by GARY DARBY
I lower my gaze, as I’m embarrassed at what I have to say next. “It’ll take me a little while to get into town, it’s a long walk for me, but I’ll hurry as fast as I can and meet you at Phigby’s shop.”
Cara shakes her head. “No,” she answers firmly. “It’s too long a walk there and back.” She eyes me and cocks her head to one side. “You're kind of anxious about my speaking to Malo, aren’t you?”
“Uh, anxious would be more than an understatement.”
She crosses her arms, and I can see the fingers of one hand tapping on her forearm. They suddenly stop as if she’s made a decision. “All right, we’ll do it your way. I won’t say anything to Malo. However, when it’s fully dark, meet me by the stepping-stones that cross the brook. We’ll sky down to Draconton together on Wind Song and afterward, I’ll bring you back here.”
She gives me a little smile. “You won’t have to walk, Malo won’t have to know, and we’ll see Phigby together to talk about your witch.” Her smile turns into a grin. “And I’ll get a look at his new book. Deal?”
I let out my breath. I really, really don’t want to ride on her dragon. Painful as it might be to walk the distance, I’d rather endure that than sky on a stinking dragon. However, she did say we’d ride together, and that means I’ll have to sit very, very close to her. I might even have to put my arms around her waist to hold on. How can I say no?
“Stepping stones when it’s completely dark,” I answer. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” she replies and actually giggles. “This will be fun, sneaking out and all. Besides, we’ll have Phigby all to ourselves, his shop will be closed, no customers to bother us and a brand-new book to explore.”
She settles her bow and quiver over her shoulder and starts for the gate but stops. “And Hooper,” she says, “stop with the ‘miss’ this and ‘mistress’ that. Just call me Cara, all right?”
I duck my head and smile. “Yes miss — I mean, yes . . . Cara.”
With that, she smiles, lifts the gate bar and heads off through the paddocks, leaving me to watch the most beautiful, and perhaps the most stubborn girl in the world practically dance toward the birthing barn.
I pick up my rake and toss it into my wheelbarrow. Up until now, life hasn’t seemed very fair, but starting tonight, maybe, just maybe life has decided that a little goodness should finally come my way.
Besides that, while Cara distracts Master Phigby, perhaps I can sneak a look at his dragon jewel book. If so, and it can show me how to work my jewel, then maybe more than just a little goodness will come my way after tonight.
Now, that would indeed be a miracle.
Chapter 7
The rest of the day goes along like most of my days. I add more dung to the manure pile, feed and water dragons, and stay out of Malo’s way as much as possible. Time seems to move more slowly than usual, though. I keep looking up at the sun, hoping to see it slide ever closer to the horizon, marking sunset.
Finally, the call for last meal sounds. I hurry through my food, the butt end of a loaf of bread, a small slice of goat cheese, and a bowl of thin soup made of carrots, potatoes, plus a tiny portion of meat that I can’t identify. It may be a slice of rodent rump for all I know. When you’re next to starving, you just eat, even if it’s mystery meat that you’re chewing.
I make my way to my little corner of the barn, thinking that with the sun setting Scamper will be there. He isn’t, but I’m not too worried. Scamper lives by his own schedule, which means he comes and goes as he chooses. I put a small piece of cheese that I’ve saved from my meal in the straw for him and settle down to anxiously wait.
The evening darkens, and it isn’t long before Malo comes through the barn making his final rounds. As he passes by, I pretend to be asleep, even though I am more awake and on edge than I’ve ever been before. It will just be my luck that Malo gives me some late evening chores. Moreover, that means he may just stay up later than usual checking on me.
Even with my eyes closed, I can feel his lantern’s light on me. I hold my breath as he stops at the end of my straw bed and stays there for what seems like a thousand and one heartbeats. I just know he is going to kick me awake to go do some task, but miracle of miracles, he moves on.
I wait until I hear the side door close shut before I let my breath out in one long rush. My arms flop to each side in nervous relief, and I let my face break out in a big grin.
