by Barbara Else
The deep-dragon let out a long breath. Rufkin raised the dagger higher. The nearer it was to the deep-dragon’s scales, the more the shade of its metal darkened to darkest green.
“It’s the sign of the monarch,” Rufkin said in a shaky voice. “It shows the dragon-eagles who can be trusted.”
~ A sign of a fair heart ~ said the deep-dragon. ~ Fair means beautiful and fair means honest. A sign of friendship. I know, for I made it myself long ago ~
“It’s from one of your scales, isn’t it?” Now Rufkin’s hands really trembled. “The stories say, ‘The greatest monarch has affinity with the greatest creature.’ Affinity means fellow-feeling.” And he, an everyday boy, was holding the sign.
Beside him the creature seemed a vast shadow of sadness. But Rufkin felt somehow that it trusted him now.
“Excuse me,” he began again. “I know Madam Butterly opened the cavern. But what actually happened to your youngling?”
The deep-dragon made a rippling movement. Rufkin thought it might be the way it shrugged.
“It simply disappeared?” he asked. “Got out through the mine and didn’t come back?”
The rippling movement happened again like shadows inside the rocks.
“Well…” Rufkin frowned. He was aware the deep-dragon watched closely. “Maybe your youngling got lost and can’t find its way home. Maybe it was old enough to leave but you hadn’t noticed. Maybe…it needed more attention. Or it wanted a friend. Maybe there was only a misunderstanding between you that can be forgiven. Have you thought of all that? Like—did you get over-occupied with something?”
The vast sense of loneliness spilled over him. It was hard to think under such sorrow. But the deep-dragon’s eyes darkened. In the crown of metal scales, the molten green flared.
“None of it might be your fault,” Rufkin hurried to say. “And in the end it doesn’t matter, it’s just important to find your youngling, if that’s still possible. Like, it’s important to get Vosco back to his parents if that’s possible. So Lady Polly and Lord Trump can do better with him.”
~ What did they do wrong? ~ the deep-dragon asked.
“Nothing, apparently,” said Rufkin. “It’s the ‘nothing’ that was the problem. They were too busy to talk to him, play with him, that sort of thing.”
The deep-dragon gave a rumble, like people do when they finally get an idea. That infinite loneliness Rufkin had felt out in the ocean was like the sadness he sensed now, many times greater, in the deep-dragon.
“You haven’t been out of your caverns for years, right? Hundreds? Thousands? More years than you could count?”
~ I can count past infinity ~ The deep-dragon’s eyes looked amused for a moment. However, it nodded.
“For what it’s worth, and it’s just my feeling, your youngling is out there somewhere. Queen Sibilla felt something too. She can talk to the dragon-eagles, so I reckon she’d know.”
The shape of the deep-dragon reared up as if it stared at the ocean, the circle of ships with its thousands of people, the gleams of telescopes trained on the island.
With a sigh like stone sliding, the shape dropped back. ~ Dragon-eagles. Yes. An old one and a young one ~
A shout from the speaker-device came up the slope from the Sea Honey. “Let us continue!” Madam Butterly took a tentative pace from the yacht onto the shingle. “You have had time to inspect the child. Both of them. That is, if you wish perhaps to keep the older one too.”
She turned and beckoned. Thunderhead, Goodabod, and the crew led their prisoners onto the deck.
Madam Butterly looked back up the island and used the speaker again. “Let us close the new deal.”
The deep-dragon, half-visible, lowered its head to peer at faraway Madam Butterly.
“You agree that I’ve brought more than you asked for,” she called.
The deep-dragon gave a slow nod.
“And in exchange I have ten more years of the use of underground and undersea.” She raised her arms like a queen in triumph.
The deep-dragon’s voice shook the pit of Rufkin’s stomach. ~ Our first deal is ended. I understand now you had no right to make it at all ~
“But it was made and it was kept,” cried Madam Butterly. “It was more than kept, it was increased. Now—”
~ Be silent ~ This time the island quaked with the depth of its voice. The mirror-lake rippled. On all the ships Rufkin could see, people crowded the rails.
