Pemberley- Mr Darcy's Dragon

by Maria Grace

  The dark shadow of a house rose out of the horizon. It would suit Bingley’s purpose well enough. But it suited Darcy’s needs far more.

  “The house is handsome at a distance.” Darcy stared into the woods.

  The local landscape showed all the signs of karst terrain. No doubt there were several caverns nearby. Some might be large enough—

  “But you will scold me that I should not accept anything sight unseen. I assure you I will not. I have an appointment with Mr. Morris, the solicitor for the property, at half past ten. He has consented to tour the house and grounds with me. In the meantime though, I should like very much to peruse the woods a bit and see the grounds I may be hunting for myself.”

  Good, he had taken Walker’s suggestion easily—perhaps a little too easily. It was uncanny how well Bingley took dragon direction. Then again, perhaps not. He was awfully apt to follow the opinions of anyone who presented them strongly enough.

  “Far be it from me to suspend any pleasure of yours. Lead on.” Darcy gestured for Bingley to ride on.

  With any luck, Bingley would happen upon the dragon caverns without realizing what he discovered. And if not, Walker was there to convince him there was nothing of interest to be seen.

  The bridle path led into the deeper woods, just right for hunting. The game trails suggested a substantial herd of muntjacs roamed the wood. Enough to feed a wyvern.

  So the local dragon-estate had connections to the Duke of Bedford. No other way to have got a herd here. Was the Dragon Keeper simply frugal, preferring his dragon to feed off wild deer instead of his own flocks or did the dragon prefer wild game to mutton?

  Something tiny, blue and fast zipped past Darcy’s face. He started. His horse shied and bolted.

  “Mary! Look out!”

  A flash of white caught his eye and rushed toward a red cloaked figure standing with her back to him and pulled her away just in time.

  He reined in his horse and returned to survey the damage.

  “You are a better horseman than that! Pay attention and control your worthless beast!” Walker dove through the trees and landed on a branch several arms’ length above him.

  Two young women panted beside the trail. The one in white peered up, past him and into the trees toward Walker.

  “Trespasser!” The blue blur buzzed past him and between the young women, disappearing somewhere behind them.

  “Pray excuse me. My horse was startled. It is not at all like him.” Darcy bowed from his shoulders.

  It would not do to blame the iridescent blur for all the mischief. Did the women even realize what it was?

  “Indeed, nor is it like you, Darcy.” Bingley rode up to them. “Pray forgive us for startling you. I have come to see Netherfield Park. Do you know it?”

  “Indeed we do, sir, the grounds border my father’s estate, which you are currently traversing.” The woman in white’s eyebrow rose and she cocked her head in a most impertinent fashion.

  Walker squawked and flapped his wings. “Do not stare, Darcy. Females of your kind take on all manner of ideas when you do. Follow me, and I shall lead you back to the Netherfield’s grounds.”

  “Your ... falcon, sir?” Her eyes narrowed just a bit and she slipped her arm over the red cloaked woman’s shoulders.

  Darcy nodded.

  “I should caution you, my uncle’s falcon is apt to hunt free on our estate. He does not always take well to others in his territory.” She adjusted the market bag on her shoulder.

  Something about the way she said ‘falcon’ and stared at Walker made the skin on the back of his neck prickle. If she was a daughter of the estate, then it was entirely possible she knew Walker was no falcon.

  “I will keep that in mind. I would not wish to see any conflict between our ... birds.” Darcy glanced up at Walker.

  “Yes, she does hear, and I am not a bird,” Walker squawked.

  “If you follow the path to the left, it will take you back to Netherfield.” She pointed to the fork in the path.

  “Then we will be on our way. I hope to properly make your acquaintance soon.” Bingley touched his hat and headed off.

  “Get on with you.” Walker launched from the branch and made a low pass over his head.

  Darcy hesitated one more moment, then turned to follow Bingley. Walker was right. He had business more important than investigating a woman who heard dragons. Distractions of any kind—and time—were the enemy now.

