The Slightly Alarming Tale of the Whispering Wars

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Anyhow, I pressed my face to the fence and called to a nearby child. The child was drawing in the mud with a stick, but he tucked the stick behind his ear and scampered off to fetch Randalf for me.

  Randalf is the lighthouse keeper, and half-Witch, and we are friends on account of Finlay and me running up the stairs in his lighthouse when we train. He has a reddish face, lines running down his cheeks, and a whiskery chin.

  He didn’t know the answer to my question, but he set off to ask his old grandmother. After a few minutes, he came back and said his grandmother didn’t know either but she had suggested he try Aunty Rada Vix, so off he went to do that. Next he came back and said that Aunty Rada Vix hadn’t known either, but she’d had an idea that Uncle Robert Chin might know, so he was off to ask him.

  ‘You don’t need to report to me each step of the way,’ I suggested, but my voice was too soft.

  ‘Eh?’ he said. ‘Speak up!’

  I just shrugged and smiled and off he went. His face had turned a darker red from all the hurrying about but the lines around his mouth were determined.

  I lost track of the Witch relatives Randalf asked but I can tell you this. In the end, his Great-Uncle Arthur Lam limped up to the fence, and leaned on his walking stick.

  ‘This is a proper Witch secret,’ he growled. ‘Who is it wants to know?’

  Being too scared to speak, I pointed at myself.

  ‘But you’re not even a little bit Witch, are you?!’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well, I don’t know that I can tell you then.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Or even if I could say it.

  I simply stared.

  He stared back.

  There we were, staring through the fence, for quite a while.

  Then he gave a great shrug. ‘You promise you won’t tell a soul this secret?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You seem quiet enough to keep that promise. Well, so you want to know how to see through a Witch-made shroud?’

  Another nod.

  ‘Splash it with vinegar.’

  I blinked.

  ‘You want to know how to get through a Witch-made shroud?’

  Another blink.

  ‘Mix your vinegar with bicarbonate of soda.’

  Then he grumbled in the back of his throat, turned around and limped away.

  So I had the trick. Vinegar and bicarbonate of soda.

  But I still didn’t know how to get into the sky to use it.

  I would have liked to write to the Queen or General Hegelwink or even to Waratah Teevksy, Director of the K&E Alliance, telling them about the trick.

  But I’d promised to keep it secret.

  For a few days, I walked around frowning.

  I would just have to learn to fly, I decided. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

  And I went to the playing field behind the Hospital and ran as fast as I could.

  If I run fast enough, I thought, the wind will pick me up and I will fly.

  I get like this when I can’t solve a problem: barmy, I mean.

  I fell down on the grass, out of breath.

  Next, I tried tying balloons to my wrists and sprinting up and down the field. It really seemed like this might work. Especially when I ran down the slopes behind the playing field—I could feel myself lifting for a moment!

  But only for a moment. Never longer than a moment. In the end, I jumped up and down on the spot, shouting at the sky: ‘LIFT ME UP! LIFT ME UP!’

  The twins came out of the Hospital then. They’d been watching through a window. Eli took my temperature and Taya checked my pulse. Then they shoved me about a bit. That was their friendly way of telling me to cut it out.

  I decided that a magic-spelled object might help me to fly, so I returned to the Junkyard and searched once again.

  For three days I tramped amongst the broken crockery and worn-out saddles, the cracked pots and threadbare rugs. Now and then I thought I saw a silvery-blue glow! But it always turned out to be sunlight hitting an old teapot.

  And then, on the third day, I saw it: a gleam of silver, strong and sure!

  It was magic! I knew it! Magic for sure!

  I scrambled and tripped through the junk to find it—at last, true, bright magic!

  Only, it wasn’t magic at all.

  It was a dragon.

  Not a full-grown dragon, you understand. It was a baby dragon, the size of a large dog. The gleam that had caught my eye was its gemstones—the few that remained fixed. The rest must have come loose and fallen out, as there were only pockmarks there. A deep scratch ran right across the little dragon’s pale grey flank, and one of its tiny clawed hooves was grazed and swollen.