Since Scamper hasn’t returned yet, I decide that the little tub is just going to have to be on his own tonight. I tiptoe to the side door and cautiously open it a crack. I peek out just in time to see Malo enter the far end of the long, low hut that serves as the sleeping quarters for the rest of the Draconstead workers.
Without making a sound, I step outside, scoot around the barn’s near corner and keeping next to the paddock rails, hobble down the trail, and cross the stream. I am not sure just how Cara is going to see me in the dark, but this is where she said to meet.
I don’t have long to wait. I spot a dark figure gliding through the night sky, blotting out the stars as it silently sails toward me. Then comes the rustling of dragon wings and with a soft thump, Wind Song’s talons bite into the dirt.
As fast as I can, I amble over to the sleek sapphire and smile up at Cara. “Smart, gliding your dragon through the air like that. I barely heard her land.”
“Of course,” she replies with a thin smile. “Don’t want anyone to hear us, right?”
“Right,” I answer.
Cara bends over to say firmly, “Wind Song, leg.”
Her dragon juts out one leg and using it somewhat like a small ladder, one with scales, of course, I climb awkwardly toward the saddle. Cara reaches out with a hand to help me up the last bit, and I settle in behind her. There’s not enough room for me to sit on her dragon saddle, so I sit just behind on Wind Song’s neck scales.
Dragon saddles are very similar to horse saddles, including stirrups, reins, and saddlebags. However, a sapphire’s saddle is a bit less broad than other dragon saddles as they’re smaller beasts. Dragon saddles are also more supple than stiff horse saddles, so as to allow the dragon freedom to move its neck naturally.
I knew from seeing her sky before, that Cara dislikes reins and uses voice, hand, and knee commands to guide her dragon. I’ve even seen her ride Wind Song without a saddle, but tonight she has her saddle strapped to Wind Song’s neck.
I’m not sure what to do with my hands, so I don’t do anything with them. “Uh, Cara before we start, you need to know something. This is my first time to sky on a dragon.”
She turns her head and in the starlight, I can see her amazed expression. “Are you serious, Hooper?”
I swallow hard. We’re not even off the ground, yet we’re already pretty high up, and that’s causing my stomach to churn a bit. “Uh, no, I mean yes, I’m serious. Cara, your father doesn’t let dragon workers take rides on his dragons, you know. Trainers do, but not someone like me. So, you’d better give me a few pointers, and I suggest that you start by telling me how to hang on.”
I can see her frown and shake her head slightly as if she’s now sorry that she suggested this idea. With a little sigh, she says, “Squeeze your legs against Wind Song’s neck and wrap your arms around my waist. I’ll do the rest.”
I slide my arms around her slim waist but only partway. “Like that?” I ask.
“A little tighter and all the way until your hands clasp together.”
I scoot closer and clasp my hands together in a tight grip. “Good,” she says. “Just make sure you hang on.” She eyes me over her shoulder. “If you start to fall, you’re on your own, I’m not falling off with you.”
I nod in answer, and she leans over to pat Wind Song’s neck twice. Wind Song’s ears flick back toward us and quietly, Cara says, “Sky, Wind Song.”
Her dragon unfurls its wings, cups them high, and then seems to gather herself before she literally springs into the air. I close my eyes for several moments befor
e I get up the courage to open them.
Instead of following the open meadows toward Draconton, Wind Song is winging over the woodlands. The trees are a dark, thick carpet below us, so close that I feel as if I let go of Cara I could step off her dragon and walk on top of the leaves.
The wind is cool, but not cold and Cara’s warmth and my closeness to her is more than enough for me. Her hair whips against my face, but I don’t mind as all I can smell is the aroma of wildflowers.
As far as I’m concerned, we could sky all night, and I wouldn’t care one bit.
All too soon, the lights of Draconton come into view and Cara has Wind Song gliding down toward a meadow shrouded in shadow on the far outskirts of town. Wind Song hovers above the grassy earth and just by hand and knee signals alone, Cara has her dragon set us gently on the ground.
With Cara’s help, I clamber down and wait for her to join me. “Now, that wasn’t all that bad, was it?” she asks as she jumps off Wind Song’s leg. “And you didn’t fall off.”
