Charmed Life - Diana Wynne Jones [68]
“Yes,” said Janet. “What do baby dragons feed on? Milk?”
“Michael tried me with milk, but I didn’t like it,” said the dragon. “I have minced steak now, and I’m growing beautifully. When I’m big enough, he’s going to take me back, but meanwhile I’m helping him with his magic. I’m a great help.”
“Are you?” said Janet. “What do you do?”
“I find old things he can’t find himself.” The dragon fell into a flickering croon. “I fetch him animals from the abyss—old golden creatures, things with wings, pearl-eyed monsters from the deep sea, and whispering plants from long ago.” It stopped and looked at Janet with its head on one side. “That was easy,” it remarked to Cat. “I’ve always wanted to do that, but no one let me before.” It sighed a long blue fume of smoke. “I wish I was bigger. I could eat her now.”
Cat took an alarmed look at Janet and found her staring like a sleepwalker, with a silly smile on her face. “Of all the mean tricks!” he said.
“I think I’ll just have a nibble,” said the dragon.
Cat realized it was being playful. “I’ll wring your neck if you do,” he said. “Haven’t you got anything else to play with?”
“You sound just like Michael,” said the dragon in a sulky roll of smoke. “I’m bored with mice.”
“Tell him to take you for walks.” Cat took Janet’s arm and shook her. Janet came to herself with a little jump and seemed quite unaware that anything had happened to her. “And I can’t help the way you feel,” said Cat to the dragon. “I need some dragons’ blood.” He pulled Janet well out of range, just to be on the safe side, and picked up a little china crucible from the next bench.
The dragon hunched up irritably and scratched itself like a dog under the chin until its wings rattled. “Michael says dragons’ blood always does harm somewhere,” it said, “even when an adept uses it. If you’re not careful, it costs a life.”
Cat and Janet looked at one another through the smoke it had made with its speech. “Well, I can spare one,” said Cat. He took the glass stopper off the big jar and scooped up some brown powder in the crucible. It had a strong, strange smell.
“I suppose Chrestomanci manages all right with two lives,” Janet said nervously.
“But he’s rather special,” said the dragon. It was standing on the very edge of the bench, rattling with anxiety. Its golden eyes followed Cat’s hands as he wrapped the crucible in his handkerchief and pushed the bundle cautiously into his pocket. It seemed so worried that Cat went over to it and, a little nervously, rubbed it under the chin where it had been scratching. The dragon stretched its neck and pressed against his fingers. The smoke came out of its nostrils in purring puffs.
“Don’t worry,” Cat said. “I’ve got three lives left, you see.”
“That explains why I like you,” said the dragon, and almost fell off the bench in its effort to follow Cat’s fingers. “Don’t go yet!”
“We’ve got to.” Cat pushed the dragon back on the bench and patted its head. Once he was used to it, he found he did not mind touching its warm, horny hide a bit. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said the dragon.
They left it staring after them like a dog whose master has gone for a walk without it.
“I think it’s bored,” Cat said when he had shut the door.
“It’s a shame! It’s only a baby,” said Janet. She stopped on the first turn of the stair. “Let’s go back and take it for a walk. It was sweet!”
Cat was sure that if Janet did any such thing, she would come to herself to find the dragon browsing on her legs. “It wasn’t that sweet,” he said. “And we’ll have to go to the garden straightaway now. It’s going to tell Mr. Saunders we took some dragons’ blood as soon as it sees him.”
“Yes, I suppose it does make a difference that it can talk,” Janet agreed. “We’d better hurry then.”
Cat walked very carefully through the Castle, down and out of doors, and kept a hand on his pocket in case of accidents. He was afraid he might arrive at the forbidden