In his early years, Bookworm was content to cram books down his gullet in solitude. As he grew older, his eating habits became more refined. For one thing, there were fewer books around that he had not tasted before. Dragons have amazing memories; once Bookworm ate a book, he remembered forever every word of it, every picture, even the spelling errors. So, he learned to not simply gulp down the contents of a book as fast as he could, but to savor reading each page; to make each reading of a familiar work fresh by thinking about its content and its literary form, by searching for a previously overlooked shade of meaning. This naturally led him to want to have company, to be able to read and discuss books with someone else who truly loved reading and who could offer a fresh perspective.
In Bookworm’s view of the world, serving his own needs was Seven Hill’s obligation and the very purpose of its existence. So, naturally, he informed the city council of Seven Hills that he expected them to find him a suitable reading companion. The city council immediately issued a proclamation offering five pounds of gold per year and the right to have a family coat of arms with an image of the dragon to any man who would be able to live up to Bookworm’s request.
The city hall was not deluged with applicants, however. While it was true that Bookworm was greatly revered by all the citizens ,and that in his nearly two centuries of history with Seven Hills he had never killed or seriously harmed any of its people, he was known to have a volatile temper. As his description of what he was looking for included: “quick wits and enough courage to debate with me,” the position of the dragon’s reading companion sounded like a demanding and hazardous job.
Nonetheless, three men volunteered “to read with the dragon”. One by one they made their way to the dragon cave. But the whole plan hit a big snag. It turns out that dragons cannot tolerate men anywhere near their caves. This is a basic instinct in dragons, and it is not particularly surprising since from time immemorial men and dragons fought each other to the death. While Bookworm was strikingly different from the norm in many respects, even he could not overcome this aspect of his nature. Bookworm could converse in a civil manner with men while visiting the city. He even genuinely liked and respected some of them and enjoyed their company. But when he saw a man approach his cave, he quite literally felt a burning desire to reduce the invader to a cinder.
“Well, why do they keep sending men!” muttered Bookworm in frustration, after he had scorched the rocks in front of his cave for the third time. He had just narrowly avoided charring the city archivist, who luckily found timely refuge behind a boulder. “Have a woman try next time. Some dragons abduct maidens and keep them in their caves, so I might be able to tolerate a woman around here.” He shouted in the direction of the rapidly retreating figure.
The city council amended the proclamation accordingly. A few days passed, but there were no fresh volunteers. To start with, not many women in the city had been given education. Moreover, Bookworm’s assertion that he “might” tolerate a woman near his cave, reported by the quaking archivist, did not seem completely reassuring.
The mayor tried to approach the abbess of a nearby convent. But the old lady was firm in her opinion that “reading worldly books with a dragon in his cave is not a suitable occupation for a nun.” All attempts to convince her otherwise were futile.
The city council was at a loss for what to do, and was considering the unpleasant task of telling Bookworm that they could not fulfill his wish. As they sat in the great council room, composing a letter of humble apology to the dragon, a messenger came in with the announcement that Vitius and his daughter, Magda, wished to speak to the council about the dragon’s request. There were exclamations of astonishment around the room. The mayor frowned. Vitius was a highly educated and well-respected physician. But it was known that his only child, Magda, was “not right in the head,” a simpleton. Besides, she was mute. When she was spoken of at all, people referred to her as “Dumb Magda.”
Vitius, apparently, was blind to his daughter’s abnormality. He always treated her with great affection, bringing her with him to all public events, dressing her in fine clothes, talking to her as if she was fully capable of thought and awareness. Yet his daughter was always silent. She stared down, her hands clasped and twitching, if anyone but her father spoke to her.
Vitius’s wife, Magda’s mother, had died years ago. Vitius never remarried. He lived with his daughter and his daughter’s old nursemaid, an illiterate peasant woman. What could he possibly offer to the council in this situation? Nonetheless, there seemed no harm in hearing him out. Vitius and Magda were admitted into the council hall.
Vitius and Magda walked in, carrying three books with them. They bowed to the Mayor and the council, and then Vitius spoke: “My daughter, Magda, wishes to try reading with Bookworm.” There was an uncomfortable silence. Magda, as usual, stared silently at the floor. “Vitius,” the mayor’s voice was tinged with exasperation and pity, “Bookworm asked for someone who can read, who can speak, who would even discuss and debate things with him. He is a fire-breathing dragon. Seven Hills has never defied him. Who knows, what he will do, if we send him … Send him someone like this.”
