The Faerie Godmother's Apprentice Wore Green

by Nicky Kyle

  "No, no," Louisa fluttered her hands nervously. "No, I was just—the lady was telling me a story, that was all, and it wasn't a happy one. You've heard stories like that, the kind that don't have happy endings, yes?"

  The old men exchanged a look. "Heard 'em once or twice," the darker one said drily. The bald one snorted and rubbed gnarled fingers swollen by arthritis across his chin with a sandpaper rasp. "Once or twice," he repeated.

  "Mistress Dea was just telling me an old tale," Louisa explained, her voice hearty with forced cheer, "and I had forgotten how—how sad it is, that the girl in it had to leave, er, when the dragon carried her away, and how she never saw her parents again and nobody ever managed to find her and bring her home and, well we were talking about our dragon, and Mistress Dea wanted to know if it had carried any young ladies off and I said of course it hadn't, it's not as though we've any princesses in these parts after all, so what would a dragon want with anyone around here?"

  "Might want the eatin'," muttered the man who had spoken first.

  His companion elbowed him in his skinny ribs. "Don't scare the lass, Sam."

  "Got a dragon flappin' around, don't need me jawin' to make folk afraid…"

  Louisa raised her voice over their bickering. "It is quite sweet of you to be concerned for me, thank you, but I really am fine. It was just the story upset me, 'twas all."

  "What story is that, now?"

  "The one about Princess Aldeaim. You've heard it, I'm sure."

  The old men exchanged shrugs. "Can't say as I recall it," said the first speaker, the one his friend had called Sam.

  "Give an old man a hint eh, there's a girl," said the other man. "The old memory don't be so sharp as it once was."

  Louisa glanced at Dea, who was studiously examining the table and doing nothing that would draw any attention her way. She didn't appear to care much about Louisa's conversation with Gaffer Haush and Master Sellbick. Louisa hesitated a moment, then said with deliberate cheer, "Well, it's that one about the princess who was so beautiful that everyone who met her fell in love right on the spot, only she had been cursed by a jealous sorceress who froze her heart—poor thing—so she could never, ever fall in love back."

  She carefully did not look at Dea as she rushed on to add, "Well the sorceress locked her in a tower and put a hundred beasts around it to guard her and planted thorns that grew as tall as oak trees all around it, because she knew there was a brave prince who was in love with Princess Aldeaim who wanted to break the spell with a kiss of true love and she wanted to stop him of course, only he fought all the monsters and cut down all the thorns so when it looked like he was going to get into the tower and rescue the princess anyway the sorceress sent a dragon to carry Princess Aldeaim away.

  "That's how the story goes anyway," Louisa finished with a defiant little mutter, "although sometimes folk say it was the sorceress who turned herself into a dragon…"

  "Lovely story, lass." The freckle-faced man patted her warmly on her shoulder while Sam nodded.

  Louisa sniffled a moment, then smiled again and briskly changed the subject. "Well! It's far too late in the evening to start storytelling now anyway! Can I fetch another drink for either of you fellows?"

  The bald man opened his mouth but the other one elbowed him in the ribs again. "Seein' as it's gettin' so late, methinks we'll be headin' on home now, lass. Been a fine evening, no sense dragging it out too long, eh? Just suffer for that in the morning, eh?"

  "That's exactly right, Master Sellbick." Louisa nodded firmly and, with a combination of chatter and compliments, managed to chivvy them both out the door. Before it shut the women could hear the men bickering with one another again as they trudged away from the inn.

  "Don't see what you're in such an all-fired rush to get home for all of a sudden…"

  "Wouldn't know a hint if it dropped on your head, would you? Couldn't you tell the lass wanted to be alone with her young man?"

  "Young man? You mean Dane? He went home with his da, oh, maybe two hours ago."

  "Not him, the new fellow who was sitting with her."

  "New fellow? I thought that was a lass. Wasn't it?"

  "Eh… hard to say, hard to say. Coulda been. Don't mean little Louisa didn't want to be alone with her…"

  "Well, that'll be a pretty pickle for our Dane, won't it?"

