Brambleheart Page 4

  Twig gulped. A sundial? He had always told the time by the arch of the sun and didn’t think much of how sundials were made. That would take some research. And a week wasn’t very long.

  After class Twig scampered through the school grounds and went directly to the Burrow of Records. In front of the entrance to the burrow sat an ancient sundial that he could use as a prototype. Already several other students had gathered, taking notes and sketching the sundial.

  “Hey, Twig!” Sumac said as he approached. “Good luck with this one. . . . Remember, it’s supposed to tell time, not explode in Professor Burdock’s face!”

  His pink mouse tail wiggled as he laughed, and the others chittered.

  “Maybe Twig’s sundial will only work at night!” another jeered.

  The tips of Twig’s ears turned red, but he tried not to notice the taunts. Instead he concentrated on the sundial. Moss and lichens decorated the carvings on the old marble pedestal. The broad face was a large disc made of copper, now green with time, as was the triangular gnomon. The gnomon cast a shadow on an arch of numbers, giving an indication of the time of day.

  Twig studied the different parts of the sundial, already getting ideas of what to use from the piles of parts and pieces in his room. He raced home and then started to gather together his materials.

  Spreading the things on the floor of his room, he set to work, but his mind kept wandering back to the dragon. The thought of it sitting alone in the base of the clock tower kept gnawing at his conscience. Who says I have to work on the sundial here? he thought. Making sure no one was looking, he hauled everything out to the tower.

  The next day he continued with his project near the clock tower, keeping a watchful eye on the dragon. He built a small fire and with difficulty tried his best at melting some solder to attach his parts together.

  There were many stops and starts to getting the solder melted and trying to weld things together. It took several days and many attempts before Twig finally got the pieces attached. He felt fairly confident about the sundial design, and although it was a little fragile and lopsided, he was proud to have constructed it.

  “Won’t be the best in the class, but won’t be the worst, either,” he said, smiling at the dragon, putting everything in the tower and locking the door. He led the dragon back into the dark tower room. “Don’t make any noise,” he whispered to the dragon. “Be a good boy!”

  Twig headed home.

  chapter 10

  Char

  The next morning, Twig stared in disbelief.

  The tower room was a mess.

  The dragon had been alone and enclosed in the small space for too long. There were claw marks nearly everywhere, but especially at the door, where he had tried to dig or find his way out. Twig’s work materials were scattered all over and had been trampled. But worst of all, his project was destroyed.

  Twig picked up the pieces. He would have to start all over on the sundial. A sudden anger filled him head to toe, and he glared at the dragon. The dragon sensed Twig’s mood and retreated to a corner, hunched and confused.

  “You ruined it!” Twig squeaked, his anger swelling. “All that work for nothing! Why did you have to follow me home? Why did I find your egg?” With his paws clenched, he surveyed the broken mess, then curled on the floor, his head spinning.

  The dragon, still cowering in the corner, made a coughing, raspy, deep-throated noise, a cough that caused its body to spasm. Twig sat up.

  “You okay, boy?” he asked, suddenly feeling guilty about his angry outburst. He padded over to the corner. The dragon looked tired; it tucked its head beneath one wing. Twig reached out and stroked the dragon’s smooth scales, scratching gently under its chin, speaking softly. “It’s all right,” he said. What had been rage was replaced with compassion. Ruining the sundial had been unintentional.

  The dragon quivered at first, then relaxed. After a while, it stretched out its neck and closed its eyes.

  Twig studied the mess that spread across the room. “Tomorrow I’ll try to fix this,” he said quietly.

  The next morning, Twig set about trying to reassemble the sundial. His anger had gone, but he had lots of catching up to do if he was ever to make Master Metal Crafter. Lily stopped by, anxious to see the baby dragon, and saw Twig’s project still strewn about the room.

  Her tail wiggled anxiously. “What happened here?” she asked. “Although I can guess. Something tells me someone was a bad baby dragon. Oh, Twig . . . is it ruined?”

  “Yes, ruined,” Twig replied. “And you’re correct . . . bad baby dragon is right.”

