A Book Dragon Page 5

  “For his size, he’s hardly clumsy at all,” said a second shrill voice. Two butterflies skimmed the surface of the pool, their bright-yellow wings almost touching.

  ‘ “They told us all dragons were awkward in the air,” the first butterfly said.

  “Because of their size,” said the second.

  ‘ ‘But you seem to have caught on to the knack of flying,” the first added. Nonesuch looked down modestly and saw in the water the reflection of the two butterflies, who flew in a circle around his head until he grew dizzy watching them.

  “What happened to the toad?” he asked.

  The turtle shook his head. “A hopeful but unlucky creature,” he replied. “A snake caught him.”

  ‘ “That’s a pity,” Nonesuch remarked, surprising himself.

  “It was years ago,” the turtle said. “late the snake later, though usually I’m a vegetarian; there’s all the nutrition you need in water weeds, really. But now, in a sense, I can speak for the toad too.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Ever since I absorbed the rest of him, along with the snake, I’ve become much more aware of the changes within my own body. I can feel my shell thickening, infinitesimally, as I grow older. Where

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  the skin of my neck rubs off against my shell, I can feel it growing again. What it must be to live as a toad! But speaking for both of us, we would be happy if you chose to stay here.”

  • ‘Oh yes!” the butterflies piped up together,’ ‘a dragon of our own!”

  “You want me to stay here?” Nonesuch asked in a surprised but pleased voice.

  ‘ ‘Indeed yes,” the turtle replied.’ ‘It would add a touch of distinction to our little pool.” Seeing the dragon’s look of wonder, he added,’ ‘Dragons have often been associated with water: one of their traditional roles is to guard springs. Many large lakes have their own dragon to watch over them. You, for example, might make your lair over the spring that feeds this pool, just there beneath the yew trees.” He nodded. “Also, you could lurk around the perimeter of the pool itself, make threatening displays on occasion, fly over it from time to time, now that you can fly so well.”

  Nonesuch looked around the quiet forest glade, over the fresh cool surface of the pool. He sniffed the shady air, full of woodland odors. There was plenty of game all about, he knew, should he wish to stay by the pool and keep his present size.

  The turtle added,’ ‘I have a more selfish reason for wanting you to stay here. I think that we are in danger. Humans often come here. At one time we never saw any from one year to the next. Now they arrive in bands. They water their horses in the pool - fat, juicy horses,” he added slyly.

  The butterflies, who had trustingly perched on Nonesuch’s head, one behind each ear, spoke up together. “They build their fires among the trees and leave the ground all scorched and black. They scatter their waste everywhere. Disgusting!”

  ‘ ‘I understand, from their talk, that times are hard out there in their own world,” the turtle continued. “Apparently

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  they think that gives them die right to trespass on our property. They’ve even put fishing lines into our pool; not that there are any fish worth catching. But I have to keep out of sight: they might take a fancy to make soup out of me. If only there were a dragon near the pool, they’d keep well away from us.”

  “A dragon of our own!” the butterflies repeated, more excited than before. Their shrill voices tingled in Nonesuch’s ears. “We’d spread the word, and all the other butterflies would come: blue, and green, and black ones with white eyes on their wings. We’d fly in a wreath around your head! We’d bring you word of everything and everyone in the forest!”

  ‘ ‘Including the humans,” one butterfly added.’ ‘But they’d keep away.”

  “It would be beautiful and peaceful,” put in the other. “Except that a knight could come to fight you.”

  “They do, you know,” the first butterfly said.

  “Then we’d see such a battle!” cried the second.

  ‘ ‘Which you’d win, of course.”

  ‘ ‘And the other knights would come for the body of their comrade.”

  “And carry it away, very solemnly.”

  “At night.”

  “With candles burning, like golden butterflies.”

  “And never come back again.”

  Then both butterflies said together,’ ‘It would be lovely!”