  "Eh, depends, depends…"

  Louisa, her face crimson, shut the door firmly and latched it with a bit of wood on a hinge. "Well!" she said loudly as she walked back over to Dea's table, then seemed unable to think of what to say next so she flopped back down on her chair with a sharp huff of dismay and sat there blushing. They were now alone in the main room of the inn, aside from the old man snoring quietly to himself in the corner chair. Unless he was very good at impersonating the noise made by a hive of bees he was most definitely asleep; with Louisa's parents having gone to bed hours ago they were the only two people left awake in the whole building.

  Dea picked idly at a bit of dirt under one of her claw-like nails. Eventually she said, "It's funny, I don't recall there being any sorceress in the version of the story I know."

  "There's always got to be a wicked sorceress," Louisa said loftily, "if the story is going to be any good. Or sometimes a wizard, or something like that—but somebody magical and wicked, anyway. Otherwise how would bad things ever happen to the heroes and their ladies?"

  Dea shrugged. "There's always life I suppose. It tends to provide more than enough excitement, the good and bad sort both, without the help of any wizards that I've ever noticed."

  "Oh, in real life of course," Louisa said. "But not in stories."

  Dea's eyes flicked up to meet Louisa's gaze and she raised an eyebrow.

  Louisa's cheeks, which has just started to resume their normal peachy-pink color, flushed dark again. "Er, which doesn't make much sense when the story was your real life, I suppose…"

  Dea chuckled. "It's all right. I got used to the whole 'passing into legend' thing a long time ago. It's something you have to come to terms with, if you're going to be a dragon."

  "You really…" Louisa paused and chewed on her lip a moment, then continued in a hushed voice, "You really wanted—want—to become a dragon?"

  "Of course!" Dea laughed. "It's not something that tends to happen to a person by accident, you know?"

  "I don't see how I would," Louisa said waspishly. "Up until tonight all I knew about dragons was the regular sort of stories people tell about them burning villages and fighting knights. I never heard of dragons who are really faerie godmothers, or who used to be people, or who rescue princesses instead of kidnapping them."

  "I'm sorry," Dea said. "I wasn't trying to make fun. Sometimes I forget not everyone has had as much experience with dragons as me."

  Louisa sniffed but her stiff shoulders softened. "That's all right. I expect you've had many more interesting experiences than everybody in all of Styseville combined, traveling around like you do."

  "You could have adventures too, if you want," Dea told her. "I suggest starting with the education because while a natural magical gift is all well and good, it can be dangerous without training, but once you've gotten a handle on your abilities—"

  "My abilities!" Louisa exclaimed. "Now here, mistress, you listen: I'm just an ordinary girl, all right? I haven't got any magical abilities, and I certainly can't summon dragons — imaginary or otherwise! I'm sure you mean well, but you're making a mistake."

  "I rarely make mistakes about dragons," Dea said.

  "You did this time," Louisa said, her voice firm now. "I appreciate you trying to help us with our dragon problem, but really, what we need is a knight."

  Dea shook her head. "This isn't the sort of dragon a knight can slay. At least not in the ordinary way. This is the sort of dragon that more often leads to witch-burning than dragon-slaying, and that's not the kind of solution you want—you least of all."

  "Nonsense," Louisa said shrilly. Whatever spell Dea's words had c
ast on her had been broken by the interruption of the old men, and she was no longer listening. "Truly mistress, you've told an interesting tale, but it's not the first time I've heard someone too deep in their cups make impossible claims." She rose to her feet. "Unless you'd like more cider to wash your words down with, I think it's past time to call it a night."

  Dea caught her wrist before she could move away. "Please, you really must believe me. The dragon is yours, and—"

  "Fiddle-faddle," Louisa retorted, pulling free. "Now, the inn is closing. Do you wish a room for the night, or will you be moving on?" Her round face had gone hard and mullish and her eyes glittered stubbornly in the fading light of the fire.

  Dea sighed. "I shall take a room, thank you," she said evenly. "I should hate to wander at night, with a dragon on the loose." Her gaze was pointed but Louisa ducked it and turned away.