  “So we have met my new neighbors.” Bingley clucked his tongue. “Unofficially of course, but still. They were both very pretty young ladies, unmarried too.”

  “Always the first two things you notice about a woman. Really, Bingley, you are as marriage minded as any of the mamas of the ton.”

  “I am tired of all the raised eyebrows and recommendations that I marry. They come from all sides now, men, women, sometimes I swear even the horse would tell me so.”

  “I would not,” Walker screeched.

  “You see, even your bird agrees.” Bingley threw his hand up toward Walker.

  “I am not sure he agrees, Bingley. Besides, when have you begun taking advice from everyone and their horses?”

  Bingley stopped his horse and turned to look at Darcy. “I am lonely. My sister is an adequate housekeeper, but I want more than that to come home to. Her tongue and temper are sharp. I want a friend and a comfort, not a litany of complaints and dissatisfactions.”

  “It sounds like you want a good hound, not a wife.”

  “Just because you are content to be by yourself, does not mean that all men are. I intend to make the acquaintance of our neighbors and every young woman in the neighborhood. I aim to find a wife. What better place to do it than close to home?”

  “So you have decided to take Netherfield sight unseen after all?”

  Bingley grumbled and urged his horse into a fast walk.

  Though the decision might be rash, and not even in Bingley’s best interest, it could prove helpful. What better excuse for Darcy to stay nearby than to offer Bingley help in leasing his first estate? He might also accompany Bingley in meeting with the local estate’s owner, attracting as little attention as possible to his own presence. Exactly what he needed most right now.

  ***

  Elizabeth held her breath as the two men disappeared into the forest. The clop of their horses’ hooves faded into the noises of the woods. At least one of them was a Dragon Mate, perhaps even a Keeper, it was difficult to tell. Papa would need to know.

  “Well that one was a crosspatch.” April darted out from the silk flowers of Mary’s bonnet. “But what can you expect from someone who keeps a ratty old cockatrice as a companion?”

  “Do be fair. That was hardly a ratty cockatrice, but a very fine specimen of the species.” Elizabeth held her hand up for April to perch. “What is more, you were being most incautious, flitting about here and there. You look like a tasty snack to one who does not know you. You may not like to be told what to do, but if you are not more careful I will keep you indoors where you are far safer.”

  Elizabeth and Mary covered their ears. April was in such a temper she might well draw blood.

  “Do you think the fair-haired one really will take Netherfield?” Mary untied her bonnet and inspected it.

  Her hands still trembled, poor dear. She lacked the constitution for such excitement.

  Elizabeth took the bonnet. “Oh, really? Another hat picked to pieces? Must you?” She waved it at April.

  “I have told you a hundred times—no more than that, I am sure. If you would simply leave me a place to perch—”

  “On a hat?” Mary asked.

  “Where else? I am certainly not going to ride in your reticule.”

  “Enough, enough. We are not here to argue fashion or even to gather gossip about the new neighbors. Though I think it behooves us to discern if both of them can hear, that can wait. We have a clutch to find—assuming it has neither been eaten by a visiting cockatrice, hawk nor weasel, nor
hatched on its own.” Elizabeth tweaked the disheveled ribbons and passed it to Mary. “I will repair it for you when we get back.”

  “Come along then.” April hovered in front of Elizabeth, then darted ahead.

  They wove deeper into the woods until thick branches obscured the sunshine and dropped the temperature. Cool loamy smells with a hint of several varieties of dragon musk filled her nostrils. Papa found the scent unpleasant, but it comforted her soul like nothing else.

  The path faded into a narrow, ragged trail that only the muntjacs would use. Was that—yes—a broad, clawed footprint nearly obscured by the swipe of a tail. Longbourn had been here recently, too.

  April lit on a tree trunk. “Here.” She gestured upward with her wing.

  The branches began ten feet up. The little nest was at least twenty feet high.

  “You do realize we do not have wings,” Elizabeth muttered.

  “You never asked how high it was.”

  April was such a twitterpate.

  “What are we to do? I know you are willing to climb trees, but this is too much even for you.” Mary peered up at the nest.

