let loose with many tiny snorting puffs of smoke. Thomas’s eyes widened. What were they doing now? He glanced toward the princess.
Eleanor was smiling. “They’re laughing. Wyndeth is a she.”
“Oh. I’m …” Thomas stopped in the middle of his sentence and studied the group. He saw one yellowish dragon with its head hanging and its topknot limp. It was not snorting. He stepped to its side. “Wyndeth?”
She nodded without raising her head.
Thomas sat down beside her and leaned back on his elbows. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Wyndeth looked at him gravely. She laid a foot lightly upon his stomach. Without a shirt, Thomas’s chest and stomach were exposed and her small claws were sharp. Thomas felt them pressing on his skin, but she was careful not to hurt him. After a moment she withdrew her foot.
As Eleanor looked down at the scene, her eyes shone. She nodded. “You are truly a Knight of the Realm, Sir Thomas.” Then, with a little laugh, she added, “And we must do something about your attire. A Knight of the Realm should not go about half-dressed. Though, I must admit, you are fresher-smelling than the first time we met.”
Thomas blushed, remembering his and Jon’s slide through Heartwind’s stall.
The princess continued, “I think I can find something that might fit you from one of the previous nurses. There are a few bits and pieces stowed away in one of the smaller caves.”
Thomas played with the dragons, scooting pebbles off the ledge. He instructed them in sharing. They each got a turn to nose Isabel’s wooden horse-beast past a line Thomas had scraped on the ledge.
A few of the smaller dragons were growing grouchy. “Time for naps!” called Eleanor. One or two of the bigger dragonlets complained under their breath, but they prodded the sleepier ones along as they all trundled back into the nursery. Thomas carried a dozing Bittany. Her tiny claws gripped Isabel’s horse close to
her chest.
Inside, Thomas was in charge of getting the babies into one heap while the princess went in search of a shirt for him. Settling the dragonlets wasn’t easy, but Thomas had plenty of experience getting young ones to lie down for a nap.
“You!” He pointed to a purple dragon trying to look innocent. “Keep your wings to yourself; stop poking everyone. Fold them up. This is naptime, not playtime.” Then he grabbed a silvery dragon and, lifting it into the air, admonished, “It’s not polite to chew on your sister’s tail. Stop it this instant.” When Thomas set the silver one down, the dragonlet showed his belly and apologized to his sister.
By the time Eleanor returned, Thomas had all the dragonlets napping—or, at least, resting and not disturbing those around them. Also, he had managed to pry Isabel’s horse out of Bittany’s grasp and return it to his pocket. He tried on the short shirt the princess brought him and found it fit very well, although it had a bit more embroidery on it than he might have liked.
“I’m afraid it’s a piece of ladies’ clothing,” Eleanor said. “Do you mind?”
Sir Thomas had been taught to take all gifts graciously, and it did fit well. “It is a perfect fit, my lady. Thank you.” He bowed.
“We do not need to stand on such high formality here, Thomas.”
“Thank you,” he said again, simply. Then he asked the question that had been on his mind. “Princess, what happened to the other nursemaids?”
Eleanor smiled. “Has that been worrying you? Two or three were found to be unsuitable and were dropped off again with a warning not to speak of this place. I’m sure they’ve kept their peace! One does not lightly break a promise to Queen Bridgoltha. One was old and sickly, and Bridgoltha cared for her until she died. And a couple of them … well, to be perfectly truthful, I haven’t asked about them.”
