Dragon Keepers #3: The Dragon in the Library (9 page)

95

try to keep up with it. (Although we get enough grief for it, don't we? We do!) We just let it build up, and every now and then some sweet young thing like this comes along and starts carrying on and brings it all raining down. It's perfectly harmless, I assure you, and generally dissolves seconds after contact. Observe." Wink held out one long arm to demonstrate.

The cousins watched as the flakes disappeared into the fabric of his jacket and didn't even leave spots. Emmy, tears suddenly forgotten, sat up and cast the sodden facecloth aside. Opening her mouth wide, she caught some dragon dust on the tip of her forked pink tongue.

"Mmm...yummy. Tastes like The Time Before," she said, smacking her lips and opening her mouth for more.

Taking advantage of Emmy's distraction, Jesse turned to the shelf elf. "So you're saying that the red book is called Leandra. And that Leandra is actually Emmy's mother?"

"And that Emmy has a
book
for a mother," Daisy added, just to be sure.

The shelf elf sighed. "(My word! They just don't seem to hear it the first time, do they? They really don't!) Emmy has a
dragon
for a mother," Mr. Wink explained waspishly. "These books you see on the

96

shelves all around you? They were all, every single one of them, full-fledged dragons at one time. When--after many centuries of life in their various domains--dragons die of natural causes or, as is unfortunately sometimes the case, are slain, smote, or otherwise terminated in an untimely fashion, this is where they come to roost."

"So," Daisy said slowly, looking around as if seeing the books on the shelves in a new light, "it's like dragon heaven."

"Think of it as heaven, with visiting privileges. Traveling privileges as well. (Come to think of it, isn't that the truth? It is!) These volumes contain the sum total of the lives of the dragons that lived them: their thoughts, ideas, sermons, lectures, homilies, theories, spells, poetry, philosophy, psychology, recipes, helpful hints, pithy sayings, games, activities, plans, hopes, fears, and dreams for those who follow." Willum Wink sucked in a deep breath, exhaled, and then smiled.

"Now
that's
what I call interesting!" said Jesse.

"Not necessarily! Oh, no! You'd be surprised what crashing bores some of them can be. But the majority really are quite worth the parchment they are printed on. Young dragons, like this one here"--the elf gestured to Emmy--"come to learn the wisdom of the ages: Tales of The Time Before, if you

97

will. Or, alternatively, volumes from our collection can go forth and visit themselves upon dragons out in the field. Leandra joined our collection over one hundred of your years ago, after George Skinner smote her and drank her blood."

Jesse looked to see if Emmy had heard that, but the young dragon seemed to be otherwise engaged. He nudged Daisy and she nodded, smiling. Emmy was lathering herself with dragon dust. Not only was she not crying anymore, she was practically dancing for joy.

Willum Wink went on: "I'm truly sorry Leandra isn't here. (I'm actually rather concerned, now that I think of it--where could that dear girl be? I cannot imagine!) You would have loved reading her story. It was a towering saga of good versus evil fraught with emotional resonance." He fished a big, yellowed hanky out of his breast pocket and dabbed at the tilted corners of his eyes. Then he blew his hooked nose into it and stuffed the hanky away. "But it's not as if we have a shortage of books here. Oh, no! I'll have you know that we are a fully accredited institution."

Jesse and Daisy both nodded, duly impressed.

"Oh, I have it!" The shelf elf kicked up his heels and laughed merrily. "I just thought of the perfect book for you. (Oh, how I love, love,
love

98

matching readers with books! All the rest is just paperwork--face it, Winkie!)"

Willum Wink gathered in a silken lasso from his tool belt and tossed it high into the foggy reaches. The line went taut and then the elf began hauling something down, arm over arm. Soon a huge stack of parchment bound on the long side sailed down from on high and settled on the floor in front of them with a deep, musty-smelling sigh.

It was very big, even for this collection, but it wasn't much to look at. Unlike all the other books, this one had no colorful leather cover, and its pages were stained and ragged and torn.

"What happened to its cover?" Jesse wanted to know.

