Dealing With Dragons Page 2

  “I don’t think it’s necessary,” Cimorene’s mother said. She looked reprovingly at Cimorene. “You’ve never paid attention to what was or wasn’t suitable before, dear; you can’t start now. Proper or not, you will marry Prince Therandil three weeks from Thursday.”

  “But, Mother—”

  “I’ll send the wardrobe mistress to your room to start fitting your bride clothes,” Cimorene’s mother said firmly, and that was the end of the conversation.

  Cimorene decided to try a more direct approach. She went to see Prince Therandil. He was in the castle armory, looking at swords. “Good morning, Princess,” he said when he finally noticed Cimorene. “Don’t you think this is a lovely sword?”

  Cimorene picked it up. “The balance is off.”

  “I believe you’re right,” said Therandil after a moment’s study. “Pity; now I’ll have to find another. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Yes,” said Cimorene. “You can not marry me.”

  “What?” Therandil looked confused.

  “You don’t really want to marry me, do you?” Cim­orene said coaxingly.

  “Well, not exactly,” Therandil replied. “I mean, in a way. That is—”

  “Oh, good,” Cimorene said, correctly interpreting this muddled reply as No, not at all. “Then you’ll tell your father you don’t want to marry me?”

  “I couldn’t do that!” Therandil said, shocked. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Why not?” Cimorene demanded crossly.

  “Because—because—well, because princes just don’t do that!”

  “Then how are you going to keep from marrying me?”

  “I guess I won’t be able to,” Therandil said after thinking hard for a moment. “How do you like that sword over there? The one with the silver hilt?”

  Cimorene left in disgust and went out to the castle garden. She was very discouraged. It looked as if she were going to marry the prince of Sathem-by-the-Mountains whether she wanted to or not.

  “I’d rather be eaten by a dragon,” she muttered.

  “That can be arranged,” said a voice from beside her left slipper.

  Cimorene looked down and saw a small green frog looking up at her. “I beg your pardon. Did you speak?” she asked.

  “You don’t see anyone else around, do you?” said the frog.

  “Oh!” said Cimorene. She had never met a talking frog before. “Are you an enchanted prince?” she asked a little doubtfully.

  “No, but I’ve met a couple of them, and after a while you pick up a few things,” said the frog. “Now, why is it that you want to be eaten by a dragon?”

  “My parents want me to marry Prince Therandil,” Cimorene explained.

  “And you don’t want to? Sensible of you,” said the frog. “I don’t like Therandil. He used to skip rocks across the top of my pond. They always sank into my living room.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cimorene said politely.

  “Well,” said the frog, “what are you going to do about it?”

  “Marrying Therandil? I don’t know. I’ve tried talking to my parents, but they won’t listen, and neither will Therandil.”

  “I didn’t ask what you’d said about it,” the frog snapped. “I asked what you’re going to do. Nine times out of ten, talking is a way of avoiding doing things.”

  “What kinds of things would you suggest?” Cim­orene said, stung.

  “You could challenge the prince to a duel,” the frog suggested.

  “He’d win,” Cimorene said. “It’s been four years since I’ve been allowed to do any fencing.”

  “You could turn him into a toad.”

  “I never got past invisibility in my magic lessons,” Cimorene said. “Transformations are advanced study.”

  The frog looked at her disapprovingly. “Can’t you do anything?”

  “I can curtsy,” Cimorene said disgustedly. “I know seventeen different country dances, nine ways to agree with an ambassador from Cathay without actually promising him anything, and one hundred and forty-three embroidery stitches. And I can make cherries jubilee.”

  “Cherries jubilee?” asked the frog, and snapped at a passing fly.

  “The castle chef taught me, before Father made him stop,” Cimorene explained.

  The frog munched briefly, then swallowed and said, “I suppose there’s no help for it. You’ll have to run away.”

  “Run away?” Cimorene said. “I don’t like that idea. Too many things could go wrong.”

  “You don’t like the idea of marrying Prince Therandil, either,” the frog pointed out.

