In which our little dragon reveals a shocking truth.

Find earlier parts HERE

Far too much blood splattered the little dragon on the floor under the little round dining room table. Several of her customers scooted back out of the way as Millicent scooped him up in her apron and ran to the kitchen, where a warm hearth and plenty of warm water would help her tend Criollo’s needs. Peter and Jules trailed behind her, tense and silent. Tears trickled down Jules’ face. No doubt he felt somehow responsible for all this, even though he was not.

She shouldered her way into the kitchen, arms full of the injured dragon. Warm, fragrant air reached out to embrace them both. “Emly, Helen go to the shop and get the mess cleaned up.”

The girls, both engrossed in mixing biscuit dough, jumped.

“What happened?” Helen stood on tiptoes, elbows on the worktable, to peer at Millicent and bloody apron.

“Chester, that forsake German boarhound, has finally cross the line.”

Royal peeked out of the scullery.

“Is that—” Emily rushed toward her, Royal just behind her.

“We will speak of it more later. Go now.” Millicent ushered the girls out and shut the door and pressed her back against the door, her labored breath aching against her ribs.

With the little dragon so injured, it was just possible that the boys would say something that would prompt the girls to see the dragon’s true nature, and Criollo was in no state to persuade them of what they needed to believe for the good of the Blue Order, and the world as they knew it.

“Will he die?” Jules almost sobbed.

Royal linked arms with Jules, his dear little face stricken.

Pray not another loss so very soon! It was more than their little hearts should have to bear.

“We will do everything we can. I promise you that.” She knelt beside the hearth and laid Criollo on the warm stones. “Let’s have a look here. Peter, get me a clean towel and a dish of hot water. Jules and Royal, find me a large basket and something soft for him to lay in.”

They hurried to gather the supplies.

She wet the towel and cleaned Criollo’s bloodied hide. Dark bruises were coming up along his side, and a deep gash welled blood along his leg where the dog had gotten hold of him. Proof of what the dog could have done to Jules.

“Is Jules all right?” Criollo forced his eyes open and peered up at her, voice thin and breathy.

“I’m fine.” Jules placed a large basket on the hearth and stroked Criollo’s cheek.

Criollo closed his eyes and sighed. “Good. That creature is dangerous.”

“Did you … is your bite venomous?” Millicent rinsed and wrung out the towel.

“Only when I choose.” Criollo coughed and spat out a mouthful of dog hair. “And I did choose. I don’t know that the dog will die. It was very large and strong. I may have only weakened it.”

“You saved Jules and maybe others from that creature.” A sob caught in her throat. “I cannot thank you enough. What do you need?”

“That creature is a foul scavenger.” Criollo snorted. “The bites will turn septic without help.”

Royal sat tailor-style beside Jules while Peter stood behind them, hands on his brothers’ shoulders.

“What can we do?” She dabbed more dried blood away.

“Not you. I need a tatzelwurm’s help.”

“I don’t know any tatzelwurms.” She bit her lip, eyes screwed shut.

“Yes we do, mama.” The hope in Peter’s voice—so innocent and pure.

“There is one who helped me hunt rats in the shed.” Criollo lifted his head and looked toward the door. “The old gray tomcat.”

“Mama, can I go look for him?” Peter headed for the door, but she grabbed his elbow.

“Is that safe? He has not been introduced to the boys.”

“Tell him you are my friend and it will be fine.” Criollo’s tail tip twitched.

Peter cast a pleading glance. But to send him out to speak to an unfamiliar dragon? She swallowed back the knot in her throat.

“We’ll help.” Jules and Royal both declared with little-boy determination.

“Take care of each other and be respectful.” And please, please, let them be safe!

The boys ran out, but she stared at the door after them. “Why do you want a tatzelwurm?”

Criollo nudged her hand with his nose.“When they lick wounds, they heal clean. I don’t know why. Might be a helpful venom? I just know it is so.”

“We will try.” Millicent stroked Criollo’s chin. How soft his smooth scales were there. “It was very brave of you —”

“The dog was in my territory. I must defend against it.”

His territory? She didn’t know how to feel about that. But he had risked everything for Jules’ safety. That should tell her everything she needed to know.

It should, and yet, it did not change the fact that he was a dragon and dragons were always trouble.

She returned to cleaning his wounds. Criollo yipped and twitched under her hand.

“Did that hurt?” Millicent jumped. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” his voice trembled. “Its not as bad as being licked by a tatzelwurm.”

She studied the gashes on his side. “These scars. Were they healed with the help of tatzelwurms? Were the plantations that dangerous?”

He snorted and turned his face aside. “The men who worked on them were.”

