In which our little dragon friends devise a plan.

Find earlier parts HERE

A week later, Old Pouncer had taken to sleeping on the kitchen hearth by day, and taking turns with Criollo patrolling for rodents by night. Both had lost their pinched-in looks, growing sleek and bonny as they refined their unlikely but effective partnership.

How strange it was to see two little dragons working together so smoothly. No squabbling for dominance, no snipping and snapping over meals—or attention, which both seemed to thrive upon. Utterly and completely un-dragon-like, at least according to Millicent’s experience. It was almost easier to believe they were a cat and dog living together in peace and harmony, as for two dragons to do so was nigh on unheard of, at least in her world.

Her parents, rest their souls, had both been members of the Blue Order, in the days before the Dragon Sage had risen to notoriety. Not the Keeper sort of members of the Order who counted in society. They were the run-of-the-mill kind who spent their time working and rubbing shoulders with other working people. Her father rented farmland on the Riverways estate, home to a cantankerous water wyrm called River, with an equally petulant Keeper. The estate, like the dragon, was unimportant and unremarkable. Two ways dragons hated to be described.

And River took it out on all those smaller than herself, dreadful beast.

The small dragons on the estate, who often found their way into her mother’s care, were forever at odds with River, and with each other. The water wyrm was very particular about the minor dragons permitted on her territory. Wyrms, major or minor, were not high-ranking dragons, and all of them had a mean streak about them, which came from being on the bottom of the draconic pecking order. So, they availed themselves of every opportunity to establish their dominance over whomever they could.

If River had had her way, she would have permitted no minor dragons in her territory at all. But that was not really practical. So, she found a few large minor dragons, drakes and a cockatrice, nasty and self-important as herself, and installed them to help keep the smaller minor dragons out. Away from the food and shelter the estate territory would provide. Food and shelter they desperately needed, and were willing to risk life and limb to get.

Since her family’s farm was on the estate’s outskirts, many minor dragons took refuge there when they had attracted the notice of River or one of her minions. They would stay until the bigger dragons found something else more interesting to harass, or make a mad dash from the farmhouse across the border of River’s territory. Mama was forever feeding the wee souls, tending their wounds, and listening to their complaints. It was not uncommon for her to neglect the work that needed to be done whilst managing the dragons.

Naturally, River found out, and though she was not supposed to, she dug a tunnel from her river’s channel that opened into the pond that had been their livestock’s watering hole. In all her draconic wisdom, she believed this would allow her to control those trespassers on her territory who turned to Millicent and her family for succor. It also provided River an easy way to get to the otherwise unreachable farm, to pick on the smaller dragons and make herself feel important.

Unfortunately, in a season of particularly heavy rain, River’s tunnel caused their farm to flood, destroying their home, their crop, and most of their livestock. River and her Keeper blamed Millicent’s family for the problem, not the dragon, naturally. According to them, River was within her rights to manage her territory as she saw fit.

And the bloody Blue Order agreed.

So, her family left Riverway’s territory with little more than the clothes on their back. It took years to recover, but they finally established themselves on a small farm on a dragonless estate, and cut all ties with anything having to do with dragons.

Until now.

What in the name of all that was sensible was she doing now?

Millicent sat at the worktable near the kitchen fireplace going over the shop’s books, as the two little dragons slept together in a heap, softly snoring, paws twitching in their dreams. What did dragons dream in the wee hours before dawn?

And why would she ask such a question when she should be worried about how to keep disaster from falling now that there were dragons in her home, working with the dragons in her garden, and a discussing whether they should pose for a new dragon on the sign of her chocolate shop?

Why had she allowed dragons back into her life?

For now, all things were quiet, but there was little doubt chaos would follow. Even with the changes advocated by the Dragon Sage, had things really changed enough to make a difference? Not likely. Major dragons did not change, and as long as they were in charge of the Order, those without territory or power would be without means.

Just pray disaster would wait until after the holiday to strike.

In just a week, it would be Christmas, and then real challenges would begin as the local social calendar filled with parties and events that would want food that their own kitchens could not supply, but hers would be ready to.

Hopefully, it would be ready. Without Thomas to help manage the surge in business, they would all be tested. A good showing during the season could be key to surviving the next year.

The perfume of browning buns wafted from the oven, shaking hands with the spices that already hung in the air. Warm and snug, with the promise of sweets and chocolate, there was no place she would rather be. Even if there were dragons, too.

A furry head bumped her left leg, and a scaly one her right. Pouncer purred, and Criollo’s tail beat a familiar tippity-tap against the stone floors. She gave each of them a scratch under the chin.

