A Proper Introduction to Dragons (Jane Austen's Dragons)

by Maria Grace

  Heavens, that was a rather presumptuous-sounding name. Under less serious circumstances, she and April would have laughed about it, taking turns imagining how the man behind the door might look. But today, laughter seemed very, very far away.

  The footman pushed open the door, announcing their arrival. They stepped into a very large room, lined with narrow, high windows which would probably be near the level of the street outside. Mirrors reflected and magnified the light within the room, making it seem as if the windows were far larger than they were. Even with that, the room still felt dim, a little dingy and ominous.

  A single large desk with several wingchairs surrounding it stood in the center of the room. Behind them, a large open doorway revealed a rough, rock passageway that disappeared into darkness. Uncle had told her there were many tunnels especially for dragons to use. That must be one of them.

  The Honorable Swinton St. John stood behind his desk. He was a very average man, not what one might think of as “honorable.” His hairline was receding, his belly paunchy, and his eyes close-set and squinty. His face was screwed up like he had a bad smell under his nose. That set him apart for distinction. Beside him, a brown drake the size of a pony, with a pointy spinal ridge trailing down his back, stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other. A faint, rotten odor permeated the room, rather like a smell she had noted in the barn once when the groom told her there was a horse with hoof rot. Were dragons subject to the same sort of malady? Perhaps that was why he seemed so very restless.

  “My Friend, Rottenstone.” Mr. St. John pointed to the drake as he looked at her with narrow eyes. “Is this the girl?”

  What kind of an introduction was that for a Dragon Friend? How rude!

  “This is my daughter, Elizabeth.” Papa touched her shoulder.

  She curtsied more from reflex than anything else.

  “Leave her. I will send for you when we have determined her fitness to be part of the Order.”

  “I would rather stay.” It seemed Papa was trying to sound forceful, but it did not quite happen.

  “No. The rest of the testing committee has determined your presence could give the girl an unfair advantage. She will stand alone as every other prospective member of the Order does.”

  “Who is on the committee?”

  “They have chosen to remain anonymous to you. Now go.” Mr. St. John pointed.

  The footman stood beside Papa, gesturing toward the door. He and Uncle left, the door echoing as it shut behind them.

  Four somber figures walked in, each wearing the same blue robes with the Order insignia. They blended together, difficult to tell one from another—that was probably intentional—three men and one woman. Four large minor dragons followed them, two drakes, a wyrm, and—gracious! That was Castordale! She probably should not demonstrate her recognition, but it was a relief to see a familiar face.

  “You have brought your friend, April?” Mr. St. John rapped the desk with his knuckles.

  April crept out from her hood. “I am here.”

  “Proper behavior is expected at all times. Is that understood? There is to be no whispering, no singing, no signaling, no assistance given in any way, or you will be removed from the room.” His voice boomed and echoed through the chamber. Did he really have to snarl at her? It was not as if April had done anything wrong.

  April cheeped and huddled close to Elizabeth’s neck. She cupped her hand over April until she stopped trembling.

  “The panel will ask you questions. You will answer them, but make no other conversation. Do you understand?” Mr. St. John leaned forward on his elbows, making his glare just a little more threatening.

  “May I ask for clarification if I do not understand a question?”

  Mr. St. John glanced at the panel. They whispered among themselves for a moment. The tallest man looked at her. “You may ask for clarification, but we will determine if it is a valid question. If we consider it stalling or looking for a hint, you will be penalized. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” She clasped her hands tightly behind her back.

  “The panel will continue until they are confident of their decision. Their determination will be final.”

  She nodded.

  “Panel, you may begin.” Mr. St. John gestured toward the committee, his voice echoing in the stark chamber.

  Elizabeth gulped and licked her lips.

  The first questions were simple, a recitation of the preamble of the Pendragon Accords, a brief statement of the history and the philosophy of the treaty and the land settlements that went with it. She had penned those in her commonplace book, one of the first dragon entries she had written there.

  It was difficult to tell how the panel received her answers. They moved on to the next question without comment, or even a change in their shadowy expressions hidden by their hoods.

  They continued quizzing her on the Pendragon Treaty for some time. The questions became more detailed, and for that, more difficult, coming in rapid fire, one after another. But it was material she knew well and felt certain of, so she breathed a little easier.

  By the time they moved on to the major genealogies of English dragons, her shoulders ached, and she shifted from one foot to the other to ease the strain in her knees. The family lines of the firedrakes she knew well enough, but the amphitheres and the basilisks she stumbled on. How much would those mistakes count against her?

  A bright, quivering drop of spittle gathered at the edge of Rottenstone’s mouth—rather like a predator identifying easy prey. Rumblkins and the barn wyrms did that when they spotted a mouse or a rat. It was not a comforting expression. Rottenstone began a rapid-fire series of questions related to the dragon bestiaries. The first several she answered easily enough.

  “Describe a basilisk.”

  “Greystoke’s description or Blair’s?” She asked, holding her breath. She knew Blair’s better, it was more accurate—

  “Edmonton’s.”

