“No, please don’t —” Rose began.
The unbearably high pitched scream started up again.
“Virgil,” Henry said in distress, moving closer to the dragon. He put his hand on the nubs where his horns would be. “Virgil. It’s all right. If you want me to feed you, I’ll feed you.”
The shriek stopped.
Virgil was sad. Virgil was angry. Not-parents couldn’t give him food! Only parents could give him food!
“All right,” Henry said anxiously. “All right. I’ll even put it in my mouth if you want.”
He took the bowl from the man who held it and plunged his fingers in, then hesitated for a long moment, his fingers hovering over the mashed crickets. He looked like he was trying to force himself to move.
No! Virgil didn’t want that! That wasn’t food! Virgil wanted the food his mother and father had already made for him! In their mouths!
“Uhhhhh . . .” Henry said. “What?”
In their mouths! In their mouths, in their mouths, in their mouths! Virgil was hungry! Virgil was getting upset again!
“Oh, no!” a man across the room cried. His face had gone pale. “Crop milk! He’s talking about crop milk. I don’t know how we’re going to replicate that!”
“Crop . . . what?” Henry repeated. His arms were tight with tension. “What are you talking about? Dragons aren’t mammals!”
“Neither are birds, and crop milk is a way some birds feed their young,” the man explained. “I can’t believe it never even occurred to us that . . .”
“It occurred to me,” Mr. Teedle said, running his hand through his well-oiled hair in agitation, “but I didn’t think it would actually be a concern. There’s a theory that dragons were the evolutionary ancestors of birds, but I’ve never put much stock in it, as the wyverns like Pterodactylus antiquus would make so much more sense as ancestors, being four-limbed just like birds are, whereas dragons are six-limbed, unlike any other living creature in the world today —”
“Excuse me,” Henry broke in, his face turning red with anger. “Can we get back to my son? How do we feed him if we can’t replicate the equivalent of mother’s milk for him?”
Virgil was getting very hungry. Virgil was getting very tired. Maybe he would scream again.
Two men’s hands flew to their ears.
“We feed him what we can,” Rose said firmly.
She walked past the two men standing beside her, knotted the train of her dress around her waist, and knelt down on the floor by Virgil. Perhaps this would make her dress filthy, though she hoped she could avoid that, but right now, the baby mattered far more.
“Virgil,” she said, “we don’t have what you’re asking for. I’m sorry. We’ll have to try whatever we can. It might make you sick. But it’s far better than not trying.”
Virgil was confused. They’d agreed to be his parents. They should have started to make food then. Why hadn’t they made him food? Didn’t they love him?
Beside her, Rose saw Henry’s fists clench.
The little dragon’s tail twitched. He was starting to look lethargic. His eyelids drooped, and he let out a pitiful memory of hunger.
“Henry,” Rose said, “open your hand.”
“But he won’t take —” Henry began.
Rose seized Henry’s hand, scooped up a small handful of cricket mash, and slapped it in his palm. Then she put his other hand on top, connected at the wrists and open in front.
“Virgil,” she said, “there’s a mouth here. Eat the food in it.”
Virgil’s eyelids drooped. He raised his head and pushed at the hands with his nose. His snout somehow found his way into them. His tongue snaked out and licked the cricket mash.
Virgil’s eyes flew open, and he jerked back. He let out a long, high-pitched scream.
Hands flew up to cover ears all over the room.
Virgil’s mother had betrayed him! Virgil’s mother had lied to him! That wasn’t a mouth! That wasn’t food! That was something! That was not-food! That was something!
“Yes,” Rose said sternly, her hands in her lap. She made no move to cover her ears. “That was something. Something that might possibly work as food.”
That was not-food! That was something! That was not-food! Virgil was very upset!
Henry bit his lip. He looked on the verge of tears.
“Yes, it was very unfortunate,” Rose said coldly. “But it might also keep you alive.”