  “Professor Burdock is going to really going to be hard on you for this,” Lily said soberly. She picked up one of the pieces. “Anything you can fix?”

  Twig looked skeptical, ears drooped.

  Lily went over to the dragon; it perked up and fluttered its wings when she approached. She couldn’t help feeling bad for it, and stroked it gently.

  “Are you all finished being a bad baby dragon?” she cooed.

  “Good point,” Twig said. “I know I won’t be leaving any more of my projects here for him to mess up.”

  Lily kept scratching his throat. The dragon stretched out his neck, and his eyes rolled back in rapture.

  “Hey, he really likes this,” Lily whispered. “He’s closed his eyes! He’s so cute!”

  Suddenly the dragon spasmed a bit and put his head low to the floor.

  “He looks . . . weird,” Twig said.

  A moment later the dragon belched, and a short burst of flame shot from his nostrils.

  “Oh!” shrieked Lily, bouncing back.

  “Wow! Did you see that?” Twig cried out.

  “All I did was stroke his chin a little. Then . . . kaboom!” Lily gasped.

  They both stared at the dragon, who sat looking a little dazed. Thin curls of green-gray smoke curled from each nostril. The dragon snorted a bit, then blinked.

  Twig nudged Lily. “Do it again,” he urged.

  “Do what again?”

  “Rub his chin. Make him breathe flames again.”

  Lily looked at Twig and wiggled her whiskers. “You sure?”

  “Yes! Go ahead! Or I’ll do it. . . .”

  Lily pushed at Twig. “I’ll do it!” Again, she gently rubbed and scratched the dragon’s throat and neck. “There, there,” she murmured. The dragon stretched his neck out, this time with his eyes open, as though he wanted to see the fire again himself. After a minute, Lily got tired. “I don’t think he’s going to do it,” she said. “Maybe he needs fuel?”

  “Let me try,” Twig suggested.

  Lily scooted aside, and Twig began the scratch routine. This time the dragon immediately bent low; then, with a loud combination of snort, sneeze, and burp, shot another stream of fire out of his nose, much larger than the first. The flame shot across the room and scorched one wall. In a blinding flash, it was over.

  Twig and Lily jumped back, falling backward and landing together in a heap. They looked at each other, amazed, and then started laughing.

  “Wow!” Twig chittered.

  “The flame!” Lily squealed. “He’s a walking blowtorch!”

  Twig pointed at a burned place in the wall, which smoked and popped. “Look at the wall . . . it’s charred! He nearly burned the place down!” They looked at each other and started laughing again.

  Lily sat upright. “That’s it,” she declared. “His name is Char! It can be short for Charcoal.”

  The dragon looked very pleased with himself. Again, his nostrils emitted curls of smoke, large curls this time, green-gray puffs that rose to the ceiling. His wings fluttered.

  “Well, Char,” Twig said. “You’re quite a dragon.”

  Char looked at them, wings vibrating.

  chapter 11

  Practice

  Twig started playing with fire. Char’s fire, that is. He cajoled and scratched the little dragon, experimenting with the intensity and direction of the flame. At first, to get
used to the novelty of using Char as a torch, he tried simple things like igniting a dried oak leaf.

  Then the experimenting became more involved. By directing Char slightly, Twig discovered he could burn the letters of his name into a piece of wood. It took practice, but after many botched attempts, Twig figured out the exact right amount of stroking and scratching and encouraging, getting the correct heat, intensity, and amount of flame.

  The little dragon was perfectly happy to oblige. He breathed out, long and slow. The flame was blue-white hot, capable of melting the hardest of metals and minerals. Miraculously, it didn’t seem to affect Char’s nose or mouth.

  Lily stopped by to check on their progress. “Hey, Twig,” she said, nuzzling Char, “have you thought about how Char could act as . . . uh . . . well, a bellows? And fire pit? All in one? He could maybe help you with your Metal Craft assignments. The homework ones, anyway.”

