Crispin Scales and the Golden Pearl

By Ruby Blessing

A stolen princess and a rebellious witch. Dragons, fairies, gnomes, elves, werewolves and vampires. Daemons, harpies and even a few zombies. And an evil, though disturbingly handsome, king. A clumsy dragon chosen to save the world. A shame he's not very good at it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mighty Ink Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9780646588728

Book preview

•PART ONE•

The part with the unfortunate, tragic and wholly unhappy ending

CHAPTER 1

Stupid is as stupid does

Iwas falling. And fast. Plummeting through the clouds towards the ocean. Apparently your life flashes before you when you are about to die. Unfortunately for me, it was true. My pathetic life up until that moment paraded through my brain as an almighty wind rushed past my ears.

My name is Crispin Leviticus Hawkmoth Petrov Lotan Scales. As is the tradition in our family, my first and last names were chosen by a wise mage (or not so wise in my case). The next two names are from my father and mother, and the last two inherited from my grandparents. It’s a cumbersome burden that offered ample opportunity for ridicule, so of course my brothers, who never passed up the chance to humiliate me, called me Crispy. Which considering I was a dragon, was just downright mean – and wholly unimaginative. Especially when those last three fires were an accident.

So here I was, wings tied together behind my back, heading towards a painful death, with not a lot to think about except my short, uneventful life.

Officially I am a Western Golden Dragon, son of Leviticus, Maekrix (that’s king to you non-dragon types) of the Petrov Jiao Clan and Hawkmoth his consort. Unofficially, and by many written and very embarrassing accounts, I am a klutz. Not your average klutz, but an all out, get clear if you see me coming klutz. And even though I was not yet a fully-grown dragon, being clumsy is not a good attribute if you are three metres tall and ten metres long from nose to pointy tail.

I learned to live with my ludicrously long name. In the big scheme of things it didn’t matter. Because Marlo, my one true friend – who could have called me anything she liked – called me Kit.

I lived in the watery kingdom of Aequor, one of the Five Kingdoms of the Realm. Most creatures throughout the Five Kingdoms lived in relative harmony. Except the harpies. They were born ready for a fight – anytime, anywhere. But they couldn’t really help it, so most creatures just avoided the Islands of Discord and let them fight amongst themselves.

There were five Dragon Clans, one to rule each Kingdom. I say rule, but we were more like glorified mascots. The Dragon Clans had grown accustomed to this life, and most dragons lived alongside the human and non-human populace quite happily.

Over the thousands of years of recorded history, dragons had gone from feared, hunted and persecuted monsters, to being worshipped and adored as the providers of luck and prosperity.

None of this helped me of course.

I watched as a large ocean kestrel swooped by me in a wide circle, its elegant wings spread to catch the air currents. I may have been imagining it, but I was sure it squawked Dope! as it passed. It was right. I should have known my twin brothers Marcus and Persius had more in mind than flying practice when they asked to meet me high above the Western Ocean.

At least I was plummeting towards a watery death. The Realm’s vast landscape encompassed all manner of extreme places and I could have been heading for the razor sharp rocks that lined the Valley of Knives, or a slow death by dust zombie in the Pinguesco Crus Desert.

I peered down at the ocean far below. A large school of sharks was circling idly in the gentle morning waves. Waiting for me, no doubt. The kestrel was still flying back and forth above me as I fell, its cries of Dope, dope, becoming increasingly irritating.

I wondered if anyone would miss me. Marlo would, of course. Maybe my brothers would miss having someone to torture. But, my father? I doubted he would miss me. He might even be glad I was gone.

Once, when I was very young, he took me to Solitudo with his diplomatic convoy to set up agreements with the jewel masons to trade ocean pearls, sapphires and emeralds from our Kingdom.