  "Follow me, mistress," Louisa said loftily, "I shall show you to your room."

  "Thank you," Dea said again, her voice mild. She hefted her pack over one shoulder and followed the stiff-backed girl up a narrow set of stairs and down a hallway lit only by the candle Louisa carried. She proceeded Dea into the small bedroom and lit the taper on the table within.

  "Will you need anything else tonight?" Louisa asked. There was distance in her tone and a challenge in her eyes, but Dea just shook her head. "Then I wish you pleasant dreams," Louisa said, and turned haughtily on her heel.

  Dea let her leave without further protest. She put down her pack and looked around her temporary quarters. The room was small, with no furniture beside the bed with its straw-stuffed mattress and the rickety table that held a washbasin and pitcher in addition to the candle. There was a small un-paned window, its shutters open to bathe the room in moonlight that gave more light than the solitary candlestick. The dragon's apprentice sighed and paced a little, and looked out at the hazy half-moon that gleamed in the sky like a disapproving eye.

  "It's not like I didn't try and tell her," Dea said tartly to the moon, and pulled the shutter closed to block the cold, pale light. She took off her boots and cloak and scarf and rolled herself into the hollow in the straw mattress that dozens of bodies had left before her. She didn't bother to undress; she doubted she would be in the bed very long. While the dragon did not visit Styesville every night, Dea was certain it would come on this one. There was no way that Louisa's dreams would not be filled with scales and flames after what she had learned tonight.

  Dea's suspicions were not disappointed. Less than two hours after she'd closed her eyes she was awakened by the sound of people shrieking and the dull, heavy beat of wings against the air. Dea rose and pulled her boots back on, then arranged her scarf and cloak carefully to cover her scales. She did not hurry as she walked downstairs and out of the inn.

  Outside all was in an uproar. People clad in nightshirts and untied boots milled around in a panic, all shouting at one another, many of them carrying vessels filled with water and others clutching tight-strung bows and fistfuls of arrows. Most of the archers were clustered around a knot of children, all of them too small yet to be of much help fighting fires, and most of the older ones holding wailing babies or squirming toddlers. The armed adults watched the skies with drawn faces and nocked arrows, as though ready to shoot down any clawed paw that reached for the little ones.

  Dea snorted and clenched her lips tight so she would not laugh. It was cruel, she knew, but she could not help but find amusement in such a display of foolishness. As if any of their little hunting bows could hurt an actual dragon! Still, she had to admire their bravery, she told herself; how many times had she seen hardened soldiers flee from the shadows of a dragon's wing? These peasants were outmatched even by an imaginary dragon, but that hadn't stopped them trying to protect their homes and families from the beast riding the moonlit clouds overhead. She ought not to judge them so harshly. As Louisa had said, most people did not have her experience with dragons.

  Reminded of the girl, Dea looked around for her now. She found Louisa by the village well, passing crockery and buckets down the line of villagers jostling around it. They tossed the contents of their jugs and jars on their homes, wetting the thatch and churning the dirt underfoot into a kind of muddy soup. Overhead the dragon swooped down close and roared.

  Dea had to bite a knuckle to keep from objecting. She had heard all manner of dragon-roars in her life, but never had she heard one that sounded quite so much like a bear. If she had still required any evidence to convince her that this was a conjured beast and not an actual dragon, she had it now. As a creature summoned from Louisa's dreams, the dragon was constrained by the limits of her memories and imagination. While Louisa had never experienced the bone-shivering grumble of a dragon's bellow, she had doubtless heard a bear at least once or twice, so that was from where this dragon drew its voice.

  Its size and ferocity came from stories. The beast's teeth and claws were well enough, long and sharp and seemingly made of silver, and its scales gleamed convincingly in the moonlight. Its stunted wingspan could never have lifted a creature of such girth however, and its tail thrashed in a manner that would have been decidedly inconvenient if its flight-path had been dependent on natural laws. Dea chuckled, as impressed as she was amused. Louisa certainly did have talent; all she lacked was education and scope. Dea hoped to offer her both, preferably before her marital jitters burned this little town down.

