The Story of Owen (10 page)

They laughed at that, and Mum passed me the peas. Getting them to laugh was key. If they were relaxed, they were far less likely to panic if they thought I had narrowly evaded death.

“Owen was doing his own drills separately with one of the dummies,” I went on, “and Hannah was in the smithy.”

“I really don't know where Hannah finds the time for everything,” my mother said. I laughed and tried not to choke. I had no idea what my mother and Hannah talked about when they met for coffee, but I doubted it was knitting patterns and recipe swapping. She probably had almost as good an understanding of the family as I did.

“It's not that bad,” my father said. “If you're going to have a smithy, you might as well have it in the backyard of a dragon slayer! It's probably the safest place in town.”

That wasn't true either, of course. Ironically, the safest place in town was the office where my father worked as an accountant. It had burned down just before the Thorskards had moved to town, and was rebuilt with all the best and newest anti-dragon materials. Mum said that the only thing that really needed to be changed was the sign, which used to have a picture of a stack of coins on it, to represent people's investments, and now just had the name of dad's firm. Most dragons don't know treasure from dirt, but there's one breed that does have an affinity for gold, and of course that's the species of dragon
that burned Dad's office to the ground.

“You're right, Dad,” I said. This was going to be the hard part. I mustered up my most confident voice. “Which is why when I saw the dragon coming, I wasn't afraid.”

“You saw a WHAT?” my mother spluttered. Dad just gaped at me.

“A dragon,” I said, hoping my voice was level. “It came for the smithy. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before, so different than it looks on TV or in the movies.”

I hadn't actually seen the dragon arrive, of course, but they didn't know that and I figured that it was probably sounded safer if I'd actually seen it instead of being warned at the last moment.

“There was so much smoke!” I said. “I don't know how a dragon ever manages to sneak up on anyone. This one was billowing so much we could see it long before it arrived. Owen had more than enough time to alert Hannah and fetch his sword and Lottie's.”

Whatever I was doing was working. I had my parents' complete attention, and they didn't look too worried. It probably helped that I was obviously okay, but I figured that was no reason to squander a perfectly good opportunity to practice.

“Hannah and I stood clear while Owen and Lottie prepared to battle the dragon,” I said. In my mind's eye, I could see the Thorskards' yard. I remembered what Owen had said about being the bait, and luring the dragon to a place where Lottie could slay it. All I had to do was fill in the blanks. “By the time it finally arrived, the fire in the smithy was out and the smoke was dissipating. The dragon had to look elsewhere for entertainment.”

Though dragons are attracted to carbon emissions and do prefer to eat them, they get their real nutrition from protein. They will choose a cow over a human most of the time—and believe me when I tell you that I have no idea how that was scientifically determined—but they still go after humans more often than I like to think about. With the fire out, Owen probably looked like a tasty snack, which was what Lottie had counted on.

“But Owen was ready for it,” I said, a clear picture in my head. “He was by the smithy, where the smoke had been, because that's where the dragon would go first. And then he ran. He runs all the time, you know, and he can run forever if he has to, and fast when he needs to. He ran faster than the dragon, which made it angry. It chased after him, half flying and half lumbering on the ground. Owen ran around the corner of the house, forcing the dragon to land completely. It couldn't make the turn moving that slowly in the air, so it had to be on the ground.”

I had them. I could tell.

“And when it did finally round the corner,” I said, my tone hushed. My parents leaned forward. I'm not even sure they remembered that their dinners were on their plates in front of them. “When it came around, the dragon found Lottie Thorskard waiting for it.”

They smiled. They had read the articles and seen the stories on the news. They knew what came next.

“Lottie held her sword over her head and braced her feet on the ground,” I said. “Even though she's injured now, she wasn't scared. She had the dragon right where she wanted it. All she had to do was land the blow, and she did, clean between the beast's ribs.

“And that was the end of that dragon.” I finished with a flourish and took a bite of my rapidly cooling potatoes.

“That sounds much more interesting than my afternoon,” said my father. “For which I'm grateful. One complete office burning in my life is more than enough for me, thank you very much!”