"I know. It's rather a pitiful sight, isn't it? (But never judge a book by its cover or lack thereof, I always say, don't I? I do!) We've offered to tidy him up and even give him a dashing one hundred percent synthetic cover to replace the one he's lost, but no, he prefers to bare himself in all his battle-scarred splendor. I'm sure he'll be more than eager to recount in colorful detail how he got this way. (He never misses a chance, does he? He doesn't!)" Willum Wink tapped his toe, cleared his throat, and called out: "Balthazaar? Yoo-hoo! Balthazaar of Belvedere, come forth. Eager readers await you!"

99

Chapter 6 CHAPTER SIX BALTHAZAAR'S STORY

The stack of pages ruffled sluggishly, then went still again.

The shelf elf squinted hard. "Really?" he said. "You say you are not in the mood for storytelling? Even for the Dragon Keepers of Emerald of

100

Leandra and the hatchling herself?"

Jesse and Daisy watched as a cloud of dark gray mist bubbled out of the parchment and formed itself into an enormous ghostly black dragon. A deep voice rumbled forth from the mouth of the giant apparition: "The long and short of it was, I was duped." In his ghostly face, his eyes, dark red as garnets, seethed with indignation.

"Do start at the beginning, please. (They'll skip ahead to the climax, if you don't watch them, won't they? They will!)" The shelf elf leaned against a bookcase, his long arms seeming to have lost all their bones as he flung them casually around his neck like the ends of a scarf.

"Very well," said Balthazaar. "Mine is the story of George Skinner and his lady, although I use the term loosely."

Jesse and Daisy settled themselves cross-legged on the floor of the Scriptorium, ready to listen.

"So is this the
true
story of St. George the Dragon Slayer?" Daisy asked. "We read one version of it already on the Internet."

"Not
my
version, you didn't!" The red eyes gleamed like a pair of reflectors caught in headlights. "What you read is
their
story: a pack of bald-faced lies. My story is the truth. In my story, George is no hero on a white steed. He is not even a knight.

101

And in this hallowed place, we don't even mention the words 'saint' and 'George' in the same breath."

"Then if he wasn't--excuse me, please, just this one time--
St. George,"
Jesse asked, "then who was he?"

"He started out in life as George Skinner, the tanner's boy, scraping the rotting flesh from the skins of carcasses. No matter how many riches he accumulated, he never lost the stench of the tanning vat. It is the smell of death."

Daisy, remembering St. George's breath, thought she knew the smell all too well.

"And who was I?" asked the dragon. "I was a sorcerer."

"Wait a minute. You mean a
human
sorcerer?" Jesse asked.

Daisy nodded, the same question on her mind as she imagined a robed figure with a conical cap and a magic wand.

Balthazaar spat contemptuously. "I was a
real
sorcerer. Those clowns in the peaked hats were mere
students
of dragon sorcerers. But of all the powerful dragon sorcerers in all the domains, none was more powerful than I. People journeyed from far and wide to consult with me, and my rates were always reasonable and fair. I had been practicing for hundreds of years and had amassed sufficient

102

wealth to buy the petty kingdom of Uffington a thousand times over.

"That was my first mistake, to hoard my treasure in plain sight when I should have hidden it...but what are riches for if not to flaunt?"

"What was the second mistake you made?" Daisy asked.

"Taking on George Skinner as my apprentice."

"St. George, er, I mean George Skinner, was your
apprentice?"
Jesse asked.

The dragon shot Jesse a look designed to discourage further needless interruption. "That's what I just said, boy. And a promising one he was, hungry for knowledge. My fatal blunder was not seeing his hunger for what it was. He was a comely lad, too, and he had turned the head of the king's daughter, the flame-tressed one."

"Princess Sadra," Daisy said.

"Princess of
Darkness,"
the dragon intoned gloomily.

Emmy broke in. "That means she's a witch!" The dragon dust shower had tapered off, and she now listened to the story while turning every which way, trying to reach an itch on her back. "Didn't I tell you two that she was a witch?"

"Yes, you did," said Daisy. She sprang up and tried to scratch Emmy's itch for her. But the

103

dragon's squirming made it impossible. Daisy finally threw up her hands and returned to her listening spot.

