The Word of Zed (Part 2)

The Astronomer
(c) 2008 Melissa Gay
​

The Word of Zed
​Part 2

​

Zed cracked an eye. He thought he'd heard a noise. He didn't often wake in the middle of the night. His fingers usually fell asleep first, he was so exhausted.

Swizzz…

He opened the other eye and stared out into the Scrollery. The scrolls were usually pretty dormant unless his master was reading one. Then the selected one would hop out of its diamond-shaped cubby hole and glide through the air like a parchment bird, winging toward the Magi's chambers.

Once he was finished with his research, it would wing back, roll itself tight and return to its niche. There was only trouble when it chose the wrong one. Scrolls were very territorial and only shared their niches with other scrolls they really liked.

Swizzz…

This was a different noise. Zed bent over, staring into the semidarkness, searching for the source of the sound. He spied one of the scrolls slowly unwinding on the floor; they weren't supposed to do that. Creeping down, he advanced cautiously, his night cap slipping off his head and onto one of his ears.

Swizzz…
 
It was one of the picture scrolls he'd painted, the one with the Magi, the Great Circle and the telescope—and him, of course. He'd even painted the dragonets, though they weren't very important.

Zed had always been uneasy about the drawings, though he'd thought about sending them to his mother as a present. He enjoyed making them, showing the different worlds the Magi saw through the telescope. But it was against the rules. Imps shouldn't draw. That's what they'd told him at Scrivener's Academy.

“Words have power,” they said, “and drawings have magic.” One of the old greybeards said the pictures could become an intersection of worlds, whatever that meant. What it meant to Zed was the imps shouldn't create pictures, but he'd made them anyway.

Swizzz…

Different sections of the scroll flared like a roman candle, sending sizzling sparks into the air before it moved to another. Zed knelt by the parchment, fascinated. He reached out to touch the scroll and it rustled like an aggravated snake. Then it rolled itself up, bounced across the floor a few steps and slotted itself alongside its brethren. There was much grumbling amongst the scrolls as they settled in place and then silence.

Zed pulled himself up to his feet, shaking his head. He was too tired for this. He climbed up the side of the Scrollery, niche by niche, apologizing when he disturbed one of the parchments. Finally he slotted himself into his little nest, readjusted his cap and closed his eyes. A moment of panic filled him and he dug for the postcard. A light kiss on Paris Impton's gorgeous face was all that was needed.

Maybe he'd get to meet her some day and prepare a scroll in her honor.

* * * * *

“The next Terry Pratchett novel will be out in a couple months. I'll call you when it comes in,” Melissa said as she bagged the customer's purchases. 

The customer, an older gent with a walking stick, shook his head and pointed toward his right ear. “When did you say?” he demanded.

“May or June,” Melissa replied at a volume closer to that of a jet engine on takeoff.

“Good!” he said, nodding his approval. Mr. Mansfield was a valued customer, albeit one that required conversations that would shatter glassware. “Only thing that keeps me going is Pratchett. Thanks, Missy.” He hobbled out the front door.

Her brother,  Jim, slit open a box, extracted the packing slip and studied it critically as bookstore managers were wont to do.

“So what did Aiden think of the book?” he asked.

Melissa grinned at the memory. “He loved it. He was a little groggy this morning from the lack of sleep, but the book was a hit.”

Jim looked up. “I figured he'd like it.”

“Where did you find those drawings?”

“There was a sale at the local library. They were at the bottom of a box of puzzles. Bought the whole works for three dollars.”

“I still can't believe you talked me into making them into a pop-up book. That was really hard, you know.”

“Anything I can do to drive my baby sister nuts. It's part of my job description. Besides, those drawings were magical: you had to do something really cool with them.”

“It would have been simpler just to buy Aiden that dinosaur game he wanted.”

“Too easy.” Jim waved the packing list in annoyance, “Oh, drat. They sent us too many Cornwells again,” he said, “and they didn't ship the Ffordes.”

“Par for the course.” She glanced up at the clock and then retrieved her purse from under the counter. “Gotta go. I'm late.”

“Say hi to Aiden for me. Maybe by tomorrow I'll have this order all straightened out.”

“You say that every time they screw up a shipment.”

He shrugged. “Hope springs eternal.”
​
“So does lunacy, bro. I'd opt for the latter in your case.”

* * * * *

Aiden's mom had always told him to wait for her near the flagpole at the front of the school, unless it was raining. When she wasn't there waiting for him as usual, he parked himself on the grass and pulled out his birthday book. He wasn't really supposed to take it to school, but he wanted to show it to his best friend, Molly. She'd really liked it and hoped her mom would get her one.

Besides, he didn't like the idea of leaving the book at home. Someone might steal it and sell it for a million dollars. Or the dishwasher could explode and drown it or …

Grownups didn't understand. Everything was possible when you're five. Well, his mother sorta understood though she did roll her eyes at him when he'd said the reason he'd not made his bed was that it gave the monsters more places to hide. His teacher, Miss Larsen, didn't understand. She kept saying his imagination was carrying him away. That was silly. Imaginations didn't have arms.
 
