Dragon's Egg
Page 3
Henry stared at her in real alarm now. “Miss Palmer!”
“It’s no problem! I’m fine! I just — I — I — I —“ Rose burst into sobs again.
Henry drew back in horror.
You’re hysterical, the part of Rose’s mind that was still rational informed her. Calm down. Stop being so emotional. Think rationally.
Rose drew in a deep breath and managed to clamp down on her feelings. Her arms shook, but when she spoke, her voice sounded passably steady.
“His mother and I were very alike,” she said. “Including having the same doubts and worries. She was out of her element, too. But she loved him.”
Hysteria threatened to bubble up again, so she clamped down on her feelings tightly.
Rational, she told herself sternly. What would be the rational thing to do?
Most of her objections had been effectively rebutted. All the ones that were left seemed selfish and whiny.
Logically, if his mother had loved him . . . then she could, too.
“All right,” Rose said, her voice cracking a little. “All right. I’ll do it. You win, demanding brat.”
Henry stared at her in astonishment. “First you outright plan on rejecting him . . . and then that’s how you accept?”
“It’s good enough for him,” Rose said. The faintest hint of terror leaked through her mental shield, so she clamped down on it hard, clenching her fists as she did so. “His original mother would have said the same thing.”
“Your hands are shaking,” Henry said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I never said I was, Rose thought. She breathed in deeply, and then breathed out again. The shaking in her hands quelled.
“I’ll need time to get used to it,” she said. “I will be.”
The dragon’s mind bounced with excitement. He was going to hatch and be with his new mother and father, who were just like his old ones. They would teach him how to run and fly and play, and they would all soar off together —
“Hold on,” Rose said. “We’re human. We can’t fly. You’re going to need to understand that.”
— and it would be so much fun! Hatching was a while away, but he would grow nice and strong so that he could burst out and they’d all breathe fire together —
“We’re human,” Henry said. “We don’t breathe fire.”
— and his father would teach him how to hunt those tasty meat creatures he brought home, crunch crunch —
“I don’t think he understands,” Henry said with exasperation.
“How can he?” Rose said. “He’s never seen a human before. He’s never seen anything before, except through another dragon’s memories.”
— and he could hardly wait to stretch out his tail, and they would teach him to swipe things with it!
“He’s in for a world of disappointment, isn’t he?” Henry sighed.
“Maybe not,” Rose said. She felt a tentative brush of anticipation. “For a curious child, a world unlike anything in his ancestors’ memories might be wonderful and fascinating.”
Crunch crunch! The dragon sent them memories of the noise his father made while eating. Crunch crunch!
Henry shuddered.
“You realize he’s a carnivorous dragon,” Rose said with amusement. “We’re going to be hearing a lot of that. For that matter, we’re going to need to figure out what he can eat.”
Henry rubbed the side of his face. “That’s going to be really expensive, isn’t it?”
Rose felt a little perverse satisfaction that he hadn’t thought everything through before he’d agreed. “Unless he can eat primarily rats and pigeons.”
Crunch crunch!
“Stop that!” Henry shouted. “That’s enough of that noise, thank you!”
His new father didn’t like the noise. That was strange, because his old father had made that noise. He’d share a new noise his old father had made.
“What is that sound?!” Henry yelped, putting his hands over his ears, as if that would help. “It sounds like nails on a chalkboard!”
Rose barely kept her face straight. She was glad she wasn’t the only one who was out of their element. “I think it’s his father sharpening his claws on a rock.”
Henry squished his fingers against the glass of the display case. “That is NOT AN IMPROVEMENT,” he said. “NO MORE NOISES.”
“Excuse me,” a very cold voice said from behind them. “Please don’t touch the glass.”
Rose spun around to see Mr. Teedle standing by a man she didn’t know who emanated an air of condescending authority. His suit was very well-tailored, and he held an elegant, matching derby hat in one hand, and an ornamental cane in the other.
“Oh,” Henry said, taking his hand away from the glass and turning around. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced?”
“My name is Director Campbell,” the man said coldly. “I am in charge of this museum. Teedle wanted to acquaint me with the dragon eggs. He claims that one of them is alive. What is this tomfoolery?”
“It’s not tomfoolery,” Henry said hastily. “He is alive. We were just talking with him when you came in.”
“Talking with a dragon egg,” the director said in a flat voice. “How charming. And I suppose next, you will have a conversation with the Tyrannosaurus skeleton?”
“That wouldn’t do much good, seeing as a skeleton’s not alive,” Henry said with evident annoyance.
“Neither are fossilized eggs,” the director said in a clipped voice. He paused, flicking his gaze over to the display case. “Forgive me. Un-fossilized eggs, but ones that are still at least one hundred million years old.”
“Director.” Mr. Teedle cleared his throat. “One of those eggs does seem to be alive. I have experienced it. That’s why I brought you here. It seems to have some kind of telepathy. It showed visions of its ancestors’ memories to us, and then it made a mental version of a roaring noise. All of the patrons in this hall heard it, which is why I had to clear it out. I’m sure the egg can share some memories with you, too, director. They’re quite fascinating.”
