He jumped back. “Great merciful heavens above!”

 The vaguely striped, brown-grey dragon’s frill fluttered slightly as it hissed, sending gobs of slimy spittal flying in his face.

Ugh!

Was it dangerous? Was it poison? He scrubbed his face with his sleeve.

What sort of dragon was it? Drake? No. Wyrm? No. Puck! Yes, it was a puck and they were not poisonous! He exhaled hard and peered up into the rafters. “See here! There’s no need to take that attitude with me.”

“What right have you to be telling me the attitude I should take?” It snarled, tail lashing as it scuttled along the rafter until it hung upside down by all four legs directly above him, head hanging back to stare at him.

Philip bit his lip and held his breath a moment. Laughing at the creature would not improve matters and those sharp little teeth could, no doubt, inflict quite the nasty bite. “As I understand it, the Order does not take kindly to little dragons drawing attention to themselves that might be hard to persuade the dragon-deaf out of noticing.”

“No one else can see me up here. You’ve got no place lecturing me about Blue Order rules! Liar! Thief!”

“I am no such things.”

“Liar!”

“Have it as you will.” Philip shrugged and walked away. Disagreeable little creature, not worth his notice, to be sure. Not when Marianne was passing by. He tugged his jacket a little straighter and trotted toward the apothecary’s shop window that she stared into.

“Mr. Smalley, as I live and breathe!” She turned from the window and smiled at him, her bright green eyes warming him straight down to the tips of his toes.

Damn, it had been far too long!

“And here I was wondering if you had forgotten your friend entirely.” She cocked her eyebrow and turned her shoulder to him. Teasing minx!

“Now don’t you get saucy with me, Miss Newsome. Perhaps I should return to my butter and squash.” He turned his back and took a step away.

“You do not need to be like that!” She hurried to his side. “You well know I am only teasing.”

“Perhaps so, but it does not mean it is always a good time for it.” He glanced over his shoulder at her crestfallen face. “Oh, do not look at me that way. You know I cannot take it when you pout so!”

She smiled as he turned toward her. “It has been too long, you know.”

“Far too long. But now that Mama is well again, I had hoped that perhaps we might make up for lost time.”

Her sweet lips quirked up in the sweet half-smile she was known for. “What had you in mind?”

“There is to be a dance at the assembly hall tonight. Perhaps you might be there to dance with me?”

“And if I am not? Who will you dance with?”

He scanned the crowd. “I imagine Miss Blake might be interested in the first dance and Miss Oak the second, Miss Turning the third …”

“Oh, you are a horrid creature. You continue on like that and I swear I will dance the first and last with Frank King.”

“Would you now? He has already asked you?”

She flushed a deep pink. “As a matter of fact, he has.”

His cheeks prickled and his face grew cold as he slipped back half a step. Where was that cur? How dare Frank when he well knew …

 “Oh, Philip, I did not mean to upset you so. You must know—oh, what a goose I am. Always teasing when I should not be—” she gasped. “Gracious what is that!” She pointed toward the ground just behind him.

Had that horrid little dragon followed him from the buttercross? Blast! “Just a stray dog.”

“No, it’s not, or have you forgotten?” She held out her hand with a dainty pewter signet ring on her small finger.

“Yes, yes, I recall. Perhaps I am simply reminding you that Frank King would tell you it was a dog.”

“Do not be that way, Philip! Please. I was only playing.”

The little puck scurried closer and growled.

She skittered back. “Why is it growling at you?”

“I have no idea. Shoo, there, get along. You have no business here.” He waved at the puck, but it came closer.

“Feed it or something. Make it go away. It is scaring me!” Marianne edged behind him.

That was oddly satisfying. “Go on, now. Just leave us be.”

“Why should I, now?” the puck said.

“We have no issue you with you.” Philip waved it away again.

“But I have one with you.”

“How could you? I have never seen you before. Begone, now.” Philip placed Marianne’s hand in the crook of his arm and led her away.

“I do not like the look on that … dog’s … face. It seemed angry and determined.”

“I have no idea why. I have never seen it before this morning. It was up in the rafters of the buttercross and it hissed at me there.”

“I have never known any creature to be disagreeable toward you. Cows, chickens, cats, dogs … of all sorts… they always like you. Do you think—can … dogs … of that sort become mad?” She glanced over her shoulder, pressing her shoulder to his. “It is following us.”

“I do not think so. I have never heard of such a thing happening.”

“But that does not mean it cannot.”

“It is not foaming at the mouth and it was making sense when it spoke. I cannot imagine a … mad dog… sounding like that. No, I am sure that is not what is happening.” He looked behind them. The angry puck still followed at the same distance, not closer, not farther away. As though it were simply intent on not losing sight of them.

“I suppose that makes sense. But it is frightening me.”

“Dogs of that type are … trained … not to harm people. I am quite sure it’s … trained … quite well.” He glowered at it. Even if it did not have a Friend, the little dragons of the kingdom all knew the Blue Order rules well enough. It was forbidden that they should hurt any person unless in fear of their lives, which was certainly not the case now. “Shall I escort you back to your sisters and plan on seeing you at the dance tonight?”

