Dragon! Book One: Stealing the egg

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Mother? Me?” Gareth’s eyes locked on the ugly beast of a dragon clinging to his shirt with claws as sharp as needles piercing his skin.

Tom watched, a smile threatening to spread, as if this was something he saw and enjoyed, daily. “Reminds me of baby ducks. The first creature they see becomes their mother-for-life. They’ll follow that ‘mother’ around like it’s the true mother, and they never change their minds about who she is. I’ve heard of them following men, dogs, geese, and once a sow.”

“I’m not this thing’s mother!” Gareth lifted the dragon gently with both hands and placed the dragon on the floorboards. The dragon’s skin felt damp and oily. A sniff confirmed the nasty smell was coming from the dragon. He wiped his hands on his pants several times.

The dragon remained huddled on the floor until Gareth glanced up at Tom. Then it darted back up his leg and settled in his lap, again.

“I wonder what baby dragons eat,” Tom asked in a calm voice, as he used the back of his hand to unsuccessfully hide a smile before unrolling his blanket. He found a piece of dried meat in the supplies Seth had provided for their travels. The jerky consisted of several large strips of venison. He broke it into smaller pieces and held one out, near the dragon, trying to entice it to eat. The animal screamed in terror, running further up Gareth’s leg and curling into a defensive posture at his waist, the same place where Gareth had carried the egg for days in the bag. It snorted as if trying to spit acid.

Gareth gingerly placed one hand under the dragon and lifted it from his lap, then sat it on the floorboards of the boat again, careful to keep his hand away from the snout and teeth. Stunned, the chick stayed there for a few heartbeats, then spun and raced up his leg, again. He said, “Listen, we’re not going to do this all night, and you will not shred my thighs with those claws. Make yourself comfortable somewhere else.”

Tom tossed the strip of dried meat to Gareth. “You’re doing fine. A good mother protects her young. You try feeding it, Mama.”

Gareth scowled but held the meat near the tiny nose between thumb and forefinger. The dragon looked, sniffed, and sprang too fast for his eyes to follow. The meat was in its mouth. Fast!

“Be careful with that thing or you’ll be missing fingers,” Tom handed him some more jerky. “Swap seats and let me take the oars while you feed your dragon so it doesn’t try eating me tonight. By the way, you have yourself a fine example of a male black dragon.”

“There are others?”

Tom gave him a questioning look before continuing. “Dragons come in reds, grays, and browns. A few whites, too. But blacks are the largest, smartest, and most feared. Even other dragons are scared of them. I’ve never heard of anyone stealing the egg of a black, in fact, I didn’t know any exist. Black males are myths.”

“There was only one dragon that we ever saw around Dun Mare. So, I thought all of them were black.”

“No, black females are rare, but males are even rarer. Until you fell from the sky, I’d never even seen a black in all my travels. To be honest, I thought they all died out long ago. I assumed the chick would be one of the other colors.”

Back at the nest, the night whisperer told Gareth, which egg to take. They insisted he take the larger one. Had they somehow known?

Once they settled into their new seats in the rowboat, the dragon ate more chunks of dried meat from Gareth’s fingers, never once drawing blood from a fingertip despite snatching each piece so fast the movement couldn’t be tracked with the eye. Then it curled itself up in Gareth’s lap and slept, looking more like a kitten than a vicious black dragon.

Gareth whispered to Tom, “What are we going to do with this nasty creature? We can’t sell the egg now, I guess. Will the army buy a baby dragon? Or will anybody?”

“Don’t think you have to speak soft, Mama Gareth. The black looks really sound asleep. But, you should probably wrap the two of you up in a blanket and keep it warm tonight.”

“I don’t want to sleep with that thing.”

“Son, you can’t leave newborn babies of any sort out in the night cold to die. I don’t know what we’re gonna do tomorrow, but tonight you have a duty.”

“I said that I’m not this thing’s mama.”

Chuckling, Tom took a couple of strokes to center the boat in the river but refrained from speaking.