  Just for the sake of being absolutely sure, she dug in her pouch and took out a bit of twisted wire that looked like something halfway between a jeweler's loop and a bracelet. It was made of strands of silver and bronze twisted together around a lens that looked like tinted glass but was in reality a thin-shaved scrap of dragon scale. Dea raised the loop to her eye and looked at the dragon through it. Her lips moved but whatever words she whispered were lost under the sounds of panicking villagers. Pale gems the size of ants—moonstones mainly—woven in the loop of wire glinted. So did the dragon when viewed through the lens of the scale. The beast looked like a tracery of itself made in ribbons of glittering pyrite and amber. Those ribbons all reached down to something on the ground: Louisa. When viewed through the scale she, too, looked like she was shot through with strands of light. Those strands pulsed, power flowing up them in heartbeat bulges to the dragon overhead.

  Dea smirked and put the tool away.

  The dragon roared twice more and unleashed a burst of rosy flame that crisped the edges of three cottages and made everyone below scream and duck. By the time the villagers had picked themselves out of the mud and re-gathered their wits, the dragon was gone. Dea ran for the edge of town and scrambled up the blacksmith's roof. From her perch there she could see the faint shadow of the beast flying away, its wings silent now though they still beat the air, or seemed to. The dragon flickered and faded, as though it were passing behind heavy clouds, and then was gone.

  Dea smiled grimly and sat back against the slope of the roof, listening to the sounds of Styesville putting itself back in order. It took a little over an hour; clearly they had practice at visits from this dragon and had whittled the chaotic aftermath down to an efficient flutter. When she judged the last of the doors and shutters had been fastened, Dea jumped down from her roof and returned to the inn. She took care to walk in the deepest parts of the village's shadows; the sight of a scale-faced woman skulking around after the dragon's visit would raise ugly questions at the most, if not an outright mob, and Dea had no desire to become entangled in such unpleasantness.

  When she entered the inn she found Louisa sweeping mud out the backdoor while a portly man who was surely her father collected the mugs left behind by the valiant defenders of the village. Dea stepped back into the corner to wait. Louisa's pink cheeks were pale and her shoulders shook. Her father chattered but Louisa made little reply beyond forced smiles and nervous giggles. Eventually he left, yawning, telling his daughter she could leave the rest of the mess for the morning.

  "Yes, da," Louisa said. "I'll just finish this bi
t by the door first, 'fore it dries."

  Dea waited until the sound of the innkeeper's footsteps faded then drew back her hood and stepped forward into the dim circle of light from the hearth's embers. Louisa yelped when she saw her, the broom falling to the floorboards with a clatter. A snort came from upstairs and Dea tensed, but no other sounds followed. She walked forward and picked up the broom, holding it out like an offering. Louisa hesitated, her round face wan and drawn, then finally wrapped trembling fingers around the handle.

  "That was exciting," Dea said drily. "Are dragon raids always like that here?"

  Louisa flinched. "At least no one was hurt," she said, defensively. "Nobody got burned or stolen or ate."

  "People are among a dragon's least favorite food," Dea said. Her smile made it hard to tell whether or not she was joking; Louisa decided not to ask. "They much prefer talking to folk to eating them. More interesting that way, and they might as well eat a sheep or a salmon and save the people for gossiping with after the meal. Or during, if they have strong stomachs. Dragons aren't exactly dainty eaters, most of them."

  Louisa relaxed a little at Dea's cheerful, casual tone, but she did not smile back.

  "Frankly, I was impressed at how efficiently everyone handled things," Dea continued. "The line for water at the well, the archers watching the little ones—not that they needed to, but I suppose they wouldn't know that — the speed with which everything got cleaned up after and how readily everyone returned home rather than staying here 'til dawn to gossip… it was all very neatly done, really." Her gaze sharpened. "So was the dragon, for that matter. A very impressive creation, considering it was made by someone who's never seen such a beast before."

  Louisa gulped. "But I didn't — "

  "You did," Dea interrupted, not ungently. "I watched. I saw it, and I saw where it was anchored. The dragon is yours, Louisa."