Gauge (2 page)

Sure enough, Liz started one later that night when Lucy had gone to bed.

Along the landing next door to Lucy’s bedroom was a small rectangular room which Liz called her pottery ‘studio’, though its popular name was the Dragons’ Den. At the window end was a sturdy wooden bench, where Liz kept her paintbrushes and potters’ turntable and all the things she needed for making dragons. The two longer walls were taken up with shelving racks, upon which stood a large number of completed dragons. Most of these were in storage, waiting to be sold on the market in Scrubbley, though some were treasured ornaments and some…well, some, like Gruffen, could spread their wings and move around if they wanted to.

In appearance, most of the Pennykettle dragons looked the same. Their glaze was a mid to bottle-green colour, with occasional streaks of blue or turquoise. And they all had spiky wings and curving tails and oval-shaped eyes and trumpet-like noses. Liz enjoyed sculpting them in different poses. She had dancing dragons, sporting dragons, baby dragons breaking out of their eggs – dragons in all sorts of appealing stances. But those dragons that were special appeared without conscious effort, as though they had simply popped out of Liz’s dreams. This is how it was with the dragon that came to be known as Gauge.

Lucy Pennykettle, like her mum, had an unerring instinct for the birth of a special dragon. As Liz was twisting the turntable back and forth, carefully admiring her latest creation, Lucy slipped into the Den.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” her mother said.

Lucy tactfully ignored her and came to stand by the bench. She peered at the dragon. “It’s a ‘he’,” she said, gently stroking his ‘top knot’ – the little spike that rose like a fin from the top of a dragon’s head. “What does he do?”

“I don’t know,” Liz replied. “But he’s definitely special. I was just daydreaming and there he was.”

“Why’s he got a paw missing?” Lucy pointed to the dragon’s left arm. The paw at the end of it seemed to be only half there. But as the moonlight shifted across the window she saw that he was wearing a kind of waistcoat and dipping his paw into a shallow pocket. “He’s got something,” she said. Her eyes glowed with excitement.

Her mother hummed in acknowledgement. “Well, if you want to know what it is, you’d better hurry off downstairs, hadn’t you?”

Lucy was gone in a flash. She knew exactly what her mother meant. In the freezer compartment of the fridge was a small plastic box with a pale blue lid. Inside the box was, of all things, a snowball. Liz had kept it since she was a girl. There were many secrets surrounding this nugget of ice, and even Lucy didn’t know all of them. But the snow was what brought her mother’s dragons to life. That was all that mattered to Lucy.

She scooted upstairs and handed the box over. Liz opened the lid, letting a fine wisp of condensation escape. The snowball glistened in the moonlight. Lucy held her breath as her mother broke off the tiniest chunk and let it rest on the new dragon’s snout. Immediately, it melted inside his nostrils.

“There, the kilning process is started,” said Liz. Then she turned the dragon until he was facing a tall, elegant female dragon who sat alone on a shelf just behind the bench. Her name was Guinevere. Liz whispered something to her in the ancient language of dragontongue. Guinevere’s eyes slid open.

Lucy’s shoulders bristled with excitement. She had always wanted to know what happened next, but the most she ever saw was a violet light shining out of Guinevere’s eyes. That was all she saw this time as well. The light played over the new dragon’s body, creating what looked like a slight halo of fire around him.

Her mother turned Lucy away then, saying, “Come on. Guinevere will hurr when he’s ready. Oh, by the way, while you were downstairs a name came to me.”

“Really?” said Lucy. This was quite unusual. Dragons weren’t usually named until they were active.

“I think he’s got a watch in his pocket,” said Liz, “because the name I thought of was Gauge.”

Lucy didn’t look impressed. “Gauge?” she queried.

“It’s a word that means ‘to measure’.”

“What’s he going to measure – with a watch?”

“Time, I suppose.”

Lucy’s shoulders sank. “That’s boring,” she tutted.

But, as was usual where special dragons were concerned, she was in for a few surprises.

It was another two days before Guinevere signalled to the listening dragon and he, in turn, signalled to Liz to say that Gauge was ready. Liz was in the kitchen at the time, having a cup of tea with Mr Bacon. Henry did not believe in dragons, so he did not hear the listener’s hurr. But he was close enough to feel a warm draught in his left ear, which prompted him to enquire if Mrs P, as he called Liz, had left a gas ring on?