Gareth made himself comfortable, turning his back on the old man to avoid more confrontation. He pulled the blanket over himself and drew his knees up, leaving the dragon on the floorboards near his feet. The dragon woke with a start, looked around and found Gareth, then eased closer to him as if stalking prey. It nosed around until it found the edge of the blanket, slipped underneath, where it moved up his leg to Gareth’s middle and curled next to him.

Gareth felt the first nip of night air chill and allowed the animal stay. The night birds whistled and chirped, owls hooted, and the soft whisper of the rowboat slipping through the water took the edge off his temper. Eventually, he fell asleep.

The night whispers soon arrived, soothing and comforting for a change. They immersed him in soft and mellow feelings, almost happy, if happy was the right word, which it was not. But they managed to convey satisfaction with his actions and offered a hint of safety. As they withdrew from his mind, he slept better than in recent memory.

Tom shook his shoulder. “Nice night and the stars are out. Looks like a few rapids up ahead. Nothing too bad, probably, but you better sit up and help guide me.”

The gurgling sounds of water rushing over many rocks filled the night air, and as he sat up, the tiny dragon squealed in protest before resettling itself back into his lap. The edge of the blanket still covered most of it. Gareth glanced at Tom to see if he was watching. When he saw Tom focused on the river in front of them, he pulled the blanket over the dragon.

Ahead were patches of white in the river ahead. As they drew nearer, the water ran faster. Rocks and boulders flash past. Twice Gareth directed Tom to one side of the river to avoid rocks, and once the boat scraped bottom in a shallow section, but they moved quickly and soon entered a far larger river, the water turning sluggish and darker.

Tom said, “Must be the River John. Care to take the oars and let me catch a few winks?”

“No problem.” They exchanged seats. Gareth scooped the dragon into the crook of his arm and carried it to the other seat as if he had done so a thousand times.

Tom said, “Rule number one for any crewman on watch on the water. You wake me for anything that you see. Or anything you think you see. That’s all you have to remember.” He unrolled the other blanket and pulled it over his head forming a hood, and stretched out across the bench seat, feet hanging over the side of the boat threatening to dip into the water.

The instructions Tom gave were almost like orders issued to a worker. Gareth decided to not object or comment. Tom was tired and needed his rest. Gareth peered into the darkness and found his eyes had adjusted enough to allow him to see the ragged shoreline of the river, and sometimes beyond. The shore was a darker line in the depths of blackness. Stars overhead formed brilliant points of white light. Later he saw the fluttering glint of a yellow light beyond the edge of the river. “Tom, there was a light on the shore. Up ahead.”

“Gone now?”

“Yes, at least, I can’t see it anymore.”

“Maybe a cabin with a fire or lantern inside. We probably drifted out of sight. Good man. Keep watching.”

The chuckling sounds of the water slipping past the boat were soft as the current carried them down the river. Bats flitted past their heads and mosquitoes whined. A lone hoot-owl called softly from the nearby trees on the left bank. The old man needed sleep as much as Gareth did, perhaps more when his age was taken into consideration. Gareth steeled himself to stay awake at the oars until sunrise.

His attention drifted to memories of life in Dun Mare and Faring. And of Sara, Odd’s lovely daughter. Time passed pleasantly. “More lights up ahead, Tom.”

He saw the blanket move as the old man rose up and looked. “A small village or town looks like. We’ll float past as quiet as a whisper. Careful you don’t let the oars make noise because it can carry a good distance across a body of water.”

Tom lowered his head and went back to sleep.

Thinking of the events so far, as much as Gareth had been scared when the dragon flew off with him, his friend, Faring must have been almost as frantic as Gareth when he saw him dangling below the dragon on that rope. Faring probably ran all the way home and spewed the story to his father that the dragon had flown off and killed him. He’d also tell the story to any teachers he encountered, too. And he’d tell it to anyone else who would listen, but the reality was that none of them could have helped Gareth. Still, there must have been quite a stir in Dun Mare over his strange departure. He smiled at how the old men at the inn would tell and retell the story of Gareth flying off to his demise while dangling below a dragon. Probably the biggest story in village history.

But that chain of thinking soon led him to one of the mysteries that he couldn’t speak to. How had the teachers in Priest’s Point learned of Gareth’s disappearance from Dun Mare so quickly? Nobody can travel that fast, except when flying on a dragon. Even if someone had found a way to travel that fast, that didn’t answer the other question. Why had the white ship chased them?