Unexpectedly, Magda lifted her gaze and looked straight at the mayor. “I-I-I,” she stuttered, her voice squeaky, as if it were rusted. She turned scarlet, her eyes filled with tears. Her gaze skittered helplessly around the room, then came to rest on a tapestry on the far wall. The tapestry depicted Bookworm guiding a ship over stormy seas. “I can read,” she said with sudden clarity to the black and gold image on the wall. “I can read in our language, in Latin and in Ancient Greek. And I am not afraid of Bookworm.” Opening the book that she had in her hands, she read a poem in Latin in the same clear and resonant voice. She followed this with a short passage from one of Borealis Terhand’s books, then with a passage from Aristophanes in Ancient Greek. The council broke out in wild cheers and cries of “Miracle! God granted us a miracle!”
Magda, sill trembling with exhaustion and excitement, leaned against her father. He embraced her, his eyes sparkling with the tears of joy and pride. This was indeed, a miracle, though not merely granted, but earned.
Magda had never been a simpleton. Until she was about two years old, she had been an outgoing, talkative and happy child. But then a terrible tragedy was visited upon her family: Magda’s mother was killed when a piece of stone slipped from the hands of a mason, as he worked on repairing the city gate. Magda, who had witnessed her mother struck down right in the middle of talking and laughing, was literally struck dumb. She may have never regained her power of speech at all, if it had not been for Bookworm and the war with Sir Grimei, which took place when Magda’s was five. Here is how it happened.
On a clear May morning, as people were just starting to go about their business in the city and in the woods and meadows around it, there was the ominous clanging of Big-belly Nelly. The city guards spied a suspicious cloud of dust on the horizon. The men gathering firewood, the women washing clothes on the river bank outside of the city walls, the girls plucking edible ferns, the boys with their fishing poles, all rushed over the two bridges to the safety of the city walls. By the time the dust cloud resolved itself into a large army of armored knights on horseback and an even larger marching troop of archers, the drawbridges had been raised and the heavy iron-bound gates barred. Bookworm had already flown into the city and was watching the approaching force through a narrow slit in the stonework of the fortifications.
The army encamped on the far bank of the river, just out of bow-shot of the city’s archers. Then, a large man with a plume of peacock feathers on his helmet rode forth, accompanied by several knights with bright banners and by two trumpeters. After the trumpet calls indicating that he wanted to parley, he waited until the mayor and several council members appeared on the watchtower above the gate.
“I am Sir Grimei the Intrepid!” shouted the plumed knight. “I declare this city and all the land around it to be my fiefdom and the fiefdom of my descendants. You must surrender to me immediately. If you pledge to be my loyal subjects, to supply me with troops and horses and to pay me an annual tribute in gold and in serfs, then I will treat you leniently and protect you from all enemies. But if you dare to defy me, I will lay siege to this city and any of you who survive long enough to see me enter as the conqueror will curse your own obstinacy. Surrender now, while you still can!”
“We will not surrender. This is a free city and we do not wish to be anyone’s fiefdom. We do not need your protection. Go away!” the mayor yelled back.
“I will give you three nights to reconsider your stupid and impudent reply. If you do not surrender by the third morning, we will throw burning pitch into the city with catapults,” threatened Sir Grimei. “Three nights – that’s all you have, and even that only because I am noble and generous. And do not think that the wicked alliance with that dragon of yours will save you,” he added. “We had our spies in your city, and we know that you consort with that abominable lizard. We also know that he is nothing but a flabby bookworm. We have arrows dipped in ink, especially for his belly!” Sir Grimei guffawed, noticing two puffs of acrid black smoke rising up from behind the wall. Apparently, his words had hit the mark with the dragon. Satisfied, he rode back to his camp.
In about an hour, the enemy began putting together the catapults, in plain view of the city. Sir Grimei sincerely hoped that Seven Hills would be intimidated and surrender without a fight. This was not because he had any qualms about bloodshed, but because an undamaged city is more profitable to plunder and more comfortable to occupy, than the one that has been extensively burned.
The citizens of Seven Hills were scared. The city was girded by strong stone walls, but did not have a large fighting force. The enemy army was huge and was well supplied for a siege, judging from the heavily laden wagons that were beginning to draw up to the encampment. Moreover, Sir Grimei obviously was informed about the defenses of the city, specifically, about the dragon. And he had thought of an effective strategy. It is true that a gold-hoarding dragon can be killed with a gold-tipped arrow shot directly into its belly. Likewise, a man-eating dragon can be killed with an arrow dipped in human blood, and a maiden-snatching dragon is vulnerable to arrows dipped in a woman's tears. Most likely, a book-eating dragon would be in mortal danger of ink-tipped arrows.
