A Dragon and Her Girl

by Max Florschutz

  “No, because you are more than your legs. You have a mind, and you are good at imagining things. See how you have learned to talk to me.”

  Sofria turned that idea over in her mind. If she imagined she talked to Pietra, and Pietra told her nice things, was it just herself telling herself nice things? Those thoughts just confused her, so she stopped thinking about it. She would just enjoy talking to Pietra.

  “Do you ever wish you could do something besides what you were made to do?” Sofria asked. “You have wings, and they were made to be a part of you. Do you wish you could fly?”

  Pietra was quiet for a long time. Sofria thought about how marvelous it would be to fly above the city, looking down at the people walking through the plaza. She had never been outside the city. If she could fly she could see forests, farms, and other cities besides Tarnisi—things she heard of in Osanna’s stories.

  Finally Pietra said in a husky voice, “I would love to fly. To feel wind beneath my wings, to soar over the city, to see something besides the people below me and the Cathedral across the plaza—that is my dream. I was not made to fly, but I wish to fly.”

  A huge idea bubbled up in Sofria. “If you fly, I can ride you and fly, too! It would be wonderful. Far above the stinking gutter, and the boys that splash me or steal my coins.”

  “If you imagine us flying, we can fly.”

  Of course that was true. But before Sofria could try to imagine flying, a crowd of boys ran past and she had to sweep her cup under her skirts to keep them from kicking it over. Then two women in bright-colored gowns bustled past, dropping coins into the cup she had just replaced near her feet, without even looking at her.

  The sun disappeared behind the Guild Hall and Papa Matteo was coming across the plaza toward her, so Sofria shoved the last of the bread the pigeon man had given her into her mouth. It was gone by the time Papa Matteo strode over, looked down at Sofria’s cup, and grunted.

  “You did well today, girl,” Papa Matteo said. He emptied Sofria’s cup into his pocket, handed it to her, then bent to pick her up.

  That night, supper was stale bread and a few vegetables floating in broth that might once have had meat in it, before it was served to the children. After supper, Papa Matteo sent the children to bed. Sofria lay on her straw pallet listening to the other three girls breathing. She tried to imagine how Pietra would fly. The dragon had a round, wide body, and the smooth, ribbed wings grew from its shoulders. Yesterday she had imagined it lifting those wings, spreading them a little bit. If Pietra spread its wings all the way, they would each be as long as its body. Sofria had watched pigeons hopping about on the plaza, spreading and flapping their wings. Pietra’s wings had no feathers. How would that change how it flew?

  Pigeons fluttered about a lot. Sofria couldn’t imagine Pietra fluttering. Those sleek wings would rise and fall smoothly, quietly, without all the bother that pigeons made. She imagined Pietra flexing its clawed toes, the ones clutching the roof so tightly. Little by little the tight hold it had on the roof loosened. It spread its wings wide in the night. Sofria imagined the stars shining down, and maybe moonlight—though she couldn’t see moonlight, for she slept in a cellar room with no windows. With a push of its strong legs, Pietra released its hold on the roof of the Guild Hall.

  Pietra’s wings spread even wider as they caught the air. Although its body was round, and made of stone, it wasn’t fat or heavy. Somehow Sofria knew that. Its wings held it up easily. Could it hold her, too, if she sat on its back? She didn’t weigh much.

  Strong wings flapped slowly, and Pietra circled over the plaza. Lights shone from Cathedral windows below. Pietra turned, then flew in a straight line toward where more lights blazed, farther away in the city. Was that the Duke’s Palace? The dragon flew without making a sound, the long wings only flapping enough to keep Pietra aloft. When it reached the lights, it circled, watching people in fabulous costumes dancing in a courtyard below.

  Since Pietra had never used its wings before, it was getting tired. It swooped back toward the Guild Hall and dropped quietly to the roof. Its strong back claws gripped the edge, it folded its wings, and once more became a motionless monster looming over the plaza in the center of Tarnisi.

