A Proper Introduction…to Dragons part 1

Apparently when dragons move in, they aren’t apt to retreat easily, even in Jane Austen’s world. Such is the case with these. For those of you who have asked if there will be more dragon books, the answer is yes, one rather sooner than I expected. A Proper Introduction to Dragons, a prequel to the other books, is in final edits right now and will be arriving soon–though I can’t yet promise a date yet; dragons can be fickle that way.

So, I thought I’d offer you a preview while the finishing touches are wrapped up. So with no further ado, let me introduce you to some dragons…

Part 1

April 1801

“Jane! Lizzy!” Mama shrieked as she trundled in the front door, her skirts swishing and shoes scuffing as she walked. At least it was a happy sounding shriek, not the one she used when she was displeased with something.

Elizabeth looked up from her sewing just as Mama appeared in the parlor door. Mama had been to Meryton this morning, but it was not the usual day for her to go. Unexpected shopping trips did not make Papa happy. Hopefully this one would not leave him too discomposed.

Jane set aside her sewing and rose as Mama entered the warm, sunny room. By late afternoon the parlor tended to become uncomfortably hot, but near midday, it managed to be quite comfortable. Some might consider the room a bit shabby with sun faded furniture and carpeting that had seen several generations of Bennets’ footfalls. But it was also welcoming and cozy with large white peonies on the paper hangings and happy yellow curtains that fluttered in the light breeze. Elizabeth stabbed her needle into the seam she was stitching and did likewise.

“Was your trip this morning pleasant?” Jane asked, her voice so sweet and expression matching that it would be easy to think her disingenuous.

But no, if there was a single word to describe her older sister it was sweet. Even at just thirteen years old, she was known throughout the neighborhood at the dearest girl in the county. Unfortunately it was a mixed blessing at best. On the one hand, it was a very pleasant thing to have a sister who was so dear, but on the other, it made comparisons awfully difficult. And Mama was very apt to draw them between her eldest daughters.

Mama dropped down on her favorite chair and plopped a package wrapped in brown paper on the nearby table. “Come, come, girls. I have something special, I want you to see.”

It was some consolation that the package was the wrong size and shape to be a new bundle of ribbons and lace. While those things were often pretty, they were hardly worth such a fuss.

Mama untied the package as Jane and Elizabeth drew straight backed wooden chairs near the table.

“I ordered these for you last month, and they have finally arrived.” The brown paper fell away to reveal two books, one bound in green and the other red, each about an inch think, with nothing on the cover or binding to reveal what was within. She handed the green one to Jane and the red to Elizabeth. “You are both been working very hard on your writing. Jane you hand is quite lovely now. Lizzy … ah, yours has definitely improved.”

“Thank you, Mama,” she muttered under her breath. It was true that Jane’s penmanship was beautiful and that hers would never match that standard. But that did not make it pleasing to hear about.

“You both are big enough now that you ought to begin keeping your own commonplace books.”

Jane smiled, but was it because she should or because she was genuinely pleased? One could never quite be sure.

“I have kept one since I was your age. By now of course, I have a number of volumes. They have been ever so helpful to me. One can never seem to remember just the right turn of a phrase for a letter or recall what book she read it in when she needs it. But if it is in your commonplace book, then you will always know where to look.  The same is true for bits of wisdom you read or hear, a special receipt you might be given. I even wrote the instructions to make the breeches ball that finally cleaned those odd stains off your father’s buckskin breeches. Sister Phillips sketches in her at times to remember room designs or garden plans. Any number of important things one wants to remember belong in your commonplace book.”

Jane ran her fingers across the edge of the pages. “It is very lovely, Mama, thank you.”

“Yes, thank you.” Elizabeth nodded vigorously. “I am so excited to begin! I can think of a number of things I have recently read that I would very much like to write down.”

“Excellent, I am very glad to hear that. It will be lovely for you to have a reason to practice your writing without being reminded to do so.” Mama smiled as though that were a genuine compliment. Perhaps she thought it was.

“That is all well and good.” Papa shuffled into the room, slightly bent over, his feet dragging just the barest bit over the carpet.

Earlier this morning he had been complaining about his joints aching and demanded a cup of willow bark tea from Mrs. Hill. He had been doing that more often recently. Had Mama noticed?

“Mr. Bennet! See what I have bought for the girls.”

Papa took the book from Elizabeth’s hands and rifled through the blank pages. “Very good, very good. See that you write sensible things in there, Lizzy.” He raised his bushy eyebrows at her, a peculiar look in his eye.

Well, that was not among the things Mama listed were appropriate for a commonplace book, but certainly, if she was to remember important things, then the things she studied with Papa should definitely be written there.

“Lizzy will need to come back to this later. For now, I need her to accompany me.” He handed Elizabeth a small notebook. “I need her to write for me as I examine some of the land.”

Mama harrumphed. “I suppose, but it is all so very peculiar. Why should she be writing for you? You ought to have a secretary.”

“And yet you insist on the need for lace and new gowns. Which would you prefer to have?”

“Such a curmudgeon. Go with your father, now, but do not forget to make your hand neat and proper as you write for him.” Mama waved them out of the room.

Mrs. Hill handed Elizabeth her bonnet as they headed for the front door. Papa said nothing, his face lined and tense. That he was quiet was hardly unusual. Mama did most of the talking for them both. But it was difficult being reminded that writing hurt his hands so much he could hardly do it anymore, something Mama did not appear to grasp.

He remained silent as they followed the path through the gardens and into the woods.

“Where are we going? I thought you said we were going to check on the fields.”

“I implied it, but never actually said so. I wish to take you to a place you have never been before. One that is at the heart and soul of this estate.” He lifted his brows, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Do you mean—”

“Yes, I want to show you where Longbourn lives.”