Bookworm, on the other hand, was not particularly frightened. True, Sir Grimei was apparently quite familiar with the first rule of military strategy: “Know your enemy.” He neglected, however, the second rule: “Conceal your own plans,” and the third rule, specific to dragon combat, “Do not insult the dragon you are planning to fight.” Insulting a dragon merely raises the temperature of its fire jets from “singe” to “incinerate.” And yes, Bookworm was insulted. A dragon likes to be called a lizard about as much as a human being likes to be called a monkey. Bookworm was stung even more deeply by that adjective, “flabby.” Although quite young by dragon reckoning, he did have a paunch due to his sedentary way of life.
Ignoring the nervously jabbering mayor and the officers of the guard corps, Bookworm paced back and forth along the main city street. His anger gave him heartburn. And then…. And then his heartburn gave him an idea!
Just a few months earlier, Bookworm had received a bundle of Chinese books. One of them was on the subject of fireworks. After eating it, Bookworm suffered a bout of heartburn and kept burping up clouds of iridescent sparks. But this did not prevent him from getting interested in fireworks. He got himself all the ingredients and made a few firecrackers and sparklers. He was toying with the idea of putting on a grand display of fireworks for Seven Hills on some special occasion, but being a dragon prone to procrastination, he kept putting it off. Now, at last, was just the time for it.
“Hang tough!” the dragon told the anxious citizens. “Do not let that peacock into the town – I will be back with fireworks before the third morning.” The people had no idea what fireworks were, but the word sounded impressive and dragon-like. Besides, Bookworm had never let them down before. They decided to wait.
Before he left the town, Bookworm collected some supplies. The combination of saltpeter, sulfur, coal, a variety of mineral salts, burlap, small barrels and rope was puzzling to the citizens. Was Bookworm about to do alchemy? exterminate vermin? open a grocery store? But, as Bookworm still was belching angry puffs of heartburn smoke, no one dared to ask. They simply helped him pack the odd things into a large parcel. He flew off to his cave under the cover of darkness.
Sir Grimei’s people had visited the dragon’s cave earlier in search of plunder. But they left, finding nothing of interest there — just books. Sir Grimei, who took pride in being brutal and uneducated, figured that someone who is bookish, poor in possessions and not bloodthirsty must be a coward. He was convinced that the dragon would be terrified of ink-dipped arrows, and would fly far away from Seven Hills, with his tail between his legs. So, he did not even think of posting guards by the lair, or checking if the dragon came back in there.
Bookworm, finding his lair ransacked, was incensed even further. He channeled his anger into furious work over the next two days – grinding, measuring, mixing, pouring, covering and bundling. All the while, he made sure not to sneeze or snort, lest he set off his project prematurely.
On the third afternoon, Sir Grimei ordered great fires to be burned near the catapults. The troops began melting pitch in cauldrons and stacking balls of straw wound around wooden cores. Sir Grimei was still hoping to intimidate the city into opening its gates without a fight. Black smoke wafted over the fortress walls. Within the city, anxiety was reaching the level of panic.
Night fell, the last night before the attack . Once the sky was completely dark, the citizens were very relieved when they finally saw the familiar winged shape blotting out the stars over the harbor. Bookworm landed on the market square. He brought with him a long, heavy and lumpy object. It looked like a gigantic snake that had swallowed a whole row of fat rabbits. Sir Grimei’s camp had sentries posted to watch the city gates, but being sure that they got rid of the dragon for good, they did not think of scanning the sky. And so, flying as stealthily as a bat, Bookworm was able to lay his long parcel in the no-man’s land between the encampment and the river.
Before the next dawn, the enemy camp was stirring. Sir Grimei decided to get everything ready early, so that at first light the citizens of Seven Hills would hear the trumpets and see the gleam of weapons and armor. He wanted to give them yet another chance to lose their nerve and surrender the town without a fight.