“No,” I admit, thinking to myself, as long as I’m with you, there’s nothing in the world that could ever be bad.
She adjusts her tunic and brushes back her hair. “Ready? We’ve a bit of a walk, but Phigby’s shop isn’t that far.”
“I’m ready,” I reply and then ask, a little puzzled, “Cara, why did we land here? You could’ve set your dragon down a lot closer.”
She sniffs and begins pacing toward town. “Didn’t want to be seen.”
“Oh,” I answer. She doesn’t want to be seen with me, I think. She’d be embarrassed if it was known around town that she was with Hooper, the Dung Master. I hurry to catch up with her and mumble, “Any particular reason you don’t want to be seen?”
“Actually, an excellent reason,” she quickly answers while ducking low under a tree branch. “My father and brother aren’t due back until morning. It wouldn’t be seemly if someone spotted the Dragon Master’s only daughter out at night when neither he nor her brother was at home.”
“Oh,” I reply in sudden understanding and nod to myself. That was something I hadn’t even thought about. Cara’s mother died several seasons back when River Fever swept through the villages that dot the Lorell Valley. With her father and brother away, the expectation would be that she wouldn’t leave the house without ample cause, or without a suitable chaperone.
And skying at night with a Hooper is not an adequate reason, nor would I be judged an appropriate escort. In fact, if that ever got back to her father, well, she would get a firm scolding. Me? I’d receive my reprimand in the punishment stocks for sure.
We slip around several trees and skirt a thistle hedge, careful not to hook ourselves on its thorns. Cara halts us beside a downed log to peer toward town. Only a few lights from cottage lanterns or candles show through the overhanging tree limbs. I can see her chewing on her lower lip before she glances at me sideways and murmurs, “Do you and Helmar talk much?”
My eyebrows come together as I frown. What kind of question is that? Why does she need to know what Helmar and I talk about? Then my eyes widen slightly in understanding. She wants to know if we talk about her. My eyes grow even wider as I realize that she doesn’t want to know what I say about her, but what Helmar has to say.
As if the sun had suddenly popped up into the sky, it dawns on me.
Cara likes Helmar and in a way that tells me that she wants him to like her, too, and perhaps as more than just friends.
Once, Master Phigby had come to Draconstead to brew up one of his concoctions for a sick dragon. He’d poured various liquids, leaves, and tiny white granules that appeared like salt, but weren’t, in a large swan-neck glass flask. A bubble formed at the bottle’s mouth and kept growing larger. Phigby had turned to me with a little smile and asked, “Want to pop it?”
I quickly nodded, and he handed me a tiny needle. I poked the bubble and instantly it vanished with a big popping sound. That’s how I felt right now. Cara had just stabbed my bubble of dreams, leaving me feeling empty and with my hopes vanished in an instant. A Hooper cannot and will not ever be able to compete against the likes of a Helmar.
Reality had just crushed my grand adventure with Cara. I glanced up to see her questioning expression. She expected an answer. “Not much,” I truthfully answer. “But he did say that the other night when he had dinner at Dracon Haus, he wished your father and Master Phigby hadn’t talked so much. He wanted to speak with you, but couldn’t because of them.”
I watch as a small, satisfied smile grows on her face. “Oh, he did, did he?” Her smile grows and then she waves me on with a quick, “Come on, it’s getting late.”
We pace a bit farther before she slows and raises a hand. I start to speak, but Cara quickly puts a finger to her lips. “Shush.” She points straight ahead. We’re at the very edge of town, and Phigby’s place is directly in front of us. His home sits atop his store, and although the shop is dark, I can see a light shining through an upstairs window.
“Good,” Cara whispers. “He’s still awake.”
Since she doesn’t want to be seen, I say, “We’ll knock on the back door, right?”
“No,” Cara replies tartly. “We do not knock.”
“Why not? How else is Master Phigby going to know we’re here?”
“And have someone hear us and then peek out a window and see me? I said I couldn’t be seen Hooper, remember?”
