by Maria Grace
Although, if one considered it, the argument could be made, at least among those who did not hear, that having a household dragon was a far more unnatural state than having one. But that was a largely academic point, better saved for more philosophical times.
Papa remained unmoved. With so many in the family unable to hear dragons, having one in the house would be untenable at best. Dragons were capricious, independent creatures, he insisted, not likely to respect the delicate situation he was in. Dragon mischief would no doubt put the household in constant strife. And no, a dragon’s persuasive ability over those who could not hear them would not likely make it any better.
He was entirely resolved, so she kept her opinions to herself and spent a great deal of time in the fields with Rumblkins.
One cool, clear autumn morning—the kind that was crisp and invited one to run along the fences as fast as she could—Mama insisted Elizabeth go out to the fading flower garden. Cutting flowers for the house was indeed a crucial task for an eleven-year-old young lady, clearly deserving of Elizabeth’s full attention. Wandering outside in the fresh air and crisp breezes was certainly not something to complain about. But when she was done, she would be expected inside to sit through another interminable lesson in the art of arranging flowers.
It was difficult to think of something she cared about less. Very difficult indeed. Though perhaps the art of small talk appropriate for a morning social call was even less interesting. Regardless, the process seemed to please Mama, so in that, it was a worthy endeavor. But truly, in the larger scheme of things, it all seemed rather silly.
Elizabeth snipped another fluffy yellow flower—what was the name of it? Several petals shook loose and floated to the ground as she tucked it into her basket. Somehow it was far easier to remember the various dragon species and their distinctions than these silly flowers. She sniffled and rubbed her itchy nose against her sleeve. Foolish flowers!
Still though, the entire affair had one very great advantage to it, so much so that she felt little need to find a way to escape the task. Sometimes, if she was very lucky, a pair of fairy dragons flitted among the flowers. Occasionally, when she put out a saucer with honey and preserves, they stopped to gorge themselves on her offerings, allowing her time to study the delightful tiny creatures.
Usually, they were mistaken for hummingbirds or other small songbirds, but that only made the wee creatures all the more delightful. Brightly-colored gems among the dull garden plants with sweet songs that left one feeling soft and easy.
This pair proved particularly bold and friendly. They permitted her close enough to make detailed observations. Already she had drawn several meticulous images of their wings and feet and eyes. Once, the larger male left a lovely lavender feather scale behind which she pressed in her commonplace book—a treasure she could hardly set a value upon. It was pleasant to think it might have been left in thanks for the saucer of honey she had brought them.
Another time, they flew chittering circles around her head, their voices so high and words so fast she could hardly understand them, but what she had understood was complimentary. It seemed they were grateful for the way she had chased a hunting tomcat away from them.
Perhaps she might see them today. That would make cutting all these silly, sneezy flowers worthwhile. It was not likely, though, not this late in the season. Usually in the autumn, according to Papa’s dragon lore, they would be busy making warm nests in which to spend the winter.
Unlike the larger dragons who could tolerate the frigid weather, insulated against the temperatures in their underground lairs, fairy dragons heartily disliked the cold and tried to sleep through the winter season in nests built in tree hollows that they shared with one another. Or so the books said; sometimes they were wrong. Maybe this would be one of those days.
She crouched down to cut a stem near the ground.
“Mrrow.” A fuzzy head bumped her elbow and nearly made her drop her scissors. Rumblkins wove around her ankles and purred.
“Good afternoon to you.” She extended her hand, and he rubbed himself against it, giving her permission to pet his luxurious fur.
The tatzelwurm sported long, striped fur on his feline front half while his back, snake-like half was covered in dark, sleek scales. Mama and her sisters were persuaded he was a large farm cat. How very surprised they would be to discover he was a small dragon.
“What brings you to the flower garden? Pray tell me we do not have a family of rats living here!” She jumped back a bit—rats were truly horrid creatures.
“No, no rats. I ate them.” He sat back on his haunches and licked his thumbed paw. Such funny feet he had. “But there is something in the woods I think you and your father would want to know.”
She gasped and dropped her scissors. “What is wrong?”
“Oh, nothing is wrong. Everything is perfectly normal and natural.”
She tucked her scissors under the flowers in her basket and sighed softly. “But then, why have you come to talk to me?”
“It is something I think you will want to know, not something that is wrong.” The tufted tips of his ears flicked.
There was a reason why tatzelwurms had a reputation for being a bit daft.
“Pray tell me then what normal and natural things might my father and I find interesting?”
“There is a pair of fairy dragons that you have been watching in the garden.” He glanced up as though they might appear at any moment.
Now that could be significant indeed. Pray nothing had happened to them. “A purple male and a green female?”
“Yes, them.” He licked his shoulder as though he had suddenly lost his train of thought. “They have been preparing their winter nest with the rest of the purple one’s harem. They completed it several days ago.”
She peered over her shoulder into the woods. “Will you show me where their winter nest is?”
“I can, but I hardly think that is the thing you would be interested in.”
Tatzelwurms required a great deal of patience.
