Dragons of the Watch (17 page)

“The habits and traditions of the urohms may forever be a mystery to us.”

“When we get out of Rumbard City”—she chose the word “when” instead of “if” on purpose—“we can ask your friends, Wizard Fenworth and Librettowit, if they have stayed after the wedding. Or Verrin Schope, if they’ve gone home.”

Bealomondore’s face brightened. “Exactly, and Librettowit left a library at the underground cathedral in the Valley of the Dragons.”

Ellie plied Bealomondore with questions and learned a great deal about his last two adventures with his friends. This time she hung on every word and then realized that she’d turned a corner in her regard for Bealomondore. She no longer suspected him of teasing her, telling her outlandish stories to prove her gullibility.

They went outside to collect wood for the stove and then laughed at their clumsy attempts to light the fire in the belly of the oversize oven. Covered with soot but successful, they lined up their ingredients to begin baking daggarts.

By the time the sun reached the zenith of its daily journey, they had located all the items they would need to make several batches of the crunchy treats.

“Time to begin this intrepid endeavor?” Bealomondore nodded to the warming oven.

“It would be better to wait for coals. The wood is burning too hot.”

“Then perhaps we should eat our noonmeal first.”

Ellie grinned. “We could have pickles.”

Tak came in from the backyard, stamped his feet, and nodded his head in the direction of their exit.

“What’s the matter, Tak?” asked Ellie.

Bealomondore headed for the back entrance. “I’ll check it out.”

Tak trotted over to Ellie and leaned against her. Ellie rubbed the goat’s neck and the crown of his head between the two stubby horns.

Bealomondore’s voice beckoned from outside. “Come on. Noonmeal has arrived, and I assume Tak was announcing our supper.”

Ellie and Tak squirmed through the hole. Bealomondore stood next to a wrought-iron table with a glass top. A picnic basket sat in the center.

Ellie pointed to the table. “This wasn’t here before, was it?”

“The noonmeal wasn’t here, but the table was.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“Just the same, it was here.” He pointed to a row of potted plants. “The table and two benches were covered with these flowers and things.”

She vaguely remembered the jumble of plants. “You moved all that?”

“No.” Bealomondore pushed a crate closer to one of the benches. “Whoever brought the noonmeal cleared the table.”

“Don’t you find that a bit odd?” she asked.

“Ellie, I find it odd that our meals are provided. Why should clearing the table be odder?”

“You’re right.” She responded to his gesture and clambered up onto the crate and, from there, onto the bench.

She opened the lid of the basket and pulled out two jars of cold lemonade. She unscrewed the lid on one and handed it to Bealomondore.

He took a long swig. “Ah, that is excellent.” He smacked his lips and looked at the basket. “What else is in there?”

“Sandwiches, something in a bowl, and two pieces of pie.” Ellie handed him a paper-wrapped sandwich.

“Let’s see what’s in the bowl.”

Ellie pulled it out and took off the cover. She laughed and tilted it just a bit to show Bealomondore.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Button grain for Tak. It’s his favorite, and he hasn’t had any since we left home.”

With a flip of the tail, Tak made the leap from the ground to the bench, bypassing the crate. “Maa!”

“I don’t understand,” said Ellie. She held the bowl steady while Tak devoured the grain. “This is so unnecessary. Just like the pie, it’s nice but an extra, not essential.”

Bealomondore sat cross-legged on the bench and opened his sandwich. “My premise is that the food is provided by Wulder.”

“I know that.”

“And in the Tomes, it is written, ‘Like a good father, Wulder delights in the pure pleasure of His children’s hearts.’ ”

Ellie waited. So far, she didn’t see his point.

Bealomondore spoke around a bite of sandwich. “Did your parents ever blow bubbles for you on laundry day?”

She smiled. “Yes, and I blow them for my little brothers and sisters.”

“And these bubbles serve no purpose?”

