Dragons of the Watch - Donita K. Paul [67]
Bealomondore looked at Ellie and smiled. “I’ve discovered that good things are found in the most unusual places.” He turned to the old urohm. “How may we be of service to you?”
“My first act of cooperation should be welcome in your eyes and a service to me. You see, I know of a place to bake daggarts, not nearly as far away as where you went. You should have asked. No harm in asking. Lot of difficulties when you run off, thinking you know it all.”
Ellie started to react, but Bealomondore squeezed her a tad, and Orli’s thoughts interrupted hers. The minor dragon reminded her that old age was a trial that Old One had borne all alone for far too many years. “Mercy. Compassion. Patience.”
She turned to Bealomondore and knew he’d heard exactly the same counsel. They might grow old together stuck in a bottle city, but at least they would have each other. They could give to this old man what didn’t cost them but a little kindness.
Today seemed like any other day in the library. Except for Old One sitting in the rotunda instead of lurking in the balcony shadows. Orli lay across the back of the old man’s chair. Ellie tried to concentrate on the reading before her, but she just couldn’t. She shifted in the overlarge chair, pulled a pillow on her lap, and rested the book against it. Her hands became sore after holding even the smaller books for several hours. She wouldn’t let that happen today.
She glanced back down at the handwritten pages. Why would she want to read a diary about things in the past when Old One sat right there in his chair? Why wouldn’t he answer questions? Bealomondore had gone to get breakfast, and she was left to pry some information out of the reticent old gent. Only the old gent wouldn’t cooperate. He wouldn’t answer even the simplest of questions.
She looked up and caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Are you ready to tell me your name?” she asked.
He humphed. “I told you yesterday.”
“You did not.”
He humphed again and turned a page in his book. “Why should I tell you my name when you haven’t had the courtesy to tell me yours?”
Ellie closed the diary and plopped it down on the cushion in her lap. “We told you our names when you first spoke to us from the balcony. And we told you again yesterday after tea.”
“I’ve never spoken to you from the balcony. Never spoke to you at all until you invited me to tea.”
She sighed. Old One was much more stubborn than she was. This conversation had gone a couple of rounds already, and they hadn’t had anything but tea yet this morning.
“My name is Ellicinderpart Clarenbessipawl. My friend’s name is Graddapotmorphit Bealomondore. And your name is?”
“What use is a name when no one is around to use it?”
“Bealomondore and I are here to use it.”
“You probably won’t stay. I wouldn’t stay if a way out presented itself.” He lifted his head. “Someone is coming.”
He looked disoriented, perhaps a bit scared. Orli stood and watched, apparently ready to spring into action. Ellie’s irritation dropped away. “It’s Bealomondore. He went to get our breakfast.”
“Breakfast is served upstairs. Always is.”
“So you’ve already eaten?”
He narrowed his eyes at her as if she had asked a trick question. Bealomondore came into the room with a large basket, the curved handle over his arm. “Lots of food this morning. I assume we are sharing with our host.”
“Me?” Old One closed his book. “I’m not your host.”
“Why not?” asked Bealomondore as he put his load down by the table and opened the lid.
“Because in order to be a host, one must have invited guests.” He looked pointedly at them. “I don’t recall inviting anyone.”
Bealomondore had his back to Old One and took advantage of his face being out of sight. He pulled an exaggerated grumpy expression that caused Ellie to stifle a laugh. To hide her merriment, she put the pillow and diary aside, scooted to the edge of