  The dragon looked up at me with wide, golden eyes.

  I touched its back with my palm: warm and trembling.

  I picked it up.

  I know that this was dangerous and foolish. Even touching a dragon is enough to breach the human–dragon treaty. If you see one on land, no matter what size, you’re supposed to turn around and run.

  Who knew what would happen if a full-sized dragon spied me with a baby in my arms?

  But there was no way I was leaving the little creature crying in the Junkyard. And it was crying. Its whole body shivered and hiccoughed in my arms as I lifted it, and its snout was damp against my shoulder.

  ‘Oh poor little dragon,’ I said, trying to use the voice Lili-Daisy does when the smaller children are sick ‘—poor little dragon, you’ve had an accident, haven’t you? Did you try to fly too soon? Did you fall and hurt yourself? It’s all right, little dragon, I’m going to take you home.’

  I set off through the Junkyard, out onto the clear and scrubby hills, and towards the line of yew trees. Whenever I stopped speaking, the dragon whimpered and shivered again so I kept on.

  KEEP OUT: DRAGON TERRITORY said the huge sign affixed to each of the tall yew trees.

  My idea had been to set the baby dragon down right here by the trees, but when I peered through a gap I saw nothing but more bare hills with spindly bushes here and there.

  I couldn’t leave the baby here! I needed to get it closer to its dragon family.

  I know what you are doing right now.

  You are taking in a huge breath of air.

  You are waving your hands at me, frantic.

  NO! NO! DON’T GO THROUGH THE TREES (you are shouting at me)!

  THINK OF THE DANGER!

  HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!

  NO! GLIM! YOU WILL BE TORN TO PIECES BY THEIR CLAWS AND TEETH! THEY WILL BARBECUE YOU WITH THEIR FIERY BREATH AND EAT YOU FOR SUPPER! YOU WILL BE—

  Hush up.

  Too late.

  (This already happened anyway, you know.)

  I pushed my way through the trees and into dragon territory.

  Yew trees look soft and billowy from a distance, but up close they’re made of very sharp needles.

  These pricked me as I passed, but I curled my arms around the baby dragon to protect it.

  I was still talking in my low, soothing voice to the baby, but this was more to distract myself. Because my heart was going boomboomboomboomboomboombooomboom

  And I was thinking: PUT THIS DRAGON DOWN AND SCRAM!

  But I could not stop.

  On I went.

  I got a bit tired of saying, ‘It’s all right, little dragon,’ and began to tell the baby a story instead. That usually works

  with the little kids in the Orphanage when they wake up with a nightmare.

  Instead of bushes, there were trees now, growing ever more closely together and I was walking through woods. Usually when you tread on dried bark, it feels good as it crunches beneath your shoe. But today each crunch lit a firestorm in my heart.

  It was so quiet on these wooded hills that, behind the murmur of my own storytelling, I could hear sounds from town—steam engines clunking in local factories, the low sigh of a ship’s horn—and then, from the trees ahead of me came the strangest noise I’d ever h
eard.

  It was like this: EEP! Squeak CRUNCH CRUNCH EEP! Eruuu!

  Birds? I wondered.

  Mice?

  But so loud! They must be enormous mice! The biggest bird I’d ever—

  And then I felt a gust of warmth, smoke stung my eyes, and I stopped.

  Dragons.

  There were dragons just ahead.

  ‘Right,’ I whispered to the baby in my arms. ‘I’ll set you down here and—’

  I crouched, and tried to sort of pour the little guy onto the grass, making ready to dart away. But the dragon was having none of that. The more I tried to put it down, the closer it pressed itself to me, its claws scratching my arms. Next, it started up a whimpering and whining.

  ‘SHHH!’ I said, in a panic. ‘SHHH!’

  I sat right down and pulled it onto my lap. It snuggled in and closed its eyes.

  Oh crabapple.

  Now what?

  Well, I’ll just quietly rock it to sleep, and then slip away.

  But the baby dragon opened its golden eyes and stared right at my face. Eeeee?

  Like that. Like a question.

  Then it batted the underside of my chin with its head.

  ‘What?’ I whispered. ‘What is it?’

