Phillis's eyes got wide and teary. Her lower lip quivered. "You-you can't."
"I sure can. And don't be thinking I'm gonna fall for that poor hurt baby-child routine. I knows you eight years old. Plenty old enough to treat other people with respect." Alice picked up several piece of white paper from the counter and spread them on the table.
Phillis bit her lip and stood looking around her, bewildered. Weldon had to choke down a fit of laughter. Phillis had needed a good putting in her place for a very long time.
"But don't you worry none, Phillis dear," Alice said, making her voice a little softer. "You get to paint too. I got brushes and paint all ready for you on the table. You gonna have a good time whiles you here."
Phillis inched over to the table and stared at the set of watercolors that waited there. Gingerly she lifted a brush and dipped it into a glass of water beside them.
"Where's Tom?" Weldon said, looking around. He hadn't seen or heard anything from Tom since he walked in. "Did the police find his parents?"
Alice shook her head and looked worriedly over at Tom's closed bedroom door. "He taking it pretty hard. I gave him some more pain medication, and he lying down. I hope he wakes soon enough for you and him to spend some time together. It might make him feel better."
"What if he don't have no family?" Weldon couldn't help feeling guilty. He should never have made Barthelme fly up into the Realm Above.
"Course he does." Alice handed Weldon a thick sketchbook. "Now, we can't do no painting until we work things out on paper. This be yours, and here be some nice pencils you can use." She gave him a little metal tin of art pencils and led him over to a desk at the edge of the room.
She moved aside a stack of colored pencils and an interesting drawing she'd been doing of a wolf pack. "Sit on down right here and draw away. You don't mind if I watch you? I'm hoping to learn a lot. I never thought of drawing dragons before."
She moved a stack of art books off a little stool and pulled it up close to him then sat down with a sketchbook of her own.
Weldon opened the sketchbook to the first page and lifted a pencil from the tin. He'd never drawn anything with someone watching him before. At least the apartment smelled better than it had the day before. It looked like someone had been tidying and dusting.
"Am I making you nervous?" Alice said.
"A little." Weldon licked his lips and let the pencil tip hover over the page.
"Oh well, carry on by yourself for a minute. I'm gonna go help Phillis. I can always look over your work when it done. You'll have to leave the sketchbook here, I'm afraid. Sounds like your Mama don't want you bringing it home with you."
"She'd kill me," Weldon said.
Alice laughed and went over to Phillis, leaving Weldon alone with fresh paper. He felt giddy. Only yesterday he'd thought he'd never be able to draw again. And now by a great miracle he had a whole book of blank pages and hours to just draw. He knew he should feel a little guilty about the fact that he wouldn't be there if Tom hadn't gotten beat up, but he was too happy to dwell on that. He put the pencil to the paper and started to draw.
Haley sat on the ground in front of Barthelme's house with his head in his hands. Every so often he'd look over at the tall building with its empty windows and quiet rooms. "This is all my fault," he moaned. He never should have told Hawthorne about how Barthelme tamed the dragons. Haley hadn't meant any harm by it though. He'd only wanted to impress Hawthorne with Barthelme's cleverness. But then everything had turned ugly, and Barthelme had flown away. Everyone had been shocked when he'd flown right up through the crack into the Realm Above.
Haley stared at the crack of light, high in the sky. No one went up there, not with such fearsome grumbling, crashing, and clanking sounds that tumbled down along with the light and rain. Haley edged closer to a clump of silver-green grass as if to hide himself from whatever monsters waited above.
A bitter taste lingered in his mouth, and he hunched his shoulders. He should go up and find Barthelme and apologize. He should carry up supplies, food, clothing, everything Barthelme might need to survive away from home. But every time he thought about making the flight, his heart froze in fear.
"What a cowardly friend I am," he muttered. "Barthelme needs me, but I can't. I just can't." He huddled closer to the grass and kicked at a dirt clod. "Nobody goes to the Realm Above."