Virgil was very upset! Virgil was very upset! Virgil was very, very, very UPSET!
Rose said nothing. If she let herself feel bad for him, she wouldn’t have the firmness of will to force him to eat until they found something that he would partake of willingly.
“Perhaps it would help to buy lemon juice, and use that as a marinade,” one of the professors said into the silence. “That can help break meat down. Make it easier to digest. He might need something like that, since presumably he’s not supposed to be eating solid foods yet.”
“Good idea,” Mr. Teedle said. “We might also ask a butcher to save us intact stomachs. The juices in there might be helpful to break down food.”
There seemed to be no question that they were all staying. Though Mr. Teedle did order one of the men to go to a butcher and buy cow, pig, lamb, turkey, and any other meat available that they did not already have on hand, as well as any intact stomachs that might be available.
“A whole bird, such as a chicken or turkey, if necessary,” Mr. Teedle added.
The man nodded, then left.
Virgil’s reproach had given way to his sleepiness, and he was dozing again.
And now we wait, Rose thought. We wait to see if he survives this.
Chapter 6: Handle
The crickets did not agree with Virgil. Fortunately, it turned out that dragons could vomit.
Unfortunately, the mess turned out to be so acidic that it was too dangerous to handle without thick gloves. For some inscrutable reason, Henry had attempted to clean it with only a small cloth, and the skin on his palms was now red and rashy, despite his having yelped and run to the sink to run his hands under the faucet for several minutes.
This is not a good beginning, Rose thought. I hope his feces will not be as toxic.
They had not yet had occasion to find out, and insightful as it would no doubt be about Deinonychus digestive processes, Rose was not looking forward to the necessities inherent in that particular discovery. After all, she and Henry would not be the ones collecting samples and running tests on them. They would be the ones cleaning the baby.
They skipped the rat altogether, and for Virgil’s second meal, they tried well-cooked and finely chopped-up chicken.
“If dragons are related to birds, that’s probably closer to the kind of meal his parents would have brought home,” Mr. Teedle explained to everyone in the room.
Rose concurred.
To her intense relief, the chicken seemed to agree rather better with Virgil, even though he still complained about a tummyache afterwards. To Henry’s obvious intense relief, the dragon did not vomit again.
Less than an hour later, the man who had been sent out returned, having visited a butcher’s shop. He also carried a rather ugly, worn carpet bag, which he dropped on the floor beside Rose.
She looked at him questioningly.
“I raided my wife’s closet,” he said. “I presumed you wouldn’t want to be wearing that dress for the rest of the day.”
“Oh, thank you,” Rose said, touched by his thoughtfulness. “Where is the best place for me to change?”
“There is a restroom down the hall,” he said, pointing.
“Thank you,” she said, picking up the carpet bag. Then she paused, remembering a complication. She hated to mention it in present company, but there were very few other options. “I’m afraid I can’t undo all of the buttons on the back on my own. This dress wasn’t designed for practicality.”
Most of the men in the room looked hideously embarrassed. Henry held
up his red, rashy hands, grimacing.
“I’ll help,” Mr. Teedle said briskly. “You’re nearly my daughter’s age. Turn around and tell me which ones you can’t reach by yourself.”
It was with relief that Rose was finally able to shuck the wedding dress off in the restroom several minutes later. She sorted through the carpet bag and found that Professor Anton’s wife was, as she might have suspected if she’d thought about it, several sizes larger than she was. The woman was presumably her mother’s age, after all, and he had mentioned that they had four children.
Still, she was able to make do, though the brown house dress he had selected for her was quite unflattering, and hung off her arms like a dangling sack.
Never mind, Rose told herself. Nobody here will mind if your appearance is less than presentable.
She sighed as she tucked the wedding dress away into the carpet bag, folding it carefully, though the yards of train did not fit and had to be piled over the top between the handles. It was quite a large carpet bag, but this was not a small dress.