  The prospect excited Nonesuch too; for a moment he swished his tail, as if one of those valiant knights were now before him. He thought, briefly, that it was all very well for the butterflies to imagine such a gallant scene: they wouldn’t be alive to see if it really happened. For himself, he might be willing to take a chance on this future, as the guardian dragon of the spring. But then he realized that by accepting the offer

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  of these friendly creatures he would be turning back from the adventure he had set himself in becoming smaller, which might be the greatest adventure of aB. Besides, though he hardly liked to admit it, he was finding the world outside, the world of humans, too interesting to leave it completely.

  “No, I can’t stop now,” he said regretfully, at last. “I must grow smaller still. I have to continue: how much further, I still don’t know.”

  The turtle nodded gravely. Nonesuch was grateful to him for not attempting to change his mind. “But I may come back one day,” he added, thinking that, since he could always grow larger at wffl, he could still return to this pool, if he chose it out of all the world.

  “We’ll always be glad to see you, in whatever size,” said the turtle. And the butterflies cried,’ ‘Oh yes, if you were small enough we could play with you. We could really teach you how to fly!”

  Nonesuch let this last remark pass. He walked away from the pool, thinking that if he stayed much longer, he would stay forever. He flew off into the highest trees, waiting for dusk before he returned to his cavern, where he still slept.

  Now Nonesuch’s size began to decrease more quickly. In a few weeks he was no larger than a full-grown mastiff, though much stronger and a much better fighter. He came to know this in an encounter with the black hound Feroce, who guarded the bed of Brother Ambrose after he assumed the leadership of The Undergrowthe. So far, Feroce had killed one prospective assassin and crippled another. In the daytime he wandered about the forest to keep order there. Seeing a strange new creature, slightly smaller than himself, he advanced to the attack, grim and silent. In a

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  minute Feroce was in wild retreat; he fled to the castle for shelter, yipping and howling in terror at this flying thing that could bite and slash from any direction.

  For a moment the excitement and pride of battle raised Nonesuch’s hunger again. Perched on an oak branch, he licked the blood from his teeth and looked thoughtfully after the fleeing black and bloody dog. Should he finish the battle properly and eat him? Then Nonesuch shook his head. Let the beaten animal go and heal its wounds, if it could. It was no contest now: Nonesuch would see what he could do when he was smaller still, perhaps with the same dog.

  He was not to have the chance. Brother Ambrose had become very fastidious. He insisted that his surroundings be perfect, his clothing without spot, the manners of his table servers polished. When the tattered Feroce limped into his presence, the dog read his own death warrant in Brother Ambrose’s cold eye. He fled faster than he had from the little dragon and never returned.

  Two months later, when Nonesuch was the size of a cat, he learned very well what he could do when he was smaller. Feroce’s brother, the white-and-liver-spotted Grimace, who was accustomed to guard the outer walls of the ruined castle, challenged the green-winged creature that had perched insolently on the coat of arms of the late Earl of Grunsby above the main portal: a stone griffin above two crossed lances. Nonesuch, who had simply been enjoying the sun-warmed stone, descended to do battle. Disdaining to take advantage of his wings, he fought entirely on the ground. Even so, hi
s movements were so much swifter than those of Grimace, his teeth and claws so sharp, that the astounded dog soon backed away through a hole in the broken wall, howling dolefully. After this, Grimace took care only to attack creatures larger than himself, and became a superb and noted watchdog.

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  Meanwhile, Nonesuch flew to his perch again and crouched below the griffin, looking up at it as if for approval. The base of the coat of arms protruded enough to shield him from the sight of any humans directly below. The stones of the shady wafl were green with moss, so that he could not easily be seen from farther away. He stayed there, growing smaller still, until peace brought workmen to repair the castle gates. These workmen also tore down the stone griffin and set up the new coat of arms of Brother Ambrose, now Sir Ambrose: a fierce weasel rampant on two foolish-looking sheep.