  A drizzle met Sofria when Papa Matteo carried her out of the lodgings the next morning. The cobbles were already wet when he set her down next to the gutter outside the Guild Hall. There wasn’t enough rain yet for water to pour from Pietra’s mouth, but occasional drips into the gutter splashed stinking water onto the cobbles. Sofria pulled the rag over her head and sighed. Today would not be as good as yesterday.

  She huddled close to the Guild Hall’s stone wall to keep from getting splashed by people hurrying past, and looked up at Pietra far above her. “Did you enjoy flying last night, Pietra?” she imagined herself saying to the dragon.

  “Yes, yes!” came Pietra’s joyful reply. “It is better than I ever imagined! To see more of the city than just the Cathedral, to move on my own, to be free of the Guild Hall’s roof. Thank you, Sofria.”

  “I’m glad you are happy,” Sofria said. She paused a moment, biting her lower lip, then said, “Do you think I might fly with you some time?”

  “I’m sure you could,” said Pietra. “You are small and I am large, and my wings are very strong.”

  “But what if someone saw us?”

  “Do you want them to see us?”

  “No! This should be a secret. Everyone would point and stare. ‘See the stone monster from the roof flying about the city!’ they would call, and the city guard would no doubt shoot arrows at us.” The idea of all those people staring at her frightened Sofria. She didn’t mind people stopping and talking to her, in her place against the Guild Hall’s wall. But having them all stare at her as she did something they had never seen before—no, that would be too scary.

  “If you don’t want them to see us, they won’t see us,” said Pietra, and Sofria knew it was true. This was her imagining, things she didn’t want to happen would not.

  “When can we fly?” she asked Pietra. “I don’t think I can get out at night. Papa Matteo locks the cellar door.”

  “Right now would be good. No one is paying attention to you, so they won’t notice if you’re gone. Who would look up at the roof in the rain to see that I’m not there?”

  “Right now?” Sofria took a deep breath, and her heart started pounding with excitement.

  “Right now.” Pietra slowly spread its smooth, ribbed wings, then pulled first one, then the other clawed back foot from the roof. It swooped downward, circling the plaza, and came to rest on the cobbles in front of Sofria.

  Sofria could hardly breathe, her heart was beating so fast. She reached out to touch one of Pietra’s feet. This close up she saw webbing between the claws. The dragon spread one of its wings over her head to shield her from the rain.

  “How do I get onto your back? I can’t stand on my own.” Had she been able to stand, she might be able to reach over Pietra’s back and pull herself up.

  “Crawl onto my foot,” Pietra said. The dragon flattened itself to the ground, and when Sofria dragged herself onto its foot, she found herself lifted toward its back.

  “Grab the base of my wing and pull yourself up on my neck.”

  “Will it hurt you?” Sofria asked breathlessly.

  “I’m made of stone. You cannot hurt me.”

  With arms strengthened from dragging herself everywhere she wasn’t carried, Sofria grabbed Pietra’s wing and pulled herself onto the dragon’s neck. It took her some time to arrange her legs astride the dragon, as she could only move them with her hands. But finally she sat atop Pietra, just in front of its wings.

  “Lean forward and grasp my neck. I don’t want you to fall.”

  Sofria leaned forward and put her chin on the top of Pietra’s head, between its eyes, and wrapped her arms around its neck. It didn’t feel like stone, but smooth, warm skin. She was shaking with excitement, but trying to take in every detail of the m
oment.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes!”

  Pietra pushed upward with strong legs, and began to beat its wings. With every beat, Sofria and the dragon rose above the plaza. Soon they were higher than the top of the fountain, then higher than the statues atop the Cathedral’s great doors. When Sofria realized she could see the roof of the Cathedral itself she wanted to shout, ‘We’re flying!’ but it came out in a shaky whisper. “We’re flying.”

  Rain misted around them, and Pietra said, “I don’t want to fly much higher, or we’ll end up in the middle of a cloud.”

  “A cloud! You can fly into a cloud?” She had never imagined such a thing before.

  “I can, but we don’t want to. It’s cold and wet, and I can’t see anything.”

  “Have you been in a cloud before?”

  “When clouds settle low over the plaza, I’ve sometimes been inside one for hours. I don’t find it exciting.”