The thought of going back to that laboratory, and facing the stress and newness and anxiety, was difficult to persuade herself to do. But she took a long breath, in and out, and then set forth back down the hallway.
“Thank goodness,” Henry said as she walked in the door. “Virgil’s awake. He wants you to feed him.”
Rose breathed in deeply again, and then moved to the spot on the floor where the slime from the egg had still not been cleaned up. The thin layer coating Virgil had dried into a thin, flaky crustiness all over his scales.
We need to give him a bath, Rose thought. Can we do that safely? Do dragons bathe?
“Hello, Virgil,” she said. She reached out hesitantly, then stroked the nubs at the top of his head where horns would grow in. It was an affectionate gesture she was fairly certain she’d seen in one of his parents’ memories. “Do you want to eat the same thing your father gave you before?”
Virgil wanted to have food. Virgil wanted her to feed him by mouth.
“I know you do,” Rose said. “But you’ll be eating out of our hands, just as before.”
Virgil was sullen. Virgil was pouting.
The querulous emotion that she associated with a toddler sticking out their lower lip pushed into Rose’s mind. It was all she could do to keep from laughing at the incongruity. The little dragon showed no facial expressions, nor did he have lips, but apparently some things transcended biology.
“We’re going to try something different this time,” Rose said. “We’re going to add some stomach juices, to see if that helps you digest better.”
Virgil didn’t understand what that meant. Virgil wanted her to feed him by mouth.
“I know,” Rose said, “but we’re doing what we can do.”
Virgil struggled and griped, but at last accepted the chicken with ill grace. He nearly choked at one point, and she had a brief second of panic. Then he managed to swallow, and he let out a small moan of protest before nibbling another bite out of the tiny bits of chicken in her hands.
“We need to add more water,” Henry said from behind her. “If he almost choked, that means it was too dry to swallow.”
“We can add a little next time,” Mr. Teedle said, “but so far he hasn’t complained about being thirsty, and we don’t want to overdo it. Too much water can be as bad as too little.”
“He not be able to tell the difference between thirst and hunger yet,” Henry challenged.
“True.” Mr. Teedle looked troubled.
Virgil’s eyelids drooped, and he stopped eating. He curled his tail around his body and nuzzled his head on top of it. In a moment, he was still, except for breathing.
Tentatively, Rose reached out and ran her finger along his back, hoping that it wouldn’t bother him while he was sleeping. He didn’t stir or even seem to notice, so she kept doing it.
The texture of his scales was slick yet soft, like snake skin. But unlike snake skin, the dragon scales seemed firmly in place, so there was no danger in rubbing against the grain, no matter what direction her finger moved in. She wondered how many dragon species had had scales like this, or if it had been a unique feature of Deinonychus.
She reached a part where the sticky, crusty egg slime was particularly thick, which reminded her of something she had been thinking about earlier.
“Can someone bring me a wet cloth?” Rose asked. “I’m going to clean him off.”
Henry did so, and she carefully wiped the dragon’s scales clean, at first very gently, and then harder and more firmly as she reached the places that held thicker layers of dried crustiness. It didn’t appear to hurt Virgil; he continued to sleep soundly.
“He doesn’t seem to be delicate,” Henry said. “That’s one thing we can be grateful for.”
“But we should treat him very carefully, anyway,” Rose said. “There might be areas that are unexpectedly vulnerable, like the soft spots on the heads of human babies.”
Henry nodded, looking nervous.
Two hours later, they had the opportunity to deliver some insightful samples about Deinonychus digestive processes to an eager zoologist and two hovering biology professors. They also had the less-than-delightful opportunity to clean up the rest.
“He is going to be wearing diapers,” Henry said.
Chapter 7: Haggard
After thirty-six hours, they had fallen into an exhausting rhythm. Every twenty minutes, Virgil woke up wanting to eat. He nibbled a few bites, complained again about how it wasn’t the food he wanted, and then curled his tail around himself to go back to sleep.
