Gruffen (2 page)

Elizabeth Pennykettle had been making dragons from around about the time that Lucy had been born. She made other things too: pots and mugs and decorative plates, but dragons were what she loved and dragons were what she was best known for.

Every dragon that came out of Liz’s “den” was moulded from a soft grey clay which had been dug from a quarry in the west of England, though it’s precise location was always kept a secret. A dragon could be found in every single room of the Pennykettles’ house. They sat on windowsills, mantelpieces, tables and shelves. There was even one on the fridge in the kitchen and another – you would have to say ‘fragrant’ dragon – on the cistern of the toilet in the bathroom upstairs. Visitors to 42 Wayward Crescent could not help but touch and admire them. They would pick them up and coo at them and sometimes offer to buy them. Often they’d remark how lifelike they looked. This always made Liz and Lucy smile, because they knew something their visitors didn’t – but we’ll come to that in a moment.

Everybody knows, or thinks they know, what a dragon looks like. In most people’s minds they are scaly and fierce, with saliva dripping from their terrifying jaws. They have fearsome claws, sharp enough to tear through leather or wood. Their teeth are enormous and they breathe out fire. They are deadly and dangerous. People are usually quite frightened of them.

The dragons of Wayward Crescent were nothing like the fearsome, scaly monsters that people usually imagine. Liz’s dragons were friendly. Not cute, but charming. The kind of creatures you would want to take home to look after and keep especially dear to your heart. They all looked similar, but none were quite the same. Tiled green scales, spiky wings and oval-shaped eyes were their most common characteristics. Big flat feet and a curving tail were also popular, so that they could stand on a solid surface and look their maker – or their owner – in the eye. They occupied every shelf in the Dragons’ Den, though most of them didn’t stay there long. This was because every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday afternoon, Liz would take some into Scrubbley, her local town, and sell them on a market stall. But occasionally – and it has to be said that this was quite rare – Liz made what she called a “special” dragon. These were never sold. These were very different. These were…well, we’ll come to that in a moment, too.

Special dragons looked the same as all the others. Indeed, anyone admiring the dragon with big ears which sat on top of the fridge in the kitchen would not have known it was a listening dragon, capable of picking up all sorts of noises, including human voices. Anyone passing the frowning dragon with a duster in its paws at the top of the stairs would never have guessed it was a snuffler dragon, which did a bit of cleaning when no one was looking. And the two impressive dragons Gawain and Guinevere which sat on Liz’s workbench in the Dragons’ Den had a very special role to play. But that we have to keep a secret for now. That is the subject of another story.

But how did it happen? How did Mrs Pennykettle make her dragons special or not? Well, there are as many mysteries surrounding Liz and Lucy as there are secrets about Liz’s strange clay figures, but this is the time to reveal one of them.

Liz had a snowball in the fridge. That’s right, a snowball. She had kept it since she was a little girl and it had magical properties.

On the day she made her guard dragon for Lucy, Mrs Pennykettle did as she always did. She placed a generous wodge of clay on the turntable on her bench, smoothed it down with a small amount of water then closed her eyes and let her hands glide around it. Like Lucy, she had a strong imagination. But it was something far more magical, far more dreamlike which guided her skilful thumbs and fingers to make the shape of her special dragons. Having said that, this particular dragon did come out quite ordinary looking. It was a “he”. A youthful, handsome he, with the usual spiky wings and big flat feet. But, and this was quite a big “but”, when Elizabeth opened her eyes to admire him there was something else there along with her dragon.

“What’s that?” whispered Lucy, looking over her mum’s shoulder. She pointed at something under his feet. It was common for Liz’s special dragons to have some kind of object in their paws, but even Lucy had never seen one sitting on something before.

Liz leaned back and tapped her fingertips together. “It looks like a book,” she said.

“A book?” snorted Lucy. She’d been expecting her guard dragon to have boxing gloves or a stick or at the very least scary teeth. A book! How was that going to protect her against a monster?

“Go and fetch the snowball,” her mum said anyway.

Lucy scooted downstairs to the fridge. The snowball was in a plastic box in the bottom drawer of the freezer. Lucy’s heart quickened as she picked it out. Neither she nor her mum truly understood the power of the ice inside this box. But what did that matter? It worked. It somehow put a spark of life into the clay. And today it would work again.

Lucy hurried upstairs and handed the box over. It was important that this part of the process be done quickly. For snowballs, even magical ones, can quickly melt in the warmth of the home (especially when the home is heated by dragons).

Liz prised off the lid. A wisp of icy vapour rose into the Den. In one or two places along the shelves, several dragons let out a Hrrr of awe.

With the tip of her little finger, Liz broke off a tiny piece of ice and brought it into the open air. It glinted in the light of her angle-poise lamp. She handed the box back to Lucy, who immediately closed the lid. Lucy gulped and held her breath as her mum put the ice on the end of the dragon’s snout. Within seconds it had melted and run inside his trumpet-shaped nostrils.

Mrs Pennykettle smiled and carefully twisted the turntable round, until the new dragon was facing the dragon, Guinevere. “Time to go,” Liz said in a quiet voice, and guided Lucy towards the door.

From the doorway, Lucy took a quick glance back. Guinevere had opened her eyes. They were radiant and purple and shining with fire. Lucy clamped her hands to her breast and whispered, “Please make him the best guard dragon ever, Guinevere.”

“Go,” said Liz, softly but firmly.

And Lucy dared not argue. She blew the new dragon a heartfelt kiss and closed the door of the Dragons’ Den.

For the next two nights, Lucy slept in her mother’s room. She was still too frightened to stay in hers and the new guard dragon needed to be kilned. Kilning was the process which made the clay firm and brought out the greeny-blue colour of the glaze. It took, on average, two or three days.

On the third morning, Lucy was settled at the kitchen table, colouring in pictures of woodland creatures when the listening dragon twizzled its snout, looked down from the top of the fridge and went, Hrrr.

Lucy sat up like a meerkat. She abandoned her pencils and went running down the hall. “Mum,” she shouted. “He’s done!”

Liz came out of the front room and together they hurried upstairs to the Den.

There, on the turntable, was a lovely young dragon, beautifully glazed. Guinevere’s eyes were now closed again. She had gone back to her resting stance, with her paws pressed together as though in prayer. The new dragon’s eyes were green and wide open, but as still and solid as the rest of his body.

Liz smiled and put her mouth up close to his ear. Hrrr, she went softly.

A puff of smoke came out of the dragon’s nose. He shook his head, spluttered a smoke ring and blinked. When he opened his eyes again they were a light shade of purple.