  “I beat you to it,” Twig said. “Look what I already did.” He held up two pieces of copper wire that had been melted together, crossed in the middle. “In half a second Char welded them. Perfectly. All I had to do was point him in the right direction and scratch him a little. And look here.” Twig reached for an iron nail. It had been curled into an S shape. “Our next project. He heated the nail in the right place, right temperature, and I pounded the shape out. Perfect.”

  “I’m impressed,” said Lily.

  “There’s more,” said Twig.

  He brought out another nail, this time pulled and twisted evenly, but pieces of copper wire had been heated and twisted with it. The dull iron and shiny copper swirled together into a metal ribbon. The result was a well-executed piece of Metal Craft.

  “That’s good! Even good enough for Professor Burdock,” Lily remarked.

  “I’m thinking I can do well enough, with my buddy here, to get my take-home assignments done. Maybe even well enough to earn Master.”

  “Maybe you’re thinking a little ahead of yourself.”

  “Could be, but I’ve got some ideas. I’m ready for anything that Burdock can throw at me.”

  TWIG WAS ALREADY GETTING IDEAS OF WHAT TO USE FOR his new sundial, now that he had Char as an assistant. A whole new range of materials and parts had opened up. His room was full of things that would work; assembling them, however, had been another thing altogether. Now his projects could be bigger, fancier, and more elaborate. This would be delicate work; he hoped he could harness and direct Char’s fire to weld the perfect sundial.

  And Twig was noticing something else: the intricate pattern of Char’s scales and the delicate veins in his wings were an inspiration. Char was a beautiful creature.

  When he got home, he rummaged through the piles of pieces and parts, finally finding exactly what he knew would work. He gathered some of the pieces and then raced from the house, down the path toward the clock tower, anxious to make a fresh start on the assignment.

  He was only about a five-minute scamper to the clock when, as he bounded over the roots of a giant oak, he heard a familiar voice.

  “Going somewhere in a hurry, aren’t we?”

  Beau was sitting on one of the roots, paws clasped, as though he had been waiting for Twig. The look on his face was kind, but no-nonsense. He peered over his spectacles, his burly eyebrows raised.

  “Well?” he asked. “Important engagement?”

  Twig was sunk. Beau had that I’m not in any hurry, this may take a while manner. Char would be starving.

  “I . . . uh, yes, Uncle Beau. I’m in sort of a kind of a hurry, I guess,” he stammered.

  “Mmm. Where to?” Beau asked.

  “Uh, nowhere special.” Twig gulped.

  “With . . . what is that you have there? A clock piece? Anything you want to talk about, Twig?” the raccoon asked gently. “I mean, sometimes secrets can become burdens.”

  Twig looked a little uneasy. “I don’t have any secrets. I mean burdens.”

  “No? Good. Because it isn’t good if you find yourself going out of your way”—Beau glanced down the path—“to keep things from your friends or family.”

  “Um, yes, sir.”

  “You know, I remember once a long time ago when I was carrying around a burden, a terrible burden.”

  Twig’s heart sank. He didn’t have the time and wasn’t in the mood for one of Beau’s ancient stories.

  “Really?” he said, edging a bit down the trail.

  “Yes. I was about your age. I found something. Something very unusual. Very . . . special.”

  Twig stopped, suddenly interested and wary.

  “I didn’t tell a soul,” the raccoon continued. “Not even my mother or father . . . afraid they’d think I was crazy. And you know what?”

  “What, Uncle Beau?”

  “I never did tell anyone. Ever. I still have the secret.”

  “Really? You never told?”

  “Nope. I’ve kept it to myself for nearly an eagle’s age. And you know what else?”

  “What?”

  “Wish I had. Wish I’d told somebody. At least then I would have had the burden off me. A secret isn’t worth much if you can’t share it. ’Course, that doesn’t make it very much of a secret, if you tell. But it’s sort of like a cherry turnover. If you share it with somebody, it’s a lot more delicious.”

  Twig stood there, thinking. He was glad to be able to share his secret with Lily.

  “Nothing is tougher than being untrue to yourself, Twig, or to others. Sometimes keeping a secret can get you into trouble.”