She forced her face into a smile. “Even more intriguing. Pray tell me.”
“The pair had another nest you see—one with eggs.” Rumblkins licked his lips and smacked his jaws.
“Is it not late in the season for fairy dragon eggs?”
Rumblkins rose up on his haunches. “Indeed, those flitterbobs made a muck of things and waited too long to take their mating flight. They have laid their eggs far too late. Now the eggs are in the nest, but the brood parents have gone away to keep snug for the cold season. The eggs are alone and near to hatching. Just this morning, I saw a weasel sniffing around the tree with the nest. Your father said he wanted to know of abandoned eggs. He promised me—”
“Dried cod, yes, I remember him telling me. Come to the house with me, and I shall tell Papa straight away. He will bring you some cod. I am sure he will want you to show him where the eggs are. I think he will want to rescue them.”
Rumblkins licked his lips, purring, and followed her to the house in his funny spring-and-hop way. It really was one of the oddest forms of locomotion one could imagine. It was easy to see how some believed it addled their brains to bounce around so much. There were times it seemed entirely likely.
Elizabeth gave her flower basket to Mama and insisted she needed to deliver an urgent message to Papa and only Papa. She dashed off to look for him, but he was neither in his book room nor in his room upstairs. Mrs. Hill finally revealed that he was gone into the village on business and was not expected back until near dinnertime.
Botheration! What a time for him to be away. Those eggs were in danger and might well not survive the day left alone with a weasel in the vicinity. What was she to do? The Blue Order made it very clear: it was a Dragon Keeper’s duty to preserve dragon life wherever possible. She had to do something to try to save those eggs.
But how? She was only a girl. What could she possibly do?
She detoured through the bustling kitchen wher
e Cook and her staff were already busy with dinner preparations and rooted through the pantry for a dry cod—conveniently to be found in a wooden box on a low shelf. Rumblkins sat nearby, whispering to the cook, the maid, and Mrs. Hill that there was nothing notable whatsoever going on. There was no reason to ask why or to even notice Elizabeth in the kitchen at all. And most of all, there was no cat in the kitchen.
Elizabeth had never really seen dragon persuasion enacted before. It was difficult to tell what was more interesting, watching him tell Longbourn’s staff what to think, or them pausing with peculiar looks on their faces, considering what the little dragon was saying. Then they muttered to themselves something that sounded very much like what Rumblkins had told them, and went about their business once more.
Did everyone respond to persuasion that way, or was it peculiar to Longbourn alone? Perhaps one day she would have the opportunity to see that for herself.
With the staff amply distracted, Elizabeth took a large cod from the box and led Rumblkins outside.
Stubborn creature insisted on gobbling down the entire fish before he was willing to show her the tree with the nest. Just how long could it take a tatzelwurm to eat a single fish?
Apparently, quite some time when he enjoyed it as much as Rumblkins appeared to love cod. He savored each bite, licked his paws, Elizabeth’s hands, and the step where she had placed the fish. Was he trying to be frustrating?
“Will you take me to the nest now?”
“Will you give me another fish when we return?” He balanced on his serpentine tail and bumped her elbow with the top of his head.
“If the eggs come back safely with me, you will have two fish.”
He rubbed himself around her ankles and between her feet, purring. “Mrrow, come.” He leapt off in the direction of the woods. Elizabeth ran to keep up with him.
Although she had wandered the woods on Longbourn estate often on her own, this particular part of the woods was unfamiliar and technically forbidden. Old hardwoods grew thick here, casting deep shade over the loamy ground surrounding a large, rocky hillside. Generally, she preferred a place with more sunlight, but these woods were pleasant enough, even rather peaceful.
Papa said these woods were the explicit territory of the wyvern Longbourn. A dragon’s territory was always to be respected—and avoided until one gained an invitation. As major dragons went, wyverns were considered small and relatively insignificant, among the least powerful of the major dragon species. Still, a major dragon was a very powerful and not entirely predictable creature. Papa insisted she was not to go there until she had been properly introduced and received by him. Until then, he might consider her a trespasser, and it could end badly for them all.
It would be best to obey Papa, but these were very unusual circumstances. Dragon lives were at stake. There was no time to waste waiting for him to return. She had to protect those babies!
Should Longbourn appear, surely he would understand and grant her passage through the woods of her father’s own estate. It only made sense that the estate dragon would be a reasonable soul. He was after all responsible for the territory and should welcome her help. Why would he not?
Rumblkins ran deeper and deeper into the shady woods. Each springy hop propelled him a very great length—as if he had legs as long as a horse! For his odd means of locomotion, he was amazingly fast! Just how far back did these woods extend? Pray Rumblkins would not leave her! She might not be able to find her way back.
At long last, he stopped near a very tall tree. She leaned hard against it, panting to catch her breath. This was the farthest she had ever walked alone, and perhaps the fastest! Foot prints and a tuft of red-brown fur lay near the tree. Stoats, several of them. One of Papa’s books said that fairy dragon eggs were a special treat for them.
She stepped back and peered into the highest limbs, her heart pinching painfully. “I cannot climb that tree. There is no way for me to get them down.”
