Kenny & the Dragon, page 2
Kenny made it to the grassy top by sunset. From here he could see the little lamplights of Roundbrook flickering along the horizon. To the west, billowy clouds changed in hue from gold to a fiery orange, then turned red before cooling off into a lovely shade of lavender. As Kenny looked east, he could see the North Star, Polaris, twinkling low in the sky. Directly below, curled up and sleeping on the far side of the hill, was the dragon.
He gulped. This animal was bigger than the illustrations in his book.
Much bigger.
Mesmerized, Kenny slowly approached the monster, happy to be downwind of it on the off chance that it could smell him and attack. He was halfway across the hilltop, when he thought the creature had sensed him because it was growling in a long, low tone—just like a lion. A giant, reptilian, bloodthirsty lion. Kenny froze, hoping it would stop and go back to sleep. But the beast never moved, and he soon realized it wasn’t growling at all. It was purring.
“The book didn’t mention anything about purring,” he whispered to himself.
He pulled the bestiary out of his book bag and studied the picture once again. The image depicted a dragon that was slithery, scaly, and very fierce-looking. Kenny then looked up at the specimen in front of him. It was a bit rounder, and hairier, and scruffier, than what was drawn in the bestiary.
Kenny held his breath and strained against the gathering dark to see every little detail of the magnificent monster dozing in the twilight. He didn’t dare make any noise, even though he was dying to light his lantern for a better view. After a while, the rhythmic purring started to make him feel relaxed. He listened while its large ribs expanded and contracted with each breath. He closed the book and put it into his satchel.
At this movement, the great beast cracked opened one large, lemon-yellow eye.
Kenny froze, mouth agape.
The creature’s head rose up from the ground and focused on the small rabbit studying him. Then the dragon did a sort of a fake stretch and a pretend yawn and settled back down. (Of course, you know this move very well. It’s the “I-am-pretending-to-fall-asleep-but-I-am-really-wide-awake” move, and is best used on parents when they check on you in your bed at night.)
The dragon closed his eye, gave out a sigh, then said in a low gravelly voice, “No throwing rocks at me, or poking me with a stick, or yelling at me, ’cause I won’t tolerate it. And don’t waste your time pouring water on me to douse my fire, ’cause that doesn’t work at all. I just got comfy on a nice cool spot of grass here, and I’m trying to sleep, so leave your food and off you go . . . .”
The dragon’s words trailed off and he began fake-sleeping again, making a purring-sort-of-snoring sound.
Kenny cleared his throat. “Ahem.”
Nothing.
“Erm. A-hem!”
Still nothing.
He had to try another tactic. Were all dragons this unresponsive? No wonder they were practically extinct.
“Cough-cough.”
“Bantling, aren’t you here with an offering? A meal and libation, perhaps? Leave it by my entryway, and then you’d best scurry home. It’s getting late.”
“I—I—I didn’t bring you anything,” Kenny stammered.
“No food?” the dragon said, not moving a single scale. “Then why on earth have you brought those pots and pans? Surely you were planning on cooking me a delicious dinner”—he eyed the garbage-can-lid shield—“and serving it on that large metal platter.”
Not only had his book not mentioned dragons purring, it hadn’t mentioned bringing gifts, either. Clearly the author did not take his subject seriously, or else he hadn’t done his research thoroughly. Kenny set his broom-lance on the ground. “Well, I do have a bestiary that I’ve been reading . . . but now I’m not so sure of its accuracy.”
“A bestiary? Really?” The dragon’s eyes opened wide and he quickly sat up. He rubbed his scaly paws together. “Come on, then, let’s have a look.” He extended his hand. It was nearly as big as Kenny was, and ended in long, sickle-shaped claws.
The young rabbit pulled the old book out of his satchel. He grabbed the ribbon bookmark and opened the book to the page titled “Dragons.” “Please don’t burn it. I’m borrowing it from a friend of mine.”
“Burn it? What sort of unchancy firedrake do you take me for? Why, I’d just as soon burn my own tail as burn a book.” He looked at the title on the cover, The King’s Royal Bestiary. “Hmmm. Let’s see here what it says.”