  “Maybe I can think of some other way out of getting married.”

  The frog snorted. “Such as?” Cimorene didn’t answer, and after a moment the frog said, “I thought so. Do you want my advice or not?”

  “Yes, please,” said Cimorene. After all, she didn’t have to follow it.

  “Go to the main road outside the city and follow it away from the mountains,” said the frog. “After a while, you will come to a small pavilion made of gold, surrounded by trees made of silver with emerald leaves. Go straight past it without stopping, and don’t answer if anyone calls out to you from the pavilion. Keep on until you reach a hovel. Walk straight up to the door and knock three times, then snap your fingers and go inside. You’ll find some people there who can help you out of your difficulties if you’re polite about asking and they’re in the right mood. And that’s all.”

  The frog turned abruptly and dove into the pool. “Thank you very much,” Cimorene called after it, thinking that the frog’s advice sounded very odd indeed. She rose and went back into the castle.

  She spent the rest of the day being fitted and fussed over by her ladies-in-waiting until she was ready to scream. By the end of the formal banquet, at which she had to sit next to Prince Therandil and listen to endless stories of his prowess in battle, Cimorene was more than ready to take the frog’s advice.

  Late that night, when most of the castle was asleep, Cimorene bundled up five clean handkerchiefs and her best crown. Then she dug out the notes she had taken during her magic lessons and carefully cast a spell of invisibility. It seemed to work, but she was still very watchful as she sneaked out of the castle. After all, it had been a long time since she had practiced.

  By morning, Cimorene was well outside the city and visible again, walking down the main road that led away from the mountains. It was hot and dusty, and she began to wish she had brought a bottle of water instead of the handkerchiefs.

  Just before noon, she spied a small grove of trees next to the road ahead of her. It looked like a cool, pleasant place to rest for a few minutes, and she hurried forward. When she reached the grove, however, she saw that the trees were made of the finest silver, and their shining green leaves were huge emeralds. In the center of the grove stood a charming pavilion made of gold and hung with gold curtains.

  Cimorene slowed down and looked longingly at the cool green shade beneath the trees. Just then a woman’s voice called out from the pavilion, “My dear, you look so tired and thirsty! Come and sit with me and share my luncheon.”

  The voice was so kind and coaxing that Cimorene took two steps toward the edge of the road before she remembered the frog’s advice. Oh, no, she thought to herself, I’m not going to be caught this easily! She turned without saying anything and hurried on down the road.

  A little farther on she came to a tiny, wretched-looking hovel made of cracked and weathered gray boards. The door hung slantwise on a broken hinge, and the whole building looked as though it were going to topple over at any moment. Cimorene stopped and stared doubtfully at it, but she had followed the frog’s advice this far, and she thought it would be silly to stop now. So she shook the dust from her skirts and put on her crown (so as to make a good impression). She marched up to the door, knocked three times, and snapped her fingers just as the frog had told her. Then she pushed the door open and went in.

  2

 
In Which Cimorene Discovers the Value of a Classical Education and Has Some Unwelcome Visitors

  INSIDE, THE HOVEL WAS DARK AND COOL AND DAMP. Cimorene found it a pleasant relief after the hot, dusty road, but she wondered why no sunlight seemed to be coming through the cracks in the boards. She was still standing just inside the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, when someone said crossly, “Is this that princess we’ve been waiting for?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” said a deep, rumbly voice.

  “I’m Princess Cimorene of Linderwall,” Cimorene answered politely. “I was told you could help me.”

  “Help her?” said the first voice, and Cimorene heard a snort. “I think we should just eat her and be done with it.”

  Cimorene began to feel frightened. She wondered whether the voices belonged to ogres or trolls and whether she could slip out of the hovel before they made up their minds about eating her. She felt behind her for the door and started in surprise when her fingers touched damp stone instead of dry wood. Then a third voice said, “Not so fast, Woraug. Let’s hear her story first.”