  Nonesuch returned to the forest, fasting as before. He continued to grow smaller. And the smaller he became, the more fierce and savage did he find the world around him. When he was the size of a large rat, he was able to conquer a wild, starved tomcat, but it was a hard fight. His foe was able to leap as well as he, and Nonesuch’s wings gave him little advantage; though finally the cat made a snarling retreat.

  Nonesuch found that his own courage grew as he became smaller: perhaps it was all the courage of a great dragon now concentrated in his tiny body. Sometimes, it was true, he felt curiously empty. At first he thought this was due to hunger, but the feeling was different: as if nothing now tied him to the world around him. He puzzled over this at times, then decided, without understanding why, that it must be a feeling natural to anyone who became smaller.

  When his size approached that of large insects, Nonesuch began to eat these insects so that he would not grow any smaller. It was the ways of the insects themselves (except for the butterflies) that made him decide to keep his size. He did not want to be like them in any way. He was not ashamed of his horror at their cold eyes with so many separate lenses, their expression of cold ferocity. Their fighting habits seemed too sneaky to him, not really worthy of a proper animal. Many

  had poisoned fangs. Others could lay their eggs in, or shoot them into, the bodies of other insects, so that the eggs would hatch there and devour their hosts from within. One of these creatures even tried spraying its eggs at Nonesuch, but they bounced off his scales. He ate his opponent, and its eggs as well, and resolved to grow no smaller. Let the insects fight each other, in their own way: he would stick to foes with more dignity! There were quite enough of these now.

  All the changes in his life did not involve bloody adventures . Ward had gone out among the birds that this new green bird-as they thought-was not to be trifled with, but that he was not dangerous if you let him alone. He shone so in the sunlight that many of the more agile birds began to play with him, flying close and round about him, as if he were really one of their own. On one especially gusty day, when fine, stinging dust filled the air. Nonesuch realized the true difference between the birds and himself. He had taken shelter from the dust in the lee of an exposed boulder at the top of a steep hill. The birds stayed in the air; the wind whirled them about like dried leaves or snowflakes. Such light, fragile creatures they were! They seemed to move almost as fast as the dust grains, so that the dust hardly stung them. Whereas he, a dragon, however small, was so much more solid and heavy, even in the air. He was not the air’s plaything: he made his own way through it. He might envy the birds’ ease and lightness, but he also thought of them condescendingly: of course they were light, they had no treasure.

  Then a voice spoke within him: Neither have you! Nonesuch stayed motionless on the rock. while the light birds soared crazily in the tumultuous wind. They whirled high above him, watching with interest this shiny spot of green on the rock-for the sun had come out though the wind

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  was as high as ever-this spot that didn’t budge for hours, as if it too were stone.

  What was a treasure, after all? Nonesuch asked himself. Though his body didn’t move, his mind leaped and searched the past. He pictured the treasure back in the cave: all the piles of coins, the jewels, the halberds inlaid with gold and ivory. When he was very young indeed, when he had first realized that this large pile of objects, not all of them beautiful, was a “treasure,” something to be kept and increased, he had wondered why. He remembered, now, his grandmother talking to his grandfather, the Warm ofGrimsby Bog, who was so full of his dinner of a herd of prize white cows that he could scarcely keep his eyes open. “What do we want it for?” his grandmother asked. • ‘We treasure the things because humans do. And how did tfieyget it? Better not to ask. Why should we want it?”

  This woke the Worm up. “It’s treasure, my dear,” he said, mildly but firmly, and fell asleep again.

  Then Nonesuch heard his grandmother mutter, “The worst of it is, he’s right! A dragon without treasure has part of his soul missing: his heart is hollow.” These words seemed to resonate in Nonesuch’s heart now, though he was sure his grandmother had added in a very low voice,’ ‘And we care for these things only because humans do!”

  Nonesuch stirred on his rock as he remembered these words; above, the birds twittered excitedly. He thought he had rid himself of his family’s treasure easily when he became small. But apparently he had not lost the need of one. He could not go back to the old treasure again: he could not bring it back to the surface, and if he did, he could never guard it. But the thoughts of the treasure, and his family lying among it, brought him back to the cavern again that windy evening.

