A Proper Introduction to Dragons (Jane Austen's Dragons)

by Maria Grace

  “What an unkind thing to say!”

  “You may find it very accurate when you finally get to know one.”

  “When might that be, Papa?”

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his hand along his jaw. “I cannot tell you. Tatzelwurms are known for keeping to themselves. But if he should strike up a conversation with you whilst you are out walking, I give you permission to speak with him.”

  She clasped her hands together very tightly and pressed her lips to keep her smile in check. Surely he had to know that she would be spending a very great deal of time in the woods in the very near future.

  ∞∞∞

  May 1801

  Somehow it was not surprising that a solid week of rain should follow her outing with Papa, keeping her inside and well away from any dragon meetings. Why did it always seem the weather conspired against all things desirable? Ah, well, all was not lost, though. It did give her plenty of time to transcribe the bulk of the Pendragon Treaty—the foundation of the human-dragon peace in Britain—into her commonplace book.

  It was a shame, though, that she could not possibly copy those lovely medieval letters that were used in Papa’s copy of the treaty. He said it was a family heirloom, dating back to the first Keeper of Longbourn and his estate. No wonder he did not want it leaving his study. Truly, it was a treasure, both for what it said and for the artistry it displayed. How had the original scribes managed to pen them so neatly and in so many colors? And the painstakingly inked dragons that paraded around the sides of the document! Just amazing. Perhaps Papa would allow her to try her hand at copying those when she became more skilled at drawing. A very good reason to see if Mama would take out that book on drawing for her from the circulating library in town.

  Still, it really was not important that the letters were plain since the notes were for herself alone. And if that were the case, then it would not hurt to add a summary of it all at the end to remind herself of the high points of the treaty:

  The Pendragon Treaty was penned to bring peace between the major dragons and between men and dragons. The treaty formed the Blue Order to which all major dragons and all humans who can hear dragons must belong upon pain of punitive action.

  Papa had never mentioned a case where one who could hear dragons outright refused to join the Order. It was difficult to conceive of someone who would. But then again, people could be very difficult. Major dragons were smart enough to understand the great advantages the treaty offered, so they attached themselves to the Order, with only one hold-out who was later banished to the Continent. Minor dragons had the option of joining but could not vote on proceedings, much as men without Keeps could not vote.

  The treaty assigned all major dragons and their progeny a territory, according to their size and needs, to be overseen by Keepers and their progeny, likewise assigned to the territory. Keepers bear the responsibility of ensuring all the Keep’s dragons' needs are met. In return, major dragons foreswore all aggression toward man and dragon (except where necessary in defense of their own lives) and promised to keep order among the lesser dragons in their territory. When disputes arise, the treaty declares they are to be settled by the Blue Order Council, a group charged with maintaining the peace established by the Pendragon Treaty.

  All in all, it really was simple. Why did it take so many words and pages to say it all in official terms? At least it made a very pretty—and sizeable—first entry in her commonplace book. Pray Mama never asked to read it.

  The next day the rains finally broke, and Elizabeth dashed out for a walk as soon as the sun had fully risen.

  Morning air was certainly the most agreeable, far nicer than that in the afternoon. Perhaps it was the fresh, dewy scent on the air and the hint of cool in the breeze. Perhaps it was the golden light of sunrise that made everything glow with a warm, welcoming feel. Perhaps it was because the birds—and the fairy dragons—were singing then, or that there were few people were out and about to question where she was going. Whatever it was, morning walks were probably going to become a habit very soon.

  Especially if it meant she could see dragons.

  At the spot where the fields met the woods, she found a tree stump for a seat and peered up into the morning sky. Tiny specks that must be fairy dragons darted back and forth, catching dragonflies and other rather large insects. Surely the bugs could not taste very good, all leggy and crunchy and squishy in the middle. She shuddered a bit.

  “Not all of them eat bugs, you know.”