  Elizabeth looked about. Nothing to stand upon. The brood mother had made a good choice of nesting sites. That boded well for the intelligence of the hatchlings. Only winged creatures, a weasel ... or a tatzelwurm could reach that.

  She pulled the market bag off her shoulder and opened it.

  “Why are you holding a bundle of dried cod in the air?”

  Not merely dried cod, dried cod with a touch of salt, and a sprinkle of white wine.

  “Do put those away! They stink!” April sniffed and sneezed.

  Elizabeth waved the fish though the breeze. “There is a tatzelwurm that lives in these woods. He is excessively fond of dried cod and a scratch behind the ears.”

  “A wild dragon? Why would you call one to us?” Mary gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Not wild. He has no Dragon Mate, but he imprinted. Papa says he hatched in the Longbourn barn. Our great-grandfather assisted the hatching.”

  “But why does he not live with us then?”

  “Our great-grandmother detested cats. They kept terriers to deal with the rats.”

  “But could not the tatzelwurm convince her that he was anything but a cat?” Mary glanced at April.

  “I might be able to, for I have such a sweet voice.” April preened her wing. “But most have to content themselves with lesser persuasions.”

  A nearby shrub rustled. Elizabeth crouched and peered into it. Two large, emerald eyes peered back. She pulled a piece of cod from the bundle and tossed it toward the bush.

  Raspy rumbles, quite like purring, erupted from the leaves. Two large, thumbed paws and a furry head emerged and inched toward the fish, snatched it and pulled back into the branches.

  “Good day, Rumblkins.” Elizabeth extended another fish, but did not toss it. “I am pleased to see you still enjoy my offering.”

  “It would not hurt for you to bring them to me more often.” His deep voice was raspy and rough as he spoke through a full mouth.

  “You could come to the house more often.”

  “Not since your housekeeper threw a shoe at me.” He swallowed a huge gulp and emerged from the bush in all his glory.

  His face and tufted ears were decidedly feline. Striped tabby fur with white tips on his toes and ears covered his whole front half. Magnificent large paws, with extra toes giving the impression of thumbs, sported razor sharp claws. Behind his shoulders though, the fur faded into deep brown scales that covered the length of his long, thick, snake-like body.

  “It was not our housekeeper, but my grandmother’s. The current housekeeper, Mrs. Hill has quite the soft spot for cats and will put out a pan of milk if she sees one. Rub yourself around her ankles and purr and you shall have fish any day you like.”

  “Like this you mean?” He circled her ankles, rubbing his cheeks over her feet and rumbling.

  She offered another fish. “Exactly.”

  He ate more slowly this time.

  “Perhaps you would be willing to assist us with a task of vital importance. I have an entire bundle of cod to offer for your help.”

  He looked up, a fishtail hanging from one side of his mouth. “What do you want?”

  “Above us is an abandoned fairy dragon nest with eggs near hatching. It is too high for me to reach. We want to bring the eggs back to the house so they can imprint when they hatch.”

  Rumblkins licked his broad paw and washed his face. “I like eggs. Almost as tasty as fish.”

  April swooped over his head, chittering. “You will do no such thing. I did not bring any of you here for a meal!”

  Rumblkins reared up and swiped at her, not trying very hard to hit her.

  “You are a horrid, flea-bitten bundle of fur.”

  “And you are a senseless bit of flying fluff.” He batted at her again, clipping the edge of her tail.

  April spun and wove drunkenly, colliding with Elizabeth. She caught hold of the edge of Elizabeth’s spencer and clung hard.

  “Do you really want your woods populated with wild bits of senseless winged fluff?” Elizabeth asked as she righted April on to her shoulder.

  “I could just eat the eggs.”

  “But then you would not have an entire bundle of cod.”

  Rumblkins chirruped in that funny way cats did and curled his serpentine tail around his forepaws. “You have a good point. If I bring the eggs to you, will you keep them away from the woods after they hatch? That would be far less effort than catching them and eating them.”

  April squawked and plunged her face under the collar of Elizabeth’s spencer.