“Will I get to meet him?” She clutched her hands into fists to contain the glee that threatened to burst forth.

“No, not yet. You are not ready. But this is the first step in preparing you to meet him.”

She swallowed back a huff. It would not do to be too open about her disappointment, “I do not understand, for what must I prepare? I know what he is. I have seen drawings of his kind. I have read all the descriptions. What more must I do?”

“My dear, it sounds so much simpler in the lore than it is in real life. I have met grown men who fainted dead away the first time they were introduced to a major dragon.” He chuckled.

Was he laughing at her? Elizabeth harrumphed. “But I will not do such a thing. You said it was quite remarkable that I could meet Rustle when I was only five years old and think nothing of it.”

“Rustle is a cockatrice, and not a particularly impressive one at that. What is more, he has been a faithful friend of the Gardiner family for almost fifty years now and is most sympathetic to the concerns of the family.”

“Since Rustle is a friendly dragon, my meeting him—”

“Was important and remarkable to be certain, but it is not the same as a major dragon. You must trust me that I know what I am doing, my dear. I am taking you to his lair today so that you might see how large a creature he actually is, and you might become accustomed to the peculiar odor dragons have.”

“The dragon musk the lore talks about?”

“Some find it quite offensive.” Papa rolled his eye.

“I am sure I will not.”

“Of course, my dear, of course.” Papa may as well have patted her on the head, considering the tone he was using. “Now remember, if Mama or your sisters ask, we have been to the fields that flood in the spring. You cannot talk about this jaunt with any of them.”

“Not even Mary?”

“Mary might be able to hear dragons as you do, but she is far too young to be talking about them. I will initiate her when she is older. For now, this is something we must keep to ourselves.”

It was rather fun to have a special secret to share with Papa, but sometimes it was so hard not to talk about something so wonderful with someone else. Especially Jane.

The woods became darker, filled with old hardwoods, their branches arching overhead like a sort of woven roof over the pathway.

“These are the sort of woods that dragons like. Many old, shady trees, with limestone underground—it is called a karst terrain—that makes for many caves and crannies for them to use. And see there,” he pointed toward a clearing, “look closely and you will see the entrance to Longbourn’s lair.”

Elizabeth stopped and peered at the hillside at the far edge of the clearing. Hanging branches obscured the opening, but when she stared at it, she could make it out. It was a little taller than the cellar ceilings, which she was told were tall compared to other houses, and about half again as wide. If he did not duck to go inside, he could not be more than fifteen feet tall. For a dragon, that was no so very big.

“Impressive, no?” Papa nudged her with his elbow.

She chewed her knuckle. “I suppose. It is not as large as I thought. Must he fold his wings to enter, or is it large enough to accommodate his wingspan?”

“Wyverns generally do not walk about with their wings spread. Only when agitated or ready to fly do they tend to do so.”

An odd earthy, musky scent wafted toward them on the breeze. Dragon musk. Rich and loamy with just a hint of ammonia and rot. She wrinkled her nose just a mite. It was not so much unpleasant as it was unfamiliar.

“Come along, that is enough for now. You have seen where he lives and can recognize his scent. That is good. What do you think?”

Entirely anticlimactic was not the answer he was probably looking for.

“Since your mother has given you that book to write it, I think it would be good for you to write what you have seen today and your impressions of it.” Papa put his hands on his back and arched back just a bit. It seemed like walking even short distances was becoming more difficult.

“But will Mama not want to look at what I have written in my book? You have said many times that she cannot hear dragons and I must never speak to her about them.”

“Ah well, I am sure it will come as no surprise to you that your mother is most unlikely to give much thought to your book again now that she has given it to you. It is not in her nature to follow up on things. Once they are done, they are generally forgotten. In the odd case that she things to ask, I trust you will be able to readily distract her from it.” He shrugged. “Hurry up now, since we are all the way out here, there is something else I should show you.”

They walked a little farther to the place where the woods bordered the fields.

“There is a harem of fairy dragons that live in these woods.” He pointed up into the trees. They prefer the sunnier parts of the woods, nesting high in these trees. It is a little late in the day now to hear them, but if you come out early and listen carefully, you may be able to hear them, possibly even see some of them. Be careful, though, as their songs are very soothing and can even make you sleep.”

Elizabeth giggled. It seemed a fitting means of defense for the tiniest of dragon species to protect themselves.

“And there,” Papa pointed to an odd creature jumping after something in the fields, “that is a tatzelwurm.”

She clapped her hands over her mouth to contain a squeal.

“He is an old tatzelwurm called Rumblkins. He was hatched in the barn and so has imprinted upon men, but does not choose to keep their company.”

She crouched, hands on her knees, to get a better look. “From the front he looks like a very large tabby cat.”

“Indeed he does. His front feet look like cat paws as well, but they have thumb-toes that set them apart from actual cats. That is how you can always tell a tatzelwurm.”

“Does not their back half that looks like a snake do that?”

“It does, if you have not been persuaded away from seeing it. They are some of the most persuasive of dragons. That is why they are often seen living among people, even those who cannot hear dragons, passing themselves off as cats. Most of the best ratters and mousers are actually tatzelwurms.”

She giggled.

“Look at the way they move—see how he coils his tail and springs forward, a spring-hop as it were. Some say it addles their brains and makes them all very stupid.”

“What an unkind thing to say!”

“You may find it very accurate when you finally get to know one.”

“When might that be, Papa?”

He sighed. “I cannot tell you. Tatzelwurms are not known for being particularly friendly. They seem to be fond of keeping to themselves. But if he should strike up a conversation with you whilst you are out walking, I give you permission to speak with him.”

She clasped her hands together very tight and pressed her lips to keep her smile in check. Surely he had to know that she would be spending a very great deal of time in the woods in the very near future.

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