She leaned a little closer, clutching his arm pleasingly. “That sounds very good.”

By the time he left Marianne with her sisters near the haberdasher a few doors down from the apothecary’s, the angry little dragon had disappeared. Good riddance to the annoying creature.

What was wrong with it? Wild dragons rarely bothered with warm-bloods and certainly did not stalk them in public. Was that puck wild, though? The fact it had spoken first to Philip and now to Marianne suggested that it had some human connection, as least at some time during its life. If that was the case, though, why was it here in the market, with no Friend or connection in sight?

Strange, very strange. A flash of blue across the street caught his eye. The Order office. Perhaps he should report the oddity there.

“What a very strange dog!” A boy in the crowd cried and pointed toward Philip.

“Yes, I am a dog, an ugly stray dog that you do not want to be near.” The puck muttered in a raspy, painful persuasive voice.

The little boy shrugged and scampered off.

Michael waved from across the market. Botheration! Regular customers clustered around his cart. The dragon and the Order would have to wait. A man had his priorities. He dodged through the crowd, trotting toward the butter and dairy corner.

“What took you so long?” Michael shook his head and waved the small group apart to allow Philip to take his place by his cart.

The answer would have to wait until Mr. Burns had his three squash and ball of butter and Mrs. Anderson had her four eggs, two balls of butter and her mending, and the innkeeper who was expecting a lively crowd with the assembly tonight and wanted to be well prepared with five balls of butter. 

“I am still waiting for my answer.” Michael leaned jauntily against his cart, eyebrow raised. “No more excuses. Tell me now.”

“Nothing so interesting as your news, I’m afraid. But she agreed to dance with me tonight, so I am satisfied.”

“You aren’t the only one wanting to dance with her tonight, you know. I overheard Frank King talking about her to his brother. He intends to make her forget about you.”

Apparently there had been something to her teasing, after all. “Then I suppose I will have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Michael snorted softly and frowned. “What will it take for you to ask her to marry you?”

 “For one, there, there is her father.”

“You think that is going to be a problem?” Michael’s shaggy pale brows knit.

“I have not talked to him yet. It could be. One never knows, does one?”

“Have you talked to her yet?”

“It seems prudent to talk to her father first.”

“But if she is agreeable, you know he will be, as well. He is one of those men who puts stock in his daughters’ happiness.”

“And I am grateful for that, to be sure.”

“Look, there, Frank is talking to Mr. Newsome right now. Looks like Frank’s inviting him for a drink at the pub. I tell you, you best not waste your time. Marianne may like you, but Frank will inherit his father’s yeoman farm and Newsome may well think that will make her happier than your cows. Regret is a bitter thing indeed. Give me that notebook of yours, and I’ll manage the cart. Don’t waste your chance—you know how Frank King can be—his morning and his evening songs do not agree. There is no telling what wrinkle he might tell to get into Newsome’s good graces.”

Dammit all, Michael was right about Frank. But then again, Marianne seemed to realize it herself. Though she taunted him with Frank, she did not seem to have a real interest in him. Perhaps there was nothing—

Then why did she taunt him with Frank when she knew how much it upset him?

Was she trying to encourage him? Warn him, perhaps?

“So. you’ve finally worked it out for yourself, no?” Michael cuffed his shoulder. “Go now, be a man or don’t come crying to me with your regrets. I won’t be hearing it, understand?”

Philip fished the notebook and pencil out of his pocket and handed it to Michael. He wasn’t going to ask for her hand today; that was not the sort of thing one did rashly with so little preparation. A girl ought to have fine words and at least a bouquet of wild flowers to go with a proposal. But he could make his intentions clear to her father—and subtly warn him about Frank. That, he could definitely do.

There, they were heading to the pub. Dash it all! He should not run, that would appear too desperate. He set out at a very respectable pace, though, dodging through the crowd.

Growling and yipping, growing louder as he approached Bath Street. The ugly little dragon was chasing after him! Running would do no good, none at all. Enough was enough.

He stopped and faced the approaching puck, fists planted on his hips, elbows flared wide, shoulders drawn back and tall. It was said being ‘big’ was important when dealing with a dragon. “Leave me alone,” he snarled, his chest rumbling and teeth bared.

“Not until you return to me what is mine.” The puck skittered closer, until it stood just a yard from Philip’s boot.

“Yours? What are you talking about? I have nothing that is yours. Dragons do not own property.”

“Yes, they do. Ask the Order.” The puck glared toward the Blue Order office.

Philip huffed. “Major dragons own land.”

“And hoards.”

“Yes, some keep hoards. Some major dragons keep hoards.”

“So do pucks.”

He had read that somewhere, at some point. Silly, irritating little hoarders. “I did not touch anything belonging to you.”

“Yes, you did! In that cave. Those things were mine!”

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On dear, it sounds like Philip is in trouble. What do you think? Tell me in the comments.