  She jumped and looked down. A large striped cat face with tufted ears and bright green eyes peered up at her. His eyes were a little far-set and did not seem quite focused, but his voice was clear and sure. Perhaps the rather vacant expression was what made people think tatzelwurms stupid.

  “I was not aware. I have only just begun to learn about fairy dragons from Papa.”

  “Odd, that is usually the first sort of dragon children are made familiar with. They are certainly the least frightening—and the most tasty.” He licked his rather substantial fangs with a long, forked tongue.

  That definitely did not fit in a cat’s face.

  But he was a tatzelwurm, not a cat, so it was most clearly appropriate.

  “Pray do not tell me you eat them!” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.

  “If you wish.” He raised a thumbed paw and licked between his toes. “I am Rumblkins.”

  She rose and curtsied. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “You are part of the Keeper’s family.”

  “I am his daughter.”

  He flicked his serpentine tail sharply. The dark smooth scales caught the morning light just so, gleaming a bit like polished metal. “Your housekeeper does not like cats.”

  “I do not know that Mrs. Hill dislikes them.” She chewed her lip and cocked her head. “No, I am quite certain. She is quite happy to have them catching mice and rats. She detests those.”

  “The woman with the cap with dangling ribbons threw shoes at me.” His tail lashed back and forth in the grass.

  “I know no one by that description at the house. Perhaps it was a housekeeper for my father’s father?”

  Rumblkins wrinkled his nose. “I will not take a chance. I do not like shoes thrown at me.”

  “I will not throw shoes at you.”

  “I thought not since you are not carrying any.” He sat back on his tail, as though sitting on his haunches. “Have you anything for me to eat?”

  The book Papa had shown her about tatzelwurms said that they were always hungry. That much appeared very true. But it had also said that “Wyrm type dragons are considered the least intelligent and least reliable of the dragons. Of the wyrms, tatzelwurms are regarded the most capricious and least loyal. They rarely choose to be companions to Dragon Friends and when they do, they are aloof, independent and unaffectionate.”

  Rumblkins rubbed his face against her ankles, purring very loudly. “I smell cod. I like cod very well.”

  “Will you be my friend if I give you dried cod?”

  “I will be your friend even if you do not. Scratch my ears.” He shoved his face under her hand.

  She scratched behind his ears and under his chin. His purrs grew so loud she could feel them as he rubbed against her. What a sweet creature and not aloof at all. She pulled a piece of dried cod from her apron pocket and offered it to him.

  Instead of taking it in his teeth as a cat might, he took it from her with his thumbed paw and brought it to his mouth. There all semblance of manners ended, and he gobbled the fish, spittle and tiny slivers of meat flying.

  Was it just tatzelwurms or were all dragons revolting when they ate? He did wash his face like a cat when he was finished, which almost, but not quite, made up for the grisly manners he had displayed.

  “Why are you staring at me so?” Rumblkins asked as he licked between his thumb and toes.

  “I have never been so close to a tatzelwurm before. You do not lo
ok like the drawings in the books I have seen.”

  He wrinkled his nose and snorted—or was that a sneeze? “I have heard that much of what has been written about dragons was written by those who could not hear.”

  “But if they could not hear dragons, how could those men have written about them?”

  “Chance encounters still occur sometimes. Occasionally men cannot be persuaded out of what they saw. So when that happens, they are persuaded to believe they saw something much more outlandish than what they actually did. That way their accounts are as far away from the truth as possible. Then they put them in the foolish books and all manner of strange and stupid accounts are written.”

  Papa would certainly not like to hear that! Perhaps that is why he though Rumblkins addlepated. “I have not read that in any of the Pendragon Accords.”

  “It is something we have always done. I do not know why anyone would bother to have written it down.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.” She chewed her lip. “Are you venomous?”

  “Why would you think that?” His brows knit together, and he managed a very exasperated look.

  “Some books say so, and you have very long fangs.”

