Thaddeus Whiskers and the Dragon

by H. L. Burke

  A hissing chuckle tickled Thaddeus’s ears. He whirled about and stared. A large gray rat with glowing eyes perched upon the edge of the wagon.

  “What is this?” the rat asked in a voice like air escaping a punctured balloon. “The food in this cavern belongs to me, puss. Get out of my way.”

  Thaddeus arched his back, but in the back of his brain, sense prevailed. That rat was triple his size, and Thaddeus wasn’t particularly hungry right now. He forced himself to relax and slunk away from the pig.

  As he slipped over the side of the wagon, a sharp pain jolted up his tail. He cried out and lost his footing. He twisted in midair, hanging by his tail clasped in the rat’s teeth. The rat’s whiskers twitched, and whipping his head around, he sent Thaddeus flying back into the bed of the wagon.

  “You aren’t getting away that easy, cat. Not after you’ve nibbled on what’s mine.”

  “I’m sure the dragon wouldn’t consider it yours.” Thaddeus did not like to speak to other animals, but the rat's claim demanded a comeback.

  “Ha!” The rat threw back his head. “The dragon can’t stop me. I am Snickersnout, king of the rats! King of this cave! King of all I crave!”

  Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. He knew a real king, and Snickersnout was no king. Thaddeus flattened his ears, his fur rising. He hissed.

  Snickersnout doubled over laughing. He rolled about on the wagon bed.

  “Hiss? Hiss? You hiss at me? I could snap your spine. I could tie your tail in knots and nibble your insides out.”

  Thaddeus’s whiskers and tail drooped.

  “You pathetic pet.” Snickersnout gave one last chuckle and straightened to rest on his hind legs.

  “I’m not a pet,” Thaddeus whispered, longing for Clarice’s safe arms. “I’m a royal companion.”

  “What was that?” The rat tilted his head to one side. “I don’t speak pet, Fluffy.”

  Fluffy. Thaddeus’s pride flared into an angry bonfire in his chest. He growled. His fur flattened like grass against the wind, and without thinking, he sprang.

  His forehead hit against the unready rat’s chest, and the rodent fell into the coins, Thaddeus on top of him. Snickersnout squealed. He bucked and twisted, but Thaddeus managed to bite into the scruff of his neck and hold on.

  Snickersnout leaped and jerked as if trying to scratch an unreachable spot on his back. Thaddeus held on with all his might. Snickersnout pushed against the wheel of the cart, trying to scrape Thaddeus off. Thaddeus tightened his jaws. The rat shrieked.

  “What goes on here?” Grandious’s voice bellowed. A massive claw reached down and hooked around the struggling pair. The dragon handled them awkwardly, as a human might a squirming caterpillar. “Ah, I finally caught you, you nasty thief!”

  The rat wriggled out of Grandious’s grasp, falling to the floor far below. Thaddeus lost his grip on Snickersnout and started to slip after him but landed, safe and soft, in the leathery grasp of Grandious’s bird-like foot.

  “I’ve got you, little warrior,” the dragon purred.

  Snickersnout fled the cave, a streak of gray, into the rain. Grandious set Thaddeus down in the wagon. The kitten shook himself off and began to wash his paws.

  “That rat was large enough to crush you. You have the heart of a dragon.” Grandious kept his yellow eyes on Thaddeus.

  Thaddeus sighed. He had the heart of a kitten. That had to be ten times better than the heart of a dragon. Grandious hummed and, with a claw, cut a generous slab from the roast pig, nearly as large as the kitten though not even a bite for the dragon. Not particularly hungry, Thaddeus nibbled on it for the sake of courtesy.

  The dragon ran the tip of a massive claw down the kitten’s back. Not as pleasant as a human’s hands, but it was the first petting Thaddeus had enjoyed in a long while. A warm soft feeling crept through his belly, and he purred.

  “Perhaps having a cat would be amusing,” Grandious said. “Eat your fill, Thaddeus. You can stay here as long as you want.”

  Chapter Ten

  Clarice Alone

  King Victor paced nervously outside his daughter’s chambers. The doctor had been with her for nearly twenty minutes, and the king imagined the worst.