Solitudo was a beautiful city of tiled lookout towers and imposing white domes, deep in the Pinguesco Crus Desert. Each dome had a different gold or brass symbol at its peak, the Guild Marks of the many artisan guilds spread throughout the city. On clear days, they could be seen twinkling in the sun as far away as Salvilocus, the main trading cavern in the Silex Mountains.

As I was too young to fly the entire way, I travelled in a covered palanquin pulled by small six-legged gryphox – cow-like creatures that ate anything and farted constantly. The palanquin had no wheels, and its rectangular bamboo base was balanced across the backs of two gryphox. The stinking creatures walked with an ambling and uneven gait, making travel inside the palanquin a smelly, undulating nightmare.

Needless to say I vomited the entire way, much to my own humiliation and my father’s disgust.

When we finally arrived in Solitudo, the convoy made its way to the Jewel and Precious Stone Guild to pay their respects. Weak with dehydration, I stumbled from my putrid travelling platform straight into the nearest water I could find – a clear pool in the centre of the courtyard. As I flopped into the cooling waters, washing away days of dust and vomit, the building erupted. Crying and wailing rang around the tiled walls as Guild members realised I had contaminated their sacred Making Pool.

My father, angry flames flickering from his nostrils, lifted me from the pool with his sharp talons and tossed me roughly behind him. Swallowing his significant pride, he turned to face the Guild to apologise for his foolish, stupid, clumsy, stinky, ignorant – did I say stupid? – klutz of a son. It took him months to fix the diplomatic damage and earn the Guild’s trust again. And predictably enough, I was banned from accompanying him anywhere, ever again.

It wasn’t long after, that Marcus and Persius made it their personal mission to bully and taunt me almost daily. But I still believed them when they said that father wanted me to join them for high-altitude flying practice. Now I knew it was just wishful thinking. A vain hope that I might be included at last. It didn’t take them long to ambush me, tying my wing tips back with a roughly knotted rope.

I pulled and pushed my wings to wriggle free, but the rope only got tighter. I even tried to burn the ropes off, but merely managed to singe my back, and the tail feathers of the very annoyed kestrel.

I sighed. I was a truly hopeless dragon. And soon I would be a dead one.

I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was past the point of no return – when even if by some miracle I did free myself, I wouldn’t be able to fly out of my nosedive. To add to my woes, the kestrel was pecking at my wings now, screeching Dope, dope, dope! with such intensity that my ears hurt.

Then I finally realised what it was really saying. It wasn’t pecking at my wings, it was tearing at the rope, pulling at the thick brown threads with its hooked beak. I strained against the rope with my wings, the twine loosening slightly with every determined jab from the kestrel.

Rope! Rope! it squawked, urging me to pull harder against the unravelling twine.

With one last, painful yank, the rope broke, the rough threads flying away in the wind in long brown corkscrews. Stretching my wings with a joyful Yeehaa, and a cry of thanks to my feathered liberator, I flew into a deep arc towards the ocean, gaining control of my descent with a few rhythmic flaps and a lot of good luck.

Delighting in my freedom I skimmed the waves, letting the clear water cool my claws. The sharks, annoyed their breakfast had not crashed into the water as expected, fought amongst themselves in a disappointed frenzy.

Narrow escape, I thought, as I flew back to Aequor, determined not to get that close to death again. Unfortunately for me, it would become an all too regular, and very disturbing habit.

CHAPTER 2

Dragons can swim, but absolutely, positively,

undeniably can’t dance

Yes, you can."

No, I can’t.

Yes. You can!

No. I can’t.

Yes. You. Can!

No. I. Can. Not!

Marlo glared at me, her violet eyes flashing with anger and frustration. Stamping a black satin-clad foot, and taking a deep breath through her freckled nose, she growled again through clenched teeth, Yes. You. Can. Everyone can.