  So Cimorene took a deep breath and began to explain about the fencing lessons and the magic lessons, and the Latin and the juggling, and all the other things that weren’t considered proper behavior for a princess, and she told the voices that she had run away from Sathem-by-the-Mountains to keep from having to marry Prince Therandil.

  “And what do you expect us to do about it?” one of the voices asked curiously.

  “I don’t know,” Cimorene said. “Except, of course, that I would rather not be eaten. I can’t see who you are in this dark, you know.”

  “That can be fixed,” said the voice. A moment later, a small ball of light appeared in the air above Cimorene’s head. Cimorene stepped backward very quickly and ran into the wall.

  The voices belonged to dragons.

  Five of them lay on or sprawled over or curled around the various rocks and columns that filled the huge cave where Cimorene stood. Each of the males (there were three) had two short, stubby, sharp-looking horns on either side of their heads; the female dragon had three, one on each side and one in the center of her forehead. The last dragon was apparently still too young to have made up its mind which sex it wanted to be; it didn’t have any horns at all.

  Cimorene felt very frightened. The smallest of the dragons was easily three times as tall as she was, and they gave an overwhelming impression of shining green scales and sharp silver teeth. They were much scarier in person than in the pictures she remembered from her natural history books. She swallowed very hard, wondering whether she really would rather be eaten by a dragon than marry Therandil.

  “Well?” said the three-horned dragon just in front of her. “Just what are you asking us to do for you?”

  “I—” Cimorene stopped short as an idea occurred to her. Cautiously, she asked, “Dragons are . . . are fond of princesses, aren’t they?”

  “Very,” said the dragon, and smiled. The smile showed all her teeth, which Cimorene did not find reassuring.

  “That is, I’ve heard of dragons who have captive princesses to cook for them and—and so on,” said Cim­orene, who had very little idea what captive princesses did all day.

  The dragon in front of Cimorene nodded. One of the others, a yellowish green in color, shifted restlessly and said, “Oh, let’s just go ahead and eat her. It will save trouble.”

  Before any of the other dragons could answer, there was a loud, booming noise, and a sixth dragon slithered into the cave. His scales were more gray than green, and the dragons by the door made way for him respectfully.

  “Kazul!” said the newcomer in a loud voice. “Achoo! Sorry I’m late, but a terrible thing happened on the way here, achoo!”

  “What was it?” said the dragon to whom Cimorene had been talking.

  “Ran into a wizard. Achoo! Had to eat him; no help for it. Achoo, achoo. And now look at me!” Every time the gray-green dragon sneezed, he emitted a small ball of fire that scorched the wall of the cave.

  “Calm down, Roxim,” said Kazul. “You’re only making it worse.”

  “Achoo! Calm down? When I’m having an allergy attack? Achoo, oh, bother, achoo!” said the gray-green dragon. “Somebody give me a handkerchief. Achoo!”

  “Here,” said Cimorene, holding out one of the ones she had brought with her. “Use this.” She was beginning to feel much less frightened, for the gray-green dragon reminded her of her great-uncle, who was old and rather hard of hearing and of whom she was rather fond.

  “What’s that?” said Roxim. “Achoo! Oh, hurry up and give it here.”

  Kazul took the handkerchief from Cimorene, using two claws very delicately, and passed it to Roxim. The gray-green dragon mopped his streaming eyes and blew his nose. “That’s better, I think. Achoo! Oh, drat!”

  The ball of fire that accompanied the dragon’s sneeze had reduced the handkerchief to a charred scrap. Cimorene hastily dug out another one and handed it to Kazul, feeling very glad that she had brought several spares.

  Roxim went through two more handkerchiefs before his sneezing spasms finally stopped. “Much better,” he said. “Now then, who’s this that lent me the handkerchiefs? Somebody’s new princess, eh?”

  “We were just discussing that when you came in,” Kazul said, and turned back to Cimorene. “You were saying? About cooking and so on.”

  “Couldn’t I do that for one of you for a while?” Cim­orene said.

