The Dragons of Wayward Crescent: Glade

by Chris D'Lacey

  “Well, now at least we know what Glade’s good at,” said Liz.

  Lucy’s mouth was still wide open in shock.

  Liz smiled and said, “Do you want to demonstrate on something less…human, Glade?”

  The little dragon softened and looked around. Hrrr, she went and flew to the vegetable rack. She came back with a small potato. She turned it between her front paws for a second, then hurred on one end.

  Suddenly, a tiny green shoot popped sideways out of the potato.

  “Wow,” gasped Lucy.

  Glade’s eyes turned a sweet shade of violet. Hrrr, she went again and breathed on the shoot, which began to thicken and strengthen and slowly turn upwards. It had grown about ten or fifteen millimetres in length when the tip wiggled and split. It peeled into four and out of its centre came a small white flower.

  “WOW!” Lucy said, even louder this time. “She grows things.” She blinked in amazement as another shoot popped out of the potato. “So, what’s she going to do when she goes to Melanie’s house?”

  Liz picked Glade up and kissed her. “Something wonderful,” she whispered proudly.

  Lucy hummed and tapped her foot. She wasn’t so sure. If Melanie’s grandad was anything like Henry Bacon, there was going to be a LOT of trouble…

  Chapter 4

  Even so, the next day, Liz wrapped Glade in straw and placed her inside a Pennykettle gift box, ready to go to Melanie’s house.

  By now, the young dragon had been educated in the ways of the human world. She had been told she must always be good and helpful, but that she must act wisely and, above all, secretly. She was never to turn real, for instance, if there was ever any chance of humans seeing her. Liz explained that although it was difficult for most human people to see a dragon moving, they might still suspect. And that was just as bad. So, for the rest of that day, Liz and Lucy (and some of the other house dragons) practised creeping up on Glade, until she could freeze in an instant. She was ready.

  Just before she was packed, Liz taught her another important lesson. “Listen to me,” she said softly, looking down into the box before she put the last clutch of straw over Glade’s head.

  The young dragon sloped her violet eyes upwards.

  “I don’t know why you need to go to Melanie’s house or what you need to do for her grandad, but it might be sad.”

  “Sad?” said Lucy. She sat back in alarm. She knew what her mother was about to say.

  “No matter how troubled things become,” Liz said. “You must never cry your fire tear. If you do, you will never be able to turn real again. Do you understand?”

  There was a rustle of straw inside the box. A dragon’s tail twitching, perhaps. Glade nodded slightly.

  “All right. Are you comfortable?”

  Glade burrowed down like a gerbil. A muffled hufffrrr suggested she was snug.

  “Good. Then off we go.”

  It took less than five minutes to walk along the Crescent and take the looping turn into Orchid Close. The houses were almost identical in aspect, with long, leafy gardens and broad, welcoming windows. Lucy was able to take comfort in that. At least Glade was going somewhere like home.

  Melanie had seen them coming and already had the front door open, waiting. Without breaking her stride, Liz stepped inside and said hello.

  Melanie’s mother appeared. She was wearing a blue striped apron. The sweet smell of baked cake followed her down the hall. She had a tiny blob of cake mix on her cheek. “Lovely to see you. Thanks so much for coming. I’m Rachel, by the way. Pops is in the lounge.”

  “Pops?” said Lucy.

  “It’s what Mum calls Grandad,” Melanie explained.

  Lucy nodded. Her fingers closed more tightly around Glade’s box.

  Coats were taken, shoes were kicked off and everyone shuffled into a large, comfortable room somehow made smaller by its chunky brown carpet and woven fabric sofa. There was an empty bird cage near the fire. Lucy noticed that its door was ajar and looked around quickly for signs of a budgie on the curtain pelmet or the picture rails. There was none. But in the chair beside the cage was an elderly man. He was slumped to one side, asleep. The folds of his chin were stacking against his shoulder. Lucy noticed how they wobbled whenever he snored.

  “Oh, dear. He’s gone again,” Rachel said. “He does this, I’m afraid. On and off like a lighthouse. Do sit down.”

  “Shall I wake him?” asked Melanie, touching the man’s arm. “Grandad? ” She shook him gently.