“Well, they’re fun to chase. And they have a sheen of rainbow colors on the surface. That’s pretty.”

Bealomondore held up a finger. “Number one: I contend that fun and beauty are required for a full life. Joy has purpose.” He held up a second finger. “Number two: The parent, or in your case, the big sister,
and in my case, the laundry maid, go to a little extra trouble to give something that produces only pleasure, nothing else. Wulder gives us pie. He gives Tak button grain. Why? Because He delights in our enjoyment of simple pleasure.”

Tak cleaned out the bowl, huffed into it as if to uncover any stray bits, then jumped off the bench. Ellie put the bowl on the table and perched on the edge of the bench with her legs dangling over the side. She folded back the paper wrapping her sandwich. Salty ham and cheese blended with thick tomato slices and crunchy lettuce for a satisfying noonmeal.

Ellie concentrated on what Bealomondore had said about Wulder giving good gifts. She took that thought and related it to their experience. “We make daggarts to show that we would like to care for Old One and the children.”

“Ah, and our conversation comes full circle.” Bealomondore plunked his trash in the picnic basket. “You are the altruistic one. I am merely along for the ride.”

Ellie rolled her eyes at him, and Bealomondore chuckled. He passed a piece of pie to Ellie and forked a large bite of his own. When they’d finished, he returned the bowl, forks, and plates to the basket and snapped the lid shut.

Ellie hopped down from the bench. “Come on, curmudgeon, oh surly fellow who does not lift a finger for another’s pleasure. Let’s make those daggarts.”

The grin on Bealomondore’s face couldn’t have been any wider. Ellie remembered her brothers. She was the oldest, but Nabordontippen, who was born next in line, was the orneriest. He made mischief and delighted in leading the twins and Gustus into more. And that self-satisfied
smile graced the lips of all four of her impish brothers when they’d executed some roguish misdeed.

But Bealomondore gave her little trouble as they stoked the fire, mixed the dough, and shaped enormous daggarts on the baking sheets. He proved to be a helper when working, not an instigator of mischief.

The heavy pans required the strength of both tumanhofers to maneuver the daggarts into the oven. Pulling them out challenged them even more. But clever Bealomondore rigged up a stool in front of the oven, and they managed to slide the daggart sheet onto the wood platform.

Ellie shoveled up the large daggarts with a metal spatula and put them on a plate while Bealomondore held the tray steady. Then he put the new daggarts on a cooled sheet, and they both lifted them into the oven. The door closed from one side to the other instead of up and down. If it had been one you had to pull down, Ellie doubted they could have made daggarts at all. By the end of the afternoon, they had several piles cooled and ready to be wrapped.

She collapsed on the kitchen floor and leaned against a cabinet. “I am so glad we’re not going to try to get back to the library tonight. I don’t think I could walk to the chicken yard, let alone clear across the city.”

Bealomondore sat beside her. “If we find it is impossible to get out of this bottle, I propose we make our home out here rather than in the heart of Rumbard City.”

Ellie didn’t answer immediately. She weighed his words in her heart. Oddly, the prospect of being in Rumbard City without a way to get out didn’t paralyze her like it once had. “I believe we will get out. Someday. I don’t worry about it like I used to.”

Bealomondore put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “You are one spunky lass, Ellicinderpart Clarenbessipawl.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Yes, that was a compliment.” He withdrew his arm and waved a hand at the messy kitchen. “Shall we attempt a cleanup?”

She sighed and nodded. “My mother’s upbringing would haunt me if I left this borrowed kitchen in such disarray.”

“Your diction is that of a city gal, yet you say you have always lived on the farm.”

Ellie stood. “Oh, we can talk country when we’re among ourselves. But my mom and Gramps set store on book learning. Not so much my father. But he let us have our way, only teasing us about being high-falutin two or three times a week.”

She looked around, assessing all that needed to be done. “Do you want to wash dishes or counters and floor?”