  “We cannot force them, but they will be made very welcome and encouraged to stay. Some of them might even become companions to my Aunt and Uncle’s family and move to London.”

  Rumblkins’ eyes widened and his mouth gaped in a feline rendition of a smile. “And you will give me the fish?”

  Elizabeth patted the market bag. “You can smell them, I am sure. They are yours when we have the eggs, safely. There will be no fish if the eggs are damaged.”

  His long, forked tongue flicked out and licked his lips. “I like fish very much.”

  Elizabeth opened the bag and showed him the contents.

  He drew a deep breath, eyes half closed, and rumbled. “I will bring the eggs.”

  His front half walked to the tree and his back half slithered to keep up, an odd, awkward looking movement on the best of days. He pulled up with his claws until his tail wrapped around the trunk, then quickly disappeared into the branches. If there was something a tatzelwurm could do well, it was climb.

  Elizabeth held her breath. This was risky. He could decide to eat the eggs easily enough and April might never forgive either of them for it. As much as he loved fish, he might just do that for the sport of it. Dragons, tatzelwurms in particular, were not entirely predictable, nor reliable.

  But there were few options. She could not climb herself. Cockatrices loved eggs, so appealing to Rustle for assistance would have been certain disaster.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Hopefully the stranger’s cockatrice had not—

  Mary leaned into her ear and whispered. “He comes, and I think I see an egg.”

  Rumblkins’ decent was far slower than his ascent, but when he made it to Elizabeth’s feet, he placed a tiny, mottled blue egg at her feet.

  She picked it up and replaced it with a small piece of fish. “Thank you. How many more are in the nest?”

  He held up one paw. “One for each paw. Must I get all of them?”

  “Only if you wish not to have wild fairy dragons disturbing your peace.”

  He bared his teeth and growled as he made his way back up the tree.

  Elizabeth rewarded him for the second egg and produced the promised bundle of cod for the third. Rumblkins pounced on it with savage glee.

  As much as she loved dragons, it was difficult to
watch them eat.

  Mary collected the eggs into her padded reticule and tucked them inside her spencer. “The shells are quite warm. I do not think it will be long before they hatch.”

  “Thank you for your help. Remember, you are welcome at the house anytime you wish.” Elizabeth curtsied.

  Rumblkins lifted his head and shook it, sending bits of dried fish flying. “I shall keep to my woods if you have a flock of senseless flits about, thank you.”

  April squawked, but remained hidden in Elizabeth’s spencer.

  “You could be bothered to bring me some of these more often, you know.” He crunched on a fish head.

  “I shall consider it. Perhaps you might catch a few of the rats that are plaguing the hens.” Elizabeth tucked the empty bag over her shoulder.

  “Perhaps you should get a cat.”

  “I am sure he would like fish as well as you, and be far easier to deal with.”

  Rumblkins grumbled and growled. “If the housekeeper throws anything at me, I swear to you I shall bite her.”

  “You will find her very amiable.” Elizabeth leaned down and scratched behind his ears. “Bring her dead rats and she shall give you a pillow by the fire and all the fish you can stuff your fanged, furry face with.”

  He leaned into her hand so hard, he nearly fell over, eyes rolling back in his head.

  “I will let her know where you like to be scratched. Good day.” Elizabeth curtsied once more, and they turned back for home.

  “Do you think it was a good idea to invite him to the house?” Mary asked.

  “A house cannot have too many dragons. Mrs. Hill is a gentle soul who is easily persuaded. Between that and her love for cats, I think they could make each other very happy—and take care of the rat problem in the poultry eaves.”

  Mary laughed and pressed her hand over the reticule in her spencer.

  “You are not carrying chicken eggs.” April flew between Mary and Elizabeth. “You do not need to be so dainty.”

  “Though it pains me, I must agree with her,” Elizabeth said. “The eggs are more leathery than brittle. Unless you fall atop them, there is little chance you can damage them.”

  “I know you meant to comfort me, but knowing that, I now have one more thing to worry about.”