The great shape seemed to examine the group on the bow of the Sea Honey.
~ Why are some of them in chains? ~ it asked Rufkin in almost a whisper.
“Short story,” he said, “they were trying to stop her. I’m actually one of them. So is Vosco.”
The deep-dragon seemed to shoot just a glance at the Sea Honey, but there was a burst of green. The manacles fell from the wrists of the Queen, Hodie, Murgott, and Littlewink.
~ There will be no second deal ~ said the voice, roaring like flames ~ And you will pay for any damage you have caused because of the first one. You will pay for any unhappiness ~
Madam Butterly lifted an arm again. “I have worked for the good of everyone. It is my victory.”
~ You are responsible for using precious lazulite in a way that has caused distress and misery ~ said the voice strong as fire.
“I had no time to—” began Madam Butterly.
~ You are responsible for the natural world losing its balance ~ continued the voice. ~ More distress and misery ~
She tried to protest again. “I had no idea…”
~ Third and last… ~ The deep-dragon’s voice made the ocean lake quiver. By now Rufkin could tell that everyone was listening harder than ever, all thirty-odd thousand. ~ Third and last. You are responsible for losing a youngling and stealing another. Victory? I say it is villainy! ~
A scattered shouting began in the circle of ships. It grew to a rage, an enormous booing from thousands of throats, all jeering at Madam Butterly.
For a beat or two her arm stayed up. Then she lowered it, slowly, in little jerks. She understood at last. In front of the world she had been beaten.
There she stood, in her fox-fur coat. The richest woman? All those witnesses behind the telescopes and binoculars knew she had caused the end-of-days for her own selfish reasons. What was more, she’d tried to bargain using a child. She’d have to pay for it all.
There was nothing she could do. She hunched into her coat in the Attitude-insignificant, Attitude-crushed, more worthless and hopeless than the most hopeless beggar Rufkin had ever seen.
“I reckon she is completely puckerooed,” he said, using Littlewink’s wonderful word.
The deep-dragon blinked at the circle of ships. ~ So many of them ~
“Madam Butterly knew everyone would have to watch,” said Rufkin. “I think it’s your magnetic power, or whatever you call it.”
~ I can do something about that if it’s troublesome ~ There was a sort of change in the air.
A few engines choked into life. But most of them cut off again, apart from three naval launches, heading for the Sea Honey from different directions. Good. The Royal Navy of Fontania was on the job.
The Queen started to jump off the yacht, but Hodie took her hand and seemed to warn her. Poor guy—he was still so worried.
Murgott stepped down, though. He glanced up at the deep-dragon and gave a small bow just a little bit trembly. Then he strode to Madam Butterly and snapped handcuffs on her. She knelt, huddled in her fox-fur collar.
Queen Sibilla and Hodie moved onto the stony shore together. Lord Hodie started up the island, but now the Queen held him back. Rufkin saw her touch his shoulder in a reassuring way.
Rufkin waved to let them know that Vosco was okay and Hodie could just stay and help the navy when it arrived.
Hodie and Murgott both gave Rufkin a little salute. But they were standing in Attitude-jittery.
The deep-dragon must have thought Hodie and Murgott looked decent sorts. It called to them gently ~ Let me
take a little more time to understand this pair of younglings ~
But Vosco bounced his stone saying HELP down the island and waved the trumpet at Queen Sibilla. She took a step up the slope by herself. The men looked even more nervous.
“That’s the Queen,” said Rufkin.
The deep-dragon watched her come further. Halfway, she stopped.
~ She let you carry the sign ~ murmured the deepdragon. ~ Hold it high and let me see ~
Rufkin held the royal dagger up in his right hand. The Queen bowed to the deep-dragon. The shape in the rocks seemed to bow back. She raised her hands in a gesture of true and warm welcome.
There was a kind of long moment where Rufkin didn’t really see what happened. Then the dagger was gone from his hand. The Queen had it, holding it high. It glowed like a flame of blue and silver, and she shone in its light.
The great shape in the rocks seemed to nod. Vosco raised the trumpet and blew a rumptipaze.