  Pops snorted loudly and turned in his chair. He gave a rasping cough and jerked to attention. “Uh, I was watching that,” he said. His glazed eyes travelled to the TV screen, but it wasn’t even on.

  “Pops, this is Melanie’s new friend,” said Rachel, talking louder than she normally would. “The one who’s bringing her a dragon, remember?”

  The old man fiddled with his hearing aid. “Digging? What’s that about digging?”

  Melanie rolled her eyes. “Not digging, Grandad, DRAGON,” she shouted.

  “Oh,” said Pops. He sat back and nodded as though he understood.

  “He’s a keen gardener,” Rachel said quietly, perching herself on the arm of a chair. “At least he was, until his illness. He still likes to potter about in his greenhouse, but we have to keep a careful eye on him. He gets confused sometimes, as you’ve discovered.”

  “Can I see my dragon now?” asked Melanie. She kneeled in front of Lucy and reached out her hands. Reluctantly, Lucy gave her the box.

  Melanie opened it and slid Glade out. “Look!” she said proudly, placing Glade on the coffee table. “Look, Grandad, a new dragon!”

  The old man gave a slight start. “Has it come from the bottom of the garden?”

  Melanie sighed and picked a twist of loose straw off Glade’s tail. “No, Grandad. This lady made it. We bought it at the market yesterday.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I did ask, you know.”

  “Asked what?” queried Rachel, frowning at him.

  He took a deep swallow. “For them. Down the garden.”

  “Them? What are you talking about, Pops?”

  The old man stared at Glade.

  “It’s not a fairy,” said Lucy, getting his drift.

  “Eh? What’s that? What’s hairy?” he said.

  Rachel sighed. “Nothing, Pops. Nothing’s hairy. Would you like a sandwich? Mrs Pennykettle and her daughter are staying for tea.”

  “Kettle? Oh, yes, put the kettle on,” he said.

  Rachel threw up her hands. “I’m sorry. It’s going to be like this all afternoon, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s all right,” Liz said. “May I ask him a question?”

  “If you don’t mind a silly answer. Be my guest. Call him Pops, if you like. He’ll respond to that.”

  Liz shuffled forward to the front of the sofa. “Do you like the dragon, Pops?”

  Melanie’s grandad cast his eyes down. “Does it fly?” he whispered.

  He tucked his arms into his sides and flapped his fingers. Melanie burst out laughing. But Lucy’s expression was deadly serious. She could see her mother’s eyes twinkling violet. What’s more, Liz had just answered Pops in dragontongue, though to everyone else it would have sounded like a cough. “Sometimes. If you dream it,” she’d said.

  Lucy held her breath, wondering if the old man would understand. She saw him frown and tilt his head, the way dogs often did when they knew their humans were trying to communicate.

  Pops let his gaze fall on Glade again. “Glowing,” he said.

  “Hhh!” gasped Melanie. “Look, she changes colour!”

  Sure enough, the ivy around Glade’s neck had relaxed into a definite soft bluey-green.

  “Yes, she’s a mood dragon – among other things,” Liz said.

  “That is wonderful,” Rachel added. “So what mood is bluey-green, do you think?”

  “Happy!” cried Melanie, clapping her hands. “Oh, thank you, thank you for bringing me this dragon.”

/>   “I’ll echo that,” Rachel said, standing up. “Now, time we had something to eat. I’m going to finish in the kitchen and set the table. Melanie, why don’t you take Lucy upstairs and show her your other dragons.”

  “Yes,” Melanie said, jumping up quickly. “Would you like to?”

  “Of course she would,” said Liz. “Lucy adores dragons, don’t you?”

  Lucy couldn’t take her eyes off Glade. She was desperate to send her a whispered hrrr, mainly to ask if she was indeed happy, because what Lucy had felt when she’d seen the ivy turn blue was that Glade was feeling sad.

  But why?

  “Come on,” said Melanie and took Lucy’s hand.

  Lucy nodded. She was quite interested to see the dragons. As she got up, she saw that Glade’s ivy had returned to green, blending in with her natural glaze. The dragon was peaceful and in no danger of shedding her fire tear.

  And Melanie’s grandad was once again asleep.