The nest balanced precariously on a flimsy-looking limb, in a “y”-shaped crook of the tree. It was not particularly well-built. It was a small miracle that the eggs had made it this long without the nest falling out of the tree.
Perhaps the fairy dragons who had built it were not particularly sensible creatures. Papa said sometimes those eggs were not worth saving as the hatchlings were too stupid to take care of themselves. Yes, it did seem rather cruel, but such was the way of things sometimes. Perhaps she should go back to the house and wait for him. She chewed her knuckle. Given that she was not even supposed to be in these woods in the first place, that might really be the best choice.
A roar of thunder shook the forest. But there were no clouds in the sky. Was that possible? A louder roar and the ground shook beneath her. She clutched her ears against the racket.
“Above!” Rumblkins ran circles around the tree.
She looked up and, by reflex alone, held out her apron as the nest tumbled out of the tree. With a small sideways jump, she caught the nest in the fabric, the eggs tumbling out and nearly rolling to the ground. Her foot slipped, and she landed solidly, jolting hard enough to cross her vision for a moment. Gracious! Her knees hurt, but the three leathery little eggs were safe!
Rumblkins wandered up beside her, sniffing and bumping her elbow with the top of his furry head. “I like eggs.”
She gathered the apron around the eggs. “No, you may not have them. I have already promised you dried cod. You may not have these as well.”
“Mrrow.” He sounded only a little put out. If nothing else, the fish were definitely bigger than the eggs, so waiting would serve him well. Even he could see that.
Elizabeth placed the eggs back in the nest and removed her apron as more thunder roared. She wrapped the entire nest in her apron, tying the bundle securely. The ground shook so hard that she could barely get to her feet as leaves and small branches rained down upon her.
“Who is in my woods?” The voice was more of a roar than anything else.
Rumblkins ducked under her skirts, between her ankles, trembling.
“You know him?”
“That is Longbourn, and he is cranky. We have not been introduced, and I do not want to be.”
“You are trespassing in my woods!” A large scaly head appeared out of the branches, long sharp teeth glistening in the sunlight.
So, that was what a wyvern looked like in person. Most of the illustrations in the Blue Order bestiaries were not entirely accurate. Most had the wings too small. Longbourn’s wingspan was easily as wide as he was long, nose to tail tip, certainly broad enough to enable him to fly should he choose. His head was smaller than most illustrations depicted and more angular, not curved and elegant like a lizard’s, but blocky and square. Glittery gold eyes sat wide on his face—probably so he could see around his rather large snout which sported intimidating fangs. He would have been somewhat frightening except for the long whiskers that hung down like a mustache from his snout, much like the one the parish vicar wore.
Nothing had prepared her for his smell, though. The little introduction Papa had given her was nothing to the real thing. Gracious, he stank—a mixture of musk, rotten meat, and bad teeth. Perhaps some toothpowder and a bath would improve his scent. Surely it would not hurt. Should that not be the responsibility of the Dragon Keeper?
Longbourn leaned down and roared in her face, drops of spittle landing on her cheeks. “You are not supposed to be here. You have seen frightening shadows and will run home very frightened.”
“No, I will not. You are not nearly so frightening as that.” She stared into his eyes and crossed her arms.
Longbourn pulled back and sat on his haunches. “What did you say?”
“That you are quite rude trying to tell me what I should think when I can hear you quite well.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and blinked several times. “It does not matter. You are in my territory and do not belong.”
She tucked her apron under her arm and balanced her fists on he
r hips. “Yes, I do. I am daughter of your Keeper and probably will be your Keeper myself in time. Who else belongs here more than me?” Granted, that all might be a bit of an exaggeration, but that was often a part of the dominance games dragons played.
Though there was no question that he was the dominant creature, she could still demand respect, and in so doing, earn his respect.
Longbourn pulled his head back and wrinkled his nose. He looked very funny doing so. He stepped forward, turning his head to and fro, studying her. “Keeper’s daughter?”
“He never spoke of me?”
Longbourn snorted and stepped closer again. He leaned close and began smelling her, head to toes and back again. “You smell like him.”
“There is good reason for that. I am his daughter. It is my right to be here.”
“Why have you not been introduced to me?” He tapped the tip of his tail on the ground. Papa had a similar habit of tapping his foot when he was puzzled.
“For that, you must ask him. I have been very impatient for an introduction. So let me do it myself. I am Elizabeth Bennet. Soon, I hope to be Junior Keeper to Longbourn Keep.” She curtsied deep enough to touch her knee to the ground and ducked her head.
Had she not been in line to be his Keeper, she would have touched her forehead to her ground and ideally wrapped her wings over her body and face to cover herself to accept his dominance—had she had wings. She really needed to finish making that cloak …
He scratched the dirt beside her, accepting her introduction. “You have taken something from me.”
“No, I have not.” She followed his gaze to her apron. “These are wild fairy dragon eggs. They are not yours.”
“They are in my woods. They are mine.” He shoved his nose at the apron under her arm.