The cat shrank down with its ears back. The deep-dragon winced too, but once again it seemed amused.
“Sorry,” said Vosco. He stroked the cat, then put a hand up to stroke the stones that might be the deep-dragon. He could pretty much reach a possible ankle.
The necessary child. A magical boy. That was Vosco, wasn’t it? Of course it was, just look how unafraid he was. It didn’t feel right to be proud of someone else’s kid, but Rufkin felt proud anyway.
The stones rippled again as if the deep-dragon was shaking its ears. ~ Does that thing make a more enjoyable sound? ~
“Even I can do better with a trumpet than Vosco,” Rufkin said. “And I’m wishing I hadn’t said that.”
But the deep-dragon’s eye dark as a window at night seemed to turn to him.
Vosco passed Rufkin the trumpet. He put it to his lips and rippled some phrases of a nursery rhyme—“The Egg on the Wall.” “For instance,” he said.
The huge head swayed down and examined the trumpet more closely. Its breath smelled like vast amounts of charred toast. The cat licked its paws.
“Your own music is wonderful,” Rufkin dared say. “I heard you before. Do you know anything…well, happier?”
For a moment the deep-dragon’s eye flashed the green of sorrow. The crown on its head turned a green so deep it was close to black. Rufkin flinched.
But he remembered the story of the silver-feathered dragon-eagle imprisoned for years while it healed after the Great Accident. Its crown of glowing green contained the weight of its sadness and pain. The King, who thought then that he wasn’t the King, had bowed to the dragon-eagle. When it had to bow back, its burden of anger and grief began trickling away.
So Rufkin just had to start. He glanced down the slope at the Queen and saw her smile. He raised the trumpet again.
It wasn’t like performing to an audience. The circle of ships, the Queen and Lord Hodie, Madam Butterly and her thugs, even his parents and Oscar and Ahria were watching, listening. But all Rufkin was trying to do was console a sorrowing creature as huge as a castle, and keep a clever but lonely four-year-old content till he could be on his way back to people who loved him.
The music began softly. He wasn’t sure where it came from—somewhere in his memory. Then from sadness it changed into hope. It became a march, and then after a few more bars Rufkin made it a dance-tune. The deep-dragon’s voice joined in by the third verse. Vosco beat his hands in time and sang all the words he knew, which turned out to be hundreds. The cat put its ears flat back but kept sitting there.
Then somehow, probably because of magic, the tune of hope and happiness turned into pure joy. Because above the new-formed island great wings beat in the air. The dragon-eagles, feathers of silver light as thistledown, were circling, dipping their wings to the royal dagger and Queen Sibilla.
The shape in the stones lifted its head and called to them. For the first time in thousands of years, the deep-dragon was meeting its ancient friends. And they landed beside Rufkin and added their song.
By now, banners had been broken out on many ships. Rufkin saw what must be tablecloths flapping as Nissy and the others danced and waved on the deck of the Chalice. All around the sea-lake there were drums and guitars and harmonicas, and more trumpets, and piccolos and flutes, and glorious voices, in tune or out of it. He bet even the Mucclacks, if they could be here, would be roaring full-throated.
Rufkin didn’t want to stop playing, but kicked up his knees to show his family he was fine, more than fine. Oscar and Ahria would be singing and playing too, he was sure of it. So would his parents. Vosco kicked about too in his own stamping shuffle.
Then Rufkin took the music up a scale to try his best to meet the promise he felt in the world. And beyond the great ring of ships he saw a shadow. For a while it circled out there, half-seen but drawing closer. Then it vanished, but just for a moment. In the mirror lake, a shimmer appeared. And the deep-dragon’s voice lifted with heart-bursting happiness. There was an eddy, a swirl, a surge. The pattern showed that something that used to be lost, alone, and afraid was playful again.
Here was the youngling, arrowing home.
When I started the first Tale of Fontania I had no idea I’d spend the next five and a half years writing about magic, heroic children, wise and foolish grown-ups, and plenty of villains. It has been great fun working on the quartet. But I have many people to thank for their help.
