In which our little dragon friend proves himself useful.

Find earlier parts HERE

A quarter of an hour later Ambrose, the towheaded clerk just a little older than Peter, who helped in the coffee house, and Emily and Helen, the twin sisters who wore different colored ribbons to help tell them apart and helped in the kitchen, arrived and set to work. Peter set up the table and prepared the display counters while the girls prepared the base for the chocolate. Such wonderful smells rising in the kitchen. Millicent would open a window soon to send them out into the world, to invite customers in.

“Do you want me to start the short breads?” Blue-ribboned Helen stood near the central worktable and surveyed the state of the kitchen workflow. Of the two girls, she was the most aware of the rhythms of the kitchen, and needed the least direction.

“Yes. Take care though, the oven seems to be running hot today and I don’t want them burnt.”

“I’ll watch them close, I promise.” Helen all but skipped off the gather the flour, sugar and butter. Dear girl was already a good baker, nearly ready to work unsupervised.

Though they were all still young, they were reliable, hard workers, all of them, a true blessing, all things considered. Millicent didn’t have room in her life for things that were unreliable.

Like dragons.

Dragons who might make the Chocolate Dragon’s staff ask questions! Best go—

“Mrs. Brown! When did you get a ratter?” Emily, red-ribboned braids flowing behind her back, ran past Millicent to the slowly opening back door.

“Just a little rat terrier here. No need for alarm. Just a very smart little rat catcher to make your lives easier, ridding you from vermin.” The dragon’s persuasive voice grated and rasped at Millicent’s skull. Their persuasive voices always did that. She would have put a stop to it, except right now, persuasion was a necessary evil.

Emily did not hear dragons, so she only saw a creature that had convinced her it was a small dog. She knelt beside the little brown dragon and scratched under its chin. He stretched out his neck for her and wagged his tail exactly like a little dog.

“Oh, you smart little fellow. Were you catching rats for us?”

The dragon carefully took her wrist in his mouth and pulled her to follow him outside. Emily hurried behind him.

Great heavens, what was he about? Millicent trudged behind them both, carefully shutting the door behind her, lest the sudden change in kitchen temperature interfere with the dough proofing in the far corner.

Millicent pulled her shawl more tightly over her shoulders. The cold December wind bit at her ears and cheeks. She would have to send the boys out to gather evergreens and mistletoe to decorate the chocolate house soon.

“Oh, my stars!” Emily gasped as she came to an abrupt stop. “What a clever boy you are! Isn’t he Mrs. Brown?”

The dragon sat beside a tidy pile of at least six neatly dispatched rats, mostly obscured by a pile of fallen branches and leaves. Kind of him to gather the wood to avoid a show of gore and guts. Six though, that was a great many to come by so quickly, and did not bode well for the state of her shed or garden.

“Does he have a name? A ratter so clever must have a name.” Emily hunkered down, away from the evidence of the dragon’s hunt, and scratched behind its ears.

The dragon looked at Millicent beseechingly.

“No, he does not. I only just found him this morning.” At least she could tell that much truth. “I … I had not planned on his staying.”

“But he must stay! With all the rat problems we’ve had, you cannot send him away.” Emily hugged herself tight against another sharp gust of wind.

The dragon wagged hard, his ears drooping and eyes widening in a universal look of pleading that every young or small creature knew too well.

“I know, we can call him Criollo, like what’s written on that sack of cacao pods you just got in. Thems supposed to be the best ones right? He’s surely the the best ratter I’ve ever seen.”

The dragon yipped—just like a dog; he must have practiced that at some point—and he nosed Emily’s hand like a dog begging to be petted.

Emily stroked his head and scratched behind his ears.

“I have short scruffy fur. I am not soft and luxurious like a lap dog. But a very useful working dog you see. But I like to have my head petted and my ears scratched. And I like my name.”

Millicent pressed her temples hard. She would have scolded him for that awful persuasive voice if it hadn’t been utterly necessary.

“I think he likes his name, Mrs. Brown, very well, indeed. Please say you will at least give him a chance. Have you not said you would like to have a watch dog at night, now that…”

“Yes, I am well aware of how things have changed.” Millicent huffed, swallowing back the bitterness that still accompanied any mention of her recent tragedy. But Emily was right in that regard. A watchdog—dog, not a dragon—would bring a little peace of mind.