  Her knees quivered a mite as she stammered and stuttered. “I … I have not read …”

  “That is hardly our problem. Do you know the description of a basilisk or not?” Rottenstone stepped half a step closer, extending his head the way drakes did when they were trying to appear large and make an important point.

  “I do sir, but from experience … not from a book.”

  “You have met a basilisk?” the woman gasped.

  Elizabeth nodded vigorously. “Pembroke. He introduced himself to me whilst—”

  “Liar. Presumptuous little liar. Basilisks are not social creatures and do not ever introduce themselves to casual acquaintances.” She flicked her hand at Elizabeth.

  “We were lost in his territory—”

  “You were trespassing in a dragon’s Keep?” one of the men snapped.

  If only they would listen! “Not trespassing. The daughters of the Keep had taken me into the woods and we—”

  “A place you had no business!”

  April launched from Elizabeth’s shoulder and buzzed toward the panel, growling under her breath. Fairy dragons were more funny than fierce when they growled. “You do not know what happened or what you are even talking about. They were horrid creatures, abusing my Elizabeth so that she became lost. They intentionally tried to—”

  “Silence! No one is interested in what you have to say, fairy dragon.” One of the drakes extended her frill and snarled at April.

  “You cannot speak that way to her! She is every bit as much a dragon as the rest of you and is deserving of the appropriate respect!” Elizabeth stomped toward the panel.

  The largest drake flared his hood and hissed at her. She spread her cloak and hissed back, stomping to mimic the sound of a slapping tail. Longbourn probably should not have taught her that trick.

  The drake hopped a step back. The wyrm slid in front of him and puffed his body, weaving back and forth hypnotically in front of her.

  She flipped her hood on, spread to its fullest and matched his movemen
ts, hissing and spitting with him. No, spitting was not ladylike, but it was dragon-like.

  The smaller drake interposed herself between them. “Stop this unseemly behavior. This territory belongs to neither of you. Castordale is dominant here, not either of you.”

  All eyes turned to Castordale who rose up very tall and looked from the wyrm to Elizabeth.

  At first his expression was severe, but then it softened. He met her gaze and began to laugh. Granted, it was a hiccoughy, hissing sort of sound, but it was definitely laughter.

  He was laughing at her! She had made such a cake of things that all he could do was laugh!

  She had failed not just Papa and Uncle Gardiner, but her entire family. Now their futures would be in jeopardy, all because she could not control her tongue and her temper.

  She whirled on her heel, cape flying behind, and pelted out of the door, April barely able to keep up.

  Chapter 11

  She burst into the corridor and continued her blind run. Granted, she had no idea where she was going, but she should get there rather quickly. If only she could make her way to a staircase, she could probably find her way to the reading room where she had been welcomed before. Yes, that would be a reasonable place to go.

  But Papa would eventually find her, and she would have to answer for her actions. He would no doubt lose his chance to become Historian, and she—no doubt the Blue Order would not deign to send her to any sort of school after this outburst. What would they do with her? Would they insist April leave her and find a new Friend?

  Oh, it was all far too much! Her shoulders trembled, and her knees shook.

  She paused a moment, clenching her fists and sucking in deep breaths. This was neither the time nor the place for tears. Dragons were far too practical for such theatrics. She must bring herself under better regulation.

  “Stop! Wait!” That was a dragon voice. The sounds of a great number of men marching followed.

  She swallowed hard and straightened her spine, pulling her shoulders back. The least she could do was make herself as big as possible for the encounter.

  “Why did you run off?” Castordale stopped in front of her, blocking any chance of escape. They might not look like it, but snake-types were notoriously fast, especially on smooth ground like the limestone tiles of the hall.

  She looked past him, at a spot at the end of the corridor, one that in normal buildings would have held a window, but in this one, sported a niche with a carved marble bust of a firedrake, a founder of the Order.

  “No one threatened you. Why did you run?”

  “What point was there to stay? Clearly I failed. I did not need to stay to be a laughingstock as well.”

  Castordale’s forehead creased into funny little lines that folded his scales awkwardly. Was that uncomfortable? “Laughingstock? I have no idea what you mean.”

  She looked straight into his eyes and rose on tiptoes. “You were laughing at me.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up a bit. “True enough. I was.”

  “I think it awfully rude of you to do so. It is enough that I could not answer the question put to me. Why could you not leave it at that? Laughing at me over it was just cruel.” April pressed tight against the side of her neck. She was probably trying to be comforting, but her feather scales tickled.

  His bobbed his head from side to side, deep blue scales glinting in the candlelight. “I suppose that is one way to see it. I have little experience with young ladies. My Keeper has only sons, as did my prior two Keepers. It seems you are a different creature to the young men I have known.” His long, green tongue tasted the air near her.

  “I do not think that is a compliment.”

  “There are sufficient individuals who consider women silly and flighty and insufficient to the task of dragon-keeping in general that I can see why you would think that.”

