Chapter the 13th
Michael hardly noticed the cracking sound of Myra’s jaws snapping shut around him. He tumbled into the night, turning end over end so many times he thought he would fall forever in a bottomless pit. But at last he bounced in the dark, as if he had landed on an invisible trampoline. Gradually, the bouncing eased up and Michael gained a steady state where he was resting on nothing he could see or feel.
"I knew you'd come," said a familiar voice.
The pale face of Roger came into view. Michael reached for him with his hand and Roger reached for him, but each failed to get a hold of the other. Michael began to see himself dimly. He looked like a golden dragon wearing his usual grubby T-shirt and tattered jeans.
“If you knew I was coming, why didn’t you tell me?” Michael asked.
“I didn’t have to,” Roger replied.
“Who’s he?” asked a child.
“Never seen him before,” said another.
“His name is Michael,” said Amarilla as she came into view.
“What’s he doing here?” asked a boy. “He’s not one of us.”
“He’s busy being eaten by the dragon,” said another boy.
“Are you all chewed up?” asked a girl as if she relished the idea.
“No,” said Michael, “are you?”
“Not yet.”
“Looks like he can’t decide if he’s a dragon or a human,” a boy taunted Michael.
Looking at his hands, Michael saw the point. One hand was a claw, the other was still half a hand. Either scales were interlaced with his skin or his skin was interlaced with this scales.
“Think he’ll eat us up if he decides to be a dragon?” asked a girl.
“If we have already been eaten by a dragon,” said Amarilla, “I do not believe we can be eaten by a dragon a second time. So we’re safe.”
“Unless Myra hasn’t eaten us yet,” said a small boy.
“She has, too, eaten us!” a girl insisted.
"I told you not to pick that fruit!" a boy yelled as he swam menacingly towards Michael. Michael recognized him as Pickleface, although this time, he was dressed in a fancy sailor suit
“Do you mean he’s the one who got Myra mad enough to eat us up?” asked a girl.
“That’s exactly what I mean!” Pickleface yelled. “Get him!”
Before he could react, Michael was pinned to the springy darkness by a mob of children.
“Got him,” said a boy who kept a tight grip on Michael’s shoulder for a boy his size. “Now what do we do with him?”
“Feed him to the dragon!” cried several children.
“I think that’s already been done,” said an older boy whose voice was in the process of changing.
“He wouldn't push me on the swing!" Pickleface accused Michael further. “If he had, I could have escaped. Now Carelin’s stuck with my sister for the succession.”
“EW!” yelled some of the boys.
“HOORAY!” cried some of the girls.
"Sorry, Pickleface" said Michael.
"Pickleface?" asked a child. "Pickleface!" cried another.
“Yea, Pickleface,” said Michael.
"Pickleface! Pickleface!" chanted more and more children “Prince Pickleface! Prince Pickleface!” Then they let go of Michael and broke out into laughter.
"SHUT UP!" cried Pickleface, showing that he was not amused and that he still believed in his princely authority.
The children suddenly became silent as tombs. Pickleface stared at one child after another with satisfaction that he had cowed them into submission. Then he stared at Michael as if he were god almighty with the power to give the final judgment on Michael's life. Michael stared at Pickleface and Pickleface returned a more commanding stare.
“Look about you, Michael,” said Pickleface. “Just look at the faces of all of us whose lives have just been ruined by your actions.”
Feeling that he should suffer the discomfort, Michael looked at the anxious faces surrounding him. It was almost more than he could bear.
"I am sorry," said Michael.
"A big help being sorry is now," said Pickleface. “Will it bring us back?”
“It could,” said Roger.
“Being sorry has NEVER brought anybody back to life,” Pickleface insisted.
The small boy who had single-handedly pinned one of Michael’s shoulders stepped forward.
“When Loothen Silver Dragon found out he had capsized a pirate ship while he was chasing a sea monster,” the boy recounted, “and that the sea monster had eaten them up, he was so sorry that he flew down into the belly of the sea monster and brought out all the pirates and gave them a free ride home on his back.”
“That’s what my Grand Aunt said, too,” said another small boy.
"Who are you to tell me I'm wrong?" said Pickleface.