  The dragon smiled again, and Cimorene swallowed hard. “Possibly. Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because then I wouldn’t have to go home and marry Therandil,” Cimorene said. “Being a dragon’s princess is a perfectly respectable thing to do, so my parents couldn’t complain. And it would be much more interesting than embroidery and dancing lessons.”

  Several of the dragons made snorting or choking noises. Cimorene jumped, then decided that they were laughing.

  “This is ridiculous,” said a large, bright green dragon on Cimorene’s left.

  “Why?” asked Kazul.

  “A princess volunteering? Out of the question!”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” one of the other dragons grumbled. “You already have a princess. What about the rest of us?”

  “Yes, don’t be stuffy, Woraug,” said another. “Besides, what else can we do with her?”

  “Eat her,” suggested the yellowish green dragon in a bored tone.

  “No proper princess would come out looking for dragons,” Woraug objected.

  “Well, I’m not a proper princess, then,” Cimorene snapped. “I make cherries jubilee, and I volunteer for dragons, and I conjugate Latin verbs—or at least I would if anyone would let me. So there!”

  “Hear, hear,” said the gray-green dragon.

  “You see?” Woraug said. “Who would want an improper princess?”

  “I would,” said Kazul.

  “You can’t be serious, Kazul,” Woraug said irritably. “Why?”

  “I like cherries jubilee,” Kazul replied, still watching Cimorene. “And I like the look of her. Besides, the Latin scrolls in my library need cataloguing, and if I can’t find someone who knows a little of the language, I’ll have to do it myself.”

  “Give her a trial run first,” a purplish green dragon advised.

  Woraug snorted. “Latin and cherries jubilee! And for that you’d take on a black-haired, snippy little—”

  “I’ll thank you to be polite when you’re discussing my princess,” Kazul said, and smiled fiercely.

  “Nice little gal,” Roxim said, nodding approvingly and waving Cimorene’s next-to-last handkerchief. “Got sense. Be good for you, Kazul.”

  “If that’s settled, I’m going to go find a snack,” said the yellowish green dragon.

  Woraug looked around, but the other dragons seemed to agree with Roxim. “Oh, very well,” Woraug said grumpily. “It’s your choice, after all, Kazul.”

  “It certain
ly is. Now, Princess, if you’ll come this way, I’ll get you settled in.”

  Cimorene followed Kazul across the cave and down a tunnel. To her relief, the ball of light came with her. She had the uncomfortable feeling that if she had tried to walk behind Kazul in the dark, she would have stepped on her tail, which would not have been a good beginning.

  Kazul led Cimorene through a long maze of tunnels and finally stopped in another cave. “Here we are,” the dragon said. “You can use the small room over on the right. I believe my last princess left most of the furnishings behind when she ran off with the knight.”

  “Thank you,” Cimorene said. “When do I start my duties? And what are they, please?”

  “You start right away,” said Kazul. “I’ll want dinner at seven. In the meantime, you can begin sorting the treasure.” The dragon nodded toward a dark opening on the left. “I’m sure some of it needs repairing. There’s at least one suit of armor with the leg off, and some of the cheaper magic swords are probably getting rusty. The rest of it really ought to be rearranged sensibly. I can never find anything when I want it.”

  “What about the library you mentioned?” Cimorene asked.

  “We’ll see how well you do on the treasure room first,” Kazul said. “The rest of your job I’ll explain as we go along. You don’t object to learning a little magic, do you?”

  “Not at all,” said Cimorene.

  “Good. It’ll make things much easier. Go and wash up, and I’ll let you into the treasure room so you can get started.”

  Cimorene nodded and went to the room Kazul had told her to use. As she washed her face and hands, she felt happier than she had in a long time. She was not going to have to marry Therandil, and sorting a dragon’s treasure sounded far more interesting than dancing or embroidery. She was even going to learn some magic! And her parents wouldn’t worry about her, once they found out where she was. For the first time in her life, Cimorene was glad she was a princess. She dried her hands and turned to go back into the main cave, wondering how best to persuade Kazul to help her brush up on her Latin. She didn’t want the dragon to be disappointed in her skill.