Only two beings had ever come down from it: the dragoness and her mate. She might know what was up there. She might know how to help Barthelme, but dragons couldn't talk. What use would visiting her be?
An idea struck Haley, and he leaped to his feet. His wings buzzed, and he zipped home to get paper and ink. It took him an hour to write just the right words on the paper. He needed to know Barthelme was all right. He hoped to convince his friend to return to the Realm Below. They had a secret hiding place where they used to play, on an island in the middle of the lake. Barthelme could stay there with his dragons. None of the other fairies would know. Haley could bring him supplies to build a new house and garden for himself. That had to be better than trying to survive in the Realm Above.
With his message all written and rolled up tight, Haley went in search of the black dragoness. He found her in the most likely place. The junk yard. That's what the fairies called the place where they dumped all their left-over food, broken toys, and other things they no longer wanted. Mold grew crazy all over the junk yard, and mites and maggots flourished there.
Sure enough, the dragoness lounged on a discarded chair while her dragonlings crawled amongst the refuse, snapping up mites. Her mate, the ruby dragon, stopped tearing apart a piece of fabric and eyed Haley as he flew up and settled on the ground in front of the dragoness.
The dragoness blinked pearly black eyes at him and tipped her head sideways as if to get a better view.
"Greetings," Haley said. He felt foolish talking to the dragoness, but Barthelme had insisted the dragons could understand his words.
The dragoness blinked again and then started preening herself.
"My name is Haley. I'm Barthelme's friend. You remember Barthelme? He used to come visit you." Haley clutched the letter in his hand, hoping that the dragoness would somehow understand him.
The dragoness appeared to pay no notice.
"You see," Haley said. "The problem is Barthelme helped three of your little babies to survive. But he got in trouble for that, and the other fairies chased him off to the Realm Above." Haley pointed to the crack in the sky.
The dragoness let out a little trill and looked up.
"That's right," Haley said. "Barthelme's gone up there. He ran away to keep your babies safe. They're up there with him, a sapphire, a ruby, and a diamond. Beautiful little dragons. But I'm worried about them. I'm hoping we can get him to come back."
Haley showed the dragoness the paper he had rolled in his hand. "This is a letter for Barthelme. Will you take it to him?"
The dragoness stood on the chair, unfurled her wings, and looked into Haley's eyes. Her pearly orbs seemed to see straight into Haley's mind and sift through all his thoughts and emotions.
Haley shivered and for the first time believed the dragons really were intelligent, just like Barthelme had said, probably even smarter than fairies.
The dragoness nodded her head as if that were the case.
"He's my friend," Haley whispered. "And I hurt him. I didn't mean to, but I did. I have to make it up somehow, but I can't fly that high. Will you please take him my letter?"
The dragoness snapped at Haley's hand, making him drop the paper. But she scooped it up in her talons before it hit the ground. With a grand sweep of her wings she took to the sky, trumpeting goodbye to her mate and children.
"What does the letter say?" Tom's voice next to Weldon's ear made him jump and drop the pencil. He'd been so intent on drawing he hadn't heard Tom come out of the bedroom and walk over to the desk.
"It . . . um." Weldon picked up the pencil and twisted it nervously in his hand.
&
nbsp; "Your other picture showed a little man with wings flying away. Now you've got this other guy with wings talking to dragons, and the dragon flying up the same way the first guy went. It seems to be some kind of a story. What's going on?" Tom rubbed his bandaged wrist and waited for Weldon to answer.
Weldon felt all weird inside. Maybe if Tom looked at Weldon's pictures he'd remember how he'd come to the Realm Above. Maybe he'd remember being Barthelme. What if he blamed Weldon for all his troubles?
"Th-they fairies," Weldon said. "The little people with wings, they fairies." He paused to see how Tom would respond to that.
"Fairies," Tom said in a flat voice. "As in make-believe, magic?"
"Yes. Right." Weldon caught his breath. He had to be crazy to think that the world in his pictures was real, that Tom was really a fairy. He let out a little laugh.
