Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis

Chapter 26

“Aubrey!” Benedict started forward. “For God’s sake, man, just listen—”

“Listen?” Mr. Aubrey stormed across the room, gathering up heaps of papers with every step. “You want me to listen to you, Hawkins? Why, do you need some fresh entertainment? You’ve grown bored and decided to start laughing at me with your new friends?”

“No!” Benedict said. “It’s not like that.”

“Is it not?” Mr. Aubrey snatched up a traveling case and threw it onto the teetering pile of books that covered the bed. The case popped open at the impact, and he began stuffing papers into it with furious concentration. “I may not pay attention to the trivialities of fashionable life, but I am not witless. Or perhaps I am, as I actually thought us good friends!”

“We are!” Benedict said. “I—”

“I am almost a week late to an important visit, only because I wished to do a favor for you!” said Mr. Aubrey. “I have been suffocated in this illiterate household for days and days, forced to listen to vapid laughter and inanities at every hour of day and night. And now you want to play me for a laughingstock?”

“No!” Benedict strode across the room and slammed the case closed. “Damn it, Aubrey, if you’ll only hear me out—”

Mr. Aubrey grabbed the lid of the case to force it open. Benedict held it shut. In a moment, they would start brawling. Elinor gritted her teeth, set Sir Jessamyn down, and hurried across the room, aware that she was trampling important papers with every footstep.

“Mr. Aubrey!” she said sharply. “Look at me!”

“If you think I have time for idle banter, Madam…” He shot her an irritated, sidelong look as he continued to grapple over the traveling case.

Seizing her chance, Elinor stripped off her right glove and placed her bare hand on his face.

It was an act of startling impropriety, as even Mr. Aubrey clearly realized. He fell back, so startled that his hands dropped to his sides…and then his eyes widened behind his spectacles, and he leaned forward.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait! Your face—it’s changed somehow, hasn’t it? There’s something different—”

“You see?” Benedict was breathing hard as he leant over the bed, still holding the traveling case shut. “This isn’t a practical joke, Aubrey. This is real. Dragons can do magic.”

* * *

Five minutes later,Mr. Aubrey was still sputtering. They all sat on the floor now, even Elinor. There was simply nowhere else to go. She could only hope that her newly-outspoken aunt wouldn’t be too horrified by the state of her riding habit when it was returned.

Benedict reached across to brush his hand across Elinor’s cheek, and she blinked. “I beg your pardon? Did I miss something?”

“No,” he said, and gave her a rueful half-smile. “I just missed you, that was all. It seemed too unfair that Aubrey could see your true face and I couldn’t.”

“So the illusion is tied into touch.” Mr. Aubrey was staring at Sir Jessamyn, not at Elinor. Adapting to circumstances, the little dragon had built himself a nest of papers and was settled comfortably in the center of their triangle, watching the humans around him with bright golden interest.

“Does nothing else ever shatter the illusion?” Mr. Aubrey asked.

“I don’t think so,” Elinor said. “One of the housemaids knows who I am, but she worked that out by logic, not by sight.”

“By logic?” He snorted. “There’s nothing logical about magic. Any reputable scholar could inform you—”

“Any reputable scholar would be wrong,” said Benedict. “You’re all too shackled by academic theory, old man. This dragon in front of us doesn’t care about what should or shouldn’t be possible for him. He just is.”

Sir Jessamyn preened under the attention.

Elinor rolled her eyes. She would have scooped him into her lap, but he was all too clearly enjoying himself where he was. As Mr. Aubrey leaned closer, Sir Jessamyn stretched back his long, glittering neck to show off every blue-and-green scale.

“Tell me exactly what happened to create the illusion,” Mr. Aubrey ordered.

Elinor took a deep breath. “The first time was the night we met. After I came back from supper. I was…” She felt Benedict watching her, and chose her words carefully. “…a bit anxious and unhappy. I think Sir Jessamyn was worried about me.”

“You acted so cheerful at supper,” Benedict said. “Why didn’t you ask us for help?”

“Stick to the point,” said Mr. Aubrey. He was studying the golden whorls that curled beneath Sir Jessamyn’s chin. “Tell us exactly what happened between you and your dragon.”

“I was talking to Sir Jessamyn—he was comforting me, really. And I told him…” Elinor stopped, looking again at Benedict. “Do you think you could leave the room for just a moment?”

“No,” said Benedict. “Keep going.” He reached out to lace his fingers with hers.

She held his hand tightly, but kept her gaze turned away from him. “I suppose I was wishing that I looked different. That I was different, as a person. That I was someone people would take notice of. I was thinking of Mrs. De Lacey, because I’ve read and heard so much about her. So I told Sir Jessamyn that I wished…” She closed her eyes, searching for the exact words. “I wished that people could see me differently—more like her.”

“And what did your dragon do next, exactly?”

“He breathed fire on me.”

Aubrey’s head snapped up. Panic shone in his eyes and on his suddenly haggard face. “Please,” he begged. “Please tell me there was no fire involved. Not that, at least. Please tell me you imagined it.”

“I didn’t. I saw it clearly. What’s wrong?” Elinor leaned forward. “Is it a disaster? Does it mean something terrible?”

Mr. Aubrey let out a groan of pure despair. “It means that those bloody damned fairy tales were right. Again! Oh, God, Hawkins, stretch out your leg. I need to kick something.”

“Kick one of your books,” Benedict said. “You have more of them to spare.”

“Why not?” Mr. Aubrey stuck his fingers into his hair and tugged frantically, eyes wild. “They’re all useless now, aren’t they? Everything we’ve all been working on, everything—”

“Oh, come now,” said Benedict, and grinned maliciously. “Not every book is useless, old chap. What about all those fairy tales?”