  “Do not insult my Elizabeth!” April hovered near Castordale’s nose. Her tiny blue form blended into Castordale’s blue scales, making her a little hard to follow. “She is the best Friend a dragon could have. Ask Longbourn. She is an excellent Keeper even now. Why do you horrid creatures seem utterly determined to keep her away from her natural place?” She landed on Castordale’s nose and pecked it sharply.

  He blinked, more surprised than injured. No doubt his hide was thicker than human skin. “Natural place? Now that is an interesting thought—one that I would like to further explore. Come with me. I shall send for some tea, and we shall have a bit of a chat.” Castordale slithered past her, beckoning her with the tip of his tail.

  What else was she to do? She followed him.

  They traveled down a staircase—it was interesting to watch him slither down two levels—such intricate movements it entailed—through several long, dimly-lit corridors, and through a large door made to open by pulling a heavy cord. Castordale could not have easily managed a doorknob.

  Candles in wall sconces, few and far between, lit the rough passage behind the door. It was not really rough so much as it was unfinished. The walls and floor were smoothly-hewn rock, but without floor boards, tile, or plaster, they felt unrefined, rather like the cellar at Longbourn. But, after a fashion, they were also snug and cozy, a little familiar-feeling.

  How Mama and her sisters would raise their eyebrows to hear her call such a place snug and even comfortable. But it was. The glow of the candles was warm and inviting, a friendly flickering in glowing tones. Without decoration, the surroundings did not distract from her company, leaving her free to consider whom she was with and why she might be there. If anything, it made his company seem even more important.

  It might have been frightening, if one did not trust dragons. But the Pendragon Treaty made it clear, that Castordale would not harm her. The repercussions of such an act were too great. In fact, the treaty ensured that major dragons would almost always be more constrained in their behavior than most people.

  There was a reason she tended to prefer dragon company.

  The tunnel split, and they took the right fork which soon widened into a large, comfortable room, lit with an arrangement of candles and mirrors in each corner. Along one side, there was a carved hollow lined with soft hay—and was that down? Castordale was clearly a fellow who liked his comfort. A shelf along an adjacent wall held a number of scrolls, one partially unrolled along the top. It seemed he also read, maybe extensively. When one lacked hands and feet, scrolls might just be easier to manage than books. That was something for her commonplace book. Hmmm, how might books be made more manageable for a snake-type dragon?

  “You look very thoughtful, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Castordale nosed a stool upholstered with thick leather padding toward her.

  “Forgive me, sir.” She curtsied. “I was just noticing your scrolls and thinking how books might be made more easily read.”

  With the tip of his tail, he gestured for her to sit. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he shook his head, laughing again.

  She sat down and wrapped her arms around her waist. She probably should not frown so, but really, was it reasonable to assume she would not when she was constantly being laughed at?

  “Forgive me. I forgot you do not like to be laughed at. But really, laughter is not such a bad thing. Is it not an expression of pleasure among warm-bloods?” Castordale curled comfortably in his soft hollow.

  “It can be, but that is not always the case. Laughing with someone is often a good thing, a bit of fellow-feeling that bonds a relationship. But being laughed at, well, it is different.”

  “Indeed, how so? I have never had it explained to me.” He cocked his head and lifted an eye ridge in a genuinely inquisitive expression.

  “It is a means of belittling someone, telling them that they have done something very wrong, very silly, or stupid. It is a way of suggesting they are not ... not … ” Her voice broke. Gracious, how often had Mama laughed at her for her oddities—generally dragon-related. “That they are neither good enough, nor likely to ever be so. That
they are trivial and worthy to overlook.” She dragged her sleeve over her eyes. He had asked for an explanation. It might not be a very good one, but now he had it.

  “Goodness!” Castordale sat back on his coils. “Why has no one ever explained this before? It is quite astonishing to know the expression seems to mean two very different things.”

  “Have you ever asked before?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “I suppose you have also not had a young woman to ask. People rarely laugh at young men, at least in my experience.”

  “Another interesting observation. I will pay attention and see if that is a general experience.”

  A pair of small drakes with livery badges around their necks scurried in, bearing a tray with a tea service and a large tankard of something rather pungent.

  “I blend my own tea and prefer it in amounts more appropriate to my size than those tiny cups you use.” He chuckled and nosed the tankard a little closer to her.

  She leaned over and smelt it. A very great deal of mint and other things she did not quite recognize. “April is rather fond of chamomile tea, especially with honey in it, though it makes her very sleepy.”

  Castordale looked at April. “You persuaded her to give you tea?”

  “No, I simply asked.” April shrugged and perched near the jam pot.

  Castordale flicked the lid off the pot with his tongue. “Please, enjoy. I did not know whether you would prefer biscuits or sandwiches with your tea, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, so please, help yourself. I do not stand on a great deal of ceremony.”

  Elizabeth poured a cup of tea and sipped it quietly.

  “You seem thoughtful again.”

  She set her tea cup down. “Forgive me. I was merely considering what you said: that you do not stand on a great deal of ceremony.”

  “You think I have lied?”