  Pietra circled over the plaza one more time, so Sofria, peeking over its shoulder, could see how tiny the people below looked. Then it flew in the direction it had gone last night.

  “Is that the Duke’s Palace?” Sofria asked, as they flew over a building much larger than most in the city, with towers and porticos and many windows. Last night its courtyard had been lit up and glittering with people in colorful clothing. This morning it was empty and wet.

  “Yes. It is one of the most beautiful buildings in the city—besides the Cathedral, of course.”

  It seemed to Sofria that the dragon’s wings were beating slower. “Are you getting tired?”

  “I haven’t used my wings in all the years since I was made. Until I strengthen them, short flights like this are all we can make.” Pietra lifted a wingtip to turn and Sofria watched people, carriages, and horses, like tiny dolls, in the streets below them.

  There was bustle and activity at the edge of the city, though she couldn’t see much besides movement. “What’s over there?” she asked Pietra.

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to explore that another day.”

  Back at the plaza Pietra waited, flapping its great wings, for people to move away from where Sofria usually sat. Then it settled to the ground with hardly a bump, but the wind from its wings blew hats off men halfway across the plaza.

  Sofria slid from Pietra’s back, then crawled back to where her now thoroughly soaked piece of sacking still lay on the cobbles against the side of the Guild Hall. “Thank you, Pietra,” she said. “That was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

  Pietra turned its head, smiled at her in a wide-mouthed grin that—rather to Sofria’s surprise—revealed no sharp fangs, and said softly, “I am always ready to help you, Sofria.” Then it hopped into the air and flew back to its place on the edge of the Guild Hall’s roof.

  For the rest of the day, Sofria hardly noticed if it rained or the sun shone. She re-lived the pictures of Tarnisi from the sky over and over, reveling in soaring above the city she had seen so little of in her life. When Papa Matteo came to pick her up, she was so quiet that he said sharply, “Are you getting sick? I can’t support a useless beggar in my household.”

  “No,” Sofria said dreamily. “Just tired. It was cold today, and I shivered a lot.” She was used to telling lies like this to Papa Matteo.

  He rattled the coins as he poured them from her cup. “You got enough coins. Good. You can warm up at the lodgings.”

  A few days later it was sunny in the morning, but then clouds blew in and rain started misting down. “Can we fly again?” Sofria asked Pietra, looking up at it on the edge of the roof. “What happens if you are not here to ‘fulfill your function’ and gather water from the roof?”

  She imagined she saw Pietra’s shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “My fellows on the other corners will have to drain more water. I’ll be back before anyone notices I’m not there, unless it rains very hard, and I don’t think you will want to be flying through that much rain.”

  “You’re right.”

  Pietra dropped to the cobbles near Sofria and she pushed her battered cup, which already held two coins, into the pocket tied around her waist under her skirt—and felt the red ribbon the kind woman had given her. She crawled across the ground to Pietra and onto its foot. It was difficult to pull herself up onto the dragon’s back. “Would it hurt you if I tied something around your neck to help me climb up?” she asked once she had settled in front of its wings.

  “As I told you before, I am made of stone. You can’t hurt me.”

  Sofria took the ribbon from her pocket and looped it around the dragon’s wide neck. It was barely long enough. She tied a good tight knot. That should do. She held on as Pietra hopped into the air, wings spread. This way she didn’t have to sprawl over Pietra’s head, holding onto its neck. She could see more when she sat up straighter.

  Pietra flew toward the edge of Tarnisi, where they had seen so much bustle two days before. It was even busier today. She thought of how an ant hill between two cobblestones had looked when a boy kicked it and the ants swarmed everywhere. People ran about, setting up booths rather like the one for the puppet show. There were horses and wagons, people carrying great bundles and boxes, and so many other things Sofria nearly fell off Pietra’s back trying to see it all. “What is this?” she asked.

  “It’s the fair,” Pietra said. “People come to Tarnisi from all around to buy and sell. It lasts for two weeks, and is one of the most exciting times of the year for the city.”

  Sofria had heard of the fair before. Papa Matteo sent all the other children there to pick pockets, but he never took her. The others brought in so much during fair time that Papa Matteo never seemed to mind much when her cup was nearly empty.