“But the Blue Order, were they not present?”

“The Order’s authority does not extend beyond England. Most of the World is a very dangerous place for dragons.”

“I’m not sure England is exactly safe for small dragons. They are forever in trouble of one sort of another and major dragons have few limits on how they manage those on their territories.”

“While that is true, men are far more dangerous to my kind than major dragons.” Criollo snuffled and shifted his wings to reveal yet another wound.

“There are certainly more of them.”

“Who is the man with the boar hound?”

Millicent sat back on her heels and wrang out the towel again. “Sir Fitzhubert is a self-important blowhard who became even more full of himself when he inherited the local dragon estate from a distant cousin. The dragon, Twyford—yes, it is the town and not the estate from which he takes his name, much to Sir Fitzhubert’s irritation—is a grumpy old wyrm. A plain wyrm, with no distinctions. A low ranking dragon, dominant over only the local minor dragons. He makes things as difficult as possible for all the local dragons, especially now that his is trying to win a mate from a neighboring estate where the she-wyrm he desires holds territory. Some say Twyford hopes to gain in dominance by association with her.”

Criollo shuddered. “That sounds like a recipe for disaster. Does not the Keeper understand he is all but asking for serious injury or death?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sir Fitzhubert is a careless keeper—with as little influence on the dragon as over his dog.”

“You do not think well of him.” Criollo craned his neck to look her in the eyes.

“Few below his station do. He curries favor with his betters, but the rest of us are dirt under his shoes. Wealth to him is a sign of a person’s worth”

“Like dragons regard territory and dominance.”

“Quite. And if I may offer a bit of advice, we would all do well to stay out of his notice.”

“Mama!” Peter burst through the door. “I found old Pouncer and he has agreed to come and help.”

“Pouncer? Is that his name?”

“I will accept that.” A rumbly, furry voice just behind Peter spoke. Peter stepped aside and revealed the front half of a huge gray tomcat, with enormous front paws with thumb-toes on each side, and the back half of a thick black snake, with gray tabby stripes running down the sides. “I will not be embarrassed to answer to that. The boy says the new dragon is in need.”

“If you are willing to oblige, I would be most grateful.” Criollo forced himself to sit upright.

Pouncer bunched his tail beneath him and spring-hopped to the hearth. What a very odd manner of travel. “Is it true that horrid dog did this?”

“The dog went after Jules,” Millicent said.

“That beast is a menace to us all.” Pouncer sniffed Criollo’s wounds. “I saw him being dragged away, would be best for us all if you killed the foul creature.”

“My venom might not be strong enough for that.” Criollo squeaked as Pouncer began to lick the nearest wound, opening the scabs and causing it to bleed again.

“But, then again it might.” Pouncer sat up and cleaned blood from his face, like a cat, with his huge, thumbed paws. “There’s been rumors that beast was bitten by a stray dog which was foaming at the mouth. The minor estate dragons saw it all, and told Sir Fitzhubert, but he would not listen to any of it. Sent Twyford to quiet any who spoke of it.”

“You think the dog may have hydrophobia?” Millicent gasped and took several steps back.

“Don’t worry, only the warm-blooded are affected. We cannot contract it or transmit it.” Pouncer returned to cleaning Criollo’s wounds.

“Are you certain?”

“He’s right.” Criollo lifted his head slightly.

“You knew that when you stopped the dog?” Millicent asked.

“The disease has a very specific scent. It is not strong at first, when the symptoms are not clear. But yes, I thought that was what I smelled.” Criollo laid back as Pouncer began on another gash.

Milicent sat hard on the floor, gulping back the knot in her throat. Jules had been spared, not just serious injury, but a death sentence. Her eyes burned, and hot trails ran done her cheeks.

The boys rushed around her, hugging her hard.

“Pouncer?” Royal whispered. “With our Friend be all right?”

“Friend? I am your Friend now?” Criollo whispered, the tip of his tail flicked against the hearthstones.

“Yes, yes, how can you be anything else?” Millicent forced the words through her tight throat.

“You can save all the maudlin drama for another time. With my ministrations, he will certainly recover.” Pouncer looked over his shoulder with an expression only a cat of disdain, or a tatzelwurm apparently, could manage. “Might I trouble you for a dish of cream after I am done? It would help wash away the taste of dragon blood.”

“Of course,” Millicent said, though it meant that the tatzelwurm would now show up regularly at her back door asking for more. But he would probably bring rats in offering as well, so that wouldn’t be entirely disagreeable.

Clearly things are about to become more complicated. What do you think is going to happen? Tell me in the comments!

Catch up on parts you missed here.