The dragon stretched out his long, curly tail and reached it into an opening hidden in the shadows of the rocks and boulders on the hillside. From there, he pulled out a pair of metal-framed spectacles and set them on the furry bridge of his nose. To the lad, they were the size of dinner plates. Kenny removed the pot from his head and slowly sat down on it. He didn’t want to make any quick movements, but he was ready to bolt in case the beast showed any signs of aggression.
“Wouldn’t you just know it, a book arrives and there’s nary the light to read it in. Do you mind lighting your lantern?”
“Uh, okay,” Kenny said. “Sure.” As he lit the lantern, fireflies began flitting about the top of the hill. They quietly blinked around the monster’s giant head, revealing a jagged, toothy grin as he studied the pages.
Giving his best performance as a relaxed visitor, Kenny sat back down on his pot and plucked a stalk of grass. Casually chewing it, he asked, “How long are you here for?”
“Hard to say . . .,” the dragon muttered, flipping through the pages. “Hmpf!” he then snorted. “Rubbish! Well written, but the facts are not at all right.”
“How do you mean?” Kenny asked.
“Look here. It says, ‘A dragon’s strength is found within its long and dangerous tail. Tying the tail in a knot will render the foul beast harmless. But be warned, all drakes kill anything they catch with their vicious coils.’ Not true. Do you, little bantling, kill everything you encounter?”
“Why, no,” Kenny replied. He was wishing that the pot was on his head after all, and he gripped his garbage-can-lid shield tightly.
“Exactly,” said the dragon. “But I could easily say that the general populace pretty much destroys everything they come in contact with—they certainly do when encountering a fellow like me. And I am not killing you at this moment, am I?”
Kenny thought about this for a bit. Was it some sort of trick? His heart was beating fast, and he was ready to take off, leaving everything behind. His parents, of course, would be quite upset at him for abandoning the cooking pot and lantern up on the hill. Certainly George would be cross as well, and Kenny didn’t have the allowance to replace the bestiary he was borrowing. He looked up at the dragon, “You’re not killing me at this moment. No.”
“Nor do I intend to. The truth of the matter is, I’ve never killed a thing in my life,” the dragon said as he closed the book and eyed Kenny. “That was the fashion many years ago with the other dragons. They were so earnest, you know, burning down castles, fighting knights, and eating bedizened princesses. That was never my cup of tea. I am more what you’d call a ‘Renaissance fellow.’ I like to see the world and savor it, not destroy it. So, instead of burning down a castle, I would admire its architecture. Instead of fighting a knight, I’d challenge him to a good game of chess. And I’d never eat a princess. Instead I’d create a wonderful flower arrangement for her—to match the silk drapes in her palace, of course.”
“Really?” Kenny said. This dragon was certainly not at all what he’d expected. Not a scourge, a devil, or even a nuisance.
“Well,” said the dragon with a sigh, “that was how I got by: Live and let live. Which was all fine and dandy until I got trapped.”
Kenny set down his garbage-can-lid shield and loosened the frying pan tied to his chest. “Go on.”
“It took me completely by surprise. You see, I was snoozing under a tree, very much like this willow right here, when the ground literally opened up and swallowed me.”
“A fissure,” Kenny said. “You must have been in an earthquake! Whoa!” He stood up on top of his pot. “How did you survive?”
“I drank lava and ate firestones—which allowed me to breathe fire for the first time ever. Of course, they also gave me horrendous heartburn, which I still have to this day, but that doesn’t matter, because the lava and firestones saved my life.”
“They did?”
“Sure. I sat there under the earth and . . . well actually, I caught up on my beauty sleep first. So I slept there under the earth for years and years, but I kept dreaming of life up here—the glorious sunsets, the whispering trees, the birds singing gaily, daffodils . . . oh, and crème brûlée.” As he said this, the dragon rose to his full height, causing the swarm of fireflies to swirl and dance around him. As the drake looked up, Kenny followed his gaze to the sky, which was so bright from the Milky Way that he could not tell where the fireflies ended and the stars began. The dragon took in a deep breath, then looked back down at Kenny. “And so I finally awoke. With my fiery breath, I blasted and burned a tunnel back up to the surface to see it all again. I mean, how could I miss all of this? That’s when I arrived here.”