"Go on with the story, Balthazaar," Emmy said. "Don't mind me."

"Don't worry. I won't," the big dragon said snappishly. "Now, where was I?"

"Sadra the witch had just become George's girlfriend," Emmy said cheerfully.

"Ah, yes!" said Balthazaar. "At first, I couldn't believe my good fortune. George was the most diligent apprentice I could have asked for. And Sadra was every bit as helpful. She even took charge of the meals. I was flattered, having a princess in charge of my scullery, but I have always had a weakness for flattery. One night, we sat together in the dining hall, as we did every night, to sup. But on this night, one taste of her wild boar stew sent me into a stupor."

"Sadra drugged you!" Jesse said and turned to Daisy. "Do you think that's how she keeps the dogs and dog-men in her power? By feeding them drugged meat?"

"That's
exactly
what she does," said Daisy. "I'm sure of it!"

"When I came to my senses," said Balthazaar sadly, "over a year had passed. My treasure trove

104

was gone! Skinner and Sadra had made off with every last coin."

"Skinner stole
me
," Emmy said, now scratching her back against the edge of one of the bookcases, "when I was just a hatchling, didn't he, Jesse and Daisy? But my Keepers got me back."

"Would that my Keeper had been there to save me, but I had outlived my own Dear One by several hundred years by that time. I went to Uffington Castle to beg the king to intervene on my behalf. The king had always been my friend. But my friend was gone. George and his own daughter had driven him off, and now they held the castle and the kingdom. I stood outside the walls and begged them to give me back my gold. That was when they started spreading those vile rumors about me."

"You mean about you killing all the cattle and sheep?" Daisy asked.

"Yes. Maidens, too. Orphans, mostly, so there were no families to stand up for them. George made a great show of offering up those sacrificial maidens. At sunset on the night of the full moon, he would bind them to a stake outside the castle walls on a place called Dragon Hill. I would come at night and set the poor terrified creatures free. They fled and took sanctuary in the next kingdom. But their disappearance worked to George's

105

advantage. He told the people I had eaten the maidens, and he left a pile of bones outside my home. It wasn't long before he had turned my neighbors and even my dragon associates against me."

"Hey, no fair!" Jesse cried.

"One night," Balthazaar went on, "the townspeople came for me bearing torches and clubs. The world believes that dragons are fierce, but by nature, we're not. What is more, my powers had been weakened by that long period of morbid slumber. I found I could neither flame nor fly. The mob easily overpowered me and removed my last ounce of strength by binding me in iron chains. Iron weakens dragons, you know."

"We know," said Daisy, summoning a grim memory of St. George trapping Emmy in a coil of iron chains. If the hobgoblin queen hadn't come to the rescue, St. George would have smote Emmy with the queen's own Golden Pickax.

Balthazaar continued with his story. "Once I was in chains, George came at me with a sharpened lance and pierced me through the heart."

"Beneath the wing, where you have no scales," Daisy added grimly.

Balthazaar nodded thoughtfully. "Had I known what he would do to me afterward, I might have

106

fought harder. I suppose I should have known better. Once a tanner, always a tanner."

"Oh, no!" Daisy clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, yes!" said Balthazaar. "George Skinner...
skinned me:
I, Balthazaar of Belvedere."

Daisy was glad that Emmy was too caught up in scratching her itch to pay much attention to the tale's grisly turn.

"He took the best and most powerful part of me for a trophy: my beautiful black scales, my magic, my essence, my soul, my identity, my pride, my
dragon skin!"
Balthazaar finished on a note that trembled with passion.

There was a moment of silence as they all mourned this inestimable loss.

In a lighter tone, Balthazaar added, "For all I know, the blackguard has it mounted on a wall somewhere."

"No," said Jesse, shaking his head. "That's not what he did with your skin, Balthazaar."

Daisy shot Jesse a curious look. "So what did he do with it?"

"You know, Daze. Think about it. What is George always wearing, no matter how hot it gets? And what has Sadie Huffington been wearing nearly every time we've seen her?"

Daisy's eyes widened. "A long black coat!" she