  Eeeeeee. Eee ee!

  Oh brother, it wanted me to carry on with the story.

  EEE!

  ‘Hush!’ I begged. ‘It’s okay, I’ll carry on with the story!’

  The dragon settled down again.

  And so I carried on.

  I don’t remember what the story was. I always make them up as I go along. The twins can recite every tale I’ve ever told as they have excellent memories, so ask them if you want to hear one. I know there were dewdrops clinging to spider webs in my story, as well as angry water sprites, a splash in the distance, sails on the horizon, and cannon fire. Also, someone was pegging stars up into the sky—I always take my stories to the sky at some point—and then the stars got accidentally transformed into dewdrops clinging to the spider webs, which somebody crumpled and swept away and that was a disaster for the sky. And so on. There was a chase scene and a thunderstorm too. I always have both.

  Anyhow, I knew the dragons were there.

  I didn’t let myself know at first, as I was too frightened. But the baby dragon’s eyes were closed, its long lashes fluttering with each of its deep breaths, and it was heavy on my lap—but still I kept on talking, telling my story. And all around me were the cracks of snapping twigs, the rustle of bushes—sudden glows and sparks, tendrils of smoke, the smell of burnt wood, the rustle of cinders.

  I knew I was surrounded by dragons.

  I kept my head down, watching the baby dragon sleep, and I carried on telling. It was all I could think to do.

  I reached the sad bit of my story—I always do a very sad bit right near the end—and I heard whooshes of air and felt blasts of heat on my cheek.

  Sighs.

  The dragons were sighing.

  But I also always turn my story sharply around and give it a happy ending, so that is what I did.

  ‘And that,’ I said, ‘is the end of the story.’

  There was a pause.

  At last I looked up.

  And there they were, dappled with light: the dragons. There were greys, blues, deep blacks, crimsons, and emerald greens, some snouts narrow, some wide, nostrils flaring or closed, eyes round or squinting, and every one watching me closely.

  ‘Why, that was splendid!’ said a dragon, and the baby tumbled from my lap.

  After that, we became friends. I visited regularly for the next few days, and the dragons told me that some of them could speak our language but chose not to. They taught me some of their language. It was all a great laugh and the baby dragon grew better every day. Then, one day, the dragons asked me for another story, like the one they’d overheard. ‘I have a true story for you,’ I said, ‘to do with the Whispering Kingdom and stolen children and my friends who tried to rescue them.’

  They weren’t as keen on that story as they had been on my invented one, but when it was done, Dragon Great Claudius, who is the father of the baby dragon, said, ‘Hmm. I wonder…’ And now, back to Finlay and Honey Bee.

  Honey Bee

  Gliding in at speed, the dragon skidded onto the grass. An immense black shadow: jewel-patterns and sharp black eyes glinting in the moonlight.

  Everyone screamed. The supervisors scrambled to their feet, alarmed.

  ‘It’s all right,’ called a little voice from the dragon. A voice on the dragon, astride the dragon.

  It was Glim!

  Looking tinier than ever up there. The dragon breathed a gust of warm air, and we all shrieked again.

  It’s true that dragons often cross the sky around Spindrift, but they never fly low, and never land near people. They keep to their caves in the hills! The dragons they use for officer training at school are so old their fire is long extinguished, and their claws are clipped. Mostly they just sleep.

  But here was a great, vibrant beast, its talons long and gleaming, in amongst hundreds of children!

  ‘Glim!’ shouted Finlay, bouncing up and down.

  ‘GLIM!’ came a louder, angry voice. That was Victor. Striding towards the dragon—but stopping a fair distance from its talons. ‘Of all the preposterous, foolish things to do! Somehow you have managed to steal an Officer Dragon. You have put us all in danger, you silly girl. Now, I’ll thank you to disembark at once, while still alive. I will instruct the dragon to depart. Fortunately for you, I have been trained.’

  He clapped his hands once smartly and barked: ‘SIT!’

  The dragon stared at him. It sniffed.

  Glim looked over Victor’s head at Finlay. ‘How many kids are here?’ she called.