“What a tale,” Kenny said. “What do you plan on doing now that you’re here?”
“Not much. Enjoy some fresh country air, eat a good meal, catch up on my reading, and write some poetry. Actually, I consider myself quite a poet. Would you like to hear some poems? I tried to recite a bit to an older chap who was up here earlier today, but he scurried off. Even after all these years, I suppose I can still have that effect on someone.”
“That was my dad,” Kenny said. “You scared him good.”
“Scared him? Goodness! Was my rhyme that bad?” the dragon asked.
“I don’t think you understand your situation.” Kenny sighed. “You’re considered a ‘devil’ and a ‘scourge’ to society. Just like it said in that book. Folks usually want to hunt you down.”
The dragon put a claw over his mouth and let out a smoky snicker. “Hunt me? For what? Improper etiquette? They are the ones writing horribly inaccurate dragon facts in their books. It should be me who is hunting them down.”
“But you don’t—” “Ken-NETH!” The call rang out across the pasture from the direction of the farm.
“That’s my mom. I gotta go or they’ll be worried. Besides, I gotta get ready for bed,” Kenny said as he grabbed his lantern. “Can I get my book back, dragon?”
“Grahame,” the dragon replied. “My name is Grahame—just like the cracker, except with an ‘e’ at the end. And it was great chatting with you, um . . .”
“Kenny. Well, Kenneth. But everybody calls me Kenny.”
“Well, Kenny,” the dragon said as he handed over the makeshift lance and shield, “do come up again and bring your folks. In fact, let’s do dinner tomorrow night. You bring the food, and I’ll supply the entertainment. Is your mom a good cook? Tell her I have a ravenous appetite for soufflé, glazed carrots, mashed potatoes, and of course, crème brûlée.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll ask,” Kenny said. “And the book?”
“Oh, please let me give it a read tonight. How I love good fiction.”
With that, Kenny dashed back down the hill and hopped onto his bike. Excited, he pedaled toward his house. He couldn’t wait to tell his parents how curious, how interesting the dragon whose name happened to be Grahame truly was.
IV. You’re All Right in My Book
IT WAS GETTING LATE NOW, AND Kenny’s mom was pacing on the front porch, awaiting her son’s return. Kenny’s father was untroubled by the lateness and reminded her that they should trust their son’s judgment on matters concerning nature and fairy tales.
And, as Kenny coasted in out of the darkness and into the yellowy porch light, he knew it was going to take some work to convince his folks to go up and meet Grahame. So he got to it immediately upon his return. He recounted, in great detail, his conversation with the dragon.
During his bath, he told his mom, “He was swallowed up in an earthquake centuries ago, where he survived by drinking lava and eating fire rocks. But it’s okay, he won’t burn me.”
As he climbed into bed, he told his father, “Grahame says there used to be dragons everywhere, eating people and burning castles, but don’t worry, Dad, he won’t eat me.”
And, at breakfast the next morning, he told both his parents, “He likes to read, and recite poetry, and eat crème brûlée. I can’t wait to see him again!”
“I am thrilled to hear you’ve met someone you get along with so well, Kenneth,” his mother said as she flipped a fourth helping of pancakes onto his father’s plate, “but if you’re planning on spending more time with that dragon, then I think it best that your father and I go up and meet him too. Don’t you think so, Pa?”
“I do indeedy,” his father replied as he sipped his coffee. “As long as this isn’t some plan to eat my sheep, my son, or us, we are all on the same page.”
So after school, and after his father brought the flock in for the day, the family trotted up to the top of the hill with picnic baskets in hand to meet Kenny’s new acquaintance.
As they neared the grassy summit, Kenny’s father stopped them all just short of the hilltop. He leaned on his walking stick and sized Grahame up while slowly chewing on a stalk of grass.
The large, blue-scaled creature was arranging the boulders at his cave entrance. He’d step back and study them, then adjust one here, and another there, then step back and look at them again. Finally he noticed Kenny and his family watching him.
“Arrah! Ho there!” Grahame said with a toothy grin. “I was tidying the place up for your visit.”
Kenny’s father put his paw on his son’s shoulder and spoke first. “So yer not the type of fella to be deceitful to my li’l boy and trick us all into yer belly?”