I sighed. The day had not been going well. We had managed to avoid our morning lessons by hiding in the forest behind the palace, but hunger had driven us back to the kitchens. We thought we were clever grabbing six sweet buns, hot from the ovens, without being spotted. But of course I ruined our escape by knocking over an entire row of shelves with one accidental flick of my tail. Covered in eggs, flour and an assortment of spices, we were sent to our separate apartments to stay out of trouble. Once clean, I joined Marlo again in her study where I found her reading a gold tipped scroll, her eyebrows knitted together in a cranky W.

Apparently I am to entertain the Prince of the Southern Kingdom of Lights at the Ning Qing Water Festival next month! she snapped as soon as I had flown in the large balcony window. I don’t know what my father is up to, but I’m sure my princessly duties do not extend to babysitting a boy from the southern city.

Marlo sat on her heels despondently, her long black hair brushing her feet, her eyes closed as she thought furiously. I knew better than to interrupt when she was plotting so I made myself comfortable and waited.

Princess Ai-ting Marlo Pax Shuî was the only daughter of Maozhen Pax Shuî, the Emperor of Aequor, and fifth in line to the throne. There was little chance she would ever become Empress due to the enthusiastic queue of brothers lined up for the position before her, and she had been allowed to run wild since she was a small child. Only now, as she approached her sixteenth birthday, did her father begin to pay attention and insist she attend her lessons and royal training.

Marlo’s almond coloured skin was virtually indistinguishable from the brown cotton tunic and ankle length pants she always wore. Her full, pink lips gave the impression she was always pouting (which she often was) and her quick, bright smile was only marred by a small chip in a front tooth, broken on one of our many adventures collecting phoenix eggs on the San Islands.

Marlo was a fiery and intelligent human, with the swiftness of a gazelle and the heart of a warrior. She was loyal, generous and brave, and she was my best friend.

My clan, the Petrov Jiao, were bound to the western Kingdom of Aequor, bordered by the deserts in the north and the Kingdom of Lights in the south. Two major rivers – the Leda and the Hydrax – made their way eastwards from the craggy tips of the Silex Mountains through the centre of the Realm.

Aequor’s watery landscape of estuaries and islands had been formed by the Leda River as it travelled patiently across Aequor to the Western Ocean. Small towns were scattered through the larger islands, hundreds of arched bridges connecting them across the countless channels and streams. It was a beautiful place, with cool, clear waters and lush forests.

Aequor was dominated by the Bai Jiang Estuary, a wide channel nearly ten kilometres in length, with the rugged San Islands punctuating its centre. The Nanmen Cliffs flanked the northern mouth of the estuary and the Anhui Peninsula – the highest point in the kingdom – ran along the south. At the tip of the peninsula sat the Traxis Archipelago, its six rocky islands arranged in a sinuous spine down to the ocean.

Perched regally on Anhui’s plateau, the Palace of Aequor was a spectacular collection of tiered white pavilions with curved roofs – the golden corners and ridges decorated with colourful talismans to ward off evil and bring good luck.

The Palace could only be reached by climbing a series of wide, tortuous steps, a complex lift and pulley system hidden behind them reserved solely for the royal family. Squat pagoda gnomes, their red caps perched jauntily on their heads, sat along the stairway refreshing visitors from enamelled bowls, encouraging them as they climbed the steps in the humid climate. The steps must have had an official title once, but they had been known as the Great Puffing Steps for so long that the original name had been long forgotten.

The dragons were housed in pagoda-like Templum scattered throughout the kingdom. As my father was the Maekrix, my family lived in the Templum Dreki – a tall, copper clad structure built on the first island of the Traxis Archipelago, linked to the Palace by an old, and very precarious, suspension bridge.

Kit! Kiiiit! Wake up! I’m talking to you. Marlo was poking the scales behind my shoulders and shouting in my ear.

Yelling more like, I mumbled, standing groggily to avoid her sharp fingers. Do you have a plan yet?

Marlo glared at me, opened her mouth to snap a response, then thought better of it. She could never stay angry with me for very long, and smiling excitedly, began to tell me her scheme.

Five minutes later I stopped her.