He digested and reconsidered all the facts until he figured out a partial answer to the last question. Tom had paid a woman in Priest’s Point to sew his new pants and shirt. She knew Tom fished on his boat alone. The larger clothing was obviously not for him. Somehow, she passed that information to the teachers, who were searching for someone his size. After finding out Tom had a passenger matching the general description of Gareth, the teachers must have ordered the white ship to sail after them. The teachers must have paid the ship owner well, or they had offered a sizeable reward. If not, the white boat would not have taken the risks it had. Even poor seamen know better than to chase the fishing boat into an area filled with jagged rocks. The risk for the expensive boat had to be justified with gold.

Tom had concluded the teachers could somehow communicate over long distances. As silly as it sounded, and as quickly as Gareth had dismissed the idea earlier, there was no denying the teachers in Priests Point somehow knew of him, and within a single day. They must also have vast resources of money as shown when they purchased the trading company that bought Faring’s Da’s tannery. He thought about the white boat chasing them through the rocks. Had he seen any teachers on board? He didn’t think so.

Faring’s Da said to always ask why. That seemed like good advice as Gareth continued watching the river and listening to the night sounds. His hand went to feel the lump that was the dragon under the blanket and paused. The newborn of many species are not beautiful. Some are downright ugly. The dragon was loose, limp skin over sharp bones, with a few barbs along the spine and eyes too big for the small head. The sharp teeth could remove a man’s finger with one snap of those jaws. He pulled his hand back to grip the oar, again.

Despite the lack of sleep, he managed to feel better than he had in days. The information fell into place, into nice neat little sections. Not knowing a thing was worse than not understanding the happenings around him. More lights appeared on the shore down river, and the sky in the east brightened with the coming day. “Tom, I see more lights ahead, another village, I think. It’s almost dawn.”

“Take us closer to the far shore so they won’t see us when we drift past. Anything else?”

Gareth eased the boat closer to the far bank with a few strokes of the oars and waited, watching all around as if making sure there was nothing else to report before responding. “The people in the next town will see us after the sun comes up, you know.”

“Can’t help that. I guess we could hold up for daylight, but the time we gain floating down the river ahead of them who’r chasing us would be lost. Besides, with the Brotherhood’s fast communications abilities, by nightfall they’ll have boats up and down this whole river looking for us.”

“Still, if we keep on moving during daylight, and maybe tomorrow night, we’re in Drakesport around dawn, right?”

“Right. If’n nobody snags us first, which they will. Now, ease up on your oars for a bit.”

“Ease up?”

“Stop rowing, I heard something.”

Oars held still, they both listened, and Gareth finally heard the regular sound of the paddling of another small boat. Gareth peered into the darkness upstream. He moved the sleeping dragon and the blanket to the floor, out of the way, and out of sight. A small boat took shape in the dim light of early dawn, long and narrow. It turned and headed directly for them.

Tom said, “Keep your voice down, and a hand on that dagger.”

They waited.

A soft voice called from a few boat lengths away, “There’ll be no need for that dagger. I’m peaceable. Is that you, Captain Tom?”

“That it is. And who might you be?”

“A messenger and a friend. Seth and Irene upriver are also friends of mine. She sent me looking for you with a warning.” The narrow boat pulled quietly to their side, and a middle-aged man with wild white hair smiled as he took hold of their boat to steady his. He pulled himself alongside. “Thought I’d never catch up with you two. Irene said to tell you those men in green robes came asking a fistful of questions right after you left. Then others came. Mean ones. She said to tell you they had two hound dogs sniffing for you. They wanted to speak with Seth, but he was off fishing.”

Tom leaned forward. “They didn’t hurt her?”

The man chuckled and said, “No. No, she’s a tough old bird. They just asked questions about the two of you. She told them that if the Brotherhood brought her boy back to her maybe, she would talk to them, but until then she wouldn’t say another word. She went to cleaning her cabin until they left. Lucky she did, because she palmed the two silvers you left on that chair.”

“Glad to hear she’s well. Now, who are you?” Tom asked.