  “Well, it is written wrong. No tatzelwurm has venom like a snake. Now our breath ...” He reared up and huffed in her face.

  Gracious! Her eyes watered! She coughed into her hand.

  “... has also been considered poison, but that is nonsense. Yours might be unpleasant, too, if you ate rats and mice all day.”

  “I will keep that in mind.”

  He wove between her feet again, purring. “Scratch again?”

  He guided her to the itchiest places along his jaw and behind his ears. Were all dragons this itchy, or merely the ones who had fur as well as scales?

  A squawk unlike any she had ever heard sliced the air and sent shivers down her spine.

  “No! He is here!” Rumblkins dove behind her skirts, shaking.

  “Who?”

  “We call him Scarred. He has only one eye. A cockatrice with only one eye.”

  She scanned the sky as a large, winged shadow passed over them. Heavens, is that what Rustle looked like when he flew? She had never seen him in the air. The creature was huge! Wingtip to wingtip, he was broader than Papa was tall!

  “Do not let him see me!” Rumblkins shuddered against her calves.

  She pulled her skirt down around Rumblkins. The creature would not interfere with her. It was against the treaty to do so when she offered him no threat. “Why are you so afraid?”

  “He has been known to eat tatzelwurms when he cannot find enough birds and fairy dragons to satisfy his appetite.”

  “Can you not simply reason with him?” She covered an exposed bit of his tail with her hand.

  “One does not reason with a hungry predator. One avoids them.” A snarl replaced the funny warble in his voice.

  The cockatrice circled several more times, then flew off toward a flock of crows approaching from the western side of the fields.

  Rumblkins peeked around her skirt. A tremor began at his head and progressed down his body all the way to the tip of his tail. “He is dreadful.”

  She shaded her eyes and peered into the bright sky. “Why have I never seen him before?”

  “He is wild. He avoids your kind.”

  “Perhaps you should stay closer to the house. I am sure it would be safer for you.”

  Rumblkins shook his head forcefully enough that bits of spittle flew. “No. Well-aimed shoes hurt.”

  But certainly being attacked by a cockatrice could not be less painful. “Perhaps the barn then. Stay away from the poultry eaves, of course, but near the sheep, I think—yes, there are often rats there. The shepherds hate them. I am sure if they see you catch one, you will be most welcome.”

  He did not look convinced.

  “Since they are well disposed to cats on the whole, I do not think it would be at all difficult for you to persuade them you are a valuable addition.”

  His eyes brightened, and a little purr rumbled in his throat. “If they are already fond of cats, then perhaps yes, they might be persuaded with only a little effort and a large rat.” He smiled. It was odd to see such an expression on a decidedly feline face—with a forked tongue as well—but there was nothing else one could call such a look.

  “Come with me, then. I shall walk home by way of the sheep fields so you shall have no further worries.” She offered one last scratch before she stood.

  They walked in companionable silence to the sheep fields. He purred as they went, sounding ever so much as though he were humming to himself. About halfway there he suddenly ran off. Gracious, he could spring hop very quickly! In very short order he returned, a large, thankfully quite dead rat in his jaws. Something to ensure a warm welcome among the shepherds, no doubt.

  The sun hung barely above the tree tops by the time she left him among the shepherds and sheep, purring a contented thank you. She had not intended to be away from the house for so long and ran home as quickly as she could.

  “How nice for you to finally join us, Miss Lizzy,” Mama called from the parlor as Elizabeth hurried in.

  She swallowed hard—that tone was never a good sign—and scurried to the parlor. Naturally, the room was warmer than Mama would have liked, warm enough to leave her short-tempered and cross. What joy was hers!

  Aunt Phillips sat near Mama and Jane, glasses of lemonade on the table, their sewing in their laps.

  “We were becoming worried as to what might have become of you.” Aunt Phillips looked down her long, sharp nose. Was that how a hungry cockatrice looked at prey? She probably would not appreciate the comparison.