Rose recognized a cue.
“Dragon?” she asked, turning around. “Would you please share a memory with everyone in this room?”
He was sullen. His new father didn’t like his noises. He was going to take a nap.
“No, don’t sleep!” Henry cried.
Nothing.
Rose swallowed. She had always wanted to meet the director of the museum. Looking like a fool was not the way she’d hoped to do it.
Chapter 6: Entrance
“What kind of joke are you trying to pull?” the director demanded. “Teedle, if this is something you are in on, I’m not amused.”
You don’t look like you have much of a sense of humor about anything, Rose thought. But she said nothing. She couldn’t blame the man for being offended. The story sounded crazy, and it was unreasonable to expect him to believe such an outlandish claim without evidence.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” she said, bowing her head. “The dragon will, perhaps, offer communication to you another time. My apologies for this inconvenience.”
“Actually, we need to talk to you about something,” Henry said.
Rose’s head shot up. What are you doing?
“What would that be?” the director asked frostily.
“The egg,” Henry said. “It can’t stay here. This isn’t an appropriate environment for a living being.”
Rose stared at him in horror. Are you out of your wits?
The director stared at him with absolute incredulity. “And I suppose you’d like to take it off our hands and move it to a more appropriate location?”
“Exactly,” Henry said, looking pleased. “Miss Palmer and I will take care of it jointly.”
“I suppose that’s you,” the director said sharply, looking at Rose. “What do you have to say?”
Rose was silent, gripping her hands into fists.
She purposefully did not use the word parents, though the dragon’s meaning had been clear. That word would only cause the man to think she was a sentimental female who thought of nothing but marrying and babies.
The director gave her a narrow-eyed, measured look.
“If the dragon does not hatch, of course, I ask for no more than what any patron of the museum would: to visit the egg regularly, not to touch it or to interfere with the exhibits in any way. When the dragon does hatch, I ask to be present, to be a part of the studying, and in anything further, for the dragon’s preferences to be weighed.”
The director’s eyebrows softened. He looked suspicious, but not nearly as angry as before.
“To suggest that a creature could hatch after millions of years is ludicrous,” he said. “There’s simply no good reason it could happen.”
“Yes,” Rose agreed. “But if it should, imagine what can be learned about the species.”
The director looked thoughtful.
Rose’s heart pounded.
“Your point is well-made,” he said. “Very well. I see no reason why you cannot visit regularly, just so long as you pay the entry fee and don’t disrupt the other patrons’ visits. And if the creature does hatch, not that I believe such a thing will happen, I will consider your request to be present at the event.”
Rose fought to keep the joy from showing up on her face. I did it! she exulted. We’ll have all the access we need!
“That’s not enough, sir,” Henry said bluntly.
Rose stared at him in horror. What are you doing?
“That dragon — velociraptor or whatever it is — is far more than just a species. This is an individual, with very definite wants and needs.”
“Deinonychus antirrhopus,” Rose murmured, humiliated. “Velociraptor mongoliensis were tiny.”
“Whatever,” Henry said, waving his hand, as if that had no bearing. “The dragon’s telepathic, and plainly intelligent. Leaving him in the museum, away from his parents and surrounded by nothing but corpses, would be cruelty.”
“Well, unluckily for it, all other Deinonychus antirrhopus dragons are dead,” the director said sharply.
“Yes, but we are his new parents,” Henry said sharply. “That’s my son in that display case, and I demand to take him home with me.”
The director stood very stiffly and said nothing.
“Mr. Wainscott!” Rose hissed. “May I please talk to you?”
Henry ignored her. And, incredibly, he actually managed to make things worse.
“I don’t know which one is our egg,” he said, “so we should probably pick them all up, shake them around, see if that wakes him up —”
“Disregard all that!” Rose said, breaking in desperately. “We’ve no intention of disturbing any of your very valuable and well-cared-for exhibits. Mr. Wainscott, we should go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I have my son,” Henry said stubbornly. “How do you think he’s going to feel when he wakes up and he finds we’re not here? Not to mention that the museum will be closed tomorrow. We can’t leave him alone for a day and a half. That’s unpardonable!”
“You know what is unpardonable?” the director said with cool composure. “This blatant effrontery and abominable rudeness.”
“Let’s go,” Rose said, pulling on Henry’s sleeve.
He shook her off angrily. “You think that was rude?” he demanded. “I can be rude. Let me tell you what I think of someone who thinks it’s all right to keep a child from his parents.”
Then he began to let loose a string of insults that would have made a sailor blush. In desperation, Rose slapped her hand over his mouth.
The director looked at Mr. Teedle in amazement. “Is he out of his senses?”
“Apparently so,” Mr. Teedle said, looking weary. “Mr. Wainscott, there is no way you are taking any exhibit out of this museum, living or not. I will make sure to explain to the dragon egg the situation before we close for the day.”