The men left after just a few hours, Mr. Teedle promising to return in the morning. It was only after they’d left that Rose realized she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. She nibbled a few scorched bites of the chicken, too dry and charred to offer to the infant, and offered some to Henry, too. They munched quietly until Virgil woke up again.
There seemed to be no question about going to their new apartment tonight. Trying to contact their families wasn’t mentioned, either. All that mattered right now was feeding Virgil.
As night drew near, Rose yawned. She usually kept herself on a strict schedule, and her body was informing her that it was bedtime. The day had been emotionally wearying, which didn’t help matters. She still felt inadequate, though Virgil’s complaints had grown less vehement, and he seemed reasonably healthy.
Henry noticed her yawn. “I’ll feed him for the next four hours. I’m used to staying up late to finish homework at the last minute. You go get some sleep.”
Rose nodded, grateful. She picked up the carpet bag and moved to the furthest corner from the egg, where Virgil’s telepathic cries would not awaken her. She settled down on the hard floor, using the bulging carpet bag as a pillow and the dress’s train as a makeshift blanket across her feet.
All too soon, Henry awakened her.
“It’s your turn,” he said. His eyes were bloodshot, and he rubbed his neck as if it was sore.
Rose nodded, reluctantly, and stood up. She walked over to the side of the room with the egg, and found that there was no more food prepared. She sighed and started shredding chicken into the smallest pieces she could manage.
Glancing back, she saw that Henry was using the carpet bag and the dress much as she had. She tried not to be annoyed by his use of the wedding dress. It was one thing when she did it, but . . .
There are more important things to worry about right now, Rose told herself firmly.
The next few hours were agonizing. It was all she could do to stay awake while feeding Virgil. She started to doze in small spurts in between his awakenings. After four hours, she stumbled over to wake Henry, but he kept on sleeping soundly. In furious misery, she stormed back to her duty.
After seven full hours, Henry finally yawned and sat up. He glanced at his watch blearily. “You should’ve woken me up three hours ago,” he mumbled.
“I tried,” Rose snapped. “You kept sleeping
.”
“Oh. I’m a sound sleeper. Sorry. I’ve missed some morning classes that way. Just pour cold water over me or something.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Rose said irritably. “I actually will.”
“Feel free,” Henry shrugged. “My father used to do that to wake me up for school. One of my roommates put ice in bed with me once when he knew I had to get up for a test.”
Rose was beginning to infer a major disadvantage to living with Henry.
The tiny dragon stirred. Virgil was hungry! Virgil wanted food!
Rose groaned audibly.
“Is that him again?” Henry asked, pushing the dress’s train off his legs. “I’ll take care of it. You go back to sleep.”
Rose should have been grateful, but she just felt grumpy. She stormed back to the corner, relieved when she passed beyond the range of Virgil’s complaints. As soon as her head hit the carpet bag, she fell back asleep.
An hour later, the door squeaked open, which woke her up again. Mr. Teedle stood there, putting away his key.
“How are you doing?” he asked. “It occurred to me you probably haven’t had anything to eat. I brought breakfast.”
Rose peered around to the side, and saw that he was holding a basket of muffins. Her mouth watered, and she stumbled up to her feet.
“Thanks,” Henry said, walking over to help himself. “We ate some of the burnt parts of the chicken, but that was it.”
Rose took two muffins to assuage the hollow feeling in her stomach. She polished them off rapidly.
“How’s he doing?” Mr. Teedle asked, nodding towards the sleeping dragon.
“Fine,” Henry said, “I think.”
Rose helped herself to another muffin. There were apple chunks in it which had not been cooked sufficiently, so they were rather chewy instead of soft, but that didn’t matter. She chewed and swallowed rapidly.
Mr. Teedle hesitated. “You know,” he said, “the offer still stands. The Central Park Zoo would be happy to take care of him. It would be close to the museum, and within reasonable walking distance of your home, so you could visit him frequently, just as you have here —”
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