Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher: A Magic Shop Book Page 4

  He said a bad word. Mary Lou Hutton was the last thing he needed right now. "I should have known better than to walk home this way," he muttered.

  He considered running, but with the load he was carrying, he didn't have a chance of escaping.

  "How come you have so many books?" asked Mary Lou, falling into step beside him. "I didn't know you liked to read."

  Jeremy stopped and turned to her. "What do you think?" he asked angrily. "Only girls like to read? I read lots."

  "Like what?"

  Jeremy wanted to tell her to go away. But he knew she wouldn't, so there wasn't much point in that. Maybe if I keep her talking, she won't think about kissing me, he thought, with sudden hope.

  So he named some of his favorite books.

  To his surprise, Mary Lou had read most of them. They got to arguing about who was better, C. S. Lewis or Natalie Babbitt, and before he knew it, they were standing at the corner near his house.

  "Well, I gotta go," he said abruptly, when he realized where they were.

  Mary Lou looked unhappy.

  Jeremy might actually have considered continuing the conversation, except his stomach began to roar with hunger again.

  "See you later!" he called, and ran for the house.

  When he got to the front door, he paused long enough to look around. I hope nobody saw me talking to Mary Lou! he thought.

  Before he could worry much about that embarrassing possibility, he was distracted by a terrible sound from his bedroom.

  Bolting up the stairs, Jeremy threw open his door.

  "Hey!" he cried angrily. "Stop that!"

  The dragon, perched atop one of the gerbil cages, was hissing, shrieking, and flapping its tiny wings as if it wanted to lift the whole thing into the air. One terrified gerbil clung to the exercise wheel, shaking with fear. The other cowered in a corner, trying to hide under the sawdust.

  "Stop that!" repeated Jeremy, running toward the cage. "Stop it right now!"

  The dragon ignored him.

  Jeremy dropped his books and reached out to

  pull the dragon away from the cage. But between the creature's rapidly flapping wings and wide-open mouth, he couldn't figure out how to grab it. He kept reaching forward, then drawing his hands back. The dragon continued to strain at the cage.

  Finally Jeremy closed his eyes and thought, as hard as he could: STOP!

  To his surprise, it worked.

  Somehow he knew, even though his eyes were still closed, that the dragon had turned toward him. Then it sent him a question.

  The question didn't come in the form of a word, of course. It came in that now familiar sense of question-ness. Behind it were more questions, expressed half in feelings, half in fleeting images. He saw a picture of the dragon munching on a gerbil. With it came the sense that surely these rodents had no purpose other than to provide a dragon's dinner.

  The other thing that accompanied the images was a ravening hunger. Suddenly Jeremy understood that it hadn't been his own appetite that had roused him from his reading at the library; it had been the dragon's, which he was somehow sharing. The sensation returned so powerfully that he began wishing he could munch on a gerbil himself.

  "Blechh!" he said, opening his eyes. But his anger with the dragon dimmed when he remembered the porkchops he'd eaten for supper the night before.

  "When you get right down to it, I suppose there's not much difference between eating a pig and eating a guinea pig," he said, holding out his hand to the dragon. "And it's silly to be angry with you just for being hungry. 'No sense in getting mad at a cat for being a cat,' as Dad would say. But I'm going to have to get you to understand that pets aren't snacks."

  The dragon was calmer now. It began crawling slowly up his arm. The feeling of the little claws agiainst his skin made Jeremy twitch. About the time the dragon reached his elbow, Mrs. Thatcher stepped into the room.

  "What is going on in here?" she demanded.

  Terrified, Jeremy turned toward the door. He started to speak, then stopped. How could he possibly explain the dragon?

  "What was all that noise?" continued Mrs. Thatcher. "I could hear it all the way out in the yard."

  Jeremy blinked. Didn't she see the dragon? He flinched as one of its wingtips tickled his neck.

  "What are you twitching about?" asked Mrs. Thatcher.