“I’ll tell him myself,” Henry said, ripping Rose’s hand off his mouth, “because if he’s not leaving, neither am I.”
“Oh, aren’t you?” the director asked.
The doors slammed shut behind them with a whoosh of finality. Inside, a burly security guard eyed them through the glass, his arms folded menacingly.
“You got me kicked out, too!” Rose snarled. “Why did you do that? Why? Do you have any idea how stupid you were? Learn to compromise!”
“But I was right!” Henry protested.
Rose shoved her hat on her head and glared at him. How could any woman with a personality like mine have married an idiot like this?
“Don’t worry,” Henry said, eyeing the grandeur of the pillars on either side of them. “There must be a way to get back into the building. Maybe I could break one of those windows, or . . .”
“Mr. Wainscott,” Rose said with extreme exasperation, “I believe you have caused enough disasters for today. Please try not to get yourself arrested by destroying or intruding on private property. Rest assured that if you intend to try, I would be the first to report you to the authorities.”
“It wouldn’t work, anyway,” Henry murmured, putting his hat back on. “I’m sure they have security guards at night.”
“If that’s your primary concern, I remain apprehensive,” Rose said icily. “Mr. Wainscott, negotiations would have been possible in a few days, after it had become evident the child was alive and requesting our presence. Now, you have poisoned the director’s goodwill. I am not pleased.”
Henry’s shoulders drooped.
Without a word, Rose turned on her heel and walked away.
Chapter 7: Excuse
It wasn’t just that he had gotten her thrown out of the museum, Rose reflected as she walked down the street, swinging her arms fiercely as her heels clicked against the sidewalk. If she were truly honest with herself, she would admit that she was glad for the excuse to leave the dragon there for as long as possible.
Normally a person has time to acquaint themselves with the idea that they are going to raise a child, Rose thought. Surely it is not unreasonable for me to be glad it wasn’t reasonable to bring him home today.
Not to mention the exhausting question of whether she or Henry would have been the one to bring the egg home. That was a question she would rather leave for another day, too. She had roommates, and she didn’t know how she would explain the situation to them when she didn’t even know how to sort through it herself.
Rose turned a corner out of habit, and then realized she should have turned the other direction, towards her family’s house instead of her apartment. She turned around and nearly bumped into Henry.
“Mr. Wainscott!” she cried, startled. “Were you following me?”
“No! Well, yes. I figured I should apologize to you. And maybe we should talk about what we’re going to do.”
“Very well,” Rose said, folding her arms. “Apologize.”
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
Rose stared at him frostily.
Henry sighed. “All right. I’m sorry. I might have gotten overexcited. I told you I love children, right?”
“I believe you mentioned it.”
“I hate it when children cry. He was in a panicked frenzy by the time I got back. The thought of leaving him alone for a day and a half, without being able to comfort him . . .”
“He’s currently in an egg,” Rose said flatly. “There will be plenty of time to coddle him and allow him to be clingy. Have a little patience.”
“I’m trying to apologize!” Henry cried.
“Then apologize, don’t make excuses.”
“I’m sorry,” Henry said huffily. “I’m sorry that we got kicked ou
t of the museum. I’m sorry the director got mad. Happy?”
“You’ve just said you’re sorry about the consequences of your actions. You’ve said nothing about your actions. That still doesn’t constitute an apology.”
Henry glowered at her.
Rose walked around him and continued towards her family’s house.
“All right, I’m sorry!” Henry said, running after her. “I’m sorry I got hotheaded and didn’t leave well enough alone!”
“Thank you,” Rose said, stopping to glance back at him. “That’s an apology.” She resumed walking.
Henry trotted after her. “So . . . why are you still walking away?”
“I’m not walking away,” Rose said. “I’m late. If you want to talk, we’ll have to talk on the way.”
“Late to what?” Henry asked.
“Dinner with my family. My mother insists on it every week.”
“Oh.” Henry walked on silently for awhile. “Should I meet your family?” he asked hesitantly. “Given the circumstances . . .”
“I suppose you could,” Rose said, increasing the pace. It occurred to her that the later she was, the fouler a mood her father would be in. She still had to talk to him about changing her classes next semester. “Don’t mention the egg.”
“Why not mention the egg?” Henry asked, hurrying to keep up with her.
“Because the story would sound mad, and it would only complicate the conversation we need to have tonight. It would be best if my father isn’t in a bad mood. He’d be apt to refuse.”
“Oh, right,” Henry said. “Of course.”
It wasn’t long before they reached her family’s house. Rose rang the doorbell, hoping her father was in a patient mood.
Her mother opened the door. She wore an old-fashioned shawl bedecked with flowers, and a lovely blue dinner gown that looked like it had seen better days. Rose’s mother’s taste in clothing was quite nice, but the budget her parsimonious husband gave her was quite slim. She spent most of her effort in making sure her three daughters were properly dressed, in the hopes that they would all land suitable husbands quickly.