  Chapter 5

  Melanie’s bedroom was a mess of clothes and toys. She had a dressing table, just like Lucy did. And a television, just like Lucy didn’t. Lucy felt quite envious about that. The room was also wider than Lucy’s, with a spare bed on one side, and a cluster of velvety cushions by its headboard. “That’s Jenny’s bed. She’s my big sister,” said Melanie. “She goes to boarding school. My dad’s quite rich. He’s an officer on a ship. He’s away a lot. What does your dad do?”

  This was a question Lucy always dreaded. “I don’t have a dad,” she said, looking away.

  Melanie chewed her lip. “Oh, sorry.”

  Lucy gave her an ‘it’s all right’ smile. She did have a dad, but it was hard to explain. He was, well… She glanced at the dressing table. There were four or five dragon models on it.

  “This is Merlin,” said Melanie, rushing across and picking up a scarlet one with gold jewelled eyes. “He’s the King of Vermania. That’s a place I made up. And the blue one is…”

  She went on to name them all.

  Lucy picked them up in turn. They were beautiful, particularly a fierce grey one with canopy wings that Melanie called Daroth. But they weren’t clay dragons. Not Pennykettles, touched by the magic of the icefire. Not special, like hers.

  “Dragon names should start with ‘G’,” she said. “And it’s best if you pronounce it ‘Guh’.” Most of the dragons in Wayward Crescent were like this. Guh-ruffen. Guh-lade. Guh-uinevere. Lucy had no idea why this was. It just felt natural, as though you were breathing fire into the name when you said it, Guh…hrrrrrr.

  “Wow,” said Melanie. Her eyes were like saucers. She held Daroth under her chin. “You know lots about dragons, don’t you?”

  “A bit,” Lucy said modestly.

  “They do magic, don’t they?”

  “Sometimes,” said Lucy, not sure how to answer.

  “Always,” said Melanie. “Can we be friends?”

  Lucy felt a pang of hurt in her chest. She didn’t have any friends (apart from the dragons). She knew boys and girls at school, of course, but she rarely brought them home or went to their houses. It was just so difficult. They were what they were and she was, well…

  “If we were friends, you could sleep over,” said Melanie. She pointed at her sister’s bed. “We could play games. We could make up stories about our dragons!”

  Before Lucy could respond, she heard a noise outside. It was Rachel saying, “Oh, Pops, come back. We’re about to have tea. You can’t go out now.”

  Lucy and Melanie went over to the window. Grandad was scuttling down the garden, about to disappear behind a clump of bushes.

  “Where’s he going?” asked Lucy.

  “To his greenhouse, probably.”

  The two girls stood, side-by-side, looking out. Other than a bluetit taking nuts from a feeder, there was no activity in the garden now. All the movement was in their hearts.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Lucy.

  Melanie set Daroth down on the sill. “It’s his brain. Mum says there’s something growing there. It makes him act funny. I think he’s going to die.”

  “Oh,” said Lucy. She felt the space behind her eyes grow warm.

  There was a pause, then Melanie said, “Do you think dragon magic would help him get better?”

  Lucy thought of Glade. Was this why she was here, to save the life of Melanie’s grandad? But how could she have possibly known that she was needed? Could it be that the Pennykettle dragons were more sensitive than even Lucy or her mum had imagined?

  “Tea’s ready! Come on down, you two!” Rachel’s voice carried high up the stairs.

  “OK,” said Lucy.

  “OK what?” Melanie asked.

  “I’ll be your friend.”

  Melanie balled her fists and grinned. “Brilliant.”

  They giggled, had a hug, then ran downstairs.

  As Lucy came into the lounge she saw the table at the far end had been laid with sandwiches. There were cake trays as well and some fancy cups and saucers. Her mother was sitting down, unfolding a serviette.

  “Hello, you two. How’s Glade settling in?”

  “I don’t know,” said Melanie. “We didn’t take her upstairs.”

  Lucy’s eyes went straight to the coffee table. Her heart leaped. Glade wasn’t there.

  Glances criss-crossed the room. Then Rachel said, “Oh, no.” And suddenly, everyone was putting on their shoes and hurrying down the garden.