Oh. That’s embarrassing. I can feel my face grow warm. I’ve done it again, said something that she considers stupid. “What do we do?” I mutter.
She points to the thick oaken tree that grows at one corner of the shop. Its thick limbs form a natural, if leafy, ladder up to Phigby’s second-story window. “We climb.”
“Climb?” I stammer.
“Sure,” she replies and turns to gaze at me with an amused expression. “You do climb?”
I start to answer that I climb about as well as I ride a dragon, but this time I keep those thoughts to myself and instead reply, “Of course.”
“Let’s go, then.” She dashes across the short open space between the forest line and the oak tree. I do my best to keep up, but I’m no match for her speed. By the time I’m at the base of the thick trunk, she’s already scurrying up the tree as if she were part squirrel.
She gestures for me to hurry and I shake my head to myself, wondering why she’s in such a rush. It’s not like the Book Master is going anywhere. Besides, in my mind, what will happen is that we’ll get to the window, knock, Master Phigby will open the window, see who it is and promptly close and lock the window shutters on us.
And that means Cara won’t get a chance to read Master Phigby’s new book, and I won’t have an opportunity to get at his dragon jewel volume. Which will be disappointing, but at least, I got to be alone with Cara, even if I did have to ride on her smelly dragon.
Ever so slowly, I pull myself along, grabbing onto the smaller limbs and hoisting myself up to the next higher branch. I find that trying to balance on my bad leg while standing on a swaying tree bough while reaching for the next branch is close to impossible. I’m just glad that there’s no stiff breeze because if the tree were swaying, by now I probably would have somersaulted to the ground.
And ended up with something broken, no doubt after nose-diving face-first into the short, prickly grass that surrounds the tree.
Cara is already at the top and peering into the window. I reach up to grab the next limb while tottering on the one I’m standing on when Cara drops some bark on my head to get my attention.
“What’s wrong?” I mouth silently.
She anxiously waves for me to climb up to her perch where she’s wrapped her stomach over one limb while leaning toward the window. Grunting to myself, I pull myself up until I have my belly on the same branch. With wide eyes, she points at the window. I manage to push myself up close enough so that I can peer through the square cut glass.
For a moment, I’m not exactly sure at what I’m looking. Then as i
f my eyes finally clear, I realize that I must be gazing into the room where Master Phigby mixes his potions and medicines.
Covering one wall is a large bookcase that has a combination of books, jugs, and small bottles on its shelves. Against another wall is a long, low table where several large flasks with thin, crane-like necks sit on round burners that give off tiny flames. From each curved bottle rise small wisps of smoke or steam that curl up almost to the ceiling.
In the room’s center, Phigby is slowly moving his hands above a large, leather-bound book that sits on an ornate pedestal.
I lean even farther, to see better and then I realize that the window is slightly ajar, and I can hear Phigby’s voice. First, it’s quiet and deep, then it rises in pitch and loudness, then lowers again. It stays that way until his speech begins to grow louder and louder. I can hear what he’s saying, but his words sound like he’s speaking in some unknown language. It’s pure gibberish to me.
He raises his hands high over his head, cries out in a booming voice, and in a blur of motion brings his arms straight down. There’s a sound like lightning streaking across the sky and a great cloud of smoke rises from the floor. The smoky haze covers Phigby and most of the room.
When the fog clears, Phigby is holding the book in front of him. He stares at it, and then with an exasperated growl, starts to vigorously shake it back and forth as if he’s trying to jiggle the book open. He does that for a bit before he stops and brings it closer, turning it over slowly as if he’s eyeing every part of the cover and its edging.
As he turns the book on its side, my eyes widen. The pages are sealed. There’s a silver-coated strip, two fingers wide in size that runs from the book’s back up over the front edges where it slips under a gleaming, ruby-colored half orb. The half sphere seems to be some sort of locked clasp.
Phigby pulls and yanks at the silver strap and buckle, but it doesn’t loosen, and no matter what he does, he can’t pry the pages open. Apparently frustrated after several attempts to undo the binding and failing, he slams the book down on the pedestal, blows out his candles, and stalks away.
