right to give him a name and an honorary title like chief watchman of the kingdom.”
“You’d better give him the title of sleepyhead. He can sleep for decades.”
Reason poked the dragon on the tip of his ear, but the sleeping monster grumbled drowsily and exhaled a puff of steam from his nostrils.
“He grumbled, as if he were in a laundry, with steaming laundry,” Reason grumbled grudgingly.
“Well, it’s not right in the oven, is it?” Estella realized that the dragon’s mouth was as large as several ovens. Its tongue and saliva must have been fiery. And this monster had been asleep in her dungeons for years, and she didn’t even know anything about it.
“And if he wakes up now, will he burn us, like my knights?”
“Of course not,” Reason said uncertainly. “He doesn’t burn anyone alive when he’s full. Well, not unless it’s fun. Do you know any charms for controlling dragons?”
“What kind of stupid question is that? I’m not a sorceress.”
“So the King didn’t teach you anything,” Reason was visibly disappointed.
“Why did he have to teach me magic? He trained me to be a queen, not a sorceress.”
“You’re a laugh and a sin! You’re the daughter of a sorcerer king, and you can’t do magic,” Reason scowled resentfully. “If you could, you could control a dragon. And the good ale would not go to waste in his fiery belly.”
Reason realized he didn’t have the strength to pull the plugs out of the barrels or unscrew the faucets. He murmured something to the effect that the wine bottles in the nearest cellar would be much better. How he could get one for supper?
Estella didn’t care about Reason’s worries. She could see the dragon’s twisted horns, its scales sparkling in the torches, and its sharp claws, each the size of a spear.
“If you could conjure, you’d take him out to hunt and he’d drink blood, not ale, as a martial dragon should.”
“Is he a battle dragon?”
“King Abraham would feed a non-combat dragon in his cellars. Your father was a shrewd and hoarder,” Reason grudgingly kicked a barrel of ale with his clawed paw. “Had it not been for his provisions, the dragon would not have been a drunkard.”
“Emerald!” Estella called softly and stroked the dragon’s scaly horn.
“Careful! You’ll hurt yourself! The scales are sharper than razor blades and impenetrable to arrows and spears. There is a reason why magicians have long since learned to fashion armor from dragon scales that is resistant to fire. Such armor makes anyone a hero. Once you wear it, not even magical creatures can defeat you. By the way, you have one such armor in your arsenal. When you put it on, you can go to war with evil spirits.”
Reason hastily covered his mouth with his claws. He must have said something unnecessary.
“I’m not going to war with anyone else,” Estella reassured him.
“Of course you aren’t! Why would you want to go to war when you have a martial dragon? If you send it to war, there’ll be no more enemy troops left. As long as he stays awake, he can get to the battlefield in time, long before the other armies march on to our castle. Imagine! Enemies are already ramming the gates, and you can’t get the dragon to wake up.”
Reason laughed evilly. His laughter caused the dragon to wiggle his ears sleepily, as if trying to drive away a pesky gnat.
“Tell you a secret. If you sing a song, a lullaby or something touching, the dragon will wake up.”
“Lullabies usually make you fall asleep.”
“That’s just it! Everything works differently for dragons than it does for humans. They especially like the songs of young innocent maidens. If you want to tame it, you’ll have to become a singer.”
“Let’s try it!” Estella prepared to sing the only song she knew. The girls used to sing it at the spinning wheel.
“The yarn stretches,
My heart is aching
I’m waiting for a beautiful bridegroom,
And there’s nothing but evil around.
I’m waiting for a rider on a horse,
But only black elves are dancing in the hearth.”
The song was a somber one. It was usually sung by spinners at work. Apparently there was a shortage of young men in the villages of Aluar, and there were plenty of bad ones. Estella could see for herself that there were more of them when she discovered colonies of boggles beneath the battlefield.
“Don’t sing!” Reason nimbly jumped up and clamped down on Estella’s mouth. “Not when you want to wake up a dragon for war or hunting.”
“But I want to wake it now,” she protested, and Reason jerked his claws from her mouth. She must have gotten her teeth caught carelessly in them.
“You are wretch!” He hissed and blew on his fingers.
“Who are you talking about?”
“It is a cask of ale, my dear,” Reason brushed her off. “Ale is a bad drink, if a dragon drinks it. Let’s go to the cellar and get some wine. He’s going to wake up and give us a hard time. If we leave, he’ll go back to sleep.”
But the dragon was already awake. One of its yellow eyes flickered reluctantly open.
“Emerald!” Estella exclaimed happily.
“His name is Virgil,” said Reason, correcting her. “That’s what your father once called him. And what his real dragon name is, only his scaly ancestors know.”
“I am so glad you are awake! How handsome and scaly you are! I’ll sing for you again, if you like! I’ll even learn ballads and romances. You like singing, don’t you?”
Estella stroked the dragon, and it rumbled like a big cat.
“Hey, you,” Reason scrambled up the barrels so that the dragon could see him. “Remember me, big boy?”
The dragon hissed at him, but Estella encouraged him.
“Virgil, my dear,” Reason snapped at him, “you ought to loosen up a little, keep watch over the realm. Otherwise you’d be lying on your side.”
The dragon shooed at him, exhaling hot steam again. Reason ducked behind the pile of barrels.
“He’s comfortable here,” Estella said for the dragon.
“My tail stiffened as I sat in the chest,” Reason complained.
How is it that Estella liked the dragon, but not Reason? Maybe dragons prefer silly coquettes.
“Oh, my darling,” she petted him.
“You sound as if you were singing a lullaby to him. He’s a monster, not a baby.”
“He’s so nice and cute.”
“When he shoots sparks at you, you’ll change your mind.”
But the dragon was slow to fire at Estella. Apparently dragons don’t hurt princesses. Not without reason, even the prim Gisela loved tales of love between beautiful girls and dragons. Estella felt almost in love when the dragon encouraged her affectionate touch. She had finally found the friend she had never had in her life. And Reason had managed to pierce the bottom of the barrel with his claws and was now greedily drinking ale straight from the puddle on the floor.
“It was delicious!” He said. “If I’d been locked in a cellar with hops and groceries, I’d rather be in there than with you.”
Estella wasn’t even offended by him. After