"Okay," Tom said with a shrug. "It's your picture. So what's up? What does that letter say?"
Feeling a little silly, Weldon started to explain about the Realm Below and its inhabitants. He told Tom about the two friends, Barthelme and Haley and the baby dragons.
"So you see," Weldon said. "Haley wants his friend to come back down where it safe, only Haley too frightened to go up and find Barthelme. He done sent the dragoness with the message."
Weldon closed the sketchbook and put the pencils back in the tin.
"So what happens next?" Tom asked.
Weldon glanced out the window, half expecting to see the dragoness hovering just beyond the glass, trying to get in and deliver her message. Only sunlight poured in through the window. No dragoness. No message.
"I don't know," Weldon said. "We gonna have to wait and see."
Tom laughed. "You're a good artist," he said when he'd finished chuckling. "But I don't know so much about the storytelling bit. Seems like you should have an outline before you begin."
"What you know about it?" Weldon looked at his watch and realized his mama would show up any minute. He'd rather not have her find out he'd been drawing, even if Alice said he could.
"I don't know." Tom frowned. He really did look awful. A tint of green had joined the black around his eyes. "I wish I could remember."
Weldon wished he would to. It felt like torture not knowing who Tom really was.
A knock rattled the door. Weldon jumped to his feet and shoved his sketchbook on top of a pile of other old sketchbooks. Alice let his Mama into the apartment.
"Mama, Mama, look." Phillis held up a couple of awful pictures of crooked houses and flowers larger than trees with a streak of blue across the top of the paper for the sky.
Weldon flinched. Mama acted delighted and told Phillis what a very smart girl she was. Then a thought seemed to cross her mind and she turned an accusing glare at Weldon.
Weldon held up his empty hands. "I didn't paint nothin. Tom and I been talking."
Weldon finished his homework and slumped on the floor next to the couch to wait for his father to finish watching TV. Weldon's mind spun as images flickered across the TV. Today had been the best day of his life. He could still feel the smooth sheets of paper against his hand and hear the scrape of the pencil while he drew. Old Alice had made his life bearable. He thought about the row of oil paints and the great big canvas waiting for a dragon to come to life on it. He hoped Alice would let him help paint it. He'd paint the dragoness rising from the Realm Below into Weldon's own world.
An image on the television caught Weldon's attention, and he gasped. It showed two dazzling jewel brooches, ruby and sapphire, in a box lined with black velvet. A newscaster was saying that they were part of the famous Bourbon Jewels, which had been kept in an unknown private collection for several decades. The owner of the brooches had just set them up for auction. Experts expected they would sell for several million dollars.
Weldon shivered. The pair of brooches didn't really look like dragons, but neither did the dragoness when she was all curled up. He'd been foolish to think he'd find those at a pawn shop. Maybe he was silly to think they had any connection with Tom at all, but he couldn't help feeling they did.
He spent a restless night with images of the brooches coloring his dreams. He woke up desperate to talk to Tom about them, but knowing he wouldn't get the chance until after school.
He paused overtop of the seventeenth crack in the sidewalk on his way to school. Where are you? he asked the dragoness in his mind. Of course the inhabitants of the Realm Below were all microscopic. Even if she had flown up, he wouldn't be able to see her. But somehow he hoped that the dragoness would have grown large like Barthelme had when he turned into Tom. But then how would the city react with a visible dragon flying around it, even if it was one that could fit on the palm of Weldon's hand?
"Come on." Phillis tugged Weldon's arm. When he didn't respond right away, she flicked her braids over her shoulders and stomped off. He let her go a ways and then started after her. Momma would kill him if he didn't make sure she got to school all right. He followed behind, keeping her in sight. After a while she looked back over her shoulder. He waved. She stuck her tongue out at him as she reached the school yard.
He quickened his pace to reach the school before the bell rang but something caught his attention down a side street. Three men stood on the steps of a dirty apartment building. One of them had the design of an eagle shaved into the hair on the side of his head. Two skinny guys stood next to him. They seemed uneasy and looked like they were waiting for someone.