There’s a major flaw that you haven’t yet considered I’m afraid, I interrupted.

And what would that be, pray tell? Marlo paused, slightly put out, but trying to remain patient.

I can’t dance. I said.

Yes, you can.

No, I can’t.

Yes. You can!

No. I can’t.

Yes. You. Can!

No. I. Can. Not!

Marlo glared at me and stamped her foot. A tantrum began to brew. She had the strongest will of anyone I knew – dragon or otherwise – and to be at the receiving end of one of her tantrums was terrifying.

Even though dragons age differently to humans Marlo and I were roughly the same age, in that 12 human years equal 1 dragon year. (Of course dragons, being far superior, are born able to talk, walk and take care of themselves.) Marlo’s mother, the beautiful Empress Alina, had died in childbirth, and my parents had volunteered me to watch over this small, constantly crying, human bundle.

It is not commonly known, but dragons are very musical. Naturally melodic singers, many of our great stories are told in epic operas staged in secret caverns and clearings across the Realm. Singing was one of the purest joys I knew – when I sang I felt strong and almost powerful. But because I was a far better singer than any of my brothers, they would taunt me mercilessly, calling me Missy Nightingale, Crispy Canary, and my least favourite, The Singing Snake. I quickly learned only to sing in secret – until I met Marlo, that is.

So, confronted with a squalling baby and no experience whatsoever, I began to sing, if more to comfort myself than her. By the time I had finished my song, the crying had stopped and Marlo’s bright baby eyes were fixed on my large dragon face. As she grew older she would join in, and eventually it only took a low dragon hum to quieten her.

Seeing her face clouding now, ready for an argument, I began to hum.

Don’t try to wriggle out of this by lulling me with a song, she said, standing defiantly, hands on her hips.

Hmmm, dummm, hummm, laaaa, I continued.

But Kit, I can teach you to dance, it’s easy. If you can sing, you can dance!

Hmmmm. dedummm, laaaa de daaaa. I could be stubborn too.

Her eyes were flashing in frustration now, Crispin Scales! The least you could do is try. For me. Your oldest and best friend. My plan is useless if you won’t dance!

I continued to hum, determined not to give in, knowing that no matter how many thousands of lessons I might have, I could not dance.

Please Kit, can you just try? For me? she was crying now.

I looked into her eyes, now brimming with tears, and realised that they were genuine. (It wouldn’t be the first time that she had tried sympathy to get her way.)

Marlo, don’t cry. I didn’t realise it was such an important part of the plan. I’m sorry. Of course I’ll try. I nuzzled her neck, tickling her to cheer her up, but she only sobbed louder.

Oh Kit. It’s not just that. In six months I’ll be of age, and I’m sure father will be looking to marry me off. Ever since mother died I have been little more than an annoying burden to him. My brothers think less of me than their pet falcons, and you have to admit that as a princess, I’m rubbish. I’m not elegant, or beautiful, and I’m good for little else than climbing cliffs and singing dragon lullabies. She looked up at me, her face wet from crying, her lips wavering in a crooked frown.

What if there is more to this prince than a diplomatic visit? she continued, It’s been years since any of the other Kingdom rulers visited us. Why now? Marlo covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Sweet Marlo. I’m sure there is no more to this than a young prince looking for some adventure. Who is to say he isn’t travelling all over the Realm? Aequor is beautiful. And of course the Ning Qing Water Festival is legendary. Who wouldn’t want to visit us? I’m surprised we are not mobbed with tourists. Other than those annoying Happy Gnomes. I will never understand their fanatical attachment to pre-arranged group tours. Have you seen them in the town square, with their pointy red hats and beaming faces walking in lines as they take in the local attractions? If you’ve seen one waterhorse you’ve seen them all, I say. And really, those mermaids are just there for show. No respectable mermaid would let herself have an insta-portrait made with a Gnome. It’s just wrong. And don’t get me started on the water sprites. Just the other day I saw a sprite pick the pockets of three gnomes, then pinch the bottom of a fourth. You should have heard the hullabaloo. I was about to take a breath and keep going, when Marlo snapped.