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  It was no longer empty. Firelight flickered on the arched stone walls. Smoke drifted out of the entrance; Nonesuch flew through it and perched on a dark ledge. A herd of sheep covered the cavern’s floor like a dirty black-and-white carpet. Against the pile of stones by the old entrance to the tunnel two shepherds sat over a fire.’ ‘Fetch us another log, Dickon,” the larger one said.

  The smaller man reached over and pulled a tog from beneath a sleeping ewe, who baa’d indignantly. “They say a dragon lived here once,” he remarked. “And watched over his treasure.”

  The larger shepherd lifted a leather bottle to his mouth. “A likely story!” he said at last. “He never would have left it.”

  The sheep baa’d together, as if they agreed with these words. Nonesuch looked at the whole sleepy crew of them, wondering if a few bites would stir them up. It hardly seemed worth it. He rose and flew out into the night.

  Soon he was high in the air, as high as when he had been a great dragon silhouetted against the moon. He flew in one wide circle at first, keeping the cavern in view by the glow of firelight in its entrance. When the trees hid this from sight, he continued, high and lonely in the air. In the dawn, after a long and weary flight, he was perched on a tree in the beech forest. He must be above the pool, he thought, though he could only see a small crescent of brown water. Possibly it was a rain puddle, left from the wild boars’ battles. The pool must be elsewhere, not far away. Nonesuch waited until full daylight to descend. Even then he did not go to the pool at once, but skimmed here and there in descending sweeps, as if to recon-noitre a land that would be his new home. AH night, as he flew, he had thought of the wise turtle’s wish that he guard the

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  pool. A year had passed since he had last visited it. Now it must be time to stay there: to eat and grow and keep the pool and its inhabitants from harm.

  But when he saw, unmistakably, the hawthorn bush at the pool’s rim, Nonesuch knew it could never again be as it was. There were gaps in the vegetation on either side of the bush. Two strange brown sticks projected in the air. These, when he flew closer, proved to be the hind legs of a dead horse. The horse’s body lay in the pool, atop the body of its rider, of whom only the legs could be seen. Green and blue trousers, red leather on the stirrup, and long pointed golden shoes, now all sadly discolored, proclaimed that the rider had been a gallant squire.

  Other things had been tossed in the pool, too
: a tent, also slashed, one banner still waving brightly above the water; two broken, submerged barrels; a wagon wheel; a small ladder; a coil of scorched rope. These objects covered the surface of the pond; much of the water had drained off elsewhere. Nonesuch flew quickly over the ruined pond, glad at least not to see signs of the turtle or of any other living creature, except for a host of buzzing flies. There must be some story behind all these objects, he knew, but it seemed hardly worth while to learn it.

  A quick spot of sunlight flashed at him from high in the trees. It was a butterfly, descending to see him closer.

  Nonesuch perched on the hawthorn bush, which hardly stirred beneath his weight. The butterfly circled round him ten times, then lighted on a thorn. “Oh, you are a dragon!” it said in a shrill, melancholy voice.

  “Why did you come?” Nonesuch asked.

  “Only to see you,” the butterfly replied. “We don’t visit the pool now. Once, they said a dragon had come and would come again to protect it. For a moment I thought it was you,

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  come too late. But you’re much smaller than the last dragon. I never even heard of such a small dragon as you are now.” The butterfly began to circle higher and the spirit in its voice lifted. ‘ ‘Come with me to the meadow; we live there now,” it invited Nonesuch.

  But the thought of playing among the butterflies tempted Nonesuch only for a moment: they were such creatures of the air that to live with them would be like turning into air himself. He must leave the pond, and the forest as well, and never think of returning. There was no reason now to come back.

  He thanked the butterfly politely, and flew away; the butterfly accompanied him to the tops of the beeches before turning back. Nonesuch continued out of the forest in a rising wind that sped him along. He was very careful not to look down, lest he see any trace of where the pool had been.