“Call me Jenkins. Seaman Jenkins, if you prefer, sir.”

Gareth had breathed a sigh of relief at the news of Seth and Irene, even though he didn’t understand much of what had passed between the two men. Unspoken communication had told a tale he didn’t know. His eyes were looking at Tom and then at Jenkins, and he realized there was still more going on than he knew. The current eased both boats downriver at a slow pace, and Gareth wanted to push their boat off from the other and continue rowing, but knew there was more the two men had to say.

“How’d you manage to catch up with us?” Tom asked.

Jenkins used his chin to point to the small double-ended boat he sat in. “This thing’s a modified kayak like they use way up north. Won’t carry much weight, but it gets me there with less effort and a lot faster.”

Tom said, an edge to his voice, “You called me Captain Tom, and addressed me as sir. Have we met?”

“Yes sir, for a time I served under you at Scalene Passage. Manned the rails, port side.”

“Ah, I’m very sorry I didn’t recognize you, Seaman.”

“No reason you would, sir. I was a last minute transfer from the Invincible after she burned. Besides, you had your hands a mite full while you defeated those ships we attacked. Despite what the board of inquiry said, those of us who were there know you for the hero you are. The queen should have stood up for you instead of listening to her cronies.”

Gareth listened and watched the old fisherman with the bad grammar evolve into someone else. The language and manners grew by the sentence. He heard the air of command now in Tom’s voice, as well as the respect the newcomer paid him in word and manner.

Other thoughts of Tom flashed to mind. How fast Tom had agreed to the adventure of crossing a sea and selling the egg, for instance. Other men would not have been so quick to volunteer, at least not those Gareth had met. None of the men at the tannery would have gone, and Odd would have stayed on his farm. So would the old men at the inn. The teachers never joined any activity.

Jenkins said, “Irene thought it might be a good idea if I paddled on ahead of you, sir. Sort of keep you in sight behind me, but just barely. If you see me get snagged by the Brotherhood or the king’s army, you can maybe escape on foot.”

Tom nodded. “That would be greatly appreciated, seaman. I would also appreciate it if you didn’t call me ‘sir’ anymore. I’m just a fisherman these days. After we reach Drakesport and conduct our business, might there be an inn where we’d meet up with you and lift a tankard of ale to the old days?”

Jenkins pushed off and took a powerful stroke with his double-ended paddle. “The Sleeping Lion’s my usual haunt in Drakesport. But I’ll be the one buying the ale, not you, Captain.”

The dragon under the blanket stirred. Gareth didn’t want the dragon climbing out while Jenkins was nearby and liable to see it. He placed a gentle but firm hand on the neck of the little dragon and received a sleepy snort in response. It wrapped its long neck and tail in opposite directions as if to snare his wrist. Gareth pulled his hand free and gave it a few strokes to keep it calm. He slipped the hand away when he felt the muscles relax, and the dragon slept again.

As the smaller boat darted away downstream, Gareth looked at Tom until he caught his attention. “You have some explaining to do. Or should I say, explain’, Captain?”

Tom motioned for them to shift seats and he retook the oars. “You want the short story?”

“We can start there,” Gareth answered warily.

The oars dipped, and Tom pulled gently. Gareth’s change in attitude didn’t seem to offend Tom, in fact, he seemed amused. Tom smiled wider and said, “There was a time I was in command of a warship in service of Queen Alexandria, which was a few years after King Henry died. We were losing the war, back then. The Tarragon navy sailed north to embargo all our ports. Choke us off so we wouldn’t have food or supplies and have to surrender.”

“You were a military captain?”

“I was the captain if you put it that way. The queen wanted to make me an admiral, but that’d take away my ship and put me ashore. The story is, we were down near Scalene Passage, which is the sea passage between two large islands.” He seemed to drift off as he remembered, speaking soft and low as the sun turned the eastern sky pink. After a long pause, he continued, “We broke out of a fog bank directly in the face of the Tarragon fleet. I had my men ready at battle stations, but we were outnumbered ten ships to one. Three ships of the line and seven fast packets overloaded with troops.”

“Ten to one? Did they sink you?”