"KIT! Stop! You are rambling again. How you manage to talk for so long without taking a breath I will never know. Your utterly boring gnome story notwithstanding, you might be right. There is probably nothing more to this than a quick stopover on a Grand Tour of the Realm. Let’s teach you to dance so we can put my plan into action and get through it with as little contact with Prince Southern Lights as possible. Meet me in an hour in the Courtyard of Tears. I will have you dancing before you can say phoenix fiddlesticks."

Giving me a quick peck on the cheek, her tears all but gone, Marlo skipped from the study. But I was left with an uneasy feeling that my reassurances were little more than hot air.

The Palace was an imposing seven storey structure built into the slope of the peninsula all the way to its peak. Each level was built around a cavernous light-filled stairwell, wide marble steps spiralling up around the edges like a giant snake. The two lower levels were filled with a vast labyrinth of rooms where all official business took place. Yellow-robed civil servants fluttered like officious honeybees between the cubicles that lined the columned corridors of each floor.

The third, most ornate level – the Azure Court – was a great open hall with carved square columns supporting the wide eaves and enormous balcony that ran from end to end. Two gilt-tiled pools lay at either end of the hall, and a gnarled, golden linden tree grew in its centre. Thousands of silver and gold keys of various shapes and sizes hung from the tree’s branches, and only the Royal Key Keeper knew what each unlocked.

In front of the Key Tree sat the Golden Throne. The Emperor could sit and see most of his kingdom through the vast open shutters on the balcony, the salty air of the estuary drifting up with the sea breeze.

The fourth level housed the Great Library at one end and the music room – the Hall of Notes – at the other; the fifth and sixth levels contained spacious living apartments for the royal family. Marlo’s apartment was tucked away at the rear of the fifth level overlooking the Traxis Archipelago and the ocean beyond.

The lofty palace stairs were topped with a square pavilion on the seventh level, crowned with a curved glass roof. The pavilion was flanked on either side by two courtyards – the Courtyard of Tears and the Courtyard of Laughter – both surrounded by ornately decorated walls depicting the mythical history of Aequor, the carvings enamelled brightly in red, turquoise and green.

By the time I glided down into the Courtyard of Tears, Marlo was already there, a kitchen boy with a flute ensconced in one corner. A phalanx of ancient statues lined the walls, their serious faces looking down on us disapprovingly.

Let’s get on with it, I mumbled glumly, looking in horror at the large clawed feet that Marlo had painted in patterns on the white marble floor.

Ignoring my pained expression, Marlo took a long silk scarf and wrapped it around my neck, catching it in the spikes behind my throat.

Now. Let’s just pretend the scarf-ends are arms long enough reach around your neck. OK?

Um, OK. I was feeling nervous about this already.

Alrighty. What we are going to do is follow the painted feet as I count. The red claws are your left feet and the green claws are your right.

I started to feel sick.

But, but, Marlo, I stammered, I have four feet that have to work simultaneously – two at a time, lefts and rights together!

Don’t fret Kit. It will be fine. Once you let the music take you, your natural talent will do the rest. Let’s begin.

Marlo grinned a little too enthusiastically and nodded to the kitchen boy to start playing, pulling the scarf tightly against my neck as she stepped backwards.

A gruelling pantomime followed as Marlo pushed and pulled me around the courtyard, yelling, Left! Right! Red! Green! No! Yes! No! Not that left! as well as some other more colourful words I won’t repeat. Finally she flopped exhausted onto the cold floor.

This isn’t working is it? she sighed.

Well, I didn’t want to say it, but I told you s…!

Don’t you dare, Crispin Leviticus Hawkmoth Petrov Lotan Scales! Marlo only used my outrageously long name when she was both angry and frustrated, and I knew it was time to shut up.

She began to pace