  “She hasn’t been eating. She doesn’t smile anymore, and I never see her playing,” he had told Doctor Canby. “Could it be plague? A fever? Mumps?”

  The gray-haired doctor put a finger over his lips. “You’re making her nervous, your highness. Perhaps you could step outside for a few minutes while I complete my examination.”

  So, banished from his daughter’s presence, Victor paced. Yes, Clarice had seemed well not so long before, but it only took one poisoned apple to ruin everything.

  The door opened, and Doctor Canby emerged. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiled at the king, not as enthusiastically as the king would’ve liked.

  “Is it poisoned apples?” Victor asked, clenching his shaking fingers into fists.

  “Oh no, good Lord, no. You know as well as I, she was vaccinated against poisoned apples, enchanted spindles, and peas just last year.”

  “Then what is it? Yellow fever?”

  “She has no fever, your highness.” The elderly doctor touched Victor’s shoulder. “In fact, she has no symptoms whatsoever. I do not believe the princess is sick, only sad.”

  Victor’s brow furrowed. Sad? But she had everything, and what she didn’t have she could just ask for. Clarice couldn’t be sad. “But why?” he asked.

  The doctor shrugged. “Why don’t you ask her, my king? I am certain she knows.”

  Victor brushed past Doctor Canby into Clarice’s room. The princess sat at her window seat, the sun dancing on her light brown hair and teasing out golden highlights. In spite of the glow on her face, her eyes seemed dark, as if all she saw were shadows. In her fingers she clasped a golden charm bracelet.

  The king sat beside her. “Clarice, my love, are you sad?”

  “Yes, Father, I am.” She dropped her eyes to her lap.

  The king cleared his throat. “But why, my darling? Would a new dress help? A new toy? A horse?”

  “No, I don't want any of those things.”

  “But what do you want?” He touched her wrist.

  She raised her face. Fat tears spilled from her eyes. “Thaddeus!” As if even sitting up was more than she could bear, she crumpled forward onto her father’s shoulder.

  Thaddeus? Victor had forgotten about Thaddeus. It had been two weeks since the wizard had taken him away. Victor had fully intended to check in on the kitten, to keep Hermes on track, but there had been more pressing matters: taxes and politics and polo, for instance.

  “Well, let's call Hermes and see if he has made progress on the kitten's . . .de- . . .fluffifying.” That didn’t sound like a real word. Victor hated magic with its made up words. Why did he even keep a wizard? He shook his head and took Clarice’s hand, gently guiding her to her feet. “Come to the throne room with me, and I will make Hermes give an account of his work.”

  The princess dried her tears on her silken handkerchief, but still did not smile.

  When they reached the throne room, she climbed to her seat, and sat, still playing with her bracelet. Finally the wizard shuffled into the room. He bowed.

  “My lovely princess and my honorable king, I am flattered to be called–”

  “Where is Thaddeus?” Clarice burst out.

  The wizard’s face turned red. “Thaddeus?”

  “My kitten, where is he? You said you would fix him and bring him back. It has been two weeks. Where is Thaddeus?”

  “Well, I sent him to live with a former student of mine, a good man. He is taking good care of the little fellow. I’m sure he is quite happy there.”

  “No, Thaddeus would not be happy without me. You are mistaken.” Clarice scowled. “Have you fixed him?”

  “I’m . . . getting there.” The wizard’s adam’s apple bobbed.

  The king tapped his fingers on the arm of his t
hrone. “Really, Hermes, it has been two weeks. What am I paying you for?”

  The wizard removed his tall cap and twisted it in his hands. “It is an unexpectedly complicated spell. You did say to keep the cat away until he was cured. After all, you remember how he had the entire court sneezing.”

  “I don’t care. I want him back!” Clarice stood up from her throne, her eyes smoldering.

  Victor hesitated. He remembered how much his nose itched with that kitten around, how half the court had been unable to function due to their runny noses and watery eyes. He did not wish to go through that again.

  “My king,” Hermes said, “perhaps I could speak to you alone for a moment.”

  Clarice crossed her arms.

  Victor patted her head. “Let me deal with this, dear one. We will have it fixed soon.”