  They found Grandad by the pond. He was on his knees, staring into the water.

  “Pops, what are you doing?” Rachel cried. She quickly drew him back from the edge.

  “It’s not right,” he said. “Didn’t fly. Not right.”

  Lucy ran forward and crouched beside him. “Mum!” she gasped, and pointed into the water.

  At the bottom of the weed-strewn pond, being nibbled at by a lazy goldfish, was Glade.

  Chapter 6

  They hauled her out with a long-handled fishing net.

  “That’s remarkable,” said Rachel. “She’s completely intact. All those rocks on the bottom and she hasn’t chipped a single scale.”

  “She’s got pond weed up her nose, though,” Lucy said, in a manner which her mother always described as ‘truculent’.

  Liz threw her a warning look.

  “Grandad, what were you thinking of?” said Melanie, looking as if she would burst into tears. She stormed away to sit on a garden bench, drying Glade off with dabs of a tissue.

  Rachel linked arms and drew her father close. “You’re a monkey, aren’t you?”

  “Monkey?” he repeated, looking glazed.

  “A terror in slippers.” She gave his cheek a kiss.

  “I don’t think he meant any harm,” said Liz.

  “What?” hissed Lucy. “Mum, he chucked Glade in the pond!”

  “We don’t know that for certain – yet.” Liz turned and looked towards the bottom of the garden, at the greenhouse and the ramshackle potting shed.

  “When I was girl,” Rachel said, gently stroking her father’s hand, “he used to tell me stories about the fairies living here. He said they slept in beds of moss in upturned plant pots and would come out in the spring to play among the flowers. Lemon balm was their favourite plant, he said, because they liked to rub the leaves and smell prettily of lemon. He used to say if I was clever enough to catch sight of a fairy standing on that small stone island in the middle of the pond, all my wishes would come true.”

  “And did you?” Liz asked.

  Rachel bowed her head. “No.” She tugged her father’s arm. “Is that where you were, Pops? Away with the fairies?”

  “Canaries?” he said. “No, they’ve gone.”

  Rachel gave an exhausted sigh. “You may have noticed the bird cage in the lounge. We used to have two canaries. He let them out a couple of weeks ago, not realising that the dining-room window was open. They went through it and never came back. Melanie was heartbroken, poor thing. Sometimes life with her grandad isn’t
easy. Shall we go in now?”

  Liz smiled warmly and touched her arm. “Yes, why not. You can’t beat a good old cup of tea, can you?”

  Back in the house, they sat Pops at the table and started on the sandwiches. Melanie kept Glade next to her, well away from her grandad’s clutches. But as the plates began to empty and the cake was being sliced, Lucy noticed Glade’s ivy glowing again, pink. Melanie insisted this was Glade’s way of telling her Grandad just how angry she was at getting wet. But Lucy wasn’t so sure. It seemed to her that Glade’s eyes were following the old man, in that spooky way the eyes of a portrait sometimes did. For some reason that Lucy couldn’t quite understand, Glade seemed to be trying to ‘connect’ with Grandad. Every time the dragon’s gaze met with his, her ivy would pulse and he would become very excited, sometimes shouting words at the top of his voice. It was “ONIONS!” the first time. Then “CABBAGES!” Then “SHOVEL!” Rachel tolerated it until halfway through a piece of carrot cake when he barked, “MANURE!” and spat out a shower of cake crumbs.

  “That’s it,” said Rachel. “You’re going to your chair.” She stood up and helped him away from the table.

  “It talks,” Pops gibbered. “It says it’s time to plant the runners.”

  “Well, that’s very clever of it,” Rachel said. “Now, you just sit quietly and eat the rest of your cake.”

  She settled Pops down and returned apologetically to the table. “Well, Glade here seems to have caused quite a stir. I haven’t seen Pops so fidgety for weeks. Do your dragons always have this effect, Liz?”

  “Some more than others,” Liz said, smiling.

  Lucy raised half an eyebrow and picked a piece of carrot cake off her jumper.

  “But you know, the thing is, he’s right.”

  Rachel paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.

  “It is the time of year to plant runner beans,” said Liz. She lifted her tea cup as if to give a toast, then quietly finished her drink.