As the sky began to change from black to sapphire, a dragon head suddenly popped out from behind the fortress wall. Bookworm leaned over the wall and sent a long jet of flame towards one end of the long bundle snaking in the grass. Before the enemy archers had a chance to nock their arrows, he hid behind the wall again. A heartbeat later there was a deafening "BOOM!!" The blast sent a pink fireball up, up, into the deep blue sky. A brilliant shower of sparks cascaded down. This was followed by another "BOOM!!", then "rat-tat-tat," then assorted crashes, hisses and explosions, as white, golden, pink, emerald and scarlet fireworks spun and blossomed across the sky.
The invaders, who had never heard of fireworks, naturally assumed that the dragon, by some devilish trick, had set fire to the whole sky, and that it was about to crash on their heads, like the roof of a burning house. After the first blast, they froze in horror. After the next one, panic and pandemonium overtook their camp. I would not dignify their flight with the word "retreat." They did not stop running until they were in another climate zone. As for Sir Grimei the Intrepid, he was so scared he wet his armor as he fled.
Through all the days of Sir Grimei’s siege, a small silent girl stood watching and listening by the windows of a tall house overlooking the city gates. When the fireworks first started exploding, she cried and hid her face in the clothes of her father, who was standing next to her, his arm wrapped protectively about her shoulders. But when she heard him cheer, she peeked out and saw the colorful cascades of light, and the fleeing of the enemy army on the ground. She tugged at her father’s sleeve and pointed excitedly at the sky. “Dragon! Dragon fire garden!” Magda’s voice rang out suddenly between two loud firework bursts.
After that, Magda gained the ability to speak more and more fluently with her father and her old nurse. But when she tried to speak in the presence of anyone else, she felt so choked up with anxiety, and stuttered so horribly, that a normal conversation was impossible. She retreated back into silence whenever she was outside the safety of her own household.
Vitius was overjoyed when little Magda regained even a limited power of speech. Noticing that any topic that had to do with Bookworm was the surest way to draw her out, he told her many stories about the dragon and his role in the town’s history. Bookworm became such a hero in the eyes of the shy little girl that she even tried to imitate the dragon by chewing on bits of parchment. Her father laughed and said: “You might be trying to breathe fire next.” Then, turning serious, he added: “If you want to be like Bookworm, let’s start teaching you to read!” In short order, Magda became a voracious reader. There were not a lot of what we would call children's books back then, but she read everything she could get her hands on, ranging from poetry and works of history written by the ancients to her father's medical books. She spent many a winter evening reading to her nursemaid by the fireside or discussing books with her father. Seeing what joy books brought to his lonely daughter, and wishing to expand the range of books that she could read, Vitius began to teach her Latin, and later Ancient Greek. Magda proved a remarkably apt and diligent pupil. Vitius was proud of his daughter talents, even though for a long time they remained hidden from all but himself and the old nursemaid. For Magda’s fifteenth birthday, Vitius had a special golden bracelet made for her: it was shaped as a dragon holding a book.
When Vitius told Magda about Bookworm’s search for a reading companion, the girl’s eyes lit up. It took her a few days to gather the courage to step forward with her candidacy, but not because she was afraid of Bookworm. Rather, she dreaded the ordeal of having to talk to the city council.
The news that “Dumb Magda” had been miraculously cured and was going to try out as Bookworm’s reading companion swept the city with astonishing speed. The next morning, as Magda, Vitius and the entire city council rode out of the city gates towards the hill where Bookworm lived, a huge crowd was assembled to see them off. Some were cheering, some were muttering and shaking their heads, and some were staring in speechless astonishment, as if Magda’s habit of silence had cast its shadow over them.
Up on Bookworm’s hill, the party halted in a glade, next to a small shed where books were usually left for Bookworm’s consumption. Magda dismounted. She gave a reassuring hug to her father, who was trying to look cheerful, but was pale and soaked with sweat. With a couple of books under her arm, she disappeared among the pine trees. Some time later, she emerged up on the flank of the hill, next to the entrance to the dragon’s cave. Vitius and the city council could see clearly her small figure, her hair and skirt whipping in the fresh sea breeze. They held their breath. The dragon emerged from his cave. Magda curtsied. To the astonishment of the onlookers below, Bookworm gave her a courtly bow. In a few minutes, the girl and the dragon were sitting side by side in the sunshine, engrossed in a book. From time to time, the two readers turned to each other, apparently conversing, for they were gesturing animatedly. And then, the most amazing sound reached the glade: a kind of rolling, deep rumble. The dragon was laughing! Among the great waves of his laughter, like the silver wings of a seagull over dark green sea, flashed peals of Magda’s happy laugh.
CONTINUED IN THE NEXT CHAPTER