She said she had not and it was just a dragon breathing. That made Henry frown and caused Lucy to stifle a laugh. They enjoyed teasing Henry, though care was needed when a new dragon was in the house. Young special dragons had to be taught that they needed to act like solid clay figures when humans were near.

While Lucy dashed upstairs to see what was happening, Liz carried on chatting to Henry. “Go on. You were talking about the plans to get rid of the library clock. Why can’t the Council just mend it?”

“Far too costly,” Mr Bacon said, winkling a finger round his hairy ear canal.

“It’s surely cheaper than knocking it down and installing a new one?”

Henry shook his head. “Needs specialist attention. Old workings. Cranky. Cheaper to rip it out and put in a digital display.”

Liz sighed in dismay. “We can’t have flashing neon bulbs in the middle of an old market town like Scrubbley. It’s completely out of character. I shall protest. And so will others.”

But to her further dismay, Henry leaned forward and said, “Too late, Mrs P. Word has it that the motion has already been passed. Rubber-stamped behind closed doors.” He beat his fist down lightly on the table, enough to make his tea cup rattle against its saucer.

Liz folded her arms (never a good sign) and let out a little puff of disgust. “Well, the ghost won’t like it!”

“Ghost?” said Henry, closing one eye.

Liz tapped her foot. Goodness, she thought, she had turned into Lucy in the space of a few seconds. “The clock tower’s…haunted,” she said.

“Poppycock!” cried Henry, slapping his thigh. “Worked in that library twenty years, Mrs P. Never seen a spectre or heard the slightest hint of wailing – apart from the time Miss Hickinbottom dropped a large encyclopaedia on her toe.”

“Well, if I were the Town Council, I’d be careful,” said Liz. “You shouldn’t mess about with the supernatural.”

Henry drummed his fingers. “No such thing as the supernatural,” he declared, just as a dragon fluttered into the kitchen and landed on the three long hairs of his nearly bald head. “What the…?” he cried. He jumped in his chair and felt his bald spot. But by then, Gauge had fluttered onto the fridge top to say hello to the listener.

“Mum, I couldn’t control him!” Lucy cried, appearing, out of breath, at the kitchen door.

“What hit me?” said Henry, starting to look around.

Liz sighed heavily and snapped her fingers to get Henry’s attention. As their eyes met, Liz’s gaze became a strange hypnotic stare and the colour of her eyes turned from green to violet. “Go home, Henry. Have a nice sleep,” she said.

A dizzy look spread across Henry’s face. He rose up like a robot and was gone.

“Sorry,” Lucy said sheepishly to her mum.

“It’s all right,” Liz said, letting her eyes return to green. “Henry won’t remember a thing.” She glanced at the meeting taking place on the fridge top. She spoke in dragontongue to Gauge, who fluttered down to her open hand. “You need to learn the house rules – and quickly.”

Gauge flicked his tail and looked at her with wide, admiring eyes. He dipped his hand into his waistcoat pocket and, just as Liz had predicted, brought out a watch. He gave a gentle questioning
hrrr
.

“You want to know how quickly?” Liz translated.

Gauge gave a nod.

Liz glanced through the window. “By the time it gets dark?” she suggested, wondering if he would even understand the concept of sunrises and sunsets at his tender age. Though you could never tell with dragons. Sometimes, they could do or know extraordinary things. And so it was with Gauge.

He flipped open his watch and stared at its display. Liz and Lucy leaned forward to share a look.

“That’s not a watch,” said Lucy. For there were no hands or numbers or date window to see. Instead, they had glimpsed what appeared to be a miniature solar system of planets whirling around one another. And possibly some stars. All deeply reflected in Gauge’s eyes.

Liz nodded in astonishment. “I think that’s more than a watch,” she said. “I think it’s a kind of tuning device.”

“Pardon?” said Lucy. She was now completely confused.

“I think this dragon is in touch with the universe,” Liz said.

And to answer Liz’s question, Gauge said that nightfall was predicted in eight earthly hours, twelve earthly minutes and ten earthly seconds – though he wasn’t quite sure, yet, what that meant. He flipped the watch shut.

“He’s weird,” said Lucy. “What use is a dragon that times things?”