“I performed what’s called a strategic retreat. I turned and ran back into the fog as quick as possible. Since I knew where they were and their course, I predicted where they were going. I sailed north and lay in wait behind an island not much bigger than my ship, hoping for better odds. A day later, two of the smaller ships sailed right into my trap. We burned both by lighting an oil slick. Then we made for the Brandon Passage and found a packet ship half our size, but full of crack troops and weapons. It was running alone. We made short work of her and headed full sail for the capital port of Bristol to defend it and the queen from the other seven ships. We joined the fleet and won the battle.”

“Then what?”

“We turned the Tarragon back that day. It became the turning point in the war.” Tom continued, his voice was softer. “At first, the queen was quite pleased, and I believe ready to bestow knighthood on me. Then politics came into play, and high-ranking enemies in court said I was yellow and afraid, and that at Scalene Passage I ran when I had enemy ships in my sights. All true, if you look at it one way.”

“That’s silly. You ran because you’d have lost your ship if you fought. You sank three of theirs and still had your ship there to defend the capital.”

“Well then, I wish you had sat on my board of inquiry instead of those men who did. At any rate, they drummed me out of the navy, and many of those same bastards who accused me of cowardliness later turned out to be working for our enemies. With no pension and my name blackened, I decided to head home to Dunsmuir Town to live and fish as a simple man. I hoped the story didn’t follow me, but no such luck. Still, speakin’ like a poor fisherman born and bred in that part of the world made it easier. The locals accepted me. End of story.”

Jenkins bobbed down river in his small boat. Wavelets twisted and turned him. He often slowed his paddling to keep pace, and he even used his paddle backward a few times to keep Gareth and Tom in sight when he traveled too fast. Gareth looked at Tom in a new light. A sea captain of a royal warship. It didn’t seem possible, but there was the ring of truth in Tom’s simple story. There were things left unsaid, but as Tom mentioned at the beginning, it was the short story.

“So when I’m talking to you, am I speaking to a captain or fisherman?”

The old man turned and cast an almost angry look Gareth hadn’t seen before. He felt himself wilting like a leaf of lettuce left in the summer sun.

Tom spoke, his voice low and hard. “I was both fisherman and captain until my boat sank. A man can be a good captain on a small vessel as well as large.”

“I meant no harm, Tom. But it seems the man I thought I knew has been someone different the whole time. I’m adjusting my thinking, but it will take some time getting used to who you are.” The dragon stirred again, poked its head from under the blanket, sat up and sniffed the air. It made a full turn, looking at anything and everything as it tasted the night air, and flicked its tongue. Then it settled back down and placed its head on Gareth’s lap. So small I can hold it in one hand. I wonder how long that will last.

“In life, things are seldom what they seem at first glance,” Tom said, barely above a whisper.

“So I’m learning.” Gareth decided to let the matter drop. Or at least, stop talking about it, but there was more of the story to know, and when the time was right he’d ask again. Still, he felt somehow betrayed by Tom’s past. Gareth had only known him a few days, but always thought of him as an uneducated fisherman, and a friend. Now with the new information, there was a barrier between them.

They moved quietly down the sluggish river, keeping sight of the small boat ahead, and watching the silent towns and villages slide past. Now and then, a dog barked from shore. Once, they passed another boat so close that they spoke softly to the fisherman and wished him well on his catch.

Dawn came and went, leaving a foggy mist blanketing the river and both shores. The sun looked pale and weak, softened by the shifting mists and rolling fog. Ahead, Jenkins had to stop paddling and wait for them several more times, and he often closed the distance to keep them in sight in the shifting fog that lay over the river. They watched him closely. He acted as guide and barometer for trouble.

Gareth dozed. His thoughts and ideas of who the real Tom might be would wait, but after staying awake most of the night, the new information could wait. He felt the dragon snuggle closer and ignored it. His eyes grew heavy.

“Something’s wrong,” Tom hissed, pulling hard on the oars to slow their boat near the center of the river.

