Jamrach's Menagerie - Carol Birch [71]
“I go home in three more years,” he said. “And you? When for you?”
“In two.”
“I go home rich,” he said, “if the goddess allows.”
That long coast could be seen as a lilac band shimmering far away, but soon we left it behind and followed a string of islands east towards the Japanese whale grounds. The seas were full of fishing boats and Chinese junks laden with salt. In the hottest part of the day, the dragon would lie in his pool, but for most of the time he stayed absolutely still, raised up a little on his front legs, stirring only to eat the fish and birds and hogs I thrust through the hatch into his pen. In time he ate anything: our slops and leftovers, anything. I never trusted him. He was sly. It took two of us to muck out his pen, me with broom and shovel, Dan on guard with stick and gun. Even though we always kept him tethered, he was dangerous. He watched. Once he turned his head in my direction, opened his mouth very slowly and widely and gaped at me, a long, dream-like moment. A membrane of slime stretched shining between upper and lower jaw. Then, just as slowly, he closed it. A horrible display.
How was it we became so afraid of the dragon? Not just as anyone would be afraid of a wild animal with claws and teeth, but as if it was something more. We took on bad luck with that creature. Who was it first said that? In time we were all saying it. It began with a sickness. All of us went down with it apart from Abel Roper and Wilson Pride, but not all at the same time, thank God. It’s filthy and foul on a ship when everyone’s voiding from either end. Then poor Samson died. That was a horrible thing and that was because of the dragon. Samson had the run of the ship till the dragon came on-board. Joe Harper had erected a rough barricade to keep him away from it, but he got through on this particular terrible morning and ran by the cage, and the thing must have dashed at him. I was up on watch and all I heard was a horrible yelping and a lot of shouting and running about. First thing I thought was that the dragon was loose and eating people, but things calmed down quickly, so I knew it couldn’t be that bad. An hour later when I came down, I found out the dog was dead. Scared to death, poor thing: expecting nothing, a bit stupid, and suddenly this monster. He ran shrieking, and the captain caught him in his arms and he went into a sort of fit. Whether it was that, or whether he’d caught his head a good whack on the corner of the tryworks as he fled, he died twenty minutes later. He got a sea shroud as good as any and we committed him to the deep, all of us standing round with bowed heads. Captain Proctor said a few words. Samson had been with him for twelve years, he said. He’d found him in the port of Cádiz and carried him in his pocket through the Bay of Biscay in a storm when he was no more than a pup a few weeks old. A true old sea dog, happier on deck than land, it was fitting the sea should be his final resting place. John Copper cried, and when the sea had closed over Samson’s earthly remains, the captain disappeared into his quarters and was seen no more for the rest of the day.
“Time’s changed,” said Skip. “Have you noticed?”
This was later, after supper, me and Skip and Tim sitting by the dragon in a row, legs sprawled out in front of us, sharing a pipe.
“How so?” asked Tim.
“It has. How long since we left the dragon island?”
“Two weeks,” said Tim.
“Don’t be silly.”
“It’s about—I don’t know, a few weeks.” I frowned. I lost count. “More than two.”
“Well, don’t ask me,” said Tim. “I don’t even know where we are. It’s hot. It’s all the same to me. I’m fat-witted.”
“Much more than two.”
“That’s what I mean,” said Skip. “Time’s gone funny.”
“Bloody heat,” I said.
“There’s a thought.” Skip passed me the pipe. “How will you keep Bingo warm when we get to colder climes?”
“Oh.” I’d never thought about it, truth to tell. “Dan’ll know.”
“Is he asleep, you think?” asked Tim.
“Hard to say. He’s sly.”
“He’s not asleep,” said