The Dragon Seller: A Tale of Love and Dragons

by F. G. Ferrario

  "Everything's okay, Jack. We made an agreement with Rank and he stopped the Guard".

  "Rank? George Rank, the Governor?"

  Raleigh nodded. I was about to ask her what kind of agreement when a voice behind Raleigh exclaimed: "Jack Ports! For heaven's sake".

  Governor Rank and his entourage had reached us. Along with his bodyguards and his two councilors were professor Abrams and a man I didn't know.

  While one of the councilors called back the journalists, Rank and a bodyguard came up to us. The Governor shook my hand. He didn't seem any older, since the last time I had seen him. His hair was still styled in a modern fashion and he had a smiling face, like a toothpaste commercial.

  "Your dragon isn't going to eat me now, is he?" He whispered to me. "Remember it was me who signed your license".

  "He's not aggressive, sir", I answered. "And everyone knows politicians are bad for the stomach".

  Rank burst into laughter.

  "Good, good!" He said, this time out loud. "Great work!"

  He turned toward Erin Coscarello and the other journalists, who were kept at bay by the bodyguards and went to meet them, smile shining and arms open like a loving father.

  It's said that politics complicate things, and this is often true, especially when it sticks its nose in issues that concern Science. But in this case, I felt as if the Governor had just signed, for Whiskey and I, a "Get out of the execution platoon free" card. If Rank was here to save my ass, he was welcome.

  "Calm down, ladies and gentlemen, calm down. I'll answer all questions", said the Governor to the journalists.

  "Governor Rank, can you tell us what's going on?" Was Coscarello's first question.

  Excellent question Erin. I would like to know too.

  "It's very simple, to tell you the truth", said Rank. "These dragons and their owner, mister Ports, have been the victims of a terrible misunderstanding".

  "So this...dragon..."' the NBC reporter asked him, "isn't the Greenbelt Monster?"

  "Absolutely not. It was a mistake".

  "And why did the National Guard intervene?"

  "To avoid a tragedy. This dragon pup could be the key to solving the Drought that afflicts the great state of Idaho and our country. But I'll let professor Abrams, from the department of Botany at the University of Boise, explain the issue to you in detail. Abrams, here you are".

  Governor Rank stepped aside and the professor faced the journalists standing tall.

  "Hey, what...", I protested, "no, don't tell me you'll let that bastard..."

  Raleigh grabbed my arm.

  "Wait, Jack. Just listen".

  "This dragon in front of you", started off Abrams with his baritone mountain troll voice, "is a living miracle. Some of the bacteria in his body can help us develop vegetation in environments that are almost void of all water. It's a sensational discovery".

  Chaos ensued after those words. The journalists all spoke together and Abrams had to raise his hand to calm them. I couldn't believe my ears. That asshole was saving Whiskey. Raleigh's plan B had worked out in the end.

  "Professor", intervened David Schein from NBC, "so you're saying this dragon can stop the Drought?"

  "We're only at the beginning of our research, but after a series of preliminary discoveries and the study of some biological specimens we've gathered, yes...that's right..."

  You all saw that interview. Abrams went on for half an hour celebrating Whiskey's scientific virtues and praising me for taking care of such a precious creature.

  What can I say? These days, ladies and gentlemen, you can't even trust your own enemies.

  I kissed Raleigh and hugged my dragons. In the office at Wild Dragons, on my desk, I still have the picture Mark Edelman from the Idaho Statesman took back then. In the foreground, Abrams and Rank are speaking with the journalists. And in the middle of the picture, Whiskey is looking with curiosity upon that small chaos of human beings while Raleigh and I are hugging underneath him. The Mustangs are poking out from all parts of his body. Deirdre is on his right shoulder, Lutezia on his back, slightly hidden by a wing. And the males Drakkar, Nahar and Ursus, are sitting on his large bronze paws. It's a really nice picture.

  Since then, four years have gone by.

  Epilogue

  "JACK, WHERE'S YOUR WEDDING RING?"

  Raleigh leans on the desk in the office and lifts my left hand from the laptop. The ring has disappeared from my finger. A sort of magic, while I was distracted by writing. I identify the criminal of the theft right away.

  "Falcor, come here!"

  The little dragon tries to run away off the desk but I catch him in time. I put a finger in his mouth and take back the ring, all wet with drool. As usual.

  I always say so, to my clients: if you think a cat or dog is therapeutic, get an Outback. It'll change your life (but not a Mustang. A Mustang will destroy it).

  Falcor, however, is one of a kind. After the small "accident" at the farm, the Governement took away all the (few, unfortunately) Mustang eggs remaining and stopped giving licenses out. There's only four of us, in the whole United States. But Nature knows how to toy with us monkeys with no fur. Just a few months ago, after the cherry season, I found a strange egg in Deirdre's nest. Apparently, the Mustang matron and Fireball, I don't know how (and I don't want to know), had decided to "meet halfway", and to "overcome racial barriers". In other words, they had dragon sex.

  And Falcor is the result of this potentially apocalyptic union. A new species, with the character of an Outback and the indestructible exterior of a Mustang. Before he even came out of the egg I already had a name for his species: Thompson.

