Dragons of the Watch Read online

  He took her hand and pulled her along with him as he sped down the hall and into another room. Dropping his grip, he crossed the room and pulled on a shade, which zipped up and twirled several times at the top, making a whopping sound with each turn. Sun poured in through the window, and dust motes floated in the air.

  “This is a nursery.”

  She’d already surmised that from the furniture and childish pictures, toy trains, and stacking blocks.

  “I’m four feet five inches tall,” Bealomondore said.

  She had no idea why that was relevant but decided to not reveal her obtuse state.

  Bealomondore strolled across the room to a wall that had one decoration, an embroidered height chart. Several places were marked with ribbons. Bealomondore fingered one of the lower trimmings. “Haddy, age two.” He straightened out another to read. “Gelay, age five.” Another strip said, “Haddy, age four.”

  Ellie shrugged. “My family records our heights on the wall in the mud room. Don’t most families keep some kind of record?”

  Without a word, Bealomondore turned and backed up to the measuring chart. “How tall am I?”

  Ellie came closer to look. Her eyes widened, and she shifted her gaze to his solemn face. He already knew what it said.

  “Three feet five inches.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at her.

  She corrected for more precise accuracy. “Five and a half inches.”

  He moved out of the way and nudged her in position to be measured. “How tall are you?”

  “Four feet one inch.”

  He glanced at the number at the top of her head. “Three feet two inches, and I’m giving you a bit on the inches.”

  “So the urohms don’t have the same standard of measure as we do?”

  Bealomondore pursed his lips and let out a breathy whistle. “On the contrary, my guess is that their twelve-inch foot would match our twelve-inch foot.”

  He took her hand and led her back to the art room and to the portrait. “In that picture, the tumanhofer comes up to just above the urohm’s knee. Look at the background. What do you see?”

  “Shelves of books, a table, a lamp, a globe, a desk, and papers.”

  “I believe this is a painting done in Amara and brought here.”

  “Why?”

  “The size of the furniture is small in comparison to the urohm figure. The globe shows the Eastern hemisphere, where Amara is located. And the style of clothing is foreign.”

  Once he pointed out the details, Ellie could see what he meant. “So tumanhofers and urohms got along well in that land? Well enough for two men to want a portrait together?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but yes. My point is the size of the tumanhofer.” He moved to stand beside a chair in the room. He reached up to put his hand on the seat of the chair. “This chair is designed for a urohm.” He patted the edge of the seat. “The urohm’s knee would bend right here. I’m a foot below that point. We’re smaller, Ellie. When we came through the glass wall, we shrank.”

  Ellie let out a nervous giggle. “That’s not possible.”

  “Nothing about this place is possible. Why would you doubt a simple case of ‘Shrink the Visitors’?”

  “Bealomondore, why? Why would someone bother to make us smaller?”

  “I doubt it was aimed at us in particular but affects anyone who passes through the wall.”

  Ellie took in a deep breath and let it out. “Wulder? Could it be like the legend of the urohms? We were made the size of our hearts? We’re smaller, because our basic personalities are selfish? We don’t care about others?”

  Bealomondore shook his head sadly. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He pinched his upper lip. “No, that can’t be it. At least not for you. You have a heart for these beastly children. It could certainly be true of me, however.”

  “No, you’ve taken care of me. You care about Old One.”

  Bealomondore gave a dismissive snort. “I am interested in Old One because he might be able to help us get out of here. And of course I’ve watched over you. You are a pleasure to have around. You rescued me from wretched loneliness. So my care also has a self-serving motive.”

  He frowned and looked away from her, his gaze moving to the window and beyond. She walked over to his side and took his hand. “What you need is a good breakfast and something to occupy your mind other than these depressing speculations.”

  He looked down at her, squeezed her hand, then brought it to his lips to kiss. “What shall we do for breakfast?”

  “I found chickens, and therefore I found eggs.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “And afterward, you and I shall bake daggarts for naughty children and a grumpy old man.”

  He laughed. “See? I told you your heart is not small.”

  She smiled but kept the words flowing through her mind to herself.

  He made her heart swell. She felt the expansion in her chest every time she looked into his eyes, heard him speak, or felt his presence. She liked this tumanhofer very, very much.

  Tak found a shady corner in the yard and settled in for a day of resting and eating. When Ellie invited him to come in with them to explore, he pointedly turned his head away and chewed. She and Bealomondore passed through the small opening and plowed into the task they had set before them, the locating of ingredients and appropriate bowls and cooking pans.

  Ellie bubbled with enthusiasm. Her partner in raiding the kitchen was the most amusing companion she’d ever known. And tackling the difficult task of baking with oversize equipment would be full of surprises. Ellie giggled with anticipation, then glanced at Bealomondore to see if he’d heard. The door he was opening required all his attention. Each big urohm cupboard provided a challenge to little tumanhofers.

  She and Bealomondore both explored the pantry, shoving boxes into unsteady stairs so they could reach the upper shelves. They found dried fruit and stores of nuts, as well as sugar, flour, and salt. They both climbed on the counter and investigated the cabinets. A small bag of baking powder, some spices, chocobits, and bowls added to their found treasure.

  And they laughed over many of their discoveries.

  “Look.” Bealomondore held up a glass jar of pickles. “This urohm housewife kept jars of pickles in every nook and cranny.”

  Ellie laughed and held up a jar she’d just found. “This makes my sixth hidden pickle stash. How many are you up to?”

  “I’m ahead of you by three.”

  “Someone in this house must have had a passion for pickles.”

  “You mean the mother hides the jars out of necessity?” Bealomondore examined the pickles more closely.

  “I suppose she’d have to if the woman wanted her pickles to last through the winter. My mother hides her razterberry jam.”

  “Perhaps we should sample these. They must be uncommonly good.”

  “Mother’s razterberry jam is.” Ellie smiled at the memory of her brothers fighting over a jar. For a brief moment, her home tugged at her heart.

  She swallowed, put on a smile, and said, “We’ll have to find mustard if we want pickles and mustard on our sandwiches.”

  Bealomondore reached in the cabinet in front of him and held out a yellow bottle. “Mustard!”

  Ellie laughed.

  In many of the drawers, bunches of soft hemmed hand towels covered the contents. Delicately embroidered cloth rested on top of forks, spoons, and table knives. Measuring cups and spoons nestled under a thin sheet of patterned material.

  “Whatever is the purpose of this, Ellie?” Bealomondore asked. “Do all housewives feel the need to conceal the contents of their kitchen drawers?”

  She shrugged. She had no idea what possessed the mistress of this house. “I don’t know, but I can tell you that all this handiwork is of the best quality.”

  “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 “wh
en” 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.”