  ‘About three hundred!’

  ‘SIT!’ shouted Victor. ‘DRAGON! SIT!’

  The dragon sighed and turned away.

  Glim slithered from the dragon’s back to the grass.

  ‘Finally,’ Victor said to her. ‘Now step away from the dragon at once and I will send it off. All right, dragon, if you won’t sit, FLY!’ He waved his hands frantically, and bellowed: ‘FLY! FLY AWAY! DO AS I COMMAND.’

  The dragon’s tail flicked the air.

  ‘He’s not an Officer Dragon,’ Glim called to Victor. ‘He’s a wild dragon. His name is Dragon Great Claudius. They can understand our language perfectly, by the way, he’s just choosing to ignore you. But it’s more polite to speak to them in their own language.’ She raised her voice. ‘Can you children all go over by the shipwrecks? Then I’ll ask Claudius to call down the other dragons.’

  Everybody, including the supervisors, rushed to obey and crowded together, staring wide-eyed at Glim and the dragon. Only Victor did not move.

  ‘Don’t worry, everybody!’ he called. ‘There’s no way she can tell this dragon to call more dragons! Too complicated a command. And it is an Officer Dragon, by the way, otherwise however was she riding it?’

  But Glim was busy doing the most extraordinary thing. It was a bit like an awkward dance. She touched her toes and elbows, smacked the grass, spun in a circle and made sounds like this: EEP! WHOAH! crunch, crunch, crunch (as if walking on dried autumn leaves). The dragon studied her as she spoke.

  Victor burst out laughing.

  ‘Oh, she’s lost her marbles!’ he spluttered. (I admit, I rather agreed.) ‘I believe Glim really thinks she’s talking to the dragon! She thinks she’s—’

  ‘WeeeAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!’

  That was the dragon.

  He had thrown back his head and was roaring at the sky in a burst of smoke and flames.

  Victor leapt on the spot and scurried to hide behind a supervisor. The sounds of his frightened panting filled the air.

  Within seconds, that sound was lost beneath a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh like waves rolling in, rolling in, rolling in, and I was almost too afraid to look up. But I did.

  And the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh was the beating wings of dragon
s, hundreds of dragons, thousands, it seemed—but I suppose it was not that many. A sky alight with bursts of flame and the dazzle of their jewel patterns. You could feel the warmth and breeze of it all on your cheeks, you could see the sparks reflecting in other children’s eyes. Small children pressed close to bigger, but all of us gazed up in wonder.

  They landed in perfect formation, with a thud, thud, thud that shook and vibrated. You could feel it in your heels.

  A long row of dragons facing the row of shipwrecks.

  And everyone turned to face Glim. She climbed back onto Dragon Great Claudius, and stood on his back.

  ‘Right!’ she called to us. ‘Each dragon can take three or four children! Bigger children ride with little ones or sick ones. Don’t worry about thanking the dragons, they know we’re in a rush! I’ve told them everything! Just climb aboard!’

  THANK the dragons?! Climb aboard?!

  Was she mad? Nobody moved.

  Glim pulled on her own short hair. ‘HURRY!’ she shouted. ‘The Whisperers are coming!’

  Still, we stood.

  ‘I can see them!’ Glim wailed. ‘Over there!’

  She pointed.

  And there they were, a small crowd of mining officers, marching along, lamps swinging. If they got any closer they’d be in range to Whisper us all back under control.

  We needed to move now. And fast.

  ‘COME ON!’ Glim bellowed. ‘This is the only way out! I’ll lead!’ She touched her dragon once, and it rose in the air.

  ‘THE WHISPERERS ARE COMING!’ Glim shrieked from the air above us. ‘THEY’RE RIGHT THERE!!’

  And in a surge, in a scramble, we rushed towards the dragons.

  FINLAY

  You think riding a laundry chute is fun?

  Try a dragon.

  Easily the best night of my life.

  I mean, not only were we escaping the Whispering Kingdom—away from the mines! getting all the children out of there!—everyone, even Victor—although he had to shake the supervisors’ hands goodbye, for crying out loud—but they all ended up on a dragon—