  "No, poor guy", says Raleigh as if I were torturing the little dragon. "Don't hurt him".

  She lets Falcor get away with everything. That's how it should be, given that the pup is her first imprinting and the race carries her name.

  "Hurt him? It's the second time in a week that this thief steals my wedding ring".

  Raleigh takes him from the desk and pets him.

  "He's just a pup, can't you see? Boobooboo. Isn't he adorable?"

  Yeah but when he craps everywhere, I'm the one who has to clean it. Damned botanists.

  The little dragon lays down on my wife's palm and lets himself be cuddled, all happy. It's a disgusting scene. I wonder if I'm like that too, with mine.

  Is it possible? Nah(17).

  "Speaking of pups..."

  "Oh", Raleigh's eyes sparkle, "my mom called. They're on their way".

  "Great", I say. "I can't wait".

  Today, finally, Whiskey is coming back home and I want our daughter Taylor to be here with us, to welcome him. The two of them have never seen each other. Guys, I'm jumping out of my skin. After almost two years of legal battles we won the appeal. A dragon, of course, like every living being, doesn't belong to anyone, he belongs to himself. But sometimes human law is founded on necessary absurdities. The university wanted to keep him in the mega complex they built next to Pandora 1, but the judge decided in our favor. Besides the bacteria and his dimensions, the scientists weren't able to discover anything else that was sensational. Whiskey is a normal dragon. For them, at least.

  "Have you already brought his present?"

  "Yes", I answer getting up from the desk. "Wrapped up with a bow".

  Together, we leave the office and go into the new Flight Garden.

  For four years Whiskey was closed up in the dome at the college. The Government classified his DNA for safety reasons, but allowed Abrams' team to study him. That's how Raleigh and him discovered Dracospirillium, the famous bacteria. Thanks to this discovery, Rank has been re-elected with flying colors and almost 80% of votes and is now thinking of running for presidency. He even changed Idaho's flag, putting the two dragons on it (but you already know this). Sure, the Drought hasn't disappeared. It's a climactic phenomenon humanity will have to face for many years to come, but in the southern states, where there was hunger before, millions of people have been saved th
anks to Whiskey, and his microscopic guest.

  I admit it, I would have liked to discover that my dragon had some kind of magic power, some sort of alien influence, but you can't have everything in life, right? The idea of these scientists digging through his poop to discover its secrets is already fun enough.

  "Where did you put it?" Raleigh asks me as we go into the Garden.

  Falcor is acting up, he wants to get down and she puts him on the grass, without fear. Even if he's just a month old, he doesn't run any risk in the Garden. That little dragon is practically a prince in here now.

  "The present is under the Pitas", I answer. "You know, I'm a little worried..."

  "Why?"

  "Well, because I don't know how Taylor will react".

  Raleigh puts a hand on my shoulder.

  "She's a three year old girl, Jack. How do you think it will go?"

  "Yes, but..."

  "...and she's spent half her life in the middle of our dragons".

  "But Whiskey is really big, now".

  Raleigh smiles at me. Her fantastic smile, which is like the sun peeking out from the clouds on a rainy day.

  "Everything will be fine, honey. Don't worry".

  I sigh. I really hope so. I'm sweating like the first time I brought Taylor into the Garden.

  Seeing all those creatures flying around her she had started crying, and for a terrible moment I thought she would grow up preferring unicorns.

  "Damn it, no!" Raleigh had said back then. "Unicorns my ass. She's our daughter".

  And She had put Sheela in her arms. The Pink French had rubbed up against her, to console her, and Taylor stopped crying right away. It was love at first sight between them.

  "And LeBon?", you must be asking.

  Could I ever get rid of that crazy French man? Obviously not. What would Wild Dragons be without my partner? He waited this whole time to marry Jeremy, his fiancé.

  "I want everyone to be there, even Whiskey", he says. Jeremy, fortunately, is a well to do guy and very, very patient.

  Oh, the National Guard has always denied it, but Jean really destroyed a drone hunter with his bare hands, before the other seven immobilized him. I know it, they know it, and now you know it too. Don't ever make a French person mad, they're really scary when they're pissed off.

  Jean went to get Whiskey now (I was too excited) with the university's transportation truck. I look at the clock. At this time, they should already be heading toward the store.

  Raleigh and I go into the Garden's new area, the one I planned for Whiskey. It's a dome added to Wild Dragons, with a diameter of a hundred and thirty feet and a retractible roof. It's a garden of only Pitahayas. The cacti adorn the terraces and the circumference with their large white flowers. Instead of the usual pond, in the center, there's a small beach of soft white sand.

  All the dragons are waiting for Whiskey's arrival. The Outbacks and Tangs, the Brits and Mustangs, who are proudly showing their scars (You should have seen them, Deirdre and the other four, how they showed off, after the fight. It was a continuos "we went into battle, yeah", "look at our wounds").

  Our bizarre, flying, dragon-like and colorful family, who is about to finally be reunited.

  Raleigh points to the box in the middle of the garden, close to the beach and under a weave of tall cacti.

  "Is that the present?"