  "Nothing!" said Jeremy, feeling somewhat dazed.

  Mrs. Thatcher wrinkled her brow. "Well, what was all that noise up here a minute ago?"

  "Some of the animals were fighting," said Jeremy, pulling his head sideways as the dragon nipped affectionately at his ear. (At least, he hoped the gesture was affectionate; it was hard to tell with a beast that hungry.)

  "I never heard any of them make a sound like that before. Maybe you'd better split them up."

  "I was just trying to figure out how to keep them apart when you came in," said Jeremy truthfully.

  As he spoke, the dragon started to crawl from one of his shoulders to the other. He tried not to laugh as the wings tickled his neck.

  "Well, let me know if you need another cage," said Mrs. Thatcher. "I think your dad has a few extras around his office. And stop wiggling, Jeremy. You look like you've got Saint Vitus' Dance!"

  She started to leave, then turned back. "When you get things taken care of up here, I want you outside. Dad's got a full load of patients, and there's no reason I should have to do all the yard work myself."

  "Sure," said Jeremy, still trying to figure out why his mother wasn't saying anything about the dragon. Was it possible that she couldn't see it? The idea was strange—but no stranger than the dragon itself.

  His confusion was multiplied by the continuous waves of hunger coming from the dragon. He was having trouble concentrating, until he heard his mother's next sentence.

  "By the way, your father's cooking up some business deal with the parents of one of the kids in your class. We're having the whole family over for dinner next week."

  "Who?" asked Jeremy, hoping it wasn't Howard or Freddy.

  "Their name is Hutton."

  Jeremy screamed and flung himself across the bed, causing the dragon to flutter into the air. "My life is over," moaned Jeremy. "How could you do this to me?"

  The dragon landed on the pillow. It stared at Jeremy, broadcasting crankiness about the sudden movement.

  Mrs. Thatcher seemed to feel the same way. "What on earth is the matter with you?" she demanded.

  "Are you really going to invite Mary Lou Hutton into this house?"

  "Any reason why we shouldn't?"

  "She's in love with me!"

  Mrs. Thatcher smiled. "Well, I wouldn't take it too seriously, dear."

  "You don't understand, Mom. She wants to kiss me!"

  "Oh, well, I wouldn't let her do that. You're a little young to start that kind of thing."

  "I don't want to let her do that! I want to stay as far away from her as I can!"

  Mrs. Thatcher frowned. "I'm sure she'll behave herself during dinner, Jeremy. This is fairly important to your father, so I want you to be polite when they come."

  Jeremy sighed. He could tell there was no point in trying to explain the total humiliation he would suffer if Howard Morton and Freddy the Frog Killer found out that Mary Lou had been to his house for dinner. It would be bad enough if they found out she had walked him home, which they probably would since she would probably tell everyone in school. Even Spess would have something to say about that. And it would give Howard, Freddy, and the others ammunition to make his life miserable for weeks.

  "Anyway, I want you outside soon," said his mother. "And for goodness sake, stop twitching! You look like you're having a nervous breakdown."

  He felt like he was having a nervous breakdown. He wanted to tell his mother that he would hold still if only the dragon would do the same. But there was no point in that, since then she would be sure he was crazy. So he just nodded and said, "I'll be down as soon as I can."

  Well aware of Jeremy
's sense of time," Mrs. Thatcher snorted and left the room.

  As soon as she was gone, Jeremy plucked the dragon from his shoulder. "What is going on here?" he asked, looking straight into its emerald eyes.

  Six - Tiamat

  The dragon squirmed, sending a message that felt like, "Let me go!"

  Jeremy hesitated, then released his hold on the creature. Flapping its leathery wings, it flew to the top of his bookcase. The moment it landed, Jeremy was struck with another wave of hunger. Clearly, he wasn't going to get any answers until the beast was fed.