“Wait,” said my mother. I held my breath. “What happened to your backpack? I'm sure you had it with you when you left this morning.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “The dragon got it. It's burned to a crisp. But Lottie wrote a note for Mr. Cooper explaining what happened to my essay outline, and she said Owen will have a new backpack for me on Monday.”

“Why wasn't that in your story?” Mum asked. “Were you near your backpack when the dragon lit it on fire?”

“No,” I said. “I had left it near the practice circle.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my mouth.

“But the practice circle isn't between the smithy and the house,” Mum went on. “You said that—”

“Oh, you know how it is with dragon battles,” my dad said. “She probably got excited and mixed up a few of the details. The important thing is that everyone is safe.”

Mum looked at me for a long moment, and I tried my best to look innocent.

“I'm glad they're going to replace your backpack,” she said finally.

“Lottie said they'll replace anything I lose.” I said it before I thought the better of it and waited for my mother to say something about how that was all very well, but they couldn't replace any of my limbs. She didn't, though. I decided to take
advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. “I got to meet Aodhan, finally. Face to face, I mean.”

“He always looks so lovely on television or when I read about him in the paper,” Mum said.

“He's a giant,” I said. “But he's a nice one.”

“I think it's only proper that we get our dragons slayed by giants,” my dad said. “Hopefully Owen will grow up to be one too.”

“He's working on it,” I said a bit carelessly and plowed on. “What did you guys do today?”

They hadn't really done anything exciting, but they proceeded to tell me about it in exhaustive detail anyway. I was relieved that my dragon encounter had gone over so smoothly, so I didn't really care, but I was still glad when I got to excuse myself to go upstairs.

“It's the essay,” I said. “Mr. Cooper might let me out of the deadline, but I'll still have to hand it in. I might as well get started on it while I have a free evening.”

“You live on the edge, Siobhan,” my mother said as I scraped my plate in preparation for the dishwasher. If only she knew.

In my room, I went back over the story I'd told my parents. If it weren't for the backpack, I might have gotten away without any questions at all. I needed to remember that for next time, to focus on the details and make sure I didn't leave any holes. It was important to maintain my credibility if I was going to boost Owen's image.

I sat down at my desk and prepared to rewrite the essay I'd lost. Maybe this time I would type it. I booted up my computer and began to type, but I wasn't really thinking about comparing
the short stories we'd read in class that week. I was thinking about swords and dragons and flaming backpacks, a brass ensemble supported by half a dozen kettle drums, and I was thinking about how else I could have explained what happened to my parents, how I might have cast it in meter and rhyme.

Even though I had lied, which was not something I usually did when talking to my parents, I was pleased with my first story.

Going back to school the Monday after my first up-close-and-personal encounter with a dragon was something of an anticlimax. The attack had been on the news, though the relatively secluded nature of the Thorskards' house and the speed with which Lottie had dispatched the dragon meant there was limited coverage. Also, an
urbs
had made a run at the ACC during a Leafs game, resulting in injuries to the general manager, who'd been in the parking lot at the time. Beyond the local media, no one really cared what had happened in Trondheim. I was pleased with the lack of notoriety for two reasons. First, I wouldn't be on-screen anywhere and second, Mum and Dad would never know that I had totally fabricated everything I told them on Saturday night. There was plenty of footage of Aodhan, though, and each replay of the report ended with the newscaster reminding us that the dragon slayer's own house had been attacked as well, though no damage was done.

I handed my note to Mr. Cooper with a reluctant smile on my face. The outline was about half completed in my brand new backpack if he chose to make an issue of it. It wouldn't exactly be my best work if I had to hand it in right on the spot, but it would be better than a zero. He read the note and looked at where Owen was sitting. Then he sighed.

“Can you have it done by Wednesday?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Not a problem.”

“Good,” he said. “Try not to get your homework lit on fire again unless you can't possibly avoid it.”

“It's on my list,” I said, because I was usually wearing my backpack, and death in a fire was not my idea of a good way to go.

I went to the back of the room and sat next to Owen while my classmates filed in. The stack of essays on Mr. Cooper's desk got higher.