  I move my head up and down, nodding. Soon Taylor will be here, and Jean too. And Whiskey will finally be here. After a long, long time. I can't wait to see my dragon's face when he opens the present, and sees his rubber ball again.

  The red one.

  His favorite.

  *THE END*

  Acknowledgments and Dedication

  I want to thank the english translator of this book, the amazing Anna Volpi, for her patience and her zen calm even in front of my most absurd requests.

  Also my dad, for pushing me to write more, about this book and in general.

  All my beta readers, Davide, Reuben and Franca, my cousins Fabio and Nadia, my dear friends Camilla, Peter and Shontelle, and all the people that supported me during the writing of this book.

  Love you.

  This book is dedicated to all the people that, at least once in their life, cried like Jack when he entered the Johnsons' woods.

  You know what i mean.

  Contact the author

  My beloved and amazing reader, if you liked The Dragon Seller, and you're interested to know more about my works, or if you have any questions, please contact me at

  www.fedegferrario.com

  - or add me on twitter: @fedeferscifi

  - or visit my FACEBOOK page.

  NOTES

  1- There are two types of expensive eggs in the world: Fabergé eggs, created by master goldsmiths for the Tzar of Russia's family, and dragon eggs. Fabergé eggs, however, don't get into the habit of messing up your carpet when they grow, or of setting your house on fire. And maybe that's why they cost more.

  (BACK)

  2- When I was young Omaha had become famous because the Denver Broncos quarterback, Peyton Manning, had used his name in the snap count. At the park, while we rolled around in the grass and mud, saying "Omaha! Omaha!" between us kids had become a sort of magic ritual that made us believe we were like one of the great football players. A city of frontiers and trains, Omaha is one of the Midwest's richest cities today (and with the best public transportation system).

  (BACK)

  3- Hazardous Materials suits. The suit, usually yellow or white, which is used for protection against chemical agents, viruses, radiation etc…

  (BACK)

  4- If you pay attention, most dragons you see in the movies or on TV series are nothing more than colored wyverns. Wyverns' wings are formed by front legs (in fact, they fly with their fingers, which are very long), and when they're on the ground they move around leaning on them. My dragons, instead, are all western, meaning with legs that are independent from their wings. In this, they're much more similar to the iguanidae family (with which they share some genetic traits).

  (BACK)

  5- Every dragon breeder depends on middle men that supply him with eggs. Woods came to see me every two months, if I didn't call him before that, to see if I had sold any Outbacks, which were his specialty.

  (BACK)

  6- One of the most famous sitcoms at that time was "The Darwin Theory", which followed the happenings of three normal guys that tried to win over their charming neighbor who had a degree in botany. With little success, obviously.

  (BACK)

  7- These security measures could seem out of place to you, for a simple pet store, even if dragons are particular animals. All dragon breeders protect their dragons, but I was one of the few to have to protect people from my dragons. If you don't have a graphene "cage" equipped with an excellent security system, in fact, no state will ever give you a license to raise Mustangs. Often even that's not enough. Every six months the Governor would send inspectors to make sure my Garden was in optimal condition and everything was according to regulation. The representatives at BAD (Dragon Breeder Association) protested that the law allowed people to keep guns and rifles in their homes with no limitations, but not dragons. It's a lost battle, though. Nobody considers Mustangs as weapons. They're much worse. Guns, furthermore, don't plot to burn the neighborhood if someone touches their favorite tree's branches.

  (BACK)

  8- Colonel Roberts is one of the ten Mustang Dragon Breeders in the nation. Ours is an exclusive and tight knit group as much as it is treated badly, because nobody wants to have anything to do with Mustangs.

  As if we were raising super poisonous GM Tarantulas! Well... now that I think about it, if we raised giant spiders our reputation would be better.

  In any case, once in a while the colonel and I exchange emails to tell each other about our adventures with these incredible dragons. He has twelve of them now, but selling Dragons is illegal in Texas (something to do with the bad reputation the spe
cies has with religion, I think), so his is a private livestock.

  (BACK)

  9- This is what Nicola Twilley, a New Yorker journalist, wrote after speaking with Dave Stelts, president of the Great Pumpkin Commonwealth, about the ingredients that farmers used years ago to grow their giant pumpkins: "'Juicing', 'pumpkinroids’—you can call it what you want,” Stelts said. “We’re using a lot of good organic stuff.”

  Stelts gives his plants a compost “tea,” which he brews, twenty-five gallons at a time, by mixing molasses, seaweed, fish emulsion, and grass cuttings he receives from local landscapers.

  “I put a lot of mycorrhizae in there,” he explained, referring to fungi that form mutually beneficial relationships with plant roots. Other growers add Azospirillum—a bacterium that helps plants absorb more nitrogen—and spray calcium and carbon dioxide directly onto the leaves.

  Growers often work directly with microbiologists to test new NASA- derived products and experimental growth hormones before they’re brought to market". (Link to the article).

  (BACK)

  10- It's an approximate number, obviously. Selling Mustangs is illegal in the United States, Europe, and China.

  (BACK)

  11- The Commission for Dragon Regulation, the state department that takes care of providing or renewing licenses for us Breeders.