  Clarice frowned deeply, but she left the throne room without protest.

  Hermes watched the door shut behind her then turned back to the king. “Something unfortunate happened. I received word a short while ago that the kitten in question has gone missing.”

  Victor’s eyes bulged. “Missing? You lost the royal kitten?”

  “My former apprentice, Josiah, lost the royal kitten. We combed the woods around his cottage for three days, and there has been no sign of the animal. With so many larger beasts in the forest and the kitten so small and helpless, we fear the worst.”

  Victor threw his hands in the air. “What have you done? Now the princess will never be happy.”

  “Have you tried distracting her with presents? A pony, perhaps?”

  “The princess does not want a pony. She wants that cat.” Victor wagged a finger at the wizard. He was tempted to call the guards and have the foolish Hermes sent to the dungeon. In bygone times, wizards had lost their heads for less.

  “I see . . . well, I understand how hard it is, raising her alone, no mother. A girl needs a woman’s guiding hand.” Hermes scratched his head. “A mother, a queen, might heal the princess’s loneliness, and your own. It has been many years. No one would think ill of you if you were to remarry . . .”

  The king chewed his bottom lip. He had been lonely of late, and it was so hard to know what to do with Clarice. The older she grew, the less he seemed to understand her. Perhaps Hermes was right. Perhaps a princess needed a queen.

  Victor nodded. “Well, if the cat is lost, I am willing to consider other methods, even marriage. Send for a royal matchmaker.”

  HERMES STRODE FROM the throne room and climbed to his tower. Well, that had gone better than expected. He had not planned to suggest matrimony to the king, not yet, but the princess’s sadness provided the perfect opportunity. He had to act upon it.

  A cage with two carrier pigeons hung from a beam above his desk. He brought them down and scratched out a note on a tiny strip of paper.

  The time is now. You can be queen.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Ambitious Ambrosia

  Hermes came from a long line of magicians. His sister, Hera, was a practitioner of some note, but Hera’s daughter, Ambrosia, had never cared much for the family business. Instead, she dropped out of the wizarding academy to attend the finest finishing school. She learned poise, posture, and primping, as well as the fine arts of fascination and diplomacy. Though she had been born without a crown, Ambrosia knew she was destined to be royalty.

  However, years passed, and no princes or kings presented themselves. She mingled with royal matchmakers, hoping to make a good impression, but though Ambrosia was beautiful and intelligent and very, very well behaved, she lacked one important trait: warmth. Her heart was as icy as a stone at the bottom of a frozen pond. As much as she tried to hide this flaw, even the most naive of kings eventually waltzed away with cheerier, more affectionate princesses.

  So years passed, and Ambrosia remained not-a-princess. She kept a smallish castle–more of a tower, really–the next kingdom over from her uncle’s home. There she lived quietly and did some fortune telling to makes ends meet.

  Upon receiving her uncle’s note, she flipped her “open” sign to “closed” and packed her bags.

  Ambrosia’s preferred method of travel was a large flying basket which had been a present from her late mother. It could hold her as well as two suitcases with plenty of room to spare. She steered it with a magic, feathered hat-pin. Every time the basket veered off course, she poked it with the pin, causing an immediate correction.

  The trip only took a few hours. Ambrosia drew clouds about her as she flew, obscuring herself from anyone below.

  Ambrosia glided through the window of her uncle’s tower. The old wizard slept, leaning back in a rickety rocking chair. His mouth hung open and drool beaded on his beard. Ambrosia rolled her eyes. She snapped her fingers, shrinking her basket to where it could fit in her pocket, and jabbed her uncle in the thigh with her hat-pin.

  He leaped up with a yelp. She sniffed and slid the pin into her tiny, round pillbox hat.

  Hermes shook his head. “What an unpleasant dream. Ambrosia, my dear, it is good to see you. What an attractive shade of orange you are wearing.”

  Ambrosia brushed her ruffled skirts. “It’s tangerine, Uncle Hermes. This color is all the rage in fashionable circles.”

  He scratched his head. “I’m sure it is. I don’t know much about such things. Tangerines are delicious, though.”

  “I wouldn’t know. They aren’t an approved item on my diet.” She stuck her chin in the air. “Now, what is this about me being queen?”