“Edmund, that’s who!” replied the boy.
The second boy, however, burst into tears. The older boy stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on each boy’s shoulder.
“And I’m Nigel,” he said, “that’s who I am to stand by Edmund and Dennis.”
“How much royal blood do you have?” asked Pickleface.
“If royal blood makes people act like you, it’s a good thing we don’t have any!” yelled Edmund.
“Yea,” said a girl.
“Yea, yea, Prince Pickleface” said several other children.
“I think we have more urgent things to do than reform the character of the Crown Prince just now,” said Amarilla, rather primly.
Again the children became quiet and rather solemn.
“According to an old book on dragons that I’ve just read,” said Michael through clenched teeth, “dragons are invariably beneficent.”
"What that mean?" asked one girl.
"It means good, inclined to benefit other people," answered another girl. "It was on our vocabulary list last week."
"I think I—wasn't in school for that one," said the first girl. “I was already here!” she added as she started to break down and fall into the arms of her friend.
"Uh—we did get to kiss our parents good-bye, first," said Edmund. Then he burst into tears, and Nigel put a fatherly arm around him.
"That is—those of us who had parents," said Nigel quietly.
"Uh—I'm sorry your parents weren't around to see you off," said Edmund.
"Uh - thanks for saying that,” said Nibel. “Mr. Schnitzelbergen was there to wish me well and hope that I got back before long.”
“Why is it that only children were sacrificed to the dragon?” asked Michael.
“Because,” Roger explained, “since it was Myra’s child who was picked off the dragon’s egg tree, the only fair thing was to pick off the children from the hearts of the parents.”
"I THOUGHT DRAGONS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE BENEFICENT!" Michael yelled.
"And do you believe Myra is so beneficent just because it’s in a book?" asked Pickleface, his arms folded.
"It said the same thing in the newspapers I delivered," said Michael.
“You delivered them?” asked a girl.
“My Grand Aunt got a paper, too,” said Dennis. “She said I shouldn’t worry too much about Myra as long as the delivery boy came back, and he has.”
All the children broke out into a loud cheer that staggered Michael. Only Pickleface remained silent, his faced carved into a frown.
“The paper said that Myra promised that everything will turn out just fine if the human who stole the missing dragon's egg came to her,” Michael explained.
“That’s what my Grand Aunt said,” said Dennis.
“I've done that,” Michael continued. “I’ve done my half of the bargain. Now, Myra has to live up to her half of the bargain. AND IF YOU ALL STAY DEAD, SHE HASN'T DONE IT!"
"Then we'll just have to come back to life," said the small girl who had missed the vocabulary test in school.
"If the news you just told us about is true," said Nigel, "then there has to be a way to bring us back to life."
"And if the news isn't true," added Amarilla, "then there's nothing to lose in trying, because we're already dead."
"You don't look very dead to me," said Michael.
Several children laughed.
"Maybe we just didn't know what being dead was like before," Edmund suggested, brightening up somewhat.
"I know" cried Roger, "Let's play in the park like we always did when we were alive!”
“How do we do that?” asked a boy.
“By doing it, I suppose,” said Amarilla nonchalantly.
Roger and Amarilla sat down and a patch of grayish grass with just a tinge of green spread around them. Several other children plopped down and started to shape the gray grass as if it were clay. A couple of boys formed a soccer ball and then started to play a scrub soccer game with whoever would join them. A few of the children managed to form some square building blocks and they started to build a tower. Michael, not knowing what to do, stood with his half-claws, half-hands in his pockets. As if mirroring Michael, Prince Pickleface stood off to the side with his hands folded. Edmund stood off by himself, looking dejected.
“What’s the matter?” Michael asked him, surprised that he cared.
“I’m not good at soccer or at building, or anything,” Edmund complained.
“You’re good at singing the Kyrie from Thomas Tallis' lost Ave Maria Mass," said Nigel as he gave the soccer ball a good kick that sent several children running after it..
“Nothing like a lost mass to bring back a lost city park,” said Amarilla without looking up from the blocks she was handling.
“If we bring the mass back to life, then maybe the mass can bring us back to life,” said Roger.