  He listened for the sound of the back door. As soon as he was sure his mother was safely out in the yard, he darted down the stairs for more chicken livers. He took the dragon with him—just to be sure nothing happened while he was out of the room.

  When the dragon had finally sated its hunger, it sat on Jeremy's desk, preening its scales with its beaky nose.

  Jeremy stared at it. "All right," he said. "Give. Why didn't Mom say anything about you?"

  No answer.

  Jeremy tried again. Closing his eyes, he formed a mental image of his mother standing in the doorway. Then he tried to attach a sense of question-ness to the picture.

  The dragon responded by sending him a pair of pictures. The first showed Jeremy standing in front of his mother, with the dragon perched on his shoulder. Then the dragon faded from the image, until all Jeremy could see was himself. Standing there without the dragon he looked—as his mother had said—ridiculously twitchy.

  The pictures triggered a memory of something Jeremy had read. Do you mean Mom couldn't see you? he thought. Are you invisible to her?

  The dragon puffed a little cloud of smoke and sent Jeremy a confused jumble of colors.

  Jeremy frowned. If he wanted to communicate with the dragon, he was going to have to learn to think in pictures. Probably not a bad habit for someone who wanted to be an artist. But it was going to take lot of practice before they could "talk" easily. Of course, the dragon was just a baby. In fact, given how young it was, the fact that they could communicate at all was pretty amazing. Jeremy wondered just how smart the beast was going to get.

  "Well, if you stay invisible, it's going to be a lot easier to keep you a secret," he said. "As long as you don't do anything else to attract my parents' attention."

  He glanced at the clock on his dresser. The lawn!

  How long could he stall before his mother got upset?

  It wasn't that he didn't want to help, though he certainly had better things to do with his time than work on the lawn—like drawing, for instance. But if he didn't get things under control here, who knew what kind of disaster he would find when he came back?

  Setting his alarm to ring in ten minutes, Jeremy picked up the book Miss Priest had given him— the one written by S. H. Elives.

  He had skimmed twenty pages before it occurred to him to see if the book had an index. It did. Feeling silly, he began flipping through the back pages. He decided to start with "taming." The index had the word, but rather than listing a page to turn to, it said in dark letters: Don't even think of such a thing!

  A sudden squawk from the dragon distracted him. Turning, he saw that it had gotten into a fierce wresding match with a dirty sock. As Jeremy watched, dragon and sock rolled across the floor and disappeared under his bed.

  Jeremy decided to start at the top of the index and skim straight through. When he got to the word "milk" he remembered something he had read at the library. Flipping eagerly to the proper page, he found the following:

  Though dragons are best known for rampaging through the countryside, eating sheep and

  shepherd alike, many of them are reputed to have a deep fondness for milk. In at least two instances, we are told of a village or castle that kept one of the great worms at bay by offering it a trough of milk every day. The dragon would drink the milk. Then, hunger sated, it would return to its cave for a long nap. This method was particularly effective in the case of the dragon of Lambton Hall.

  Whence this fondness for milk? No one is quite certain. Some think it may stem from the fact that dragon mothers cannot nurse their young, which leaves the little beasts with a lifelong craving for milk. Others think it has to do with the primal fluid of the universe. Many simply list it as one of the mysteries of dragondom. In any event, while the method is hardly foolproof, it is certainly worth trying if you should ever be faced with a marauding dragon.

  "Or dragonlet," added Jeremy, as he closed the book. He felt a little foolish. He had read the story of the dragon of Lambton Hall at the library. Why hadn't it occurred to him to try the milk trick?

  He glanced at the clock beside his bed. If he didn't get outside soon his mother would start to get cranky. Dashing down the stairs, he slipped into the kitchen and filled a saucer with milk. He looked at it, decided it might not be enough, and got out a soup bowl. After a second, he decided to take the entire carton of milk back to his room, too.

  Setting the soup bowl on the floor beside his bed, Jeremy poured in some milk.