Gareth jerked his head up and looked at the river. Jenkins’ kayak spun and turned sideways to the current. It made a couple of odd circles before turning to face the right shoreline. Looking to the shoreline won river, Jenkins cupped his hands to his mouth shouted, “What do ya want?” A low bank of fog prevented Gareth from seeing who Jenkins spoke to. Jenkins paddled slowly ahead, keeping his kayak nearly still in the slow current, dipping his paddle backward a time or two. He shouted again, telling someone he had business in Drakesport.

Obviously, he delayed moving ashore, making sure Tom and Gareth were warned.

Tom took the oars in hand and pulled several long, lean strokes that stilled their boat in the current. As Jenkins reached the edge of the river, Tom rowed gently until the boat slowly moved upstream with hardly a sound. Both of them kept their eyes on the kayak disappearing and reappearing in the shifting mists. The fog thinned and separated, finally revealing, at least, ten soldiers waiting for Jenkins on the far shore. One of them stood alone looking animated. He ordered Jenkins to do something, probably paddle faster, but Jenkins seemed reluctant and shouted questions at him.

In the time, it takes to draw a few breaths the mists swirled around them again, and the kayak faded from sight. No cries of discovery and no fingers pointed in their direction. Tom pulled harder on the oars and changed the boat’s direction to head for the opposite bank.

Jenkins had bought them time to escape. They needed to leave the river.

The old man continued to row with long hard strokes. He angled across the river to the far shore and then upriver until they came to a place where a small stream poured into the main channel. Spinning the boat around, he aimed the bow up the mouth of the stream with several hard pulls, gaining speed with each. Once the boat entered the stream, there was no more room for the oars to reach water, but their momentum carried them a few boat lengths. Low hanging branches and thick brush helped conceal the stern as they pulled the boat as far out of sight as possible.

Tom said, “Gather what you want. This is where we start walking again.”

“If we stayed in the boat and slipped past them in the fog, do you think there are more soldiers further down the river?”

“I would bet on it if I was making book.”

“Making book?”

“Another way of saying I’d bet anything on it, Gareth. Thanks to Jenkins, he gave us the warning we needed, or they would have seized us right there where they caught him. They probably have a fast boat or two ready to give chase in case we tried to evade them, or maybe a stand of archers ready to let loose a volley of arrows.”

“Will Jenkins be all right?”

“Course he will. To them, he’s just another boat heading down river, and they have no idea that he even knows of us. He’s been down the river a time or two. He’ll just tell them most of the truth, but not all. He’ll soon be floating downriver again, which reminds me. Be sure to speak softly. Sounds carry funny in fog, sometimes over long distances.” Tom stepped from the boat to the muddy bank. He leaned back into the boat and rolled up the blankets with their food inside, keeping a keen watch the whole time.

Gareth also stepped into the boat again, waking the dragon in the process. He placed the strap of his bag over his shoulder and rubbed the soreness where it rode. He should have made a wider strap. The dragon seemed happy to reenter the leather bag that had held the egg headfirst. It curled up and lay still. The bag felt almost natural swinging at his hip after the days he’d carried it. Stepping into the soft mud of the shore again, he rolled his blanket around the remainder of the food and tucked it under his arm.

Tom nodded down river. “Might be some of those damn teachers of yours looking for us on this bank, too. Most people use the river for travel. I’m thinking we head away from the river and find ourselves a different road going in the right direction. Then we need to hide ourselves because they’ll have all the roads watched, too.”

“So we only travel at night?”

“Nope. They’ll have sentries out at night, and we’ll stumble onto them before we see them. Anyone traveling at night is suspect, so they’ll take a long look. Probably your teachers, the Brotherhood, are walking along every back road around Drakesport all night long. With their fast-talk ability, you can bet they’re waiting for us, and they know what we look like. Or, what we used to look like.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Well, first there’s a few things we need talk about while we get away from here. You know, things to understand between us.”

I thought we already had a deal. “What sort of things?”

“These teachers of yours. Or monks, or the Brotherhood if you prefer. Seems like there’s a hundred or two of them searching for you. For the life of me, I can’t figure how one young man can be that important, so if you’re the king’s long lost son or something, this is a good time to tell me. That way I can make plans.”

“I am nobody!”

Tom flashed a smile, which relieved all the tension in the hopeless-seeming situation. “Then I guess you and me are going to have to hide in plain sight.”