“If the mass isn’t lost anymore,” said Edmund, “then we aren’t lost anymore, either.”
“My Great Aunt says that every time you find one thing that was lost, you find something else that was lost,” said Dennis.
“Which is to say,” said Nigel, “it’s a good thing you discovered the manuscript and edited it last year, Amarilla.”
“I’m most obliged,” Amarilla replied, while her attention remained focused on the building block she was shaping.
“Too bad I didn’t bring my violin,” said Roger. “I could have played the violin obbligato part if Amarilla would discover that as well.”
“That’s okay,” said Edmund hastily.
“All for the lost and found Tallis Kyrie come over here!” called out Nigel.
About six boys, including Edmund, flocked to Nigel.
"But how can we sing it without Mr. Spitzelbergen?" asked Edmund.
"By singing it without him," Nigel replied.
"What's this Kee-ree-ay, and who's Tallis?" asked Michael.
"Tallis is a composer, and Kyrie is Greek for Lord have mercy," Nigel answered.
“Would it help if we sang along?” asked a girl.
“Not if you don’t know the piece,” Edmund answered, “and you don’t.”
“You can sing something else that goes with it," suggested Nigel. “I think we need all the singing we can get.”
“Is ‘Danny Boy’ okay?"
"Sure."
“Would you like to conduct, Your Junior Highness?” Nigel asked Pickleface.
“Of course not,” the prince answered.
"Okay Michael,” said Nigel, “You conduct."
“Me? I don’t know how. Try your third choice.”
“No, you’re our first choice,” said Edmund cheerfully. “Asking Prince Pickleface was just a formality. We didn’t really want him to conduct. Just wave your arms and follow us, and then we’ll follow you,”
The boys who knew the lost Tallis Mass lined up. Michael, on the verge of thinking anything was possible, began to wave his arms while the boys began to sing the words: Kyrie eleison. Several other children came in with “Danny Boy” and other songs. Before long, Michael began to hear some men's voices joining in with the boys. When Michael saw the man in the tuxedo moving his arms to the music, he started to copy him. Further off in the distance, Michael heard the sound of a harp accompanying the song Danny Boy to the singing of a group of grieving parents. As his vision expanded, Michael saw the young man who had offered to play the harp when Michael was about to walk through Myra’s jaws dressed in green, playing his instrument. Then Michael caught a glimpse of Uncle Martin and Aunt Edith, with their arms Samantha and a red-haired boy as they sang. The boy was Scott playing “Danny Boy” on his harmonica. He had come to Carlin as he promised he would! While the singing continued, children continued to play soccer and others formed an archway with their blocks. The more ground they covered, the more grayish grass appeared. Pickleface stood aloof, his hands folded. No grass appeared around his feet. Michael conducted on, glad the boys knew what they were doing because he didn’t know what he was doing. His arms began to get entangled with each other and then, in his confusion, he pulled a golden chain out of his sleeve.
“Toss it!” one of the girls building the archway called out.
Michael lofted the chain over to her. When the girl caught it, the chain’s light made the grass turn greener. One of the boys took the chain and tied looped it through the archway and then through a seat, so that a swing set was completed. As soon as the last chain link was in place, the choir reached the final chord of the lost Kyrie and the vision of the other singers outside the dragon faded. Michael looked at the swing set and then looked at Pickleface.
"I can push you now," said Michael.
Pickleface remained standing on his patch of nothingness.
"It's too late, I'm dead," was Pickleface's sour response.
The children’s singing continued all round them, but Pickleface seemed to be the only one unaffected by it.
"How can you say you're dead if you’re really dead?" asked Amarilla.
"Yea," added a boy.
A chorus of "yea's" followed. A boy threw the soccer ball at the sour boy's head. It deflected off his jaw and bounced away from him.
"HOW DARE YOU?" Pickleface screamed.
"Just trying to knock some sense into you," Nigel explained.
When the other children laughed, the grass grew brighter and nearby shrubs appeared.
"You can't get eaten up by a dragon and still live," insisted Michael's accuser.