  Within seconds the dragon crawled out from under the bed, its flickery red tongue darting ahead of it. When it found the milk it plunged its head into the bowl and began slurping. Soon it had finished the entire bowl—a huge amount for such a tiny dragon.

  Jeremy poured some more milk into the bowl, but the dragon turned away and flapped its wings. Its stomach was so full that for all its efforts, it could get no more than a few inches off the floor.

  Making a little growling noise, the dragon gave up the effort at flight, sank its claws into the sheets, and began to climb the bed. When it reached the top it curled up on Jeremy's pillow and fell fast asleep.

  Jeremy smiled. If the book was right, the milk should hold it for the rest of the day.

  If it wasn't, he didn't know what he was going to do.

  When Jeremy returned from helping his mother, the dragon was no longer on the pillow. The only mark of its presence was a small brown spot where its breath had scorched the pillowcase.

  "Dragon?" he said softly. "Dragon, where are you?"

  A little swirl of blue trickled into his brain.

  "Where are you?" asked Jeremy again.

  The colors moved in a slow circle. It took Jeremy a moment to realize that the dragon was sleeping.

  But where ?

  Jeremy finally found the beast curled up in his sock drawer. Even though he knew babies needed to sleep, he couldn't help himself. Reaching down, he scooped the dragon into his hands. It snorted and opened one eye. The expression on its face was cranky, and Jeremy's head began to swirl with irritated shades of brown and green.

  But the dragon's mood passed quickly. Soon it had settled into the place on Jeremy's shoulder it seemed to have chosen as its special spot.

  "Let's see if we can name you," said Jeremy. Plucking the dragon from his shoulder, he carried it to his desk. "Stay there for a minute," he said firmly.

  The dragon's long tongue flicked out and back.

  Jeremy found the list of great dragons that he had made at the library. "How about Fafnir?" he asked.

  The dragon yawned.

  Jeremy crossed the name off the list. "Smaug?"

  The dragon curled its lip. Jeremy was just as glad; Smaug was the dragon in The Hobbit, and it had been a particularly wretched beast.

  "Ouroboros?"

  The dragon snorted, sending out a tiny puff of smoke. Jeremy wasn't sure if it was reacting to the name, or his attempt to pronounce it. He crossed it off anyway.

  The dragon was no happier with Orm Emfax, Heart's Blood, Nmenth, or Ruth. It wasn't until Jeremy suggested "Tiamat" that a flood of approving color came swirling through his head.

  "Tiamat?" he asked again.

  The dragon squirmed with pleasure. Its tail tied itself in a knot.

  Jeremy smiled. "Tiamat it is," he said. He was pleased. He never felt really at ease with a new pet until he had named it.

  Jeremy hesitated. Maybe "it" was the wrong word. A
fter all, according to Babylonian mythology, the original Tiamat was the mother dragon who had created the world. So Tiamat must be a female name. Did that mean his dragon was female, too?

  Though the answer didn't really come as a word, there was no doubt it was a positive response.

  Jeremy smiled. One mystery solved. He had a girl dragon, and her name was Tiamat.

  He looked at the dragon nervously. Had he really named her—or had he just found the name she had wanted all along?

  That thought opened his mind to a whole list of questions he had been trying to ignore, such as: Where had this thing really come from? What had Mr. Elives meant when he said, "It wants you"? And, most important, what was he supposed to do now?

  He closed his eyes and tried to send these questions to the dragon. Aside from some general puzzlement, he got no response.

  "Well, what did I expect?" he said aloud. "You're still a baby. Practically brand-new."

  He stroked Tiamat's tiny head and wondered once again how big she was going to get. Though he hadn't really meant it as a question, she answered him anyway. And the image that formed in his mind left no doubt what the answer was. BIG!

  Jeremy swallowed hard. But before he could think anything back at her, a voice yelled, "Hey, Jer, are you up there?"