  “Yes, well, I slipped the idea into the king’s head that a new queen might be the thing to cheer up the princess. She’s sad, you see, due to an unfortunate–”

  She held up her hand. “Only important details, Uncle dear. Don’t ramble. I haven’t time.”

  Hermes turned red. “Well, he consulted with the royal matchmaker, but I overheard. His only requirement for the bride is that she can make the princess smile again. That should be easy for a lovely young woman such as yourself. You’re so warm and friendly.”

  Ambrosia narrowed her eyes. If anyone else had said such a thing, she would’ve assumed they were mocking her. Uncle Hermes, however, only saw her dead mother when he looked at her, the poor fool.

  “Well, that does seem simple.” She undid the straps and slipped off her hat. Her dark hair magically formed into a high bun on top of her head. She remembered being a little girl. Little girls were foolish and easily deceived. How hard could it be to get one to smile? “So he hasn’t called any other potential brides yet?”

  “Not yet. The message goes out tomorrow.”

  “Can you still do that spell where the roads turn back on themselves?” She laid her hat on the table.

  He nodded. “Yes, but you shouldn’t need to cheat. Once the king sees you–”

  “Just do it.” Ambrosia then forced a soft smile. “For me, Uncle,” she simpered.

  “Of course, my dear.” He patted her hand.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cave Life

  After Thaddeus’s fight with Snickersnout, the rats kept clear of the cave, much to Grandious’s relief. Grandious admired the little cat. Thaddeus was neat, always washing his fur and never leaving paw-prints. Thaddeus was quiet, his padded feet making no sound and his purr a gentle humming. Thaddeus was amusing. Grandious loved to watch him batting pearls across the floor or tangling himself in golden chains.

  Grandious did not mind sharing the tribute paid by Pendleton and his villagers. Thaddeus’s portions only came to a speck. After eating, the pair would roll the empty wagon outside and sit and watch the sunset together. Sometimes when gazing at the pink sky behind the hills, Thaddeus’s expression would grow sad. His whiskers and tail drooped, and his eyes stared far away. Grandious wondered what made the kitten so melancholy.

  When this gloom came over his companion, he would tickle the kitten’s spine with his claws and coax him to purr again. Usually it worked.

  At night, Thaddeus settled beneath the dragon'
s wing. His nose would twitch as he dreamed.

  Grandious thought he was the softest, cutest, cleverest thing that had ever existed. A strange warm feeling settled behind the dragon’s breastbone. For the first time he could remember, Grandious had something he loved as much as his treasure.

  WITH EACH PASSING DAY, Thaddeus grew more impressed at how cat-like Grandious could be. The dragon had beautiful golden eyes full of wisdom with a hint of mischief. He had a flexible spine and could twist and stretch like an acrobat. He loved to sleep and kept his cave warm and tidy.

  Sometimes Grandious would send gems rolling across the cavern floor with his hot breath, so that Thaddeus could hunt them down and catch them. Sometimes they would play hide and seek, and though Thaddeus always had to hide, he quite enjoyed the game. Sometimes the dragon would pick a piece of his collection and tell the kitten where he’d acquired it.

  “This,” the dragon said, dangling a massive silver cross and chain from his talons, “I found in an abandoned monastery when I was little more than a whelp. That makes it one of my earliest possessions. It is not the most valuable, but it has sentimental meaning, due to how young I was when I claimed it.”

  Thaddeus’s eyes followed the crucifix as it swung back and forth. He batted it with his paw, causing it to spin. Grandious chuckled, put it down, and scooped up a golden helmet with a large dent in the side.

  “This belonged to a knight who thought he could challenge me. He thought . . . well . . .” Grandious cleared his throat. “He doesn’t need it any more.” He set it down.

  Thaddeus yawned, slipped inside the helmet, and curled into a ball.

  “Ah, nap time, I see.” Grandious nudged the helmet so it rocked back and forth. “Good night, Thaddeus. Sleep well.”

  Thaddeus tucked his nose beneath his paws. Grandious was kind and amusing. Thaddeus cared for him. However, whenever he napped, Thaddeus knew he would dream only of Clarice.