“How many times do you think the ‘a dragon ate my homework' excuse is good for?” Owen whispered to me.

I rolled my eyes. “Let's not try to find out.”

I did my very best not to think of dragons again until lunch. This was easier said than done, because while Mr. Cooper insisted on telling us the life story of Joseph Conrad, which did not involve dragons, all Mr. Huffman talked about when we got to history was road building in Roman Britain, which brought up dragons as a matter of course.

A Roman emperor called Hadrian had wanted to build roads as far north as Scotland, but the presence of a hatching belt that stretched from what is now Nottingham to Newcastle had impeded his progress. I'm sure the Scots were thrilled, though. They got to carry on without interference from outside
countries until Queen Victoria, who mustn't have been afraid of anything at all given what she'd done with Ottawa, decided that the hatching ground was inconvenient to her vacation plans. An entire Commonwealth's worth of dragon slayers was employed to push the dragons back until they were confined mostly to West Yorkshire. It wasn't the safest train ride, from London to Edinburgh, but with careful rail maintenance and a slight detour to Hull, it was workable.

Mr. Huffman turned the discussion to our own hatching belt, and what we did to traverse it to get to Northern Ontario. He argued that if it weren't for all the nickel and other metals north of the hatching belt, we wouldn't ever risk going there. Instead, we'd go down into the US through Buffalo, and go all the way around to Saskatchewan by way of Montana. Canada would be cut in half. The presence of metal north of Sudbury, he suggested, was the only reason that Manitoba even existed.

“Though, ironically,” he concluded, the meter stick waving around his head so quickly that the front row flinched in unison, “we'd all be a lot safer if we lived in Manitoba, given the fact that dragons have very sensitive hearing, and therefore a great dislike of the constant whine produced by mosquitoes.”

Manitoba: You'll be itchy, but you probably won't catch on fire. I'm surprised it wasn't on their license plates.

“In any case,” Mr. Huffman went on. “No one has tried to move a hatching ground since Queen Victoria ordered it done in the mid-1800s. It's entirely possible that without the strength of the British Empire, there is simply no nation that can execute such an enormous task.”

“But, Mr. Huffman,” said Sadie. It was usually pretty pointless to wait for Mr. Huffman to call on you. If you sat there with
your hand up, you'd lose all feeling in your arm before he saw you. “Dragon slayers aren't supposed to be loyal to countries first. They're supposed to be loyal to their profession.”

“In theory, yes,” Mr. Huffman said. “But how many dragon slayers have you ever heard of who went to a country other than their own home after their tour in the Oil Watch was concluded?”

There was a long silence. I racked my brain, trying to think if I'd ever heard of anyone doing that. From habit, I looked at Owen, figuring he'd know if anyone did. There was a very strange expression on his face, and I felt the overwhelming urge to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“Why should we bother with moving the hatching grounds?” I said. “Why don't we just weaponize mosquitoes?”

“That, Miss McQuaid, is an excellent idea,” Mr. Huffman said. “I can't believe no one has ever thought of that before.”

The class laughed, and the discussion meandered back in the general direction of the original topic. I looked at Owen again. His eyes were still strained, but his face had relaxed a little bit. When he made eye contact with me, he gave me the ghost of a smile and turned toward the front of the room.

By the time the bell rang, Owen was back to his old self, and he ended up heading for the cafeteria with Sadie while I went to the music room for lunch. We'd reached a wordless impasse on that topic. Owen would eat with the popular kids, and then come and watch me poke at the piano for whatever was left of lunch period. I can't imagine that it was very interesting, and I know it confused the hell out of Sadie, with whom I now seemed to speak about subjects other than schoolwork on a daily basis. I guessed she was operating under the “enemies
closer” theory of high school politics, which I found exhausting. Fortunately, she turned out to have decent taste in music, so at least we had something to talk about instead of awkwardly not talking about Owen. Sadie asked endless questions about my sword training with Lottie and even took to calling me in the evenings, which my parents viewed as an immense success. More important than my newfound quasi-popularity, both Owen and Sadie understood that if I was in the middle of a song, I was not to be bothered. They never interrupted me when I was on a roll.