“You smell worried,” Pouncer said. Apparently, tatzelwurms had an extraordinary sense of smell.

Criollo jumped onto the tabletop and stared at her ledgers. His wounds were healing nicely, allowing him to get around with much greater agility now. “I do not know how to read, but I know the plantation men were always cross after looking at the pen-scratchings in their books.”

She scratched his back, between his little wings, a spot where he particularly appreciated some attention. “I think that may be universal. These pen-scratchings rarely tell us what we want to hear.”

“Then why spend so much time and energy on them?” Pouncer spring-hopped into her lap and leaned his heavy, furry cat-half against her chest. His deep, rumbly purr resounded through her chest, shaking away some of her pent-up tension.

“No one enjoys discovering bad news, to be sure. But studying these journals and ledgers, if one is diligent, can allow one to spot patterns, like warning signs on the horizon. They can be used to make plans to remedy issues before they become dangers, or take advantage of opportunities that might have been missed. If one only considers these as bad news, then they are a least very short-sighted, and perhaps even unwise.” She sighed and shut the ledger.

They weren’t foretelling bad news. At least not yet. She needed to remember that.

“Why are you closing the bad-news-book?” Pouncer peered over the table and batted at the stained brown cover.

“It has told me what I need to know.”

“And what is that?” Criollo scratched at the book’s cover.

Millicent allowed her head to drop back, and she studied the ceiling. A little spider was building a web in the corner. “The shop must do very well this season if we are to make it through the next year. I cannot afford any draconic mischief, ever really, but especially not right now. We could all be without a home if anything serious goes awry.”

Pouncer purred more loudly into her chest.

“You know we will help you however we can.” Criollo nudged her hand, trilling.

“I do not know how dragons can help. You are managing the rats, which is an important contribution, to be sure. Not losing stock and supplies to those vermin, is a great boon. And the customers find it pleasing to see you two getting along so well in the shop. I suppose a few come in just for the spectacle. Anything that brings more customers in is a good thing. As long as it does not involve persuasion. I hope you are aware, that you are only allowed to persuade warm-blood in matters of self-preservation, and nothing more. You cannot persuade my customers to buy my goods, or even to like them. Swear to me you will do nothing to cause the Blue Order to ask questions that could be the undoing of us all.”

“I … we … have not persuaded any warm-bloods of anything but our natures as dog and cat.” Criollo’s tail thumped. “I promise.”

“Indeed.” Pouncer rubbed his furry head under her chin, tickling her neck with his whiskers. “No persuasion. But …”

“But what? This is not a matter for negotiation—”

“Not asking for that. No, not at all. But as small dragons, we hear things. Things that could be helpful to you. Things that are said in and around the shop when you are not there to hear.”

“Yes, yes, he right! That’s a brilliant idea, Pouncer!”

“What are you talking about? This already sounds rather dangerous and on the edge of what the Order would tolerate.”

“If you overheard a patron in your shop remarking how much they enjoyed your arrowroot biscuits or your queen’s cake, what would you do?” Pouncer asked.

“I would engage them in conversation to see if they could be interested some to take home to serve to guests, or to have an additional serving of them here.” She shrugged.

“So if we hear such things, would it be wrong to bring that to your attention? For example, old Mrs. Smith remarked how much she loves the lavender shortbread, and how it would be perfect to serve at the widow’s tea party she is planning during the Christmastide season.”

“I knew she was very fond of it, but didn’t realize she was hosting a tea soon.” Millicent stroked her chin. “Did she not seem to know she could order a box of it to take home?”

“It does not seem so. As if that is a well-kept secret among those who have order from you in the past.” Criollo smacked his lips as though ridding himself of a foul taste.

“I heard talk at a table yesterday that they would not spread the word that large orders could be placed with you, lest you not have room for their business, as they would be placing a last minute order in the hopes they could negotiate a better price with you.”

“That was Mrs. Lyles, I bet.” Millicent muttered.

“I think I heard her called that.” Pouncer said.

“She is rather a mean-spirited woman, who never wants to pay full price. It sounds as though I should put up those signs Thomas made about how to place larger orders.” How had she forgotten about those?

“And talk to Mrs. Smith, and others we have heard admiring your works.” Pouncer’s tail swished for emphasis.

“Surely, it cannot be untoward to let us tell you things you could have overheard yourself if you had been in the dining room.”

“No, that is not against the rules, and it might even be helpful. I will accept such help, but only if they are things I or Ambrose or one of the others might have heard if we were there ourselves. No sneaky spying, and persuasion. Is that understood?”

Pouncer and Criollo cuddled in close. Oh heavens! Pray this was not a terrible idea.

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

Catch up on parts you missed here.