First, very special thanks to Gecko Press for their determination to make each Gecko book a “curiously good” one, and for choosing the very best people for the publishing process. That starts with Julia Marshall herself and Jane Arthur and includes Rachel Lawson, who is a paragon of editors.
Thanks to Sam Broad for the amazing artwork, the detail in the covers and interior, and especially the quirky maps. And thanks to Luke Kelly for his brilliance with design.
I have been so lucky to have Jane Parkin edit each one of the Tales. It is a pleasure to work with a Queen of Editors who cares about the characters and even asks me to write just a bit more about, for example, the Ocean Toads.
I’ve been blessed with the readers who looked at drafts of the novels and gave useful comments and encouragement. Barbara Murison has long been called a national treasure. Her knowledge of children’s writing has helped enormously.
Emma Neale’s ear for a phrase and skill with words has helped too. If she scribbled a wise academic remark in the margin as well as a ha! ha! ha! I knew I had hit the right note.
Abe Baillie’s feedback on a draft of The Volume of Possible Endings was very encouraging. And I thank him very much indeed for the word rumptipaze, which became important in The Knot Impossible.
I also thank Olive Easton Neale, early inspiration for the character of baby Sibilla in the first Tale.
Nor can I leave out Zac Baillie, who was so much Help. Help! Help! with the character of Vosco, that remarkable four-year-old.
Thank you, Lesley Graham and Jane Arthur, for so much help and fun working on the music for “The Anarchists’ Marching Song” in The Volume of Possible Endings. (Yah-ha! to any rules!)
Joan Druett’s tips about sea-faring matters were inspiring and practical. And I’m very grateful to other friends and family who have been patient and encouraging during my long exploration of the land of Fontania.
I have a huge tribute to give Creative New Zealand for a generous writing grant that made it possible for me to write the third and fourth Tales in record time. I am indebted to their belief in the importance of writing for children that encourages the development of imagination.
I’d hoped that when I reached the end of this list I would have found the best words to thank Chris Else. He read many drafts of each Tale. He was always encouraging, but also tough—exactly what I needed and wanted. He rejoiced with me when the novels won prizes, and listened to my grizzles when the writing was difficult. I am still searching for the glittering words to thank him properly.
To every one of these kind, generous, wise, and clever people, I give a heartfelt
Salute-respectful.
Barbara Else
* New Zealand IBBY Honour Award for Writing 2012
* White Raven Award 2012
* NZ Post Children’s Book Awards 2012, Honour Award
* LIANZA Children’s Book Awards 2012, Junior Fiction Award
* Storylines Notable Book 2012
A heaping plateful of adventure, spiced to perfection with dangers, deft humor and silly bits. —Starred review, Kirkus Reviews (US)
This is one of the most enchanting books that I’ve read for a long time…It’s got everything you’ve ever wanted from a fantastical children’s tale; very well written, funny, and at the heart of it is this beautiful relationship…I can’t recommend it more highly. Fantastic. —Kate De Goldi (author)
Constant action, lively language, and a Mahy-esque sense of whimsy carry the narrative as the mysteries unfold. —Horn Book Review (US)
I love the quirkiness of the storytelling...I also loved the music, the food, the wit, the warmth, well, all of it really...This is a very special book. —Story Time Books for Kids (NZ)
A rich tapestry of a tale, wonderfully inventive, full of flawed but likeable characters with a plot that gets you by the throat. —Readings (Australia)
* NZ Post Children’s Book Awards 2013, Honour Award
* LIANZA Children’s Book Awards 2013, finalist
* Storylines Notable Book 2013
Hope, fear, friendship, loyalty, humour and imagination all packaged between stunning covers make a recipe for an excellent read. —Bookrapt (NZ)
It’s as good as the first book if not better…this is a classic fantasy adventure story. —Kate de Goldi (author)
It’s an exciting, funny and original fantasy that is grounded in everyday life….The Queen and the Nobody Boy is destined to be a classic. —Judges Report, New Zealand Post Children’s Book Awards 2013
This is a quirky, zany and thoroughly entertaining read that should appeal to lovers of magic, fantasy and adventure. —Kids Book Review (Australia)