From the look on his face, Mr. Aubrey was about to commit an act of violence. Elinor cleared her throat hastily to distract him.

“What about those illustrations you told me of?” she said. “You said there had been drawings of other dragons in South America with similar markings to Sir Jessamyn.”

“Yes,” Mr. Aubrey said. “Yes. Indeed. The new, golden markings.” His breathing steadied as he turned back to Sir Jessamyn. “Of all the hundreds of drawings that I’ve studied, only three of them have ever shown any similar patterns, along with that single stuffed specimen I mentioned. I’ve never before seen them on any living specimens of this captive breed, so there’s one saving grace—at least this madness can’t be common. You say the markings arrived only after the…events?”

“The first ones appeared at the same time as my illusion.” Elinor reached out to stroke the swirling golden lines that spread along Sir Jessamyn’s left cheek, and he leaned into her hand, eyes drifting halfway shut.

“I can tell you exactly when those markings on his neck appeared,” said Benedict. “It was just after Elinor wished for Lady Hathergill to speak her mind. Sir Jessamyn breathed fire onto her and frightened me half-out of my wits.”

“As if that means much,” said Mr. Aubrey gloomily. “What few wits you still bother to keep around, now that you’ve left Cambridge…” His voice trailed off. Horror crept across his features. “Wait. Did you say ‘wish?’”

Elinor frowned. “Well...that was what I said to Sir Jessamyn the first time,” she said. “And I suppose I may have used the word ‘wish’ again the second time, but—”

“‘I wish to know: what does your mother truly think,’” Benedict quoted. “Sorry, old man. It was definitely a wish.”

“Bloody hell,” said Mr. Aubrey. He lowered his head into his hands, the very picture of a broken man. “Bloody, bloody, bloody—”

“Mr. Aubrey!” Elinor stared. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Why are you even bothering to sit here talking to me?” Mr. Aubrey moaned into his hands. “What do I know about dragons, anyway? Obviously, you should be consulting a book of fairy tales instead.”

“Buck up, Aubrey.” Benedict clapped one hand against his friend’s shoulder. “Just think: you’ll be the one to inform the scientific community of the most amazing discovery of our era. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it might be,” said Mr. Aubrey bitterly, “if there was any chance of them believing me. But as there certainly isn’t…”

Elinor was frowning down at Sir Jessamyn. “You really think he was granting wishes?” she said to Benedict. “Like in a…” She swallowed back her final words, with a guilty look at Mr. Aubrey.

Benedict nodded. “And that’s not all,” he said. “It may have been a long time since my nursemaid used to tell me fairy tales at night, but there is one thing I do remember. How many wishes does everybody get?”

“That is absurd!” The words burst out of Mr. Aubrey. He jerked upright, glaring. “No, Hawkins, I will not go that far. It’s one thing to admit that there may be some tiny shred of validity to the occasional detail included in a fairy story, but—”

“Tell me,” Benedict said to his friend, “in those few similar pictures you saw of other dragons, did any of them have more than three sets of golden markings?”

Mr. Aubrey clamped his mouth shut. His expression was intent with concentration…and then despair. “That could be mere coincidence,” he said. “You can hardly call it scientific evidence.”

“Perhaps not,” said Benedict, “but all the rules of fairy tales started somewhere. Look here—her first wish brought this clever set to the left side of his face, the second set leads down and around his throat, and I’ll wager anything you like that the third wish will complete the pattern on the right. Scientific evidence or not, would you really wager against me?”

“It hardly matters,” said Elinor. “There isn’t going to be a third wish. Every time I make one—”

“Of course there has to be a third,” said Benedict. “How else are you to break the illusion?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Don’t you remember all the old stories? Every time anyone is ever granted three wishes, they always end up using the third wish to break all of the earlier ones.”

“I always hated that,” Mr. Aubrey muttered. “What a waste of time and energy! If they’d only used their wits and thought through all of their wishes in the first place…”

Benedict’s gaze rested on Elinor with a tenderness that warmed her even from two feet away. “Make your third wish,” he said. “Here. Now. With us. Or we can pack our bags and leave first, if you like, so you’re safely away from your relatives before the transformation happens.”

“No. I can’t.” Elinor pulled her hand away from Sir Jessamyn as if he were a loaded pistol. “I have to stay for Penelope’s début.”

“Oh, good God. If we’re going to start talking about dances now—!” Mr. Aubrey let out a heartfelt groan.

Benedict frowned. “But why—? Oh, yes. Your sisters?”

“That was the bargain I made with Sir John.” Elinor knotted her fingers together. “I have to—that is, Mrs. De Lacey has to be present for the début, to raise Penelope’s social standing, or else he’ll attack my younger sisters in revenge for what I did. I can’t run away and let that happen.”

“Of course not.” Benedict sighed. “Well, we’ll simply have to wait a few days longer, then.” His smile looked forced. “Anyway, it’s probably for the best. Why not stay and enjoy some truly excellent, free food for a few more days while we think up a brilliant plan to find an income to be married with?”

“Why not?” Elinor doubted that her own smile was any more convincing than his.

She couldn’t wish away her first two wishes until she was safely distant from Hathergill Hall, or she’d be arrested for theft and Sir Jessamyn doomed to a life of misery and fear. But that might already be too late to save her aunt from a life of seclusion and despair…and she would never have enough spare wishes to save Benedict’s estate and let them marry.

He might be enough of a dreamer to believe in miracles, but Elinor knew exactly what she had just learned.

Even with all the help that Sir Jessamyn’s magic could give her, there would be no happy ending for their fairy tale.