  Twig looked down. He pondered telling Beau about Char. He decided he wasn’t ready. “Thanks, Uncle Beau,” he said finally. “I’ll keep what you said in mind. I need to go. Bye!”

  And he dashed away.

  He and Char had a project to do.

  chapter 12

  Becoming Masterful

  Twig needed a more secluded spot to work, way out in the Woods, not on anyone’s main pathway. He chose a clearing under some alder saplings and used a small cart to secretly bring all his supplies and materials to his workspace under the alders.

  “Now listen carefully, Char,” he said to the dragon. “I put the pieces in place, you melt the metal to hold them together, just like we’ve practiced before, okay?”

  Char looked at Twig and blinked. His tongue flicked out. Twig smiled. “Let’s get warmed up.”

  Twig touched a length of lead solder to the two pieces of scrap metal, while Char spit flame, melting the solder. The two pieces held perfectly. The soldering, though rough and sloppy-looking at first, was fairly professional by the time they had finished. It was neatly and evenly laid, not too much solder and not too little. Twig even added a flourish at the end, producing a small solder curlicue.

  He looked proudly at the piece of metalwork.

  “Char, we’re a team!” he announced. “If this is how we start off, imagine how good we’ll do after more practicing!” He gave Char a gentle stroke on his chin. A little puff of smoke came out of the dragon’s nostrils, and he closed his eyes in rapture.

  Twig got back to work. He pushed and pulled a pewter sugar bowl into the middle of the clearing.

  “Okay, Char. Here is your first real test. I want a nice, clean cut all around, straight and even. Now let’s see some flame!”

  Twig patted Char on the neck, making coaxing sounds, and Char snorted, abruptly producing a blue-white flame that burst out and hit the pewter with a spitting sizzle.

  “Whoa! Too much, Char,” Twig said. “Easy does it.”

  Char seemed to sense Twig’s directions, and with another snort, a smaller, more directed flame shot from his throat.

  “Good boy!” Twig smiled. With very slight shifts in pressure, he was able to control Char’s flame, both in strength and direction. “Good boy!” Twig said again, slowly, slowly turning the bowl as Char breathed his fire. A melted line separated the top of the bowl from the bottom, and in several minutes the top teetered away, landing in the dirt.

  Twig examine
d the melted edge. It was perfectly smooth and even. “It sparkles!” he marveled. “So shiny . . . and glittery!” He looked at Char. “This would have taken me days to do. And it wouldn’t have looked so . . . special.” He gave the dragon a hug around his neck. “Thank you, Char.”

  The success of the sliced sugar bowl excited Twig. Suddenly Master Metal Crafter didn’t seem so far-fetched.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon at work, using a fancy metal fish fin handle for the gnomon of the sundial. Twig used old copper wire to hold it in place, and used the wire to create a pattern of bends and curls. The copper, newly melted, glistened shiny and bright. Twig cut more copper wire into tiny pieces, using smaller gauge. He bent them into numbers with flourishes and twists. Char’s intensely hot flame melted them into place.

  The sundial face became a beautiful, copper-rich design that amazed and delighted Twig.

  A damselfly landed on Char’s nose and sat there in the sun. Twig watched it for a moment, and then got an idea. He twisted thin silver wire into an insect motif, laying the pieces around the lip of the sundial platform. He then added tiny flecks of gold in the wings, pieces that he had found and accumulated from discarded electronics. The sundial, with its gold, silver, and copper burnished by Char’s intense blue-hot flame, and with Twig’s delicate artistic touch, was a thing of beauty.

  Twig stood back, contented. Proud.

  “Burdock won’t believe we did this!” he said. “Nobody will. Thank you, buddy. You . . . you inspire me!” He gave Char another squeeze, holding him tightly. Char rippled his scales, and puffs of gray smoke came out of his nostrils. Twig held the dragon’s face.

  “You look tired, Char,” he said. “Let’s get you back home. You need some rest after all that.”

  Twig dragged several fern fronds over to the sundial, piling and arranging them until his new project was camouflaged and hidden from view.

  “No one would ever know it was here,” he said to himself, pleased.