The drake’s eyes went wide, and he let out the slightest gasp. “Goodness gracious, no,” he replied, “but I may trick you into reciting a favorite poem. If your son’s a chip off the old block, I would imagine you are a fellow connoisseur of the spoken word. Yes?”
Kenny’s dad just stood there chewing on his stalk of grass. The dragon looked at Kenny for a sign, but the boy just shrugged. At last, his mom grabbed his father by the arm and smiled at Grahame.
“We are very delighted to meet you, Mr. Dragon. Thank you for not eating us. I think you’ll enjoy my cooking much better, anyway.” She turned to Kenny. “Kenneth, dear, help me set up the picnic blanket.”
“Please allow me,” Grahame said, and walked up to offer assistance. In doing so, he inadvertently stepped right on Kenny’s father’s foot. His father didn’t utter a word—his large eyes said it all.
“I am terribly sorry, sir,” Grahame said, then hiccuped. A small fireball puffed out of his mouth, engulfing the farmer. Kenny’s father looked down at his son as the last of his singed eyebrows fell to the ground. The boy kept his mouth shut tight, barely suppressing his giggle.
“Oh goodness!” the dragon said, covering his mouth. “I—hic!—am a bit skimble-skamble today. And when I get nervous, I—hic!”
Kenny’s mom took her apron off and wiped the ash from her husband’s face. “Kenneth,” she said, “get some cool water for your father’s foot. It should keep the swelling down.”
“There’s that creek—hic!—at the foot of the hill,” Grahame said as he took the bucket that they’d used to carry refreshments. In the dragon’s scaly hand it looked like a little drinking cup. “Let me go—hic!—get it.” With that, he bounded off.
“I don’t want any whining, Pa,” Kenny’s mom said, putting his hat back on over his singed hair. “You’ll be fine. Besides, you’re making him as nervous as all get-out.”
With Kenny’s dad comfortably soaking his foot, dinner was served. Spread out on the gingham picnic blanket was a delicious meal of radish soufflé, sweet glazed carrots, and parsleyed potatoes.
The dragon squealed. “Oh, I haven’t had sweet morsels like this in a long, long time!” Then he grabbed the entire bowl of carrots and tipped them over his open maw.
“Hey, mister!” Kenny’s mom thumped Grahame with her wooden ladle. “Mind your manners.”
“My apologies,” he replied, gently placing the bowl back down on the blanket. “It’s just that this spread is spectacular, and the mouthwatering aroma took complete control of me.” The dragon winced with embarrassment. Kenny chortled.
As they enjoyed their supper, Grahame told Kenny’s mom the stories he’d heard of the grand meals that royal chefs cooked each day for the king. He even gave her a few recipes.
The crème brûlée, torched expertly by Grahame using his left nostril, was delicious. Kenny’s dad smoked his after-dinner pipe, while Grahame recited several of his favorite poems above the twitter of chirruping crickets. As Kenny watched the lights flicker on in the town below, he thought it was one of the best dinners ever.
“Well, Mr. Grahame,” Kenny’s mom said, “we must be getting back. I’ve a kitchen to clean and a boy to get to bed. After all, this is a school night.”
“Understandable, milady. Thank you all so much for coming up and visiting,” said Grahame. “It was a magnificent meal.” He turned to Kenny’s dad. “I apologize for the foot. I trust it will be okay?”
“I’ll be just dandy, dragon.” He paused for a moment, stroking his whiskers. “You know, being that this here hill is on our property, you can stay up here as long as you’d like.” He knelt down and gathered their dinnerware. “Jus’ watch yourself. Folks may not take a likin’ to a dragon livin’ in these parts.”
“Mum’s the word.”
“So long, Grahame,” Kenny said as he shook hands (well, claw) with him. “See ya tomorrow?”
Both the dragon and the young rabbit looked over at Kenny’s parents.
“Oh, of course,” his mom said, “but Pa is right—be careful.”
School the following week was not as exciting to Kenny as it had been before he’d met the dragon. Summer break was fast approaching, and every class was packed with end-of-year merriment. Even so, Kenny couldn’t wait to get home so he could spend the remainder of the day with his newfound friend.