“I can be a very good watchdog. Just because I small doesn’t mean I don’t have a frightening bark, or a bite that will keep those will ill-intentions at bay.” The dragon sat back on his haunches and barked, growled, and bared his teeth, though his body posture made it clear there was no threat.

“I swear, he knows what we’re saying. Look at him. Would he not cause anyone to think twice before breaking in?” Now, Emily took on the same wide-eyed pleading look the dragon wore.

Assuming he wasn’t in cahoots with a brigand, he might be a suitable watch … creature. But how likely was that he was not part of some nefarious scheme?

It would be a great deal of trouble and planning for what would never be too great a reward. Perhaps if this were some fine manor house like Shawford Park or Coombe Place House, the effort would make sense, but for her little chocolate house, no, that was ridiculous. She just didn’t have enough to steal, especially now, for a brigand capable of that sort of scheme to bother with. She sighed.

“Get on back to the kitchen, Emily.  Helen will need help with the shortbread. I will make a decision about this creature.”

“Yes, missus.” Clearly, Emily had things she would have liked to say, but was smart enough to keep them to herself. She dragged her feet on the way back to the kitchen.

“You have been kind to me. Please, allow me to repay the favor. The rats you saw I was saving for later. I’ve already eaten several.” The dragon, returning to his normal voice, sat up very tall and looked at the evidence of his hunt.

Millicent swallowed hard. There had been more? It was worse than she had feared. But perhaps he was telling tales. “Can you prove that?”

Could dragons roll their eyes? If so, he just did. “Come with me.” He trotted off toward the shed, past the garden. “Here, you can see, tail, whiskers, and feet, I do not like those.”

Exactly as he said, a neat little pile of what had once been attached to rats—and it looked like more than just two.

“Mistress Millie! Mistress Millie!” Two lisping garden wyrms slithered up behind her, twining around one another, as pairs of wyrms were wont to do.

“Rosemary and Thyme.” She forced back the lump in her throat. She could not begrudge them their partners, but it only made her feel her own loss that much more strongly.

They were standard, shaggy-faced garden wyrms, long and snakelike, with leonine heads and frightening fangs. Hardly vicious, they regularly played with the children, and kept watch on the garden, dealing with mice and other small vermin. The rats, though, were beyond their ability to control.

“Mistress Millie!” Rosemary, the female wyrm, rubbed herself around Millicent’s ankles. She was actually rather affectionate for a garden wyrm, though not terribly bright. “The new dragon was brave. Made the rats run.”

“But he caught.” Thyme rose up on his tail, weaving hypnotically, as though to convince her of the truth of his words. “Caught so many all at once. Such good hunting. Shared with us. Now our bellies full, too!”

The hungry little dragon shared his kill? Well, that was something, wasn’t it? Dragons were not known for their goodwill or their propensity to share, particularly with those who might be rivals. “You did not think to tell me, that?”

“You were so generous to me, I could hardly believe that you would want others to go hungry.” The little dragon shrugged and looked up at her with those big, blinking brown eyes of his.

“He will stay, yes?” Rosemary wrapped herself around Millicent’s legs, tangling in her apron, the way Jules did when he clung to her.

Another chill gust shoved its way through the garden. She pulled her shawl tight.

Oh, merciful heavens! “On the understanding that if you stay you are to rid not just the shed, but the garden, and the Chocolate shop of rats, and to act as a guard dog as well. That is a lot of responsibility for a little dragon. But we all must pull our weight here, if we are to manage. That is all I can offer.”

“We all have our part.” Thyme slithered up to the little dragon and placed his chin on the ground, conceding dominance.

Just like that, the wyrm was acknowledging the newcomer’s dominance? That seemed a good sign. Dragons always argued for such things. But who was she to actually know?

The little brown dragon licked the back of Thyme’s head. “What am I to expect if I stay?”

“All the rats you can eat, and a share from our stores if there are none. A place at the hearth when you are cold, a roof to be out of the rain.”

“And a name? Will you give me a name? Can I be Criollo, like the Emily-girl said?” He cocked his head and blinked huge bright eyes at her.

She would regret this. Surely, she would regret this. “We will call you Criollo.”

Do you think Millicent is going to regret her choice? Tell me in the comments!

Catch up on parts you missed here.