He flipped open the book to a random page, trying to ignore the kids on the swings making a screek-screek noise.
 
“Dragons,” he said. He loved them. They looked niftier than dinosaurs, who were dead anyway. You could ride on a dragon and their fiery breath could make you a toasted cheese sandwich. And they might eat you. That’s what made them really cool.
 
The dragon was all red from his wingtips to his sharp claws. Except his nose. It was blue like he'd stuck it in a freezer. Puzzled, Aiden leaned over and touched the dragon's nose with his finger.

“Beep!” he said, like his mom did when he was little. A moment later the school yard faded around him. The kids on the swings and the big yellow school buses disappeared.
 
When he looked up, Aiden found himself sitting on dry brown earth. There was no grass, flowers or flagpole. In the distance there were trees, but none like he'd ever seen. Not even like the ones with the whirligigs you could make noise with. The ones Miss Larsen didn't like. These trees were so tall he couldn't see the tops.
 
Aiden closed his book and put it in his backpack. He rose and slowly revolved in a circle. He had to be dreaming, but that was okay. Mom would show up soon and honk the horn, and he'd wake up. So why not explore?
 
He took a few tentative steps forward and then began to climb the rise in front of him. As he crested the top of the hill, he saw the dragon. It was a small one, only a bit taller than Aiden, and like the one in the book, red from the tips of his claws to the top of his head. Except for his blue nose.
 
Stray wisps of smoke curled out of his ears. That didn't seem right. Then the red dragon sneezed. A gust of yellow and orange flame flowed across the air and then faded.
 
“Oh, bother,” it said and sniffled, rubbing its nose with a scaled arm.
 
Aiden adjusted his backpack and walked closer. Dreams couldn't eat you. Or at least he didn't think so. “Hello!” he said, trying to sound brave and older at the same time.
 
The dragon stared at him. His nose twitched. Then he waved frantically and sneezed again. Aiden barely crouched down before the flames flew over the top of him.
 
“Pardon me,” the dragon said, snuffling and rubbing his nose again. “I'm all-er-gic.”
 
“All… er-gic?” Aiden asked.
 
“Aller-gees. You know.”
 
Aiden shook his head.
 
“Aller-gees. Little beasties that get in your nose. I'm all-er-gic to all of them.” he said. ”The dragon snuffled again. “I've tried mossweed, gingleberry, everything. Nothing works. I still sneeze. I burned up all the flowers. No one comes near me now.”
 
“I did.”
 
The dragon blinked and then wiped his weepy eyes. “What are you?”
 
“I'm a little boy.”
 
The dragon leaned closer. “You don't have any swords, do you?”
 
“No. My mom won't let me carry sharp things.”
 
“Ah, bother.”
 
The beast's nose twitched again. Aiden took a step back.
 
“Why are you here?” the creature asked.
 
“You're in my book.”
 
“Book?” The dragon turned melancholy. “I used to have a book. It burned up,” he said in a sad tone.
 
Aiden dug around in his backpack and pulled out his birthday present. “Here,” he said, opening it to the page where the dragon was. He moved closer so it could see itself.
 
The dragon scrutinized the image with misty red eyes. “That's not me. I'm taller.”
 
“No you're not.”
 
“Yes, I am,” the dragon said sternly. “And more handsome.”
 
Aiden opened his mouth to argue, then changed his mind. He remembered his mother telling him a story about dragons, about how they were full of themselves.
 
In the distance, he heard a car horn. “I should go. My mom's here,” he said, backing away.
 
“Does she have a sword?” the dragon asked hopefully.
 
“No, but she's got a nail file,” Aiden offered.
 
A shake of the head. “I need a sword, then I could fight them. Then the aller-gees would go away.”
 
“But I can't see them,” Aiden said, looking around.
 
The dragon thought about that. “That's why I need a small sword.”
 
Then it began to inhale, its eyes panicky right before the next monstrous sneeze hurled a gout of flame directly toward Aiden.
 
Aiden woke to another blast of the car horn and hopped up. His book was still in his hands and neither he nor his birthday present were singed. “Wow!” He tucked it away in his pack and ran toward the car.
 
“Hi there, Kiddo,” his mom called as he dove in the car.
 
“Hi, Mom.” They traded kisses. “I got to see a dragon today!”
 
“That's nice. What was he like?”
 
“Sad. He got aller-gees,” Aiden said. “He was sad. He burned up his book and all the flowers.”
 
“That is sad,” his mom replied, turning onto the highway. “Let's hope he gets better.”

If I find him a small sword…
​

Part 3

---

(c) 2008 Jana Oliver
All Rights Reserved
(and yes, that means you AI)