“Counters and floor.”

“Fine!” She climbed the cabinets to the sink. Bealomondore took time to help her get the water hot and all the dishes within reach. Even though they had used the smallest bowls available to mix the dough, the heavy ceramic made it difficult to maneuver them in and out of the soapy water and then into the rinsing basin. She lined up the clean dishes upside down on a towel to dry.

When she finished, she sat on the edge of the counter and watched Bealomondore mop.

He glanced up, stopped, and pointed to the stack of bowls. “That one looks like it’s going to topple.”

She turned and saw which one he meant. Getting up on her knees, she pushed a plate farther away from the edge, making room for the bowl to rest more securely against another larger bowl.

Bealomondore shouted, “Watch out!”

The creak of one glass object rubbing against another warned her that the dishes had shifted. Something heavy hit her shoulder. She grabbed the dish she had just moved, but it tilted toward her and thrust her over the edge of the counter. She hit the floor before she even had time to scream.

Glass shattered around her. Pinpricks of pain assailed her exposed skin. Another dish somersaulted through the air, coming right at her. She ducked to the side, covering her head with her arms. It hit her shoulder and then the floor, exploding into flying shards. Broken pieces crunched as she shifted just a little bit.

“Don’t move,” said Bealomondore from beside her head. “Let me get some of this away from you so you won’t get cut.”

“Too late,” she groaned and exposed the arm beneath her. She gritted her teeth. A long red line ran from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. Blood bubbled out the end of the gash.

Bealomondore clamped his hand over the wound. “This is deep. You must have nicked an artery.”

“That’s not good,” she whispered. She knew his other hand moved quickly. He searched for something, but she couldn’t summon the words to ask what he was doing. That seemed odd to her but not strange enough to break through this sudden malaise. The malaise seemed odd as well. Perhaps the combination of heat and the physical effort to make the daggarts had drained her.

“Not good, but we can fix it. I have some battleground experience.”

“Oh, aren’t I lucky?”

She heard him laugh, but the last words he spoke were mumbled. Or maybe she just couldn’t hear through the darkness closing in on her.

Bealomondore kept his hand over the wound while Ellie’s blood poured through his fingers. Why wasn’t the flow stopping? He shifted his grip and breathed a sigh of relief as the worst of the gushing changed to a slow trickle. With his other hand he searched his pockets for a handkerchief.

His jacket! He’d tucked the square of cloth he wanted to use in the breast pocket of his jacket, which hung on the back of a chair clear across the kitchen.

Tak looked at him and then at the brown coat. Without hesitation, he trotted across the wooden floor, took the back of the jacket in his teeth, and tossed his head. After two tries, he yanked it off and brought it to Bealomondore. The goat dropped it beside his mistress and immediately sank to position himself along her other side. Bealomondore winced, but apparently the shattered crockery did not penetrate Tak’s thick white hair.

Bealomondore pulled out the white linen, put one end in his teeth, and twisted the fabric with his free hand. He then let loose of the wound and quickly wrapped the handkerchief around Ellie’s wrist. He jumped up and ran to the lower drawers and pulled out several of the cloth covers that had puzzled them earlier. He folded them into a pile of squares a little larger than Ellie’s wound.

He untied the first bandage, placed a square on the seeping blood
and applied pressure. When that cloth soaked through, he added another on top and held it firmly, hoping to stop the flow.

He shifted his position, wondering how to sit amid the debris. What should he be doing to ensure Ellie’s recovery? No medic roamed the streets of Rumbard City. King Yellat had provided many medics in the last war. He’d done that one thing right. The old ruler had not been a competent leader in time of war. But one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.

Bealomondore closed his eyes tightly. “Oh, Wulder, I could use some help right about now. Laddin would be the best dragon to send, but of course, You know that.”

Tak sprang to his feet and ran for the back entrance.

“Did that goat just leave to get the dragons?” he asked. “Impossible.”