  What Mama might say indirectly, Aunt Phillips was apt to put into concise, sharp words. Even Jane found her a trial to be around, though she would be hard-pressed to suggest more than that Aunt Phillips was very direct.

  “Where have you been all day?” Aunt Phillips tapped her foot rapidly.

  “I went for a walk this morning. After all the rain, it was ever so pleasant to go out. And while I was out, ah, the shepherds, I saw them and they asked me to bring word to Papa regarding the condition of the fields and a problem they have been having with rats among the lambs.” There was a good bit of truth in the answer even if it left out the more interesting bits.

  “Eww, rats!” Jane’s face screwed up, and she trembled. How she loathed the creatures.

  “I am surprised you approve of this, Sister!” Aunt Philips pressed her hand to her chest. “It is not proper that the field hands should think nothing of speaking to your daughter, sending messages through her as though she were a common dairymaid.”

  Mama mirrored Aunt’s Phillips’ posture. “Oh, Sister! It would not be the first time I have said such a thing to Mr. Bennet. But he insists she acts as his secretary. I have never seen such a thing—”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak but shut it again. Mama was going off on a tear and interrupting or offering one’s opinion at such a time was always, always a bad idea. So she retrieved her work basket from the cabinet near the settee and sat next to Jane to sew.

  Aunt Phillips’ visit lasted only a quarter of an hour more. Once Mama had seen her to the door, she returned to the parlor.

  “How could you have forgotten that your aunt was coming to call today? I am embarrassed, no, appalled that you could do such a thing, Elizabeth. It is truly shocking that you could be so distracted. You are too close to being a young lady to behave like this.” Mama bustled to the cabinet nearest the door and yanked a book out of the topmost drawer. She flipped it open to a page about a quarter of the way through. “I insist you study this essay on proper etiquette and make notes of it in your commonplace book as you do. There will be no dinner until you have finished.”

  Elizabeth took the book and scurried upstairs, as much to be away from Mama’s company as to get the task over with quickly. She had, after all, not eaten all day.

  The evening sun s
hone directly through her window, warming her little room and making it bright enough to write easily. She sat at the dainty table near her window and opened her commonplace book to a fresh page, using its edge to hold open Mama’s etiquette book. The open page read: Maxims and Rules for the Conduct of Young Women.

  What a dreadful, dull-sounding title, but it was more a list than an essay, making it far faster and easier to read and make notes. That was something to be appreciated. Perhaps this would not be too awful a task.

  It is unjust, as well as ill-natured, to take advantage of the weakness of others.

  That was one of the prime injunctions to both dragon and mankind in the Pendragon Accords. It must be good advice. Who would have thought that what applied to young women would also apply to dragons?

  Sincerity is the groundwork of all that is good and valuable.

  That seemed sensible as well. Certainly, it worked when King Uther met with the dragon Brenin—that is what they called their king—to create the Accords.

  Civility is never a losing game; courtesy will always reproduce itself in others, and the original exhibitor will get at least as much as she gives.

  Brenin Buckingham and King Uther exchanged civilities, and everyone had benefited for eight centuries since. Civility must be very, very important. That was worth thinking on further.

  Never suffer anyone, under the presence of friendship, to take unbecoming liberties with you.

  She giggled under her breath. Rumblkins would probably agree with this principle. According to him, it was dangerous to take liberties with a creature who might easily eat you. Maybe there was something to seeing the world in terms of predator and prey.

  The character of a toad-eater, flatterer, or sycophant is truly detestable.

  According to Papa, dragons detest flattery of all sorts. But where was the line between sincere compliment and toad-eating? Should she not have told Rumblkins that his fur was the softest and finest she had ever felt? He had not seemed offended when she had said it, but perhaps she should ask. It would be a shame to offend him unwittingly.

  If you wish to identify a beau of quality, watch him at the dining table. Nothing indicates a well-bred man more than a proper mode of eating his dinner.