The street filled with a rushing throng of kids walking to school and adults heading off to work.
Weldon pivoted down the side street and headed for the three men. A sense of danger settled over him, making his palms sweaty, but he kept going. He passed the men, shouting a greeting to a couple of boys he knew who were on their way to school. They waved back and then started shoving each other and fighting over whose Mama had packed the worst lunch.
Weldon darted into an alley near the apartment building where the three men stood. He eased his backpack to the ground and flattened himself against the brick, peeking around the edge so he wouldn't be seen. His heart drummed a rap beat in his chest. A sleek silver limousine pulled up to the curb. The chauffeur in a silver uniform and hat got out and walked around the front of the Limousine to talk to the men.
"I hired you to do a job," the chauffeur said, scowling.
"Not our fault," the biggest of the three said. "We would've had to cut off the kid's hand to get that last piece."
"Yeah, we tried," one with a gold earring said. "That stupid brat bit me." He held up a bandaged hand.
"Idiots," the chauffeur hissed. "It has a secret catch. Here." He handed them a crumpled paper with a diagram on it. "I conned the police into telling me that he's staying with some old widow lady in the apartment above the shoe shop where you left him."
"What?" the big man said. "I kicked him in the head so hard, he had to of died."
The chauffeur snorted in disgust. "No. You failed to kill him, and now the police are looking for you. He can identify you in a lineup, and you'll go to prison for a very long time."
The three men fidgeted.
"I'm going to give you one more chance," the chauffeur said. "You go back and finish the job. Bring me that diamond wristband, or I'll hire someone else to take care of you and the boy."
Weldon caught his breath. They'd kill Tom and probably Alice too. He snatched up his backpack and bolted down the alley to the street on the other side. He didn't know how long it would take for those murderers to get to Alice's apartment, but he knew he had to hurry.
As he ran, he wondered if Mrs. Harper would notice when he didn't show up for school and try to call Mama. But he knew it didn't matter. He had to save Tom.
He reached the shoe shop and dashed up the flight of stairs. "Mrs. Walker, Mrs. Walker," he cried, pounding on the door.
Alice opened it in her pink house robe. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at him. "Weldon? Shouldn't you be at school?"
"Mrs. Walker,
you got to listen. I saw them men who hurt Tom. They was talking to this rich guy, and he done told them where Tom be and ordered them to come back and finish the job. They want Tom's wristband. It full of diamonds and very valuable, part of the famous Bourbon collection I think. They already got two brooches from him worth millions of dollars. I saw them on the news last night. Please Mrs. Walker, they gonna kill him."
Alice rubbed the side of her face. "You do have an amazing imagination. I see why your mama worries."
"No. It true. Let me in. Let me describe them brooches to Tom. Maybe he'll remember them."
Alice opened the door, and Weldon slipped inside. He couldn't believe it. The apartment was even cleaner than it had been before, and there was Tom on his knees scrubbing the kitchen floor.
Weldon rushed over and squatted down beside him. "Tom, they be coming for you. I heard them. They gonna kill you."
Tom dropped his wash rag and wrapped his hand around his bandaged wrist.
"That's right," Weldon said. "They want the diamond dragon. They already gots them other two brooches."
Tom gave him a confused stare.
"The Bourbon brooches. You must remember them."
Alice walked over. "I done heard about the Bourbon Jewels on the radio last night. The radio announcer said the owner be selling them. He can't have stolen them from Tom. Besides, why would a twelve-year-old boy be carrying around jewelry worth millions of dollars?"
"I don't know," Weldon said. "Ask Tom. Tom, you need to remember. Here, let me draw them for you." Weldon grabbed his sketchbook from the pile he'd stashed it on the night before and started drawing. The brooches were simple to draw, but beautiful, like the two baby dragons curled into little circles. Weldon grabbed some color pencils and shaded in the ruby and sapphire hues.
Tom put a shaking finger on the page and caressed the pictures. "Just like your baby dragons."
Real Dragons Page 5