  “There are acrobats!” she cried. “And jugglers! How I would like to go to the fair.”

  “You had best not,” Pietra said with sadness in its voice. “There are so many people that we would certainly be seen.”

  “Oh.” Sofria was disappointed, but she was used to not getting what she wanted. “Maybe when I’m older.”

  Pietra soared on past the fair, to where the muddy pasture land ended and something dense, green, and mysterious began. “What’s that?” asked Sofria.

  “The forest,” the dragon said, swooping lower so she could see it more clearly. “Many, many trees. Animals live there, and birds. Tarnisi gets much of its wood from this forest.”

  Sofria had heard of forests before, in Osanna’s stories. There were magical creatures who could grant wishes or steal everything you owned. There were dangerous people and talking animals. The forest sounded as interesting as the fair.

  “Can we land so I can see what it’s like from the ground?” asked Sofria. “All I see now are leaves, waving in the wind and covered in raindrops.”

  “That sounds safer than the fair,” said Pietra, and angled lower in the sky. It found a clearing in the trees and set down neatly, not catching its wings on any of the trees’ branches.

  Immediately Sofria found wildflowers growing in the clearing, and looked up to see a bird—not a pigeon!—watching her from a branch. “This is better than the fair,” she told Pietra. “There everyone would stare and think of me as the crippled beggar. Here . . . I can be whatever I think of!”

  Pietra chuckled, a gruff sound from its stone throat. It hopped toward the trees, where Sofria heard a sound like the fountain in the plaza’s center. But this was no fountain. Water ran along the ground, then gathered into the biggest puddle she had ever seen. There were little animals beside the puddle.

  “What are those?” she asked Pietra.

  The dragon put its head down slightly to look at them, and Sofria leaned past its eyes to see better. The animals were small greenish creatures with big mouths and eyes. When Pietra’s shadow fell over them, they hopped into the water.

  “Sofria, those are . . . those are my kin.” Its voice sounded strange.

  “Dragons?” Sofria asked, astonished. “I always thought they were much bigg
er, like you.”

  Pietra shook its head from side to side, nearly dumping Sofria on the ground. “No, these are frogs.”

  There were frogs in some of Osanna’s stories. Something magical always seemed to happen to frogs. “Did a witch make you into a dragon?”

  “No, I was made to look like a frog. A frog with wings, like no natural frog has.”

  Sofria thought about that. “Do other dragons look different from you?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “The monsters on the Guild Hall and the Cathedral all look different, so if they are all dragons, that makes sense.” She paused, then added, “But you are the best dragon of all, Pietra.”

  It rumbled something shyly at her, then said in a sharp whisper, “Someone’s coming. Stay perfectly still, and don’t make any noise.” Pietra crouched, staring at two trees on the other side of the clearing.

  Three men leading a donkey appeared from between the trees. The donkey was piled high with bundles, all tied together so they wouldn’t fall off the donkey’s back. Sofria wondered if they were making their way to the fair and became lost. They crossed the clearing, stepped over a fallen log near where Pietra crouched, and then disappeared into the forest again.

  Pietra didn’t move, so Sofria remained quiet, though her mind was full of questions. Why was Pietra so concerned? Who were the men? After what seemed a very long wait, Pietra finally said, “Those are thieves. All those bundles on the donkey were stolen from merchants on their way to the fair.”

  “How do you know?” Sofria whispered.

  “I have watched thieves from my perch on the roof for many years. I . . . know how they act, how they move.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Follow them,” said Pietra. “Find out what they’re doing with their takings.”

  “An adventure!” breathed Sofria. Osanna told stories about adventures. Sofria had never thought she might have one.

  Sofria didn’t ask Pietra how it knew where the thieves were going. She just sat on its back, holding onto the ribbon around its neck so she wouldn’t fall off when it hopped. When they came to a tumbledown little house in another clearing, Pietra stopped in the shelter of the trees. The donkey was tethered outside the house, but the men were not with it. “The thieves are in that hut,” Pietra whispered. “Stay perfectly quiet, and don’t move.”