A cacophony of derisory remarks and added voices to the music rose up in response. Then Michael was inspired. He held up his sometimes arm and sometimes dragon's claw for silence. With all the children quiet, Michael could hear Scott’s harmonica playing “Danny Boy.”
"Maybe it is too late," said Michael. "Maybe we are dead and we are only imagining that we are back in Carelin."
“The paper you delivered said that Myra is beneficent even when she eats up children," said Nigel.
"And news is news," said a girl.
"So, what do you have to lose if I push you on the swing?" asked Michael. "It can't make you any deader, can it?"
"Can it? Can it? Kyrie! Kyrie!" the boys chanted.
Slowly Pickleface walked through the darkness surrounding him until he stepped on the grass. When he reached the swing set, he fingered the golden chains tentatively.
"Need some help sitting down?" a girl asked him while other children giggled at the crown prince.
"Michael is the only one here who didn't have to come here," Amarilla reminded him.
Pickleface shrugged his shoulder Michael Bullinger style and sank into the swing's seat. Michael came up behind him and began to push. The other children watched breathlessly as Pickleface rose higher and higher into the dark. Soon the boy was flying so high that he almost disappeared from sight each time he went up. Then, the swing came back empty.
One after another, the children clambered for Michael to push them on the swing. He heard whoops of joy as each child disappeared into the sky and a new one grabbed the golden chain. The crowd of children thinned out until, at the last, only Roger and Amarilla were left.
"Ladies first," said Roger peremptorily.
"Younger before older," Amarilla retorted.
The brother and sister looked at each other as if neither was going to budge.
"Just because I'm younger doesn't mean you have to take care of me all the time," said Roger.
"But what about the violin concerto you were writing when it—it was your turn?" asked Amarilla.
“What about the lost mass you haven’t found yet?” Roger asked in return.
"Flip a coin," Michael suggested.
"Got one?" asked Roger.
Michael shook his head, but Amarilla took a dime out of a hidden pocket in her dress and handed it to Michael. Michael flipped the coin while Roger called "Heads."
“Heads it is," said Michael. "Roger's choice."
"Amarilla goes back," said Roger.
Amarilla graciously sat down on the swing with no further protest and let Roger and Michael push her. When she, too, had made her journey into the sky, only Roger was left with Michael. All was quiet around them. They couldn’t even hear Scott’s harmonica any more.
"Who's going to push you?" asked Roger.
Michael looked at the empty swing.
"Nobody, I guess."
"Maybe we can find some other way out together," Roger suggested.
"Thanks. But I don't deserve it.”
"I know."
A sudden burst of frustration made Michael tear down the swing set with one sweep of his arm. He and Roger looked at the pile of building blocks.
"Now we're both stuck," said Michael.
"No sense in giving up now," said Roger, with strained cheerfulness.
"Got any ideas?" asked Michael.
"Yea."
Roger started piling up building blocks and Michael joined in. As they worked, the music of the Tallis Mass and the song “Danny Boy” faded in and out. After they had built up their structure for some time, Michael saw it taking on the shape of a tree. Some blocks even hung down from the branches as if they were fruits.
"That boy, Pickleface, told me to unpick the fruit," Michael murmured.
"That's a good idea," said Roger.
An excruciating pain filled Michael's human arm. The pain spread to his chest and doubled him over.
"Help!" gasped Michael.
“Sure thing!”
Michael collapsed into a ball as a tight cramp gripped his stomach. Roger carefully rolled him up into a little ball, but the pain became so severe that not even Roger's gentle hands could ease it. Then, just when Michael could stand it no longer, he lost consciousness. But not quite. Michael could neither see anything nor hear anything nor feel anything. Yet he was conscious of being crushed into nothingness. There was no Michael. No dragon. There was nothing but a growing anticipation that he was about to be born. How long Michael was suspended in that state, he would never know. It did not matter.
"You can pick it now," said a voice breaking into the nothingness.
A hand wrapped itself about him. Golden scales exploded in golden light and flew away. There was nothing left of Michael but Michael. He fell and landed in the palm of a hand. Sunlight blinded him. The hand that held him gently deposited him on the grass. A hand on Michael's shoulder steadied him and he looked into Scott Simpson’s face.